Contrary to popular belief, Crowley could cook. It might help to understand this situation if you knew that Anthony J Crowley, aged thirty-two, PA to the head of marketing at a large multinational* and living in the very heart of London, used to cook for his entire dorm back in art school.

(*except not quite anymore)

Ten young men, nine of them without the basic cooking skills one would simply have picked up by watching their mum** cooking for them for long enough, in close quarters, making long hours in uni and with hardly a penny to spare, was an outbreak of scurvy waiting to happen. Crowley was not about to let that pass.

(**or dad or other legal guardian)

The arrangement had worked out well enough. He would cook enough for a small army every night, including enough leftovers to provide packed lunches the next day, and the others would do the dishes and, occasionally, let him copy their notes. At first, it had taken some serious maths and creativity to wrangle the family recipes into something that could be more or less mass-produced, and some serious convincing for the shop on the corner to let him buy his ingredients in bulk, but it had been smooth sailing from there.

Now that Crowley lived alone, however, he didn't cook for himself anymore. In fact, he was pretty sure he only cooked when it was his turn to cook for Angela and Anathema.

His appetite wasn't particularly large, and he'd never perfected the art of cooking for one. Besides, he could simply afford to at least order takeout whenever he got hungry. But now that he had Ezra… he could simply justify cooking again. In fact, there was beef wellington resting on the dinner table, along with roasted rosemary potatoes and various vegetables, to support that claim.

Crowley stared at the ingredients on his counter. Four eggs, a sack of sugar, a carton of heavy cream, a bar of dark chocolate, and a bottle of vanilla extract.

His mum never made chocolate mousse. As such, he didn't have any family recipe for it. He was about to blindly trust the judgment of a convicted American felon in his own damn kitchen – but what a way to go, he mused to himself. He wiped his hands on the checkered towel that was slung over his shoulder and went into the living room to check up on Adam once more.

Sleeping like a log. Crowley smiled and reached down to stroke his rosy little cheek. He hadn't expected to get this attached. He'd hoped he wouldn't, but he did. Handing him back to Lucy would break his heart.

A knock sounded at his door.

Crowley jumped up and sprinted towards the door, socks slipping across the smooth floor. He took a deep breath and opened it, draping himself against the doorframe very suavely but also not entirely unlike a melting chocolate santa claus.

At least he would have Ezra.

"Hello, angel."

"Hello, my dear," Ezra beamed. He gestured to a bottle of wine. "I hope this one will suit your tastes better than the last one."

"I'm sure it will." The bar was set low enough, after all. "Come on in," he said, stepping aside for Ezra.

"Oh my goodness," Ezra said as he stepped inside. "Anthony, my love, that smells marvellous."

'My love'. Crowley's knees almost buckled. "Well, you know, I try," he said as smoothly as he could muster. About as smooth as sandpaper, by anyone's best judgment.

Ezra only nodded and smiled. "Is Adam asleep, then?" he asked.

"I put him to bed just an hour ago, he's not likely to wake up until after we finish."

"Does that mean we can have some of this now?" Ezra asked, wiggling the wine bottle in his hands.

Crowley took the bottle, nodded and smoothed his hair back before pulling out a chair for Ezra. "That's exactly what that means. Here, take a seat."

"Don't mind if I do," Ezra said, smiling a fond smile as he sat down.

As Crowley walked to the other end of the table, he inspected the bottle more closely and found that, to his relief, it was one with a twist cap. A satisfying crackle sounded as he opened the bottle and was greeted by a waft of the wine's fragrance. Yes, this one would be much better, he thought to himself as he poured them each a generous glass. "Alright, so, I'm sure you're familiar with all of these; roasted veggies and potatoes and a beef wellington."

"Oh yes, I can't wait." Ezra rubbed his hands together as he glanced over the foods on the table – Crowley was even sure he spied a bit of tongue sticking out at the corner of his mouth.

It brought a smile to Crowley's face. "Well then, don't."

An entire dinner and half a bottle of wine between them later, Ezra found himself staring down at the ingredients on Anthony's counter. Eggs, sugar, cream, chocolate and a small bottle containing God knew what. They shouldn't intimidate him, but they did. What if he did something wrong? He'd make a fool of himself and a mess of Anthony's kitchen. How he regretted relying on his family's values for so long. Now he couldn't even make something as simple as dessert.

