Work Text:
Soho - 1890
It had been quite some time. Well, about 28 years, which wasn’t really that long, in the scheme of things. But this time, the distance had felt different somehow. They had had an argument. There was nothing really unusual about that either, but neither of them had set foot in St. James Park since that time.
The bookshop was closed, and Aziraphale was having a night in. Tuesdays were never very exciting at the club, anyway. He was absorbed in a book that one of the lads had given him, when the bell over the front door chimed. Since he’d certainly locked the door, he thought frantically that he might be getting robbed. Forgetting for a moment that he could easily smite any would-be burglars, Aziraphale grabbed a heavy pewter candle stick. He stood up as quietly as he could and peeked around the corner.
A familiar, lanky figure was casually inspecting the bookshelves as if he’d just come in to browse.
Aziraphale simply lit up, unable to stop himself from smiling from ear to ear. “Crowley!”
“Hi, you.”
The angel came out from around the corner. “What are you doing here?” he asked, beaming, still holding the candle stick.
“What are you doing with that?” Crowley countered, looking skeptically at the weapon.
Aziraphale hurriedly set the candle down. “What are you doing breaking and entering?” he huffed.
“I just thought I’d pop by and see how you were.”
“How nice!” At that, Crowley screwed up his face in disgust. “I mean… Thank y… I mean, I’m very well. And you? How have you been.”
“Bored,” Crowley answered, as if it hardly mattered, and went back to inspecting the books.
“Oh, not again! Been sleeping long?”
Crowley shot him a startled glance. How did the angel know him so damn well? “Why shouldn’t I?”
“But things are so fascinating right now! Art, music, and everything is so bohemian!” Aziraphale insisted. “It’s got its awful bits, of course, but it’s nowhere near as bad as the 14th century.”
“Well I’m glad to hear you’ve been enjoying yourself.” Crowley sounded sincere.
“Oh, I most certainly am!” Aziraphale said emphatically. Then, after a pause, he came right out with, “Except, well. Truthfully dear, there has been one thing missing.”
It took a moment for this to register, but when it did, all the defensiveness left Crowley’s frame, and his face lit up as well. Behind the glasses, Aziraphale could imagine the demon’s eyes crinkling into a smile.
“Well, in that case… Care to fraternize, angel?”
They’d decided on a new restaurant inside a fancy hotel. It was a little high-end for Crowley’s taste, but Aziraphale had suggested that wherever they went for dinner should also have a band. This hotel boasted a big dance floor, just off the dining room. Live music was a new criteria for Aziraphale, and when Crowley asked him about this over dinner, the angel had begun to gush. Something new and positively earth-shattering had been happening, and Aziraphale had been swept up in it.
Had Crowley ever heard of the Gavotte???
And he was off! Aziraphale gushed about the discrete gentleman’s club where he’d learned to dance. He gushed about the music, the excellent society, and the fact that he was actually rather good at it! Crowley had started out grinning indulgently at Aziraphale’s enthusiasm. When the angel chattered on like this, it afforded him a chance to just stare, appreciating.
That’s when the rambling conversation had turned to all of Aziraphale’s new friends.
“There’s Michael Hughes, he’s on my left.” he was saying. “We’re about the same height, so it works out. And Harrison Clarke doesn’t come every week, but he’s on my right, usually. You’d like him. He doesn’t seem to take it as seriously as we all do, but he’s so funny! And when he muddles the steps, everybody laughs. On the opposite end, is Jack Langford. He’s the best dancer of any of us, and it was he who invited me in the first place. He thought I might just be light enough on my feet for the Gavotte.”
The more men Aziraphale mentioned, the less entertaining the conversation became for Crowley. He was now thinking seriously about needing to tack on a second name for himself. Maybe a first name and an initial, something modern and debonair.
“Morgan Richardson is also a dear friend. He actually introduced me to absinthe.” Crowley’s jaw dropped. “And took care of me for hours while the stuff near poisoned me. He was so apologetic. Have you tried it?”
“Actually, I have,” Crowley grimaced. “Terrible stuff, absinthe!”
“I think so too! And yet the humans seem to like it.” Aziraphale leaned closer and said, “Maybe it’s just us. Angels and demons can’t imbibe absinthe. Who knew?”
It was irrational for this to cheer Crowley up, but given how the rest of the conversation was going, it was nice to affirm that two of them had something in common. It was comforting somehow, even if all they shared was that angel and demon had both, at different times, ended up over a chamber pot, throwing up green.
