Freddie Knows Best
By Taste of Violets
Disclaimer: Good Omens belongs to the wonderful Terry Pratchett and the equally wonderful Neil Gaiman. No part of it belongs to me, nor does any part of the Queen song alluded to in this fanfiction.
Author's Note: This…this is very silly. Very silly indeed. But I hope you enjoy it, all the same.
--
At precisely nine o'clock on a hot summer evening, an angel and a demon sauntered into the Ritz. The hotel's magnificent restaurant was just as crowded as it always was, but naturally (or, to speak more, technically, supernaturally) Crowley hadn't needed to make a reservation. For Anthony J. Crowley, reservations were one of those things that simply weren't done.
"I am so glad you chose the Ritz for dinner this evening," Aziraphale said appreciatively as he and Crowley were seated. "I enjoy our little excursions to other restaurants as well, of course, but there's just something classic about the Ritz to which other places really can't compare."
"Nothing better for dining in style," Crowley agreed as a waiter approached their table with a wine list.
"Oh dear," said Aziraphale, "I suppose I had better ask before I see that list – who's picking up the bill this evening? I'm afraid I've lost track."
"Don't worry, I'll pay the bill," Crowley replied lightly. "You just enjoy your wine."
At this, Aziraphale looked up at Crowley rather suspiciously, but Crowley kept his expression so innocuous that Aziraphale quickly dropped his gaze back down to the wine list, murmured something about that being "very charming of you, thank you, Crowley," and indicated his first-rate selection to the politely dubious waiter.
Crowley, for his part, tried not to hiss too noticeably.
- - -
One excellent meal later (Crowley had paid for the meal as promised, and had even gone so far as to tip the waiter after only a minimum of nagging from his angelic companion), Aziraphale and Crowley had left the restaurant and were seated in the demon's black Bentley. As he started the car, Crowley gave Aziraphale a sidelong glance. "Where to? Say the word – your wish is my command."
"Well…" Aziraphale considered. "I suppose it isn't too late…shall we go back to mine? We have time for a bit of a drink at the bookshop, don't you think?"
"Back to yours will be fine," replied Crowley grandly.
Aziraphale beamed. "You know, my dear," he said as Crowley pulled out of his parking space into the street in a manner that wasn't even particularly recklessly dangerous, "I don't know where you get it from – these generous impulses – but when you put your mind to it, you do know how to make an evening enjoyable."
Crowley smiled a cobra's smile.
Being doomed to an eternity of listening to Queen did have its upsides. And Crowley was always very careful to make sure that Aziraphale never heard the song "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy."
After all, a demon had to keep a few secrets.
--
Author's Note, part 2: If you aren't aware, "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy" is a particularly cheesy – and delightful – Queen song; the Freddie mentioned in the title of this fic is, of course, Freddie Mercury – the "lover boy" himself. I wrote this years ago, trying to include as many allusions to the song's lyrics as possible in a short ficlet, although most of the inspiration came from the verse that begins, "Dining at the Ritz, we'll meet at nine precisely…" Whether you're a Queen fan or not, thanks for reading.