Fandom: Good Omens - Rating: Teen and Up - Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley - Content Warnings: Innuendo Word Count: 918 Challenge: Stuck Inside My Head, @flashfictionfridayofficial
Aziraphale wants a final shot at magic.
Disclaimer: Please excuse any heinous or annoying errors. Writing "fast" and on a deadline is not my forte.
â...Shades of a very light gray, I'd rather fancy....â
Aziraphaleâs words trailed off. Crowley could feel his body relax, vertebrae by vertebrae, as the memories of the evening began to lose their edge. He rolled his shoulders and breathed a long, relieved sigh. Aziraphale raised his glass to his lips then stalled, blinking slowly, intentionally. He could feel the serpents eyes on him.
âDo you know what Iâd really like?â
Crowleyâs eyes flicked and fixed on Aziraphale over the rims of his glasses.
âIâd really like...to do one more show.â
Crowley planted his glass on the table with a light thump.
âOh, you canât be serious. After all this?â
âWeâre here now, and I do love it so. Bit hard to say goodbye to it for good.â
âDo you really think sheâs going to let you back on stage?â
âWhy not? Thereâs no one else here to perform, and it's still early.â
âAngel, I donât think thereâs anything in your current repertoire thatâs going to top that.â Crowley picked up his glass again and gestured with it toward the dressing room door. âI will not be pointing anymore implements of destruction in your direction tonight.â He sipped.
âIâll improvise then.â Aziraphale waved his hand above his head enthusiastically. A dead dove fell from his sleeve, hitting the carpet with a crunchy thud.
Crowley grimaced, staring at the lump of feathers.
âMight want to quit while youâre ahead,â Crowley muttered, then raised two fingers casually from his glass and twitched. The dove flapped and stood, then suddenly flew over them both, leaving several white splats on Aziraphaleâs vest and coat. Aziraphale closed his eyes and sighed. Crowley ducked and held his hat protectively as the bird settled on the window sill. He scanned his suit and examined his hat, then looked at the angel who was slowly opening his eyes with another sigh.
The bird cooed innocently.
âRight then. New costume."
âOh...ohhhhhhh Crowley! MustâŠyou be so rough?â Aziraphale gasped.
âJust... hold... still.â Crowleyâs voice strained, his face reddening with each word. Aziraphale braced himself against the dressing table, his eyes pressed shut with discomfort.
âOOF! Crowley, please â not so hard!â Beads of sweat were forming on the angelâs forehead, threatening his pancake makeup.
A light, hesitant voice doing itâs best to sound like it carried authority could be heard from down the hall.
âWe donât have much time...oooof!â Aziraphale hissed. âCrowley! Not so hard! Please!â
âAlmost there, just...once...moreâŠ.â
âOOF! If you would just â OW! BE GENTLE!â
A tragically pale, thin woman opened the dressing room door.
She gasped, then gawked at them, at Crowley pressed against Aziraphaleâs back, before hastily shutting the door. They sighed in unison.
Crowley tied the laces of the corset as tightly as he could and tucked it under the back of Aziraphaleâs coat. Neither knew who had worn it prior, but it was there, in the room, as was the tuxedo, which looked magical enough to suit Aziraphaleâs sensibilities.
âAngel, canât we just miracle something that fits?â
âIt wouldnât be the same. This has authenticity. A final performance should have at least that.â
The angelâs face fell as he studied himself in the mirror.
âItâs going to be awful.â
âCanât think that way. Youâre getting stuck inside your head.â Crowley gestured at his temple, wiggling his fingers in the air.
âStuck inside my head?â Aziraphale scoffed.
âSecond guessing yourself, over and over and over again.â
âI know what it means, Crowley.â
âListen, itâs simple. If you want to do this, then you do it. If not, thereâs always more wine, andâŠ.â
âBut what if itâs awful? Again?â
âHow many more dead birds have you got up your sleeve?â
âI didnât know I had that one.â
Crowley breathed in, reigning in his amusement and gazed at him softly, then smirked.
âYouâre a much better angel than magician,â he whispered.
âWell thatâs not saying much, is it?â
Crowley shrugged one shoulder and poked out his lower lip, considering.
âDepends whoâs looking.â He glanced over Aziraphaleâs shoulder at their reflection in the mirror. "I think itâs saying quite a lot.â
Aziraphale watched Crowleyâs expression as he stood behind him, then adjusted the much-too-tight corset that was wedging him into his borrowed pants. He took a deep breath, or tried to, then smiled warmly at their images in the mirror. Their attention jerked to a sudden flurry of activity outside the door.
âTime to go.â Crowley moved quickly and guided Aziraphale toward the door, handing him a rough but âauthenticâ top hat. âAwful or not, enjoy it. Then get back in here and take that ridiculous thing off.â
âYou are coming, arenât you?â Aziraphale turned to him anxiously.
âOf course I am! How is that even a question?â
Aziraphale smiled. However it turned out, doing what he loved and having Crowley in the audience was enough. He reached for Crowleyâs wrist.
More rustling in the hall.
âGo on. Iâll follow you.â
âImprovising, yes?â The angel whispered with a nod, his familiar delighted excitement returning as he hurried out the door.
âImprovising. Yes,â Crowley murmured, out of earshot of the angel who was already gone. Crowley rolled his wrist, shook his hand at his side and wiggled his fingers - wiggling, extending, wiggling, extending, as if preparing for miracle power to flow through them more easily.
He was preparing. He was quite sure heâd be needing it.
