#crawless

Oh, he really oughtn’t to smile with so much hubris. It’s one of the big ones, after all. Be that as it may, his rebellious smile seemed to be in perfect cahoots with the hand he placed triumphantly on the table. The winning hand.

It’d been amusing, feigning complete ignorance at how to play cards. Though, to be fair, it hadn’t been strictly a ruse. Crowley hadn’t asked, per se, if he knew how to play, nor if he’d played before. He’d merely assumed he never had - which would’ve been true, had good old Charles Blount not been so fond of chatting over a private game – and the Angel merely hadn’t bothered to dissuade him of that notion.

It had been more than fair, actually, since the Demon (very intentionally, he suspected) hadn’t explained the rules too correctly. Or thoroughly.

And no, he didn’t regret it one bit. It had been entirely worth it. Not for the victory, but for the way Crowley’s eyebrows rose so high they might pop right off his forehead once he got a good look at his hand. Ever so melodramatic. And ... atingled? when Aziraphale let any deviousness peek through.

“I’m rather adept at this game, you know,” Aziraphale reveals with the nonchalance of a kindergartener who’s just finished a splendid drawing.

‘Since when?’