You Could Make A Religion Out Of This, and other shorts

Never Growing Tired of this Endlessness

Summary: Aziraphale looks at his body, and considers making some changes.

Crowley lays in bed and watches him, and loves.

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A/N: There are two tropes I absolutely loathe in Good Omens fanfic so I wrote this out of spite.

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Aziraphale stood in front of the floor length and very old mirror that stood in one corner of their bedroom, considering his corporation from every possible angle with a thoughtful look on his face. Crowley peeked his head out of the blankets he was cocooned in, and watched him for a long time.

"Angel," he said, sleep making his voice rough in a way that Aziraphale secretly- well, he thought secretly- really enjoyed. "What are you doing?"

Aziraphale gave him a glancing smile and turned his attention back to his reflection. "Just thinking, dearest." He smoothed a hand down his front.

"Bout what?"

"Well, I've been wearing my corporation like this for so long- I thought it might be time to make a few changes."

Crowley's head came out of the blankets completely. "What kind of changes?"

"Oh, nothing drastic." He pursed his lips, smoothing a hand down his front once again. Where his hand trailed, soft downy hair sprang up in its wake, much thicker than before. Crowley cocked his head at that, but Aziraphale tutted and the hair went back to the way it had been. "I do like this body the way it is- but it's been so long since I updated it, you know. It seems time for something different. That's all."

Crowley liked his corporation like this too, but he'd love Aziraphale whatever he looked like, and he wanted Aziraphale to be happy more than anything. He slithered out of bed and over to join his angel, looping arms around Aziraphale's waist and burying his face in his hair. "What are you wanting to change?"

"I'm not sure." His eyes went to Crowley in the mirror, and then lit up. "Ah!"

He reached up and ran a hand over his shoulders, down his arms. Where he touched, freckles came to his skin: light, barely noticeable, but a whole galaxy of them, spread out across his arms and shoulders.

"Do you mind getting my back, dear?" he asked, and, as Crowley obliged, "Just across the top, there's a love."

He didn't change much else than that- he never did, unlike Crowley, who changed his details often. He just made his hair a little curlier, his stomach a little softer, got a different navel because the old one had gone out of fashion, as if there could be a fashion in navels. He also added a dimple to the back of his shoulder, which Crowley immediately kissed, and their eyes met in the mirror once he'd raised his head again.

"Come to bed?" Crowley asked, fingers tracing over the new constellations of freckles on one shoulder. "It's a lovely day for a bit of sloth, don't you think?"

"Well as I've already engaged in some vanity," Aziraphale hummed, and allowed himself to be tempted back into the cocoon of blankets, under the brilliant sunlight pouring in through their bedroom window.

Crowley tucked Aziraphale in and then slithered down so that he could pillow his head on Aziraphale's soft middle. Aziraphale's hands, plump, perfectly manicured, soft, gentle hands, came automatically to stroke his hair.

"You know my favorite thing about your corporation, angel?"

"What's that, my love?"

"It's got you in it."

And then pressed a kiss to Aziraphale's new navel and promptly fell asleep before Aziraphale could respond to that frankly embarrassing bit of sentiment.