I recently listened to a certain Queen song for the first time, and Queen leads to thoughts of Good Omens, and thus, this fic was born.
This is my first, sad attempt at a song fic, so enjoy, if you can. Much thanks to the God, Freddy Mercury for the song, Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy, which I do not own.
You guessed it folks, this is SLASH! Male/male, gay goodness, what ever you call it, here it is. But then you are reading Good Omens fanfic. You already knew that. After all, what else would you have come here for; Madame Tracy/Shadwell?
Thanks much to Messrs Pratchett and Gaimen. They are the geniuses whose creations I borrow and play with for a while.
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I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things
We can do the tango just for two
I can serenade and gently play on your heart strings
Be your Valentino just for you
It shocked him sometimes, just how romantic Crowley could be. He had once even tried to take Aziraphale dancing, but they could not find one place that would be willing to play appropriate music for the gavotte, so they had ended up dancing badly to a Queen song. But, he supposed that maybe more of himself had rubbed of on his demonic other half than would ever be spoken of.
He never did it in front of anyone else. Hell, Aziraphale hardly ever sang in front of him, only if he was sick and in need of mend, or when thoughts of the Apocalypse that almost was, but then wasn't dragged him into the pits of despair. Still, Aziraphale had a voice that could rival His. But, he supposed he was biased.
Ooh love - ooh lover boy
What're you doin' tonight, hey boy
Set my alarm, turn on my charm
That's because I'm a good old-fashioned lover boy
Mornings. Waking up to Crowley was never fun. He imagined that that they would never be, but he could deal with it. Nothing could ever beat those few minutes before Crowley awoke and began demanding coffee and growling at his plants. In those few minutes before consciousness, Crowley's angelic roots shown through like the sun, and he seemed to be truly at peace.
Nights. Nights with Aziraphale were amazing. He was always surprised at how untamed his angel could be. (Not to mention how flexible.) At night he could see just how an angel could fall, but never see how Aziraphale could, not when everything that ever happened between them stemmed from love.
Ooh let me feel your heartbeat (Grow faster, faster)
Ooh ooh can you feel my love heat
Come on and sit on my hot-seat of love
And tell me how do you feel right after-all
I'd like for you and I to go romancing
Say the word - your wish is my command
He thought, not for the first time, that Crowley would do anything, short of going into a church and the like, for him. There was devotion and love in the way Crowley looked at him. Something that poets and song writers try to convey, but with all the time in the world, could never get right.
He was occasionally surprised by how forceful his angel could be. It was a side of Aziraphale that most people never saw, He was quite sure, in fact that Aziraphale had never shown that side of himself to anyone else. To the rest of the world and beyond, Aziraphale was meek, kind, and unobtrusive. How wrong they were. But then, no one had ever seen Aziraphale make an effort besides himself.
Ooh love - ooh lover boy
What're you doin' tonight, hey boy
Write my letter
Feel much better
And use my fancy patter on the telephone
What was odd was picking up the telephone in the tiny book shop, only to have Crowley come out. Literally. While a visit was never discouraged, and always appreciated, it was still odd to have one's significant other ooze from the earpiece of a phone.
What was odd was picking up a note from Aziraphale, and hearing his voice, as clear as if he was in the room. Aziraphale's voice was nice, but he missed the real thing. And Aziraphale wondered why he would always get a visit on those mornings that he left for the shop before good morning kisses were exchanged.
When I'm not with you
I think of you always
(I miss those long hot summer nights)
I miss you
When I'm not with you
Think of me always
Love you - love you
It had been so long since they had been apart for more than a day or so. The memories of the longer times still stung, though. It was always during one of the darker periods in history, when their respective bosses wanted them on other sides of the Earth. He thought the hardest was whenever the humans were using god as an excuse. They had no idea, none what so ever. He had just needed someone who understood. Someone whose shoulder he could cry on.
