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“What the hell are you watching?”
Crowley stormed into the bookshop on a saturday night, a rainy and thunderous one, to be more specific. The ones he particularly claimed to be by the side of a certain angel, though he would never tell him that. He didn’t get along with lower temperatures to be in his flat all by himself. What he wasn’t expecting was to find Aziraphale watching something in that ancient device he insisted on calling a computer, after all, he never used it for anything besides accountability.
The angel got startled for a brief moment, but quickly smiled as he saw his red haired partner. Friend. Mate.
“This, my dear, seems to be breakdancing.” He spoke oh so cheerfully, pointing at the screen. “Or hip-hop. I’m not entirely sure if they’re the same thing.”
Crowley got closer and pulled a chair to sit beside him by the very messy desk, eyeing the video where a group of around seven people with very loose clothing twirled, jumped and moved their hips in a too frantic way. Exceedingly frantic. Not really his style.
“Isn’t this too… preposterous for your liking?” he arched an eyebrow at the angel.
“A little bit.” the angel shrugged. “But I wanted to educate myself in the most modern dance styles. We never know when we’re going to find it necessary to participate in, you know, human gatherings. For information, of course.”
Crowley let out a laugh and removed his black shades, eyeing his celestial friend.
“I don’t think people dance like this in said human gatherings .”
“What?” Aziraphale’s smile dropped a bit. “But it’s, how do they say… trending! Yeah! I’ve read it here.”
The angel proudly presented a big book with a light blue cover with pictures of various people in different dance attires. The History of Dance, Second Edition. Crowley took the book and lazily flipped through the pages marked with pastel post-it tabs.
“It’s recent but, y’know, people use it for more performative purposes. Like street shows, or theatres.”
“Oh. So, like classic ballet.”
“Yeah, I guess. I’ve seen a few shows in the last thirty years. People really don’t dance like this in clubs, only stages and such.”
Aziraphale’s blue eyes twinkled.
“What clubs? I learned Gavotte in a gentlemen's club. It was a very pleasing experience.”
Crowley choked at the simple thought of Aziraphale in a modern day club. It was literally hell, the demon himself helped formulate the idea of them back in the days. He was pretty proud of it, too. A big, crowded abyss of temptation.
“Definitely not the same, angel.” he smirked. “Think more like… synchronized chaos.”
“We should go visit one.” Aziraphale suggested joyfully.
“Not a chance.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not the kind of place your people go.”
“ You are my people. Have you gone to one of these establishments before?”
Crowley’s yellow eyes shot open a little. To be honest, he even felt his chest tightening a bit.
“Yeah but–”
“That’s it then. Let’s dance!” He even did a little dance with his hands, for someone’s sake.
Aziraphale got up from his chair, so optimistically Crowley just sighted and surrendered. It was almost impossible to make the angel give up on something he was that excited for, anyway. Even more so when it came to learning something new about humanity. Perhaps it could end up being a rather funny experience to remember in a few decades.
He just hoped the angel didn’t end up too traumatized.
“Wait, wait, wait.” Crowley interrupted the other, who was already grabbing his coat from the hanger. “Don’t you have anything less… 19th century librarian?”
Aziraphale looked offended.
✭
They were parked in the alley by the side of one medium-sized club in Piccadilly Circus, one with huge floor-to-ceiling windows where the pair could easily see the flashing LED lights and the crowd dancing from inside the Bentley.
Crowley miraculously - not literally, he was just very qualified in the whole temptation thing - convinced Aziraphale to give up on that worn-out tweed coat, at least for the night. The angel was now sported a nice white turtleneck paired with a grey blazer and, prepare to be shocked , a pair of jeans.
Jeans. Crowley almost screamed when he saw it. It was too surreal to believe, and he’s seen a fair amount of surreal things in the expanse of his existence.
“Isn’t this too much? I feel… strained.”
“It’s perfect, dear. You need to blend in. Nobody would like to go clubbing with their grandpa.”
“Rude.”
“Nah, just realistic.” Crowley lowered his sunglasses to wink at the angel. “So, a few rules before we go in.”
