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Crowley hummed as he pulled on the silk stocking and clipped it into place. He didn’t dress up like this often, but when he did… Well. Aziraphale always liked it* and so did he. The silky softness on his legs, the quiet whisper of flowing skirts, the way heels accentuated his calves.
His hair wasn’t very long, so instead of anything fancy he clipped a rhinestone barrette above his right ear. It went well with the black dress, adding just enough sparkle without going overboard. He appraised himself in the mirror, added a bit of lip gloss, then went looking for Aziraphale.
“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed. “You’re a vision.”
Crowley’s body—often far too human for comfort—betrayed him; he felt his cheeks pink at the compliment.
“Ngk,” was all Crowley could manage under the heat of the angel’s gaze.
“Everyone at the Ritz will be jealous of me. You’re absolutely perfect, dear.”
Secretly pleased, Crowley winked at Aziraphale. “Flattery will get you everywhere, angel.”
*Crowley tried not to let on how much he loved Aziraphale’s appreciation of him, but he knew Aziraphale saw right through him. Despite his naïveté, Aziraphale could always read Crowley like a (rare, valuable) book.