Anthony must have noticed something was off about him, as he soon felt a nudge against his arm. When he looked, Ezra found Crowley, holding out his spare apron and a kitchen towel to him – the man was already wearing his own. "Ezra, are you okay?"

"I– yes my dear, I'm fine," he said, forcing a smile.

"Did you catch anything of what I just said?" Anthony asked.

Ezra glanced down and shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

"It's okay. I know it can be a lot. Just put on your apron and put your towel over your shoulder– exactly, like that. You can use that to wipe your hands on when they get dirty or just feel, you know, icky."

Ezra nodded and did as he was told.

"Alright, first things first, we're going to separate our eggs. We'll need four, so I'll do two to show you how it's done, and then you can do the final two," Anthony said as he drew two bowls closer to them on the counter. "We'll only be using our yolks, so we'll use the large bowl for the egg whites and the shells so we can toss those out in one go. So, this will be our trash bowl, if you will."

Next, Anthony took an egg from the carton on the counter, he tapped it lightly against the sleek, black marble. He brought it over the bowl and slowly opened the shell. "Okay, so this is the difficult bit. Look very closely, okay? We'll just…" he trailed off. Ezra wasn't surprised in the slightest. What Anthony was doing now, no doubt took a lot of concentration, as he hot-potatoed the yolk from one half of the egg shell to the other, as lumps of egg white dripped into the large bowl below. When little more than the yolk remained, he gently dropped the jiggly orb into the smaller bowl beside it.

"See? It's a little hard to explain, but I hope I did okay," Anthony smiled nervously.

Ezra nodded. "You did marvellously."

"Great! So, I know cracking the shell on the counter can be a bit hard at first, and it's easier to determine where the crack will go if you do it on the edge of the bowl because it's a smaller surface, but it also increases the risk of breaking the yolk. So, if you do it that way, you'll have to be extra careful."

"I think you'll find that Careful is my middle name," Ezra huffed, adjusting his bow tie. It didn't need adjusting, but he liked the drama it added.

"Your middle name is Zacharie," Anthony laughed. He took another egg from the carton and gently tapped it against the edge of the bowl. It cracked exactly where he tapped it, but it also ran deeper than when he tapped it against the counter. Again, Anthony turned it over to completely open the egg and hot-potato the yolk from one half to the other, then once more deposited the yolk in the bowl.

"Don't you get smart with me," Ezra mock threatened.

"I wouldn't dare," Anthony smiled. "Well, your turn," he said, handing Ezra an egg before wiping the egg white from his hands on the towel over his shoulder.

"Okay, let's see…" Ezra mumbled as he tried to visualize everything Anthony just did. He tapped the egg against the edge of the bowl, turned it over and opened the shell– only to find mixed yolk and egg white dripping into the bowl below. "Shit," Ezra hissed.

Anthony's eyebrows seemed to rise off his forehead, but wisely, the man said nothing as he handed Ezra the next egg. "No harm done. Just be a little more gentle."

Ezra nodded as he tapped the egg against the edge of the bowl again. He turned the egg, opened the shell to find his yolk intact in the shell in his left hand.

"Right! Now just pour the egg white from the shell in your right hand– yes, exactly like that. Now, pour the yolk into the empty shell– very good, now empty your left shell– good, and put the yolk into the empty shell again– fantastic! Now you can put your yolk with the others."

Pride bubbled up in Ezra's chest. He did it! He successfully separated an egg! He had to be grinning like an idiot by now, but he didn't care. He did it. With a level of boldness he'd rarely expressed in someone else's house, he took another egg from the carton and repeated the process. Once there were four yolks in the small bowl, he hazarded a look at Anthony again, who beamed back at him with pride.

"See, angel? Nothing to it."

Ezra nodded in agreement. "Nothing to it. What's next?"