The angel exhaled.
“Proceed.”
“OK first, drinks. Don’t accept drinks from anyone besides me and the bartenders.” The demon started.” Humans can be tricky. Also, don’t go crazy on the alcohol. A little bit can help you loosen up, but we're not aiming for a heavenly intervention."
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "And what if I find the whole concept of “go crazy on the alcohol” too relative? You know I enjoy a nice cocktail.”
Crowley grinned. "Oh, don't worry. We can sober up miraculously in case of an emergency, you know that.”
“Oh, let’s just avoid this, please.”
Aziraphale nodded, adjusting the little silver pendant around his neck, a delicate representation of a book and a sword intertwined. At that moment, he felt quite uncertain, but Crowley's sudden enthusiasm was infectious. He could feel the demon already experienced the whole clubbing thing plenty of times before.
“Also, don’t eat anything. At all. I know you like sweets. They’ll offer you pretty colourful candy but believe me, you do not want to eat that, my dear.”
“Noted. Anything else, oh mighty connoisseur of clubbing culture?”
Crowley smirked.
“Have a little fun, angel. At first, the music will sound like a bunch of electronically generated noise, but just nod your head and let the rhythm take over. Trust me, the beat is your friend."
Aziraphale glanced at the club through the car window, where colourful lights pulsed in time with the music he could faintly hear from there. "I must admit, the atmosphere is rather invigorating."
The demon got out of the car and opened the passenger door, extending a slim hand adorned with rings and, tonight specially, black painted nails towards the angel.
“Shall we?”
✭
Nothing, I repeat, nothing could've mentally prepared Crowley for the things he had to go through that night.
Rewinding a little, the first hour went surprisingly smooth, much to the demon's relief. Of course, Aziraphale was a little overwhelmed at first - blame it on the noise or the impact of seeing lots of people sweating and immorally rubbing each other on the dance floor - but two shots of tequila were enough to loose the angel up. They quickly found themselves leaning against the bar, engaged in their usual banter.
“So…” Aziraphale started right after chugging the drink and sucking a slice of lemon. He squinted his eyes. “Why the lemon, though? And the salt? It just hurts my tongue. Makes no sense.”
“I don’t really know?” Crowley answered, chugging two shots himself and hissing at the burning on his throat. “The Mexicans invented it. I had no finger in it, swear to go- yeah. But the aftertaste is quite nice, isn’t it?”
“After a little while, sure.” Aziraphale spoke as his eyes darted around the place, looking both amused and bemused while watching the dancers with a mixture of fascination and slight bewilderment. “So, that’s how they dance nowadays. Not really coordinated, right?”
Crowley chuckled.
“It doesn’t have to be. It’s just… a way for them to let loose. Express themselves and all that. They’re humans, they need this kind of thing sometimes.”
Aziraphale's eyebrows lifted as he observed a particularly exuberant dancer, very short skirt and vigorous swaying hips. "Express themselves, you say?”
Crowley laughed, nodding at the sight. "Yeah, they can get pretty creative when it comes to movement.”
He noticed the angel’s eyes flickering from body to body, as if he was trying to absorb any useful information about what he was witnessing. The demon smirked as Aziraphale’s cheeks turned red at the sight of a pair of young lads making out in the middle of the dance floor.
Crowley leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "You know, I've heard some of these dances are meant to attract potential mates. It's all about signalling that you're ready to reproduce."
Aziraphale got startled, a hint of disbelief in his expression. "Reproduce? Here?"
"Humans can be pretty innovative, yeah." Crowley shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Quite… messy, isn’t it? But rather fascinating.”
Crowley laughed, and quickly asked for two more shots for the nearest bartender, handing one to the stunned heaven creature by his side.
“To the messiness, then?” the demon raised his glass.
Aziraphale smiled playfully, tinkling the shot glasses together and rapidly chugging down the bitter, almost spicy content of it.
“Shall we… give it a whirl, my friend?” Aziraphale asked with a glint in his eyes, his tone optimistically hesitant.
Crowley raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning into a grin.
