LOVING THE SINNER © 2011

a Good Omens fanfic by quantum witch
Rating/Genre: PG-13, minor slash, mild language
Characters: Crowley/Aziraphale
Summary: Getting the truth out of a demon takes finesse. Since Aziraphale doesn't have any, finagling works just as well.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, much to my sorrow.
Note: For vulgarweed on the occasion of her Meaning of Life birthday.

Crowley often hummed happily as he drove the Bentley. This was nothing new, but Aziraphale found it amusing, nevertheless.

He'd once pointed out that Crowley was generally more cheerful than the average demon. Crowley had then pointed right back that Aziraphale had extremely limited contact with demons, other than him, and thus wouldn't know an 'average' demon if said demon had walked into the angel's bookshop naked. Aziraphale had chuckled at that, saying his bookshop had a distinct and rather regrettable lack of naked demons...

And the conversation guttered out like a candle doused in holy water.

Much later, when the previous discussion had been 'forgotten' enough, the gentle ribbing began again. They were once more in the Bentley and Crowley once more humming happily, and Aziraphale once more declaring Crowley atypical.

When Crowley again protested that Aziraphale didn't know what real demons were like, the angel countered with several literary examples. At which Crowley scoffed and recited deliciously embarrassing stories – that Dagon pouted when people held their nose as they walked past him because the rank dead fish smell was actually worse than sulfur; that Beelzebub once, while drunk, bemoaned being the Lord of the Flies and wondered why it couldn't be butterflies instead.

"So you see," Crowley laughed, "there really isn't a 'typical' demon. Not that they aren't nasty, especially when under orders from the Boss. And they certainly don't feel the sort of things angels do, not since the Fall."

"What sort of things?" Aziraphale asked.

"Oh you know," Crowley waved his hand vaguely, "that general compassion for all living things, desire to guide the souls of humanity toward goodness, believing that the world ought not to be destroyed in hellfire, sort of whatnot."

"Ah," Aziraphale nodded, "but you don't really feel that way either. Do you?"

"Well, I'm not filled with compassion," Crowley snorted. "Lots of folk don't deserve it. People can be pretty fucking awful, when you get right down to it. Some of the shit they do to each other? Worse than anything hell comes up with. I think I mentioned that, once or thousand times." The demon sneered, "And I've not exactly guided souls toward salvation, except on the days you and I have switched up jobs, and even then I've not really put myself out. You should know that, eh?"

At Aziraphale's raised eyebrow, he continued. "Look, they probably end up no better or worse than they would have on their own. I'm not totally cut out for doing an angel's work," he said with an apologetic shrug. Which he wouldn't admit was also pretty non-demonic of him.

"But believing the world ought to end in hellfire?" Aziraphale said archly, "I think we know how you feel about that one."

"Not for selfless reasons," Crowley replied dryly. "I'd be bored out of my skull without the world to mess about in."

"Mm-hm." Aziraphale remained unconvinced. "I know you, you old serpent. You're not nearly a bad as you pretend."

Crowley grumbled, "Spark of goodness, my arse…"

"I'm not sure that's where it is," Aziraphale chuckled. "Though I could be wrong."

Grinning at the angel's attempted wit, Crowley said, "Like you're all perfect yourself."

"Never claimed to be perfect. Just not evil, you know. I'm still an angel, and I do my best."

"Riiight."

"Anyway, the point. The point is, you've got other qualities that a demon ought not to." With the tiniest smile, Aziraphale said, "For example… you love."

Crowley slammed on the brakes. The Bentley juddered to a halt in the middle of traffic. Aziraphale momentarily worried he would be kicked out of the car, but Crowley restarted and drove onward toward the bookshop. He parked it safely on the forbidden double lines.

"I most cssssertainly do not love," Crowley hissed. His back was painfully, unnaturally rigid. "That'ssss just vile of you to say."

Aziraphale pressed ahead. "It's true though. You… love your car, for instance."

Crowley's spine relaxed. "Ah. Well, that's different, you see. That's just possessiveness. Demons are good possessors, you know, ha-ha. It's more of a sin though. It's pride. I'm proud about having something so unique and special and powerful." He all but purred and stroked the Bentley's dashboard. "It's a perfect fit. Soothing and exciting at once. I feel like I'm a part of it. Like we belong together. Like I'd be rather incomplete without it. Like I'm understood. Like I'd be lost if it was gone…"

A brief and self-conscious moment ticked by.

Aziraphale finally said, softly, "So that's just possession, is it? I wasn't aware it would sound more like a relationship. A rather loving one, you might say."

There was another moment, in which the ticking began to sound more and more bomb-like.

"Yeah, you're right," Crowley said rather morosely. "I'm a terrible excuse for a demon. I do… feel that. You know. Love. Sort of… thing."

Aziraphale nodded, an expression of contemplation on his face as he admitted, "I have rather an unhealthy attachment to books. And other things… But still, loving something isn't so bad, not even for you."

"It is," Crowley shook his head, "demons don't love."

"But you do."

"But I'm not supposed to."

"But you do."

"Oh, sod off."

Aziraphale smiled, and gently needled the demon. "And there are other things you're overly fond of but shouldn't be, aren't there? You love sleeping."

"Sloth."

"You love fine food and wine."

"Gluttony. And alcoholism."

"You love me."

"Lus—"

The silence fell with a leaden boom.

At last, Crowley coughed out, "That was a dirty trick, you bastard."

Cautiously, Aziraphale patted Crowley's hand. "Consider it my bad deed for the day."

"So I owe you a good one, do I?" The corner of the demon's mouth rose to spite itself.

"Hmm, it would probably help to… balance the scales, yes."

"Fine. But I'll also consider it in the 'sins' column for myself," Crowley snarled with resignation, and scooted closer to the angel. "I'll call it wrath, because I'm bloody pissed at you." He grabbed Aziraphale's chin and squeezed it a bit tighter than necessary. "I'll call it greed, because I've been wanting to do this forever and I'm damned well gonna take it out of your hide." He sealed their mouths together and all but unhinged his jaw as if to swallow the angel.

When even they needed air, Crowley raised his head and whispered, "I'll call it envy…"

"Because I tricked you so well?" Aziraphale asked with a breathless grin.

Crowley grinned back, wide and just the littlest smidge adoring. "No, because you're lucky enough you have me."

~ END