Disclaimer: We all know I don't own the characters – they (and anything else you recognise) belong to Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.
It was a July night, and Crowley and Aziraphale were passing the summer evening in a small country pub. Even with the windows open it had that curious smell of country pubs everywhere; a mix of smoke, beer and (for some reason) leather. In between the two creatures sat an oak table that had seen many better years and had delivered many splinters, two beer mats, two glasses, and a bottle of never-ending wine. The angel tapped the corner of one beer mat on the table and stared into space.
Crowley glanced at his friend, and then turned back to his glass. He considered turning the wine into something stronger, but then realised that with Aziraphale's inattention, he could probably get away with some low-scale tempting. Especially as the semi-drunken people at the bar were so…easy. With a surreptitious flick of a finger, Crowley sent a wave of temptation, a craving, towards a swaying figure on a bar stool. He grinned behind a hand as the drunk fumbled in his jacket. A quick glance at his drinking partner confirmed the angel was still – well – up in the clouds.
The demon's eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses as the bartender began to make his way towards their table. Without missing a beat, he changed course and began collecting beer bottles from the table next to them. Crowley spotted a group of middle-aged women in the corner and sent another craving towards them. A designated driver spontaneously downed three shots before ordering a beer. The angel was still paying no attention, despite the rise in illicit behaviour in the room. The bartender deliberately short-changed an under-age drinker. Nothing. This called for drastic action. Crowley would not be ignored.
Languidly, the demon stretched, one hand searching in his jacket. It found the little box, and pulled it out, removing a cigarette which lit automatically. He blew a lungful of smoke at the angel, who's eyes widened as he came out of his daze and surveyed the room, now swamped with unlawful activity.
"Crowley! What have you done?" Aziraphale looked a little wild as he attempted to instil some goodness back into the pub's clientele. Crowley smirked at the angel's flapping, and took another drag. Finally Aziraphale gave up. Then all hell broke loose.(1)
The door of the pub slammed open, and two police officers entered. They began dealing out smoking fines, telling drunken people to go home, and cautioning under-age drinkers. As the icing on the cake, they arrested the landlord. The angel sat in shock as the demon carefully blended into the background, cigarette still lit, enjoying his flaunting of the law. Eventually, the pub quietened as every punter meandered home, and the landlord was taken away.
The demon and the angel were alone. Aziraphale gaped, then turned to his friend, questions racing through his mind. Finally he settled on one.
"Crowley? Since when do you smoke?"
"Well, you see angel, a week ago smoking was merely annoying and therefore unworthy of my time. Now it's illegal, and therefore so much better."
(1) Figuratively, of course.
A/N: I would love it if you leave some feedback!
Also – for those non-British people out there, on 1st July 2007 it became illegal to smoke in an enclosed public place in England, including offices, restaurants and pubs. But I can't imagine Crowley would obey.