'Oh, thank fuck,' Crowley breathes, slumping a little on the couch and shooting Aziraphale a grateful look through his shades. Neither of them knows what to say just at the moment, or even if they ought say anything at all, but the booze will help with that. Crowley leans forward again to pour out a shot for each of them, and, lifting his in a brief cheers, knocks it back, jamming a lime slice between his teeth as he swallows.
The tequila is just what was needed. None of the sour thoughtfulness of wine, just gorgeous, smokey burn in the back of his throat and all the way down into his belly, up to the tips of his ears with cinnamon and agave. Of course, even for the down and dirty purpose of getting utterly tits-up legless, Aziraphale wouldn't go for a bottle of Jose Cuervo; millionaire's tequila all the way for the angel.
The best part, Crowley thinks, is the warmth of it. Speaking of which, he twists a little on the couch, neck craning up and around for a moment. 'Crank the heat up in here?'
He's pretty sure he isn't actually still physically cold, but there's a definite spiritual chill that's lingered since Lucifer left that needs getting rid of.
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The tequila is just what was needed. None of the sour thoughtfulness of wine, just gorgeous, smokey burn in the back of his throat and all the way down into his belly, up to the tips of his ears with cinnamon and agave. Of course, even for the down and dirty purpose of getting utterly tits-up legless, Aziraphale wouldn't go for a bottle of Jose Cuervo; millionaire's tequila all the way for the angel.
The best part, Crowley thinks, is the warmth of it. Speaking of which, he twists a little on the couch, neck craning up and around for a moment. 'Crank the heat up in here?'
He's pretty sure he isn't actually still physically cold, but there's a definite spiritual chill that's lingered since Lucifer left that needs getting rid of.