Aziraphale's polite demeanor is charming, as always, and as he pulls back, Crowley frowns sympathetically, their hand sliding down his cheek and touching gently at his chin before pulling away.

"I wish I could make it last for you." they say, craving the same, "There's always tomorrow, I suppose."

Crowley leans back, not pulling themselves out of the angel's arms, but freeing one of theirs enough to fetch the wine from the table. "Would you like more to drink, angel? I believe the occasion calls for a toast."