Disclaimer: Good Omens belongs to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.

Author's Notes: The first line was floating around in my head for a while, so I thought I'd write a fic based on it. I'm not too happy with the way it turned out though. Concrit is welcome.

Scepticism

Crowley had always been sceptical of love.

He'd often joked about married couples having no choice in the matter. He poked fun at Ramesses and Nefertari, and whispered to the queen that the statues made her look fat. He made dire predictions at weddings. He had found the whole Troy episode so amusing that he'd been discorporated in one of the battles simply because he'd been laughing too hard to see where he was going.

"It was lusst, angel," he told Aziraphale later, after he'd gotten a new body and an amphora or two of good wine. "Sshe wass bored, and he wass like a kid with a new toy." He winked lasciviously. "A ssexy new toy." And Aziraphale thought about the people dying because of a doomed love affair, and sighed.

"Finn is a good man, Crowley," Aziraphale said wearily, miracling his druid's tonsure back to its normal messy, slightly curly state. "Don't make him do this. He could just let them go."

"He could," Crowley agreed. "But he won't. He's too proud. It was his lucky day, really; imagine if he'd actually properly married and lived with a girl who was lusting after others at her marriage feast."

"They're in love," Aziraphale said softly. "They shouldn't be hunted down like animals."

Crowley rolled his golden eyes. "Humans are animals, and dumb ones at that. Ruled by their instincts, especially when it comes to lust." He grinned. "And I didn't even have to lift a finger when it came to Diarmait and Gríanne."

"Shakespeare is an utter idiot," Crowley stated emphatically. "I can't believe I let you make me sit through that unbearable load of tripe. Bet you anything it won't last."

"I thought it was beautiful," Aziraphale sniffed. "Just because you don't understand love – "

The demon cut him off abruptly. "Love doesn't exist, angel. There's nothing to understand. Sure, there's fondness, and caring, and attachments. But love, the sort that your silly playwrights and minstrels go on about, doesn't exist. It's just lust, and hormones, and confusion." He calmed down. "Look, let's drop the topic and find a decent tavern."

Something flickered in Aziraphale's blue-grey eyes. "You go ahead, dear boy. I've got some work to do tonight." He turned and walked away quickly. As he watched the angel walk away, Crowley felt strangely alone.

Aziraphale glared at the demon over the top of his book. "I know it's her sixth child, Crowley. I still don't see what you find so amusing."

Crowley smirked. "Apparently Albert's more of a man than I thought he was."

Aziraphale sighed. "I'm just glad that at least they're in love. I've always pitied royals and nobles and the like; they have to marry based on power and politics, not love."

Crowley groaned. "Oh, for the love of – Angel, when are you going to get it through your pretty little head that love doesn't exist?! It can't. Not even in Heaven, so don't go trying that example." He was trembling, breathing heavily. "Don't try telling me that the Big Guy, at least, loves His children. Because if he cared one whit about us, then no one would have Fallen. Isn't forgiveness supposed to be part of love? And if the Creator cannot love properly, how can the created? It's just lust and a whole bunch of silly, complicated ideals. That's it." He glared at the lone star twinkling in the twilight sky.

There was a soft sigh and a rustling, as of feathers, from behind him, but he studiously ignored the angel. Suddenly, there were warm arms around him, cool lips against his temple, and a bower of soft, pure white feathers surrounding him, glowing faintly. An aura of calmness, serenity and love was emanating from the being holding him. A lump formed in Crowley's throat, and he leaned back slightly.

Crowley had always been skeptical of love.

He learned to see the world in a new way. He finally understood what all those poets had been wittering on about. He woke up feeling safe, warm and happy.

It would have been nice to say all that, but demons simply don't go in for that sort of thing. Crowley still laughed when passing young couples gazing into one another's eyes, and continued to make dire predictions at weddings. He never stopped poking fun at what Aziraphale insisted on calling "timeless love stories". He'd read out romantic passages from books in a more dramatic manner than was really called for, with commentary so filthy that it was a wonder the books themselves didn't blush.

But he did stop denying the existence of love. After all, it was hard to say that love didn't exist with a pair of blue-grey eyes gazing at you with that very emotion so clearly expressed in their depths and the knowledge that your own eyes couldn't lie either, or with soft white wings wrapped around you, with cool chapped lips brushing against closed serpentine eyes and heated skin.

Lust was definitely involved, but love was the main thing here.

~*~

~ Sivaroobini