"Fine," Aziraphale said, grudgingly - or at least he tried to be. Grudging didn't work so well when you've just been snogged so very expertly, after all. He didn't dare tell Crowley that - his ego didn't need the stroking.

"But I'm still angry with you," he added, suddenly, and without a pause the angel tore off into the night, wings spread white like the luminescent moon, racing ahead in what he knew was a petty advantage.