Aziraphale continued talking about his friends at the gentleman’s club, insisting that Crowley would like them if he came along some time. Aziraphale hadn’t ever thought it would be so nice to have human friends. The lads were always so happy to see him, and they’d given him a number of new books of poetry. Morgan had even taken him out clothes shopping. Did Crowley like his new suit? The jacket had been specially tailored…
“Well aren’t you just leaving a trail of broken hearts behind you, huh, angel?”
“Oh, hush!” Aziraphale waved this away.
“Or aren’t you even aware? Have pity on the poor boys, Aziraphale.” Crowley entreated in mock-pleading tones.
“Nonsense!” Aziraphale exclaimed, but he was blushing. “Whatever do you mean? There’s no harm! There aren’t any… wiles… or anything.”
“Well…” Crowley conceded, “Not on your side, at least.”
Aziraphale sat up straighter and clenched his jaw. “I’ll not have you saying anything against-“
“Oh, come ON!” Crowley couldn’t hold his frustration back any longer. “You must know what goes on in those places, don’t you? Discrete gentleman’s club, indeed. Ha! My ass! You’ve got your own little den of iniquity going on, and you don’t even realize it. It’s adorable, really, but you can’t be that naïve. All they want is-“
“Enough out of you!” Aziraphale slapped the table hard enough to make the dishes rattle. “Of course I know what goes on in those places, Crowley! It’s my club, after all. They’re my friends, and they have a hard-enough time getting on in the world without everyone assuming…” He swallowed hard to steady himself. Looking straight and stonily into Crowley’s glasses, he said, “You’ve no right to pass judgement.”
“No.” Crowley agreed. “That’s your side’s job.”
Aziraphale declined to comment and took a long drink instead.
Crowley continued, “I just don’t want to see you… dragged into humans’ messy, selfish… It’s just that they’re pretty despicable when they’re tempted.”
“You should know.” The angel muttered into his wine glass.
“Yes, I should know!” Crowley frowned, wondering vaguely whether he actually wanted to take credit for that skill set. “I’m good at my job.”
“Well, thank you for your concern.” Aziraphale said primly. “But it’s only a few kisses, here and there. It was just nice. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing you wouldn’t have done in my place.”
“Wanna bet?”
Anyone who’d ever seen Crowley saunter through the world would have assumed he was a creature of Lust. To watch him slouch in that devil-may-care manner was to assume he got up to a lot of lustful behavior over the years.
Of course, angels and demons were genderless and sexless, unless they made a concerted Effort. Surprisingly though, despite appearances, Crowley had actually never made that Effort. He had tempted a lot of humans into Lust, certainly. It was a big part of his job, and he was good at it. He had all the moves. But, when executing said moves, Crowley prided himself on his professional distance. Any time a human ended up falling all over themselves for him, he’d happily work them up and then pass them off to the nearest human. Humans were so fickle that this re-direct of their attraction was always successful. Their ardor wasn’t personal, and it could be easily tossed aside to land on the milkman, or nearly anyone else. In his work, Crowley had seen the worst of sexuality and judged it to be, more often than not, covetous, possessive, dishonest, manipulative, and self-serving. Depending on the person, sexual attraction could be either aggressive and insensitive or pathetic and demeaning. In short, Crowley was too much of a cynic to participate.
But his hardened cynicism had another result that he could not have quite articulated. All that distain and contempt had kept Crowley as pure as the driven snow.
He’d been, in effect, saving himself for something honest and good, if such a thing existed, which it clearly didn’t. And even if such things did exist, in theory (sitting right there across the table from him), he didn’t have a chance. Not without a concerted Effort, that was not likely to happen.
He looked at Aziraphale, curls glowing in the lamp light like bloody halo. The idea of humans kissing his angel was deeply upsetting. They didn’t deserve him. They’d hurt him.
But that wasn’t fair, Crowley realized. Aziraphale wasn’t a kid, but an eternal entity in his own right. The angel had the smarts, and every right, to kiss anyone he pleased. Plus, Crowley couldn’t fool himself that Aziraphale was getting hurt. Look at him! He’d just been saying that he’d been having the time of his life for the last several years.
And, Crowley had slept through it.
There it was. No use pretending any different. He’d been waiting throughout all of history for his chance, and now these sweet-faced, charming boys had cut in front of him and taken his place in the queue.
Well, he wouldn’t accept defeat. He knew Aziraphale better than anyone else. Certainly, better than these dancing boys who were deluded enough to think that Aziraphale was as human as they were. The angel was completely out of their league. And, being a demon with all the moves, Crowley had some obvious advantages over Harrison... Haypenny and Morgan What’s-His-Name.
“I’m sorry,” Crowley said with a little pout. “No offence to your… friends. They obviously have good taste. But can you blame any of us, glorious one? We’re all just flesh and blood… -ish. And I’ve never even seen you dance. I can’t imagine the impact!”
