A/N: Um…I really think I should stop my habit of randomly writing fanfiction extremely late at night (I finished this about 1 in the morning) and expecting it to come out how I wanted it. Well, it was close…but I didn't get to write the scene of Crowley beginning to ravish Aziraphale on top of a table after forcefully shoving books off it. Ah well. Such are the woes of writing.

…And, for the record, I was tempted to call this "The Hamsters Made Me Do It!" for a split second, before getting over the thought.

Ah…the summary really sucks in relation to this story, to be honest. I just couldn't think of anything—which is bad, because it's been waiting for nearly twelve hours now. My apologies, but I hope you like it anyway.

Warnings: …Dunno if there's really anything to warn you about. Maybe a little bit of OOC-ness with Crowley at the end.

Disclaimer: …If you think I own Aziraphale or Crowley, there's really something wrong with you. If you think I own the Hamster Dance…well, really, that's even worse.

Summary: It had started out innocently enough, but things had quickly gotten out of hand. Things usually did when the two of them got together.

Aziraphale leaned over Crowley's shoulder, gazing interestedly at the glowing screen before them. He seemed almost mesmerized by the little cartoon figures bouncing on the screen.

"What is this?" he asked breathlessly.(1)

"It's called the Hamster Dance," Crowley returned, a note of amusement making his voice waver ever so slightly. "And you're forgetting to breathe."

Aziraphale immediately sucked in a deep (and highly exaggerated) breathe before slowly releasing it, making Crowley's dark hair wave in the newly formed breeze.

"But…what is it? What's it for?" The angel was probably much more curious than he had any actual right to be. He had, after all, pointedly avoided looking at anything else the demon had deemed an interesting site.(2)

"Entertainment. What else could it possibly be good for?" Crowley explained in the slow way of one who couldn't quite understand just why any explanation could possibly be needed.

"This is supposed to be entertaining?" Aziraphale questioned blankly.

"You're amused, aren't you?" Crowley smirked back.

"That's different!" the angel protested, even if he wasn't quite sure why it was. "And you know it!" he continued as an afterthought, glaring at a head of black hair that he was probably much closer to than was necessary.

The view quickly changed to a pair of yellow eyes staring at him in amusement over a pair of sunglasses. "And what would that difference be, angel?" Crowley asked him with all the innocence a demon could possibly muster.(3)

Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth a few times, turned an unflattering shade of pink, and then muttered something that sounded vaguely like "I do oo rat."(4)

Crowley wanted to cackle. It would have been quite the natural response for him, after all, having gotten the better of Aziraphale for once in what seemed like forever. Rather enjoying the reaction he got from surprising the angel, he dutifully swallowed the sound before it could really reach his mouth.

"We should keep a scoreboard," he said instead, catching Aziraphale off guard. He smirked. "And every time someone gets five in a row, they should get…a prize."

"A prize of what?"

"Whatever he wants, I suppose. But he'd have to get what he wanted from the other. …Or something." Crowley absently began scrolling up and down the computer screen—he'd always gotten a kick out of using the ball thing in the middle of his mouse.

Aziraphale seemed to think that over for a few moments, obviously intrigued with the idea. It almost occurred to Crowley to be worried that the angel would even think on it.

"How about whoever gets five tallies in a row gets to make the other do whatever he wants. And it would have to be an action, not an object."

Crowley narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Okay," he agreed without the slightest thought. He watched in disinterest as a board appeared in thin air with a marker and Aziraphale wrote their names on it in his impeccable handwriting. Once the line separating them (set exactly at the middle of the board, Crowley couldn't help but notice) was drawn in, he said, "Are you plotting something, angel?"

The reply was a pale face once again flushing a bright pink color.

"A point for me, I think," Crowley grinned lazily, and a blood red line appeared on the board under Crowley's name.

"Do you have anything else that I might find interesting, besides this…uh…" The angel floundered about for the words, having quite forgotten what they had been looking at.(5)

"The Hamster Dance?" He pointed casually at the screen. Another bright mark appeared under the demon's name.

Aziraphale very nearly snarled.

It wasn't until hours later—after an entire day filled with near-constant bickering—that someone finally won.

