Snow White and Rose Red (2/2)
Title: Snow White and Rose Red: The Morning After
Author: clodia_metelli, posted elsewhere by the frivolous twin.
Rating: T
Pairing(s)/Characters: Crowley, War/Aziraphale
Author's Notes: Another snippet courtesy of possibly_thrice's prompts, because who needs sleep anyway?
Summary: Crowley walks in on the morning after the night before.
Disclaimer: I don't own Good Omens and I make nothing from this except my own entertainment.
Word Count: 565
The first thing Crowley saw on entering the bookshop (which had been shut, at half ten on a Wednesday morning, not that this surprised him at all: knowing Aziraphale's irregular hours, or, rather, minutes, he'd have been surprised to find it open) was what looked like a heap of white feathers where Aziraphale's desk used to be.
Well... mostly white. There was the odd splash of red that might have been wine, or, then again, might not have been. A tremor ran through them as the door, jangling, slammed shut.
The second thing Crowley saw was a pair of slim feet sticking out from the feathers. They definitely didn't belong to Aziraphale. Not unless Aziraphale shaved his legs, anyway.
The third thing Crowley saw (the lenses of his dark glasses were dripping from their frames by this point) was copper hair spilling down the desk in a bloody torrent... and then War lifted her head from the desk and gave him her patented scarlet smile, the one that should have been sucking cherries from cocktail sticks in some slinky bar on some sunny island while strong men fought each other for a glance of her orange eyes.
"Hi," she said. "So you're the demon."
"I," said Crowley blankly. "Uh. I -"
A groan emerged from the disordered feather-heap. "Oh, my head..."
"Aziraphale," said Crowley, disbelieving despite the lack of dark glass in front of his face, "Aziraphale, is that you?"
The feathers twitched. "Mph..."
War extricated herself with a slither so sinuous that Crowley would have been obliged to admire it for atavistic reasons, even if he hadn't already been very obviously admiring completely different attributes. "What a gentleman," she purred, somehow acquiring the barest minimum of clothes in approximately two seconds and a great deal of tantalising but expertly non-explicit skin. Well, there might have been a hint of nipple in there somewhere. Nothing seemed to be registering very clearly for Crowley at the moment. "I knew the angel would only have respectable friends."
"Guh," said Crowley, who had generally escaped accusations of respectability during his demonic career and would probably have faced a reprimand if anyone below him in the lowerarchy had been listening in at that exact moment.
She was pulling on her boots: leather to the thigh, stiletto spikes five inches at the least. "Let's do this again sometime," she said to the quivering feathers. "Say, next Wednesday?"
"Mph..."
War gave him a lick of a kiss that smeared scarlet lipstick over the white feathers without, Crowley was just capable of noticing, smudging her perfect smile in the slightest. She bent to pick up a sword in its sheath from the floor.
"See you around," she said, with a wink that wiped out what remained of Crowley's higher brain functions, and stalked out.
Silence followed, mostly because Crowley was occupied with trying to pick up his jaw. After a moment, Aziraphale's wings parted and the angel's pallid face appeared. He looked rather as though he was about to throw up.
They stared at each other.
"Um," said Aziraphale. "Uh."
A skimpy garment lay crumpled beneath the desk. Their eyes fell on it at the same moment. It was red and lacy. War had left her knickers behind.
She had left her knickers behind. In the angel's bookshop.
Crowley took a deep breath.
"You lucky bastard," he said. "You lucky, lucky, lucky bastard!"
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