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Language:
English
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Published:
2021-09-13
Words:
381
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
12
Kudos:
79
Bookmarks:
2
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1,383

The Point Where the Oviposition Fic Went Horribly Wrong

Summary:

I...can't even. Does what it says on the tin. Crit is love.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

“Ohhhhhhhhhhh yeahhhhhh," Crowley moaned. "That’s perfect. That’s --” his expression suddenly shifted from deranged pleasure to extreme bewilderment. “Angel… Something’s wrong.”

Aziraphale paused in his work, one fingertip holding the fat bottom of the fifth egg in place. “What’s the matter, dearest?”

“I felt something"

"I should hope so!"

"No, you idiot, something wrong. Can you pull that one out?”

“Of course, of course, let me—”

“Nails! Sharp!”

“Sorry. Sorry. Can’t get a grip.”

“You need a manicure and I’m blanking on the fucking safeword!”

“Don’t panic. Don’t panic. It’s ‘hambone’ and I have an appointment tomorrow.”

“Ham-- what, really?”

“You chose it.”

“Was I high?”

“You know I can’t tell the difference.”

“Fucking hambone already!”

“Stay calm, darling heart, I’m hamboning." Aziraphale frowned at the recalcitrant egg. "I’ll have to miracle it out. This may feel odd.”

He tapped the egg lightly, making Crowley squeak, and it disappeared, causing Crowley to outright shriek.

Aziraphale wrung his hands. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, just the perfectly normal feeling of a fucking enormous egg vanishing from my snatch.”

“There’s no need for sarcasm. Or vulgarity.”

Crowley decided this did not require an answer, and peered down between his gangly legs. “Annnnnnnnd stuff’s coming out.”

Aziraphale peered as well, a supportive hand on Crowley's knee. For a certain value of "supportive." “So I see. What on Earth?” He had an excellent view of translucent goo and bright white chunks running out onto the black silk sheets. “Could they have hatched?”

“’S not baby chicks, angel. Not even liquified ones.”

“Baby snakes?”

Crowley glared. "I'm not pregnant! This time.”

"Thank Heaven for that." Baby snakes generally vanished into the floorboards until they needed school fees. Aziraphale gestured, and the sheets transformed into a very large towel.

"I just bought those!” Crowley objected.

“I don’t know why, you have cupboards full of them. I've seen you miracle them out of takeaway napkins.”

“There was a sale at --” Crowley reached into himself with a finger, producing a domed shell fragment the size of a two-Euro coin. But sharper. “Eww! Angel, why are the eggs breaking? Where did you get these?”

“They’re perfectly ordinary eggs from the shop!” Aziraphale huffed.

“Well, how long did you boil them?”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley blankly.

Then he said:

“Ohhhhhh! Boil them!”

Notes:

This is my first finished Good Omens fic, because the plague is fucking everything up and I normally write in coffee shops and THERE ARE NO COFFEE SHOPS AND IF YOU GO TO THE COFFEE SHOP YOU COULD FUCKING DIE. They took away the picnic tables at McDonalds so I can't order to-go and write outside.

This punchline is at least a century old. You'll hear it in old time radio shows every Easter - much like The Aristocrats!, the point is in how you get to it. ("I should never have hidden eggs in the washing machine. What a mess!") And much like The Aristocrats!, you'll never hear a story like this on Fibber McGee and Molly.

Thank you to Vali for being brave enough to beta this. "Is this a thing in this fandom?" "Yes. Yes, it is."