Hello there! This is the first fan fic I've written in quite some time. It's not quite complete at present, but the end result should demonstrate what happened to my mind while reading Good Omens and Milton's Paradise Lost at the same time. It was a fascinating exercise which I undertook deliberately. I'm not sure why it resulted in the writing of a fic like this.
The story as I've envisioned it is quite short, perhaps 3 or 4 chapters, and somewhat slashy. Slash is new territory for me, where writing is concerned, and I've had fun exploring the very particular nature of slashy interactions between Aziraphale and Crowley. Constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated, of course!
It goes without saying that I do not own Good Omens, Aziraphale, Crowley, Paradise Lost, or anything else mentioned herein which belongs to somebody more creative and/or cleverer than I am.
Note 1/21/05: This fic is back after a long time without updates. I hope those who enjoyed it before will still be interested enough to see what happens! It will be completed very soon. My thanks to everyone who reviewed to threaten me with fiery perdition if I failed to finish it!
Why Sleepst Thou Crowley?
Chapter 1: Dust
The backroom of Aziraphale's bookshop was dusty. It had always been dusty; Aziraphale liked it that way. Clearly, he could have got rid of the ever-present granules anytime he wished, but it wouldn't have been the same. The smell of dusty old books, in Aziraphale's opinion, was far superior to that of plain old books. Plus, the way the sunlight gleamed off the particles as they drifted through the air was comforting. It made the light appear to shine through the window in shimmering streaks. It reminded Aziraphale of Heaven. Make no mistake, he preferred The Earth; it was far less formal and ceremonious, more interesting, superior in variety. But it was important to remember where you came from.
Crowley did not share Aziraphale's fondness for dust. He liked things to be clean. Unnaturally clean, even. He was, after all, unnatural in origin. Crowley, being a demon, did not have to worry about allergies or similar ailments. He fancied, however, that were he a human being, he'd be the sort that would begin sneezing uncontrollably at the mere sight of a cloud of dust. Considering this, he decided to try it. He always had wondered how it might feel. If nothing else, perhaps a sneeze would adequately convey to Aziraphale his displeasure at lingering long enough in the dusty room to possibly become covered in the stuff himself. If there was one thing worse than the dust alone, it was having it all over your Armani suit.
It had sounded somewhat artificial, but the demon figured it was good enough for a first try.
Aziraphale peered at him over the top of several bottles of wine they had been busily consuming since lunch time. It was something of a weekly ritual for the angel and the demon to meet for lunch and proceed to get mind-numbingly inebriated. Aziraphale's fine golden eyebrows creased in confusion.
"What are you playing at?" He asked.
Crowley affected a sniffle as he uncorked yet another bottle of wine.
"What makes you think I'm 'playing at' anything?"
Aziraphale stared as Crowley refilled their glasses. A dry red wine. Nicely aged. More Crowley's taste than Aziraphale's. He preferred something sweeter.
"Why did you pretend to sneeze? Neither of us is susceptible to respiratory irritation, considering we're not strictly required to breathe."
Aziraphale sipped his wine. It gave his mouth the sensation of being full of cotton balls.
"Must be all the wretched dust in this room."
He brushed his hand over his sleeve as if to swipe the offending particles away.
"Even a demon has his limits, you know."
He continued to smirk as he saw Aziraphale's agitation increasing.
Aziraphale ran a hand through the blond curls atop his head.
"I suppose it's futile to hope that you'll ever cease to be a complete bastard."
Crowley was openly grinning now.
"Come on, Angel. You know you wouldn't have me any other way. What would you think of me if I started acting all sweet and polite like you? It goes entirely against my nature."
Aziraphale sighed, pulling restlessly at a string trailing off the sleeve of his argyle sweater. It was nearly sundown.
"Shall we sober up?" The angel asked in a suspiciously pert tone.
Crowley snorted. "Sober up? We're hardly drunk enough for that, are we?"
Looking briefly around the room, Aziraphale shrugged. "Perhaps not. I'm through drinking, however. I've been meaning to reorganize a bit." He began collecting the bottles strewn across the tabletop.
Crowley, of course, had the nerve to look sad.
Aziraphale hated when he did that.
"You're welcome to stay, or course. If you think you can endure the dust."
Crowley frowned. He hadn't actually intended to offend the Angel. He had just been teasing him a little bit. Apparently, Aziraphale was rather more sensitive than expected about his….dust collection.
The demon rose to his feet and drained the remaining wine from his glass with a fluid, distinctively serpentine motion. "That's alright. If you're busy, I'll just head home and sleep it off. I haven't enjoyed a good nap in weeks."
Aziraphale shook his head. "I shall never understand why you feel the inclination to waste your time sleeping. It seems to be the ultimate expression of infernal laziness. After all…"
Crowley held up a hand. "Yes, yes, 'Evil never sleeps and Virtue is ever vigilant.' I remember. I must say I'm surprised that you haven't become more open-minded after all we've witnessed. You should try sleep sometime. Perhaps it would loosen you up a bit. It's similar to, but almost entirely unlike a good book." He adjusted his sunglasses and opened the door.
The angel regarded him suspiciously. "Even if what you just said made any measure of sense, I'd still find it somewhat difficult to believe."
Crowley smiled lazily. "You'll never know until you try. If you get finished 'reorganizing' and decide you'd like to continue getting pissed, feel free to drop by my flat." With a casual wave over his shoulder, the demon departed.
Aziraphale began shifting piles of dust-covered books from one shelf to another, integrating some new acquisitions into his collection as he saw fit. He felt somewhat guilty about shepherding his companion out the door, and hated his mind for wondering if sleep was really as nice as Crowley always insisted. Soon, he began to feel lonely.
'Maybe…' Aziraphale mused, 'maybe I should go to Crowley's later…'
The slightly anxious angel was entirely unwilling to admit to himself that part of him was curious to see what Crowley would look like while sleeping, and secretly hoped he might catch him at it if he paid a surprise visit.
So that's the first chapter. The second is already complete, and I plan to post it in a few days whether I get any reviews or not! However, reviews would be nice. I like reviews. Don't hesitate to tell me what you think!