"Next, we make our custard," Anthony said as he fired up his ceramic cooktop to medium-low. Ezra could have sworn he'd seen the cooctop's manual lying around in the kitchen before they started cooking, but he quickly filed it away as Anthony picked up the carton of heavy cream and a set of measuring cups. "We'll need three quarters of a cup of this…" he mumbled as he poured the cream into the cup and then dove into his drawers for a saucepan, which he then placed on his cooktop. Without much ceremony, he poured the heavy cream into the saucepan, chased by two tablespoons of the sugar. "This next bit will be very tricky," he said, picking up the bowl with the egg yolks, pouring them into the saucepan a little more carefully. "Because, when making custard, you can't allow the mixture to boil, or it'll be… not custard." Anthony picked up a whisk from the rack by the cooktop and handed it to Ezra. "But the first bit is easy. Just whisk it to mix it. It'll need to warm up until it's thick enough to coat the back of a spoon."

Ezra nodded, nervously but excitedly took the whisk and carefully mixed the eggs, the cream and the sugar together. He wasn't sure the fact that Anthony had turned around to break up the bar of chocolate into little pieces made him more comfortable or less, but he supposed he liked to have some sort of faith put in him in the kitchen. Eza peered over the edge of the saucepan. The custard was beginning to thicken. He found himself smiling proudly again. He gave the custard another whisk, picked a wooden spoon off the rack by the cooktop and dragged the back of it across the surface of the custard. It dripped off in thick wads. "I think it's ready," Ezra said, taking the saucepan off the stove and showing it to Anthony.

Anthony turned and took a look. "I think so too," he said, laying a hand on Ezra's shoulder and patting it slightly. "On to the next step?"

"On to the next step."

Anthony stepped aside to reveal the chocolate sitting in a bowl, with a sieve hanging over it. "Alright, so you just pour it into the sieve that's meant to catch the lumps, if there are any, which I doubt."

Ezra poured the thick substance into the strainer and scraped the very last out of the saucepan with a wooden spoon. Meanwhile, the custard that dripped from the strainer was warming and melting the chocolate.

The few lumps that had formed, Anthony pushed through the sieve with the back of the spoon. "That's that," the man mumbled absently as he put the saucepan and the whisk into the sink. "We'll have to wait a few minutes until the chocolate is melted enough to mix it properly, so I'll clean these up real quick."

Ezra nodded, even as his fingers itched to help Anthony. Sure, he was here to learn, but washing up was something he knew how to do and he wasn't about to make Anthony do all the work. Instead, he settled for watching the chocolate melt at the excruciatingly slow pace that waiting brought with it.

"Eager to continue, huh?" Anthony asked from behind him. Ezra nearly jumped.

"Actually, I would much rather have helped you washing up," the older man said with what he was sure was a pout.

Anthony raised his hands in self-defense. "Will do. Promise," he said in an attempt to de-escalate, but Ezra nudged him in the arm, identifying his pout as a friendly gesture. "Well, that chocolate looks about melted," he said as he handed Ezra the wooden spoon again. "I'm sure you know what to do with this."

Ezra nodded and stirred the still warm custard and the chocolate together. "You know, if you told me we could just eat this for dessert, I would believe you," he said as he watched the dark brown liquid drip off his spoon.

"Well, you could," Anthony said, but judging by his face, there was a 'but' on the horizon. "But I'm sure it'll be much better once it's finished," he continued as he took the bowl and put it in the refrigerator to cool down.

"What do you mean, 'you're sure'? Haven't you made this before?"

An apologetic smile formed on Anthony's face. A half-hearted attempt at a shrug was made. Ezra knew all he needed to know.

"Well then, you'd better be right. Or you'll never hear the end of it," Ezra said matter-of-factly, but he was sure Anthony knew it was an empty threat.

"Just to start us off on more-or-less more equal ground. I didn't have any recipe for chocolate mousse, so I just looked it up on the internet."

"If you say so."

"And I say so," Anthony said as he dove into another drawer of his kitchen, re-emerging with a mixer in hand. He pulled another bowl closer to them and poured in the remaining one and a quarter cup of cream, followed by another two tablespoons of sugar. He plugged the mixer into the socket by the cooktop and handed it to Ezra. "Okay, so what you want to do, is start it off slowly–"

Ezra cursed his nervous thumbs. The mixer turned on at full force, splattering them and everything around them. Silently, Ezra was grateful for Anthony's minimalist approach to decoration, especially in his kitchen.

Anthoný's fingers flew around Ezra's hand and the mixer and quickly turned it off. Not too much cream had flown out of the bowl, but neither of their aprons covered enough of them to have protected their shirts and their faces from the barrage of white droplets. Ezra was nervous to look at Anthony, until he felt the man shaking against him. A second later, the sound of suppressed laughter filled his ears until the man leaned back and let out a loud, hearty laugh.

