Disclaimer: I don't own Good Omens. I worship Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. :D

Aziraphale rubs his pale chin thoughtfully, delicately ripping a piece of wheat bread from his slice and tossing it surreptitiously into the pond. A duck snaps at it before it bobs back into the water awkwardly. Aziraphale gives a sideways glance to Crowley, who is leaning casually against the weathered park bench.

"Don't you have bread?" Aziraphale asks curiously, his elegantly manicured eyebrows raised in question.

Crowley half-heartedly waves about the piece of pasty bread he's holding in his other hand. Aziraphale nods.

"Ah," he says, noticing the white bread. He frowns slightly, "you know, wheat bread is a lot healthier than white bread."

Crowley shrugs. "Always the angel, you are," he says with a smirk, "and me being a demon and all, white bread is appropriate."

Aziraphale nods again. "I suppose," he understands, "but what about the ducks?"

The demon slowly turns to face him, a peculiar look etched on his face. He peers at Aziraphale with catlike eyes from behind his dark sunglasses.

"They'reducks, Aziraphale," he points out recklessly, "they wouldn't mind if we fed them krakens."

The angel knots his eyebrows together, his forehead wrinkling up, "Kraken? Ducks don't eat kraken."

"Exactly." Crowley says smugly, and loosely drapes an arm around the other man's shoulders. Aziraphale turns to face him.

"You know," he says meaningfully, "you don't make a lot of sense sometimes."

Crowley flashes him a toothy smile, "We're polar opposites for a reason. We're not supposed to understand each other, Aziraphale."

"Crowley," the angel begins slowly, "Crowley," he says again, "that's nonsense."

The dark-haired demon ignores him purposefully, flicking his glasses up his nose, "Want some lunch?" he hisses suggestively. Aziraphale shrugs.

"What are your ideas?"

"Cake," Crowley offers surely, "you could try some devil's food cake." He waggles his eyebrows.

"Only if you eat angel food cake,"

The demon hesitates, "It's too fluffy," he resists simply. Aziraphale shakes a long finger at him firmly.

"No you don't," he says, "you're eating it again. With frosting, if you like."

Crowley grimaced. Always Aziraphale, looking for the best in everything, and in some cases, adding something appealing as a bonus to make things more irresistible. Crowley was the devil, but Aziraphale was just as good as sweetening something up until it was terribly tempting if he tried.

"Fine," he agrees, scratching at his mop of black hair. "but don't you forget that I'm not even supposed to obey," he hisses sharply.


The angel wanted to sit at the table. The demon wanted to sit at the booth. They ended up sitting at the booth, but now Crowley has to pay.

Not like it matters.

Crowley gets delivered a flawlessly cut slice of dark devil's food cake. Aziraphale received an angel food cake that resembled a piece of a cloud put unceremoniously on a plate, adorned with some crispy frosting. Aziraphale coats his finger with a dollop of the icing, licking on it with closed eyes satisfyingly.

"Ready to swap bites?" Crowley tempts, holding out a mouthful of cake with his fingers. Aziraphale holds out a fork, opposing to using his fingers.

They bite. Crowley lets his teeth run harshly down the metal spikes of the forks, and Aziraphale licks at the tips of the demon's fingers to get the dark icing of the devil's food cake. They both pull back their feeding devices, smiling in satisfaction.

"Is it wrong," Aziraphale murmurs, "that I like the devil's food cake a bit more than the angel food cake?"

"You rebel," Crowley says fondly, stroking his slender fingers down the meticulously straight tablecloth. He licks his upper lip. "You're supposed to be an angel."

Aziraphale blushes, "It's good. I can see where you get it that angel food cake is a bit… too fluffy." Hopefully, he hovered his fork over Crowley's cake for approval. Crowley shrugged, leaning back elegantly in his chair and readjusting his sunglasses.

"Help yourself," he offers, but grabs the angel's wrist when his fork dives into the slice, "but you could have something that's a lot more devil that this." He waves a hand airily at the plate, looking at Aziraphale from beneath his glasses. He lowers them slightly and examines the other man evocatively.

Aziraphale suspiciously removes his fork. You can never trust a demon; asked to produce trouble. Really, Aziraphale is already looking for trouble by spending so much time with the iniquity that is Crowley.

"Uh," he says unsurely, "what is it?"

Crowley smirks, leans over the table, and discreetly presses his sinfully wicked lips to the angel's gaping ones.

They're unexpectedly soft and skillful, and it's not until now that Aziraphale realizes how this is really so much more devil that devil's food cake could ever offer. The angel isn't sure that he really wants this much devil, but if devil tastes as good as angels and is as soft as heaven's clouds, he could live with it.

He pulls away, looking thoroughly pleased with himself with a hint of smug that intersperses with the constant cool confidence Crowley has glowing off of him. He adjusts his black collar deftly.

"Ineffable," Aziraphale rasps hoarsely, and stares at Crowley incredulously, "Uh. Uh. That's all I have to say."

"Ridiculous," Crowley mutters, "you have lots of things you want to say. You're just not saying them. You have the right words to too but all you want to say is ineffable."

"I'm sorry," the angel mumbles. "too much devil."

"Cake? Or Demon?" Crowley asks interestedly.

"Both," he closes his eyes perplexedly, shaking his head, "too much angel for you?"

"Nah," Crowley brushes off, "Just enough angel. I need it, you know, to balance out all of the devil, eh? Right? Cake, Aziraphale?"

The angel shakes his head firmly, "No. Too ineffable." He looks at Crowley, "I liked it, uh, you know."

The demon nods and stands up. "Come. Let's go feed the ducks."