Work Text:
“I truly do owe you for the books.” Aziraphale’s gentle smile was slightly hidden behind his glass and the light from the flickering candle could have tricked Crowley into believing the angel’s cheeks were flushed. He allowed himself a smirk at the thought.
“Pretty sure that trick with the photograph was repayment for the books,” Crowley posited, his smirk still fully in place.
“Well, that bit with the photograph wouldn’t have been necessary if I hadn’t convinced you to join me for my magic act,” Aziraphale replied softly, sliding his hand across the table and leaning towards Crowley. The tips of their pinkies were almost touching. “So I still owe you for the books. You’ve told me before that I shouldn’t try and play spy…”
“Right…” Crowley tipped his head, glad his sunglasses were still on as Aziraphale’s stunning blue eyes glistened in the candlelight. He could hide a lot with his sunglasses, assuming the rest of his face didn’t betray him. It was best to cover his increasing heartbeat with a gentle jab. “When was that again?”
Success. Aziraphale had leaned back, pouting slightly. The sight made Crowley’s heart quicken again. How was this angel so damn cute?
“You know very well—”
“Refresh my memory.”
Aziraphale sighed, setting down his glass. “I… accidentally started the Battle of Dunbar.”
“Ah, yes,” Crowley nodded solemnly. “Well, I feel I know what I need in exchange for the books then.”
Crowley allowed a silent pause as the record player softly sang its tune.
That perfect night… the night we met…
He stood, moving slowly to Aziraphale, removing his sunglasses. He tossed them on the table, followed shortly by his hat. He held out a hand to the befuddled angel, noting that his cheeks were indeed quite pink.
“A dance.” Crowley had known where his heart stood regarding Aziraphale long before he ever manifested the organ within his corporation. This wouldn’t be their first dance. Not really. Theirs had been a dance of looks and quips and acts of service long before this moment. Now all Crowley wanted was to feel Aziraphale’s manifested heart pressed against his own and know if it too was aflame.
Aziraphale stared up at him, mouth agape, eyes flicking to and from Crowley’s as though trying to read the unsaid, but fearing the truth. The angel rose to unsteady feet, then brushed past Crowley’s outstretched hand. His sky blue eyes now cast to the floor, Aziraphale began a dance of his own. A chorus whispered like a prayer, a delicate twirl, a bow. When Aziraphale had finished, face now burning red, he finally met Crowley’s eyes.
“Not what I meant,” Crowley murmured, motioning to the record player.
How could he know we two were so in love?
Aziraphale’s eyes flicked nervously to the record player, his fingers spinning the ring on his pinkie.
“Well, angels don’t dance, so I’m certainly not able to do more than that.”
Silence fell heavy between the pair and Crowley realized his foolish assumption. He wished he’d kept his sunglasses on. He was sure his eyes were betraying his disappointment.
“No.” Crowley retrieved his sunglasses and hat, brushing past Aziraphale who still had his eyes averted. “No. Don’t suppose you do. Best be going then.”
“Cr-Crowley!” Aziraphale spun around and Crowley paused at the door. “You don’t need to leave. We were having a lovely time.”
“Tonight was a close call.” Crowley kept his back to Aziraphale. He didn’t need to know what those beautiful blue eyes were hiding from him. This denial made clear that, no matter how far he felt they’d come, he would always be miles ahead of the angel. “What’s-his-name won’t give up that easily, I’m sure. Best we don’t see each other for a while.”
“I—”
Crowley waited for Aziraphale to finish his thought, but the only sound was the crackling of the record player.
And as we kissed and said goodnight…
“Goodnight, Aziraphale.” Crowley opened the door and disappeared into the waning night.