Harp Lessons

By Taste of Violets

Disclaimer: I do not own Good Omens. It belongs to Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

Author's Notes: This fic not a drabble, but it is in the style of one. Which means that yes, I know it's short. I hope you like it anyway.

Warning: Slashiness sort of implied, but not really. Don't worry about it.

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Crowley stared.

"You're not," he said.

Aziraphale flushed, but he gazed defiantly back at the demon. "I am."

"Why?"

"Well," said Aziraphale. He folded and unfolded his elegant hands rather awkwardly. "Well. Er. It is what my kind traditionally do, you know."

Crowley raised a skeptical eyebrow over his sunglasses. "You do not play harps, and you know it."

Aziraphale looked miserable.

"The gavotte lessons were odd enough," Crowley reasoned. "This scarcely seems necessary."

"Now listen, my dear boy," Aziraphale said stiffly, "you can hardly stop me from taking harp lessons if I want to."

"But why would you want to?"

Aziraphale bit his lip. "Well – Crowley, don't you think we're – er – going a bit – native?"

Crowley folded his arms. "What if we are? It shouldn't matter to anyone, should it?"

"But," said Aziraphale desperately, "but I need –"

"Need what?" Crowley asked, snaking an arm around the angel's shoulders.

And suddenly, Aziraphale found he didn't need anything else.