Good Omens ficlet
Title: Equlibrium
Author: order_of_chaos
Pairing: Crowley/Aziraphale
Rating: PG-13 (if that)
Summary: On the theory that if they keep on associating with each other, sooner or later Crowley will be borderline angelic and Azi will be borderline demonic. And that line is really easy to cross. Again and again. Almost more like a series of drabbles than a real fic.
AN: I'd been planning to write more to this, but I hit a metaphorical brick wall, so...
Disclaimer: Not mine, alas. Pterry's
Feedback: Constructive criticism adored.
***
Equilibrium
The first time Ariraphale fell, he panicked. He screamed and kept screaming until someone - a human, one of his few customers - came to check up on him. Then he snarled something obscene and watched delightedly as the mortal doubled over in agony.
Crowley wiped the man’s mind and sent him on his way.
***
When he was himself again, Aziraphale returned Crowley’s visit, and spent a few hours staring at the demon’s carpet, avoiding his gaze.
“I, er... thanks,” the angel stammered out finally, and blushed in a way Crowley was certain shouldn’t have been as adorable as it was.
“Jussst remember,” the demon hissed. “You owe me one.”
***
The first time Crowley... ascended, he laughed. Helplessly, unable to stop, with his blazing-white wings wrapped around himself for comfort.
Aziraphale sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him and told bad jokes until the other angel stopped laughing, and looked at him disgustedly.
Aziraphale smiled.
***
Blue-slitted pupils narrowed in wondering, naive malice.
When Crowley suggested something other than tartan, the demon Zira hissed at him.
***
Crowley’s pot-plants were confused.
The pure, rational terror they had been subjected to their whole lives, now alternated with bursts of not-quite-cynical benign mischief.
They flourished more verdantly than ever before.
Just in case.
***
Zira giggled and waved his hand. Another waiter went sprawling.
He had never realised how fun this could be.
Watching carefully, Zira managed to get the next waiter to knock over two others as he went down.
***
Crowley refused to help little old ladies. Refused. Absolutely.
It was such a miserably stereotypical thing to do.
Aziraphale would do it.
Still... this one wasn’t precisely old was she? More like middle aged.
Hah. As if that made a difference.
“Lord, heal this shopping-bag,” he muttered sardonically.
Crowley dismissed the warm glow that suffused him with ‘at least I didn’t turn it tartan,’ but he walked away whistling.
***
He wasn’t used to being careful around holy water, any more than he was used to being a demon.
He watched in fascination as the drops soaked into his clothes. When they reached his skin, they burned.
Aziraphale squeaked and turned back into an angel.
***
Crowley was blackgoldwhite, dazzlingly beautiful and he hadn’t yet learned how to hide it.
Looking at the angel, Zira did something he had been wanting to do for a long time.
He pounced.
***
Author: order_of_chaos
Pairing: Crowley/Aziraphale
Rating: PG-13 (if that)
Summary: On the theory that if they keep on associating with each other, sooner or later Crowley will be borderline angelic and Azi will be borderline demonic. And that line is really easy to cross. Again and again. Almost more like a series of drabbles than a real fic.
AN: I'd been planning to write more to this, but I hit a metaphorical brick wall, so...
Disclaimer: Not mine, alas. Pterry's
Feedback: Constructive criticism adored.
***
Equilibrium
The first time Ariraphale fell, he panicked. He screamed and kept screaming until someone - a human, one of his few customers - came to check up on him. Then he snarled something obscene and watched delightedly as the mortal doubled over in agony.
Crowley wiped the man’s mind and sent him on his way.
***
When he was himself again, Aziraphale returned Crowley’s visit, and spent a few hours staring at the demon’s carpet, avoiding his gaze.
“I, er... thanks,” the angel stammered out finally, and blushed in a way Crowley was certain shouldn’t have been as adorable as it was.
“Jussst remember,” the demon hissed. “You owe me one.”
***
The first time Crowley... ascended, he laughed. Helplessly, unable to stop, with his blazing-white wings wrapped around himself for comfort.
Aziraphale sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him and told bad jokes until the other angel stopped laughing, and looked at him disgustedly.
Aziraphale smiled.
***
Blue-slitted pupils narrowed in wondering, naive malice.
When Crowley suggested something other than tartan, the demon Zira hissed at him.
***
Crowley’s pot-plants were confused.
The pure, rational terror they had been subjected to their whole lives, now alternated with bursts of not-quite-cynical benign mischief.
They flourished more verdantly than ever before.
Just in case.
***
Zira giggled and waved his hand. Another waiter went sprawling.
He had never realised how fun this could be.
Watching carefully, Zira managed to get the next waiter to knock over two others as he went down.
***
Crowley refused to help little old ladies. Refused. Absolutely.
It was such a miserably stereotypical thing to do.
Aziraphale would do it.
Still... this one wasn’t precisely old was she? More like middle aged.
Hah. As if that made a difference.
“Lord, heal this shopping-bag,” he muttered sardonically.
Crowley dismissed the warm glow that suffused him with ‘at least I didn’t turn it tartan,’ but he walked away whistling.
***
He wasn’t used to being careful around holy water, any more than he was used to being a demon.
He watched in fascination as the drops soaked into his clothes. When they reached his skin, they burned.
Aziraphale squeaked and turned back into an angel.
***
Crowley was blackgoldwhite, dazzlingly beautiful and he hadn’t yet learned how to hide it.
Looking at the angel, Zira did something he had been wanting to do for a long time.
He pounced.
***