More talk, ramping up to Huling's visit. And of course, the first bit of Huling's visit. Humor and feels!

Let's get the ball rolling!

Friends, once again, I had to choose my battles. This story would wind up being impossibly long if I tackled every issue that's on all of our minds. Plus, I did want to add in a giggle or two, because it can't all be caution and seriousness! And anyway, It's been in the back of my mind all along that Aziraphale and Crowley would eventually have to have a "cover story" for how they know each other, and be able to answer all those questions that people ask couples.

Enjoy!

SOMETHING RESEMBLING THE TRUTH

To his great amusement, Crowley returned home that evening to find his towheaded partner lounging on the sofa in pyjamas, watching "The Golden Girls."

After taking the opportunity to good-naturedly mock, he relayed the highlights of his confab with Huling. In addition to being the owner of a gourmet cheesery, he is a one-time wrestler recovering from a gambling addiction who now sponsors other recovering gamblers, has a sensitive palate, two siblings, and a cat named after Brian May.

Most of this was a surprise to Aziraphale, of course – apart from the sensitive palate bit – though he was delighted to learn more about their favourite fromager.

Crowley did, however, win his partner's disapproval for some of the temptation tactics he had used. Namely, singing the praises of Aziraphale as a great lover, and using his own delectable dessert metaphor.

"It's rather misleading, don't you think? Not to mention distasteful. Pardon the pun."

"No, it's not misleading. I was charming like always, but I didn't lie to him, angel. And also… seriously?" the former demon asked, standing directly between Aziraphale and the paused television. "You're getting uppity with me NOW, about being good at getting people to do stuff they wouldn't normally do? I'm sorry, have we just met?"

Aziraphale sighed. "Did you make it clear that it's just a one-off? That this does not mean we are now a…"

"Throuple?"

"A… er, yes. Is that really a word?"

"In the twenty-first century, it is. And yes, while I was shaking our friend to his very core with the horrible possibility of never knowing the magic that is you, I believe I said 'just this once' rather pointedly, several times."

"So, he's agreed?"

"He has agreed on a 'who knows what else?' basis."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means he's coming for drinks. But the rest is contingent upon… well, frankly, how he feels when he gets here. What kind of vibe he gets from you, from me, from the two of us."

"Oh," Aziraphale said, with his hands in his lap. "I find myself strangely afraid of a possible rejection. What sort of thing do you think could make him demur?"

Crowley sighed, and put both hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry to tell you this, angel, but mostly you."

"Me?"

"Yeah. I think he likes me just fine, but you are his interest. You are the delectable dessert. You are the elaborate masturbatory fantasy for which he's bothering to turn up at all."

"Oh, Crowley."

"What? I verified it."

"You did what?" Aziraphale shrieked.

"Why are you surprised? That's how this whole thing came about! He wants you. Actually, it's possibly deeper than that. It's a thing that has had years to develop. Over time, he's had the wherewithal to wonder what you're like when things get flowing… wine, blood, saliva… other bodily fluids."

"Crowley, really!"

"And he has got a chance to find out, but knows that everything reverts back to normal in the morning. When I left him, he was thinking it might be worth it, even if the morning hurts. When he gets here, gets to see you with your guard down, sitting, having a meal, having a conversation, knowing he gets to touch you later…" Crowley's throat went dry, and he trailed off.

"Yes?"

"Angel, I've been there. Being with you, being tantalised by the prospect of touching you, and thinking I'd never have you. Not for real, not in any kind of meaningful way."

"I've been there too, remember?"

Crowley got to his knees and leaned across the coffee table. "Right. So, what if you'd gone to bed with me that first time, all those months ago, knowing we'd have to walk away from each other in the morning? Would you still have done it?"

"You know I wouldn't."

"And why not?"

"Because it might have destroyed me," Aziraphale said without hesitation.

"Yeah. Me too. Now, Huling doesn't have the burden of six thousand years of pining, but five years is about an eighth of his life thus far. It's a significant amount of time for a human to pine. I won't say it might destroy him, but it will certainly hurt."

"Yes, I see that."

"So, all I'm saying is, if he gets here and decides that you're too fucking amazing, he might just bugger off on home after drinks. And you and I have to be okay with that."

"So, are you saying I should be… what, less witty and charming than usual? I don't understand what you're telling me."

