Work Text:
Aziraphale didn't question why Crowley was still hanging around the bookshop. It was still early enough in their marriage that the novelty of togetherness hadn't worn off. Not by a long shot! What he didn't understand was why he seemed content to simply watch him do inventory. Once a year, he took a tally of his books, and attempted at organizing them. Unfortunately, this couldn't be done with a simple miracle or he'd never find anything. Crowley had offered to help a few times, in varying, declining tones of sincerity, but Aziraphale insisted that he had a system, thank you for the kind offer, but no assistance was required.
So, Crowley was content just to watch, his sunglasses slid up on top of his head, not hiding the fact that he was staring. It was his absolute favorite day of the year, and it was all because of a certain angel's inability to stand still. As he counted and realphabetized and sorted his hoard, he had an unconscious tic that drove Crowley wild. He swayed, he shimmied, he wiggled back and forth. Crowley had to muffle his aroused groans as he admired him. Like some exotic bird doing a mating dance. Those contented little pivots as he pondered thoughtfully among the dusty bookcases. He looked perfectly scrumptious.
Those legs, those hips! The demon was helpless to Aziraphale's unintended charm. He slouched loosely in his seat, holding his head up on his hand, elbow propped on a knee, still in danger of utter collapse. Each twitch and swivel, each shift of weight from foot to foot held him in rapt attention. And he'd be doing this all day! Crowley wished he'd thought to bring a decent camera, but he shot a short video on his phone just to keep with him.
“Crowley? What in the blazes are you sighing about in there?”
“You,” he answered honestly. “That cute twitchy dance you're doing while you work.”
Aziraphale stopped cold, getting a disappointed noise from his audience. “The what?”
“Oh, don't stop, angel, it's adorable,” Crowley said in his low, lazy voice as he crept into the front room.
Aziraphale looked incredulous, not to mention self-conscious. He looked hard at his husband, trying to determine if he was making fun of him. “It is?” Crowley nodded eagerly. “Do I...do I do this...often?”
The very turned-on demon slouched carelessly against a nearby bookcase with his arms folded over his chest. “Yeah, well, 'snot all the time...but when you're happy...sometimes when you're nervous. Good way to gauge your mood, really. I like your happy wiggles.”
“Why didn't you tell me about this sooner? How long have you noticed me doing this??” Aziraphale sounded annoyed that he had such a prominent tic that he didn't even realize. He made a conscious effort to tamp down his sudden impulse to do his “nervous wiggle”. It was strange, now that he was aware of it, he wondered how he could have ever missed it! He gripped the shelf he stood at until his knuckles turned white, his feet planted firmly on the floor, forcing himself to stand still! It surprisingly took a considerable effort!
“You've done it as long as I've known you. I figured you knew. Look, I'm sorry I said anything. I didn't mean to make you all self conscious.” Regret was clear in his voice, making Aziraphale certain that he was never laughing at him about this. “I like it, that's all.”
“Well,” the angel sniffed haughtily, “like it or not, I'm going to try to break the habit. I don't want to look...ridiculous.” In his mind, he could hear Uriel calling him that, that scornful sneer on their face. Aziraphale cringed. “What else do I do? What else do I do that's...different?”
Crowley sighed. This wasn't going the way he wanted. He'd meant to pay his husband a compliment, and now it looked like he'd never see his happy little dance again. “Promise you won't stop doing this one, too?”
“Depends.”
“You sparkle.”
“I what?!”
“Not—not like Tinkerbell or anything, but...when you do that smile and your eyes light up like stars...you sparkle,” Crowley explained, trying to describe it to such a downcast version of his beloved was difficult. The creature that stood apologetically before him looked like he'd never sparkled in his life. “Come on, Az. I hate to see you so down. Look, I made a video. It's really steamy, actually.” He hit play and showed him his screen.
Aziraphale watched the short video that Crowley had shot of him shelving books and doing his little shimmy. He looked in disbelief from the screen to his husband. “That?! You think that's...steamy?” He unconsciously gave his hips a little twitch as if in sympathy with the image on the screen. Crowley smiled. “No. Crowley, no. Oh, lord, do you think other people noticed?”
“What other people, angel? How many other people have we been around enough for them to pick up on your little twitches? And if they did, so what? Either they couldn't possibly care less, or they thought it was cute, too. Nobody's going to make fun of you for the way you move.”
“You said I did it when I'm nervous.”
“Well, yeah, sometimes. Especially if you're lying, or giving an answer you don't like.”
Aziraphale got to the real issue. “So...they probably saw,” he gave the ceiling a significant glance.
Crowley spluttered meaninglessly. “Y—w—ugh....So what if they did? They can't control you anymore. You don't answer to them anymore. You don't answer to anyone anymore! You're in charge! You don't have to give a damn about what anyone else thinks.” And with that, he stalked back into the lounge, throwing himself back onto the sofa, furious with himself for bringing it up.
For a minute, Aziraphale just stood there, then he went back to work, keeping a tight rein on his impulses this time. He winced. Now that he wasn't letting himself move naturally, it felt wrong. In his effort to keep his bottom half still, he found it creeping up into his shoulders. He heaved a sharp breath as he strove for control...then brought a fist down into the shelf with a frustrated growl.
Crowley grimaced, tutted, and shook his head. Then, he grinned to himself as he got an idea. He wound up Aziraphale's old gramophone and put on some Tchaikovsky, slowly turning the volume up until he was certain it would be heard across the room.
Aziraphale heard music...slowly he relaxed and smiled, this record was one of his favorites. He adored waltzes. He let out a relieved sigh, as if he felt the sweet music soak right into his soul. Aziraphale closed his eyes and waved a finger in the air in time to the music with a happy little hum. “Right, back to work,” he muttered to himself. He went back to his clipboard and his books, sorting and counting. He didn't realize when his movements started to slide into ¾ time. A little music certainly helped with the task at hand, and beat back the dull monotony, not to mention it soothing away his frustration. He hoped that Crowley would remember to flip the record or at least start it again when it had run out.
He hummed along pleasantly, not even stopping himself when he realized exactly what his demonic husband had done. He had to admit that this felt better, more in tune with his nature, and there was no need to stop just because someone noticed. Aziraphale crossed the doorway, grinning naughtily to himself as he willfully performed a temptation. He let his hips wiggle as he began inventorying the next shelf...then he turned to Crowley and sparkled.
Crowley looked like he'd died and gone to Heaven, watching those smooth, gliding, swaying motions set to music. It gave him a touch of pride that Hell had gotten Tchaikovsky in the end. He sighed helplessly as he longed to grab those hips that wiggled so enticingly. That adorable tummy that just stuck out over his waistband...He was the happiest infernal creature in all the world.
“So, what do I do? Do I do anything like that?” Crowley was suddenly curious what he didn't know about himself. If something that big could escape Aziraphale's notice for all this time, he was bound to have something!
“Hmm? Oh, you mean apart from your walk?”
“My walk?”
“Mm. Like you don't have any bones in your legs.” Aziraphale smiled, “It's cute. It's you. I like it, it's...snakey.” He flashed another mischievous smile at him before turning his attention back to the task at hand, feeling content that they were now even.
He carried on working for another hour or two, until he'd actually forgotten Crowley's observations altogether. Until he heard a rasping, gliding sound across the floor. He caught a split-second glimpse of a large black snake, and the next thing he knew, Crowley had his arms wrapped around his waist, his face pressed against his neck, groaning low in his throat.
“Please, may I have this dance?”