Good Omens - Crowley/Aziraphale
It’s just the odd, little thing, since the old switcheroo, that Aziraphale has noticed (catalogued). He has, on occasion, caught himself driving at the speed limit. He has enjoyed some more modern music. He swore, once. That sort of thing.
He calls on Crowley. These are the kind of observations, you see, that require further testing.
Crowley opens the door to his penthouse, leather-clad, hip-popped. “Further testing, is it?” Crowley leers. He pulls Aziraphale into the hallway, backs him up against the wall.
“Still experiencing some side effects?”
“Well, yes, some, minor, rather indelicate consequences,” Aziraphale admits, breathing rather heavily.