You'll Never Get to Heaven (if you're scared of getting high)
“I need you,” said Aziraphale, which was far more straightforward than Crowley had been expecting, even after two bottles of wine. The angel stared at his plate, turning as red as the little gems of pomegranate seed on it.
“Well,” Crowley said, at last, trying to keep any giveaway hoarseness out of his voice. “Here I am."
“It’s just that—oh, dear, some things are so difficult to say over the telephone apparatus, aren’t they? Especially if you have your voice messages on. It feels so impersonal, and I really couldn’t wait any longer to ask."
“Good strategy. I’m right here, go ahead,” Crowley said encouragingly, wondering if he should reach for the angel’s hand. Unfortunately, the angel’s closest hand was gripping cutlery as if it was a lifebuoy. Crowley considered putting his hand on one invitingly touchable thigh instead.
“Will you come to a party with me?"
****
Crowley and Aziraphale pose as husbands for a house party, because Aziraphale is bad at saying no (to anyone but Crowley and anyone trying to buy books).
Crowley thinks this is a good chance to prove himself the perfect potential demon husband to a fussy angel. But things get complicated fast. Really complicated.