Work Text:
-
The ballroom was buzzing with people when he walked in, women in big dresses and men with silly ribbons and medals pinned to their uniforms. They were standing around in strictly gendered groups; some deep in conversation, others working on their blood alcohol level, and some doing both at once. A scene he'd seen dozens of times before and he'd never quite understood the appeal of these fancy charades. Nobody ever looked like they were enjoying themselves on these parties. They looked miserable.
Maybe he should convince head office some time that these gatherings were on him.
Crowley bared his teeth in a broad grin when he caught the looks of two elderly men from across the room, looking him up and down as if to determine whether he even belonged here. And to be fair, he didn't. His outfit only barely passed as a suitable choice for the occasion; the simple black dinner jacket and matching black pants and dress shirt were inconspicuous enough but his precious sunglasses made quite a few people do a double-take.
His grin turned genuine when the men looked away, falling back into a shallow conversation.
Crowley looked around for a bit, hoping to find a familiar face but eventually decided to follow his gut feeling and make his way past the crowd gathered in the middle of the ballroom, actively ignoring the little whispers women exchanged behind their pretty embroidered fans as he walked by.
He was here for a reason and that reason came just walking through the door on the far end of the room, carrying a cartoonishly large basket filled with flowers of all shapes and colors.
“Gentlemen, pick your flowers for the Cotillion!”
The men flocked to him in an instant, picking one small bouquet after the other, leaving it half-empty by the time Crowley arrived.
“And what can I– oh! Crowley!”
The man's face lit up like a whole chandelier and Crowley couldn't help but smile back.
“Didn't expect to see you here, angel,” Crowley lied, watching Aziraphale's expression switch from happy to flustered.
“Well, you see,” he began, briefly distracted by a guest asking for some flower he didn't have, “I was in the area and figured I.. could drop by. Meet the locals.” He wiggled his head a little, doing a rather poor job at hiding his excitement. It wasn't about the 'locals', Crowley knew that much. It was probably either the food or the charming atmosphere if one ignored the general fatigue among the guests. The live music did a lot of heavy lifting in the atmosphere department.
Aziraphale then frowned. “Which begs the question why you are here.”
Crowley made a non-committal sound, “Sensed some angelic activity and figured there'd be some heavenly plan for me to thwart.” He accentuated the last 't' and pointedly ignored a gentleman behind him asking him to move aside a bit.
“Oh, I'm afraid there is nothing to thwart,” Aziraphale apologized, being the forthcoming angel that he was, “The humans are doing pretty well on their own, actually.”
Raising his brows, Crowley nodded. “They found a way to make even the rich feel awful, I gotta give them that.”
Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak – and probably disagree – but closed it in favor of putting up a smile for some guy taking the second last bouquet.
“And they really love dancing.” He looked at the remaining flowers and briefly glanced at the demon before him, lifting the basket a little.
“I suppose they do.” Crowley said, keeping his hands behind his back.
Aziraphale's smile faltered a little, gaze dropping when someone finally took the last bouquet.
“Well, everyone's got a dance partner then,” he said, the smile not reaching his eyes. “Jolly good.”
Crowley moved to stand next to the angel, watching the guests get into position for the next dance, the music picking up. The people looked a little more engaged now, mostly younger pairs crowding the floor, women holding the bouquets their suitors had gotten for them. Bashful looks and giggles were exchanged as the pairs got in position, some honoring the polite distance more than others.
“How sweet,” Crowley grinned and didn't miss Aziraphale's little “It is” before picking up on Crowley's mocking tone and falling silent.
It wasn't long into the dance that Aziraphale cleared his throat and declared he better bring back the basket.
Naturally, Crowley followed suit, not particularly interested in watching those fancy people do their little courting dance. And even if he were, following the angel around was still way more enjoyable.
“You know you can just miracle yourself a different outfit and join them,” Crowley suggested as they walked down the narrow corridor, the music slowly fading away.
Aziraphale made a dismissive sound. “They all have a partner already. The bouquets, remember?”
“I'm sure this won't be the last dance of the evening, angel.”
“But not the–“ Aziraphale protested but cut himself off at the end, straightening his back. “You're right. It won't.”
They made their way back up to the ballroom after handing the basket to a lady downstairs, who barely had enough time to acknowledge Aziraphale's gentle “thank you” before hurrying off to the kitchen. The angel's mood hadn't improved much, the situation clearly weighing on his mind.
