It's all very well and good for Aziraphale and Crowley to think through, mentally rehearse, and agree to an evening à trois with Craig Huling, but if Huling himself doesn't agree, then it's all rather moot.

Huling is about to be propositioned by the most skilled tempter on Earth. How will he fare?

There is so much I'd like to say about this chapter! So many things I'd like you to know about it, so many things, considerations, etc. that went into it. All of your voices were echoing in my mind when I wrote it.

It went through 3-and-a-half drafts. All drafts were difficult and so much fun to write!

As Aziraphale pointed out in the previous chapter, it is impossible for them to discuss and consider and wrestle with every contingency... it is equally impossible for ME as the author to do so. So, please know that I had to choose which battles to fight, so to speak. They may not have been the same battles that you might have chosen, but please be open minded, and kind!

Not that you are ever jerks. :-)

So, this chapter is VERY talky. This is because I wanted it to feel genuine. Real conversations have boring small talk - most don't just get immediately down to the matter at hand, especially with two parties who aren't sure of one another. And Crowley knows you can't just plunder in... you've got to have a bit of finesse.

And, the chapter has 2 goals:
1. To make Craig Huling three-dimensional. I tried to portray him as a gentle, sensual, intelligent man, with very human weaknesses and a charming, almost reluctant sense of humor. In one chapter, I'm trying to give you enough information about him and his personality that you CARE about him, what happens to him, and whether or not he participates. When you read about their encounter, I don't want you to feel that I've placed a total stranger in the bedroom with our boys.
2. To show that none of the three men are making this lightly, as a bit of fun that could exist independently of sentiment. I wanted to show that we (they, and I) are taking this seriously, especially the emotional ramifications. And in the end, hopefully, the reader will see why Huling makes the decision he does, and will be convinced that we are not necessarily headed for imminent disaster OR an unrealistic encounter.

I hope you find this chapter satisfying, un-boring, but also sweet. Enjoy!

HE'S AN ANGEL

The tinkling of a bell sounded, and Crowley took a step up. His feet then landed on a royal blue and light green ceramic chequerboard floor. The bell sounded again as the door shut behind him.

He had been here a few times before, most notably about two weeks earlier, when he and Aziraphale had spent some time and money on a cheese course, which had been almost forgotten in passion's wake.

He found himself slipping back almost into 'demon' mode, or at least into 'temptation' mode: he took his few seconds alone to look about carefully, assessing the colours, textures, thinking about the sensibilities of the person who had chosen it all. How were these aspects going to affect the transaction? He noticed the scent in the air, the music, the modest wine rack.

The entire shop had royal blue walls, and three crystal-clear refrigerated glass cases displaying its wares. The cutting boards under the glass were uniformly square, and uniformly white "distressed" wood. The cutlery had stylized, colourful Art-Deco handles. There were a few small paintings on the wall – unique abstract acrylics, and nary a sterile Monet print to be seen.

The door was on the corner of the building, and to the left and right, there were display windows. Both windows featured, as before, jams, preserves, and spreads to complement the cheeses, as well as gourmet nuts, and small cards with hints about wine pairings. Aziraphale had told him once that Huling's wine stock could be considered rather pedestrian on its own, but if one considered the pairings he suggested, quite a few of them were singular indeed. There was a two-person café table just in front of one of the windows – a little black iron set, with chairs bent into commonly-seen heart-shaped backs, and mesh seats. The table was made of the same mesh, and had a mason jar upon it, with a few garden flowers emerging out of the top. Crowley had been carrying a bottle of Aziraphale's 1940 Colheita Porto in his left hand – he now set it on that table.

Upon the air, a song was playing, called, "Amadio mio," by the American jazz ensemble, Pink Martini. Not Crowley's cup of tea as far as music goes – far too cute – but perfect for this establishment.

To his surprise, it was a woman who threw aside the curtain from the back room, and came through. She was rather plain – average height, average build, straight brown hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, and fitted white dress shirt under her light blue apron.

"Hiya," she said, lightly. "Just FYI, we're closing in about five minutes. Is there anything I can help you with?"

Crowley smiled. "You must be Kath," he said, sticking his hand out over the display case.

She obliged his request for a handshake. "You must know my brother," she chuckled. "Everyone else on the planet calls me Kate."

"Ah – yes, I believe I do know your brother," he told her, affably. "Anthony Crowley - nice to meet you."

"Kate Romy," she said. "So, you're here to see Craig?"

"I am."

