Chapter Text
Crowley didn’t usually approach people in his favourite haunt Eden bar. Looking like he did, he didn’t need to, frankly. He just smiled at whoever he fancied, and they’d usually saunter right over.
Sometimes he made an exception – like for the insanely gorgeous man that was definitely a first-time visitor. Crowley watched him, entirely unsubtle. Watched the flex of his fingers around a whiskey glass, watched the tap of his other hand on a book. Reading in a bar shouldn’t have been sexy, but it was.
The man probably had a few years on him, but not many – his hair was on the verge of blonde and white, all perfect curls on top of his head. He was effortlessly handsome, with pale skin and blue eyes. The sort of man that didn’t do much, and still looked good.
The opposite of Crowley, really. He looked angelic – innocent almost, but there was something about the curve of his lips that suggested he was not, that he’d be perfectly capable of grabbing a partner, throwing them around. Holding them down as he fucked into them.
Crowley shifted on his seat – now that was something that he rather fancied. He was rarely so giddy about a hookup, but he ignored it, focusing on the anticipation. He paid for another glass of whiskey when the man emptied his, and sauntered over, setting it down on the table before him, and leaning down.
“Hey.” He said. “Want another?”
Blue eyes shot up and studied him. A polite smile appeared on the man’s features. Crowley mentally adjusted his thoughts about his age – the man probably had about a decade on him, all things considered.
“Thank you.” He said in a smooth, deep voice. “But no, thank you.”
“Er, what?” He stammered, confused.
The smile widened. “Thank you for the drink. No thank you for the implication.” He said.
Crowley blinked, not understanding. “Huh?”
The other man sighed. “My dear, surely you’ve been rejected before?”
“Not really.” He admitted – it was true.
Blue eyes rolled, and then studied him again. “You are, of course, handsome. Beautiful, even.” The stranger said, as if it was simply a fact. Which, to be fair, it was. Crowley knew that. He still made a strange all-consonant sound in reaction to hearing it that had the other man smiling briefly. “But I prefer to have things in common with my… partners. And I dare say, we do not have things in common.”
Crowley scoffed. “We’re gay men who find each other attractive in a gay bar. Who cares if we don’t have the same favourite Queen song?”
The other man raised an eyebrow. “I’m not familiar, but regardless – I do. I do hope I didn’t hurt your feelings.”
“Er, no.” Crowley lied. “Enjoy the drink, I suppose. And your… book.”
“Thank you.” The other man said – and smiled. A different smile, a sincere one, as if he was pleased by Crowley saying that. The expression was beautiful.
He sauntered away, still confused.
Several drinks – and rejections to men who hit on him - later, he came back, letting himself fall into the seat next to the blonde, who gave him a weary look.
“’ello again.” He said, slurring slightly.
The book was lowered. “Hello. You are positively wasted.”
“M’yep, ‘s me. Shitfaced.”
The other man wrinkled his nose as if the language upset him. Crowley ignored him.
“W’t I wanna know is… is… how do you know we have nothing in common?” He questioned.
The other man sighed, closed his book, and set it down. He finished his most recent glass and then turned to look at him properly. It was almost unnerving, to have his complete attention like that.
“What’s the last good book you read?” He asked.
“More of a movie person, me.”
“Favourite composer?”
“Uh, Freddie Mercury?”
The other man sighed, a long-suffering sound that annoyed him. “Favourite colour?”
“Black, obviously.” He said, gesturing to his clothes. “Although I’d make an exception for the blue your eyes are. ‘s pretty.” He said, gesturing to him.
The other man smiled wryly. “Charming.” He drawled sarcastically. “But I believe I’ve made my point. We have nothing in common with one another – and I’m afraid I go for more than looks.” The other man stood. “Not to mention, drunk as you are now, you’d be no good to me now anyway.” He said.
“What’s your name? I’m Crowley.” Crowley blurted out as the other man picked up his coat.
He got a look for the question. “Aziraphale. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Crowley watched him leave.
“Wow, mate, you got dragged.” An unfamiliar voice said from behind him – he turned to see the barkeep there, ready to wipe down the table. He grunted his assent.
“He a regular?”
“First time, I think. That was a bit vicious, wasn’t it?”
“Mhm. Think I’m a little bit in love, actually.” Crowley said with a grin.