(no subject)
Title: Love and Wheels
Author: Gabe (angelsinstone)
Fandom: Good Omens/Harry Potter
Pairing: Bentley/Ford Anglia
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: None of it's mine, and even the pairing idea I nicked from raistmimi.
A/N: Plotbunnies are Crowley's invention, I swear.
“Stop flirting with my car, you mechanical whore!” Crowley screeched at the slightly battered turquoise vehicle that was matching the Bentley’s ninety-miles-an-hour down a deserted English highway. It swerved in front of them, shaking its tail lights flirtatiously. The Bentley purred in appreciation, causing the demon to glare daggers at the dashboard.
"Don’t you even think about it!” he snarled. “I raised you better than that! Have you no class?” The engine whined mournfully, but relented to its master’s will.
The Ford Anglia was having none of it. “Stubborn wench,” Crowley growled as the car dropped back to sidle up to the Bentley’s passenger side. The demon raised his hand, and, (the Bentley’s engine hiccupping worriedly), snapped his fingers. There was a startled ‘put-put’ from the Anglia, and its tires squealed as it attempted to stay on the road. It stuttered to a halt, the engine revving desperately.
The Bentley was quiet all the way home, its rear view mirror focused on the turquoise car in the distance until it could see nothing but blacktop.
Aziraphale had always had a soft spot for pitiful, abandoned creatures. True, a Ford Anglia was not exactly a creature, and the angel was not that fond of cars, but it sputtered its engine at him so despondently that he could not help but want to take it home. “There, there, my dear,” he said, patting its trunk. “Let’s get you off this shoulder, shall we?.”
A few repair men, a miracle or two, and a nice robin’s egg blue spray job later, the Ford Anglia found itself happily parked outside Aziraphale's dusty little bookshop, feeling as if it were in the sixties again. It bathed in the sunlight, winking its headlights occasionally as particularly handsome cars that passed, and was quite pleased with the number of appreciative honks it received.
However, it was not until dusk that the Anglia knew it was in Heaven. There was a soft hum of an engine run by something much more persevering than gasoline, and the Bentley of its dreams came rolling down the street, its sleek black cover rolled back invitingly.
“ANGEL!” Crowley stormed into the bookshop, nearly taking the front door of its hinges. “Your car is humping my Bentley!”
Author: Gabe (angelsinstone)
Fandom: Good Omens/Harry Potter
Pairing: Bentley/Ford Anglia
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: None of it's mine, and even the pairing idea I nicked from raistmimi.
A/N: Plotbunnies are Crowley's invention, I swear.
“Stop flirting with my car, you mechanical whore!” Crowley screeched at the slightly battered turquoise vehicle that was matching the Bentley’s ninety-miles-an-hour down a deserted English highway. It swerved in front of them, shaking its tail lights flirtatiously. The Bentley purred in appreciation, causing the demon to glare daggers at the dashboard.
"Don’t you even think about it!” he snarled. “I raised you better than that! Have you no class?” The engine whined mournfully, but relented to its master’s will.
The Ford Anglia was having none of it. “Stubborn wench,” Crowley growled as the car dropped back to sidle up to the Bentley’s passenger side. The demon raised his hand, and, (the Bentley’s engine hiccupping worriedly), snapped his fingers. There was a startled ‘put-put’ from the Anglia, and its tires squealed as it attempted to stay on the road. It stuttered to a halt, the engine revving desperately.
The Bentley was quiet all the way home, its rear view mirror focused on the turquoise car in the distance until it could see nothing but blacktop.
Aziraphale had always had a soft spot for pitiful, abandoned creatures. True, a Ford Anglia was not exactly a creature, and the angel was not that fond of cars, but it sputtered its engine at him so despondently that he could not help but want to take it home. “There, there, my dear,” he said, patting its trunk. “Let’s get you off this shoulder, shall we?.”
A few repair men, a miracle or two, and a nice robin’s egg blue spray job later, the Ford Anglia found itself happily parked outside Aziraphale's dusty little bookshop, feeling as if it were in the sixties again. It bathed in the sunlight, winking its headlights occasionally as particularly handsome cars that passed, and was quite pleased with the number of appreciative honks it received.
However, it was not until dusk that the Anglia knew it was in Heaven. There was a soft hum of an engine run by something much more persevering than gasoline, and the Bentley of its dreams came rolling down the street, its sleek black cover rolled back invitingly.
“ANGEL!” Crowley stormed into the bookshop, nearly taking the front door of its hinges. “Your car is humping my Bentley!”