She looked him up and down with a little eye flutter, clearly convinced that Crowley was some sort of love interest for her brother, and said, "Hang on. I'll get him."

From Crowley's position beside the display case nearest the door to the back room, he heard Kate speak to her brother, despite her attempts at keeping her voice down.

"There's a man here to see you."

Crowley heard a muffled grunt coming from Huling, assuming the words were something like, "Who is it?"

"He says his name is Crowley. Anthony Crowley."

Now, Huling's voice was clear. "Crowley? Seriously?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Shit."

At this, Crowley chuckled.

"What?" Kate asked.

"Tall bloke? Red hair? Probably dressed in black? Possibly dark glasses?"

"Yeah. Well, not the glasses, but yeah."

"What does he want?"

"I dunno – to talk to you. He didn't say anything else."

"Ugh," Huling groaned. "Does he seem upset?"

"No, he seems… charming. He was smiling, very pleasant…"

"Yeah, that's how he is."

"How is that a bad thing?"

"What else did he say? Does he have anyone with him?"

"No, he's alone."

"Damn it."

"Craig, who is this guy? Why are you reluctant to talk to him?"

Crowley sighed. It had never occurred to him that Huling would interpret his dropping-in as a confrontation. Actually, it had never occurred to him that anyone would find him threatening, as a human.

"It's just… it's complicated," Huling told his sister.

"Do you want me to ring Fred? He can be here in ten minutes. I'll tell him to leave the kids with Trish next door."

"No, don't be daft."

"Well, I can't very well tell this Crowley that you're not here."

"No, I suppose you can't," he sighed. Crowley then heard the distinct sound of an office chair moving across the floor.

"Seriously, who is this guy?" Kate asked, still in hushed tones. "Be straight with me, Craig: are you gambling again?"

"No, no, come on, Kath, give me a little credit. Just…wish me luck."

"Erm… good luck?"

A second later, Huling appeared in the doorway, with an uncomfortable smile, and said, "Mr. Crowley, hello."

"Mr. Huling," Crowley said, with a little bow. He picked up the Colheita and showed it off. "I wondered if we could have a chat. Friendly one. Totally friendly. I even brought a bribe."

"There's no need. I think I know what you're going to say."

"You do?"

"You're going to tell me to back off. In the friendliest way possible."

Crowley frowned. "Why would I do a thing like that?"

"You know that I…" Huling said, then he stopped short, placed his hands behind his back, and swallowed hard. "…that you have something I want. I reckon you're here to tell me to keep my distance."

"I do know that, as it happens. But it's not like you're there in the bookshop sniffing about all the time. Unless… I dunno, maybe you are, and you're just incredibly stealthy."

"I'm not. If I were ever there, you'd know it. I'm a bull in a china shop."

"See? What are you worried about?"

"Then why are you here?"

"Well, I can see that you're nervous, but rest assured, you won't need a witness. In fact, Mr. Huling, I think you'll be a lot happier if we keep this conversation private."

"You want me to ask my sister to leave?"

"It might be best, yeah – no offence to your sister, of course. Or, we could go someplace else…"

Huling's sister stepped back out. "I'm sorry, but we have a large shipment coming in the morning, and some receipts that still..."

"No, it's all right. Go home, Kath," Huling said. "I'll finish up."

In spite of himself, the man still seemed nervous.

"Excellent," Crowley said, sitting down at the little table. "Thanks, Kate."

Brother and sister both disappeared through the doorway, and pulled the curtain. A few moments later, Kate came back out, without her apron, jacket on, and purse in-hand.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Crowley," she said.

"And you," he said. "And don't worry – I'm not dangerous."

"I worked that out," she said, with a chuckle. "When you said 'bookshop,' it clicked. Tell Mr. Fell I said hello. I mean, we've never met, but I feel like I know him."

Crowley gave a restrained smile, and a nod, and bade her good night. She pulled down the shade on the inside of the door, then locked up as she left.

Huling reappeared with two small wine-sampling glasses, and a flat white plastic container. Crowley opened the Colheita, and Huling poured. As he did so, Crowley couldn't help but notice that he was still wearing the fitted white cable-knit sweater he'd had on that morning, and reiterated, within his own mind, that Craig Huling was, if nothing else, bloody lovely.

Huling turned off all but one warm canister light, just above the little table. He sat down across from Crowley and opened the flat white receptacle, revealing small chunks of five different cheeses.

"I had set this aside to bring home tonight. As you might have guessed, I live alone. Well, actually, that's a lie. I have a cat named Brian, but he doesn't like cheese," Huling said. "Help yourself."

