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[goodtobebad]

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[salutosinedelectat]

Let it be known that the angel has long been aware of just how easily the demon is lulled to sleep by pointless banter when they're together all snug like this.

"There's also a new Indian restaurant in Mayfair, I've heard good things. Oh, and we could stop in that lovely little bakery and pick up some macarons..."

[goodtobebad]

When Crowley is in the post-coital haze, Aziraphale could probably talk about a zombie apocalypse and he'd do little more than mutter, "sure, angel" in response.

Food is fine. Crowley knows Aziraphale loves to talk about food, and he's happy to let Aziraphale talk about whatever he likes, at length - Aziraphale's voice and body are safe, and comfortable, and loving, and he's happy.

"Sure, love," he mumbles now. "Anything you like."

The funny part is, he may only be half-listening to this, but then randomly in a couple of weeks Crowley will make it a point to stop off at that bakery and bring home macarons for the angel, for no reason other than he likes to give him things. The specific details of this conversation may be unimportant, and passing him by, but that by no means indicates he's not paying attention.

[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale doesn't mind that he's half listening. Besides knowing the effects it tends to have on the demon in times like this, he's well used to just rambling away about any given interest. It may not exactly be a talent, but he's happy enough to indulge.

Besides, the demon usually does seem to at least get the gist of things, so the angel doesn't usually ever feel ignored. They have a good thing going, there.

He looks down at the demon, regarding him for a moment, for no reason besides the comfort and affection. He brings a hand up to brush some errant hairs from his forehead and leans down to kiss his head.

"Dinner it is, then."