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Aziraphale had been the one to make the suggestion.
“There's this lovely restaurant I've always wanted to visit. Would you care to join me?”
Beelzebub wanted to decline. The two of them were doing just fine lounging about at St James Park, feeding white bread to Mallard ducks, or spending the majority of their time together in Aziraphale’s bookshop. It created structure in Beelzebub's recent settlement on earth, a structure they didn't want to break.
The Lord of the Flies had abandoned their throne in hell, having grown tired of the same, relentless routine. It drew them mad with boredom. They no longer wanted to lead ten million demons and follow God’s ‘Great Plan’. Beelzebub was sure hell would find a replacement. And from what Beelzebub heard, Shax managed to fill that role, albeit incompetent.
Anyway, Beelzebub saw no reason to go to some fancy ass restaurant, pretending to be your average, rich bloke, who had too much time on their hands. ‘Pass the cherry sauce, Aziraphale! It's absolutely scrumptious!’ Haughty bastards those lot were.
Not only that, but restaurants meant food. You know, the same garbage humans orally consumed and produced outlandish concoctions out of. Fish and chips? Scotch egg? Beans on toast? Seriously, how did we get from a forbidden fruit to this?
Aziraphale had persuaded Beelzebub into drinking wine some time ago. They enjoyed that quite a lot. However, that was the only thing Beelzebub had ever tasted on earth. It took a lot of pleading for the demon to warm up to the idea. But, food? That was a vast leap they refused to entertain. They could never comprehend how or why Aziraphale sought out pleasure in such vile activities.
Which all amounted to Beelzebub saying yes regardless. You can't blame them, though. With the way the angel was brimming with exhilaration and expectancy, they folded right then and there. Anyone would fall victim to Aziraphale's charms.
So, here the both of them were, seated in beige tufted chairs at a round table, draped over by a silk white tablecloth. Somber piano keys replicated the classical melody of Beethoven's “Piano Sonata No.8 in C minor, Pathétique”, and echoed throughout. The establishment was lively, which was ironic, and as anticipated, pompous, middle aged British men occupied the majority of the establishment. There were the occasional spouses here and there, but Beelzebub paid no mind to them.
The walls were a mousy color that hung paintings of muddled lights and darks. Rectangular windows with drawn back tartan curtains, shone illuminating rays of the blazing sun, striking various shades of brown that was the carpeted floor. The dining room was overall old-fashioned, which Beelzebub assumed was the prime reason Aziraphale picked this restaurant in the first place.
Aziraphale had scarfed down the previous tasting menu items with such glee, it baffled Beelzebub, and as each course came and went, their body buzzed. It was faint, almost unnoticeable, until it became impossible to ignore. Bouncing their leg and drumming their fingers did nothing to ease the sensation.
The main course was served to the pair minutes ago, being described as: “Charred Cucumber Panzanella with Grilled Steak”. Whatever that meant.
Aziraphale’s porcelain plate was half-eaten, a majority of the medium well beef down his gullet. Which left behind a small helping of the tossed reds and greens, doused in seasonings, vinegars, honey, and pieces of sourdough bread. An empty container of Salsa verde stood beside the meal. There used to be a slice of sourdough that complemented the missing sauce, but it was devoured promptly.
He grasped his fork and stabbed the vegetables with its tines, bringing it to his lips to clamp around. Aziraphale removed the utensil from his mouth as he chewed, moaning in delight, his eyelids fluttering. He inhaled, soon digging back into the sea of colors.
Aziraphale’s gaze drifted over to Beelzebub’s full plate and his brow furrowed, lifting his head up at the culprit. Beelzebub could sense his eyes on them without needing to look themselves.
Beelzebub’s elbow wedged into the table, their chin resting in the palm of their fishnet hands. An index finger tapped repeatedly next to round eyes that focused on nothing.
“Dear, is something the matter?” Aziraphale asks, voice laced with concern. He paused the second train of vegetables from reaching their destination, to stare at Beelzebub. “You haven't touched your plate at all. Is something wrong with it?” He presses, resuming his consumption.
Was something wrong? Was that a serious question? After he dragged them here? They scoffed. “The word ‘wrong’ doesn’t cut it.”
Aziraphale’s face fell at their words, setting his silverware down onto the plate, it clinking against the smooth surface. His adam apple bobbed, swallowing the remaining food in his mouth.
“Care to elaborate?”
Dabbing each corner of his mouth with a napkin, he awaits a response, bundling the tissue under his palm.
Beelzebub leans forward, narrowing their eyes. “It’s not just the food, Angel,” they began, tone hushed. “I don't go to places like this. It's too quiet, posh, and way too bright. And I swear if I hear another scrape on a plate or clank of a spoon, I will destroy the first human I lay eyes on.”
Aziraphale reclined in his chair with a disgruntled noise. “Come now, Beelzebub,” he spoke delicately. “I know this is quite different from what you and I do together, but the food here really is divine. I think you'd like it.” His eyebrows rose briefly and his dimples appeared. Beelzebub extended their neck.
“You can't be serious. You actually expect me to ingest…” Their hands gestured toward their plate irritably. “...this slop?”
Aziraphale winced. “Slop? I'll have you know that this ‘slop’ has been prepared to utmost perfection.” He adjusted himself, reaching for his partially full champagne glass. “I don't want to hear you badmouthing human cuisine, when you've spent most of your existence consuming nothing but hellfire,” he lambasted, guzzling the sparkling liquid.
