I wroted a fic. Yes I did.
Hi, I'm new to this community. I read the book a month or so ago and saw the slashiness, but I only got round to checking out internet Good Omens stuff approximately yesterday.

Anywho, I bring fic!



Title: Admit It
Or The First Afternoon of the Rest of Their Lives
Author: Jet
Rating: Prolly PG-13. Crowley says a swear. In his inner monologue, so it doesn't really count.
Summary: How did Crowley and Aziraphale spend the afternoon of the First Day of the Rest of Their Lives? Well, I'll tell you. First they had a very leisurely lunch at the Ritz, then they went back to St James' Park after closing time and indulged in some of those Earthly pleasures they'd have missed so much if the Apocalypse had gone ahead as planned. Then this happened.




Crowley, still panting, dragged himself into a sitting position so Aziraphale could turn over, then allowed himself to be pulled down onto the angel's chest.

"So much for above temptation," he mumbled into Aziraphale's slightly squidgey left pectoral.

He sensed the smug smile as a hand reached down to stroke his hair.

"It's not a sin, you know. I mean, that Old Testament stuff..."

"What about Sodom and Gomorrah?"

"There is a distinct difference between your actual homosexual relationship and wanting to rape angels. And no, I don't believe for a second that you would, so you can stop trying to do that thing with your eyebrows." Aziraphale hadn't looked down.

Crowley sat up, hovering over Aziraphale's face. "We're not married, though. That's one of the - "

"Ten Commandments, the covenant made with Moses, etcetera. Rules for humans only, my dear."

Crowley shrugged, and shifted in the grass so he could plant his mouth, sloppily, on the junction between Aziraphale's neck and shoulder. The angel shivered a little, and it certainly felt like temptation, or at least it felt as good as temptation. Maybe better.

Snake-yellow eyes locked with cloud-blue for a fraction of a second and once again Crowley felt a familiar, scary feeling. It felt like a tremendous pressure in his chest, forcing the air out, or like a lump at the back of his throat, or like wanting to cry, or laugh, but not knowing which. Like... a sort of warm, healing glow and also like haveing a major vein pumped full of Holy Water. And it wasn't exactly like any of those things. There were moments like this; dangerous moments where he wanted to kiss Aziraphale, and not as a precursor to anything, just to kiss him. This feeling was not one any demon had felt post-fall, ever.

He looked away and bit his lip, staring at his designer sunglasses on the ground a few feet away, then continued kissing the angel's chest, taking care not to make eye contact again.

Aziraphale made it for him, grabbing the demon's head and lifting it to his face. "No," he said.

Crowley looked at him for a puzzled moment as his chest started to tighten and he fought the urge to lean into Aziraphale's touch.

"Not until you admit it." The angel finished.

"Admit what?"

Aziraphale smirked. "You know. You're thinking it."

Crowley bit his lip. An oversharp incisor drew blood, because, well, fuck. He didn't know to what level Hell was still keeping an eye on him, but any kind of statement like the one his was going to make would have to be a red flag. A fucking angel, too. What would they do to him? He'd be busted down to imp. He'd be turning spits amongst those dull, mindless devils from now until eternity. He'd never see Aziraphale again.

He looked down to see Aziraphale smiling up at him, looking more angelic than he'd appeared since Eden, bathed in a kind of warm, invisible golden light. It felt like every particle of the demon's being was being hugged individually. "It's alright," he whispered soothingly. "They won't hear. I can see to it they won't hear you."

The lump in Crowley's throat felt almost ready to burst into a sob. The sheer... the blessed compassion of it was all too much. He let out a slow shaky breath. Breathing helped at times like this.

"I love you, angel."

The angel grinned. "And I love you, you snake-in-the-grass."

And in a flash Aziraphale had reversed their positions, lying on top of him and kissing him deeply, and Crowley figured it could have gone a lot worse.

And the nightingale in Berkeley Square grew silent as the sun set on the First Day of the Rest of Their Lives.