"Thanks. Er, Brian? That's your cat?"

"Yeah. I find mundane human names quite funny on animals. An ex-boyfriend had a Basset Hound named Steve - it was amusing to me. Actually, the real reason is, I'm a big fan of Brian May."

"Oh, me too!"

"People make such a big deal about Freddie Mercury, but Brian's guitar work… oh, my God."

Crowley nodded. "We just went to a Queen cover band – the guitarist was a world-class musician, trained under Yo-Yo Ma. Still wasn't as good."

"How could he be?" Huling asked. Then he gestured to the selection of cheese. "Dig in."

Crowley had no hankering for any cheeses, but cut a piece of something – he had no idea what – and sampled it. And when Huling smiled, he also noted the man's crooked mouth, rugged, rounded nose and lips, plus wide blue eyes, one of which had a crescent-shaped scar above it.

Huling picked up his glass, and examined the thick, sweet, purplish-red liquid inside. He swished it just a bit, and asked, "So, is this really a 1940 Colheita?"

"It is."

"And Mr. Fell really purchased it at auction?"

"Well, to be honest, I wasn't there when he acquired it. But that scenario does seem to make sense, doesn't it?"

Huling nodded absently. He reverently sipped from the glass, and closed his eyes, holding the liquid in his mouth for a few moments. Eventually, he swallowed, and said, "Oh, wow. Oh… wow."

"I know, right?"

"I'm sorry… would you like to toast something?" Huling asked.

"Well, let's toast clearing the air," Crowley said. "Honesty. And possibilities."

Huling nodded, they clinked glasses, and each took another sip.

"Oh, that's lovely. So, so lovely," Huling mused.

"It's yours if you want it. We've still got most of a case in the back of the bookshop."

"Wow – that's too much…"

"Oh, hardly. Just have it. Share what's left with your sister tomorrow."

"Well, thank you. And Kath thanks you as well."

"Don't mention it. So… a bull in a china shop, eh?" Crowley asked, with a bit of a chortle.

Huling smirked shyly and nodded. Crowley could tell from body language that this was the moment when his guard went most of the way down.

"Growing up, I was in a wrestling club. We used to travel all over the country, competing. And I don't like to toot my own horn, but I was damn good. Won the South England pennant once."

"Nice!" Crowley exclaimed. "That explains your… physique."

Again, Huling smirked with a bit of diffidence. "Thanks. It gave me an appreciation for fitness. But absolutely no grace nor finesse. Our brother did ballet, on the other hand. Now, he could skulk about in Mr. Fell's shop all day and never be seen. He's like a bloody Ninja. With a taste for pranks."

"Your brother is a dancer? A… practical joking dancer?"

"Actually, he's an accountant - does our books. Still dances once in a while with a community company in his neighbourhood. Ironically, he's the straight one."

"And what made you want to own a cheese shop?"

Huling smiled. "What is this, an interview?"

"Maybe," Crowley said, with his own sly, charming smile.

"Er, well… you really want to know?"

"I wouldn't have asked if not."

"Okay. Well, I've always been discerning about food, even as a youngster. I started out studying culinary arts at uni, and had plans to go to Paris, but, erm… well, circumstances caused me to have to quit."

"Ah, circumstances. I hate those."

Huling sighed. "I went on a trip to Blackpool with some mates, and…"

"…got hooked on gambling?" Crowley asked. "Sorry – I heard your sister ask you about that."

"Bloody Kath – she used to work PR, you'd think she'd be more discreet. But yes, I developed a gambling addiction, and to be honest, I'm… well, I'm not ashamed of it anymore. I still go to meetings, and I sponsor a couple of people."

"That's… brilliant. I can't say I've ever been able to turn any of my vices around into something productive like that. Not without some Divine intervention, anyway."

"Divine intervention. Erm, sorry, but you don't strike me as a church-goer."

"No, just… appreciative of the odd touch from a guardian angel, is all."

"Aren't we all, eh? My guardian angel is Kath, but don't tell her I said that."

"Mum's the word."

"Do I have to ask who yours is?" Huling asked with a sparkle in his eye.

"No. I don't think so," Crowley admitted.

Huling nodded appreciatively. "Anyway, to answer your question, after going home with my tail between my legs, I waited tables at the Ivy, and had to learn all about cheeses, which was something that had never occurred to me to do… and it was sort of fascinating. I was able to go from there to a catering company, and different things – built up a nest-egg. Kath was getting bloody sick of PR, so I asked her if she wanted to go halfsies on a little gourmet boutique, and she fancied it."