Crowley quietly steered their steps to one of the many balconies instead of the ballroom, muttering an unclear “air” in response to Aziraphale's questioning look.
They managed to find one that wasn't occupied by other guests having little clandestine meetings and settled by the banister overlooking the lush garden. Crowley leaned his elbows on the cold stone while Aziraphale stood next to him, hands clasped before his chest. He briefly turned around to peek through one of the big windows, watching the colorful flurry of dresses spin to the music.
“In my professional opinion,” Crowley eventually broke the silence, doing his best to sound as nonchalant as he could muster, “none of those blokes were worth dancing with anyway.”
The angel looked at him, maybe a little too long.
“I suppose,” he started, glancing back at the couples dancing inside, “I would not have danced with a man anyway. It would have been against ..customs.”
“A lady then,” Crowley easily supplied, “I'm sure one of them would've taken you up on the offer.”
He only turned to his angel when Aziraphale didn't even give him a defeated “Maybe” but stayed silent instead, eyes on the demon. Crowley raised his brows.
“No?”
“Maybe,” Aziraphale then gave in, fiddling with his fingers.
“You know,” he said, now facing the angel, “I could change into a fancy dress and pretend to be some rich lady friend of yours. Nobody would bat an eye.”
And for a second, the angel's face lit up, seeing all the possibilities in Crowley's offer. Only to then shake his head. That's not what he wanted.
“I don't think I could enjoy that.”
“I'll make sure to look extra pretty for you, angel,” Crowley grinned, hoping to get a chuckle out of the other. Unsuccessfully.
“That's not it,” Aziraphale sighed, voice getting quiet, “I don't want you to–“ he gestured towards Crowley, “put on a disguise. You shouldn't have to.”
Crowley's features softened, delicately aware of the pain Aziraphale felt, had he felt it himself so many times before. Gender had never bothered him and he wouldn't have minded tweaking his appearance to match the current human gender zeitgeist but he wasn't gonna push the angel. Much less argue over it.
“Humans are difficult sometimes, hm?” Crowley smiled at him, trying to offer the angel some comfort. There really was no good solution to his problem and Crowley's first instinct was to at least make him feel less lonely. He caught Aziraphale's little nod, eyes straying back to the dancers.
“I love them,” he admitted, playing with the gold ring on his finger, “but they still have a long way to go.”
Crowley watched him for a moment, sharing his disappointment. Crowley had grown fond of humans as well – loved them, probably, but with none of the angelic drive Aziraphale had. He loved them despite their tendency to make terribly stupid and stupidly terrible decisions.
A potentially stupid idea made its way to the forefront of Crowley's mind as well, one he'd tried to push back for the sake of his own pride and sanity. But Aziraphale's dim mood weighed on him more than he cared to admit. So he caved and miracled a small bouquet into his hand, an assortment of red tulips and forget-me-not. An open book to anyone even distantly familiar with the meaning of flowers in these times but Crowley figured it wouldn't say anything the angel didn't already know. And yet, when Aziraphale noticed the flowers in his hand, extended towards him in invitation, there was surprise written all over his face.
“Crowley?” The light returned to his eyes and Crowley had to will himself to look away, lest he got lost in them.
“Take it or leave it.” There was no bite in his words.
Aziraphale happily took the bouquet and pressed it to his chest, love pouring from every pore of his worldly corporation. So much, Crowley had to take a deep breath and hold it for a second. He half expected to find the angel pondering the flowers after all, but instead he found them already attached to his lapel and the angel's eyes unwavering on him.
“But don't expect anything big, angel,” Crowley said in an attempt to set Aziraphale's expectations as low as possible, “I don't usually dance.”
“I know,” Aziraphale smiled, warm and lovely, taking a tentative step towards Crowley. And even though he'd been the one to initiate all this, Crowley was ready to call it all off at the slightest sign that Aziraphale might not like it.
“So maybe it's for the better that nobody can see us,” Crowley made a face and attempted to talk himself through the nervousness as Aziraphale came ever closer, “because frankly, I have no idea how to dance a Cotillion.”
Aziraphale was a breath away from him now, offering his hand for Crowley to take. It was such an innocent gesture but Crowley felt like he might combust if he came any closer. “Gaillard and Waltz is all I have.” He choked on the last two words, too occupied with the sensation of Aziraphale's hand in his.
