"Won't argue the point." Crowley flashes him an amused grin. "Besides, it's in character for you. You're hot and sweet. It's just like calling to like."
The caress of thumb on her palm raises goosebumps. Crowley hasn't yet thought of slipping under the table during a meal--too public for her liking, even with miracles to ensure not being noticed--but more than once she's eyed the Ritz's cloakroom askance. Usually while Aziraphale was busy with dessert and making any number of noises she now knows for a fact are also associated with other activities.[1]
Crowley chuckles at this new idea. "Tell 'em you're dating identical twins?" she suggests. "Sounds entertaining. I could be jealous of myself." She sighs overdramatically. "Pity I can't give them the contretemps of their theatrical dreams--though I'd wait until the main course, timing is everything--but the Ritz wouldn't stand for that sort of thing, and I'd miss dining there. And you wouldn't like it."
It almost is a shame, really. A flare-up like that would inspire all sorts of messy, sinful emotions, maybe not any of the big seven but certainly a number of the smaller types, the subtler, more interesting ones. Not enough to be worth upsetting Aziraphale, however. Nothing is worth that. So Crowley sighs again and smiles at him. "Ah, well. I suppose I'll just have to forego the pleasure and instead settle for having an enjoyable meal with my favourite person and stomping on any insensitive questions or suggestions anyone drops our way. Sounds simply dreadful. Especially if they have that lavender duck thing still available."
[1] She also now knows for a fact that sometimes he does it on purpose to wind her up, instead of just suspecting it. The cloakroom's destiny is inevitable.
OMGOSH THERE'S A RING?! You hadn't said. Crowley will melt. I'm excited.
The caress of thumb on her palm raises goosebumps. Crowley hasn't yet thought of slipping under the table during a meal--too public for her liking, even with miracles to ensure not being noticed--but more than once she's eyed the Ritz's cloakroom askance. Usually while Aziraphale was busy with dessert and making any number of noises she now knows for a fact are also associated with other activities.[1]
Crowley chuckles at this new idea. "Tell 'em you're dating identical twins?" she suggests. "Sounds entertaining. I could be jealous of myself." She sighs overdramatically. "Pity I can't give them the contretemps of their theatrical dreams--though I'd wait until the main course, timing is everything--but the Ritz wouldn't stand for that sort of thing, and I'd miss dining there. And you wouldn't like it."
It almost is a shame, really. A flare-up like that would inspire all sorts of messy, sinful emotions, maybe not any of the big seven but certainly a number of the smaller types, the subtler, more interesting ones. Not enough to be worth upsetting Aziraphale, however. Nothing is worth that. So Crowley sighs again and smiles at him. "Ah, well. I suppose I'll just have to forego the pleasure and instead settle for having an enjoyable meal with my favourite person and stomping on any insensitive questions or suggestions anyone drops our way. Sounds simply dreadful. Especially if they have that lavender duck thing still available."
[1] She also now knows for a fact that sometimes he does it on purpose to wind her up, instead of just suspecting it. The cloakroom's destiny is inevitable.