[ Crowley wants to reassure Aziraphale that nothing untoward has happened to him. That he always beat a hasty retreat before the hooks and chains and hot irons could make an appearance. He is certainly about to when Aziraphale hastily hides his face under Crowley's chin, and made a suggestion.

He is grinning so wide, he's fairly certain the top of his head is in danger of dropping off. ]

A scene.

[ He nuzzles into Aziraphale's hair, his chest shaking with barely repressed laughter. ]

Is that what all that fuss at the Bastille was? A scene?

[ He knew it. There was no bloody way Aziraphale would get captured by humans, miracles or not. Not unless the Revolutionaries were sporting iron chains with holy seals on them for keeping angels put, but Crowley doubted it. They both could just slide out of human perception when they wanted, completely off their radar, no miracles necessary. ]

Because it certainly worked. You in those lovely frills and heels - had me reeling for centuries.

[ He lets his voice drop an octave, and murmurs up against Aziraphale's ear like the seducer he's supposed to be. ]

You know, the only thing at lunch I wanted to have with strawberries, cream and a bit of lemon zest was you.