“Just don't blame me if your wings get tangled in someone's hair.” their hands intertwined as the demon guided them amidst the crowd.
Quite exasperated by the proximity, Crowley tried to teach the basics to the other as the minutes passed, so he doesn’t end up standing in the middle of the dance floor looking like a lost child - or grandparent. He stood in front of Aziraphale, guiding his hands to rest on his shoulders, while his own held the angel’s waist gently.
He was warm. And comfortable. Overall, soft. Crowley was nervous.
“Just sway a little. Feel the music. You like it, don’t you?” he asked, smiling at the nod he received as an answer.
As they swayed together, Aziraphale's movements gradually grew more fluid. As he started to match the rhythm, his feet became less tentative, and his eyes glittered in excitement.
“Yeah, look at you! Now, let's add a little groove to those hipssss of yours." the demon spoke softly against the other’s ear.
Aziraphale obliged, allowing himself to loosen up and add a light sway to his hips, despite his cheeks now turning the same shade as his friend’s marvellous hair.
As he turned to face Crowley, a smile played in his eyes. "It's unbelievable that I'm doing this.”
Crowley's grin widened, and he matched Aziraphale's movements, leading him through the crowd as they danced together. "You're doing great, angel.”
As the music shifted to a more energetic beat, Crowley guided Aziraphale into other few simple dance steps. Aziraphale roared with laughter that was equal parts adrenaline and joy as he moved.
Crowley was hypnotized. He was truly celestial.
He even asked for another drink, and Crowley promptly went to the bar to grab something different for them to try.
Well, that was the checkpoint before the pandemonium. When he got back to their spot, two nice Bellinis in hand, Aziraphale was simply not there. He wasn’t anywhere.
Fuck.
✭
God dammit. Crowley chose this not-so-big club, so losing the angel was an impossible task, but he still managed to get it. The Bellinis were long gone in someone’s table, the demon navigating almost desperately among the suddenly even bigger crowd of dancing humans. When did they multiplicated?
Anxiety churned in his chest, an unfamiliar sensation that he was quick to suppress before he started smoking. Literally. Smoke coming out of his skin. He didn’t want to activate the fire alarms.
His eyes darted from person to person as he searched through the sea of bodies for a familiar shock of white hair and an endearing form. Crowley's growing unease was beginning to morph into full-blown worry.
He let out every curse he knew under his breath, weaving through the sweaty people, his demon instincts on high alert, the nagging fear that something might have happened clawed at the edges of his thoughts.
Finally, after what he could easily describe as the worst 42 minutes of his entire demonic existence, he caught sight of Aziraphale's unmistakable form. On top of a table, in a booth with four or five other presences.
He was dancing - or trying to - visibly boozed up, laughing out loud as he sipped from a cup Crowley didn’t recognize. Rule number one, for hell’s sake. With a glassy-eyed expression, he raised the half-empty cocktail glass toward Crowley with a lopsided grin as soon as they locked their eyes.
"Cr-Crowley! My darling!”
The demon managed to thread his way to the table right before Aziraphale tried to get down from it, tripping and falling right on his red haired friend's arms.
“I’m going to disincarnate you, I swear to God”
“Blasphemy!!!” Aziraphale, visibly more drunk than he was when he disappeared, shoved his free hand on Crowley’s mouth. He then let out an exalted laugh, suddenly remembering he had half a drink on his other hand. “Here, have a drink with me, will you? They glow in the dark!!”
His pupils were big. Like, huge .
Crowley sighed, putting the angel on his feet, and snatched the glass from his hand. He dipped the tip of his little finger into the remaining liquid, bringing it to his forked tongue, immediately contorting his face with the disgusting bitterness that filled his mouth.
“You’re high as fuck.”
“Another one to the swear jar!!”
Aziraphale’s eyes shot open for a moment, but he soon started bouncing up on his feet as another energetic song started. He could feel the bass reverberating on his body, and all the angel wanted was to go around jumping everywhere. He quickly forgot about the drug problem.
“Can we dance? Please, please, dance with me, dear.”