"What are guardian angels for, eh?"

Huling smiled. "I had to learn a lot more about cheeses before we could start up this business, but as I did, I found I'd made the right choice. I can't explain why I love cheeses so much. I guess it's just the hidden possibilities. The incredible variety and nuance that most people can't discern… it's enthralling. Which makes me sound like a total dork."

"A bit, but I like it. Do me a favour. Next time you see my partner, tell him your story, especially that last bit, about variety and nuance and hidden possibilities. He'll eat it up. So to speak."

Huling chuckled. "He's quite the gourmet himself, is he?"

"Oh, I'm surprised you could tell. He's so subtle about it."

The two of them laughed a bit, and then Huling took a deep breath and settled into his chair.

"So, I suppose that makes a good segue way," he said, cutting a piece of smoked cheddar for himself. He popped it in his mouth, and said, "I assume you didn't come here just to share port with me, and grill me about my past."

"Sorry about that – I just wanted to get to know you. Didn't mean for it to feel like an interview. For what it's worth, I'm forty-four (I think), I have no siblings, and am recently out of a job."

"Oh – that's bad luck. What did you used to do?"

"Er… let's just say I was something of a 'fixer' for a large corporation. It wasn't very soul-satisfying work anyway. Luckily, I'm comfortable being a kept man. At least for a little while."

"And you're here because…

"I'd like to invite you for a drink. Well, another drink. Besides this. Next week. Probably cocktails."

"Oh. A drink?"

"Yes. At our flat."

"With… both of you?"

"Yep. A drink and… who knows what else?" Crowley said, with an easy smile.

Huling smiled uncomfortably, and looked down at the table. "Ah. I know what else."

Crowley chuckled. "Well, yeah, we all know what else, but I hadn't actually planned to come out and say it."

"Funny, I wouldn't have pegged you for one to mince words, any more than as a church-goer."

"You want the unminced version?" Crowley asked, with a smirk.

"No, thanks. I'm getting the idea just fine... minced," Huling told him, holding up a hand.

"Besides, we wanted to give you the chance to change your mind at any time, so as long as we pretend it really is 'who knows what else?' there might be less pressure on you."

Huling sat for a minute or two, contemplating, sipping a bit. Then he cut another small chunk of cheese, ate it, and said, "Can I just ask, what's brought this on?"

"Eh…" Crowley croaked, shifting in his chair, and drawing out the syllable. "Well, a variety of things. Mostly me. And clothing."

"Clothing?"

"Clothing, and reflections on power and coveting."

"Clothing, power and coveting," Huling echoed. "So, after your last visit here."

"Evidently."

Huling studied him for a moment. He seemed to examine Crowley's brown eyes, and narrowed his own. "Are you for real?"

"Absolutely."

"And is he?"

Crowley's voice became low, and serious. "He is more real than anyone I've ever known. More engaging and sensitive, and just… GOOD. I have never met anyone finer."

Huling smiled a bit sadly. "I'm glad to know that at least he's with someone who appreciates him."

"And you saw a side to him the other night – the spoiled, slightly bitchy, bit-of-an-arsehole side. And there is that, but even at that, there is zero bullshit about him. So yes. We are for real."

The fromager's voice came out quite light and timid. "Dare I ask, why me?"

"Again, it was mostly me."

"Okay, but why?"

Crowley sighed. "My partner himself gave me a metaphor, and I think it's apt. You'll appreciate it."

"Okay."

"Have you ever had a delicious, delectable dessert on your plate, and it's yours because you ordered it, and everyone at the table can see that it's probably pretty amazing-tasting. But it's so good, you really just want them all to try it? To share the incredible confection with someone else, just so that they can say, 'wow, look at what you've got!' And maybe a little bit because it's too damn good to keep all to yourself?"

Huling narrowed his eyes. "I have. I'm finding the metaphor, ironically, a bit vulgar, but also… understandable."

"And isn't it a great experience when others 'ooh and aah' over your dessert? And you're sort of happy to have given them that little slice of life?"

"So you're here talking to me, because you think he's a delectable dessert that you feel you'd like to share with someone?"

"Yes. But not just someone. You."

"Just me."

"Yes. And just the once – no strings."

