It's not so urgent that... well. It's not so urgent. But there are still tiny movements, subtle shifts of his hips that Crowley can't quite suppress, because it feels -

He feels so awake today.

So aware.

(Which isn't, however, the same as coherent. There's a cool, deliberate whisper of breath along the juncture of thigh and hip, impeccably timed; Crowley's voice starts out trying to say Aziraphael, goes through an impressive gargle of vowels and consonants, and ends up somewhere between a laugh and a gasp.)