This is my first try at a Good Omens fanfic. If it gets a good responce I'll try to work on a Plot Bunny.
This story is rated PG-13 cos of drunkenness and m/m romance.
ADDED NOTE TO ALL READERS, Trillions Tomo-chan AND dragu-chan ESPECIALLY:
Agh! *staggers* You know what? I may have inadvertently plagiarized (or stolen an idea, or something) from the story "Faltering Rain" by Trillions Tomo-chan. If I did, I am so so so sorry, but I really didn't even think I was. I read "Faltering Rain" a few months ago, and I honestly wasn't even thinking of it when I wrote this (I just thought that Callahan, the priest, confessing was a great part and that I wanted to write Aziraphale doing the same thing, and it made sense for it to be in a church), but now that I re-read it, and then re-read "Confessional," I think I was inspired by "Faltering Rain" quite a bit, too. After all, I guess the desecration of the church in both stories (thereby letting Crowley enter) is too much to be a coincidence. Again, I am so sorry, so I must thank Trillions Tomo-chan here for his wonderful story which inspired mine to some degree (go! read it! now!), and dragu-chan, too, for pointing out the similarities to me so I could post this apology.
Sorry again!
A man stood in the church's aisle, looking around. The place had been attacked, desacrated: paint all over the walls, cloth torn to shreds, the pulpit, confessional booth, and most of the pews smashed. A cold wind blew through the shattered stained-glass windows, and the man shivered, almost falling over as a result.
His name was Aziraphale.
He was drunk.
He had gotten drunk earlier, but had snapped out of it very quickly when some street punks tried to rob him. They'd had a rather unpleasent surprise, what with him sprouting wings and all, but they had managed to hit him a few times. The fight had left him unpleasently sober, and he had immidiately got to work on getting drunk again.
This, time, though, it wasn't working. He was alone with his thoughts, and his thoughts, while pleasent, were frightening. In fact, the fact that they were pleasent was what made them frightening.
Aziraphale staggered over to one of the few unbroken pews, trying to ignore the graffiti on it. He sat down, hesitated a moment, then gave in. Why not? It might make him feel better.
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
Of course, Aziraphale, being an angel, could talk to Him whenever he wished -- though of course He never gave clear answers. This confession was rather pointless, as He might be listening and then again He might not -- though of course He knew everything that was going on everywhere at every second -- which was a thought that was, at the moment, not all that comforting.
It has been... 279 years since my last confession.
Had it been that long? Yes, the last time -- the first time -- Aziraphale had confessed was in August of 1772. It had been a very long time since he'd felt the need. It wasn't like he regularly practiced in the Seven Deadly Sins. Of course, if being completely and utterly wasted was a sin, he would have been in big trouble more than once.
I'm drunk and I'm a lousy angel, Father.
Aziraphale hated to admit that last part, but it was true. His partner -- his friend, really, his closest friend -- was a demon. Both of them had helped stop Armageddon, and that really ticked off the Metatron and Beezlebub.
Horrible as it was, it was a semi-comforting thought that, if Aziraphale was a lousy angel, Crowley really wasn't that good of a demon. Maybe that made a difference...
The Seven Deadly Sins: Envy, Wrath, Gluttony, Sloth, Greed, Pride, and--
I have had lustful thoughts...
No. If he was going to confess, he was going to do things right. He wasn't going to lose his nerve halfway through. He would finish the thought, even if he never said it aloud.
But it was hard.
I have
Say it.
I
Say it now, or you never will.
I have had lustful thoughts of a demon.
A sense of misrable relief rushed through him. But his thoughts wouldn't stop there. Tears pricking his eyes -- crying was another thing he hadn't done in centuries -- the angel buried his face in his hands.
I want Crowley, I need him, I
I love him
I love the demon Crowley, Father.
Though he'd never admited it, even to himself, until now, he had loved Crowley for a long time -- since the fifteenth century, at least. Nothing could change that. He'd tried to keep from loving him, but it was impossible, even when Crowley did evil things, or was being obnoxious. Not only could Aziraphale never stay mad at him, but lately the angel couldn't even get him out of his mind.
Strange, frightening thoughts and urges, both terrible and wonderful...
Is it so terrible? Is it wrong? I know it is, but
I can't help it.
"Forgive me, Father--" he began aloud, but a hissing sound by his ear stopped him:
"I didn't think angelss needed to confesss."
Aziraphale almost fell off the pew. Crowley was sitting beside him, a smirk on his face. Aziraphale felt himself blush.
