Good Omens FLuff

Of Hissing and Missing (the meaning, not the point) (Tyler_Blackwing)

Word Count- 2,319

It happened first during lunch. During their lunch at the Ritz, to be precise. Both of them happy and fed (Aziraphale a bit more so than Crowley), an attentive waiter ever so often refilling their well-deserved champagne, and he was going on about things he was going to do or read or eat now that they were off the hook for a while. Crowley was looking at him or the decor or the waiter, he wasn't quite sure, but he was listening to his rambling, smiling fondly since they had been served dessert. While he was still talking, he heard the demon make a small, gentle hissing sound he'd never heard until now, trailing off for a second, but not thinking much of it. So he continued talking, even as Crowley very obviously caughthimself hissing – then quickly pressing his lips into a fine line, blushing just the slightest bit. He was seemingly frozen in place and Aziraphale, while citing some great writer's very human depiction of heaven and hell, wondered why his friend was so shy about his hiss.

Not long after, it happened again. They were in Crowley's flat as often as they were in his bookshop, now, Crowley having the more comfortable bed, thus making the flat much more comfortable for sleepovers. Not much comfort for reading, though, he had to admit, so when the demon was still getting ready for their late breakfast, he wandered through the room with all of those beautiful plants Crowley was taking such good care of, humming a happy little melody.

"My, you get more beautiful each day", he sighed toward a rustling corner of the room, brushing the leaves of a ficus with his fingertips. "Even though he is rather strict on you, isn't he? Don't you worry. That's how he is. I am certain he does love you quite a lot."
"No I don't", an annoyed voice drawled from where the demon had appeared in the door.

"Oh, dear! Speak of the devil", Aziraphale chuckled, glancing over with a smug grin.
Crowley snarled at him. "Bastard. Also, don't tell falsehoods, you evil Angel", he scolded, much softer than expected. Then he raised his voice a bit. "Those cowards don't deserve love, 's long as they keep pulling those stupid stunts! Leaf spots, Angel, and they sure as hell won't stop getting 'em if you start spoiling them rotten."

"Yes, Dear, of course, whatever you say." He stepped away from the plants and towards the door, Crowley strutting into the room with a menacing air. "Discipline, very important indeed."

"Yeah, well." The demon gave most of his way-too-little-scared plants a strict and pointed look. "You worthless imbeciles. Weeds! Hear me? If you start getting soft and go drooping on me, I'll rip you apart. One. By. One." His voice was a hissing, threatening whisper, and he glanced over to Aziraphale, scrunching his nose as if he wanted to shoo him away, so the angel held up his hands defensively.

"I'll leave you to your pedagogic measures", he smiled, but before he backed off, he gently touched one of the leaves in the door frame and whispered, "Hang in there, you're doing great."
"ANGEL!"

"Yes, yes, quite well, tickety-boo", and he scuttled away to go find his tea cup. And he heard Crowley muttering under his breath while he left, ending with a gentle curse, and a soft "Hisshisshiss". There it was again, sounding just as it had at the Ritz, just intentional and very, very annoyed. He started to get an idea of the meaning, the way Crowley carefully avoided him actually hearing it.

The third time, it happened at the book store. Crowley was already very comfortably drunk while he himself was only just halfway there, a nice wine induced buzz that would probably end up with them not quite sobering up and falling asleep on the couch and/or his armchair. He had been ranting again, about a customer wanting to buy a book. He was pulling his favourites out of the shelves and rearranging them on the very top, stepping up and down a small stool in the process.
"And then they said it wasn't cheap enough and they could get it for much less at a yard sale! Can you imagine? A signed first edition; sure it has coffee spills and I would never think of selling it, but still! A yard sale!" Stepping down again, he turned to look expectantly at the demon, who laughed ever so softly with his eyes closed and his sunglasses resting on the table. "Crowley?"