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“You said,” the demon grumped with a tone that sounded far less irked than he wanted it to, “…that you wanted to wash my hair.”

“I did,” Aziraphale agreed. “It looks so lovely, now you are growing it again, and I have always enjoyed running my fingers through it.”

Right. Right. Crowley slung his arms over the side of the spacious and far-too-ornate bathtub. Just like the angel to go overly-decadent. 

“And what do you call this?”


Adorable! Adorable? Crowley - the first Tempter - demon once entrusted with the Antichrist - only demon able to pull off sunglasses indoors and still look cool was not adorable. He tried to look intimidating and suave.

It only made Aziraphale wiggle his fingers more. He leaned in, fluffing one of the bubble horns up again. “Oh, you’re precious,” he cooed.

“Strangle you with your bloody halo,” the serpent muttered. He should shake the stupid horns off, or immerse himself entirely. Instead, he was stuck watching the ridiculous smile on his angel’s face. 

“Oh hush. You are.” 

Crowley decided that was enough, and grabbed hold of his angel by the wrist, performing something in more dimensions than Humans could fathom to tug him into the bath, and wrap, snake-like around him.

“Wicked,” he insisted, as he got Aziraphale’s precious waistcoat wet. “Sinful.”

The principality just rubbed his cheek against his husband’s. “Most assuredly so.”

But Crowley wasn’t talking about himself, and he was half sure the angel knew it, too.