After a short set, Lucifer, Azazel, and Freddie had given the stage back over to the actual band, and the lead singer, shaken but gamely attempting to be professional, had done his best to return to the normal program.

They finished up a rendition of T-Rex's I Love to Boogie—during which, Aziraphale was able to put his well-practiced high-kicks to full effect, and Crowley was too happily drunken, and too far-gone in-love with his angel, to even be embarrassed.

Now, the singer took the microphone in hand and addressed the party. "If we can have all the married couples out on the dancefloor now, for a special final dance to close out the night," he said.

The unmarried couples reluctantly left the floor, leaving only Aziraphale and Crowley. They were joined, in a moment, by Anathema and Newton, and Madame Tracy and Shadwell.

The singer looked at this slender offering of married couples, and reconsidered. "Okay, let's do this a little differently this time. Let's get all of the couples back out here, whether you're married, dating, or you're just having a really good night." \

The married couples were joined by Lucifer and Azazel, Adam and Oscar, and God and Mariam. After a moment to confer, Warlock and Pepper joined in as well. As the music was starting, Gabriel and Beelzebub stumbled out, drunkenly, as though pulled by some unstoppable force.

"What the Fuck?" Gabriel protested, as he found himself holding Beelzebub in the middle of the assembled couples, as the music began and they all started dancing.

God gave him a smile, and a wave.

"We are not a couple."

"If I wanted to fuck an angel, I'd have better taszte," Beelzebub agreed.

Gabriel looked to them, offended. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"What'sz it szound like?"

Gabriel puffed out his chest. "Well, if I had any interest in carnal sins, it wouldn't be with you either."

Beelzebub snorted. "That iszn't what I heard from Michael."

"When did you talk to Michael?" Gabriel demanded. "Are you saying that you'd rather engage in lustful activities with Michael, than me?"

Beelzebub raised a brow at him.

"I'll have you know that I am a prime specimen of male beauty, and Michael wouldn't know the first thing about how to properly please you."

"And you would?"

"I excel at everything I do."

"You're not very good at danczing," Beelzebub pointed out, as they stood, unmoving, in the middle of the dancing couples.

"I am an excellent dancer," Gabriel said, taking a firmer grip on Beelzebub, as he started to lead them around the floor in a clumsy box step.

Beelzebub rolled their eyes. "I lead. You follow, and try not to look like an idiot. I know that'sz a lot to aszk, but do your beszt."

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" Mariam asked, as God led her through a subdued waltz, eyes sparkling as She watched the exchange between Gabriel and Beelzebub.

"I'm tired of watching those two dance around each other. If they're going to do that, they might as well do it to music, and unless someone gives him a good push, it will be like Aziraphale and Crowley all over again. I can't bear another six thousand years of sitting around watching two idiots pine. At some point, you have to say, enough is enough, and give them a good kick in the right direction."

"Might cause some trouble," Mariam warned.

God laughed. "Can you imagine how flustered Gabriel will be when he's trying to keep the secret of a love affair with The Lord of Flies? All the while, he'll know that I must know about it, but yet I'll never say a word. He'll flail around in a self-made torment of his own hypocrisy."

"You're punishing him?" Mariam asked. "That hardly seems fair to Lord Beelzebub."

"I'm enlightening both of them to a broader scope of existence and experience. How they react to the situation is completely up to them."

"You're bored," Mariam said. "Now that Aziraphale and Crowley have worked themselves out, you've lost your entertainment. You need someone new to manipulate."

"What an awful thing to say. I'm the very spirit of love and forgiveness. I only want what's best for my children."

"Is that why our son left the party, then?"

"Yeshua's work is done for now. I'm willing to give him a little leeway. Perhaps he deserves a second chance at a normal human life."

"Adam is really getting to you; isn't he?"

"What do you mean?"

"You think that You've swayed him around to following Your will, but You've been bending Your will to accommodate him."

"He's a bright boy—just as head-strong as his father, but with more compassion. Or, perhaps being a Grandmother has mellowed Me."

Mariam snorted her derision.

