"How the devil did you meet Oscar Wilde?" No, wait, that's the wrong question, the two of them would have gravitated towards each other like magnets, he can already tell that just from what he's heard of Wilde. Crowley himself never met the man. Wilde's wit and urbanity and general literary magnificence would have pulled Aziraphale like a moth to a flame, and Aziraphale...

Well. Aziraphale exudes love and compassion in all directions, all unconsciously, and Crowley knows how strong a pull that can be. Especially towards those with something to hide, those who might long for a bit of comfort or escapism or simple acceptance.

Something catches in his throat, and he takes a drink, swallowing carefully. "Right, well, so Oscar Wilde taught you to dance the gavotte at the Hundred Guineas Club." It takes effort to make it not sound like an innuendo. "Didn't expect that. You learn something new every day. What was it like?"