You go too fast for me, Crowley.
That statement kept playing on a loop in his mind as he drank, back against one of his large plant pots with the thermos beside him. After seeing Aziraphale, the expression on his face in the Bentley, the tone he'd said that line in, he didn't want the thermos anymore.
You go too fast for me.
Crowley wasn't naive. He wasn't stupid. He knew how he felt, and he knew the angel felt the same. He could taste it on his tongue when they drank together, the angel's attraction. He always caught the hitch in Aziraphale's breathing when they were close. He always noticed how heavier he breathed. Aziraphale was just scared.
You go too fast.
Crowley growled low that turned into a cry of frustration and he threw the bottle in his hand against the wall, feeling pleasure at watching it break. The plants around him trembled a bit.
"Shut up," he shouted at them. His voice echoed off of the walls, reminding him how empty the flat was. How empty his life was when he wasn't with the angel. He stumbled to his feet, grabbed his keys, and left.
He later couldn't remember the drive. He vaguely remembered moving, blurred lights and colours as he sped by, but his clear memory didn't pick up again until he was walking across the road and into the bookshop- whose doors opened for him without hesitation. There was music, and mumbling; like someone rambling drunk to themselves.
"Angel," he called, realizing as he squinted that he'd left his sunglasses behind. "I've got something to say!"
There was movement and Aziraphale came around the corner, a wine glass in his hand and fresh tear tracks on his face. He frowned at the sight of Crowley standing there, equally drunk- if somewhat angry looking rather than emotional.
"Crowley? What are you-"
Crowley took two steps and kissed Aziraphale hard, over calculating the distance and knocking them both into a bookshelf that miraculously didn't topple. Aziraphale let out a muffled sound of surprise and dropped his glass, grabbing onto Crowley and pulling him closer.
It was like that feeling you get standing at the very edge of an impossibly high cliff, kissing Aziraphale. It was fluttering and surreal and thrilling and vaguely terrifying. Like, one move of his weight and he would fall into him and never recover. He wouldn't want to.
He took the angel's bottom lip between his and relished the answering whine it granted him. The whine sparked a fire in his chest, and the feeling that followed was like he'd jumped from the cliff with no regret and no care when or how he would land. He pulled Aziraphale closer by his hips, pressing his being into the angel's.
"Crowley," Aziraphale moaned, finally freeing his mouth from his.
The demon didn't mind, trailing his kisses along Aziraphale's neck and nipping at where a human might have a pulse. At that point the angel pushed him away, but kept him close. Their pants mingled, giving them both a moment to think clearly.
"Crowley, what-"
"I love you, angel. I've loved you since you tried that ridiculous joke in Rome, tempting being my job. I feel like, this string tying me to you all the time. I know you feel it too. Don't you dare tell me you don't, just because you're scared."
There was a moment of silence before Aziraphale answered. "I'm not afraid of loving you. I'm afraid because you feel like home. You always have, more than any place I've ever been. I'm afraid of how I love you. I'm afraid of how I desire you. But I'm not afraid of loving you."
He kissed Crowley this time, moaning as soon as their lips were connected again. Their lips moulded to each other, and Crowley tasted Aziraphale's tongue- the wine he'd had. He gripped the angel's hips tighter, grinding into them before he realized he was. Aziraphale's fingers stroked his hair, tightening in it and tugging just slightly too hard. Crowley groaned, pulling out of the kiss panting harder. He'd never been so aroused, letting go of Aziraphale and leaning himself with his hands on the shelf.
"Fuck, angel."
"I rather thought that was the goal, dear."
It startled Crowley into laughing, moving his head back so he could see his angel better. He looked absolutely sinful; with heavy-lidded eyes, hair in disarray, and swollen, bruised lips that were open and begging for his to come back.
"You're amazing," he whispered in awe.
"And you're stalling," the angel replied before stealing Crowley's lips again.