"No, I'm not saying that!" Crowley practically shouted. Then he sighed. With exasperation, he explained, "You asked me what might make him demur. He's agreed to come round, but he made no promises about anything else – he just knows he's invited to join us for whatever we should decide to do that night. Drinks, hors d'oeuvres, parcheesi, a 'Hamilton' singalong, or perhaps a several hours of explosive, chaotic, noisy sex. And what might make him change his mind? He's kind of in love you with you, Aziraphale, and he can never have you. And if he doesn't think he can handle having you, then not having you, then that's his prerogative. That's what I'm saying."

"All right, Crowley. No need to get exorcised."

"You know I hate that word."

"Sorry."

"Just be yourself. Do what you do. Be the beatific bastard I love, and that he loves. And we'll hope that he gives himself a chance to sample you. Because the more I think about him…"

"…sampling me?"

"Mm-hm. The more I wish I could still just sleep for the next eight days and make the time pass quickly." Crowley gave a naughty eyebrow tilt and admired his radiant partner, sitting properly on the sofa. Then he asked, "How about you? Any second thoughts?"

"No, actually. My interest is piqued."

Crowley smirked. "There's euphemism if ever I heard one."

Aziraphale wiggled in his seat. "Indeed."

"Still, I'm thinking, just to be on the safe side, if you're unhappy at any point, just do what you always do: compare the situation to 'The Sound of Music.' You do that and I'll figure out a way to get Huling out the door, okay?"

"All right. But what about you? What if you're unhappy?"

"I dunno. I don't see it happening. I'll just say something about Norse Mythology."

"What do you know about Norse Mythology?"

"Erm… nothing. Except what I've learned from Marvel."

"From whom?"

"Don't worry about me, angel. I'm the one who got us into this. If I'm unhappy, I'll deal with it myself."

"That's not now this works. Aren't we a partnership?"

"Fine. I'll say, 'Loki was adopted.'"

"Loki was adopted?"

"It's all I've got, and I think we can pretty safely say that it won't come up in the normal course of things."

"Fine. So… what do we need to do to prepare?"

"Well, for one, we should get our stories straight."

"Excuse me?"

"First question he'll ask is, how long we have been together," Crowley said.

"How can you be sure?"

"Okay, maybe it'll be the second or third question. But he's going to want to know, and you and I have been dodging that question since the beginning. Well, not The Beginning, beginning, but since… you know…"

"All right," Aziraphale sighed. "Why not the truth? Why not six-ish months as a proper couple, but we've been, let's say, mutually-desirous friends, colleagues, adversaries, et cetera, et cetera, for a lot longer."

Crowley pulled a face, and shook his head. "Six months isn't long enough for him to take us seriously."

"What does that mean?"

Crowley shrugged. "What if he thinks, 'well, blimey, after only six months, the incredibly lovely and monumentally clever bookseller could still be lured away from that flashy hipster who is totally beneath him.'"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "Crowley, don't be tedious. You're not beneath me and you know it."

"Well, sometimes I kind of am, but that's not the point. The point is, you could see how Cheese Man might think I am, yeah?"

"Perhaps, but even if he does think that, he wouldn't be correct – I can't be lured away."

"It's a kind of drama we don't need, if he thinks he can keep on taking swings at you."

"If you're worried about that, Crowley, then why they Hell are we doing this?"

Crowley sighed. "Yeah, yeah, point taken." He walked around in a circle in their parlour, and said, "I still say we ought to tell him more than six months."

"Fine. How about six years? The reason being, the current state of our, let's say, political alliance as we know it, began eleven years ago when we decided to thwart the Ineffable Plan. I can't speak for you, but looking back, I began to feel even closer to you at that time… not that I would have admitted it to myself, mind you."

"Yes, that last part, I know," Crowley muttered.

"So I thought, perhaps we say we've been together for six years, which was when we both moved into the Dowlings' place, but before that, we were…"

"I like your wording from before. 'Mutually-desirous friends, colleagues, adversaries.' For about five years."

"Which adds up to eleven years, we've been entangled with one another, in some titillating way, during which neither of us had any sort of meaningful entanglement with anyone else."

Crowley smiled, and began to nod. "It's a good number – eleven. Not round, so as to sound made-up. I like it. And yeah – there is a kind of poetic appropriateness about you and me, and the last eleven years."

"I like it, too. The dates are meaningful for us, and that will have to be our little secret. Not just with Mr. Huling, but with all people from now on, who ask us our origin story, as it were."