"I don't know whether to feel touched, or insulted. Or pitiable. Or…"

Crowley leaned forward and engaged the man's eyes. "Before you decide how to feel, focus on the fact that you have an opportunity at something that would otherwise have been… well, frankly, never offered. And not because you're not a lovely man, but for reasons that frankly transcend time and logic itself."

Huling had no idea what that meant, but the bit about 'opportunity' that he wouldn't otherwise have did echo in his head. He nodded slightly, then fell silent again. Crowley watched his body language. The man crossed his legs and arms, and held his hands tightly in fists. He seemed to be holding his breath, and his eyes showed signs of real contemplation. His foot tapped on the floor – everything about his body was tight.

These were markers of a man who was grappling. Insecure with a decision. Not leaning just yet one way or the other…

But sorely tempted.

A man thinking of another man, a beautiful man whom he fancied terribly, and had done for years. Someone about whom he had likely had more than a few fantasies, someone who served as a distraction, whose beatific nature had built up in his mind to the point of covetousness.

Crowley could see it because he was skilled at tempting, but also because he was experienced in the field of Wanting Aziraphale.

But Craig Huling was a respectable man, who had been offered a possibly less-than-respectable chance to realise one aspect of a dream…

"I don't know if I could do it," Huling whispered, his voice edgy.

"But you want to. I can tell."

Huling sighed heavily, then confessed, "Of course I want to – I can't help it. I've admired him for years. Although, I think perhaps he's been with you all that time."

"Yeah. Basically. Sorry."

"I'm such an idiot. I had seen you come and go from his shop a number of times, but I guess it never occurred to me… I suppose I had convinced myself that you were just a local book enthusiast. Though, you look less like an antique bibliophile than perhaps anyone I've ever seen," Huling said, with a chuckle.

Crowley smirked. "Fair dues. I've never gone in there for the books. Though I will admit to sometimes going in for the alcohol."

"It never even entered my mind who you were until the two of you turned up here last week. Of course, that was after I'd already made my overture and been shot down. Did you know about that?"

"Yeah. I was there. I heard everything."

"He looked like he wanted to die," Huling said, quietly.

"He's not used to that sort of thing, is all. You took him by surprise."

"How did you do it? How did you get him? Did he look like that when you…"

Crowley sighed. "It was worse, trust me." He was remembering a near-miss Apocalypse, a column of Hellfire, a bath of holy water, and subsequent run-ins with various angels and demons that led them to confess their love after six thousand years. "He didn't look like he wanted to die, but it was plenty rough."

Huling put his elbows on the table, and leaned one cheek against a fist. "Well, you're a lucky bugger. You seem to realise that. You've got something exquisite, Mr. Crowley, right in the palm of your hand."

"Oh, you have no idea just how exquisite, Huling."

Huling sighed, took a pause, then said, "I'm afraid, too exquisite to just, you know… have it off and say goodbye."

Crowley drained his glass. "It's hard to argue with that. It took us years and years to finally be together because I had similar thoughts... too exquisite for the likes of me. Well, there are other reasons, too, but that was a big one."

He had to admit to himself that this little temptation was proving more difficult than he had anticipated.

"I'm sorry this was a wasted journey for you…"

"Huling, without telling you too much of my life's story, let's just say, I've talked with a lot of people at the ends of their lives. And do you know what they all say is their biggest regret?"

"The things they didn't do?" Huling asked, sardonically.

"Exactly. The opportunity not seized. It's a cliché, but it's the truth."

"I get that. I want to seize as much as anyone. I'm just not the sort of bloke who… you know."

"Who what? Who can make love without creating war? Who can carpe the diem, enjoy the 'exquisite' things that life has to offer, and not feel heartbroken when it's over?"

"Who goes to bed with someone, knowing full well it's going nowhere. Knowing that no relationship will ever develop. And especially two someones at a time! I wouldn't even know what to… how to…"

"Huling, I don't want to get vulgar or cruel, but… just indulge me. My questions are rhetorical, so you don't have to worry about judgement, all right? How long have you carried this torch? How intense is it? How much do you think about him? How many different fantasies have you had about him? And I'm not talking about the kind where you get married and adopt twins from Syria. I'm talking about the other kind of fantasy. How many different things have you thought about doing with him? To him? Or him to you?"