Ezra chortled as well. "I don't suppose that's why one wants to start the mixer off slowly?"

"That's exactly the reason," Anthony smiled as he wiped the cream of his perfect cheekbones with the towel on his shoulder. "May I?" he asked as he extended a hand towards Ezra, who gladly parted with the mixer. Anthony put it on its slowest setting and began to beat the cream again.

Ezra watched with wonder as the cream stiffened up under the ministrations of the mixer, which was gradually turned up higher as the cream grew more firm. "This looks so much better than the whipped cream you get from the cans at the supermarkets."

"It is, actually. D'you want to know how I know the cream is firm enough?"

Ezra was overcome with the sudden feeling that Anthony was about to do something extremely dumb, but in the kitchen, he trusted the man blindly, so against the feeling in his gut, he nodded.

Anthony responded to this by picking up the bowl, mixer not included, holding it over his head, and turning it upside down.

It stuck.

"You have no idea how relieved I am right now," Ezra said with a nervous chuckle.

"As am I," Anthony said, flipping the bowl upside up and putting it back down. "If that hadn't worked, I would have looked like a complete fool."

"Like we both do, right now?" Ezra suggested, wiping the specks of cream from his face and hair with his towel before reaching up to get the ones in Anthony's hair as well.

"Well, if you insist that we do," Anthony said with a smile. Ezra could swear he leaned into his touch ever so slightly. "Shall we finish up this mousse, though?"

"And finally have dessert? My pleasure."

"Solid reasoning." Anthony opened the fridge and brought out the chocolate custard, picking a rubber spatula from the rack by the stove which he handed to Ezra. "Alright then, I'll hold this bowl over the whipped cream, you scrape all of this into that bowl below and then I'll fold the cream and the custard into each other."

Now, emptying a bowl was something Ezra knew he could do. Confidently, he scraped the custard into the bowl before handing the spatula back to Anthony. "There we go."

"Thank you," Anthony said with a smile, and set to folding the mousse together.

Cooking was fun, Ezra realized. Not just to make something deliciously decadent, but also to help out Anthony and watch him work. Who knew the man with the small appetite was also arguably the most passionate about cooking. With the flick of his wrist – or three, or four – holding the spatula with long and slender fingers, Anthony expertly combined the two mixtures together into something Ezra was sure would melt on his tongue.

"According to the recipe," Anthony started, derailing Ezra's train of thought before it could go somewhere unsavoury, "we have to chill this first, and then bring it up to room temperature before we can try this. Now, I personally think that's a waste of time…" he trailed off.

"And I would be inclined to agree," Ezra said.

"Good!" Anthony said and bolted over to his cabinets and produced two stylish and spotless white, square plates. On both of them, he put a generous dollop of the chocolate mousse and sprinkled some shavings of the leftover chocolate over them. Before Ezra could do anything to them, Anthony brought them to the table, set one down at each of their seats and poured them both a new glass of wine.

Ezra was happy to take his place back at the table and picked up his dessert spoon almost immediately. "You know, I can't remember the last time I had this much fun in a kitchen. Actually, I've probably never had this much fun in a kitchen to begin with," he said, quickly taking a sip of his wine as he realized how that could be misconstrued.

Anthony seemed to ignore this and simply smiled. "I'm glad you had fun, then. Do you think you could do this again Friday? I mean, I can still help, if you want me to."

"You know, I actually think I could. But if you wouldn't mind keeping me company, I'd love to have you with me?"

"I wouldn't mind that at all, you know me. Eager."

"Well then, shall we taste-test the fruits of our labour?" Ezra suggested, scooping up some of the dessert on his spoon.

"Great idea," Anthony said, doing the same. "Three, two, one."

Ezra put the spoon in his mouth and watched as Anthony did the same. It was everything Ezra had hoped it to be. It was light and fluffy, but rich in flavour. The bitterness of the chocolate, offset by the sweetness of the custard and the cream. It practically melted away on his tongue. It was beautiful. But not as beautiful as the man sitting across from him. He felt himself lean over the table, felt his hand seeking a smooth chin, felt lips finding lips and tasted the same decadence in the other man's mouth.