"Yeah, speaking of that, the second question he will ask is, how we met. Or, perhaps the first question. I don't know – anyway, it'll be in the top three."

"Right. 'How did you boys meet?' We've been leaping past that question like drunken gazelles."

"Well, I'm not doing a 'meet cute,'" Crowley grumbled.

"What's a 'meet cute?'"

"Just what it sounds like. Two people meet in some stupid cute way. Like you were walking home with an armful of flowers, and I wasn't paying attention, and I ploughed into you with my bicycle. Flowers went everywhere and everyone was embarrassed. And I felt bad, so I took you out to dinner to make up for it, and the rest is history."

Aziraphale frowned. "No, no, that wouldn't do at all. How trite."

"Thank you. Glad you see it my way."

"I was just thinking that since you already told him that you used to be some sort of 'fixer' for a large corporation, and he already knows what I do, we could start there."

"Oh. Yeah. Good idea."

"After all, we did meet in the course of doing our respective jobs. Might as well stick as closely to the truth as possible."

"Which will be… well, not that close, but okay, I get it."

"Everything we say will be symbolic, of course. Much like the question of our time together."

"But sticking to something familiar will help us avoid slip-ups," Crowley pointed out.

"So, shall we make up a corporation?"

"What, like 'Hell's Bells Incorporated?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes again. "No, that's daft."

"Oh! Have you ever seen the film 'You've Got Mail?'"

"Of course not."

"Well, it has one premise that might work for us."

At Aziraphale's behest, "drinks and who knows what else" had become "dinner, and who knows what else," because, he reckoned, it was the least they could do, and gave everyone more time to become comfortable with one another.

Just after noon on the day of their "date," Crowley had gone to Huling's shop to purchase a wheel of Brie, and a block of Parmesan, to say hello, have a bit of a flirt, and give the man a chance to back out.

But he hadn't.

Aziraphale made a pastry crust, rolled it out and wrapped it round the Brie, but Crowley did everything else for the baked Brie hors d'oeuvre. He had mixed the sauce and candied the cranberries and cut the slices of baguette and readied them for toasting. He had also prepared the ingredients for arrabbiata pasta with Italian sausage for the main course. There were also grilled aubergine slices for the side dish, and lemon-lavender gelato for dessert, if anyone fancied it.

Huling turned up for dinner at half-past seven in a blue and white gingham dress shirt, and navy blue flat-front trousers. Aziraphale answered the door in his usual garb, although with only waistcoat, no overcoat. It was as casual as he'd dare get on a night when everything felt new.

Poor Huling blushed hard upon seeing him, and this made Aziraphale smile, in spite of himself. "Now, now, don't do that," he scolded. He reached forward and took Huling's arm, and guided him into the flat. "There's no need for that diffident rouging business. We're all a bit on the back foot tonight, and you are very, very welcome here."

The fromager cleared his throat, and said, "Thank you. Very much," and he smiled shyly at the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Then he seemed to remember himself and handed Aziraphale a bottle of wine. "I hope I'm not being presumptuous, but this wine is excellent with baked Brie. Erm, Crowley said when he came in today that you were at home rolling out pastry, and he bought a wheel of Mon Sire, so I just assumed…"

"Ah, Pinot Noir by Louis Jadot!" Aziraphale exclaimed. "One of my favourites. And it probably isn't the worst idea to get a glass into you, post-haste. Do come in!"

Actually, Louis Jadot was an unremarkable brand, and Aziraphale didn't fancy it at all. However, he had tried some of Huling's wine/cheese pairing recommendations before, and had found them to be, on occasion, revelatory. So he led his guest into the kitchen, and enthusiastically opened the bottle, pouring three glasses, just as Crowley pulled the baked Brie from the oven.

Crowley went over to a somewhat hidden pantry behind the kitchen backsplash, and dragged out two collapsible stools. It gave Aziraphale and Huling somewhere to sit, sip, where they could all chat, while Crowley finished cooking.

The former angel and his admirer dug into the hors d'oeuvre with gusto. Aziraphale sampled the wine, and deemed it (privately), not bad. Then he asked, "So, how was your day at the fromagerie, mon ami?"

"Horrifically slow, actually," Huling replied, with his mouth a bit full. "Which worked out well, since I had to leave early to pretty myself up for you boys."

"Oh, I love days when I can close the shop early!" Aziraphale exclaimed.

"What? That's every day," Crowley pointed out.

"I didn't close – I just left my sister to it," said Huling.

