There Will Come a Day: A Good Omens Fanfic

Show a laughing face

English skies were unpleasantly dull and grey after the South of France, the air damp, but a certain Soho bookshop was always in a perfect summer microclimate. the atmosphere the exact crisp dryness to preserve his precious books and scrolls without the risk of mould. Crowley lolled in Aziraphale's favourite armchair in blissful ease, basking in the temperature.

"Sssso warm," he sighed. Aziraphale handed him some hot spiced mead. "So good. What did you think of the show?"

"A little gauche musically, but well-meaning. The moral basis was quite good. A girl's worth depends not in her class and station, but on her—on her--"

"Legs," Crowley said. He sipped the drink, and sighed again with pleasure at the rich warmth.

"Yes. I mean, no. Not in the sense you mean. On her hard work and virtuous qualities."

"Which she proves by marrying into cold, hard cash, and don't tell me she would have managed that with perfect virtue and without a pretty face and good legs. He wouldn't have noticed her in the cabaret in the first place. Or that she'd find the young man as charming without the mansion. Excellent lesson for the humans, almost as excellent as this mead." He took a long sip. "I can always count on you to have the good stuff, you dissolute old sensualist. How old exactly is this? Left behind in Viking raids?"

Aziraphale pouted sternly at him, but didn't argue. He was feeling as content as a cat by the fire. He had enjoyed the show, enjoyed an excellent supper, and now Crowley was sprawled out in the back room as if he belonged there. For the first time in sixty centuries, Aziraphale was feeling conscious of a perplexingly human sense of domesticity. He always had the impulse to help people, that was an unquestioned part of his nature. Now, watching the demon look far happier and cosier than anyone doomed to eternal hellfire should rightly look, he felt a strange urge to cosset him as well. He wanted to pet the demon, and spoil him, and keep that sleepy smile softening the sharp angles of his face.

He pressed his lips together, disapproving of himself. If Michael knew he was tempted to put a lap blanket on a drowsy demon and tuck it around his thighs...

"Why the sudden frown, darling? Am I being more annoying than usual? Am I getting in the way of your work? You can tell me to slope off, if you like. You never had any problem shooing me off before." Crowley's smile had gone, in any case, and his yellow eyes reflected nothing but firelight.

"Quite the opposite, really." Aziraphale sipped pensively at his drink, the rich honeyed spiciness setting off pleasure messages in his corporeal brain. "I missed the Arrangement."

"It probably meant more work for you, without the Arrangement in place." Crowley's voice was suddenly cool.

"Not at all, seeing you were out of commission. I had practically a free hand."

"How nice for you." Crowley's voice had passed from cool to positively icy.

"Now, don't be like that, dear boy."

"Did you miss the excuse to do temptations? Get a little soot on your white wings?"

"Don't be silly. I don't enjoy tempting those poor humans for you any more than you enjoy turning them to the hard and straight road for me. It's just sensible."

There was nothing sleepy at all about Crowley now, if there ever had been. He was leaning forward, face intent and unreadable. "What exactly did you miss?"

"Oh, my dear." Aziraphale pressed his fingertips together in agitation. Why did Crowley always have to push things? "You can't expect me to say it."