Aziraphale and Crowley One Shots

All This and Heaven Too

SYNOPSIS: Aziraphale and Crowley go to get coffee and decide to indulge in a little moment of life by dancing in the rain.
TAGS: fluff, asexual relationship, slice of life, dancing in the rain
A/N: Please let me know your thoughts!! This is my first Good Omens fic so I'm still getting into how to write the characters. They also have very distinct speech patterns (bless our talented actors) that can be hard to capture with writing but I did my best! If they're ooc let me know so I can improve for next time.
All This and Heaven Too - Florence and the Machine

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"Think someone's asked for death?" Crowley asked. Aziraphales was locking up the bookshop while the demon stared nonchalantly at the little coffee shop across the street. He looked through dark sunglasses as people passed by it without a thought, and an Angel stared with sweet, slightly judgmental eyes.

"Now why would they do that?"

"The sign!" Crowley said eagerly, waving a hand in the direction. "Oh Angel, it's the - the - the sign, title, shop thing. 'Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death.' Makes you wonder who's asked for death."

"No one, dear. That's a reference to the American colonist Patrick Henry's speech. It's not actually asking for death." Aziraphale explained as the pair crossed the street towards the storefront. He watched in amusement as Crowley scoffed.

"Why would a British shop quote the Americas? Thought the whole point was pissing on each other."

Aziraphale thought for a moment, eyebrows scrunched together as he thought back to their encounter in the 1790s. Of course at the time he was more focused on Crowley saving his life than their luncheon after the fact, but now the fuzzy memories of crepes and the Americas returned.

"You ought to know that."

"Angel I know nothin I don't need to."

"Why, I thought you were responsible for the American revolution, Crowley."

Crowley scoffed again, shoving his hands in his pockets, "ngk, why would you think that?"

"You said so in 1793!"

"Wot?" Crowley's lips curled as he tried to think back. He didn't remember much of the 18th century, it was a bit of a blur of decapitations, fantastic coattails and wine. Oh the wine was good then, but it was hard to come by. He didn't remember anything about the Americas. "Why would I say that?"

"You said you, you prompted the Mayflower to set sail because you knew it would make the British crown quite upset. Then you informed me that you helped hurl some many large quantities of tea into the ocean, a decision I still vehemently disdain." When Crowley let out a deep chuckle at this, Aziraphale clicked his tongue. He adjusted in his coat, his straight tartan collar reminding him to remain upright and correct. "It has been 300 years, I suppose it's all right now. I should forget the fact you helped ruin quite literal tons of delicious tea."

"Yea no that wasn't me, Angel." Crowley said as he opened the door, letting Aziraphale in before he sauntered next to him.

Aziraphale let his mouth drop in a perfect little 'o' shape as he stared in surprise, "you said you'd done it all! That the head office, down - down there was quite proud of the fact. You earned some fancy title for it."

"Didn't happen."

"You lied to me?"

"I'm a demon, Angel. S'my whole thing."

Aziraphale pursed his lips and sat down at one of the tables that miraculously opened up, "you've never been the bad sort of demon."

"There is no good sort." Crowley sniffed, sitting down and sprawling across his chair. One arm strewn across the back of it, a leg precariously left in the aisle. His dark clothing seemed such a contrast to his personality, in Aziraphale's mind. Aziraphale watched him move his foot back and forth slightly, the light reflecting off his snakeskin boots. Crowley was always moving something, even if it was small. A foot swaying, knee bouncing, finger twitching. Sometimes Aziraphale would notice movement on his cheeks like he was rolling his tongue around for the hell - heck, angels don't swear - of it.