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This isn’t how Crowley expected his first time with Aziraphale to go. Not like he excepted a first time, more so hoped they would have a first time.
He expected something gentle and passionate, not rough and desperate with the faint smell of wine lingering in the room.
They had been in the back room, drinking, same old. But then something had happened, and one thing led to another, and an angel was on top of a demon, pressing said demon hard into the leather of the couch.
Crowley was making lovely little noises, not loud enough to be considered moans, but not quite pained enough to be considered cries.
They were shifting and moving together, against each other, touching in ways they hadn’t dared breach before. The air around them growing hot with their shared breaths and the sweat that clung to their human bodies.
And they would find their release together. Mouths clinging to mouths and skin and all the places that they could touch. Movement slowing down until an angel and a demon were just lying there, gently embracing and lightly touching.
Would this happen again? Would they ever dare speak of this situation? Would they blame it on the alcohol? Or would they, perhaps, start something new together. Something that perhaps wasn’t so new or unfamiliar after all.
They had the rest of their lives together to find out.