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The offered reassurances that he'd sleep in a real bed for once?
Wash kind of lied.
Awake since four in the morning UAPT, charts scattered about and coffee long gone cold at his elbow, he's pillowed his head in his arms, fast asleep at the kitchen table.
Every so often, there's a gentle snore.
Wash kind of lied.
Awake since four in the morning UAPT, charts scattered about and coffee long gone cold at his elbow, he's pillowed his head in his arms, fast asleep at the kitchen table.
Every so often, there's a gentle snore.
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Aziraphael's slightly pink along the cheekbones.
"Yes, I'd thank you not to. I realise that with your wife at seven months you might start considering new things, but I'd far rather you left me out of it."
He's not quite managing to keep the laughter out of his voice.
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He props his forehead against the heel of his palm, caught in a horrified, full-out snickerfit.
"I will never," he tries to say, attempting to cobble together what little dignity he has left, "be that desperate, Aziraphael."
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He glances up, still working to smother his laughter, and there is a decidedly wicked gleam in his eye.
Waving a hand, airily, "Guys with chubby hands, you know. I don't go for that."
You can't call down lightning in outer space, right?
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"I'm going to let that slide."
Such control!
"This once."
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Beams.
Innocently.
Somewhere in there, there's another demure sip of coffee.
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Beat.
"Told me it annoyed you, yeah, but -- "
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"Oh heck, you haven't read it?"
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"Well it was a very nice dress."
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Straight-faced.