Disclaimer: I wrote this. I didn't write Good Omens. If I had written Good Omens, I could publish this in a collection of short Good Omens stories and make lots of money off of myself, because I would buy it if it was a book.
Okay, that made no sense.
Anyway, a summary: Crowley thinks Aziraphale reads too much. So, what's a demon to do? Buy a book!
Dedication: This is dedicated to the amazing ricco-the-penguin, who is my muse in all things, but especially Good Omens. I cannot live up to the fics that ricco-the-penguin writes, but this is as close as it gets, folks. (And that's not even close.)
Here's my baby:
Read Too Much
Aziraphale read books. He read them quite a lot, in fact. He seemed to be forever behind the leather-bound cover of musty old tomes like "The Book of Doom-like Things," or the infamous Lady Bible (which portrayed all the major figures, including Jesus, God, and Delilah, as female).
Crowley did not approve. The angel could be doing much better things with his time, if you asked him. (Even though the Lady Bible was pretty funny.) Crowley had made a promise to himself not to read more than one book a year; graphic novels, of course, did not count. (But Aziraphale never read graphic novels, so that justified them. Sort of.)
Aziraphale had tried to get Crowley to read more. It had worked like a charm. That is, it had worked like an old wives' charm for getting rid of warts by burying a brown stone at midnight on a full moon, a.k.a., not at all. Crowley had likewise tried to get his angelic counterpart to read less. So far, nothing had worked.
On no particular day, Aziraphale had been (what else?) reading on his tartan couch when Crowley slid into the room. (Some snake-like traits are harder to shake than others.) The angel, characteristically, took no notice. He was just at the part in Wyrde Thynges atte thee Wolde's Ende where the volcanic blood turns into Avril Lavigne's face and starts to recite the Good Will Hunting script when the book was snatched out of his well-manicured hands.
Aziraphale looked up, startled and slightly annoyed, into the bright yellow eyes of a very amused demon.
"Crowley, may I please have my book back?" he sighed, in a long-suffering, injured-martyr sort of way. "It's almost at the part where the Good Will Hunting script turns into razors and flays everyone alive."
"No, you may not have your book back," Crowley answered severely, in a long-suffering, injured-martyr sort of way. (Role-playing cycles can be vicious.) "Good Will Hunting was one of yours, wasn't it?"
Aziraphale had the grace (no pun intended!) to blush. "Well, it sort of back-fired. Anyway," he added quickly, his cheeks burning, "Matt Damon is completely yours, and you meant him."
"Ah, yes," the demon said contemplatively. Matt Damon had been one of his not-so-good ideas with all the best intentions. Then again, the road to… Down There is proverbially paved with good intentions. Crowley suddenly looked up out of his reverie to find Aziraphale had taken back his book and was, of all things, reading it! "Talk about getting sidetracked," he thought, furious with himself.
Aziraphale, of course, noticed none of this. He had merely grabbed the first opportunity which presented itself to reclaim his book, which was so very interesting. Silly angel. Everybody knows that if there's one thing you don't do, it's make a demon mad. Why? Because retaliation is what demons are best at. (Actually, demons are best at lots of other things. Retaliation just fit the context.)
The next thing Aziraphale knew, the book had been taken from him (again), and his lap was very full of demon. His face was very full of demon, too.
"You read too much," Crowley hissed against the angel's lips.
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On a not very particular day some slight time after the first not particular day, Aziraphale was sitting on his tartan sofa, pointedly Not Reading. He was waiting for Crowley to come over.
Not Reading being a very boring pastime, Aziraphale decided to take a nap. Then he remembered that he didn't have to sleep. Then he decided, "Bugger it all. I'm bored and I can't read anything, I am having a nap." So, he laid down on the sofe and closed his eyes.
Nothing happened. Well, things happened, but not what Aziraphale had intended to happen (i.e., sleep). These things being numerous in number, only the important shall be stated.
Crowley walked in.
He was carrying a package wrapped in brown paper.
It looked suspiciously like a book.
Crowley gave the package to the recumbent (isn't that a great word?) angel.
"Open it," he said.
Aziraphale opened it.
It was a book.
"It is a book," Aziraphale said reproachfully. "Now Crowley, that's just mean," he continued. "You know I said I wouldn't read so much, and now you give me a book—"
Crowley shushed the angel.
"Shush," he shushed. "Look at the cover."
Aziraphale looked at the cover. His eyes popped ever-so-slightly.
The highly illustrated book was titled The Winged Karma Sutra; or, One Thousand and One Things to Do with Wings.
"I thought maybe we could read it together," the demon purred into Aziraphale's ear.
Aziraphale blushed.
finis
So...
What did you think?
laughs nervously and stands on one leg
Please don't hurt me...
-Seri