My Dearest Warlock

Oh Merciful, Why?

Aziraphale was itching to ask if Crowley had been asking for sex in a roundabout way but chose to ignore it because Crowley didn't seem interested. The angel doubted it, if only because Crowley hadn't taken to any partner in the past.

Crowley had always been breathtakingly beautiful, like God wanted to tease Aziraphale with something he could never have. It wasn't holy; it wasn't normal. Aziraphale took a look at the epitome of sin and chose that he wanted to kiss the lips of the said sin. The sinner was beautiful, but Crowley was still a sinner, even if he wasn't a mean, bitter old demon. It was simply wrong, and Aziraphale knew that- he couldn't stop himself.

Crowley was almost like a drug. He was truly intoxicating and deadly in high doses, but addictive nonetheless. He was seemingly innocent, but oh so very not. He constantly clouded Aziraphale's mind, every inch of his memory taken up with different things that Crowley liked or seemed to tolerate. Crowley was like getting off on the most powerful drug, the short visits barely enough to keep Aziraphale steady. Crowley never seemed to escape Aziraphale's thoughts.

Aziraphale was curious how come some attractive supernatural being hadn't taken him as their own. It was a miracle that a golden ring didn't adorn his finger, that hickeys didn't cover the pale skin of his neck, that he wasn't a parent to a Nephilim, that he wasn't Anthony J. Higgs or Anthony J. Smittens. How was it that some beautiful supernatural being hadn't taken Crowley and made him theirs in every way possible? It was unnatural, even for supernatural beings.

"Aziraphale, come on," said Crowley gently, tugging on Aziraphale's arm. "We have places to be and people to see. Well, not really, but you know what I'm getting at."

"Mmm..." was all that Crowley got in response.

~

Crowley wasn't stupid, despite the many stereotypes that surrounded the intelligence of demons. He had a wonderful memory, although he couldn't tell you much about certain eras of history, as he'd probably been taking an one hundred year nap at the time. It was weird to think that he even remembered Heaven- at least his version of Heaven.

Heaven had been... well, average at best. Snobby, well to do angels were the only beings in the place, save for God and Metatron. It was rather bland- long white halls with grand door openings that led to more or less of the same things, the absolute silence in the long halls, the similar design concepts, but mainly the sameness of it. Every angel brandished weapons of great power, all willing to fight the most terrible of monsters to please their creator.

The angels, of course, were happily willing to do such. They loved their creator. They wouldn't even look at their creator,
although a few angels had actually seen their creator on strict orders.

One of those angels had been Lucifer Morningstar. He was, out of all God's angels, the most beautiful. With bright golden wings and robes of pure silk, it was obvious that God had fondled and cued over Lucifer when he'd been a fledgling.

Crowley had been won over after Lucifer proposed that they create a better world for the Angels, one where all the Angels would be equals. There would be no such things as Principalities, Archangels, Seraphs or any other classing of Angels, only a broad term that covered every Angel. There would be no classing or separations of the Angels, but rather allowing the Angels to pick and form their own groups.

Lucifer, although he did despise humanity, promised that humanity would flourish under his ruling, that humanity wouldn't suffer. He promised that the Angels would be allowed to mingle with the new species, and that, well, nothing would be off limits with humanity.

Crowley hadn't cared much about creating a Nephilim [1] with humanity, but the idea of helping them seemed worth changing his alliances. God just wanted to put them down there, on the Earth, with a bunch of animals. Crowley just wanted to meet them and mingle among them, away from his brethren. He just wanted to... to feel things. Human things, as God called them ever so gently.

After a lot of thought and consideration, Crowley chose that he would join Lucifer in his quest against revolting against God. He'd joined Lucifer in what would later be known as a ballroom, finally ready to give the angel a definite answer. An angel by the name of Lydia sat on Lucifer's lap, completely naked, with both of them in somewhat humanlike form.

Crowley politely declined Lucifer's invitation to have a threesome, choosing only to give Lucifer a definite answer. Lucifer, in return, told Crowley to defile himself in some form- swear, having sex, kill another angel, and so forth.

There would never be a memory that Crowley remember more than having Micheal cut his wings off, then falling into a pit of tar with no warning. And sometimes, Crowley would ponder whether he'd made the right choice, only stopping when he realized that it didn't matter, and that if given the chance, he would do it all over again. But that hadn't changed what he'd done to get there...

But none of this was the point. The point was, well, ducks- actually, it was Aziraphale. Crowley was smart in the sense of knowing about ten languages, having three doctrine degrees in astrology and two in astronomy- given, this was back when those said classes were considered noble and degrees in those subject could get you worship by, well, nearly everyone. Aziraphale had never found out about that, but Crowley hadn't done it with the intentions of impressing him or anyone else.

Crowley had built some of those star and plants, even a couple galaxies. God had told him that he was allowed to, that he was a powerful enough Angel. He'd worked with an Angel by the name Delilah, who'd also go onto to turn into a demon later. But Delilah didn't really matter, it was the beautiful of his creations that mattered. Crowley was like an artist, with his blank canvas being an unregistered galaxy and his paint being stardust and asteroids. His first planet, Pluto, brought him the greatest joy- God also seemed fond of Pluto.

"- I'm the scholarly one. I can read papyrus and speak five languages, included Enochian [2]. I even wrote a book!" Aziraphale proclaimed passionately.

"What's Enochian?" asked Warlock, buckling himself up in the backseat of Crowley's Bentley with the newly gifted seatbelts.

"Why, didn't the teachers teach you about it? That ought to have done that. Don't you agree Crowley?"

"Sure," said Crowley.

"Did I tell you Anathema invited us to a Christmas party?"

~

[1] Nephilim is an odd term. In some cases, Angels are referred to as Nephilim. In other cases, Nephilim refers to a species that is part Angel, part human/other species. It's really strange.

[2] Enochian is the language of the Angels, in case you were wondering. There's also Enochain magic, an Enochain alphabet and some other odd and strange things. Enochian is also extended to being the language of mystical creatures.

This one is ridiculous short so that I could post my Christmas chapter. Good Omens is Christian based, so the holiday is Christmas. If you feel uncomfortable reading it, don't read it. Just ask and I'll give you a summary! :)