“No dancing any more, we need to sober you up–”
“NO, NO, NO–” he stopped to hiccup “They’ll know, Crowley, they can’t–” another hiccup. “They can’t even dream about this.”
Aziraphale’s expression was so comedic as he pointed up to the ceiling that Crowley would probably burst out laughing if he wasn’t so mad
“Oh, so NOW you’re worried about upstairs.”
“Pleaseeee, noooo miraclesssss.” Aziraphale pounced on the demon, hugging his shoulders as he tried to buy the other off with a lost-dog expression. “Let’s jusssst wait for it to go awayyy, okey-dokey?”
Crowley's frustration melted into resignation as he realized arguing with Aziraphale in this state would be futile. He rubbed his temples, torn between amusement and concern.
But he eventually nodded, giving in. Who was he trying to fool, he would do anything for Aziraphale if he asked nicely (don’t tell him that).
“Just no more glow-in-the-dark cocktails. Forever.”
Aziraphale’s smile was so bright, Crowley swore he heard the holy trumpets play somewhere around the club. Or maybe he was quite tipsy himself.
As the night wore on, Crowley found himself playing the role of the responsible one - quite uncommon when there’s alcohol involved. He guided Aziraphale away from potential disaster and kept him from embracing the dance floor with an enthusiasm that far exceeded his coordination.
As they swayed to the music on the dance floor, Crowley's initial irritation gradually transformed into a begrudging amusement. Aziraphale's attempts at dancing were endearingly clumsy, but his carefree laughter echoed in the chaos of the club, somehow managing to lighten the weight of the situation.
The tempo slowed as the song changed, but Aziraphale's enthusiasm didn't falter. His fingers entwined with the demon's as he extended for Crowley's hands, pulling him into a closer embrace.
Crowley paused briefly, at a loss for words as his brain tried to make sense of what was happening. In his somewhat drunken state, Aziraphale appeared to be acting on impulses that he might not recall later. But it was difficult to miss the sincere desire for connection in his look.
Aziraphale's head rested against Crowley's shoulder, his breath tickling the demon's neck. Crowley's heart raced as he struggled to control his anxiety. And, oddly, his sense of contentment with the feeling. He cautiously put one of his hands on Aziraphale's back.
“Are you OK, angel?”
Aziraphale looked up, and Crowley wish he didn’t. Their faces were inches apart, the demon's chest about to explode in thousands of infernal pieces. He could see himself in the angel's eyes.
So that was the feeling of being tempted. That was new. He normally was on the other side.
“I don't think I've been this happy anytime before.”
Aziraphale's words hung in the air between them, his gaze locking onto Crowley's with a mixture of sincerity and affection that was impossible to ignore. He ignored for far too long. Probably hundreds of years.
Unable to resist any longer, Crowley leaned in, his lips brushing softly against Aziraphale's. It was a delicate connection, a hesitant exploration of centuries of unspoken emotions. His lips were soft, just like everything about him.
Aziraphale responded with a delicate sigh, his fingers tightening their grip on Crowley's hand as he deepened the kiss. Each brush of their lips felt like a caress, a silent promise of understanding.
As they enjoyed that special moment, amidst the loud music and flashing lights, time appeared to slow down. The sweet kiss held the possibility of something greater, of a connection that went beyond their earthly experiences and celestial roles.
Suddenly, the angel broke away from the other, eyes wide as he touched his own lips with his fingertips. He blinked, looking a little lost. Crowley held his breath, nervous with the slight idea of having done something completely wrong, which would compromise the comfortable relationship that both had for millennia.
And then Aziraphale burped. His cheeks went immediately carmine.
"Ah, dear… “ He mumbled, his voice a mix of embarrassment and realization as he covered his face with his free hand. “I think I might have overdone it a bit.”
Crowley laughed out loud. Thank God– Satan.
"Yeah, seems like those glow-in-the-dark drinks did a number on you."
Aziraphale shook his head, a timid smile tugging at his lips. "I can't believe I let myself get carried away like this. It's not very heavenly of me, is it?"
