Hi there! Yes, this fic is still going on. I know, I know… It should have been updated about 2 months ago. Things got a little crazy. There were the holidays and all that nonsense, and then I went on an 18 book Discworld binge (not to mention I think I read all the City Watch novels at least twice). I had only read one or two from the series previously. I guess you could say I finally figured out what all the fuss was about. So I slacked off, but I don't intend to leave this unfinished! I'm pretty sure I might have promised, after all. Anyway, might as well get on with it.
Note: I think I fixed the problem with the italics. At least I hope. We'll have to wait and see. Stupid Computer….
Warnings and Disclaimers: I don't own Good Omens, Aziraphale, Crowley, or anything cool like that. Three beers and a whiskey & ginger ale were consumed during the writing of this chapter. Fair warning!
Why Sleepst Thou Crowley?
Chapter 3: Liquid Lapse
It was around 9pm, and the first rays of moonlight had just started to creep through the bedroom window. The faint beams cast a sparse and silvery illumination over the man-shaped creature sleeping deeply upon the bed. A thin stream of drool glimmered at the corner of the creature's mouth as his head rolled lazily from one side to the other. The creature was in fact a demon, and he had been napping for approximately two hours. He had just entered the deepest phase of his sleep as he murmured something unintelligible and snuggled his head a little deeper into his pillow. If one looked closely enough, they might be able to see that the eyes beneath the demon's closed lids appeared to be moving about. They seemed to be swiveling from side to side, up and down, as though he were reading something written on the back of his eyelids.
As a matter of fact, Crowley was having a dream.
This may not seem odd, but for a demon to have a dream is especially significant. Crowley was the only demon in recorded history to take up sleep as a hobby; this should illustrate the extreme rarity of a dream originating in the subconscious of a demon. There were a few other demons that had experienced the phenomenon of dreaming, most often after being knocked unconscious by another demon. On these rare occasions, the demon in question usually dreamed about exacting violent revenge against the soon-to-be unfortunate associate who had assailed him. Vivid and realistic, yes. But not especially whimsical, one might say.
The strangest dream ever had by a demon (up to this point) was one had by Crowley during his 19th century slumber. It had been about kittens waging an epic, merciless, very ruthless war against puppies, and was the real reason Crowley had awakened in 1832. Not to go to the lavatory as he usually attested. That had been one hell of a dream. Maybe even two hells.
The dream Crowley was currently having was not a nightmare by ordinary standards. Considering the surprising content, it would be rather hard for Crowley himself to categorize, had he been at all interested in doing so. Even demons usually dream about things that are already buried somewhere in the recesses of their minds; it was becoming apparent that Crowley had been successfully repressing some rather interesting imagery. Of course he wasn't worrying about things like that at the moment. He was busy enjoying the dream.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
CROWLEY'S DREAMLAND
The demon, currently lounging about somewhere deep within his own subconscious, shot up into a sitting position and looked around in confusion. The last thing he remembered was laying down atop the (perpetually) freshly laundered linens on his bed in London. To memory, his bedroom did not in any way resemble a warm and airy moonlit garden. Crowley's plants were beautiful, but he was relatively sure that not even he could frighten them enough for them to grow on quite this grand a scale.
Fragrant night-blooming flowers were all around, shining with the celestial sheen of midnight. The branches of a sizeable tree swayed gently in the warm breeze, shading the demon from the direct rays of the moon above.
This was interesting. He seemed to have mislaid some of his clothes, as well. All of them, to be precise.
Ah, of course – A Dream. That figured.
Crowley relaxed, observing that he appeared to be perched upon a bed of soft leaves and flower petals, some of which were scattered across his lower half. This seemed nice enough. Certainly better than the dream he'd experienced in 1832. Thus satisfied, he lay back down upon the verdant bed, closing his eyes and rolling onto his side. Snuggling down into the cool leaves, he snaked an arm out to make himself more comfortable and…
Froze.
His eyes snapped open, and he experienced a moment of abject shock as he realized what it was that his innocently questing hand had encountered.
Or, rather, who.
Crowley remained stunned for a few tasteful moments before the grin began to spread across his face.
Aziraphale was laying beside him. And he was asleep.
The demon drew his hand back from where it had met Aziraphale's shoulder. He shifted and propped himself up on one arm in order to better observe the slumbering figure.
Angelic was one word, he supposed. One word, obviously, which did absolutely no justice to the divine perfection that currently met his eyes. The angel was lying on his back, one arm tucked sweetly beneath his head and the other draped across his noticeably naked and leaf-scattered torso. Aziraphale's hair was the usual disarray of golden curls, but the subtle light made them glow with a silvery illumination. At least Crowley thought it was the moonlight. He was willing to admit that it could be that natural (supernatural?) unearthly radiance that was commonly attributed to angels. In a moment of surprising clarity, the demon realized that he really didn't care which it was. Shadows cast by the branches above danced across the pale expanses of the angel's skin.
Crowley sighed, concentrating on the contours of Aziraphale's face. He almost laughed as he imagined what Aziraphale would say if he were awake – surely something like, "Are there crumbs on my face?" or "Why are you looking at me like that?"
…Why…
The demon didn't think about why as he brushed a stray curl away from Aziraphale's temple. This was a dream after all, and demons on the whole spent enough time when they were awake dishing out the temptation that Crowley figured it wouldn't hurt to be on the receiving end in just one dream. It was almost like field research, yeah…
He tried not to think about being awake as he trailed his fingers from the angel's temple down along the side of his face, admiring the small smile fixed upon his lips. Fascination and curiosity caused Crowley to lean in further as he brushed his thumb across Aziraphale's bottom lip, barely touching. Soft, he thought, as he leaned his face closer. He snorted inaudibly. What a surprise.
The demon let his hand slide down over Aziraphale's neck, caressing the edge of the angel's jaw, eventually coming to rest at the junction of his collarbones. He was examining Aziraphale so closely that their noses were nearly touching. The angel's eyelid's flickered ever so slightly, and a moment later Crowley received the real surprise.
Aziraphale's eyes opened slowly, luminous blue with reflected starlight, gradually focusing and locking with his own.
After a few uncertain seconds, a startled gasp escaped the demon's lips. Crowley found himself paralyzed with excited terror at what he saw looking out of the angel's eyes.
The moment was a shivering liquid lapse.
The plain desire in Aziraphale's eyes perfectly mirrored his own.
END CROWLEY'S DREAMLAND
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Well, there you have it. I'm pretty pleased with the way that turned out. A bit short I know, but it seemed more sensible to end here than to try to transition directly into the next part of the story. Don't worry, there's lots of fun left to come! If anyone's still out there, fire off a review and let me know what you make of it!