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Aziraphale likes to read.
Crowley thinks he knows this, but after he starts spending the night at the bookshop, he realizes that no, actually, Aziraphale doesn't like to read. He loves to read. He loves to read in the same way that he loves to eat: he'd do it all the time if he could. Aziraphale starts each night in his plush bed with Crowley, and each morning, Crowley wakes up alone. The first time is a bit confusing, but then he finds Aziraphale in his office, hunched over his desk. Crowley puts a hand on his shoulder, and Aziraphale barely looks up to give a brief kiss before returning to his book, and subsequently not even moving to turn the page. Crowley, feeling slightly ignored, sits on the sofa until Aziraphale is done, and then they get on with their day (breakfast at the boulangerie down the street, a stroll in the park, a matinee in the West End, a nightcap at Crowley's flat, somehow ending up back in the bookshop anyway).
Something resembling this sequence of events happens several more times (sometimes it's a visit to the National Gallery, sometimes it's a drive down to Brighton, sometimes it's lunch at the Ritz, for old times' sake), until finally, Crowley gets a bit tired of being ignored. So he formulates a Plan. One morning, he comes into the office and puts a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder as usual, but this time he asks: "Aren't you uncomfortable?"
"Hmm?" Aziraphale turns slightly, still not looking away from his battered trade paperback of Pride and Prejudice, expecting a kiss that doesn't come.
Crowley just hovers, and waits.
Aziraphale finally tears himself away from the book.
"I said, aren't you uncomfortable?" A small sense of accomplishment washes over Crowley as Aziraphale's eyes come into focus on him.
Aziraphale quirks an eyebrow. "No?"
"You literally have a layer of dust on you, angel."
"I'm fine!" Aziraphale says, slightly annoyed, and turns back to his desk.
Well, that didn't work. Time to deploy the second part of the Plan. Crowley starts rubbing up and down Aziraphale's shoulder with his one hand, then letting the other hand come to rest on his other shoulder.
Aziraphale doesn't react beyond a cursory rolling of his eyes. At least they're away from that blasted book, if only for a brief moment.
Hands near Aziraphale's neck, Crowley starts moving his thumbs in slow, gentle circles right above where the angel's wing joints would be. He doesn't exactly feel tense, but he's definitely not relaxed.
Aziraphale wiggles a little in his seat, a shiver that Crowley feels radiate outwards from his spine. Excellent.
Crowley continues, moving out towards his shoulder blades, digging his thumbs in a little deeper. There's a small knot near Aziraphale's right shoulder, and Crowley moves his left hand over to help.
Aziraphale hums and tilts his head back, eyes closed. Crowley grins to himself, and uses the heel of his hand to finish working out the knot.
"If I didn't know any better," Aziraphale says, "I'd say you were--ooh!--trying to butter me up."
Crowley moves his hands to the center of Aziraphale's back, fingers working up and down in small sections. "Buttering you up for what, praytell?"
"Mmm, to switch seats at the opera tonight?" Aziraphale tips his head forward as Crowley's thumbs work on his neck. "Last time you complained that my sightline was better than yours."
Crowley starts walking his fingers down the outline of Aziraphale's spine. "You know I'm more of a listener than a spectator. Try again."
Aziraphale sighs audibly. "An extra bite of my dessert at lunch, then."
"When was the last time I asked for more than one bite? One more guess." Another small knot, halfway down his back. Crowley digs two knuckles into it.
"Oh goodness," Aziraphale mutters, then puts himself back together enough to form a real thought. "I don't know, um. A trip to the gardening center?"
"I don't have to butter you up for that." Crowley runs his hands up and down for a final check. Aziraphale's back and shoulders are now very pliable and definitely relaxed. Aziraphale turns towards him, and he can see that even Aziraphale's eyes are soft, half-lidded, barely able to look over the top of his glasses, which are miraculously still perched on the end of his nose. He leans down again, putting their mouths very close together. "Do I have your attention now?"
With a knitted brow and a slightly pouty bottom lip, Aziraphale realizes Crowley's point. "Oh, my dear, you should have said something."
Crowley doesn't move except to smirk. "This was more fun."
Aziraphale rolls his eyes again, and smiles. "Good morning, Crowley."
"Mornin'," Crowley says, and, one hand still on his shoulder, finally gives Aziraphale a gentle, lingering kiss.