"I see. What did she say when you told her where you were going?" Aziraphale asked.

Huling looked down at his hands in his lap. "She wished me luck in a slightly lewd way. I had hoped just to let her think that I was headed out on a date with Crowley. Easier that way. Though I don't think she believes me. She heard Crowley mention the bookshop, and knows about my, er…"

"Crush?" Crowley asked, helpfully.

"Yes," Huling replied. "So, I can only imagine what she actually thinks."

"Perhaps something resembling the truth?" said Crowley with a little smirk.

Huling sighed heavily. "Probably. Which is embarrassing, because she's my sister and doesn't need to know anything resembling this particular truth, but what's done is done, eh? Anyway, she's going to be disappointed in the morning when I tell her that Crowley and I have decided to be just friends."

Aziraphale chuckled. "I'm sure that it will be all for the best. You and he aren't suited for one another anyway."

Huling took a long pull off his wine, and said, "So, speaking of not suited… how did you two meet? Sorry, you just seem like polar opposites. I guess that's why it didn't occur to me for a long time, who Crowley was to you, though I'd seen him come in and out of the bookshop quite a lot."

Aziraphale smiled, and began to relay the story they had laid out during the previous week. "Crowley worked for Voyage Media International. They wanted my shop, and the one next door, so they could build a megastore in Soho. But I wouldn't sell."

"Wow. Well, on behalf of the small business owners of Soho, thank you," Huling said, with his hand at his heart. "So, I'm guessing Crowley was the guy they sent in to threaten you."

"Yes, but he didn't threaten me. He was professional, businesslike… then became friendlier. After a while, he just started coming in to see me. Month after month, year after year. He told them he was leaning on me, making thinly-veiled menaces, plying me with lawyers, trying to blackmail me, et cetera, et cetera, but he never did any of that. He'd just come to say hello, and have a drink, have a chat…"

"And eventually a snog?" Huling asked, with a searching smile.

"Not for a long, long, long time," Aziraphale said. "It took YEARS for us to get that far. For, oh, five-or-so years, we remained sort of mutually-desirous friends, colleagues adversaries… we must've had a million lunches and dinners together during that time. It was a long row to hoe."

"Well, I can see why! Corporate fixer thug, and independent business owner, vying for the same territory. You're supposed to be opponents, yet you find common ground, you find friendship, and more… I imagine that if Crowley's people found out that the majority of his evil-doing had been social calls, he'd have been…"

"Sacked?" Crowley asked, with a wink, whisking heavy cream into the tomato sauce.

"Oh!" Huling exclaimed. "Really? You were sacked for it?"

"Well, first they tried to burn me alive, but when that didn't work, I was sacked," Crowley quipped.

"Sacked for your associations, and for being a decent guy. Tsk. You could have a viable lawsuit on your hands, if you chose to pursue it."

"Nah – I violated my contract any way you look at it. However, don't misunderstand. Plenty of my evil-doing was actually evil."

"So, how long have you been together?" Huling wondered.

"Officially, just over six years," Aziraphale answered, with a little smile. "Unofficially, more like eleven."

"Six official years," Huling mused.

"Yes, but it feels like millennia." Aziraphale then sighed, and added, "Although, sometimes, it feels like the blink of an eye."

"And you live here full time?"

"These days, yes. Truth be told, most of my things are still in my flat above the bookshop, but I find that I don't need much more than good food, access to music, my clothes, and… well, Crowley."

"Hear hear!" Crowley said, stepping over to clink his glass against Aziraphale's, and drink heartily.

Crowley's last step in food-prep was peeling of a few layers of Huling's Parmesan cheese over their heaping plates of pasta and sausage. Then they all moved to the table, and opened a bottle of Chianti.

As they suspected might happen, their "backgrounds" came in to play. Fortunately, they had also laid out "life stories" over the past week, just in case.

It all started because Huling asked how a modest bookshop owner was able to resist the temptation of a big sell-out to a corporation. Crowley had advised him that "coming from money" should probably be a part of his personal history, so Aziraphale answered that he could resist because monetary reward was of no importance to him as a result of his family's resources. Meandering round the topic led to Crowley's story about being ostracised by his family for being too much of a black sheep (a sort of real-world version of being cast out of Heaven).

At the end of the meal, Huling complimented the chef, and complained of feeling quite full.

"If we had a terrace, I'd suggest we sit on it and wait for our food to settle," Crowley said, standing up from the table. "As it is, I'll suggest retiring to our parlour."

