A Nightingale Sang On Berkeley Square -- Aziraphale x Crowley. GOOD OMENS AU

demon

warning: tonal whiplash! we will go from the first chapter of this stupid fanfic being emotional and raw to the rest of this being entirely fluff :) i am not apologizing :) 

"So." 

"So?" 

"So, angel." 

"Yes, Crowley?" 

"So, angel, when I said no more naked angels...I meant no more naked angels except you," Crowley said, a seductive look on his face. Aziraphale grew pink. 

"Crowley! That is entirely inappropriate." 

"Oh you're no fun, angel." That was when Crowley ended his physical advances. The two would share a peck or two once in a while but nothing beyond that. After all, they had never been all that touchy feely. This being said, Aziraphale severely regretted rejecting Crowley's advances as he had now been left feeling entirely curious and excited. 

"Nina? Maggie?" Aziraphale visited Give Me Coffee Or Give Me Death for a quick tea and chat with the two. 

"Yes, Mr.Fell?" Maggie said with a warm smile. 

"How do you, erm, initiate physical contact with your partner?" Maggie's face grew increasingly horrified. Nina struggled to hold back a chuckle. 

"Mr.Fell, why don't you try some pick up lines?" Nina offered. 

"Pick up lines?" 

"They are fun, usually suggestive one-liners that let people know you have some degree of interest in them!" Maggie chimed in.  

"Oh well that seems relatively harmless. I shall try these pick up lines as you say." 

"Mr.Fell, here, take this book of pick up lines to help you," Nina said with a chuckle, "my brother got it for me when I told him I had a crush on someone," she added with a wink in Maggie's direction. 

"You have my gratitude, Nina," Aziraphale said with a gleeful smile. He had some reading to do that afternoon for sure. 

Aziraphale sat in his book shop reading the book of pick up lines as Crowley sat and read Pride and Prejudice. 

"Angel, can you believe that Jane Austen wrote this?! What an absolute fiend! Writer by day, felon by night? What a life!" 

"I'm glad you're enjoying it, Crowley." 

"It's rather over the top, don't you think. Just vaguely looking in someone's direction or touching them without gloves on means you have a vested interest in them? Wankers." 

"Well, it is telling of the time. I'm sure you remember how it was in Victorian England." 

"Oh angel, I only ever popped by England to say hi to you, other than that I was never super keen on English culture. Now the Americas? What an absolute fucked up landmine, I love it." 

"Oh Victorian England was so beautiful, Crowley! The balls and the gowns and the beautiful beautiful people and culture and music. Every day was like a dream. It was a kind of magic."  Crowley smiled at that before turning to the radio and playing Queen's A Kind Of Magic.

"Just like right now, angel." For a moment Aziraphale was swept away. He cleared his throat lightly before deciding that it was now or never. It was pick up line time. 

"Crowley." 

"Yes, angel." Crowley stared at him with a look of love. It was so beautiful that Aziraphale nearly forgot what he was to say next. 

"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" Aziraphale thoroughly examined Crowley's expression. He seemed pensive. 

"I didn't really fall. I sort of sauntered vaguely downwards. Nonetheless, of course it hurt, it's hell. There's fire and blood and pain all the time." Aziraphale's eyes grew wide and he came upon the overwhelming urge to give Crowley a hug. 

"Crowley I'm going to hug you." Before Crowley could get out a word, Aziraphale had made his way over to him, bent down to a seated Crowley, and wrapped his arms around his frame. "Damn pick up line," Aziraphale muttered. 

"WHAT?!" Crowley shouted, a bemused look on his face. "You WHAT."  

"That was meant to be a pick up line," Aziraphale murmured. Crowley screamed with laughter, wiping tears from his eyes. 

"Oh angel, pick up lines about angels and supernatural beings don't work on actual supernatural beings, it gets confusing!" 

"I was going for familiarity, oh FINE." Aziraphale huffed. "I hope you know CPR because you took my breath away." Crowley continued screaming with laughter. 

"Oh keep going, angel! Don't stop!" 

Aziraphale grumbled, "If you were a vegetable, you'd be a cute-cumber." 

"OH This is gold!" 

"I quite like that one! I thought it was lovely! Cute-cumber." 

"Of course you think it's lovely, angel," Crowley said fondly, amusement on his lips. "Let me show you how it's done." He pulled Aziraphale close to him, his arms around his waist. Crowley stood up, drawing him in even closer. Their faces were dangerously close to touching. Crowley smirked. "I've heard it said that kissing is the 'language of love.' Would you care to have a conversation with me about it sometime?" Aziraphale turned red but he quickly went from being flustered to gaining a spiteful sense of confidence.

"A conversation won't suffice, we shall need to write a novel together." Crowley attacked his lips almost immediately, gentle enough to ensure Aziraphale wasn't hurt, rough enough to make Aziraphale go crazy. Their mouths moved in harmony, like a perfectly choreographed tango, intense, and heated with passion. It was sloppy and lustful. When they pulled away, Crowley's eyes bored into Aziraphale with a heat he had never seen before. 

"First draft, angel, needs more editing," he drawled out before diving back into the kiss. Before long, Aziraphale's suit was strewn on the ground among various other articles of clothing. They were miracled onto Aziraphale's (now Aziraphale and Crowley's) bed in nothing but their ties (they found it incredibly sexy). They spent all night like that. What can I say? Writing a novel takes some work.