It was a Tuesday. Tuesdays were ripe for angel temptings, so Crowley had sauntered over to Aziraphale's to get some practice in. He passed the closed sign on the front door without a look (and without bothering the door lock which was well trained to let him pass by now) and tisked to himself as he beheld the deliberate shambles that was Aziraphales' domain.
Now where was that tartan wearing reprobate? He had plans for the afternoon, and they would need to get a wriggle on if they were to get everywhere on time.
Going directly into the bookshops backroom Crowley found who he was looking for, and his heart stopped momentarily in his chest. Aziraphale was attempting to stay upright as he had some kind of twisting fit in the middle of the room. The angel's body contorted into wild shapes, his feet stuttering across the floor as he gyrated about trying to keep his balance.
Crowley immediately rushed in and swooped the angel up then laid him on the sofa, demanding to know what the angel had eaten recently, had he accepted any poisoned apples from a kindly old women or drunk wine with a Duke of Hell?
What is wrong he demanded desperately. It was only as he drew breath to continue his questioning that he realised Aziraphale had a particularly ticked off look for someone being rescued from a poison induced seizure. He was also, Crowley now noticed, wearing wireless ear buds.
For a moment their eyes locked as Crowley's mind raced to a new conclusion. Oh.
"Were you … dancing?" he eventually croaked – unsure how to play this off. On the one hand, he had just been quite terrified. They had no way of knowing if up above would grant the angel another corperation after this one. And on the other …
"Hmm, mmph, heh, Hah! BwahaHAhaha!" Crowley lost it. The damn angel had been dancing!
Aziraphale was not amused.
"I was trying to learn the twist, if you must know," he grumped, taking the ear buds out.
Crowley was howling with laughter by this time, leaning down over the prone angel, actual tears of laughter starting in his eyes. In fact, they were running down the demons face. There were rather a lot of them. Was he..?
"My dear?" Aziraphale asked, sitting up and placing his hands on the demons shoulders. "It's quite alright. I forgive you, I'm sorry I worried you. Please dear, I'm fine now."
Crowley crashed forwards into his arms, sniffling pathetically. "Don't ever do that to me again," he whispered sternly into Aziraphale's sweater vest. The angel hummed an agreement and a moment passed, then the demon abruptly sprung up and began straitening his clothes.
"Why were you trying to learn that ridiculous dance anyway," he asked with feigned annoyance.
"No reason," Aziraphale swung his legs off the sofa and looked up at the fussing demon, tilting his head in thought as he watched Crowley twitch at his tie and pull at the tips of his collar. Such a vain man shaped being. How Aziraphale adored the irritating creature.
"So you put me through He…inconvenience like that on a whim? Well done, you owe me at least a dinner for that you know." Crowley at last stopped fussing with his jacket and looked down at the angel's adorable face.
How he loved that understanding smile and those absurdly large blue eyes thet were magnified more by unnecessary wire rimmed glasses. Aziraphale was such a know-it-all. Well, here was something Crowley could at last teach him.
"Come on," the demon reached down and pulled the angel up and into his arms. "You don't want to be learning those flassshy new dances." He thought at the player he had eventually located in the corner of the room and it began playing 'Unchained Melody'.
"What we need to teach you is how to ssslow dance." He slipped his hands into position on Aziraphale's back. "Here, let me ssshow you."