"We do have gelato for later," Aziraphale pointed out, with his eyes dancing.

"Oh please… later," Huling said, with a chuckle.

For an hour, they sat, talked, drained their glasses.

Sometime around ten o'clock, Aziraphale stood up and said, "Well, forgive me, gentlemen, but I'm going to go relax a bit… maybe change out of these clothes, light some candles in the bedroom. Whoever would like to visit me in five minutes is welcome to – I'll let you know when I'm ready."

"You've had quite a bit of wine, haven't you?" Crowley asked, smirking.

"Just enough," answered his partner, stepping into the adjacent room, and closing the door.

Crowley and Aziraphale could both remember a time when it was considered perfectly safe to light twenty-seven candles in the same room, balancing on ancient candelabras and melting all over everything. Not only safe, but quite necessary. Not to mention the fact that the two of them could stop dripping wax, or a fire, if necessary, with a snap of their fingers.

Tonight, Aziraphale settled for four citrus-scented jar candles – two on the credenza near the door, and one on each nightstand. To complete the effect, he used the dimmer switch to adjust the cone-shaped halogen lamps that hung from the ceiling above the bed, giving the illusion that the entire room was bathed in firelight.

He discarded his clothing and slipped into the soft grey robe that he had purchased in the 1950s as a way of swaddling himself in Crowley's symbolic presence. It would signal to Huling that he was ready to be touched, and to Crowley that he was still his. Plus, it mitigated his prim-and-proper air, and with it, some of his nervousness. He no longer felt the need to act upright and respectable, thereby wondering what to do next.

He opened the door, signalling that he was ready, but said nothing.

He could hear the low rumble of a private conversation, but within a minute, Crowley appeared outside the door, and he gestured for Huling to go in first. The latter did, and stopped short upon seeing Aziraphale sitting upon the bed, on "his" side.

"Oh my God," Huling whispered. "This is real."

"Only if you want it to be," Aziraphale said to him.

"I want it to be."

Aziraphale smiled slightly nervously, then said, "Good."

"I can feel it in the pit of my stomach - almost always can. One of the few things I've ever wanted that keeps me up nights sometimes."

"I'm sorry if it causes you pain," Aziraphale said sincerely. "Let's try to be pain-free this evening. Won't you come closer?"

Huling took a few steps forward, while Crowley leaned coolly against the doorjamb with his arms and legs crossed, watching.

The guest now stood directly in front of Aziraphale, just out of arm's reach. He smiled, and said very softly, tentatively, "Pain is necessary – sometimes it's good. The pain I feel now is completely worth it."

"The pain you feel now?" asked Aziraphale, worriedly.

Huling looked at Crowley for a long moment, then back at Aziraphale. "He says you're an angel. I'm inclined to agree – even more now, after getting to know you tonight. And I am dreading walking away, in the end. I hope I'll find the strength."

Aziraphale said, "Humans always find their strength when they search for it, and make the right choices."

"Yes."

Aziraphale took a pregnant pause, then, "Is this the right choice for you, Craig?"

"I can't help but believe it is. Knowing versus not knowing. Experiencing, versus playing it safe."

"Then, well…" Aziraphale whispered, then he gulped hard.

There was a heavy silence which went on for a beat too long, but which Crowley broke by asking, from his position in the doorway, "What have you always fancied doing, Huling? Let us into your mind, and we'll proceed along with you."

Huling took a deep breath, and sat down beside Aziraphale. He reached out with one hand, grasped Aziraphale's jaw, and pulled him in for a kiss. It remained merely a lip-lock for a few moments, and then their guest opened his lips, leading Aziraphale to do the same. He plunged a hungry tongue into the former angel's mouth, and groaned, grasping the other side of his jaw with the other hand.

At the groan, Crowley felt the first twinge. There was a touch of jealousy, yes, but mostly, there were naughty tingles below the waist. And it was just a kiss.

This was going to be bloody magnificent.

So... what do you think? *biting nails* I really want to hear from you! (Only fair, yeah?)

FYI: the encounter between our ineffable duo and Huling will take up two chapters. This much effort and buildup deserves more than just a oneshot chapter. Mostly, though, I can't cover everything I want to, physically, emotionally, symbolically, in one chapter without rendering it too fast, and meaningless.

But THIS chapter. What are your thoughts and feelings about THIS one, even before our characters get their kits off?