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Summary
They enjoy getting a rise out of each other. 😏
"Oh, good lord." He crumpled the paper and tossed it into the bin beside the register.
"Angel, I'm wounded. Is this how you treat all the men after your heart?" Crowley held a hand to his chest in mock offense. He had that smirk on his face that made Aziraphale irrationally annoyed, and sometimes warm in the face.. but that part wasn't important. Crowley was trying to get a rise out of him, which was unsurprising. After all, this had become a sort of game for them over the past six months, each one trying to surprise or fluster the other in various inane ways.
"There are no men after my heart Crowley. It's just you, after my patience. And the hamsters, after my tender flesh." He pursed his lips and made a show of annoyance before pretending to straighten the shelves.