#3 (passion), Good Omens, Crowley/Aziraphale
the libertines
an airlia_vega production
for the passion theme (#3)
PG-13
270 words
“What’s the matter with you?” Aziraphale demands. “We’re already supposed to be gone.”
Crowley, looking disheveled and slightly guilty, steps out of the doorway and gestures him vaguely inside. “I - er. Was distracted?”
“By what? You look tired. Are you ill?”
“No. Nothing. Look,” Crowley waves his hand, and a chair disturbingly similar to the one Aziraphale keeps in the back of his shop1 appears, “you stay there. I’m going to go - over - here.”
The bedroom door slams shut and Aziraphale sits down (if looks are any indication, it is a very comfortable chair), slightly baffled. This is unheard of - Crowley, anything but absolutely rambunctious on Halloween? It’s the only night2 of the year Aziraphale can be coerced into mischief. The current incarnation of the holiday was, after all, a joint effort. Usually Crowley is dragging Aziraphale out the door, with a long list of people to terrorize3.
“Sorry,” Crowley says, smiling a little too brightly and fixing his (perfectly straight) cuffs.
There’s a flicker of movement and a thump from the bedroom. “What’s that?” Aziraphale asks.
“Nothing! Poltergeist! Shall we?”
Aziraphale gives him a Look, but decides to let it slide. It is All Hallow’s.
And besides, it’s not like he doesn’t understand - well. Not that he would ever - you know. Anything like that.
Of course not.
1. The one absolutely no one is allowed to sit in, on pain of, well, pain.
2. Well, almost the only night. There was the Midsummer’s incident of 1873.
3. In a polite, restrained fashion. Naturally.
an airlia_vega production
for the passion theme (#3)
PG-13
270 words
“What’s the matter with you?” Aziraphale demands. “We’re already supposed to be gone.”
Crowley, looking disheveled and slightly guilty, steps out of the doorway and gestures him vaguely inside. “I - er. Was distracted?”
“By what? You look tired. Are you ill?”
“No. Nothing. Look,” Crowley waves his hand, and a chair disturbingly similar to the one Aziraphale keeps in the back of his shop1 appears, “you stay there. I’m going to go - over - here.”
The bedroom door slams shut and Aziraphale sits down (if looks are any indication, it is a very comfortable chair), slightly baffled. This is unheard of - Crowley, anything but absolutely rambunctious on Halloween? It’s the only night2 of the year Aziraphale can be coerced into mischief. The current incarnation of the holiday was, after all, a joint effort. Usually Crowley is dragging Aziraphale out the door, with a long list of people to terrorize3.
“Sorry,” Crowley says, smiling a little too brightly and fixing his (perfectly straight) cuffs.
There’s a flicker of movement and a thump from the bedroom. “What’s that?” Aziraphale asks.
“Nothing! Poltergeist! Shall we?”
Aziraphale gives him a Look, but decides to let it slide. It is All Hallow’s.
And besides, it’s not like he doesn’t understand - well. Not that he would ever - you know. Anything like that.
Of course not.
1. The one absolutely no one is allowed to sit in, on pain of, well, pain.
2. Well, almost the only night. There was the Midsummer’s incident of 1873.
3. In a polite, restrained fashion. Naturally.