Falling Heavenward: A Good Omens Crowley/Aziraphale Fanfic

Winging on a Prayer

Note: This was meant to be Part 14. I have no idea why it didn't show up on Wattpad (probably I forgot to hit POST). I hope it still makes sense here.

So--part 2 of the adventures of Aziraphale doting on his demon snake. XD So sorry, and thank you to Daemonia for letting me know.

*****

London, Four Days Ago

Aziraphale felt like he was floating in a bubble of confident happiness throughout dinner. He didn't really realise how tremulous and thin the film of it was until Crowley shoved his hands into his pockets as they made their way out. Well. They had held hands for the last half hour. That was enough of a break from tradition for now. Still, during the silent car right home, the bubble was beginning to feel downright fragile. Possibly Crowley regretted the unusual sign of sentiment, now he had sobered up to drive.

Until Crowley pushed hard for a date the next night, and for a moment felt like the bubble was made of some kind of inpermeable forcefield.

Then Crowley suddenly leaned across the car and kissed him. Aziraphale didn't have time to react, far less respond. It was only a brief kiss, but impossible to mistake as a comradely gesture. It was a purposeful, possessive kiss, hand at the back of Aziraphale's neck as the demon pushed his lips apart and swiped a reptilian tongue against his just once before withdrawing, as if to judge his reaction.

Aziraphale's heart hammered as if he actually was capable of having heart problems and the blood pounded in his ears and all he could think was no, no, not now. Dagon's warnings hammered in his head. They had been doing so well, so much chaste tender affection, and now Crowley was looking at him with unmistakable fire as if their closeness had just been a step on the way to bed—and it wasn't as if he didn't want to lean back into the kiss and see what happened, but—

"I thought," the angel said slowly, "that after all we have just been through, you would have given up on all this tempting nonsense. Are you really still trying to earn points with Hell?"

He saw something like panic on Crowley's face, and panicked himself, heading for the bookshop as fast as he could.

Once inside he leaned against the door, shaking. He had been cruel, he knew, when Crowley was cut loose from his own side. Why couldn't Crowley understand? Take it slow, focus on love and not on pushing and tempting and seducing? Of course he couldn't tell him why it was so important, but even so.

"Well, you handled that badly," said a dry voice.

"You speak my mind, Michael," Aziraphale sighed. He turned unwillingly, remembering the last time he had seen her, she had just tried to kill him—Crowley. Which was perhaps worse, although she wouldn't see it that way. "Is all of Heaven going to visit my humble little shop today?"

"I'm sorry, Aziraphale," she said, which was so unexpected that he found himself gaping at her like a fish. She wove elegant fingers together and said, "I haven't been a very good supervisor to you. Leaving you down here all alone, and not realising that you would be lonely away from Grace. Then, I didn't oppose your execution, even though I knew I had failed you, we all had. I was too willing to believe you betrayed Heaven."

"Well, to be fair, I suppose I did," he said, cautiously edging in and toward the kitchenette. He wasn't sure he could cope with this right now. "Would you like a drink? Gin? Tea?"

"No, thank you. I meant that I thought you were conspiring for Hell's victory over Heaven," she clarified.

Hurt welled up, all the angry hurt that they could ever have believed that of him. Worse that they could believe that than that they would extinguish his existence. "I didn't want another war, Michael. The last one was bad enough. And this one would have had no surrender."