They turned, and Mariam caught sight of Freddie Mercury. He was standing alone, leaning against a table, as he watched the couples out on the dance floor. Considering Yeshua's complaints on everything that the deceased musician had been up to during his time on Earth, Mariam was surprised to see him looking so lonely.

"It's too bad that Freddie doesn't have anyone to dance with," she said, making it sound like an offhand observation. "He looks sad."

God glanced over to him. And, yes, he did look rather lonely and pathetic—watching the others while he spun his wedding ring around with the thumb and forefinger of his other hand.

She looked back at Mariam and raised her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation-a rather self-serving gesture, all things considered. "You're such a romantic," she grumbled.

"I don't know what you mean," Mariam replied, innocently. "I just said that he looks sad."

"Yes, all right." God snapped her fingers.

They slowed their dancing to watch as a solidly built man, of about forty, with a mustache to match Freddie's, appeared beside him.

Shock turned to joy quickly, as the two embraced, clutching desperately to each other, grinning excitedly.

They pulled only far enough apart to see each other's faces, exchanging words quickly. But, instead of joining the other couples on the dance floor, Freddie Mercury and Jim Hutton exchanged one quick kiss before they made a mad dash out of the room, hand in hand.

Mariam's brow furrowed in confused disappointment. "Where are they going?"

God laughed. "Upstairs to admire the artwork," She said. "There's quite the gallery up there."

"There's…" Mariam started, still somewhat confused, then her brow cleared and she slapped God lightly on the shoulder. "You knew that would happen."

"I know everything," she said. "Technically, they could have exercised their free will, and the rare chance of a few minutes with a pair of corporeal bodies, for a bit of dancing, but there's no defying basic human nature. Given the desire, and a willing partner, humans always choose the horizontal tango."

The lead singer called any couples who'd been together for less than a day off the floor. Typically, this would be the point when the newlyweds would surrender the floor to the more experienced married couples, but since the singer had changed things up, Crowley and Aziraphale continued dancing, while it was Warlock who led Pepper off the floor.

Beelzebub and Gabriel exchanged a disgusted look, and started to make their escape, but as they passed God, She raised her hand, and they were unceremoniously snapped back together.

"Oh, I don't think the two of you are finished yet," She said.

"What are you talking about?" Gabriel asked, honestly confused.

"Nazareth in Galilee, around 1 BC," God said. "I think there was a certain interlude involving a silk merchant and an amphora of wine."

Gabriel's face clouded for a moment, and then cleared with dawning horror, sudden realization, and disgust. "That wasn't… Nothing happened. I didn't… I only bought a scarf, for a souvenir." He unconsciously fingered the lavender scarf around his neck.

Beelzebub snorted. "I was just trying to get drunk."

"And yet, one of you ended the day tied to a post with a silk scarf," She gestured to Gabriel's souvenir, "covered in honey, while the other themselves, blindfolded," She gestured to the red sash hung over Beelzebub's shoulder, "and covered in bees. Not, perhaps, the most auspicious of beginnings, but a beginning nonetheless. You both wear the remembrance of it, daily. I think you'll be out here, as long as we are." She led Mariam, away from them, into a smooth waltz, as the music changed, and Gabriel and Beelzebub began to argue.

Adam and Oscar were the next couple to leave the dancefloor, and they joined Warlock and Pepper at the bar, happily enough.

As the singer called out the five year mark, Aziraphale began to pull away from Crowley.

"Where do you think you're going, angel?" Crowley asked, pulling him back.

Aziraphale frowned. "It's been five years since we began… well, that is to say, added, the… physical aspect to our relationship."

"As you say, added," Crowley said, pointedly.

"Ah yes," Aziraphale agreed, settling back against him once more. "I suppose that things had been so to say official, for a bit longer than that."

Crowley smirked. "A bit."

They continued to dance through the beginning of the next song, but when Madame Tracy, Shadwell, Newton, and Anathema left the floor, at the fifteen year mark, Aziraphale again tried to pull away.

"No," Crowley said.

"No? Well, surely thwarting Armageddon was when we really started…"

"No," Crowley repeated, firmly.

Aziraphale's face softened. "The Blitz," he said, "when you-"

"No."

"Well when, then?" Aziraphale demanded. "Exactly how long have we been a romantic couple, without my knowledge or consent?"

