Author's Note: Well Halloween is right around the corner and I decided to scare the shit out of all the Homophobic religious people with the bit of blasphemy- I'm joking! This pairing seriously makes me happy (in my pants) so uh…yeah. First Good Omens fic. First fic on this account in general, actually.
Summary: During the car ride back to wherever the hell Anathema lives; she makes some interesting inquiries about Crowley and Aziraphale. Aziraphale/Crowley.
Warnings: I find it sad how it's somewhat necessary to put these unless you want to get flamed. This story has some faggotry; read it at your own motherfuckin' risk. Oh yeah it has swearing too.
Disclaimer: Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett created this book of amazing shit, not me.
The drive to Anathema's place would've been classified as an awkward silence had the radio been off. Fortunately the radio was actually turned on and was currently blasting Freddie Mercury's voice as he performed Johann Sebastian Bach's 'Good Old Fashioned Lover-Boy', which Anathema was pretty sure wasn't a classical song but she decided to roll with it regardless.
I can dim the lights
Crowley was, despite the soothing sounds of Freddie's voice, still miffed about the tartan straps upon his beloved Bentley. Stupid angel. Crowley cast a withering glance at Aziraphale who sat in the passenger seat.
And sing you songs full of sad things
Honestly now, since when is tartan stylish? It's never stylish. It's bloody stupid.
We can do the tango just for two
And it wasn't even a decent color of tartan, it was a relatively stupid color that contrasted horribly with the black of his car and-
Anathema coughed lightly in the back seat and made eye contact with Crowley through the rear-view mirror. He arched a brow at her and tilted his head so she could see his eyes just over the rim of his sunglasses (Really now, Anathema thought, who wears sunglasses at night?). She shifted in the backseat and fiddled with the seatbelt before speaking.
"Would you do the tango just for two with your friend here?" She gestured to Aziraphale but had not been prepared for the whiplash-stop that Crowley made as the sentence left her mouth. His neck cracked audibly as he turned to look at her with a slight look of…of…some sort of pure rage. His grip on the steering wheel made her feel bad for the car.
"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" He questioned. Aziraphale looked slightly confused beside his good friend.
"I was wondering if the two of you were homosexuals," Anathema said almost nonchalantly. The looked Crowley gave her cause her to lift her hands up in mock-surrender. "I can explain. It's not common for two men to pick up a pretty girl like myself in the middle of the night and not try to pull something. So I just figured…"
Aziraphale's mouth hung open in some form of horror as a red tint crept up his neck and into his cheeks. He then began sputtering in a rather unintelligible way as he tried desperately to form a meaningful sentence. Crowley on the other hand had bristled and had a good many sentences and horrid words ready to be fired at the woman.
Like, 'No Ma'am we aren't in a relationship, Aziraphale here is an angel so he loves all things and can't be gay or straight.'
Or, 'I'm a demon so I hate everything with a burning passion so that's out of the question.'
And, 'Get out of my car before I obliterate you into a pile of ashes.'
But then it dawned on him. The likeliness of him running into this peculiar woman with an equally peculiarly named bike was very, very slim. The likeliness of him being able to have fun with this while embarrassing Aziraphale was very, very high. A grin slipped onto his face as he slid an arm around Aziraphale's shoulders, the angel then made a rather high pitched squeaky noise. Anathema looked somewhat surprised by this but remained silent and awaited Crowley's explanation.
"Actually," The demon leaned closer to the angel with his neck bent at an odd angle to look at Anathema. "We've been together for a few years."
Aziraphale's mouth opened further and his face became redder.
"Crowley!" The angel damn near whined in an exasperated tone.
"Hush, hush dear," Crowley interrupted with the grin still in place. "He's very shy." Crowley explained to Anathema who merely nodded.
"I figured as much," She said somewhat thoughtfully. "Not to ruin on your lovey-dovey parade though, but I really do need to be getting home."
It was Crowley's turn to nod as he extracted his arm from Aziraphale's shoulders and turned the car back on; continuing their journey in the dark to Anathema's…whatever the hell you'd call it. The building they stopped at was somewhat shabby looking and not quite a house. Not quite an apartment either. Crowley shrugged as he got out of the car. He walked at ridiculously brisk pace and opened the door for Aziraphale who in turn grumbled out a quick thanks. Anathema then got out only to find her bike had been mysteriously extracted from its tartan confinements. She shrugged as Crowley had and thanked the two men properly.
"Get in the car, angel." Crowley said in a sickeningly sweet voice as he buckled his own seatbelt.
Aziraphale lost his shit and he lost it fucking hard.
Pulling the key to his bookshop from his pant pockets, he calmly walked towards the passenger side and trailed the key along the Bentley. Only Crowley seemed to hear the screeching sound it made as it cut into his poor baby. Anathema had already disappeared into whatever she lived in. Aziraphale got into the car with a self-satisfied expression.
They drove to the place where the hospital once was and Aziraphale hadn't brought up the little awkward experience. They got shot with paint-ball guns, caused an almost-murder spree, hypnotized a perfectly respectable woman, and avoided the cops and Aziraphale still hadn't brought it up. It was only until they had stopped in front of his little bookshop did Crowley become so unnerved by the lack of Aziraphale's whining did he feel it necessary to apologize.
"You know I was only kidding, right angel?" He questioned and looked at his friend who was clutching a book rather tightly to his chest.
Aziraphale fell silent as his fingers idly stroked the bindings of the book. He bit his lip and his eyes darted about the Bentley before he threw the door open and stepped out, still clutching the book in a vice-grip.
"I was kind of hoping you weren't kidding." He said quickly and walked into his bookshop, after some trouble with his keys, and shut the door quickly behind him.
Crowley sat there, with red cheeks, in the idling Bentley that had its headlights turned on for the first time in years and a confused expression upon his face.
AN: I don't quite like how this turned out but, meh, it was alright. If you guy like it enough there's a possibility I'll put up a second chapter.