You'll Never Get To Heaven (if you're scared of getting high)

You know this is how it should be

"You're sure there was another demon there?"

Crowley's brow was drawn. "I'm almost sure I smelled a diabolical presence that was not me. It could be human contact, I suppose, someone playing silly buggers with demon summoning. Didn't you catch it? I thought angels could smell demons. You always seemed to be able to find me in a crowd."

Aziraphale sighed. "My dear, I don't have your highly developed sense of smell, but there was a time when I could detect you or any demon a mile off by the brimstone. That hasn't been true for at least eleven years. It's become a sort of background noise. Well, scent. I'm afraid it's seeped into everything I own. I'd probably miss it if I didn't smell it for a while, that's all."

"Ah." Crowley's mouth twitched, and Aziraphale wondered what he was thinking. "Well, that's inconvenient." He sighed. "Well, we can rule out Tristan. I was close to him long enough in that infernal game that I am pretty sure he is human. Just pure evil," he added in a mutter.

"That's not fair. He's very kind and charming."

"He wears tartan, and plays party games."

"So do I."

"And you're the evilest being I know outside of Hell. Don't think I've forgiven you yet."

"Do demons even forgive?" Aziraphale arched an eyebrow.

"Over and over, apparently. We're just not supposed to." Crowley pulled the Bentley up the drive and gave her a farewell pat on the steering wheel. Aziraphale was almost sure that if he wasn't there, he would have wished her goodnight aloud.

"I suppose not. Forgiveness is divine, after all. Besides, I think tonight was rather a success," Aziraphale said as he unlocked the front door. "I don't think anyone would question we are a couple now. Although apparently you are whipped."

"Angel," groaned Crowley. "I am going to hunt that prat down and destroy him. I will destroy his progeny unto the fifth generation, if he has any." His cheeks were flaming.

"What does it mean, anyway?"

Crowley stared at him for a moment, flinging himself into, or rather onto, a chair, legs hooked over one arm. "Creamy and fluffy like whipped cream," he said eventually. "Ridiculous. I mean, look at me." He waved a hand at his tight black clothes.

"Ah. Well, that sounds rather lovely. I can see why a demon would see it as unbecoming, though." Aziraphale seated himself rather more neatly in another chair.

"Aziraphale, do you have any idea at all how—" Crowley bit the sentence off. "Never mind. Why would anyone doubt we are a couple, anyway? I mean, when you meet a married couple, 'I wonder if they are just pretending because they are ancient adversaries posing as humans' isn't usually the first thing that comes to mind."

"You think we were overdoing it?"

"No, no," Crowley said quickly. "Just right."

"Good. Make me a cup of tea, dear?"

Crowley took off his glasses and stared at him with yellow eyes. "You know," he said eventually, "Sometimes I really can't tell if you are that innocent or if you are deliberately taking the piss."

"It's only a cup of tea, my dear. You don't have to if you don't want to," Aziraphale said, a little hurt.

"I do not trust you, you and your guileless expressions," Crowley said, getting up and going into the kitchen. "And I'm doing this because I want to, and because I want tea too." He waved his hand on the way, and the fire blazed up in the hearth.