Date: 2019-12-08 10:52 pm (UTC)
confoundthemighty: (Rather wonderful.)
It’s so obvious as to be almost theatrical, that sly smirking glance, and suddenly Aziraphale is extremely glad he budgeted in extra time between dinner and the start of the ballet. They should have at least half an hour plus time to get a cab, provided the service is as quick and attentive as usual. Though of course there are always miracles if they linger too long over dinner or after-dinner activities.

“You’ve worked up quite the appetite,” he says, almost casually, as they follow the maître’d to their table. “Might have to arrange for a second helping of dessert. Provided you can keep quiet.”

He knows full well he’s throwing down a gauntlet, which is itself half the fun. It’s a constant delight that their fond teasing crosses over into more intimate parts of their relationship—it’s somewhere between outright play and an argument they both end up winning.

And he notes, with distinct pleasure, that several people of both genders glance at the two of them with envy and incredulity as they pass. A few are definitely whispering about the lipstick smudges.

He orders a bottle of very old, very expensive, very good champagne for the two of them, because he might as well start as he means to go on, and he did promise to spoil her this evening. Watching her relax into letting herself be taken care of is a pleasure both sensual and emotional, and Aziraphale rather relishes it.

“Shall we start with a toast?”
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