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“I cannot believe you’ve done this again,” Aziraphale hisses.
“What about it sssurprissses you?” Crowley hisses back, much more credibly because he’s currently a snake, wrapped comfortably around Aziraphale just above where his belly curves out. “You know I can’t ssstand that bloke.”
“He is…” Aziraphale blows out an irritated breath. “Perfectly ordinary, and my neighbor, so it is in my best interests to — oh, hello, Mr Brown, how good to see you.”
Brown’s eyes dart around the pub. “Alone tonight, Mr Fell? Wouldn’t want to disturb you on a date, ha ha!”
“Yes, well, Crowley is —” a tongue tickles the underside of his pec and he barely swallows an indignant squeak — “otherwise occupied, but I had thought —”
“Great!” Brown says, completely ignoring Aziraphale’s lack of enthusiasm, and sits down at his table. “I want to talk with you about the outdoor decor regulations.”
Aziraphale sighs profoundly. “Isn’t that a matter for the Association?” he says, without much hope.
“He wants to get in your pantsss,” Crowley says helpfully, so softly only Aziraphale can hear over the quiet hum of the pub. Aziraphale shifts irritably. Even if he does — and Aziraphale has no reason to doubt Crowley’s expertise here — what more can one do to dissuade an unstated suit?
Then, with horror, Aziraphale feels the serpent turn and begin a sleek descent, along the sensitive skin of belly and hip, his blunt snout pressing and probing at Aziraphale’s loose-fitting waistband. “Not a bad idea, at that…”
“You all right, Fell?” Brown says chummily. “You’re a bit flushed.”
“Tip-top,” Aziraphale says faintly. It’s going to be a long evening.