As much as Crowley tried to deflect those waves of wanton that eagerly encompassed him like a warm hug, muttering to himself under his breath as Aziraphale seemed lost in his own little heaven, hugging the bottle. There many milleani of this back and forth between the two celestial supernatural beings. As Crowley was usually one to carelessly plant the seed, he was always taken by surprise still when the angel took to nurturing that growth. Even with his last words that run in his head about how there was no hope there for an angel and demon to be more than hereditary enemies.
"Of course you don't," he casted his eyes upward in a slow roll. Taking the bottle from his partner and took a swig of whatever was left in that bottle, and sat it empty on the table top. Feeling the effects of alcohol coursing through his corporeal form. "Innnn-- Inebri-- Oh whatever!" struggling to form the word, he hissed at Aziraphale with a smile his tongue pressed between his teeth. "'Sssuppose we ssshould commemorate the future." Crowley sat straight suddenly and was up on wobbly legs and extended his hand out to Aziraphale. "Angel?" Eyeing the other with those molten gold eyes.