Good Omens: The Pharaoh's Son (Aziraphale x Crowley)

Chapter One: Intruder

Thebes, Egypt 14th Century BCE

Firelight danced off the gleaming gold that adorned Crawley's neck and fingers. The dazzling specks flickered across the massive bedchamber as though it were the demon's personal collection of stars. His yellow slitted eyes remained cast out of the large open window at the far side of the room. He itched for any kind of breeze to ease his suffering and brushed aside the damp, auburn strands of hair that clung to his throat and down his back. The sweltering desert air had not ceased despite the late hour.

Crawley sent out a flicker of power, dissipating the sweat for the fourth time already that night, before grabbing his goblet of wine. He glanced around the room. His eyes traced over his golden treasures, his scrolls of wealth, and his lavish furnishings.

The demon let his head loll back, and he stared at the ceiling. He'd hoped being made into a god would've been at least a bit more entertaining. He got to glare at people with his serpentine eyes, which was always good for a laugh. They gave him whatever he wanted: food, drinks, company if he really wanted it, but he hadn't accepted anyone into his bed, yet. More for lack of interest than anything.

"Since when did becoming a god become so utterly boring," he groaned into the quiet room.

He missed walking through the crowds, unknown and free to partake in any diabolical schemes he wished. He missed watching the humans cause their own mischief and mayhem; palace life didn't have much of that as any chaos was solved with a good old fashion head cutting. However, if he was being honest with himself, which happened on the rarest of occasions, what he missed the most was an angelic presence around intent on thwarting his nefarious wiles. He liked the challenge. He liked the idea of keeping score to see who bested the other in the end.

Crawley sighed at his own stupid sentimentality. It was better, easier without the angel around. It was easier to ignore the swelling sensations inside his chest when he met those blue eyes. The same blue that dazzled the Earth from the starry sky above. He groaned again and let his head fall forward. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he was depressed without the wiggling ball of light to annoy him. He shuttered at the very undemonic idea.

Shouts echoed out into the evening air, snagging the demon from his thoughts. Crawley quirked an eyebrow and rose from his seat. He meandered over to the open window, eager for a distraction. Anything to relieve him from his miserable boredom.

"Intruder! Intruder," shouted one of the guards.

Crawley sneered at the idea of scaring whatever dumb bastard had decided to try and sneak into the palace at night. He couldn't quite see who they had spotted. His room did face the front path leading to the entrance of the stone palace, but the firelight and the statues surrounding the sandy courtyard obscured his view. Down below, at least a dozen guards hurried into sight, each wielding a gleaming Khopesh and a torch. The scimitar-like swords could decapitate a man with ease.

More shouts echoed out as the palace guards seemed to gather around a lone figure, standing peacefully at the center of the road.

Crawley leaned out the window, trying to get a better look. He didn't know of any known enemies willing to walk into the palace unarmed, alone, and think they would get themselves anything except killed. He groaned in frustration, unable to see the miserable idiot. They'd probably kill him before even thinking to bring him before one of their gods.

The demon turned from the window but paused as a small worry ebbed into his mind. Something about it all didn't sit well with him. It made him want to slither down there and get a good look before anything unfortunate happened. Crawley shrugged the notion away. He was too irritated to care about soft feelings, that was for–