"Well, you've got a bit of a rebellious streak in you, it seems. I wouldn't hold it against you."
The angel's cheeks flushed pink, and he looked away for a moment before meeting Crowley's gaze again.
"You sobered me up, didn't you?" his gaze turned serious. “The kiss?”
Crowley's grinned. "That was... well, let's just say it was a bonus.”
Aziraphale laughed. “I said no miracles.”
“Nobody’s going to know.”
“They’re going to know.” the angel pointed up.
“ How would they know?” Crowley said between a smile.
“Oh my God… What will I do with you?”
“Absolutely anything you want, at this point.” finishing his sentence with a kiss on the flaming cheek of his marvellous celestial friend.
Before Aziraphale could react to his too pretenseless of an answer, Crowley took the angel's hand in his and pulled him away from the dance floor, navigating through the crowd towards the exit.
The thumping music gradually faded behind them as they stepped into the cooler night air. Outside, the rain had subsided to a light drizzle, and the city lights reflected off the wet pavement. They walked to the Bentley, graciously parked in the alley next to the club.
As they leaned against the car, both of them still slightly flushed from the events of the night, Crowley spoke up. "Well, angel, I think that's enough excitement for one evening, don't you?"
Aziraphale chuckled softly, his hand brushing against Crowley's as he leaned against the car. “ I believe you're right. I must admit, I never thought I'd experience a night like this. I kinda miss the bookshop by now.”
Crowley smirked. "And how was your first foray into modern clubbing?”
Aziraphale's smile was pensive, a far cry from his earlier inebriated state. "Enlightening, to say the least. Though I'm afraid my dancing skills left much to be desired."
Crowley nudged him playfully. "Hey, you held your own out there. Who knows, maybe next time you'll be doing the robot."
Aziraphale let out a genuine laugh. Crowley could hear that sound all day for the rest of his existence.
"Oh, I highly doubt that. I think I'll stick to my beloved Gavotte ."
The demon raised an eyebrow, feigning disbelief. "No conversion to hip-hop?"
Aziraphale shook his head, his expression mischievous. "I'll promise you this: I'll keep the Gavotte alive and well for all eternity."
Crowley chuckled, wrapping an arm around Aziraphale's shoulders. "Well, I can live with that."
They stood there for a moment, the sounds of the city creating a gentle backdrop to their conversation. The rain had stopped, leaving the air fresh and invigorating.
"You know," Aziraphale mused, his voice soft, "despite my initial reservations, I must admit I had a rather enjoyable time tonight."
Crowley grinned, pulling Aziraphale a little closer. "I knew you'd come around eventually.”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes playfully. "Don't get too smug.”
"Shall we head back?" Crowley asked, his voice tender.
Aziraphale nodded, his fingers lacing with Crowley's. The warmth of their joined hands felt reassuring as they sat together in the Bentley.
Crowley started the engine and glanced at Aziraphale. "So, what's next on our agenda of human experiences?"
Aziraphale looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, I suppose there's one more thing I'd like to experience before we call it a night."
Crowley raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what might that be?"
"Another kiss, perhaps?"
Crowley's heart skipped a beat, his lips curving into a genuine smile. "Fair enough.”
Pressing closer, their lips collided once more, igniting a fervent and urgent kiss that seared with passionate intensity. It was a union fuelled by desire, a confluence of emotions that had been building for centuries, devoid of the calmness of the previous one. Crowley's lips, hot and demanding, meshed with Aziraphale's in a hungry dance, the space between them charged with electric anticipation.
As the kiss deepened, Crowley's hand urgently cupped Aziraphale's jaw, his fingers tracing a fiery path along the skin. The angel sighed loud at the slight touch of the demon's forked tongue on his bottom lip, allowing the passage with a quiet moan.
Dear lord , that was way too good.
They broke apart with a gasp, foreheads resting together, their eyes locked in a blaze of mutual craving.
"Thank you, my dear," Aziraphale murmured, his voice filled with affection and a hardly noticeable hint of something Crowley known very well as lust .
And he was loving it.
"Anytime, angel."