Summary: Crowley can use as much magic as he likes without Down Below asking questions, but there's a limit on the amount of miracles Aziraphale can use during a given time. How does this affect The Arrangement?

Rating: Teen

Warning: Non-graphic male/male smut

Note: This fic was inspired by the scene in Good Omens when Aziraphale puts policemen to sleep and complains to Crowley something like: "One more Miracle and I'll have Gabriel wondering what I'm doing."

Effable Miracles

"Well, if YOU hadn't switched the street signs on the way here, making all of the poor dears going down that block get lost, then I wouldn't have needed to Miracle passerby with an exceptional, God-given Gift of sense of direction. Now, I've gone and reached my limit for the decade," Aziraphale sulked as the supernatural pair made their way from the Ritz to the Bentley.

"Iss that sso?" Crowley smirked slyly and snaked a possessive arm around Aziraphale's waist. "You know what that means, angel?"

"That if I get carried away and help someone else within the next four years with anything other than Divine emotional support, Gabriel will have me fill out a ton of paperwork and visit Up Above to see a seminar about how too many Miracles actually do humans more harm than Good because they make them unappreciative and lazy." Aziraphale spoke as if he had seen such a spectacle in the past and would rather not repeat the experience.

Hell never warned any demons against using too much magic too frequently, but Down Below was a place of excess; Crowley accepted the explanation that Heaven was an unexciting place of moderation without question. After all, he'd LEFT the Holy place of boring serenity, hadn't he? "Exactly. Meaning, if you want any humans spared suffering before your count gets reset, you're going to need MY help." Using his free hand, Crowley unlocked the passenger door for his counterpart. "And demons can't go around doing Good unless angels do Bad. It upsets the balance and all that."

"I know how it works, Crowley," was the tart reply. "What's the point in stating the obvious?"

A dark tongue did really weird things to the angel's ear as Crowley whispered, "The point, Aziraphale, is that we're having dessert at a more private locale tonight."

Aziraphale shivered despite angels being impervious to temperatures. "But you haven't done any Good deeds yet."

Grinning like a predator, Crowley snapped his fingers. The tar on the nearest crosswalk suddenly turned so powerfully sticky that the wheels of both an elderly woman's wheelchair and a baby stroller being pushed by a young father became glued the moment the streetlight changed. Cars began moving toward them.

Aziraphale jerked in the demon's grip, attempting to rush toward the endangered mortals even if rescuing them meant Discorperating himself. Crowley held him back and waved his hand vaguely, resulting in all of the cars swerving at the last moment, avoiding hitting the humans and each other. The tar resumed its regular level of non-lethal stickiness.

The bibliophile sighed resignedly. "Your place or mine?"

"Mine." Crowley inclined his head to the opened vehicle. "Get in, angel."

Driving towards his flat, Crowley mused, "You know, since I was the one who dutifully did Evil and put those people in jeopardy, I don't think sodomy would be required as compensation on your part for me saving them. Hands job or fellatio should cover it."

A pink flush Graced Aziraphale's cheeks. "Just drive," he muttered stiffly.

Crowley cackled delightedly and sated himself with silent plotting for the rest of the trip. Annoying Aziraphale was entertaining, but irritating him too much would cause their upcoming physical restoration of metaphysical power to be delayed, and Crowley most decidedly did not want that.

Once they arrived, they engaged in a long dance of foreplay. It was wholly unnecessary for Crowley to Seduce and Tempt with Lust, or for Aziraphale to Resist and Temper with Patience, since they both knew how the game would end anyway, but old habits died hard, especially for immortals that didn't die at all. Besides, it was much more fun for them to spend more time in each other's company and to see their partner work his magic, so to speak, though neither party would admit to that line of reasoning out loud. The sex itself, once it finally commenced, also went on for quite a while, and included a tender battle for dominance. As had been demonstrated when they both met in Eden and hadn't felt the urge to Heinously Defile or Righteously Smite the other, neither being was particularly aggressive, however, they both enjoyed their jobs, and strove to do their respective sides credit by gently guiding the other into Greedy notions of more or Loving thoughts. Aziraphale tended to permit Crowley to win these contests eventually since fornicating was supposed to tip the scale back to the side of Evil, though the angel didn't understand how a consensual activity that caused a state of bliss could be negative. Mankind foolishly determined that all things which feel splendid are impure because they have the mere potential to lead to excess, or caring for something above God, but Aziraphale knew better.

Naked and spent in Crowley's no-longer-tidy bed hours later, the two supernatural creatures twined their legs together with the brunet spooning the blond's back. Crowley smirked against angelic skin as he drifted into contented unconsciousness. Aziraphale could have done other Bad acts to restore the balance between Good and Evil, like spoil milk or make the matches to people's socks go missing, but he allowed himself to be convinced that committing adultery with a demon was the effective method to employ. Crowley knew shagging Aziraphale's human body didn't taint the angel's aura, so there was no risk of him Falling (Crowley wouldn't do anything that would risk sending Aziraphale to Hell.), but it was certainly the most delicious way for Crowley to turn the situation to his advantage. In addition, it kept the angel too busy to go around Inspiring people. 'Consider yourself Wiled, my angel,' he thought in satisfaction as he fell asleep.

Once Crowley entered the Land of Nod, Aziraphale Miracled the sticky fluids off of himself and his lover, knowing he could claim to have used a cloth when Crowley awoke. Angels could lie, and Aziraphale did so when he deemed it to be for the Good of humanity. There was no limit to the amount of Miracles he was allowed to perform in a given duration of time. However, upon convincing Crowley that there was a maximum, the demon wasted a great deal of time he could otherwise be spending Tempting people to Sin. Crowley made excuses to bring Aziraphale around with him so he could threaten human lives when Aziraphale was there to rescue them, and – once Aziraphale's fictional quota was reached – Crowley defended humans himself instead. This scheme only was successful since going through with fatal violence wasn't Crowley's style (The flash bastard preferred causing mischief that was inconvenient for people.). Then, the two of them would spend further time in bed indulging in pleasures of the flesh to return the equilibrium that had been disrupted by a demon doing Good. Granted, Aziraphale had doubts about the necessity of the latter half, but Aziraphale was willing to acknowledge that the sensations his beloved friend wrought in his corporeal form were – ahem – hardly unpleasant, and lovemaking definitely kept Crowley distracted from Wiling mortals, which was the goal. 'Consider yourself Thwarted, my dear,' he thought smugly as he grabbed a book off of the bedside table to read until Crowley awoke.

The demon and the angel may have persuaded themselves to believe they were hindering and protecting humanity by keeping Good and Evil Forces at bay respectively, though what they were actually achieving was tightening the bonds they had to each other. Watching the two curled together, perfectly balanced as both an earthly and ethereal yin-yang, He smiled. Everything went according to what was – to everyone else – an Ineffable Plan.