Work Text:
June 1825
The sun was already sinking when Aziraphale noticed that most of the humans in the park had dispersed.
“Oh dear, look at the time,” he sighed. “I suppose we should head our separate ways,” he said, trying not to sound disappointed. He had rather been enjoying his visit with Crowley, even if it was being conducted from opposite sides of a large tree for appearance’s sake.
“Right,” Crowley replied unenthusiastically. “S’pose so. Will I be seeing you at the ball Saturday?”
Aziraphale frowned. The Duke of Sussex was throwing quite the to-do on the shortest night of the year and rumor had it guests were expecting to dance all through it.
“I’m afraid not,” the angel said.
“Really?” Crowley asked, sounding surprised. “You sure? Lots of important people are going to be there to tempt–or un-tempt– save?-- whatever it is your lot do that’s the opposite.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t have any official business to be there on,” Aziraphale replied.
“Since when has that stopped you from enjoying a party?” Crowley asked. “Even without any do-gooding it’s supposed to be a big night. The food and booze should be great at least. Plus all the dancing.”
“Well, that’s rather the other problem,” Aziraphale sighed. “I’m not allowed to dance. It’s not something my side does.”
“Riiiight,” Crowley said. “Why’s that?”
“I have no idea,” the angel grumbled, “But it doesn’t matter. We don’t dance. I wouldn’t know how if I wanted to try. And at the last ball I attended my absence from the dancefloor started a bit of uncharitable chatter. That cad Lord Portingly was whispering that I wasn’t dancing because no one would have me as a partner… Not a generally pleasant experience.”
“That’s rubbish!” Crowley hissed. “I’d dance with you.”
“You what?” Aziraphale asked, grateful for the first time since they’d arrived in the park for the massive oak obscuring him from Crowley’s view.
“I said I would dance with you,” Crowley repeated. “Proudly… I mean,” his voice faltered, sounding a bit sheepish. “If you could, and if the circumstances– that is they don’t usually let two gentlemen…plus angel, demon… not really conducive, er, y’know what I mean.”
Aziraphale wasn’t sure he did, but he agreed nonetheless as his cheeks continued to burn hotter by the second.
“Of course,” he said. “That’s a nice offer… hypothetically.”
To his surprise, Crowley didn’t protest the label. Instead he made a strange, choked hissing sound then said his goodbyes.
June 2025
Aziraphale could hardly contain himself as they strolled through the doors of the British Museum under a rainbow balloon arch and past an array of colorful flags lining the hall to the Great Court.
The gala was already underway and the dance floor stretched out before them, populated with couples of all combinations, their attention fixed only on one another.
“Would you care to dance?” Aziraphale asked.
“With pride, Angel,” Crowley answered, his smile nearly giddy as he took the angel’s hand and pulled him into the crowd.