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Crowley snorted.
"I already said I'd do it, angel. You don't need to flatter me."
He paused.
"Though, it is nice..."
"Technically, yes. I believe it is," he said, standing still as he enjoyed the way Aziraphale pushed against him.
"You couldn't be hateful if you tried," he scoffed. "I have millenia of experience."
"Oh, no, angel. You've noticed plenty," Crowley sneered.
I have? the Demon mouthed to himself snidely. Oh yes, that little tart had made certain the angel had noticed.
"Make some tea or something, won't you?" he grumbled.
"Oh, that's...I'm no-...shut up," he spat.
Crowley glowered darkly for a moment, taking a bit of time to have a good, healthy wallow.
"...Maybe," he grumbled.
"He's pretty and he's a sinner. What's not to love?" he said, only mildly soothed. Maybe he was overreacting.
No, certainly not.
"Oh, don't make me vomit. I'm so much better than he is in every way imaginable," he said, genuinely offended.
The demon was still smarting and pouted a bit so Aziraphale could see how put out he was.
"What's your specific type?" he asked, not at all sly. He liked to hear nice things about himself.
"Then what do you like?" he asked, easing tighter against Aziraphale as he fished for compliments.
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