“Waltz will do,” Aziraphale smiled, boldly wrapping an arm around Crowley's waist like it belonged there. Because in his noble plan to cheer up his favorite angel, Crowley hadn't taken into account that Aziraphale tended to become surprisingly assertive once given permission. Not in a bad way per se but Crowley struggled to keep it together with his angel so close and radiating confidence and affection.
The music coming from the ballroom picked up once more, and Crowley let Aziraphale guide him through the first couple of steps. Gentle pushes and pulls on his hand and hip, weirdly comfortable despite everything. Crowley was pretty sure that they were out of step for a while, mainly due to him blanking on how to properly move his legs. Stupid lanky things!
But patient, wonderful Aziraphale didn't seem to mind.
“You're doing well,” he assured him halfway into the first dance, Crowley making an unsure sound in response. He really wasn't.
It took them a couple more minutes to fall into a presentable rhythm, Crowley's muscle memory finally doing what it's supposed to do. But with that out of the way, Crowley found himself faced with another issue.
Aziraphale hadn't stopped smiling at him.
“You're way too happy, angel,” Crowley mumbled, trying very hard to sound unbothered by the constant warmth radiating from him.
“I don't see why I shouldn't be,” he said, features soft and some neglected part of Crowley wanted to risk it all and kiss him right then and there. “I get to dance.”
“With someone who's terrible at it.”
“It's not about being good at it.” Aziraphale pulled him just a bit closer, “It's about who you dance with.”
And for a second Crowley's head began to spin. He wanted to bite back because that's what he was actually good at but something about the way Aziraphale said it took all the heat out if him. He was suddenly very grateful for his glasses. Were it not for them, he was sure Aziraphale would have seen right through him.
“I've wanted to dance with you for so long,” Aziraphale finally confessed, breaking eye contact for the first time since they'd started dancing. They still hadn't technically stopped but now it was more of a ..gentle swaying back and forth. Something Crowley realized felt way too intimate given the myriad of unspoken boundaries they'd set ages ago. Aziraphale leaning in to rest his forehead on Crowley's shoulder really wasn't helping.
“You.. could've asked.” Crowley almost choked on his own words, worried they might be too much, too fast.
He felt the soft press of Aziraphale's body against his, arm tightening around his waist.
“What if you'd said no,” came the whispered response, barely audible over the blood rushing in Crowley's ears.
“'What if I'–” Crowley sputtered, repeating the angel's words back to him, “Why on earth would I say no.”
The angel leaned back, startled by Crowley's sudden change in tone.
“But.. You don't like to dance,” he said, like it was a universal truth that wasn't to be questioned, a confused smile tugging at his lips.
“I– I don't love it,” he said, making a face, “but that doesn't mean I wouldn't ever–“ Crowley struggled to find the right words after this, trying not to propel this whole situation into the sun, “you know, ..with you. Whatever.”
He watched as Aziraphale's expression shifted from surprised to a weirdly disappointed smile.
The angel nodded slowly, eyes falling to the black ribbon around the demon's neck.
“Well, I guess I should thank you for indulging me then,” Aziraphale eventually said, putting up an awfully fake smile. The kind usually reserved for people like Gabriel and the other angelic nuisances who would occasionally drop by the book shop and disturb their fragile peace.
Crowley hated it.
“I promise I won't make you dance again.”
Aziraphale made a move to withdraw, arm slipping from Crowley's waist and with it the comfortable closeness they'd shared.
“Angel,” Crowley tried, holding on to the angels hand, certain that it would take them another century to get back to a moment like this, if they were lucky, “please.”
He wasn't sure what he was asking for, really. Possibly everything and nothing at the same time.
“It's alright, Crowley,” Aziraphale smiled, finally untangling his hand from the demon's, “We shouldn't have in the first place.”
And for a moment, Crowley could do nothing but watch as the angel took a step back, seemingly unsure how to politely leave the situation. Usually, despite his awkwardness, Aziraphale was exceptionally good at hiding his disappointment; always a handy smile on his lips to nip any kind of conflict in the bud. But for some reason, it was all written so clearly on his face now that it surprised even Crowley. He looked miserable and uncomfortable. But most of all, he looked sad – and so incredibly human it hurt to look at him.
“Angel,” Crowley tried again, making a tentative step towards the other, “don't do this now.”
“I should,” he said, vaguely gesturing away from him, voice weak, “excuse me.” Aziraphale turned enough to briefly worry Crowley he might actually walk away from him.
Now or never then.
“Fuck's sake,” Crowley growled loud enough to startle the angel into pausing, “Do I really have to spell it out for you? You know bloody well why I'm doing all this.”
