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“It's not like-” Crowey took a large swallow of the wine they were drinking that night. “I just think- ducks is what I think, they have it bloody good out there, ducks.”
“I like ducks,” Aziraphale said, “I think I’d like to be a duck,” he stared into his glass.
“Don’t they do that mating thing with the fle- with the flappity-flap thingy,” Crowley pondered, gesturing vaguely.
“Ah yes,” Azirpahle smiled, “they dance with their little colorful-” he flapped his hand, seemingly unable to think of what comes after that.
“Dancings’ nice..” Crowley said fondly,
“Yes, too bad you’re rather rubbish at it,” Aziraphale downed the rest of his drink, refilling his glass with a small, albeit frivolous, miracle.
“Oi! I am not rubbish at denc- I am not rubbish at dancing!” Crowley tried twice to get the words right.
“Yes you are!” Aziraphale accused, “demons can’t dance!”
“Yes we can!” Cowley countered, “M’ just not v’ry good at it..” He muttered. “But angels can’t dance at all. Hows that for- for- whadjya call it,” Crowley mumbled, “How's that for rubbish,” he finished confidently, spilling wine as he lifted his glass.
“I rather like dancing, I think I’m fairly good at it too,” Azirapahle stated quietly.
“ ‘Course you are angel,” Crowley mocked and Aziraphale glared at him.
“I am! I learned a number of dances at the discreet gentlemen's club in the late 1880s,” Aziraphale said triumphantly.
“Did you now? Prove it then,” Crowley challenged.
“Oh, well most of the dances were done with a larger group I believe… but..” Aziraphale trailed off, Crowley looked at him expectantly. “Although there was this one that did require only two people,” Aziraphale said knowingly, though, with the amount of alcohol consumed, he didn’t really notice what he was implying.
Crowley, whose tongue was also loosened by the several bottles of old wine they had drunk found himself saying, “Then dance with me, angel,”
It was meant to sound like a joke, It was meant, Crowley thought, to drip with sarcasm and such, but it came out all too seriously and all too quietly. Aziraphale looked up to where Crowley had stood.
“Oh- oh, I don’t know,” Aziraphale said and Crowley began to sit back down.
“Fine, I mean, I mean I told you. Angels. Don’t. Dance.”
“Oh for Heaven's sake-!” Aziraphale huffed, pulling Crowley upright again, nearly making them both topple over.
“Okay um..” Aziraphale regained his balance and tried to remember how everything went.
“So just,” Aziraphale took Crowley's left hand and placed it on his shoulder. He took his other, resting his right hand on Crowley's shoulder blade. “Right, just like that,” Aziraphale just barely breathed, his face flushing crimson.
Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Go- step forward,” Crowley was already messing up the moves, and the alcohol couldn’t have been helping much.
“To the right- ow!” Aziraphale yelped when Crowley stepped on his foot.
“Sorry! Sorry- uhm..” Crowley began to withdraw his hands but Aziraphale just pulled them back into position.
“It’s quite alright, dear, I won’t discorporate,” Aziraphale laughed softly, elevating some of the tension from the air.
“Right, right- yeah, ‘course,” Crowley nodded drunkenly.
“Now just bring your left foot to your right.. Good!” Aziraphale smiled, looking at Crowley, whose head was cast down, eyes on their feet.
“You're concentrating too much, my dear, look up and just let me lead,” Aziraphale said, and as Crowley took his eyes off their feet, he thought the angel seemed much calmer than he was right now, he thought perhaps he had sobered up and Crowley had just been so focused on getting the steps right that he hadn’t noticed.
Aziraphale, however, knew this was not the case, rather, an unexplainable calm washed over him just being near the demon.
Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and steady music came flowing out of the record player.
He led Crowley to the beat, reciting the steps each time.
“Step back with your right… back to the side with your left… very good, dear, bring your right next to your left..”
He repeated the words as the dance continued, slowly dwindling to barely a whisper.
“See?” Aziraphale said, trying not to forget why they were doing this in the first place, “I can dance,” though it didn’t sound as if he was trying to prove a point, more just a quiet statement, a whisper of something else, something unsaid.
Crowley merely nodded, not taking his eyes off Aziraphale.
As the song began to slow, so did their movements. Their arms slackened and they were barely moving, just swaying, really, as the music faded out.
Crowley closed his eyes, dropping his head to rest his forehead on the angel's shoulder, letting out a contented sigh.
Aziraphale didn’t make any move to stop him.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It had been quite some time since the song ended, Crowley's forehead resting on Aziraphale's shoulder, ever-so-small movements from side to side. Occasionally Crowley would mumble something into his shoulder, though Aziraphale was unsure what had been said. He didn’t ask.
Aziraphale struggled to say something. He had to, he knew, but a part of him, a rather large part of him, didn’t want to break this peaceful moment, where time had seemingly stopped, leaving just them to hold each other in the candle-lit bookshop. Perhaps it had.
“We should sober up,” Aziraphale finally said, knowing they couldn’t let anything like this happen again for a very long time.
But Crowley only nuzzled closer to the angel, “Mm,” He hummed in disagreement, “don’t wanna,”
It seemed to take every fiber of control in Aziraphale corporation, but in that moment, he let go of Crowley's hand,
And stepped away.