"Dante!" Crowley exclaims, just a little too loudly. "Yes, that's it! Suppose it's a fitting name if the demonic cult stuff holds any water."

Crowley thinks about this a long moment, then slowly lets his focus drift again to how Aziraphale is pressed up against him.

He's warm. Crowley likes being warm. He doesn't really want to have to think when he's this comfortable and warm.

"Hey," he says after a moment. "Don't worry about it, yeah? Not like I've given them any reason to worry about me here."

They don't know, after all, and anyway -- Crowley isn't especially worried about them even if they did. He shifts a hand under the blanket to stroke up and down Aziraphale's side, as if in a soothing gesture.