The laugh that nearly escaped Oliver's throat got stuck halfway out the minute he felt Cal's hand wrap around the back of his neck, trapping him again in an equally pleasant way, one that the angel had no desire to try and wriggle out of. Even if it meant giving up his little game, which they both knew he'd have to do sooner rather than later anyway. It didn't matter how much influence Cal had inflicted on him after three years, he was still an angel and Cal was still a demon.
When it came to temptation, Cal would always win. It was just in his nature.
By that same argument, one would think that it would be in Oliver's steadfastly angelic nature to thwart said temptations, but that had all gone to Hell as soon as he'd given into being with Cal in the first place. Besides, Aziraphale had never exactly been immune to Crowley's efforts to tempt. The angel in his head might be too flustered to admit it, but he had shamelessly enjoyed the fruits of Crowley's little indulgences in his own way, just as much as Oliver did now.
Angels weren't perfect, despite what some might think, or at least these two angels weren't. Neither angel was able to deny certain earthly weaknesses when presented to them, whether that was a first edition of a long sought after book or a handsome, persuasive demon. It's what made them so very bad at being good on the rare occasion.
Oliver answered the crook of his boyfriend's lips with a shy smile. Appropriately bashful in look and tone, though curiously with a distinct lack of shame. If he were a better angel, he would feel an appropriate measure of shame for his wayward indiscretions.
"You caught me," Oliver murmured fondly. Just like with the broken pipe, Cal had caught onto him in his little scheme too. Angel: One, Demon: One. The score wasn't always that even between them by the end of the day, but in the end, the score hardly mattered. Only this.
That delightful scrape of Cal's fingernails against his scalp as he dug into Oliver's hair sent involuntary shivers through the angel's spine, already possessing the good sense to realize he was most certainly doomed, but he still made a valiant attempt to prolong his fate. Oliver was a man with arguably many weaknesses. A used bookstore, a piece of Baroque art, a nice bottle of wine. But Oliver's biggest weakness? Cal. Cal, and every single card he had up his sleeve to tempt him with.
"Are you trying to tempt me?" Smile faltering as his gaze zeroed in on Cal's mouth, already so dangerously close to his, Oliver subconsciously leaned into the demon's touch like he couldn't help it. In so many ways, Cal was like gravity. Oliver would always fall for him.
"Angels are sacred heavenly vessels and therefore immune to Hell's trickery," he continued lecturing in a mock serious but obviously distracted tone, gaze still heavy on the practically sinful curve of Cal's lips. He knew he was already on borrowed time, and the minute he crossed to the other side of the sofa, Oliver would lose all ground. The desire to kiss him was so strong that where Oliver's hands still rested on Cal's chest, they flexed momentarily to grip at the material of his shirt, igniting thoughts about what he'd like to be doing with those clothes that only caused Oliver's breathing to become more uneven. "Of course, that is the thing. I have been a very bad angel."