A/N: I just finished reading Good Omens for the first time ever. Damn, that was a good book; totally on my favorites list. Figured I might write some fanfic to pass the time at school. Whether or not it's any good is debatable; nothing actually happens, just a bunch of talking. I think I've found myself another fandom, though.
Rated For: Slash, mild language if you tilt it 90-degrees or so.
DISCLAIMER: Aziraphale and Crowley are not mine, and are the sole property of the ineffable misters Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.
Men-Shaped Creatures
"What's wrong, angel? You seem glum." (1)
"Oh, it's nothing," Aziraphale muttered. "Nothing you would understand, anyway."
Crowley raised a cynical eyebrow. "Oh really? Try me, then."
Aziraphale took a deep breath. "Well, earlier today, I was walking through a particularly busy section of London, really very crowded. In all the hustle and bustle I accidentally bumped into a man and caused him to spill his mocha latte (2)."
"Pff. Is that all? You've gotten yourself all wound up over nothing?"
"Well, no. After I refilled his drink and apologized, he pushed me away and he-he…"
"Yeah?"
"…He called me a 'bloody faggot.'" (3)
"And you're upset because…?"
Aziraphale stared at him "Wouldn't you be upset if someone called you a bundle of sticks?"
Crowley shook his head and laughed. "Oh, angel… that's not what it means anymore."
"It's not?"
"Nope." And Crowley proceeded to tell him exactly what it did mean.
The color drained from Aziraphale's face. "Oh, dear. W-well that's much worse then…"
"How d'you figure?" Crowley was very much enjoying this.
"Because I'm not gay!"
Crowley feigned sweetness (4). "You're not? Well, I never would have guessed."
Aziraphale ignored him. "I may be impeccably dressed and have a certain manner of speaking…"
"So you're a pansy, then."
"Exactly!" Aziraphale agreed hastily. "But I'm not a poofter."
"Don't see what the difference is." Crowley grinned.
The angel glowered at him (5). "Oh, for the love of…! You know very well I haven't got any parts. And neither do you," he added.
"Hmm. Dually noted."
"Technically speaking, we haven't even got any urges!"
"Oh, I wouldn't say that..." Crowley said slyly.
"So even if I wanted to do something with a man… or a woman, for that matter… I couldn't, unless I really wanted to. Which I don't."
"…" Crowley mused.
They sat for a few minutes in contemplative silence (6).
This was eventually broken by Crowley.
"Well, how about a man-shaped creature?"
"Hmm?"
Crowley rolled his eyes (7). "You heard me. Men-shaped creatures? Are you into those, by any chance?"
"I-I don't see what you're getting at." Aziraphale was rather puzzled.
"Hmm." Quicker than was humanly possible (8), Crowley leaned forward and pressed his lips against Aziraphale's, parting them with a snakey tongue.
"Mpfftr!" protested Aziraphale, though he secretly enjoyed it (9).
Crowley broke away long enough to chuckle: "Nope. Not a poofter at all."
To which Aziraphale replied: "Definitely not."
FIN
(1) Crowley was tipped off by the mini rain cloud above Aziraphale's head. It had a certain proclivity for hailstorms.
(2) Aziraphale was secretly very glad that none of it had gotten on his new suit.
(3) The man had made further use of his quite colorful vocabulary... but such words were just too dreadful for the angel to repeat.
(4) Which was rather hard for Crowley to pull off, being a representative of Hell and suchlike.
(5) See above footnote, change where needed.
(6) Silence in which Aziraphale thought about his mint condition Nostradamus collection, and Crowley wondered whether or not his Mussorgsky tape had been left in the Bentley for too long.
(7) Or perhaps he didn't. Rather hard to tell with those sunglasses in the way.
(8) But quite demonly possible.
(9) Especially the tongue.
A/N: Loved it? Hated it? Footnotes any good? Review either way, and tell me what you thought!
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