Alcohol is bad for your consent
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Apocalypse has been thwarted. Behind a bungalow, two women are chatting over tea. In London Soho, an angel and a demon are figuring out what it means to be on their own side. Things happen. But it's ok.
"Ah, come on, don't be like that. What's eating you?"
"Crowley, just – don't... It's nothing, really..."
The demon was frowning and pouting already.
"You don't trust me. After all we've been through, you still don't trust me. You're really hurting my feelings, you know tha–"
"Oh for Heaven's sake, Crowley! Fine!" Aziraphale finally yelled in surrender. "If you're so eager to know, it's... I... That would be my libido, I guess."
The angel was expecting an eternity of mockery, but it never came. On the couch, his friend was unusually still.
"Wasn't aware you had any," Crowley said flatly.