Aziraphale would have been drinking, but he was reading instead. (He would have been loath to risk dripping anything on his precious books.) As it was, Crowley was drinking enough for the both of them. (It was also enough to kill a small elephant, but that was beside the point.)
They once again found themselves on the soft of the bookshop's backroom, Aziraphale leaning rather contentedly on the arm of the couch, Crowley leaning rather drunkenly on the arm of the angel. His cheek rested heavily on his companion's shoulder, and his reptilian eyes peered casually over the top of his shades to inspect the pages of Aziraphale's book.
"Lusssst," he reported, grinning slightly manically at the romantic scene on the page.
The angel smiled and turned his head slightly until the tip of his nose brushed the demon's forehead. "Love," he disagreed patiently, his breath warm against the demon's skin.
"Oh pleassse. The author wasss probably twitching in his britches when he wrote thissss."
Aziraphale couldn't keep the blush off his face as he read a few lines further. It was easier to ignore the slightly lusty narration when there wasn't a demon breathing down your neck and pointing out all the naughty bits.
"Maybe both?" the angel offered, peacemaking and closing the book. Their faces were close together, he noticed distractedly. He tried to shift away from the demon, but there was nowhere to go, and Crowley was too inebriated to notice. (Or, if he did notice, he was too much of a bastard to sit up.)
The demon considered what the angel said for a few long beats. He finally rolled his eyes and grabbed Aziraphale's hand, squeezing and scratching the unnecessary pulse at his wrist. "Maybe," he conceded finally, slurring vaguely. "But I ssstill sssay that all that guy really wantsss at the moment is to get into that girl's pantssss."
"You speak as if from experience."
"I'd be willing to tutor you, if it'sss experienccce you're interested in."
Aziraphale's blush grew deeper and he poured himself back into his book. Fictional lu—lo—feelings were much easier to deal with than real ones.
"We could go to St. James and feed your silly ducks," Crowley offered Aziraphale's back.
"Mmm," was the only response the angel could offer as he busily reorganized a bookcase. He'd recently acquired a few new rare books and his shop was full enough as it was, so he really had to battle to find room for the new arrivals. (He really could have miracled up a bit more space, but he was thinking like a human again, so the idea hadn't occurred to him.)
"We could go to the Ritz," the demon tried again, sauntering closer to the distracted angel.
A plump hand hesitated momentarily on the spine of a particularly ratty old book of false prophecies before moving it to a higher shelf. "It's the middle of the dinner rush, dear. The place'll be packed."
"I could clear out a table."
"Hmm."
Crowley was now standing only a couple feet behind Aziraphale, whose sole attention was still on his books. His voice was a purr, and he leaned in so his words encircled his companion like a cool breeze. "We could go to one of those bakeries you like so much and buy a few pounds of fudge."
Aziraphale's next pause was longer and more considerate. But he mentally waved himself off and muttered, "Gluttony."
Crowley had him now. He leaned forward and placed his hands on either side of Aziraphale's head, making a cage with his arms. The angel sensed the sudden proximity and turned enough that they made eye-contact.
Crowley smirked rather wickedly. "We could go to my flat."
A small sigh that could have been a sigh or a moan escaped Aziraphale's throat. "Lust," he whispered uncertainly, turning more fully towards the demon, his back against the bookcase. It didn't sound like a no.
"Love," was Crowley's growling reply before he proceeded in leaning in and proving his point.