milliways_bar | (no subject)

Current Mood: determined

(no subject)

*In the doorway, Crowley and a small blonde woman appear. She's holding tightly to his hand, but as soon as she's taken a seat in a booth he bows his head slightly, grinning, and heads to the bar. She watches him, chewing her lip thoughtfully*

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

*he makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, as his other hand drifts to her hip. It strokes gently up and down, the unfamiliar curves eliciting a hitching breath*

*the sound is echoed in her throat, breathed into his mouth, half-familiar sensations making her heart race*

*and suddenly his eyes slam open and he pulls back, scowling at Aziraphael. The effect is slightly undermined by the dazed look in his eyes*

That was... underhand.

*she bites her lip*

It... wasn't because of that. I'm sorry.

*she considers*

Actually no, no I'm not.

*he takes a sulky sip of his wine, before something seems to occur to him.

He checks his watch. And cackles, before he can help himself.

Looking extremely smug, he extends his wrist for the angel to see. On the watch, the minute hand slides forward to mark six minutes past midnight*

*her face falls*

Well damn.

*Crowley's face is a picture of smug, smug triumph*

*she lifts her glass*

Congratulations, my dear.

*she might possibly mutter a rude word into her glass*

*Crowley is positively radiating smugness*

I told you I could do it.

*she scowls*

Yes. Well done, you.

*Crowley is smug in Aziraphael's general direction*

Don't be a sore loser, angel.

I wouldn't be, were it anything other than the wine.

*yes. She's pouting*

*dammit. Stupid pout. Crowley sighs*

Well, don't have to take it now. I can wait 'til the weather gets a bit warmer. We can take it with us on a picnic. I hear Tintern Abbey's lovely in the summer.

*she beams, delighted, and lifts a hand to trace his jaw, run a thumb across his lips*

Thank you.

*he rolls his eyes*

I'm a pushover for a pretty face.

*she pokes out her tongue*

I could always change back?

As if it'd make any difference at all.

Damn you.

I'd rather you didn't, if it's all the same to you.

*she's pink, though, and kisses the corner of his mouth lightly*

There are so many retorts, I don't even know where to begin.

How about you don't, and we pretend you did. It saves time, and possibly a good swatting.

But angel, the danger is what makes life worth living...

*she quirks an eyebrow*

Possibly for you, dear boy. I find other things to count amongst my blessings.

I hope that wasn't partly about me, or I'd have to ask you to mind your language.

Oh no. You're the cross I bear.

*contentedly*

That's better.

*with a convincing front of idleness, Crowley slips his arm back around Aziraphael's waist, just far enough to rest his hand on the intriguing curve of her hip once more*