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"What's this got to do with us?"
"It's about the general population. Stealing, lying--these things are childs play to the current generation. Don't you see how easy this is?"
Beelzebub says nothing, but Hastur doesn't give you the same luxury. "You talk as if you created this trend." You roll your eyes, glaring at the bastard until he backs off slightly. The scythe in your hand shines, despite no light being present to make it shine. "It doesn't matter. What matters is the outcome-"
"I've heard enough."
-
"God, fucking bureaucracy." You hiss, resisting the urge to slam the door behind you. You then realize Aziraphale really, really wouldn't like that, and use every ounce of your self-control to close it gently. Stepping into the threshold of a place you'd accepted as home calmed you some, but not enough that you don't want to strangle Hastur where he stands, even if he isn't in front of you.
It was all so pointless--these debates got them nowhere.
To quote your partner, everyone lies in memos to head office. So what if you hadn't actually started the trend of stealing ridiculously large items on some mundane video app, you didn't think they were actually going to fucking check it. What were they trying to prove?
All of your inner monologue is interrupted by Azirapale who--before now, you hadn't realized was home. And then Crowley, who you also didn't think was home.
"You look nice." Aziraphale says, and at the same time Crowley adds, "You look hot."
Aziraphale murmurs, 'Good lord' under his breath before turning to his resident demon. "Crowley, a bit of eloquence would be nice." Crowley scoffs. "Am I wrong? Look at him, angel, and tell me I'm wrong."
It sparks another micro-argument between the two, but you know there are no hard feelings there. They've all but worked through their differences. They really had no choice, considering when either one was feeling petty and decided to act like a child, you locked them both in a room until they sorted it out.
You playfully roll your eyes this time. A small miracle takes care of the boots that had too many laces to do by hand, and you promptly put an end to this argument by simply lying between your two partners, your head cushioned on Azirapales lap and your legs stretched out on Crowleys.
It works like clockwork.
"You will not believe the fucking-" "Language, dearest." "-the bullshit-" "Reader, don't push it."
You bite your lip. Aziraphales got that tone, the one that usually ends in you getting personally reminded just how a powerful angel who guarded the gates of Eden deals with 'naughty demons', as he puts it. "Don't say that, Zira, then I will push it." You reply confidently, locking eyes with the ethereal being. Crowley however, cackles in response. You glare at him. "Something funny, Crow?" You tease, and his laughing continues. "S'rich coming from the guy that melts when anybody degrades you." "Shut up, praise kink. All Zira has to say is, 'oh Crowley, you're so good for me, aren't you?' And you turn into a mess." Crowley's eyes light up in a challenge, and you both hear an exasperated sigh from above. Whether that's from the debate or the impromptu impression you made, you're not sure. "Can we do this some other ti-"
"Yeah? You think you're any better? You think being Angel's 'pretty little lap dog' is better? You were practically on your knees when he called you a mutt."
Aziraphale knows by now that between demons, this is a common occurrence. At first, he had been absolutely mortified as he'd assumed these were genuine insults exchanged to hurt one another. He'd scolded you both for it, insisting things said in the bedroom were absolutely not to be used as missiles when one is upset. He got quite into it, about the trust in the dynamic they built, and asked them both personally why they would use something said in a vulnerable moment against each other like this.
Since then, you and Crowley had to explain, meticulously, that no, this wasn't a genuine argument. It was something said to get the other to crack, and if done properly, wouldn't result in more than a minor scrap. It was a way of letting off energy and resolving tension.
"To resolve problems, you engage in physical fights?" Aziraphale had said, exaspirated. "...Well, when you say it like that, it sounds bad." You replied.
So when you leap off his lap and lunge at Crowley with a cut-off growl, he simply lets it happen.
"Do be gentle." He comments calmly as if the cacophony of hisses and growling from the other end of the sofa doesn't bother him. He's become used to it by now. There's a thud as the both of you fall to the floor, the fight continuing despite that. "Avoid the face, as well. We're all civilized men here." He then adds, retrieving a book from the coffee table.
He doesn't know who he heard the yelp from, signifying that the fight is over and dominance has been established, but he reaches over and grabs the fabric of your shirt when the fighting doesn't stop despite the fact. "Boys, that's enough--Reader, let go. Let go." It's like trying to retrieve something from an angry cat. Your teeth have sunk into Crowley's briefly scaled arm, and Aziraphale is disturbed at how casual Crowley is about this. In fact, he seems quite smug. "You lost, subby, admit it-" "Crowley."
Eventually, you do let go. Aziraphale asks, "Is this a common solution?" While holding you at arm's length, Crowley shrugs. "Not really. Kinda just made it up on the spot." Aziraphale glares at his demon. "You mean to tell me this isn't normal demon behaviour? You both lied to me?" "We didn't lie, Angel. Just knew you would've been upset if we said it wasn't."
Aziraphale sighs, casting a brief thought to the heavens. "Lord, give me patience." You frown. "I think you mean strength, Zira-" Aziraphale cuts off your witty remark with another glare. "If the Lord gave me strength, you'd be crushed."
He's expecting it to--well, not quite scare you, but at least somewhat chase away the endless bratty attitude you have. Instead, you bat your eyelashes and look up at him with a pleading expression.
"You can crush me any-"
He promptly drops you. Stands up and makes his way to the kitchen, raising his hands in surrender.
"I'm making a cup of tea."