The spoon spun around and around, now and then darting to the side in a surpise attack on the rim of the bowl. Little flecks of orange stained the tablecloth and napkin, vanishing when Aziraphale miracled them away, only to reappear seconds later.
"You're torturing that thing," he groused.
Crowley, who had somehow contorted himself into a position where his legs were hanging over and under one arm of his chair, shrugged and continued.
"That is champagne-infused passion-fruit sorbet. You haven't even tasted it."
"You know I don't really eat, angel."
"Then why-"
"I'm here to watch you do it."
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Aww. That's such sweet moment
Keneu
Aww. That's such sweet moment. Aziraphale's... well, gluttony, Crowley's "bisexuals cannot sit normally" and that cute end. <3
That man is all leg, and
Kahvi
That man is all leg, and somehow also all arm. All limb? I'm glad you enjoyed it!
Awww, they are so sweet :-)
P.M.d.A.
Awww, they are so sweet :-)
Agreed! Thanks for reading
Kahvi
Agreed! Thanks for reading and commenting. :)
The hotness of Aziraphale's
Roadsterguy
The hotness of Aziraphale's painstaking efforts at neatness. The clash of chaos and order. Love it.
It's a control thing, fer
Kahvi
It's a control thing, fer sure. He's so fecking insecure. Thank you! <3