The angel made a sound not unlike a sob.
But he then shook his head, bright, beautiful eyes glassy, “We might get in trouble.” Again with that dishonest smile.
Crowley sighed and took off his glasses, revealing tired golden eyes underneath. “You keep saying that, angel.” So many times had they come close, so very close to finally acknowledge their feelings for each other for what they were and every single time, without fail, it was Aziraphale's deep-rooted belief in having to take sides that had driven them apart again.
Some small piece of him wondered if they'd ever overcome it.
“Look, Crowley,” Aziraphale said after a deep breath, willing any and all emotion out of his voice, “You were suddenly there, right in time for the Cotillion and– and I–“ He waved towards the windows and blindly reached for the bouquet still securely attached to his chest, hands shaking a little. “You were being so kind and–”
“I love you.”
There, he said it.
Three words that could barely hold even a fraction of what Crowley felt for his angel, so many things about him and their time spent together that not a million words could adequately express. But there they were, out in the open. Now they had to talk about it. Whether Aziraphale wanted to or not.
Aziraphale's aimless rambling abruptly stopped, all the nervous energy gone. He mouthed a silent “What?” and forced a little smile, “Crowley..”
The demon braced for a rejection, teeth clenched.
“I'm not taking it back.” He shook his head, “I'm tired, angel.”
“Crowley..” Softer this time.
Aziraphale made a step towards him, a cautious hand outstretched to offer the demon comfort but too shy to actually touch.
“You know I love you too.”
Crowley exhaled loudly and muttered a curse, flexing his fingers to channel his anger out of his voice. Of course he knew. They'd been friends for millennia and without love they wouldn't have come this far in the first place. But he also knew that the angel wasn't hearing him properly.
“That's not what I'm talking about, angel, and you know that.”
The angel's eyes quickly strayed from Crowley's face, comforting smile fading. “Your people won't take kindly to this, Crowley. Who knows what they're going to do to you if we–”
“So what?” His voice had an unusual edge to it, bordering on a kind of anger he kept carefully tucked inside. “They can torture me all they want; they're not going to take this from me.” Crowley held a hand to his heart, taking a step towards Aziraphale. “I'm not afraid of them.”
I'm not the one who's afraid is what he doesn't say, because it felt too cruel to take a jab at Aziraphale, even now. He could punch up and remind him how heaven was supposed to be all about love and acceptance. That in an ideal world, Aziraphale should be the one fighting for this while Crowley hid in fear of torture. It shouldn't be this way around. He shouldn't be the one telling an angel that this couldn't be wrong or deserving of sanctions.
Crowley sighed, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in his chest.
Maybe this was his punishment, after all. Not the fall, not hell – maybe he was simply doomed to be denied the love of the only being in the whole universe that mattered. A being whose sole purpose was to love. Just not him. Maybe it was finally time to admit defeat.
It was a pair of arms closing around him that kept him from spiraling further, the angel's scent enveloping Crowley like sunshine on a cold spring day. He melted into Aziraphale's embrace, overwhelmed by the sensation of finally holding him close, even if it was just for a moment before everything would inevitably fall apart. They'd part ways, Aziraphale keeping an eye on the world while Crowley atoned for his deeds in some deep, forgotten corner of hell. And then they'd meet once more and do it all over again. More scars, more bitterness, but no less love on Crowley's part. Never that.
Aziraphale's fluttering heart beat against his chest, an unruly bird caught in a gilded cage.
“I should have protected you.”
“It's alright, angel,” Crowley said, feeling so incredibly tired.
“It's not.” Aziraphale shook his head, as much as his position allowed. “I will not let them hurt you this time, Crowley.”
He leaned his head against Aziraphale's, repeating his words in his head. They sounded nice.
And then he felt it. The familiar pull of demonic energy bending the ground beneath him, massive granite breaking under the unrelenting strain. It would be frightening, had it been the first time. But by now, he was used to it. He knew what to expect. He'd gone against hellish customs often enough to know exactly how this was going to go.
What he didn't expect though, was Aziraphale's unwavering embrace that miraculously kept him from falling.
“Angel.” Crowley smiled weakly. “Let go, angel, I'll be back.”
“No.”
Aziraphale pulled back far enough to look at him, a determined glint in his eyes that Crowley hadn't seen in ages. “If they want you, they'll have to go through me first. And if I have to start a war, then so be it.”
-