What Aziraphale didn't know, wouldn't know, couldn't know, was how he cried when he was alone for months, years on end. How he had cried when the humans being humans got to him. How he cried because no one around him understood, because they all thought everything was peachy-keen. How he cried for everything, the world, the innocents, the blackness that had invaded his once-white wings, and his angel. Above all, how he cried for his angel. But Aziraphale would never know, because demons just don't cry.
Hey boy where do you get it from
Hey boy where did you go?
I learned my passion in the good old
Fashioned school of lover boys
Lust was never something that they taught him how to deal with Above. Love sure, love was pure, holy. He felt love of course. He felt lots of love. He loved his books, plaid, and Crowley. Especially Crowley. But it was the lust that drove his actions sometimes. Lust had him respond to Crowley thrusting into him in actions that could be called 'making love', 'fucking' (though he never felt quite right saying this), or at times 'border line abuse'. Lust now made 'making an effort' as natural as drinking tea. It was freaking him out.
He wasn't quite sure how to deal with love. He knew that it wasn't natural for someone in his position. Lust was just fine. Before he finally got his head out of his ass and realized that he and his angel were closer than any two entities from apposing companies, if you will, should be, he had never had any problems with lust. Generally he made an effort, blew or was blown, had a bit of fun and left. There was never any attachment. It was easy. But now he had to deal with love. Love made him want to hold Aziraphale's hand when feeding the ducks. Love made him kiss Aziraphale and not care who saw. It was freaking him out.
Dining at the Ritz we'll meet at nine precisely
One two three four five six seven eight nine o' clock
I will pay the bill, you taste the wine
Driving back in style, in my saloon will do quite nicely
Just take me back to yours that will be fine (Come on and get it)
The Ritz had always been their place. Ever since, how long had it been open, 1905, 1906? He and Crowley had come to the Ritz. When they hadn't been in touch, one of them would go to London and eat in the Ritz. Soon enough, the other would come and the world would be okay again. The Ritz was the unspoken meeting place. The Ritz was also, while they were both drunk off of their respective asses, they had shared their first kiss.
The Bentley had always been special. It was a place where things happened. It was the place that had had first transported the antichrist-to-be-named in, it was the car that helped him save the world, or at least get to where he needed to be to save the world. It was also the place where he had first told Aziraphale that he loved him, and the Bentley was where he realized that maybe, just maybe he could stop worrying quite so much about his big, bad boss and concentrate on the blond, blue eyed angel about 2 inches in front of him.
Ooh love, (There he goes again just like a good old-fashioned lover boy)
Ooh lover boy
What're you doin' tonight, hey boy
Everything's all right
Just hold on tight
That's because I'm a good old-fashioned fashioned lover boy
He felt something tickling his face. Crowley's wings had come open in the night again. There was a long black feather that brushed his cheek every time Crowley exhaled in his sleep. With every slight snore, the feather lifted and fell. Instead of adjusting the wing, or waking Crowley, Aziraphale just nestled a bit deeper into his sleeping demon's side, and drifted back to sleep.
He had woken up as Aziraphale shifted, but knew that if he was found out, Aziraphale would commence bustling about the apartment, making coffee, tea, toast, and generally being his overly helpful self. But he never was able to watch his angel sleep. He had never known that it was possible for one to look extra sweet, extra, innocent (which Aziraphale most definitely was not), and generally extra angelic, however it seemed that Aziraphale had managed it. Occasionally, it made Crowley feel almost sad that he fell. Almost.
With a quick flick of his hand, Crowley snuggled back into Aziraphale, and their song began to quietly play from unseen speakers in the apartment.
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Good, bad? Want to flame? Well click that little blue button, or else. Or else what? Or else… Crowley will have a badly written, overly sappy relationship with Hastur. Click that button, folks. Save everyone's favorite plant-abusing demon.
Ah, I also have extra little GO pot bunnies. If people like this, I might use this post to put up random drabbles. So if you like and want more, (almost certainly non song fics, unless someone really wants one) review and tell me.