Title: Metropolitan
Rating: T, for slash.

Summary: An evening out ends in an unexpected way for a pair of supernatural beings in London. A/C. One-shot.

Disclaimer: Aziraphale and Crowley are in no way mine, and belong to the ever-illustrious Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.

Author's Notes: Fun fact—this was the first GO fic I ever completed to any satisfaction, and the first slashy one as well! I finally got around to posting it on here; it's also been seen on the LiveJournal community lowertadfield.

They'd had dinner at a very new, very modern, and very fashionable café, one whose male clientele were all young and handsome, like whichever movie star was currently ridiculously popular, and whose female clientele were all young and emaciated, like whichever pop star was currently ridiculously popular. The food had been adequate, and the dessert sumptuous, which was why they'd ended up eating three courses of sweets following their meal. The acceptable bottle of wine delivered by their waiter had turned itself into an excellent bottle of wine at some point during the meal as well (1), to the pleasure of both of them.

Now they were one their way back to Aziraphale's little Soho bookstore, taking a very roundabout route on foot. They meandered through a somnolent London, not talking, simply walking and enjoying the cool late summer night. Well…Aziraphale was walking; Crowley was sauntering, a gait just slow and deliberate enough to cover the slight weave in his step.

This comfortable, companionable silence was becoming the norm for their meetings. Before the Almost-Apocalypse, when they got together for a lunch here or a dinner there, they would discuss their respective jobs, or whatever hot-button sociopolitical issue was getting the most press at the time, or just humanity in general (2). Now, they could pass a whole evening in silence and not feel the slightest bit awkward about it.

It was an interesting development, and one that bore closer scrutiny that either angel or demon was willing to make.

To soon, it seemed, they arrived back at the bookstore. Crowley felt a vague sense of disappointment; the walking was his favorite part of these outings. He reveled in the sheer sensual pleasure of wandering the world he'd had a hand in saving, taking in whatever sights and sound sit saw fit to offer him. He leaned against his car, parked in its usual spot outside of the shop, and looked up. There was a distant rumble of cars on the wind, and the tang of rain in the air. The light from the nearly-full moon washed out the stars and limned the clouds coming up from the south. It was a gorgeous night.

"This has been a very pleasant evening, my dear," Aziraphale remarked genially.

"You always say that," Crowley said lazily. He looked back down and was surprised at how close the angel was standing.

"And I always mean it," he said, and kissed him.

It almost could have been mistaken for a trendy, metropolitan kiss, that sort of chaste, meaningless greeting that was just becoming popular again. Crowley almost could have waved it off as nothing…except that this was Aziraphale, who was in no way trendy at all, and anyway, he'd sort of missed Crowley's cheek and was kissing the corner of his mouth instead.

Before he even had a chance to react, though, Aziraphale had pulled away. "Have a good eve—er, morning, Crowley," he said warmly, unlocking the bookshop door and turning the knob. "And do drive home safely, hmm?" He disappeared inside, leaving Crowley alone with his car, as if everything were normal, as if he hadn't just taken the whole world they'd worked so hard to maintain and sent it for a good, fast spin.

(1) Because if Aziraphale could indulge, so could Crowley, dammit!
(2) Though this was usually in a very "Did you see the front page of the newspaper this morning?!" sort of way.

Author's Notes: All feedback is welcomed; let me know what you thought! Thank you!