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[goodtobebad]

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[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?

[goodoldfashioned]

[He laughs, slightly smothered by the kissing in progress.]

I somehow doubt we'd be the first.

[goodtobebad]

Probably the first angel and demon to do it, though!

[ It’s not a competition, but they’ve won that one. ]

[goodoldfashioned]

Perhaps there's some sort of prize for that, do you think?

[He can think of a pretty good one from where he's sitting.]

[goodtobebad]

Not sure I can think of anything better than, well... you.

[ He's an honest demon, at least. ]

[goodoldfashioned]

[Hearteyes emoji, they go here.]

Then I'm afraid you'll always have me, Crowley. Even in Paris.

[goodtobebad]

Well... good. In case you haven't noticed, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me.

[ The drunker he gets, the more honest. Woops. ]

[goodoldfashioned]

I believe I can safely say the same, dearest.

[You know he's serious and/or tipsy because the petnames are coming out.]

[goodtobebad]

[ And Crowley's so far gone he's not even pretending to mind it. Just nuzzling at the angel's neck. ]

What, better than... than... Mozart's arias?

[goodoldfashioned]

Much better. Mozart's arias don't share my wine with me.

[He's started playing with Crowley's hair, idle and soft.]

[goodtobebad]

Yeah, but... lotsa humans would share your wine with you...

[ Aziraphale is quite the catch, after all. ]

[goodoldfashioned]

Some of them were rather kind. But none of them were you.

[He'll kiss him again, as a kind of confirmation.]

[goodtobebad]

Can't blame them, for - [ Oh, yes, kissing. Kissing is good. ] - for wanting you. I wanted you, too...

[goodoldfashioned]

I've got some standards. And, clearly, you've-- well, you've surpassed just about all of them.

[goodtobebad]

I do? [ Crowley has, quite frankly, never surpassed anyone’s standards for anything. He’s a cosmic failure, really. ]

[goodoldfashioned]

Indubitably. Not everyone I know is quite so.... quite so.

[Thinking while kissing is hard, okay.]

[goodtobebad]

I dunno what you're talking about, but I'll take it.

[ He will absolutely take whatever the angel is willing to give. ]

[goodoldfashioned]

I'm saying that you're wonderful, Crowley. Do try to keep up.

[The thing he is trying to give is called a compliment.]

[goodtobebad]

Mngh. [ Look, he knows Aziraphale doesn’t like it when he argues about whether he’s actually “wonderful” and all that other stuff the angel likes to call him, so he doesn’t do that anymore, just makes sounds in his throat, cheeks reddening a bit and generally acts a little flustered with the whole situation.

He turns his focus to the front of Aziraphale’s shirt, smoothing his hands down affectionately. He’s better at showing than telling, anyway. ]