Agape

Warnings: This story is for a writing challenge from the Ineffable Writers that I'm doing to get us more publicity, apologies to all the readers of Sin City... since it's an excerpt from this Wink, wink, nudge, nudge to the newcomers.

Disclaimer: Blah blah blah, Neil, don't be a jerk, you gave us permission to write fanfiction.

Premise: Agape, Just because A adores seeing B happy, A agrees to go to a place that B has wanted to visit for a long time.

Crowley squints his eyes and sighs deeply because it's time to enter the room where the lights are dim and dinner has already started in little tables in front of the stage, and there seems to be no possible escape anymore. Bloody Puppy eyes.

Aziraphale moistens his lips, asking the girl at the door and... listening to the instructions for the table they must sit at (which miraculously is the one in the front row). Before entering... he turns to Crowley, who is behind him, pretending to be as uninterested as possible in all of this. That requires a great effort.

"Come on, I think... we have good seats," the angel urges him, and hesitating a bit, he reaches out and takes Crowley by the wrist.

"I can't believe that you whine for like an hour and a half when your clothes get wet in the rain, and now you've worked a miracle of a table in bloody front row," the demon protests as he notices where he's being led.

"It was a coincidence," the angel defends himself, a bit uncomfortable.

"Tell that to the judge," Crowley replies without believing him even a bit.

"It's better to miracle this than the clothes... it's for you to enjoy the show," he assures, going between the tables, pulling him and moving his hand away from the wrist towards his hand.

"Like hell, I'll enjoy it," eyes rolling but he lets himself be pulled.

"Such an exaggeration!" he protests much more focused on finishing with him entirely by the hand, the demon intertwines their fingers naturally without even noticing.

Aziraphale notices it and his heart speeds up a little again not wanting to reach his seat.

"The grace is in... imagining how it deceives our senses," the angel insists.

"But it doesn't," Crowley looks at him over his sunglasses.

"It does! You're not letting yourself go," he reaches their little table, with two chairs and a candle.

"Because it's tremendously easy to see where the trick is, it's not real magic," the demon continues to protest.

"It's skill! And it's not that easy with good magicians."

"Unlike..." Crowley smiles sideways, looking at him and sitting down or rather, pouring himself back onto the chair like molten iron without letting go of him.

"I do it acceptably well," Aziraphale frowns and the demon laughs with that. "You being a bore..."

"This is not about being boring, it's about a minimum of dignity," he gestures with his hand.

"It's not undignified to have a little fun!" he protests. "I'm going to copy some of these tricks."

"What a surprise," he looks at him disapprovingly but can't help but smile.

"How does it affect you if I do some new tricks?"

Crowley sighs without responding to that, turning towards the stage.

"Maybe this time you'll be amazed," the angel insists.

"Or maybe not," he glances at him.

"It amuses me that it grosses you out so much..." he squeezes his hand a little.

"Why?"

"Because... it's just a game and apparently it must seem to you that I'm making too much of a fool of myself."

"Because you are."

"You say that only because you know I can perform a real miracle."

"Of course!"

"That's not skill and the grace of the magic I like is... the performance."

"Don't think you don't overact," I can't believe you're daring to tell him that, Mr. Drama Queen.

When they bring the menu is when Crowley lets go of his hand because besides, he doesn't... plan to eat or maybe he does, maybe the same as him, he doesn't care much.

When he lets go, Aziraphale picks up his hand, touching it a bit with the other, looking at him with a little idiotic look... despite how horrible he's being.

"Well, overacting is a bit part of the trick. Being draaamatic like you, or cheeery and full of energy," the angel does a bit of overacting.

"Look, I believed you about people dying while singing in the opera because it's a lybrical resource or whatever it's called, I'm not going to believe this either."

"Lyrical," he laughs heartily at this.

"That's what I said." the demon rolls eyes.

"You said 'librycal,' my dear," he smiles.

"Same thing."

Aziraphale smiles at him, looking at him with adoring eyes that he struggles to hide. He smiles back because he sees how cute Aziraphale looks when he's delighted.

"Do you feel like eating something?" the angel asks softly a few seconds later.

"Whatever you want," Crowley replies, looking at the menu. Aziraphale still gazes at him a bit longer before glancing at the menu, smiling.

"I think you should try the duck."

"As a humorous choice or as food?" the demon smiles wryly.

"As both," Aziraphale defines.

"Alright, duck it is," he smiles.

"And I think the occasion calls for a glass of Champagne..." he looks at the wine list.

"Let's see..." Crowley leans in to look at the options. He turns the menu slightly so he can see it. "How about...?" the demon points to one that looks good to him.

"That sounds good," Aziraphale agrees.

"Great," he smiles and leans back again as if he's shedding a layer like someone taking off a sweater and tossing it on a chair, signaling the waiter.

Aziraphale glances at him with a side glance in that position, and... truth be told, even though he complains about it, Crowley wouldn't be Crowley if he sat up straight without sprawling. He carefully closes the menu and places it on the table, brushing his leg lightly against Crowley's.