Current mood:	bouncy
Current music:	Politik – Coldplay
Entry tags:	crowley/aziraphale, good omens

Salesmen (Good Omens, Crowley/Aziraphale, #30)
Fandom: Good Omens
Title: Salesmen
Author/Artist: 3great_hermes
Theme(s): #30 - Smirks (~wipe that off your face)
Pairing/Characters: Crowley/Aziraphale
Rating: PG for suggestiveness?
Disclaimer/claimer: Aziraphale and Crowley belong to the wonderful Pterry and Gneal. The "young man" belongs to me, the poor scarred dear. *pats*
Summary: Aziraphale has a rare customer, and Crowley... er, helps.


"Where would I find Lady Windermere's Fan...?"

Not here, Aziraphale thought crossly, but gave a curt wave in the direction of the shelves. The young man disappeared behind them, and Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose, aggravated. He'd just begun retrieving his old books, and now people decided they wanted to come in and buy them. It was maddening.

"You got a customer?" Crowley asked, sticking his head out of the back room, where he'd been rummaging around for alcohol.

"Unfortunately."

"If you hate selling books so much, why don't you just stay closed?"

"It would look odd."

Crowley lowered his shades to peer at him, yellow eyes bright. He grinned. "You know, I never understood why you don't just run a library instead. You'd never have to sell—"

Aziraphale's spluttering interrupted him. "Have you seen the state library books come back in?" he asked, horrified. "It's appalling!"

Crowley started laughing, disappearing once again into the back. "You care more about those books than I do the Bentley, and don't think I'll let you forget it, what with all the teasing you give me."

"I don't turn anyone who smudges them into Rodentia," Aziraphale muttered, knowing full well Crowley could hear him. "I wonder about your eating habits sometimes, dear serpent..."

A hissing sort of laugh drifted out to him.

"Er." The young man had reappeared, looking awkward. "I... can't seem to find it. Could you show me...?"

Aziraphale gave him a very unwelcoming look, trying to communicate his severe disapproval without actually being rude enough to say anything.

The young man bit back a gasp. Aziraphale blinked, a bit surprised. His not-quite-glares had never warranted such a reaction before.

The voice came from behind him, and sounded a lot sleepier than it had a minute ago. "Want me to make some tea, angel?"

He hadn't realized Crowley had come out of the back. Aziraphale turned around, trying to look disapproving and wondering how Crowley had gotten such an extreme... oh.

Oh, dear.

Crowley looked, inexplicably, like he'd just woken up. His hair was mussed, and for some reason his shirt was gone. So were his shades, and he hadn't even had the decency to change his eye colour to something more human. Aziraphale looked at him, and his heart fluttered in his chest, and he felt strangely lost.

"Er..." Aziraphale said.

Crowley looked from the angel to his gaping customer, and Aziraphale had to give him points; he could see the realization dawn in Crowley's eyes, and if he hadn't known it was an act he would have believed it completely.

Crowley smirked. "Oh. You've got a customer. Sorry," he said, not sounding at all sorry.

"It's fine," the young man squeaked, sounding sorry enough for the both of them.

"I was thinking I could fix breakfast," Crowley said, approaching Aziraphale like a predator. Aziraphale fought an almost overwhelming instinct to step back. "And after..." He slipped his arms around Aziraphale's shoulders, leaned very close, and hissed in his ear, "Thisss iss where I say something dirty, Aziraphale."

There was the slightest hint of laughter to his voice, if not to his expression, which of course Aziraphale could not see, could only guess at, and was trying not to do that. He felt heat rise to his face, felt himself shiver almost imperceptibly.

"I-if I'm interrupting something..." the young man said, sounding petrified, but his voice wasn't getting any further away.

Aziraphale didn't want to sell a book today. Especially not one of his first edition Wildes, and especially not after he'd just gotten it back. He smiled, not entirely for the benefit of the persistent customer (who was, in fact, behind him), turned his head as best he could, and awkwardly kissed the line of Crowley's jaw. "Sounds lovely, my dear."

Crowley gave one of his rare blinks, and Aziraphale was slightly disappointed that he missed seeing it, though the feeling of Crowley's eyelashes moving against his cheek was mostly worth it. He heard the shop bell jingle as the young man finally gave up and fled.

Crowley let go of him and backed up. He gave Aziraphale an unreadable look. When he raised a hand to fix his hair again, it shook slightly. "Didn't know you were much of an actor."

"I'm not."

Crowley's eyes widened. Aziraphale smiled, and if it turned out a little more mischievous than he usually allowed, well, who could blame him? "Get your shirt back on," he said cheerfully. "We'll go out for breakfast today."


My first time posting in a 30 community, and boy, was this fun to write. :D