Good Omens Crowley and Aziraphale shorts--Ineffable Husbands PWPs and fluff

Better the Devil You Know Part 3: The Way to Woo

This probably should have been a separate book, but I didn't realise (again!) it would have more than two chapters.

After much thought, Crowley took chocolates to the book shop. Again, he had thought about flowers, but it seemed too much, really. All his vague ideas of romantic courtship seemed to wilt a little when he thought of Aziraphale looking at him sardonically, hands folded over his stomach.

Still, Crowley's itching romantic sensibilities prompted him to take some token of devotion, and Aziraphale liked sweets.

"Fruit and chocolates on the same day? Are you fattening me up to be devoured?" Aziraphale's expression was stern, but the corner of his eyes crinkled, and Crowley found himself relaxing.

"Thought you might have been hungering without me," he said with elaborate casualness, and was both delighted and terrified to see Aziraphale become a little pinker. This flirting thing wasn't as difficult as he thought. "Glad your clobber passes muster," he added, looking at approval at Aziraphale's quiet dove grey suit. "We're lunching at my club and I'd hate you to be turned back at the door."

"Brooks's again?" Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "My dear boy, am I to lose you to the whist table already?"1 Tit for tat, Crowley supposed, flushing a little himself. This game was new, and somewhat unnerving, but it seemed Aziraphale was willing to play along. "I would prefer to lunch at my own club."

Crowley had no intention of going to Garrick Club and risking losing Aziraphale's attention to some fascinating writer or composer.2 He was determined to be the most fascinating being present. "Oh, I'm putting my stakes on another kind of gamble today," he said lightly, leaning on his cane. "New century, new club."

He directed the cab to Piccadilly Street. Crowley was to all appearances young, fairly good looking and clearly flush with money, and extremely good at implying connections to the best families. A few hints, and he had been proposed and elected to the Bachelors Club with almost unheard of speed. It suited his needs: fashionable, high spirited to the point of wildness, and full of much younger men than most clubs. Plenty of chances to create mischief, there.

Crowley had another reason for choosing it for lunch. There were certain rumours about the Bachelors Club that suggested to him that wining, dining and wooing what was to appearances a gentleman might be more accepted there than at other establishments.3

He wondered if Aziraphale made the connection. It was hard to know, even after thousands of years of best enmity, just what was going on behind those piercing blue eyes. The angel was ferociously intelligent, undoubtedly. He was equally undoubtedly inclined to let human affairs flow past him with detached tolerance as if far less relevant and interesting than a new manuscript.

Surely Aziraphale knew what Crowley was doing. The demon was hardly being subtle in signalling intent. And Aziraphale was not objecting. He must, at least, be waiting to see where things went and how far Crowley took them.

Crowley hoped Aziraphale had missed him as much as he thought he had.

They were soon settled in the coffee room of the Bachelors Club with soup and an excellent pale East India sherry. Aziraphale twinkled over his glass at Crowley. "So, my dear, to which decadent twentieth-century delights are you proposing to initiate me today?"

Crowley drew his breath in, trying not to hiss. There had to be meaning in that look, he was sure of it. "I've been catching up on the things I've missed myself. The boys here have been introducing me to the gentle sport of ping-pong." He grinned.

"Heaven forbid." Aziraphale shuddered expressively.

"Well, you should know. Sure you won't give me an after-dinner game?"