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Aziraphale hadn’t expected to run into Crowley at the Carnival. In retrospect, though, it made perfect sense. What better setting for chaos and depravity of all kinds, after all, than a city-wide masked celebration? Carousing, debauchery, illicit liaisons…
With nary a word of greeting, Crowley stepped toward him and extended a hand, extravagant purple and magenta sleeves and skirt swishing. “Dance with me?” he asked, voice low and exaggeratedly seductive.
Aziraphale felt his mouth drop open at the audacity. The recklessness of the suggestion… and, worse, the strong, transgressive temptation to agree. “We can’t,” he said hastily, backing away. “Someone will see. There are so many people around. Don’t be absurd, Cr—”
“Ssshhhh,” Crowley hissed, putting a finger to lips that were, like the rest of his features, lost behind a full-face, gold-embellished porcelain mask with built-in sunglasses. He leaned forward, lowering his voice even further. “Angel, it’s a masquerade. Nobody knows who anyone else is tonight. That’s the point of it all.”
Oh. It was, wasn’t it? Aziraphale looked around at the masses of mingling, merrymaking, disguised Carnival-goers — musicians, vendors, dancers, sightseers, a sea of masked faces, no one paying any mind to two more anonymous figures among them — and realized Crowley was right.
There was, Aziraphale had been aware for a long time, a frightening part of him that wanted to be reckless. A part, now seemingly taking courage from the diamond-patterned mask secure over his own face, that wanted to be transgressive. And, well, if he couldn’t do something a little reckless or transgressive tonight of all nights — with a whole city of humans reveling in incognito transgressions on all sides — then he never would.
He put his hand into the gloved palm still outstretched before him.
Crowley made a startled sound; Aziraphale wondered briefly if the demon hadn’t actually expected his invitation to be accepted. Then the noise turned into a pleased laugh, a nearby group of musicians started a new tune, and Aziraphale found he had better things to do than wonder as Crowley pulled him in.
It is a known fact that angels do not dance, and a known fact that demons do not dance with partners.
It is also a known fact that, during Carnival season, many known facts are turned upside down.
~ ~ ~
They danced for a while, moving sometimes with the flow of the crowd and sometimes to their own rhythm, sometimes with graceful synchronicity and sometimes tripping over their own and/or each other’s feet. They danced fast and slow, they danced energetic dances and they danced sentimental dances, they danced apart and they danced together… and eventually, tired out even as the festival continued unflaggingly around them, they executed one last joint twirl and stopped dancing entirely.
Their arms remained wrapped around each other, masks touching as they leaned foreheads together and caught their breath, invisible amid the press of human revelry.
It was odd, Aziraphale thought, how with faces concealed, certain other things felt much less hidden than usual.