Crowley sets aside his own glass as Aziraphale moves closer, wide eyes studying him as he's touched. The touching is nice. He would say, on the whole, big fan of the touching so far. Ten out of ten on touching -- apart from the way it makes his stomach squirm nervously. Why does it do that? Design flaw, probably. There's so may peculiar quirks in human bodies, he wishes he still had proper control over his.

"Uh," he manages finally. "Yeah. Just. Thought it might be... you know."

Nice. He wets his lips nervously, hand creeping out to rest against Aziraphale's side. Fingers close lightly into fabric, fastening themselves there. Is this where they kiss? That's normally what happens, he thinks, but he feels awkward all of a sudden. As if he isn't sure what to do, where to put his hands, how to proceed. Somehow, when it's Aziraphale, all his confidence just seems to melt away into nothing.