Author's Note: Oh goodness, it's been what, two months since I've published anything? Geez, I got a lot of 'splaining to do, Lucy. (And no, I don't particularly want to see Lucy's tits, sorry, Media. *bad American Gods referential pun is BAAAAD*) Let's see… Doctor Who came back and took over my life…. Neil Gaiman wrote an episode of said show and took over my life… and I met Neil Gaiman. Oh, yes. I MET THE MAN HIMSELF. U JELLY? Be jelly, my friends. I touched his hair and reached nirvana. In honor of my Gaimangasmic life, here's a Good Omens fic, starring everyone's favorite angel-demon possibly-lovers, Aziraphale and Crowley! Enjoy mon choux, or I may give birth to the Antichrist without ever having sex in my life.

In the best of possible worlds, there is no evil, only good; and when there is something evil, it is said to be for the best, since this is the best of all possible worlds. Unfortunately, this is not the best of possible worlds, especially in the case of everyone involved in the near-Apocalypse.

But it sure is close.

It had been almost 20 years since Adam Young, the Antichrist, actually stopped the Apocalypse from happening. He had grown up, married his longtime friend Pepper, and got a relatively stable (yet boring) job in Tadfield.

Alas, our story today does not focus on Adam the Antichrist.

At all.

In fact, this story is about our favorite angel-and-demon duo, the angel Aziraphale and the demon Crowley. After their oh-so-valiant efforts to stop the Apocalypse (which didn't really happen, to everyone's dismay) they decided they needed something to do. Together. Like taking a vacation.

Alone in his antique bookshop, the angel Aziraphale sat in his old leather reading chair with a lukewarm cup of lemongrass tea and a well-worn copy of Shakespeare's Love's Labour's Won (the only copy in the world, in fact, which handily happens to be autographed on the inside cover with Too my mofte trufted friende, Aziraphele, with loue, Wm Shakefpeere.) It was calm, quiet, and peaceful, lit by candlelight and all alone – the way Aziraphale would always like it to be. Well, only in a world without Crowley, of course. And for Aziraphale, a world without Crowley would, frankly, suck llama balls. Hard.

Just as he reached the midway point of Act IV (where Lord Reginald vows to destroy the cursed sword that is preventing him from marrying Victoriana, the unlucky gravedigger's daughter,) a familiarly snarky voice filled Aziraphale's ears.

"Hey, honey, I'm home!"

In a pop of fire, the demon Crowley materialized into Aziraphale's bookshop and sat himself down in his lap. His demon-hot skin felt warm (and awfully orgasmic) against Aziraphale's crotch. Aziraphale lifted his gaze from his book and stared at his demon friend.

"Crowley, what are you doing here?"

"Relax, Azzy," said Crowley, playfully twining a lock of Aziraphale's hair around his finger. "I just came over to ask you something."

"What is it, then?" Aziraphale sighed. "And don't call me Azzy ever again. It sounds ridiculous."

"I was thinking about going on a vacation with you," said Crowley. "A vacation, just you and me and no other people. Some island somewhere, maybe I can arrange for a volcano for me and some dying animals and plants for you to heal just for you. Does that sound good to you, Aziraphale? Does it?" Crowley twined another lock of angelic hair around his finger.

"Well, anything with you beats doing nothing at all…" The angel sounded conflicted.

"So it's a yes?" Crowley's face hovered right in front of Aziraphale's.

"But I have to take care of my books, Crowley. Don't forget that. My books are my life."

"I thought I was your life," said Crowley, his face now millimeters away from Aziraphale's, so close he could kiss him if he really wanted to (and he really wanted to.)

The moment Crowley said this to him, Aziraphale wanted nothing more except to plant the universe's most passionate kiss on Crowley's mouth (and he really wanted to.)

"You are my life," whispered Aziraphale, "all four thousand years of it."

He slammed his book down on the side table and pressed his mouth into Crowley's. Crowley's eyes widened, then shut with delight – Aziraphale's lips were like velvet and silk and iced coffee and hot tea; cold and hot and full of angelic passion. Crowley returned the offer with his own kiss –full of devilish passion; spicy, yet sweet, like a habanero pepper-spiked mango salsa; and odd, like a Scotch Bonnet dipped in white chocolate. It was an odd kiss. Rarely do they occur between an angel and a demon. But when they do, like this instant, they are glorious, magical things that one wishes could last forever. It feels like time has stopped for you and only you and your loved one.

That is exactly how Aziraphale and Crowley felt right then and there, on the ancient leather chair.

When they eventually broke apart, Aziraphale searched Crowley's face hungrily.

"Yes, I'll go on vacation with you," he said. "Absolutely."

Crowley grinned. "Well, that's… that's fantastic, then!" He laughed, kissed Aziraphale on the lips lightly, and leapt out of his lap. "To the Bentley!"

He ran out the door of the bookshop, hopped in the old car, and beckoned his angel friend to join him. He did.

"Where to?" asked Crowley, smiling giddily at his partner.

"Anywhere but here!" laughed Aziraphale, and together they sped off into the sunset, on their way to the vacation of a lifetime.