"Mr. Crowley…"

Crowley leaned across the table again, and lowered his voice to his most intimate-sounding, most tempting, most compelling, mesmerising tone. "Huling, have you ever dreamed up a detailed scenario, for just you and him? Maybe over the course of several weeks, you build upon it, changing details here and there? Like, maybe you start with, say, an exotic cheese course that you feed to each other, and then progress to licking each other's fingers, then licking other things until you suddenly realise you've wanked all over yourself? Have you used that scenario again in the shower or in bed, varying the dialogue just a bit, tweaking the cheeses, adding kisses, changing the venue from a picnic in the park to a rooftop in Paris? Done this in spite of yourself, carried it all the way to completion, and then fallen into a funk because post-orgasm, you reckon you're doomed?"

"Oh my God," Huling whined, buring his face in his hands.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Huling peeked at him through two fingers. "Sounds like I'm not the only one, though."

"You're not," Crowley whispered. "You and I, we want the same thing – we both want him. Huling, I've got him in my bed most nights, and it's still like fire in my veins all the fucking time."

"Can't fault you for that, mate."

"This afternoon, he asked me, what's wrong with wondering what's out there, and sampling it?"

"He said that?"

"Yep. With that beatific look on his face, and that voice that melts my knees."

"Mine too."

"And now I ask you the same question: what's wrong with having a taste? I won't lie and say that if you seize the moment, you can have what I have. But you could, if you take a chance, just have one forkful of the dessert on my plate. Have what you covet, just this once."

Crowley allowed Huling a few minutes to fall into thought.

Then, the fromager said, almost in a confessional tone, "I just can't escape this feeling that I'd be trading my soul for something that feels good. Something that might hurt, in the end."

"I know about trading souls for things, my friend, and that's not what you'd be doing," Crowley assured him, pouring two fresh glasses of port, and clinking them before taking a sip. "You would be assuring yourself that you will never regret the 'not doing'. You would never have to say that you died never knowing… him. What he's like. How he feels. Without knowing for sure that that little confection is as fucking delicious as you've always imagined. And I can't guarantee it won't hurt a little - sometimes pain is good. Or, at least cathartic."

"It would be a lot of pain."

Crowley nodded. "Okay. I get that. Something to think about. Worth exploring."

Huling looked at him, seemingly with supplication. "How delicious is he? Really."

Crowley sat back and took a moment. Then, emphatically, he began, "Oh, Huling. He'll fulfill every fantasy you've ever had. He will do anything you ask. He is insatiable. He is skilled. He is a little bit slutty, and efficiently accommodating – it's an intoxicating combination."

Huling swallowed hard, and leaned his forehead against his clasped hands over the table. He put the weight on his elbows, and said. "Oh for fuck's sake. Go on."

"He can also be militant, demanding. He orchestrates scanarios for me on occasion that are elaborate, finely-tuned, a bit prissy, but massively fucking filthy. Like, sometimes you-need-a-dry-cleaner-and-a-carpet-shampooer filthy."

"Uggghhh…" Huling whined.

Crowley's eyes seemed to glaze over then, and he stared past Huling at nothing in particular. "And… he's warm. Warm, like your best friend, and also like that bread pudding that you can't help but devour. He his Heavenly. Truly, madly, Heavenly."

"I'm crumbling."

"Because you know that I know. He is exquisite, as you said, but delightfully profane at the same time. He is, Huling, a bloody fantastic lover – the best you will ever have. And he wants to give himself to you, and to me, just once. It was my idea, but he agreed that you're worth the trouble. And if you let me walk away from here without at least a date set, won't you always wonder? Wonder what if? 'What if I could have had my mind blown, or whatever else I fancied, and touched perfection just one time?'"

"Yes. I will, damn it."

"And if I'm wrong, or exaggerating, or full of shit, at least you'll know. And you can start extricating yourself from the fantasy, the anguish…"

"Yeah," Huling said, letting his forearms flop onto the table. "But you're not exaggerating, or full of shit, are you?"

"No, not even a little bit. Do you have any idea how much less complicated my life would have been thus far, if he weren't so fucking amazing, in every fucking way?"

Huling paused, and then, "And he knows you're here? This isn't just some big, possibly misguided surprise for him?"

"He knows."

"Okay. One more question."

"Yeah?"

"What's his first name? I have never known it."

Crowley sighed. He hated this question, when it came to Aziraphale. He had never adopted for himself a name that easily morphed into a palatable English moniker. "Legally, it's Aaron," Crowley told him, truthfully. "But he's an angel, so that's what I call him."

So, how did I do, with the circumstances I've been given (or have created for myself)?

Does the chapter meet its goals?

Again, the chapter was bound to be controversial, so I'm really keen to hear from you! I feel I'm out on a limb here - what are your thoughts?