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Crowley had one purpose: make Aziraphale kiss him.
Only that was on his mind when he woke up in the real first week of the rest of their lives. Crowley couldn’t be the first one to take that step again. It was Angel’s turn, he thought, looking in the mirror, adjusting his hair just-so, making his lips cherry-irresistible, tightening his trousers and putting on a vest that made hands itch with the need to grab. He drove towards the bookshop, thinking only about Aziraphale breathing deeply, getting close, pulling his bolo-tie and finally crashing their mouths together. He knew the angel wanted that, and he’d make him take it.
He had a plan; linger around, in reach, and annoy him until he gave in. That would be enough; after all, it was when Aziraphale was his most infuriating that Crowley most wanted to kiss him.
The bell jingled merrily as he opened the bookshop’s door, unaware of the chaos it would witness.
“Angel!”
Aziraphale had one purpose: make Crowley kiss him.
Only that was on his mind while fretting the night away. He walked in circles, picturing many scenarios: a dance under the skylight, Crowley pulling him to a sweet kiss; a bookshelf rattling, used as support against an onslaught of kisses that left him breathless; a drunken accident, as they tried to find a word, Crowley inevitably closing the distance between their lips, like magnets; Crowley shoving him against a wall...
Ah! That ought to do it. Crowley wouldn't be able to resist, he only needed to be sweet to him.
Instead of Aziraphale, Crowley was going insane. All his attempts failed miserably.
He offered to make tea, purposefully steeping it too much, turning it undrinkable. The angel drank it, reigned over his wince, and praised him.
“Oh, thank you. You are so sweet to me. I needed strong tea to properly wake up.” No matter he didn’t sleep, the tea left alone after a single sip.
Crowley draped himself over Aziraphale’s reading chair, blocking the passage and playing tiktoks full volume.
“I’m so happy you feel comfortable here, darling. You are such a good presence to be around.” Crowley’s brain sizzled inside his head.
Aziraphale was reading; Crowley pulling him into a conversation, only to drop it and start again a few minutes later — impossible to focus for more than a couple minutes.
Aziraphale, the bastard, sat beside him and played with his hair. Crowley thought finally he gave in, and would pull him for a kiss, but no. He only sat there, scratching his nape and turning him boneless and useless for anything more than purr— no, growl in content.
“I really do love your company, you are so nice…” Aziraphale trailed off, like he was expecting something; Crowley was too relaxed to protest.
After that nap, an idea was born in the demon’s idle mind.
“Let me help you reshelve, angel.” A mischievous smirk on his face.
The angel stammered. Not his books, his system! Jim already had done a number on it, and it took a lot to turn the bookshop back in tip-top shape… But Crowley was being purposefully annoying, he knew. If Aziraphale kept being sweet even when he was a nuisance, the demon was bound to snap and pin him to the wall again.
“Of course, darling.” The affirmative went through gritted teeth.
Crowley's smirk widened. A small stack of books in hand, he put each one away randomly, not taking his eyes from the angel.
“V-very well… done…” Aziraphale saw a vein under his eye pulsate.
He took another stack of books, and threatened to throw it haphazardly; the angel’s reaction was immediate, putting his hands around the demon’s.
“I’ll throw them—”
“You’re too nice—”
They talked at the same time. Growling in frustration, they glared at each other.
“Why don’t you just—”
“— kiss me already!”
Oh. Once more they had talked in unison. Their laughs only died when slowly, together, they leaned and their lips touched.