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As he sat down to enjoy a pint of ale at the pub across from the Globe, Aziraphale was approached by a familiar face.
“Oh, it's you! Our audience today! I’m sure Will really appreciated your audience participation today. I think the whole production is a waste of time, as I said earlier, but he really believes in this one.” Richard Burbage signaled the barman and ordered two pints.
“Oh, my pleasure. It really is a remarkable play, if a bit dreary. You performed very well.”
Richard preened at the praise. “I know I did. And I can perform very well in…other places, if you catch my drift.” He waggled his eyebrows. His drinks arrived, and he handed one to Aziraphale.
“Oh, do you perform in smaller venues as well?”
Richard laughed. “My…venue is not small, I assure you.”
Aziraphale was trying to parse out what he meant by that when another familiar face sauntered in and took his place by Aziraphale’s side. “Ah, Dick Burbage! I think playing the doomed Prince of Denmark has gone to your head a bit. Not sure why, the miracle hasn’t hit you yet. But it will as soon as you leave this angel alone.”
“Angel? He said you two didn’t know each other a few hours ago,” Burbage said skeptically.
“Oh, he denies it in public,” Crowley replied. “Doesn’t want to be seen cavorting with a handsome rogue such as myself by any higher powers. I go along with it. It’s all part of our game, you see.” A part of Aziraphale bristled at the word our. When had his alliance with the demon become our game?
“Oh?” Burbage looked Crowley up and down. “Does this…game of yours perhaps have room for a third player?”
“Afraid not,” Crowley said, grabbing the drink Burbage had bought Aziraphale. “Especially not for a small venue actor such as yourself. Thanks for the drink, though!” With that, Burbage found somewhere else he needed to be, and the seat next to Aziraphale was free.
“Oh, tha–”
“Don’t thank me, angel,” Crowley stopped Aziraphale from finishing that thought. “I’m here to annoy Burbage and wound his pride a bit. I certainly did not do an angel a favor.”
“Well, you certainly did an excellent job of wounding his pride. He really is too good for small venues.”
“You do know the venue was a metaphor, right, angel?”
“Was it?”
“It sure was.” Crowley made a vague gesture around the pelvic region.
Aziraphale’s eyes grew wide. “So he was…propositioning me! How crude! I suppose the most demonic course of action would have been to let him persist in his efforts.” Aziraphale wondered how far Burbage would have been able to take things before Aziraphale caught on without Crowley’s interruption.
“It was amusing, but as a demon, I am perhaps too inclined to selfishness and envy to allow that display to continue.”
“You? Envious? Of me?”
“Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety,” Crowley repeated the line he’d spoken earlier, the one Aziraphale had believed to be referring to Burbage’s talents. Now he realized how foolish he was, that Crowley had said that about him. “Now, perhaps you’d like to perform in a more personal arena this evening? Just for us?”
Aziraphale knew he should deny it, should say no to this…other form of their Arrangement. But it had been so long since he’d felt a warm touch, a soft kiss, a sweet caress. Once he’d experienced those human things, it was difficult to go without. “Perhaps after we finish our drinks,” he said.
The evening’s performance was more intimate, and Aziraphale certainly had no complaints about Crowley’s…venue.