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[goodtobebad]

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[goodtobebad]

[ It's true that Crowley rarely eats. He's just not interested in it the way Aziraphale is. But that's fine - what he enjoys is the angel's company, and yes, indulging him. Indulging Aziraphale is possibly Crowley's favorite hobby, because it makes him happy, and Crowley loves making him happy.

And watching him eat is awfully sexy. He spent hundreds of years tormenting himself with the images. ]

Getting drunk is always more fun with a partner.

[goodoldfashioned]

[Yes, rather like the way Crowley drapes himself, he's familiar with the, er, concept, as it were.]

Misery shared is misery halved, so they say. Only with drunkenness, in this case.

[goodtobebad]

And also it's got nothing to do with misery. I'd say it's the opposite of misery, drinking with you.

[ He raises his glass in a toast to the angel. ]

How many times have we done this over the centuries, d'you suppose?

[goodoldfashioned]

[He'll toast right back.]

To more with you.

[Wine in hand, he squints, trying to mentally carry the ones and multiply and divide the centuries between them.]

I lost count somewhere in the 19th century, to tell the truth. Surely at least a hundred?

[goodtobebad]

Oh yeah, maybe a few hundred.

[ Crowley grins happily. ]

And we've got all the time in the world to keep doing it. Oooh, we could go traveling, do it in exotic locales!

[goodoldfashioned]

Oh, we could go to Paris. They make such lovely macarons over there, these days.

[His eyes glaze over with thoughts of future desserts.]

[goodtobebad]

Sure. Have you even been there since the Terror? Should probably remedy that.

[ Crowley, as usual, ready to go wherever the angel likes. ]

[goodoldfashioned]

[He hums, thinking about it.] You know, I don't think I have? Could do with a visit, now that there's less guillotines about.

[goodtobebad]

And an Eiffel Tower to admire.

[ Crowley smiles faintly at Aziraphale. ]

It's almost unrecognizable, you know. The city got a huge redesign in the 19th century. You'll like it.

[goodoldfashioned]

So long as you're coming with me, I'm very sure of that. The liking, I mean.

[Speaking of things he likes? This wine. Also, Crowley, who he will probably try to kiss a bit now.]

[goodtobebad]

[ Hmm. Wine, or kissing the angel? Ah, who is he kidding, it's always the angel. He's snapping his fingers to send their glasses across the room, freeing up his hands to slide around Aziraphale's waist. ]

You're ridiculous.

[goodoldfashioned]

[See, this exactly proves his point. Can't be kissing your Crowleys if they aren't there, after all. He winds his hands around his shoulders, better to raise himself up onto his toes and plant a kiss on him.]

Glass houses, my dear.

[goodtobebad]

How am I ridiculous?

[ Pout! ]

You’re the one who fusses over your 200-year-old waistcoats....

[goodoldfashioned]

I could've sworn you tried to sink one of the ducks again the other day....

[So there!]

[goodtobebad]

It’s funny! They eat too much bread, anyway...

[ He’s tugging Aziraphale onto the sofa with him, for more kisses. ]

What else?

[goodoldfashioned]

The poor things.

[He hops down onto the sofa, humming kisses while he thinks it over.]

There's all those spare spectacles you keep in your car, I've seen those. Really, do you need so many?

[goodtobebad]

Yes, I do.

[ Crowley hums, tracing a line down Aziraphale’s neck. ]

Have you seen how humans react when they see my eyes?

[goodoldfashioned]

[He huffs, peeved on Crowley's behalf.] They shouldn't be such blighters about them. They're so lovely.

[goodtobebad]

They are not! They’re demonic. Infernal. Bestial.

[ Crowley laughs. Silly angel. ]

[goodoldfashioned]

[Aziraphale pouts. Silly demon.]

Hardly! They're clever. Bright. A really splendid golden color.

[goodtobebad]

You’re biased, angel.

[ He’s going to nibble at those pouting lips. ]

[goodoldfashioned]

Completely impartial.

[He does so like the things Crowley can do with his tongue. Teeth, too.]

[goodtobebad]

[ Crowley snorts rather unbecomingly. ]

Don't even try to play at being the innocent. ...What are we arguing about again?

[ In the five or so seconds that he's distracted himself with the angel's lips, he's forgotten the entire point of this conversation. ]

[goodoldfashioned]

[He peers around the room, before shrugging his shoulders into the couch.]

I haven't the faintest idea. Paris, I think?

[Maybe. He went a little hazy for a few minutes (???) there.]

[goodtobebad]

Oooh, Paris, that's right.

[ Crowley grins and kisses him again. ]

We can make love in the City of Love. Eh?