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Crowley crossed his arms triumphantly, certain he'd scored a point against his “hereditary enemy” with his last remark. Aziraphale was indeed rendered speechless for a moment. He flinched at the accusation, smoothing and straightening his jacket collar and tutting in annoyance. “Really. Kinky? What in the world makes you think I'm kinky?”
“This,” Crowley gestured broadly to Aziraphale's suit, sweeping his hands up and down, “is your subversion. Your kink. It’s your flavor of bondage, angel. Admit it. It’s how you contain yourself.” He quickly raised a silencing hand, blocking the angel's forthcoming objection. “It's all very cunningly hidden, I've got to hand it to you. You're good at that. Being undercover, hiding in plain sight. Not even Gabriel ever caught on. Face it, though, you’re more naughty dressed up like that than you would be stark naked. And it's not just the layers--of which there are five!"
Crowley advanced on him, slowly, swaying his snake-like hips hypnotically. He drew his hands down Aziraphale's shoulders, feeling the material of his favorite antique coat. He took off his sunglasses and grinned at him admiringly. Aziraphale couldn't help but smile back. It was so easy to get lost in those eyes. The angel blushed under the scrutiny, pleased that Crowley was so entertained by his wardrobe. "You wear sleeve garters like a 1940's pool shark even though your shirt’s a perfect fit. You wear suspenders even though you could just miracle your trousers to stay up. You love the feeling of being restrained by all that, all in your prim and proper clothes. And frankly, I like it, too. To the rest of the world, you're the perfect picture of a harmless, fussy old fuddy-duddy, but we both know that deep down you're a freak!” The word dripped lovingly from his tongue, as if it were the highest compliment he could give him. “Have you any idea how sexy I felt when I was posing as you? Mmm! Could hardly stand it.” Crowley gave a demonic growl as he thought back to their little masquerade. He'd felt unspeakably scrumptious. Being a perfect double of the most desirable person he'd ever known played havoc with his self-control. There had nearly been the risk of him giving the game away, if Crowley looked like he'd been enjoying himself too much. He still blushed to think of it, the feeling of walking around in his partner's skin, wearing his clothes. He'd preened like a peacock! The demon fanned himself theatrically with a pointed grin, circling his beloved like a vulture.
“Really, Crowley,” Aziraphale stammered weakly, grasping at the fraying threads of his reputation as a goody two-shoes. He fidgeted, shimmying nervously from side to side in the way that Crowley found absolutely adorable. He hadn't realized how obvious he'd been. “You’re suggesting, what, exactly? That my suit means I want to be tied up?” Aziraphale let his eyes go wide, as if such a notion was utterly preposterous. He wasn't fooling anyone, though. They both knew the steps to this dance.
Crowley had to crow with laughter over this. He was utterly triumphant in his glee. Stammering a few nonsense syllables to get past his disbelief, he blurted out, “Want to be?! You are literally all wrapped up and tied with a bow. Just like you were that day in the Bastille. Like a present waiting for me to unwrap.”
Aziraphale shrugged, knowing it was useless to deny it further, embarrassing as it might be. “I suppose I am. What do you want to do about it?” He tugged at his jacket cuffs, looking demurely from the floor to his husband, a pert grin belying his innocent stance. He really was a bastard, after all. He'd learned the subtle art of temptation from the best.
It was Crowley's turn to flinch, he hadn't expected Aziraphale to admit it outright! He spluttered wrongfootedly and waved a hand vaguely in the air. “Oh, well, uh, I...I'm sure I'll think of something.”