Aziraphale cast his eyes down, sure that he was being mocked. Still, he was comforted that the demon had found a way to turn it all back into a joke.
“Come to that,” Crowley considered. “I feel like I’ve been missing out. I really would like to see you dance.” He suddenly sounded so sincere, and the new tone surprised Aziraphale.
“Well, I meant it when I said you should come along some time.”
“Yeah, but that was before I started acting like an ass.”
“Nonsense,” Aziraphale said kindly, “You’re always an ass.”
Crowley shrugged, as this was perfectly well-deserved. They sat quietly for a few moments, listening as the musicians stumbled, stopped playing the waltz and changed to a more lively tune. Aziraphale looked astonished, then delighted. “The Gavotte!”
“Well, what do you know about that?”
“Oh… you!” Aziraphale smacked his arm, lightly.
“Luck of the devil,” Crowley assured him. “Care to dance, angel?”
The ball room had started clearing out, because none of these hoity-toity-types were interested in that kind of dancing. Nevertheless, the orchestra continued to belt it out in jovial rhythms. Aziraphale was bouncing a tiny bit in his seat and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin to hide his grin. Crowley stood up and offered an elegant hand.
“But… There’s no one else dancing. People will stare.”
“Once you teach me the steps, there will be precisely two of us dancing. And trust me, nobody will stare.”
Aziraphale placed his hand in Crowley’s and allowed himself to be led onto the floor. Once on the dance floor however, Aziraphale took the lead, demonstrating a series of little toe-touches and trotting a circle around Crowley. It took all the demon’s considerable self-control not to laugh as Aziraphale puffed out his chest, proud as a peacock. He. Would. Not. Laugh.
Stopping suddenly, the angel came back to Crowley’s side and showed him the toe-touches again, then kicked Crowley’s boot to start him off. The demon pointed his toes stiffly. That part was relatively easy, so Crowley did rather more of them than was necessary, and he kept it up, even as his angel went into the next move.
“Now, around,” he encouraged. “No, the other way.”
Crowley followed with his characteristic saunter, hips slinking back and forth, a little slower than the music. Aziraphale bobbed lightly up and down, keeping perfect time. Crowley was glad that he’d made certain that no one was watching. They must have made a ridiculous pair.
The music did not wait for them, and suddenly Aziraphale had linked his left elbow into Crowley’s right arm and was tugging him along. Crowley abandoned his dignity and tried to keep up with the angel’s tiny steps. Unfortunately, his gate was still wider than Aziraphale’s little trot, and before long, he was stepping on the angel’s toes. Crowley was about to mutter an apology when Aziraphale laughed out-loud, delighted. “It happens all the time, dear. Wouldn’t be any fun, otherwise!”
Crowley felt himself smiling, too. Aziraphale’s easy manner made making a fool of himself almost bearable.
Aziraphale put his hands on his hips and did a couple of silly little squats. “You can skip this part,” he said. Crowley grinned, almost laughing this time. “But now, take my wrists, and we spin like this.”
Crowley stood awkwardly, pivoting in place, letting Aziraphale spin. This went on for a few bars of music, and Crowley prayed he had a good grip on the angel’s wrists as he leaned against the centripetal force. Suddenly, Aziraphale’s shoes slipped on the polished floor. Loosing traction, their feet skidded together, and he would have fallen backward to the ground if the demon hadn’t hauled him upright. The angel’s feet continued to slip comically under him as he tried to right himself, and Crowley was forced to wrap both arms around to keep them from falling.
“Oh, my!” Aziraphale giggled. They were holding each other in the middle of the dance floor, and once they’d found their balance, they didn’t let go.
“I make a better anchor than a dancer.” Crowley admitted
“Here’s the big finish.” Aziraphale pointed his chin in the direction of the orchestra.
“Actually, I think that was our big finish.”
As the music ended, Aziraphale smiled shyly and said, “You did really well for your first time.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“You just need to loosen up a bit,” Aziraphale suggested cheerily. They both considered this. How odd. Crowley had always been, by definition, the looser of the two.
“Next time, I’ll follow your lead and stay ‘loose’.”
The musicians, surprised at the energetic flight-of-fancy they’d just completed, went back to their accustomed waltzes. As the two of them were still holding each other, Crowley began swaying, gently.
Aziraphale’s smile became a touch more brittle. “I, um… I don’t know this one.”
“Neither do I.”
A few more dancers returned to the floor, and Aziraphale watched them so that he wouldn’t have to look at Crowley. “The count is in threes, I think.”