"We don't need to, I just wanted to," he replied, as primly as he could manage, and stood up -- and ended up sitting back down very fast, dizzy. He'd forgotten he was drunk. Crowley looked amused, and a little... what? Concerned?
"Confessing and faced," the demon said. "And bleeding. Did you know you're bleeding?"
"No," Aziraphale replied honestly. One of the teens who'd tried to rob him must have hit him better than he'd thought. He quickly purged the alchohol from his system, wincing a little.
"Well, you are," Crowley said, reaching out a hand. Not meaning to, Aziraphale recoiled. "Hey," Crowley protested, looking hurt.
"I... not right now," Aziraphale said lamely. His head was spinning.
Lord I can't have him touch me I can't I don't know what I'll do--
"Why not?" Crowley was obviously trying to look nonchalant, but he still looked hurt for some reason. Trying to ignore a pang of guilt, Aziraphale thought fast.
"I can heal myself," he said.
"You said 'not right now.' And you can't heal yourself if you don't know where you're hurt," Crowley pointed out. He was right. The angel shrugged, uneasy.
"Fine. Where is it, then?" he asked. Crowley didn't answer. He was looking at him intently, and Aziraphale averted his gaze. The demon was making him very uneasy.
Crowley grinned suddenly, somehow both snakelike and gentle at the same time. He leaned foreward; Aziraphale wanted to kiss him, or to lean away, or possibly both. He did neither. "I am not going to hurt you, angel. Now, will you let me touch you?"
Aziraphale didn't, couldn't, reply. Crowley must have taken that for an assent. He reached up with one hand, stroking the angel's temple. Now that Aziraphale knew where the cut was, it stung; but before he could heal it Crowley moved, licking the wound gently.
Oh, my...
Crowley leaned back, looking Aziraphale in the eyes. The angel couldn't look away. Crowley looked serious for a moment, then smiled. "Ssee? That wassn't sso bad."
"You're hissing," Aziraphale said weakly. His heart was racing, and he felt intoxicated again, though this felt different than being drunk. It felt better, and cleaner, without any side affects... except the horrible guilt.
What am I doing?
"Are you complaining?" Crowley asked, not blinking.
Yes, say yes, tell him to leave, don't talk to him, don't fall--
"No," he said softly, "I'm not."
"Good." Crowley closed the distance quickly, kissing him, soft but insistant. Part of Aziraphale said no, and part of him said yes, and for a moment he didn't know which to listen to. His resistance faltered, and he found himself kissing back.
Then he pushed Crowley away, a bit harder than he meant to. This time, the demon practically fell off the pew, but caught his balance, glaring at the angel with a mix of hurt and anger. "What was that for?"
"Lust is one of the Seven Deadly Sins," Aziraphale said, aware that the arguement sounded flat and rehersed, aware that his voice was breathy and pleading.
For almost a whole minute Crowley appeared to consider that, obviously trying to figure out what to say. Then he smiled slightly. Aziraphale was expecting arguement, or maybe even action, on the demon's part, but Crowley simply said, "Love is one of the Seven Heavenly Virtues."
There wasn't anything Aziraphale could say to that. So he tried sidestepping it, and said forcefully, "Don't try to tempt me."
"I wouldn't," Crowley replied, and it was obvious he was telling the truth. "I wouldn't hurt you, I'm not trying to tempt you. I love you, Zira."
He can't. He can't love me, I can't, we
we can't--
Aziraphale tried to say something, anything, he didn't know what, but he couldn't.
I'm falling, or I'm falling in love, or both, or they're the same thing.
"Aziraphale?"
Now Crowley looked worried, and for some reason Aziraphale almost laughed. He knew what had to happen now. For once, it wasn't a question of Good and Evil, or even Right and Wrong. He didn't know what was Right and what was Wrong anymore. But he knew what was simply right.
"I love you, Crowley," he said.
Crowley looked startled for a second, then grinned. "All right, then," he said softly, leaning foreward and brushing his lips against the angel's. The kiss lingered a moment, then he pulled back and stood up. "Let's go, Zira."
"Where?"
"Does it matter?"
"No," Aziraphale said honestly. As they left the church, he let Crowley put his arm around his waist, and even leaned over a little and rested his head on the demon's shoulder.
Even if things aren't Right, they're right. I guess that's something.
ns_tinuvel
***
"Fangirls like you are rising into positions of power. I fear for the future."
--my friend George
"[Hell is] at the O'Hare airport. See you there!"
--Dave Barry