Work Text:
“Az! We need to bake Christmas biscuits! I totally forgot!” Megan's voice zig-zags around the condo until it strikes her husband in the ear where he relaxes in the most comfortable lounge, the one nearest the bar.
He's reading the latest issue of Vogue Mesopotamia, but places it down on his marble coffee table as soon as he receives the call to adventure, leaving it open on a ziggurat dress of great ludicrousness and expense. If he were a woman, or cared to take the form of a woman for any reason whatsoever, he might sashay around in that, if only to troll the poor.
“Da. I'm present and accounted for.” He arrives in the most comfortable kitchen wearing a black and red Dior apron and a wicked smirk. Megan flings dust and dough at him until he returns wearing more than just those two things.
“You’re bad, you know that.”
“Yet you love me.”
Megan says nothing as she moulds a lump of dough into the shape of the letter A. Another takes the shape of a smiling devil emoji.
“Those are not Christmas themed cookies, little bug.”
“The devil is. And the A. It's for angel.”
“Suuure.” Snorting, Azazel creates his own deranged piece of art, using his millennia of experience in creating self-glorifying works in order to fashion a series of fairies, with differently shaped wings but all with pink hair and a plethora of glitter. He also crafts a couple of blue devil emojis, one with a gun, and one with a halo. That really is not Christmas themed, but Megan does not penalize him.
“How would I make a Riptide biscuit?”
“Tornado.”
“Oh, duh!”
“Put diamonds on the one for Emma.”
“Are you trying to break her teeth, Az?”
“Nyet. I'm trying to launder money.”