Title:
Old Habits
Characters:
Aziraphale, Crowley
Rating:
G
Words:
278
Comments/criticism:
Yes, please.
Notes:
A (very) tentative step into GO-fic, I suppose.
Crowley was driving at breakneck speeds through narrow country lanes, trying to run over as many small animals as possible. Aziraphale had a large, dusty book in his lap and was reading it with his lips pursed, ignoring the swerving and the occasional squeal of the tires. At one point, he had tried to put on some soothing music, but discovered that the tape was a collection of catchy pop ballads instead. Crowley tried to turn it off, but Aziraphale said he rather liked it, so it was still playing.
Crowley was muttering under his breath, and had barely stopped doing so for the hour and a half they had been driving towards nowhere. Aziraphale was only half-pretending to pay attention; he knew that sometimes Crowley needed to yell at someone and drive very quickly and decrease the local wildlife population a little, and he was willing to put up with it. It was just the sort of thing you did, after knowing someone for a few thousand years.
'—and now they're on about not believing the Spanish Inquisition was mine, can you imagine? It's only unimportant people, of course, but if word starts to spread... You know how it is,' Crowley said, and then corrected himself. 'No, of course you don't. You'd never take credit for something you hadn't—er, be suspected of taking credit for something you'd done.'
Aziraphale reached out, without looking up from his book, and placed his hand on top of Crowley's, which was resting on the gearshift between them. Crowley made a noise that sounded like a grunt. Aziraphale smiled and turned a page, humming softly along with the tape deck.