Author's Notes: I don't own anything in this, except for perhaps the idea. Good Omens and the characters herein are © gNeil and pTerry. No offense is meant, so if you are the authors (or their lawyers), please don't sue. Also, I attempted to mimic the writing style in GO, hence the use of footnotes.
"Wanna have lunch tomorrow?"
"Of course, dear. Around 12:30?"
"That's fine. Bye, Angel."
"Bye, Crowley." Aziraphale groaned when Crowley disappeared into thin air. He hated it when the demon did that
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Fine Lines: Chapter Three
Aziraphale sighed and examined his immaculate nails for the nth time. Crowley was late, again. Not that he ever expected the demon to be early or on time, but it still bothered him. Taking a sip from the cup of cocoa (the angel had such a penchant for sweet things) he glanced out the window, watching the drizzle turn to an unexpected thunderstorm, people dashing for cover. He wondered if the thunderstorm was Crowley or just a natural storm.
"If Crowley did what?" a sopping wet demon asked, sitting down across of the angel.
Aziraphale blushed faintly; he hadn't realized that he had spoken aloud. "Nothing, my dear…just pondering the weather."
"Ah." With a flick of his wrist, the demon was dry, making Aziraphale wince. "Really, Angel, there's no need to get upset, no mortal will have noticed that."(1)
"I…well…I ordered us both a cup of cocoa." Aziraphale pushed the still steaming cup in front of Crowley, avoiding his gaze.
"Thank whomever for small miracles," Crowley grinned in amusement, the angel kept his cocoa warm for him.
"Yeh., sure." 'Zira traced a mindless pattern on the table, drawing something in the bit of spilled cocoa.
"Aziraphale, if I didn't know you any better, I would think you're avoiding me," Crowley declared after a short(2) silence passed between them.
"How can I avoid you if I'm sitting right here?!" Aziraphale snapped and then stared blankly at his cocoa mug.
"'Zira…" the demon said in an annoyed tone. "What's gotten into you? You know as well as I that you haven't fallen, so what's the matter?"
Aziraphale sighed. "Nothing—it's just—nothing, nevermind." Draining the last of his drink, he stood and started for the door.
"Wait. Stop." Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's arm and turned him around to face him. His sunglasses had disappeared momentarily, and snake eyes bored into deep cerulean ones.
"Let go of me!" the angel demanded, once he had gotten over the sudden shock of seeing Crowley's eyes.
"No. Not letting you go until you tell me what has you all out of sorts, Angel."
Aziraphale decided that he was imagining the concern in Crowley's voice and shook his head. "There's nothing wrong, therefore, there's nothing to tell."
"Aziraphale! If you don't tell me what's got you so upset, I'll…I'll ruin the ending to that mystery novel you're reading!"
"You wouldn't!" the angel glared as venomously as an angel could.(3)
"I would, and I will. It was Sir Pa-" Crowley was cut off by Aziraphale's sounds of defeat.
"Ok, ok, fine. Don't laugh, demon, or I'll never speak to you again," he said haughtily.
"Get on with it."
" 'm in love with you, Crowley," he mumbled, staring at his shoes. "Angels are supposed to love everything, love thy neighbor and all, but that doesn't matter, does it? You're a blessed demon; you wouldn't love anyone, let alone an angel. You can't, you demons are all about Sins of the Flesh and all that."
Crowley had to suppress a sudden laugh. "Angel, you've got it all wrong. Demons aren't supposed to love. When have I ever followed the rules right?"
Aziraphale glanced up at Crowley. "You're saying…"
"That I love you, Angel, yes." Crowley smiled. "Can I kiss you, or will you spaz?"
Aziraphale laughed musically and answered the demon by kissing him first.
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1: No one noticed, except for an odd fellow in the corner who proceeded to send the story to the National Enquirer, and therefore, was regarded by the general public as a nutter.
2: Short being a very relative term in terms of two immortal beings.
3: Which was not at all. In fact, it was more of a vauge attempt at being an annoyed look.