Crowley raised a brow at him, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

The Arrangement. Of course. You make one little agreement with a demon, and they think they own you for eternity. Aziraphale should have expected as much.

The singer began to look perplexed, as he called for couples with less than forty years to leave, and all the remaining pairs continued to dance. By fifty, he seemed shocked. By sixty it was flat out disbelief, and he called them on it.

"Come now, let's be honest here," he chided. "I know that no one wants the party to end, but there isn't a one of you that's a day over sixty."

"Just keep counting," God said. Her voice held just a hint of command, but it was kind and warm—like a mother gently assuring her child that there were no monsters under the bed.

A blissful and dazed expression went over the man's face, and he continued his countdown, switching from decades to centuries at the hundred year mark.

When the singer reached the fifteenth century, Aziraphale felt Crowley's hands tighten around him before he could even attempt to pull away. He let out an exasperated sigh. "You mean for us to dance our way all the way back to Eden, don't you?"

Crowley hummed.

"I don't think I even liked you for the first couple millennia."

"You did."

Aziraphale huffed and averted his eyes. "Yes, well, I suppose you did have a certain demonic charm, but that doesn't mean that I ever entertained any ideas of-"

Crowley looked intently into his eyes. "From the moment that I met you on that wall, as soon as you and I were tossed into this duck pond together, the only pair of swans in the park, you have been my angel, and God Herself is going to have to drag me off this dance floor if you expect me to leave a moment before I'm ready."

Aziraphale glanced over to their creator, and matched Her smile, before looking back to Crowley. "That doesn't seem to be Her intent."

"There, you have God's blessing. What more do you want?"

"Nothing," Aziraphale said, in a way that suggested, 'I have you, what else could I want.'

Crowley and Aziraphale danced through the centuries together, Aziraphale making the occasional comment of, "I barely saw you in the thirteenth century," or , "Do you remember that restaurant we went to in Pompeii? It's too bad it was all gone the next day. I'd give anything for another taste of that bread they had with the little raisins."

God and Mary, and a still arguing Beelzebub and Gabriel made it through two more songs with them, before they were called off, just past the two-thousand year mark.

Crowley and Aziraphale danced through another half dozen songs: How Deep is Your Love, and Tale As Old As Time, and, My Endless Love.

Even with divine reassurance, the singer looked relieved as the band finished a soft rendition of What a Wonderful World, and Aziraphale and Crowley, finally, exchanged a long kiss and left the floor, holding hands, after six thousand years or so- leaving only Lucifer and Azazel.

"And how long have you two lovebirds been together," the singer asked, getting comfortably back into his normal wedding patter.

"Forever," Lucifer said.

"Since before time," Azazel agreed.

"Before the stars were born and the planets were turning, and until the end of all existence."

"And whatever comes after," Azazel promised.

From her seat at one of the tables, God smiled at them.

Adam snorted and looked away from his parents. "They're such saps. You wouldn't expect a couple of demons to be such hopeless romantics."

"I think it's sweet," Pepper said.

"I wish my parents were like that," Warlock agreed.

Adam glanced over to where Aziraphale and Crowley were equally lost to the world, staring into each other's eyes, fingers twined in each other's hair, as they continued to sway together, off the dancefloor, even though the music had stopped. "Well, we all had those two idiots to set an example for us, anyway."

Oscar raised his glass in a toast. "Here's to being an idiot in love, and the hope that we all should be so lucky to ever be so."

Adam was happy to drink to that, and when he finished his glass and set it down, he twined his fingers with Oscar's. "The party's over," he said, gently. "I suppose we'd better get you back to Hell before you turn into a pumpkin."

Oscar furrowed his brow. "Is that likely?" When you were dealing with a bunch of angels, fallen or otherwise, and the son of Satan, you could never quite be certain what to expect.

"I don't think so," Adam replied, "but, I have my own suite in the Infernal Residence, and if we leave now, we can beat mom and dad back to the house. I don't know what tomorrow is going to be like, but," he leaned in to whisper in Oscar's ear, "I think I'll start your torment by seeing how long I can make you beg, before I let you come."