“Hm…” Crowley didn’t seem to care if he was doing it right, but Aziraphale repositioned his hands to mimic the way ladies were holding their partners. Crowley was taller, after all.
Crowley looked at him from behind his glasses, the last remnant of a smile on his face was now combined with another expression. Aziraphale felt dizzy. Maybe he was still out of breath. His insides flip-flopped under Crowley’s stare, so he leaned in a little closer to his shoulder and out of the direct gaze.
Looking past Aziraphale now, Crowley noticed how gracefully the humans were turning their partners, and he decided to try it. Crowley’s knee came between Aziraphale’s, and he forced a rather awkward turn.
Of course, dancing is a finely choreographed excuse for “accidental” contact. This is especially true when neither of the dancers are very good, and one of them is demon trying desperately to get a little closer to his partner. One misstep brought their thighs together. Aziraphale tightened up, and Crowley sagged languidly into the contact. He could feel Aziraphale’s fingers flex unconsciously against his shirt.
“You like that?” Crowley whispered into the angel’s hair, and his words sounded unfortunately serpenty, even to his own ears.
Aziraphale’s feet immediately stopped moving. Crowley cursed himself for an idiot before stepping back, holding his partner at arm’s length.
The angel looked even paler than usual, his eyes wide. “You’re trying to make me Fall.” It was a statement, not a question.
Crowley blinked behind his glasses, stunned. That had not, in point of fact, even occurred to him. Sure, he tried to tempt Aziraphale off the path now and then, just to make things more fun. The Arrangement had been his idea, of course, but only so they’d have to see each other more often. Crowley hadn’t seriously thought that anything could have made his friend fall. Not really, Fall.
But suddenly the stakes were higher. When had that happened, he wondered. Maybe Aziraphale actually felt more for him than he’d thought. It couldn’t be. But that might explain it. Having real feelings, for a demon like himself, would be much more of a risk than the Arrangement itself could ever have been. Crowley studied the angel’s face for a clue; he couldn’t afford to be wrong about this.
At the same moment, a painful thought was entering Aziraphale’s mind for the first time. “Is that… was that… what all of this was about?”
“No,” the demon answered. One word. Not very convincing.
After everything, Aziraphale was suddenly wondering whether he was just some extraordinarily long temptation, the biggest conquest that a demon could report to Hell.
Crowley expected him to be furious. Righteous, angelic anger was not something to mess with. It could be said that Hell had no fury like an angel scorned. Crowley braced himself for a fight, which Crowley knew he’d lose, of course, and he’d probably end up discorporated.
But, Aziraphale just stood there. His brow all scrunched up, and his little bow lips pressed so tightly that they were turning white. There were tears in Aziraphale’s eyes, and he seemed to begging, or praying, that he was wrong about this. He should have been angry, but instead he was evidently broken-hearted, and that spoke volumes.
For a brief, unworthy moment Crowley indulged the thought that he could have everything he’d always wanted. If Aziraphale felt something so strong for him, then anything was possible. It would be check-mate in five moves. But whether his imagined opponent was Aziraphale or the lads from the club, he couldn’t be sure. He moved one hand from the angel’s shoulder, up to the silk cravat at his neck. It was a tiny motion, and there were still many layers of white silk between his hand and the angel’s skin, but Aziraphale turned his chin toward Crowley’s hand, rather than away.
“I’m a demon, not a monster.” He said, trying to convince them both.
They stared at each other, breathless. Their gazes went to each other’s lips. Then Aziraphale whispered, “But, Crowley… I’ll Fall.”
Crowley wanted to say, But I’ll catch you. It would have been horribly trite, but he would have meant it. He almost gave into melodrama and very nearly said it.
But then Crowley realized that wasn’t he wanted at all. All he wanted right then, was just to go back to normal; to dine and bicker and laugh and watch Aziraphale enjoy his desert. And if he did an about-face right here, then maybe, if he was lucky, he wouldn’t have messed up his chances of getting back to that.
Crowley backed up a step. “Nah, angel. You won’t Fall.” He stepped further away and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Not you. Not in a million years.” He smiled. “Not my angel.”
The warmth that had poured from Crowley’s touch began to ebb away, leaving Aziraphale hollow, his joints empty and weak. But he reminded himself that this was lucky. This was a reprieve, a kindness. Crowley was walking away because he was… kind.
“Don’t go changing,” Crowley said, in lieu of good-bye.
“Will I see you?” Aziraphale asked urgently.
“Sure. Maybe. If you want.” There was a little bit of emphasis on the ‘you’. “But no more slow dancing.”
“No,” Aziraphale agreed. “No slow dancing.”
It was a long time before they saw each other again.