"You do have a point there," Oliver remarked thoughtfully, looking both entirely pleased with Cal's efforts to engage in conversation with him where the topic of Hamlet was concerned and therefore temporarily too distracted to properly protest what was the other man's latest attempt at a long running joke he knew Oliver sternly disapproved of.
Very sternly.
It was one of the many ways in which they continued the ongoing argument surrounding their living situation for the past five months (that first month they'd been a little preoccupied), and how it related to the problem of Cal's finances. Finances that were arguably much better than Oliver's, but Cal's income was also almost exclusively through illegal means. Oliver had eventually accepted that his boyfriend's line of work wasn't exactly typical once he realized that his desire to be with Cal was stronger, and yes, sometimes he consented to Cal buying his coffee, but that wasn't the same thing as consenting to live in a place that was mostly paid for in mob money. One had to draw the line somewhere.
Even if a small part of him found the offer to pay for a class field trip to see Shakespeare, and therefore the demon who made it, irresistible.
He knew that Cal wasn't much of a reader and he didn't mind that, but Oliver did sometimes leave certain books lying out in plain view, hoping that might somehow tempt his boyfriend into looking beneath its cover. He had so far been unsuccessful at catching Cal in the act, assuming that the temptation ever actually worked, but an angel could still dream.
Sometimes literally. During the length of their relationship Oliver may have had one or two smutty dreams involving Cal, a pile of books, and very little in the way of clothing. (Just the thought of it still made the tips of his ears turn a suspicious shade of pink.) Technically as the reincarnate of Aziraphale, Oliver no longer needed much in the way of sleep, but he had been human for longer than he'd been an angel. He appreciated the ritual of it, and he enjoyed it significantly more with Cal to fall asleep next to. Or not sleep, as the case frequently was.
They had forever, what did they need to waste it all on sleep for?
Flashing Cal a look that very explicitly said 'and no, I haven't forgotten your confession about the pipe', Oliver still took the wine with an appreciative noise and drunk in a single sip before arching one prim eyebrow over the rim of the glass. "I think it's only fair that you be the one to call him, taking into careful consideration whatever part you inevitably played in this, or do you deny it." Not to mention Oliver was the one who had ended up soaking wet and still in his work clothes, a fact for which he was still heavily considering pouting about.
"By the way, how was your drive home?" Oliver asked just as innocently. As he'd discovered last month that a certain someone had managed to miracle every single one of his student's grades to a B- while he was still finishing winter quarter report cards, after an appropriately angel-sized meltdown Oliver had then taken it upon himself to exact some type of just revenge. Of course, revenge wasn't really something that came naturally to him, so it had taken him a few solid weeks to come up with something good. He thought he'd really done it, though. Bumper stickers on the back of Cal's Bentley reading things like 'Jesus is my co-pilot' and 'Not Today Satan'? Now that was funny. (Obviously, Oliver had some learning to do when it came to the art of vengeance.)