Already aware of his Demonic and immoral nature from the age of sixteen, Crowley has accepted that at the age of 21, he must enter a thousand lifetimes of servitude to...Him. Though rather reluctantly. So what - he has issues with authoritative figures, what gives? Aziraphale however, remains blissfully ignorant of his true stature and pointedly ignores the strange happenings that seem to occur around him defiantly. He has no interest in this biblical supernatural nonsense, thank you very much.

I'm diving right into the action, mkay. Ain't nobody got time for that. Future chapters shall provide any needed illumination, I promise.
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN EITHER CHARACTER, NOR THE WORLD OF GOOD OMENS. Thankfully, they both dutifully belong to the radiance of Neil Gaiman and the late Sir Terry Pratchett. RIP Terry, I miss you.

Crowley examined what stood in front of him, somewhat bemusedly. Aziraphale's languid form swirled and bopped around the small recording studio; his glasses were missing, his eyes were closed and his pale-golden locks that curled around his neck and jaw were being tossed from side-to-side as he whirled his limbs about in a bizarre, (bordering on retarded) swaying fashion. Some sort of orchestral composition was singing out of the speaker system glued to the wooden panelled walls - it was apparently familiar to the idiot flailing about in a strangely dignified manner, as Aziraphale hummed along to the different strains in the melody.

Crowley was really trying very hard not to laugh, like really hard. He leaned casually against the door-frame and folded his arms across his chest, then arranged his face into what he hoped was a smug expression, lowered his glasses down the bridge of his nose and cocked a shapely eyebrow. All just in time for Aziraphale to twirl around, arms outstretched, with his eyes glazed open in an exuberant expression of self enjoyment. Sadly his exuberance and body froze as he instantly locked gaze with Crowley. There was a momentary silence before-

"Fuc-

"-king fantastic dancing there, angel." Crowley smiled widely, flashing his white teeth.

Aziraphale faltered and lowered his arms from above his head, a blush swiftly reddening his ivory cheeks. "Shut up," he glowered at Crowley, his good mood vanishing like a popped soap bubble. Crowley couldn't help but laugh at him, earning a deeper flush to rise up Aziraphale's neck.

"Calm down twinkletoes, words from the heart you know. I'm mortally wounded." He grinned and unfolded his arms, sauntering into the room as Aziraphale turned away to the speakers and dialed it down till the music was all but muted. Crowley put a boot on the chair before the mixing table and lifted himself up onto the top; he sat amongst the switches and dials. "Hurt the soul and it clips the wings; I won't be able to fly back to hell."

"Very funny. I thought I was the one with the wings? Or was I misinformed by a lousy, snake-eyed piece of demon crap?" Aziraphale turned back to him, across from the counter, still pink in the face but scowling all the same.

Crowley raised a hand to his chest and clutched at his t-shirt, "Ouch. You're in a lousy temper this morning; I didn't know you were so sensitive about your dance skills. And that's true for both of us I'll have you know - wings aren't just for you do-gooders, we get the deal too."

Aziraphale sighed exasperatedly and rolled his eyes, crossing the room to his canvas rucksack and stuffing the contents back within the depths. "Aside from jealously mocking my dance skills, did you have another intention for visiting me?" the boy asked with his back to Crowley again. Sunlight streaming in from the only window bounced off the back of his white-blonde head, making his hair shine golden. He really is an angel, Crowley mused. He dragged his eyes off of Aziraphale's locks and redirected his attention on answering the question.

"Err.." he started. Shit. What was his reason for coming to find Aziraphale? He just seemed to have done it unconsciously, he knew he was looking for him..But wasn't exactly sure why. Shit. Shit. Bloody shit. Errr think. Angels..? Advice..? The sorry but we're kind of meant to oppose each other from now on chat? I'm meant to beat the shit out of you? Wanna hang out toni-no. No. Music? Music. Safe. "The Music project thing, remember? We still haven't decided a genre for composition due to your whole.." he waved his hand, struggling for the words, "..Freaking out fad." He managed to drawl the words successfully without any hesitation. Sounding bored was a talent that came naturally to Crowley. That and lying.

