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Sins of the Fathers by Mossyrock
Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV)
29 Jun 2020
Tags
Summary
Father Aziraphale is a young priest living in the seminary and doing his best.
Until a new student arrives. Crowley is his opposite in every way and seems to go out of his way to make Aziraphale's life harder.
As long as they stay out of each other's way, it should be fine. But nothing is ever that simple.
Slow burn, pining, forbidden love, and enemies to friends to lovers, because why have one trope when you can have them all?
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Bookmark Collections:
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Bookmark Notes:
kindle
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Bookmark Notes:
finished on 22.12.23
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Bookmark Notes:
“Good, little innocent angel, drunk and stumbling home at three am. Who’d’ve thought?”
“Not me, my dear boy. I’m not a scandalous rebel like you.” The words were having trouble rolling off his tongue for some reason. Still, Crowley seemed to understand him alright.
“You think I’m a rebel?”
“Of course. You’re cool and mysterious and handsome and… And cool. Far too cool for me.”
Crowley didn’t reply to that, but he did look shocked. Aziraphale didn’t understand why. It was true.
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Aziraphale hadn’t noticed how close they’d been standing – practically pressed together – or that Crowley still held one of his shoulders, grounding him. Aziraphale looked at him, shocked. He’s saved him. And his book.“You saved me,” He said breathlessly.
“Nah, I just stopped you getting wet is all.” He took the hand from Aziraphale’s shoulder, leaving him feeling cold and bereft, and ran it self-consciously through his hair, leaving it sticking up and messy. Droplets sprayed from it in all directions. His cheeks were red, whether from the adrenaline or something else, Aziraphale couldn’t tell.
Butterflies were ramming themselves against his insides with reckless abandon and he wanted to feel those hands on him again. He wanted to run his fingers through the ridiculously red hair and smooth it down. Or maybe mess it up more. He wasn’t sure.
But more than that, he wanted to lean in and kiss him. He found himself staring at his lips and licking his own. He’d never felt anything like it before. And it scared him.
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Aziraphale could feel Crowley watching and waiting. As the infinite seconds ticked by, he struggled.“Let me,” Crowley interrupted. He leaned forwards, and before Aziraphale could say anything, he’d plunged his hand into his pocket and pulled out the keys. He had the door open before Aziraphale could so much as blink.
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“I’m glad you’re here.”“If the Archbishop wants me gone, he’ll have to drag me away himself. I’m stubborn. You know that better than anyone.”
Even a few months ago, such emotional honesty would've been entirely foreign to their relationship. They’d come a long way.
The alcohol probably didn't hurt either.
“No. I meant here.” He gestured between them. His wide sweeping motion knocked him off balance. He caught himself on Crowley’s upper arm, grabbing it like a lifeline. It was thin, but undeniably firm. He stroked his thumb over it, mesmerized. The leather was soft and warm from Crowley’s heat.
Crowley’s hand rested on his elbow, securing them to each other.
“Oh.” Crowley looked shocked. “I’m glad to be here too.”
“I think I almost hated you, when we first met,” He said, apropos of nothing.
Crowley just laughed, “The feeling was mutual.”
“I’m glad I don’t hate you anymore.”
“That feeling is mutual too.”
Maybe love and hate were two sides of the same coin. And despite their differences, maybe Aziraphale and Crowley were too. But Aziraphale’s drunk brain couldn’t comprehend such thoughts, too busy smiling goofily and thanking God he’d given Crowley a second chance.
They stood, staring at each other. Aziraphale didn’t know if it was him swaying, Crowley swaying or both of them, but the ground seemed to be unsteady beneath his feet.
And had Crowley always been that close?
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Giving into temptation was something he did with food. Or books. Or gossiping with Michael. He didn’t give into this temptation.But his body had different ideas. His hands drifted towards his crotch and as they wrapped around him, he sighed. In relief or in frustration or both.
It was over quickly, the image of a flushed Crowley, the Crowley who’d dragged him in from the rain, caring enough to even save his books, was the image in his mind. And the name on his tongue.
“Aziraphale, why did you keep it?” He’d stood and now towered above Aziraphale like a terrifying judge, ready to pass sentence. He hadn’t needed to take a step towards him. The room was so small they were in close proximity regardless. Their legs almost touched.A hand landed on Aziraphale’s cheek, guiding his gaze up to meet Crowley’s beautiful, soft, golden eyes. They looked so understanding.
“I couldn’t,” He whispered.
Crowley bent down and before Aziraphale could say or do anything, they were kissing.
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Aziraphale finally stood, his legs shaking. They stood scant inches away from each other, breathing heavily together. Aziraphale’s hand found Crowley’s arm again, significantly more gentle this time, and he leaned in slowly. He was relieved when Crowley met him halfway, kissing him back.This time, he was expecting it. He expected the blinding light behind his closed eyelids, expected the warmth and softness of Crowley’s lips, expected his heart to almost bruise itself beating against his ribs.
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Bookmark Notes:
absolutely lovely!!! 🧡🧡🧡