The two had retired, bickering, to Aziraphale's shop soon after spending an evening in a nice restaurant, wherein they'd bickered throughout a lovely dinner. It was as Aziraphale was unlocking his door that the final mark was made.

"…and that is why the answer to life is forty-two!" Crowley announced triumphantly to a suitably disgruntled Aziraphale as the door slowly swung open. A diagonal mark appeared across four other marks, and glowed brightly. However, it still took a few minutes before either bothered to look at the board, but one froze in shock when he finally got around to it.

"I don't believe it," Aziraphale stated calmly. "My dear, I do believe you've gotten five marks."

"Really?" Crowley asked excitedly, and a wicked grin spread quickly across his face. "Finally!"

Nothing the decidedly…well, demonic, look on his comrade's face, Aziraphale closed his eyes as he finally began to regret his idea. "What do you wish me to do, Crowley?" he asked morosely and leaned against the nearest stable object that wasn't an ephemeral being. Even still, he could suddenly feel Crowley's warm presence and a pair of lips disturbingly close to his ear.

"Let me tempt you," Crowley whispered softly.

"I'm serious, Cro—" Aziraphale began, eyes snapping open to glare at when he thought was a bad joke made in incredibly bad taste. But he instead found himself staring in abject horror at an equally serious countenance. Yellow eyes, suddenly devoid of their habitual shield, bored intensely into blue. "Crowley, no! I could Fall because of that!"

"Are you afraid of Falling?" Crowley asked casually.

The entire day had suddenly taken on a different mood. Aziraphale found it very uncomfortable and absolutely terrifying. He glared at the fallen angel before him, wishing he didn't have to tell the truth—or answer the question at all, for that matter.

"Not nearly as much as I'm afraid of shattering once I hit the ground!" Aziraphale snarled in too-righteous anger.

Crowley snaked an arm around his waist in reply, letting his other hand to reach up and caress the angel's face. It was such an un-Crowley thing to do that Aziraphale found himself unable to do anything but stare incredulously into slitted eyes.

"I'll be there," Crowley murmured softly. "When—if you fall apart, I'll be there to gather up your pieces and stick you back together. And I will keep you together, no matter what price I would have to pay. That is my promise to you, my angel…if you want it."

"What would you do if I said I didn't?" Aziraphale asked nervously.

"Leave."

It was a simple, honest reply. If Aziraphale didn't want him—love him, if the angel was honest with himself and, as an angel, Aziraphale usually was—Crowley would go away, and probably never be a part of his existence again. He tried to imagine a life without Crowley, the one constant in his entire time on Earth, in it. He found that he couldn't, and didn't particularly want to.

He sighed softly and wrapped his arms around a very startled, but relieved, demon's neck.

"My dear demon, how could I possibly say no?" he asked.

Crowley smiled his amused smirk and pressed his lips hungrily to his angel's.

And Aziraphale Fell, harder and faster than he had ever thought was possible.

(1) More because he'd forgotten to breathe than because he was all that shocked at what he was seeing.

(2) This was perhaps justifiable as, the first time Crowley had shown the internet to him, he had been snickering over the creation of a prank site that advertised the selling of tiny kittens forced into even tinier bottles. Aziraphale had only forgiven his companion because Crowley had warned him beforehand (repeatedly) that he wouldn't find it nearly as amusing.

(3) That is to say, none.

(4) But was actually "I don't know, you prat."

(5) He had apparently forgotten how to read as well, because he was staring right at the computer monitor, which had the words "Hamster Dance" spread quite prominently across the top of the screen.

A/N: And, for the record, I think you can take the last line either of two ways. One way could be the obvious: loving a demon is a sin and so he becomes a demon and yadda yadda yadda, I might end up writing more for that idea but don't hold your breathe (or forget to breathe, for that matter). The other way is simply Aziraphale falling in love—or at least finally realizing it, which is just about the same thing anyway.

And on a side-note, Crowley's playing-with-the-scrolly-thing scene is based on one of my worst computer habits. But the scrolly-button-thing really is quite entertaining.

…By the way, my apologies for the Hitchhiker's reference. I couldn't resist.