moveslikebucky: ouidasart: Happy New Year! Have some Good Omens Musical husbands because they are my

moveslikebucky: ouidasart: Happy New Year! Have some Good Omens Musical husbands because they are my latest infatuationI hope everyone has an easy and fun new year, and I am glad to continue my tradition of soft Good Omens holiday drawings as my last art of 2021 WELP y'all know what happens when Ouida does art, my brain shuts down and words come out SO have my first ever Musical Omens fic!–Low yellow light flickers against Crowley’s glasses. Candlelight in the bookshop, dancing off his tinted lenses, off the shiny mahogany and oak as he stares at the ceiling. He passed three sheets to the wind ages ago, closer to eleven or twelve at this point. But really, who’s counting? The world is still here, they are still here. Everything keeps turning. Marching forward, on and on. Its New Year’s Eve, everything fresh and new when the clock strikes midnight. Not that time really means anything to him. Or to Aziraphale, for that matter. But now, after the past several years, after Tadfield and the rest of it, to Crowley it seems just a little more precious.“Crowley…” Aziraphale attempts to say. He’s on the floor, champagne flute in his hand, back against the sofa. He’s well in his cups, too. Crowley leans up on one arm, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.“S’wha?” He asks, eloquently as he’s able. The room wants desperately to spin but he keeps it steady through sheer force of will and stubbornness.“M’ glad you’re a snake.”Crowley stares at him for a moment, trying to process what on Earth the angel might be talking about. After a moment, Aziraphale huffs and continues.“S’ good, bein’ a snake, s’all. Sneaky. Slithery. G-hrk-good animal for a demon.” Aziraphale stares off thoughtfully, poking Crowley’s leg with one of his pink-socked feet. “M’ glad you’re not a guinea pig.”It’s said with such earnestness and such conviction that Crowley can’t help but start to laugh. “‘Ziraphale you’re drunk.”“So are you.”“Well, I’m also glad I’m not a guinea pig. Legs r’ too stubby, tiny. Not menacing at all.” He doesn’t miss how Aziraphale shifts closer, wrapping his arms around his knees. Points of casual contact along both of their legs.“No, no good.”The room falls comfortably silent. This is what they worked to save, what they did their damndest (blessedest? He isn’t sure how that translates to Aziraphale) to keep. Just the two of them, a nice bottle of wine (or twelve), and being in each other’s company. There’s a precipice in this silence, something that hasn’t been said. Something that doesn’t need to be said, because it’s always been known. But something that wants to bubble up and out all the same.A point of no return, a decision to be made. Crowley could let it pass, and they could keep on just like this. This is good, this is perfect. But… just maybe…“A toast,” Crowley says, lifting his glass as Aziraphale’s eyes light up. “To living the dream!”“To sitting on shoulders? Whispering in ears?” Aziraphale asks with a smile, shimmer of a miracle in the air. A bit of sobering up, from the both of them.“Haven’t done that in a long time, haven’t needed to.”Aziraphale raises his glass in kind, the clock on the wall ticks down closer to midnight. “To the humans - dark, light, and even divine.”Bong.Their glasses clink together, the old clock chimes.Bong.Crowley sits up straighter, further into Aziraphale’s space.Bong.Aziraphale downs his glass in one gulp, practically tossing the thing away when he’s done.Bong.Crowley takes Aziraphale’s hand, pulls him closer.Bong.Aziraphale’s hand lands on Crowley’s knee, and even something so simple feels like a shock.Bong.Crowley gulps down his own champagne, doesn’t bother pretending and throws the glass and his sunglasses to the other side of the room.Bong.Aziraphale scowls at him just a little, but it’s fine. He’ll fix the champagne flutes later.Bong.A calloused but well-manicured hand on Crowley’s cheek.Bong.A shaky hand in Aziraphale’s hair.Bong.A quiet moment of hesitation. Is this a good idea? Can they really do this?Bong.Yes, of course they can, it’s a brave new world.Bong.At the twelfth chime of the clock they meet in the middle. A soft press of lips to lips. So many lifetimes in waiting, in wondering, and in knowing, but with that knowledge realizing that it couldn’t possibly come to pass. All brought down to one single point of contact, here in the bookshop backroom as the year turns over.There’s no fanfare, no fireworks. The floor doesn’t open up to swallow Aziraphale down to hell; the skies don’t part to drag Crowley up to heaven. Nothing happens, the clock keeps ticking just as it always does.It’s infinitesimal in the grand scheme of the entirety of their lives. Of the kingdoms they’ve seen rise and then crumble; nations and wars and every kind of horrid or beautiful thing that humans could ever devise. None as simple or as good (in Crowley’s mind now, anyway) as a kiss.Aziraphale sighs against his lips before they break, arms having somehow wound their way around Crowley’s shoulders without his notice. “Happy New Year, Crowley.”“Happy New Year, Aziraphale.” -- source link

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