Something Wicked (a fanfic)

Specifically…a “Good Omens” fanfic.
Enjoy, solider.
:::
Everything was so lovely.
And that seemed odd…suspicious even.
Aziraphale eyed Crowley from the passenger side of the Bentley and asked cautiously, “What’s the occasion?”
The demon raised his eyebrows, “Occasion?” he purred.
That was all the confirmation that Aziraphale needed. It wasn’t what Crowley had said (that one simple word), but how he said it. The demon liked to point out how easily he could read Aziraphale just based on tone of voice, but he himself wasn’t as aloof or mysterious as he liked to think he was. One word, said so whimsically that it was almost sarcastic, gave him away. Something was going to happen…something devilish.
“Whatever do you mean?” Crowley went on, his eyes never leaving the road.
“We just ate at Nachtigallhaus, a restaurant that you hate,” the angel pointed out before gesturing to the radio, “We are listening to Schubert, rather than your usual bebop music, and…” he leaned over to verify that this was correct, “We are currently only going ten miles over the posted speed limit. Something is up. Why are you being so nice to me? Have you done something?”
“I didn’t realize that going a certain speed counted as being nice to you,” Crowley said dryly.
“You know how much I hate it when you drive recklessly. Forget the speed limit. You hate German food and you hate classical music even more so I’m only left to assume that you have something up your sleeve. You’re trying to make me let down my guard.”
Aziraphale said this all in a somewhat playful manner, but truthfully he was more than a little concerned. Crowley often got the pair into scrapes that required smoothing over (an unintended murder, a burglary that he conveniently forgot to tell Aziraphale about, and the like.) As a demon, his ability to get himself into trouble was limitless. Even after all the millenia, he still found ways to surprise Aziraphale when it came to disorder. (Truthfully, Aziraphale was no better, though his mishaps were usually unintentional, stemming from ill-planned attempts to do good while Crowley’s were always intentional and usually always wicked.)
Crowley shook his head and laughed, “Could it be that I just want to pamper you?” he said, with a malicious smile. His hand left the steering wheel and found a spot on Aziraphale’s knee, “I am doing this because I like the things that you like.”
“But you don’t like the things that I like,” Aziraphale argued, “Who has died? Did you kill them? Who did you anger this time? Do we need to leave London and create new identities? What is wrong? Just tell me. I can handle it.”
Rubbing the angel’s knee with his thumb affectionately, Crowley attempted to assuage his counterpart, “I haven’t done anything. Nothing is wrong. Nothing is up.”
“Perhaps you haven’t done anything, yet, but I can only assume that you’ve got something planned,” Aziraphale looked out the window to truly take in the scenery, “We’re going somewhere…certainly not home. Where are we going?”
Not home was right. Somewhere between basking in the memory of the Black Forest Gateaux he had just eaten and a particularly lovely recording of Symphony №9, Aziraphale had lost track of time and direction. The pair were currently driving through dark backroads, lined with trees and the occasional open field. Every kilometer or so, a stray street lamp would appear, offering a tiny bit of illumination to travelers, but, for the most part, the whole scene was pitch black, save the Bentley's headlights. Admittedly, out of the city and away from the light pollution, one could truly appreciate the flickering stars and quarter moon that hung so perfectly in the inky sky. Aziraphale caught himself gazing at the beautiful celestial display and thinking, This is so romantic.
That made him stop. It was just one more factor to add to the list. Something was going to happen. This was a premeditated apology or some kind of token to smooth over whatever Crowley was about to tell him.
Sensing the growing tension, Crowley sighed, “We’re just going for a drive, Angel. Just a drive….away from the city. Just the two of us. It is nice, isn’t it?”
The way he said that made the angel feel a twinge of guilt. It was very nice, after all. And the look on Crowley’s face when he said it was nothing short of darling, if not a little pathetic-looking. Even through his dark glasses, Aziraphale could see the demon’s eyes get wide and doe-like and the slightest hint of a pout had crossed his lips. With that, the angel melted and relaxed his shoulders before placing his hand over Crowley’s. A lovely drive in the woods with his beautiful demon while one his favorite composers serenaded them was decidedly nice. Perhaps even devils did the occasional considerate and amorous thing. He pulled Crowley’s hand to his lips, kissing it, as if offering an apology. They drove on in a comfortable silence, broken only by Franz’s marvelous symphonies.
And then something did happen…
:::
Want to read more? Check out my profile at Archive of Our Own:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/51938647