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“Mallards!”
“Nope.”
Crowley popped the p, satisfied with Aziraphale scrambling to find the right word.
“Crowley—”
“C'mon Aziraphale, that one doesn't even begin with mal.”
The venomous side eye he received in turn only made him grin harder.
“Malice?”
“Try again.”
Aziraphale sighed, shimming in his seat to get comfortable. He was annoyed, sipping his tea with an air of judgement that shouldn't make Crowley feel bubbles in his stomach but did anyway.
“Maldives?”
“‘Fraid not.”
They had been at this for a while already. A simple challenge — I bet I can think of word you don't know — and the angel's eyes glimmered. I read a lot more than you Crowley — was what he said, and the demon got himself ready for a good time.
They were already three hints in.
“Malaysia!”
“N—”
“Oh, Crowley, do you remember that time we spent there, the fish—”
“I remember, so why would I choose the name of a place we went?” Better stop him there. If Aziraphale started talking about culinary delights their little game would be totally forgotten.
The pout that appeared in the angel's lips was the kind that always made Crowley want to kiss it away. He couldn't— he was too far away in his couch, and Aziraphale all the way over in his arm chair — so he just pouted back.
“Malibu?”
“We also went there, so, no.”
“You are such a— a— malandro!”
Crowley cackled, sprawling even more over the cushions.
“My, my angel. Such harsh words. But I did say it was in English.”
Aziraphale was trying to hide his expression from him, covering his mouth again with the tea cup. It didn't matter; he knew exactly how the angel looked at him every time he saw him laugh.
“Malicious.” The angel said with a smile in his voice. He sounded almost lovesick, like the whole word should be said in a wistful sigh.
“I think we already went over that one, angel.”
“We did, didn't we?”
He was still smiling. Still weaponizing his soft voice — the same one he used to say other things. Devastating ones.
Crowley squirmed. The bubbly sensation in his belly got worse.
Better get him on track again.
“Do you want another hint?”
“No! What fun would that be?”
He went back to his tea. Looked outside; hummed pensive.
“Malachite?”
Crowley had considered that gemstone. Rich greens, interesting patterns. Reminded him of the greens in Eden, of the shapes the nebulas had. It went well with his reds; but it wasn't about him. No, he chose something that would feel at place with the angel’s soft colours.
It was his time to sound smitten.
“Not that one.”
They went on and on, back and forth. Aziraphale exhausted his dictionary, Crowley exhausted his cheeks from smirking.
“You're cheating!”
“I am not.” Crowley twined his hands behind his head, crossed an ankle over the other, pulled his best snob air— the one that made Beelzebub's many eyes twitch in irritation.
“You are inventing words. I've said them all!”
“First of all— no you haven't. I'm sure there must be a weird medical term the humans came up with that starts with mal. You know doctors love their weird medical terms that confuse people. Second of all— I'm not. Swear it's an actual word people use. Actually quite common—”
“…Maltodextrin?”
“Wha— In what world is that common?”
He huffed, adjusted his waistcoat. Wiggled in his seat in that way he did when he was feeling malgnanimous.
“I'll let you know that many industrialised foods now have it. Butter, ice cream—”
There he went with the foods again.
“Alright, alright. It's not that though. Ready to give up?”
He pursed his lips.
“Fine, you fiend. But only because it's almost evening and we're going to miss our reservation.”
As if any reservation would dare to be missed. Today they would wait for them as much as needed; today was going to be perfect.
“It's malware.”
“What the— Heavens is a malware?”