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Summary
Crowley had imagined it differently. On the rare, very rare occasions when he’d allowed himself to imagine something could happen between the two of them, it didn’t go like this. No – Crowley was suave and sure of himself, not a rambling, babbling mess. Aziraphale was charmed, and flattered by his attentions. They’d take their clothes off slowly, without any urgency. They’d stare into each other’s eyes, and whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears. In his imagination, they wouldn’t have been so hungry, so desperate for each other.
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What if, once they start having sex, they can't stop?
Or, an angel and a demon learn to take it slow.