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The line goes silent. Dead silent, at least from Jude’s end. Erling hopes, prays, even, that Jude can hear him fucking his fist. That in whatever hotel bed he’s staying in, Jude’s fisting the sheets, maybe his cock, too, to the mental image Erling is painting for him.
“Are you seriously doing what I think you’re doing?” Jude’s exactly where he wants him, back to the goal, locked onto him, and only him.
“Depends,” Erling huffs. It sounds gruff, even to his own ears. “What do you think I’m doing?”
or Haaland feels...inspired by recent social media trends to give his old friend Jude a call.
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Jude knew perfectly well the effect he had on his Norwegian giant, and he planned to use it to his advantage.
Based on the England vs Norway match of July 11, 2026, where Jude is a brat who provokes Haaland throughout the match in order to beat him.
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Aziraphale blushes. He is well aware of how he appears; how he wears Greece like a good dress, how perfectly he can slot himself into the standards of beauty and attraction. Pale skin with light hair, and a full figure to match. How soft his features are, even more so with days spent in baths and braiding flowers into girls’ hair. He has both accepted and denied his share of propositions, from nearly every human brave enough to ask, and when it comes to the comforting presence of an angel, that's about everyone.
But Crowley is able to see even beyond that–at the light that leaks from Aziraphale's body, too radiant to be contained any longer. It is not that his heavenly presence has expanded–no, Crowley loathes the thought of Heaven having anything to do with this–but it is that the very core of him, made of baby's breath and rainbows and whatever else an angel contains, has been fed to to a nearly gluttonous degree.
Aziraphale smells of nectar and dyed wool; of nights spent buried in ecstasy and days passed spinning poetry from sweet lips.
In which Aziraphale is tending to Sappho in Ancient Greece when Crowley decides to stop by (right on time) and they have fun in ways only celestial beings can.
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In the (Second) Beginning by cherryfeather
Fandoms: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
03 Jun 2019
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As their lunch stretches on Aziraphale slowly comes to realize that Crowley is—enjoying him. Enjoying Aziraphale’s conversation, and company, far more openly than he has in most of Aziraphale’s memory. And Aziraphale knows that he himself is just chattering on, letting conversational tangents carry him along, and—it’s definitely relief, for him, knowing for the first time in a long time that they aren’t being watched, that no one is keeping score for now.
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Aziraphale realizes that Crowley's been saying something rather loudly for a week. -
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CROWLEY: I try not to make a habit of gratitude, but I must give our appreciation to everyone out there who’s been listening and subscribing to The Ineffable Plan.
AZIRAPHALE: Ooh, yes, we’ve become quite popular, haven’t we?
CROWLEY: Yeah, just hit number eight on the advice charts … No advertising at all.
AZIRAPHALE: Mm. How … miraculous.
CROWLEY: … Aziraphale. You did not.***
Crowley and Aziraphale are very possibly the people least qualified, on the entire planet, to start up an advice podcast.
But what else is there to do when the world isn’t ending anytime soon, you’re technically on indefinite sabbatical from your lifelong careers, and you need a plausible excuse to spend more time with your best friend who you’re definitely not, absolutely not, maybe just a little, actually maybe overwhelmingly in love with?