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It was a simple thing, really. A gesture so small it could've been written off as nothing at all. And yet, it was everything. It was that small, additional crack that made the whole dam burst. Six thousand years of built up pressure, tension, and all the small things that broke down the wall keeping it blocked off. Six thousand years, a box of chocolates, and a single red rose, and suddenly the dam burst. No wall keeping these feelings from springing forth. Like starved hyenas, they went forward with ravenous intent, desperate.
A measly month after the not-pocalypse, Crowley decided to test his luck. With Heaven and Hell no longer giving a damn, he figured his beloved Aziraphale would, maybe, hopefully, be more receptive to his advances. He'd been careful so far, these past few weeks, which was no easy task. Crowley and Aziraphale have been meeting nearly every day, and the poor demon could barely restrain himself. There was nothing he wanted more in the entire universe than to hold the angel, kiss him softly, and profess his love until he runs out of words. Oh, the mere thought of it makes Crowley's heart race, even though it doesn't need to beat at all. Despite the rapid drum in his chest, and the heat that rises to his face, and the anxious feeling swelling up inside, Crowley finally makes his choice. No more hiding, pretending, agonizing over this. Crowley will, very clearly, express his true feelings.
With the small gifts in the passenger seat, Crowley pulls up to the bookshop, and doesn't get out. He stays in the Bentley, quite sure his heart is damn near exploding. How the heaven do humans do this? Focusing as best he can, Crowley wills his heart to a much slower pace, and he lets out a long sigh, only a little less anxious. He can't help but to hear those words again in the back of his mind. Heart starting to race again, he snatches the chocolates and rose from beside him, and jumps out of the Bentley. The bookshop is technically closed, but the demon saunters in anyways, shouting his arrival. He has to make another effort to still his heart; he really has gone native, hasn't he, what with all this heartbeat and breathing nonsense.
Movement catches Crowley's attention, and Aziraphale approaches the demon, who's frozen at the entryway.
"Crowley," Aziraphale smiles, the metaphorical light of it almost blinding, "you could've called. What brings you here?"
Crowley didn't plan this far ahead, or he did and forgot it all; he's finding it rather difficult to think at the moment. His heart is beating at a rate he's certain could've hospitalized a human, and he hopes that the heat in his face isn't visible. Words are rather impossible, so instead of attempting any speech, Crowley thrusts out his arms, the chocolates in one hand, the rose in another. Aziraphale looks surprised, looking to the small, simple gifts, and the Crowley's stiff body language and the ever deepening red of his face. Seconds pass, or maybe minutes -time is weird- before a gentle smile graces the angel's face. He walks forward, and instead of taking the gifts, he places his hands over Crowley's, so gentle and soft and warm that the demon trembles, his knees suddenly so very weak.
"Dear boy, does this mean what I think it does?" Crowley can only manage a stiff nod of his head, his voice completely refusing to work. "Might I hear it from you? I'd like to hear you say it, just to be sure."
Oh, the softness of Aziraphale's voice has Crowley absolutely shaking. If his snake eyes could cry, his face would be absolutely soaked; instead, he only feels the stinging, the whisper of what could be. He can't just stand there, overcome by these feelings; he needs to respond, to tell his angel how he feels.
"I-" Crowley croaks out, his voice straining, "er, that is to say- I… Aziraphale. I l-love you. Will- will you accept me?"
Aziraphale closes some of the distance between them, Crowley's arms folding in the process, "Of course I will, dear. And I do apologize for not accepting your feelings, or mine for that matter, before now, but I couldn't, not with your safety on the line."
"S'okay." is all the demon can manage to reply. He is so very aware of how close Aziraphale is to him, so close he can feel the angel's breath, warm and sweet, upon his face. A single hand reaches up and removes Crowley's sunglasses, revealing wide and frantic golden eyes. Blue meets gold, searching, and growing closer. There is no longer any distance between the earthly bodies of these celestial beings, other than a centimeter at their faces, as the angel has stopped, his lips so very close, waiting, patient. Crowley, no longer to bear with this, fills the remaining gap, his lips pressed against Aziraphale's. A box and a flower and a pair of sunglasses fall to the ground, forgotten, as hands grab at the nearest spot of the other's body. The kiss, initially a simple pressure, has turned into a passionate slow dance, a waltz of lip and tongue, with the music sighs of released tension.
Minutes pass before the two part, breath heavy and eyes half-lidded. Without words, they move from the entryway to the backroom. Aziraphale falls to the couch, and Crowley follows, straddling the angel. Their lips make quick work of finding each other, and their waltz turns into a dizzying tango. Hands roam, searching, feeling, desperate, and hungry for more.
When sunrise arrives the next morning, neither angel nor demon makes a move to leave, each complete in the other's embrace.