There Will Come a Day: A Good Omens Fanfic

What will they say?

Notes:

Oh, that's embarrassing. For all my protestations, looks like I couldn't tie it off in one more chapter after all.

Hope you enjoy!

Aziraphale might have been of Heaven, but that didn't mean he had much control over the physical heavens. Things were going nicely, and with an encouraging lack of thought, when the fickle English weather betrayed them and they were soaked to the skin almost before they released the skies had opened.

"Don't care," Crowley muttered. "It'ssss just water." He appeared to be having trouble controlling his hissing. The dashing driving jacket he had acquired with the Bentley was now only attached to him due to one hand that had got stuck in a sleeve at some point when taking it off. Neither of them had been able to spare much concentration for sorting out unbuttoning the cuff that was now wedged inside out around his wrist, so Aziraphale's shoulder was currently being clutched by a hand lost in a leather sleeve, jacket trailing from it. Crowley's half-buttoned shirt was rapidly turning transparent, revealing that, for all his expressed hatred of Americans, he had adopted their fashion of separate brief shorts and vest. His hair was plastered to his face with rain, which ran in rivulets down his face and neck. He looked as unstylish as it was possible for Crowley to look and, Aziraphale thought, more fetching than ever before.

On impulse Aziraphale reached up and caught a rivulet of water down Crowley's neck with his tongue, and Crowley hissed louder. "Definitely don't care," he reaffirmed. "Do that again, angel."

A good part of what was currently passing for Aziraphale's mind didn't care either. But he could feel mud soak uncomfortably up into one of his favourite waistcoats as the blanket rapidly turned into a puddle. Also, Aziraphale had gone as native British in undergarments as in everything else, and the logistics of getting a union suit out of the way while crushed under a worked up demon were beginning to worry him. Chances were, if things proceeded as they were going, Crowley would get impatient and send the undergarments away somewhere. While that was an incredibly enticing thought, Aziraphale actually paid for his clothes and preferred quite expensive silk next to the skin.

Most of all Crowley, cold blooded serpent that he was, was shivering uncontrollably from something more than passion as the rain pounded down. He was determinedly ignoring it in a spirited attempt to discoverjust how much he could slither over Aziraphale in human form, but it shook his form. Concern and protectiveness warred with desire in Aziraphale's heart for a moment, and won.

The next time their mouths parted, Aziraphale placed a hand between them. "Into the car, before we drown," he said, as firmly as possible.

Crowley looked hunted. "The seats are quite spacious, but I'm not sure-"

"And back to London."

The hunted expression turned to a desperate one. Crowley sat up, jacket still dangling uselessly from one arm, and glared at the sky, droplets bouncing off his face, pale with cold. "If this storm is Divine intervention, then I swear my first Rebellion is nothing compared to what I will do."

"It's just English weather, my dear," Aziraphale said gently, as another piece fell into place. "I'm not going to change my mind and run away back to Heaven if we stop for a moment, you know."

Even through the rain, Crowley was visibly flushing. "Sorry."

Aziraphale managed a soothing pat despite the quite deplorable physical and emotional state he was in himself. "Come on, best beloved. Back to the automobile."

Thunder rumbled and lightning cracked overhead as they reached the car, picnic things bundled up. Aziraphale hesitated over risking another small use of his powers when they slid into the Bentley. Crowley shot him a questioning look. "Scared of drawing attention?"