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The space above the A.Z Fell Bookstore looked like it could comfortably house the old man who owned the archaic shop, and perhaps a small personal library.
But looks can be deceiving and while Aziraphale delighted in the small joys of life, he also enjoyed living comfortably. So, the space actually accommodated a massive bedroom, a cozy living room, an ever-growing library, and a spacious kitchen.
“I’ll be out with tea in a moment, my dear!” Aziraphale sing-songed from said spacious kitchen, the kettle cry abruptly cutting off to politely allow the soft piano music to continue.
“Right, right…” Crowley muttered from a chair that was just a little too soft. He found himself sinking despite propping up over and over again and was considering miracling in something a bit more firm.
“Honestly, Angel, how do you even sit in this?” He said aloud.
“What was that?” Aziraphale asked, poking his head around the corner.
“Nothing, nothing, carry on.” Crowley said quickly shooing him back.
Crowley sighed in exasperation and let himself slip down in the chair. Woe to him to complain about Aziraphale's seating; the angel spent most of his free time in the bookshop where he could set himself up with some cocoa at a comfy desk.
From the kitchen Crowley could hear Aziraphale humming along to the instrumentals and setting out the cups, grabbing the sugar, forgetting a spoon and turning back around to get it, and while this was all very cute and homey the demon was getting a little impatient.
Jeez, doesn't usually take him this long to putter about making tea…
There was a small end table next to him and Crowley glanced down to see that a magazine had been left out, probably something Aziraphale had been looking at earlier.
Let’s see what the angel keeps for light reading...Harps Illustrated 1962? What the Hell?! What a hypocrite, being all Mr. Holier-than-thou! I’m never gonna let him live this down. Ugh, and it’s ancient...
The magazine had the slight crinkle that came with age but was otherwise in fine condition, though that was to be expected from someone who got fussy over the smallest spots on his clothes.
What Crowley didn’t expect was for this to be a real, honest to--well,someone--magazine, printed and allowed by Heaven. It must have been something that had only run briefly because Aziraphale had never mentioned it and Crowley didn't remember it. There was a scripture of the day, a crossword; there was even a section on the style that had been in at the time with tips on how to blend in with mortals.
Jeez, I almost feel bad I missed out on this. Crowley thought as he flipped through.
He paused on a page that boasted in obnoxious gold etched font “ANGEL OF THE MONTH”. It was a fold-out page like in a Playboy but was double-sided. The first side boasted a picture of the previous winner, some angel he didn't know looking like a prude in an ugly tweed suit, while the other side was-
oh.
Oh.
Crowley would recognize that smug face anywhere, that curled ‘z’ with a heart over the “i”, those long eyelashes and full lips, a perfectly placed blanket bashfully covering up a completely unabashed come-hither smirk-
He unconsciously crumpled the magazine as heat flooded through him and a million, trillion certainly blasphemous thoughts running through his head.
Peeking behind the chair, Crowley could see Aziraphale reaching for something completely oblivious to what was happening in the other room. The demon glanced back down at the magazine before making a split decision, knocking the chair over and slamming the door behind him as he left.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale leaned back to glance into the living room and raised an eyebrow when he realized his favorite reading chair was upturned.
“Crowley, dear?” He set the two mugs on the table, noting that the magazine was gone with a quiet “Ah.”
The chair was righted by the time Aziraphale sat down and he set Crowley's tea aside while he sipped his own.
As Crowley had said before, Aziraphale could be stupid but he was also very clever, and just a bit of a bastard. So as he enjoyed his tea and idly mused on what to have for dinner, a knowing smirk curled his lips.
Temptation Accomplished.