[The arch of his eyebrow at that self-centered comment is sharp and obvious, disbelief written all over his face. He's silent for a moment, wrestling with his anger and the temptation to throw open the door and tell Jon to go fuck himself, but he knows that wont help, not in the long run.
He wonders, deep down, if for Martin that he needs me is more important than he loves me.]
Look at me. [It's a little forceful, but his fingers are gentle as they guide Martin's gaze back up.] If it were me telling you this, if it were Aziraphale running around behind my back, lying to me and scaring me and hurting me, d'you think he loves me would be enough of an excuse to put up with it?
[This, he hopes, is the right way to get through to Martin, forcing him to look at things from an outside perspective, because Crowley knows he values himself so little that he'd burn himself down to nothing to keep other people warm, and then thank them for using him.]
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He wonders, deep down, if for Martin that he needs me is more important than he loves me.]
Look at me. [It's a little forceful, but his fingers are gentle as they guide Martin's gaze back up.] If it were me telling you this, if it were Aziraphale running around behind my back, lying to me and scaring me and hurting me, d'you think he loves me would be enough of an excuse to put up with it?
[This, he hopes, is the right way to get through to Martin, forcing him to look at things from an outside perspective, because Crowley knows he values himself so little that he'd burn himself down to nothing to keep other people warm, and then thank them for using him.]