Aziraphale stiffened, quickly pulling the drawstrings tight on his bag with a snap, then he swung around and stepped forward to Crowley.

"What do you mean my 'freaking out fad'? You say that as if it's unreasonable to be a tad astonished to find out that you're actually a supernatural being and the guy standing in front of you is only out to corrupt you! I think it's more than reasonable, if you're even telling the bloody truth…" his blue eyes were sparkling with annoyance, his skin still a little flushed and his face was a lot closer to Crowley's than it had before.

Crowley grinned at the sudden transition despite himself; Aziraphale was pretty hot when he was angry. Everything seemed enhanced somehow, now that he was in a passion - it was like someone above had suddenly upped the contrast; eyes bluer, expression finer; the crinkles of anger between his brow seemed like cracks set in stone. His mouth was redder and fuller, his lips slightly parted with uneven breaths filtering between them…That lower lip was just begging to be bitten. Crowley struggled to tear his gaze back up to Aziraphale's eyes. He steeled himself.

"Look, angel-" he started, jumping down from the mix table to stand in front of him.

"-Would you please stop calling me that-"

"-Alright, alright angel," Crowley waved him off, "There's no point getting all riled up about it - it's what you are. You can't run from it, angel-cake."

Aziraphale opened his mouth furiously but Crowley cut him off.

"Look. Aziraphale, happy?" he didn't wait for an answer, "You're an angel no matter what you think, you ignore me now and brush me off, hey that's fine. Come your 21st birthday it won't matter - you'll get the call," he gestured above, "The big guy will want your CV and you won't exactly be able to refuse him - unless of course... You find my crowd more attractive." Crowley showed his most devious smile, lips pulling back over his fangs.

Aziraphale scoffed, looking Crowley up and down. "Please, I don't know if I could survive having peepers like the ones you're sporting. Besides, at least I'd be able to help people if you're actually telling the truth. You only exist to tempt people. Even for you, that's weak."

Crowley took his glasses off and hooked them on the neckline of his top. He fixed his slitted pupils on Aziraphale's dilated ones and composed his most smouldering glare. Many people had fled before this look, he knew. A few members of the opposite sex had even jumped his bones a couple of times because of his sweet ability to get under their skin. He wasn't exactly sure which effect he wanted to inflict upon Aziraphale.

"Are you sure you aren't tempted?" his voice was liquid velvet. God he was just like a walking, talking smoking jacket.

Rouge returned to flood Aziraphale's cheekbones, a happening that made Crowley's stomach do a funny jolt.

"Positive," he quivered stubbornly, "Are you?"

Crowley laughed, "You seen these eyes?" he pulled a lower eyelid down with his index finger and waggled his tongue at the angel. "I'm a demon through and through, baby, ain't no escape from that. Besides, I kind of like to watch people flussster." He hissed at Aziraphale, who on cue turned redder than the sun.

"You're disgusting," Aziraphale gave up and shook his head, stepping back from him to lean against the wall across from him. He suddenly looked tired. He sighed, rubbing an elegant hand over his forehead. His fingernails looked well-manicured. Crowley imagined how those fingernails would feel gripping his skin, those long fingers dancing over bare flesh - whoa. Hey.

"You're really not messing with me, huh?" Aziraphale finally asked, his eyes blue and sincere: genuine.

Crowley shook his head and sighed himself, all jokes aside. "'Fraid not."

Aziraphale continued to look at him and then finally nodded. "Well, I guess we have a lot to talk about then. And a composition to create, I assume? Due next Friday, right?"

Crowley smirked, biting down on his lip-ring and shrugged, "Right. Don't sound too excited though, you might burst your halo." Aziraphale hoisted his rucksack onto his back and looked back at the door.

"Oh, I'm excited all right. Angels and Demons - can't wait," and for the first time that day, Aziraphale looked at Crowley and despite his heavy sarcasm, grinned from ear-to-ear, his teeth flashing wildly making him look awfully gay and wicked. And attractive.

Holy fuck.

"C'mon then, cobra. Let's not wait for hell to freeze over; your arse will get cold." Oh, I could get used to this.

Crowley laughed, chewing at his lip. "Right behind you, angel-cake."

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Will be updating soon! ^_^