“Crowley?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re… all right. For a demon, I mean. You’re - I like you. Really.”

“Yeah… yeah, you too.”

The demon looks away for a bit, and then suddenly grins, for-once-not-hidden eyes on the angel.

“Pretty, you are.”

The angel in question looks at him with a drunkenly open, startled look, eyes wide.

“Such a sweet, succulent, beautiful little angel…”

Yellow eyes go positively feral and he leans over Aziraphale, whose forgotten glass tilts in his hand and spills red wine all over the carpet.

“Sexless, my foot,” breathes Aziraphale and tilts his head backwards as lips draw near his throat.