Beelzebub let out a bitter huff, a small smirk playing on their red lips. “Oh, so we’re going there now, are we? You must think you're hot shit if you consider eating garbage to be worth a gold medal,” they marveled. “Oh, how noble and heroic the angel was for sullying his temple with human nutriment,” they sneered, rolling their eyes. “Give me a break.”
Aziraphale took a sharp intake of air, slamming the glass on the table, the drink collapsing on itself. “There’s nothing wrong with trying new things, you know. You may find it rewarding.”
Beelzebub cackled, tilting their head back. “The angel who’s been wearing the same attire for who knows how long, is lecturing me about trying new things? The hypocrisy.”
The angel gasped before pouting, straightening the lapels of his frock coat. “I'll have you know that this is very stylish!” He reprimanded, his voice peaking.
They glared at each other in tense silence, the gentle music and mumbling of conversations seeping through.
One stifled laugh later, and Aziraphale and Beelzebub are chuckling amongst themselves. They tried their hardest, but they both failed to keep up the vexed facade. Beelzebub shook their head, grinning ear to ear.
Aziraphale’s fingers handled his lone fork, jabbing into the remaining slivers of steak. “But really, you should at least have a nibble. It's very good.” He dug his teeth into the glistening meat, ripping off a piece to chew.
Beelzebub groaned, bringing their arms tight against their chest. He was a tenacious angel, they’d give him that. It’s one of the things that made him endearing, and flawed.
“In fact, how about…” Aziraphale trailed off as he scrambled with his utensils and sliced a small fragment of the steak, creating a grating sound that made a shiver go down the demon's spine. “...I have you try this?”
He presented the piece in front of them, the beef pierced through. Beelzebub crossed their eyes boring into it. “What is that exactly?” They questioned, beckoning ever so close.
“Grilled steak!” He blurted out, tittering awkwardly at his avidity. “Steak, also known as beef, derives from one of earth’s most precious creatures: the cow.” He announced, as if hosting a theoretical performance. “There are many ways to prepare steak here on earth, but this one was made on a metal framework called a grill.” Aziraphale bounced his shoulders and his eyes crinkled. “Grills assist in giving any nosh you can think of an almost charred appearance. It's a common method of cooking steak.” He then paused, pursing his lips. He was rambling.
“Anyway, it's firm, yet tender in texture and savory in taste. All good things, so, go on, have at it.” Aziraphale encourages, beaming. Did he somehow forget Beelzebub had their own portion of the meal? They could feed themselves.
Another problem arose when Beelzebub realized that the implement Aziraphale is currently shoving in their face, is the exact same one he was eating from. Which meant his saliva was all over it.
Beelzebub leaned back in their seat, their expression revealing a sense of uncertainty. It was intimidating despite its puny size, the brownish-pink meat leering back at them. There was no way this would taste good if it was from a slaughtered animal. Surely its blood would taint anyone's taste buds.
Yet, Aziraphale seemed to relish in the cow’s flesh. Unless - Did Aziraphale like the taste of blood?
They peered up at Aziraphale who sat in anticipation, his eyes twinkling. Beelzebub exhaled, the grip on their arms tightening. Resisting was futile when the angel was giving them those puppy dog eyes once again.
They brought their attention back to the task at hand. Their heart rate quickened and their cheeks were a rosy red. There wasn’t a reason to not trust Aziraphale’s judgment. If an angel was able to eat it, a demon could too, right? The bodies of angels and demons were similar in many aspects.
Moreover, they’ve both kissed each other countless times by now, which involved swapping spit whether Beelzebub wanted to admit it or not. This would be no different.
With one gulp, they parted their lips, teeth clamping onto the crisp metal. They scraped against it, until the food escaped the fork's confines. Beelzebub’s mouth disfigured once they sunk into the meat, its juices bursting. The demon was adverse, their chewing deliberate.
It was…salty? They presumed this is what Aziraphale meant by savory. The more they moved their jaw, the more they noted the slight chewiness of the steak. It wasn't scorching hot, either. Rather, it was mellow.
Utter will power was what made them swallow. They could feel the clump plummet down their esophagus, the hairs on their neck standing tall.
“Ugh, that was-” they halted, their bearing softening. “Not bad, actually.”
Aziraphale flashed a radiant smile that caused Beelzebub’s stomach to flutter.
He hummed and retracted his hand, cutting himself another share of the steak, the fork disappearing past his lips. Beelzebub goggled at the sight, face burning. Their nails clawed at the table cloth, drawing marks. Their heart was now pounding against their chest.
Beelzebub had their mouth on that. Their lips glided on it. Yet, Aziraphale didn't seem to care.
In fact, he was too preoccupied vocalizing excessive, noises of pleasure , to even bother pondering. Assuming there was a thought process.
Aziraphale pressed his prior napkin to his lips before speaking. “And you didn't believe me,” he chastised with a hint of smugness.
Beelzebub blinked, clearing their throat in posthaste as they avoided Aziraphale's gaze. They scooted their chair closer.
“Well,” The demon started, interlocking their fingers and crossing their legs, a sad attempt at covering their flustered state. “I trusted you.”
Aziraphale chortled, his hand drifting back over to the champagne glass almost bare of its contents. He drained what remained, savoring its tart, yet sweet flavor with shut eyes. He set it down, eyeballing Beelzebub with sheer adoration.
“And so you did.” The angel acknowledged, smiling warm.