“But you admit it! You did tempt me!”
“I offered you warm food during a storm,” Crowley argues. “If you call that temptation, I’d hate to see you talk to an innkeeper.” Aziraphale scowls some more. Crowley shrugs. “Besides, no harm done. You seem to be enjoying yourself.”
He has Aziraphale there. “Still,” he says, spreading his hands wide. “It has to be said—” He glances up to the sky. “—for anyone listening, that I am not at fault for my appetite.”
“Never said you were,” Crowley says. “Just said you liked the oysters.”
or, an examination vis-à-vis food and forgiveness
Words: 29,115
Status: Complete
Rating: Explicit
By @sightofsea
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works