Oscar's face tinged a marvelous shade of pink, at the same time his eyes darkened, and he cleared his throat. "Well, it was lovely to meet you Warlock," he inclined his head, "Pepper, but I think Adam's right. We'd best be off."

Pepper watched them go with a little smirk. "I never would have guessed it in tenth form literature class, but it seems that 'the love that dare not speak its name,' goes by Adam Young, to his friends."

"They do seem to work well together," Warlock agreed.

Pepper turned to look at him, considering. "When are you fucking off back to America, then?"

Warlock froze. "Tomorrow afternoon," he said uncertainly.

Pepper nodded. "Do you have a hotel room?"

"I'm staying at The Ritz," he said, a hopeful look in his eyes.

"I'm not having sex with you tonight."

The hopeful look diminished somewhat.

"But," she added. "If you take me back to your room, so we can continue to get to know each other a bit better, I might entertain the idea of doing it in the morning."

Warlock looked at the time on his phone. "It's almost midnight now."

"I think we'd better hurry then."

Warlock wasn't about to argue.

Aziraphale looked up from Crowley's shoulder, to where the band was packing up, and their guests were starting to make their farewells. He let out a happy sigh. "I think the party is over."

Crowley grumbled a disinterested agreement.

"We made it through without starting any wars, and the only death was the officiant. I think we can call the wedding a success."

"We're married," Crowley said. "I think that's the mark of a successful wedding. Now we can get to the fun part."

"Marriage?"

"The honeymoon."

"You still won't tell me where we're going?"

"It's a surprise."

"How am I supposed to know if I've packed appropriately for the weather, if I don't know where we're going?"

"I don't plan on letting you get dressed the entire time, so it really doesn't matter."

"Oh, really?" Aziraphale said, knowingly. "You don't know what I've packed, but if you have no interest in finding out, I'll just return it to the shop then, shall I?"

Crowley looked up, sharply. "Why, what've you packed?"

"Oh," Aziraphale said, innocently. "Mostly just a lot of books that you don't plan on giving me time to read, a few nibbles that I'm sure we won't have time to taste, and one or two pieces of lingerie that you don't mean to let me wear."

Crowley raised a brow. "Lingerie? You're serious? You're not just having me on? Because, so help me, angel-"

"Madame Tracy took me shopping. Oscar and Adam helped."

Crowley groaned. An nineteenth century dandy, a harlot who'd had her heyday in the 1960's, and a sexually repressed Antichrist… picking out lingerie… with Aziraphale. Crowley couldn't even imagine what the result of that would be, but his angel was sure to insist that it was fashionable- while being poncy, a complete embarrassment, and still somehow managing to pull off whatever ridiculous ensemble he'd concocted in a way that left Crowley making incoherent noises. Honestly, he couldn't wait to see.

"We need to go," Crowley said.

"Shouldn't we say goodbye and thank all of our guests?"

"Now, angel." Crowley took his hand and started dragging him toward the door.

Aziraphale smiled to himself as he was pulled along after him.

oOoOoOo

Adam was sure that he had the power to transport himself and Oscar directly to Hell, but he didn't have the vaguest idea of how to do it, so instead they passed the abandoned valet stand, and made their leisure way to The Ritz's parking garage, taking frequent breaks along the way for the occasional public display of affection.

When they finally made it to the correct level of the parking structure, they found it empty of all but three vehicles. There was a heavy smell of motor oil in the air, and the floor was covered with dark, black, tyre marks—likely the result of some serious exhibition driving. The Citroen was back to its usual shape and size, parked near the microbus, both vehicles smoking idly. The Bentley, on the other hand, was parked in front of them, rocking hard on its leaf springs, with the windows steamed up.

Adam froze, pulling Oscar up short, and shot a confused glance back the way they had come. "How did they beat us here? They were still dancing like idiots when we left."

"Hmm?"

"Aziraphale and Crowley." Adam gestured at the rocking Bentley.

"Oh." Oscar laughed. "Perhaps they flew?"

There was a low groan from inside the car.

"Who the fuck is that?" Adam demanded, starting toward the car.

"Crowley, wasn't it?" Oscar asked, following.

"I know what Crowley sounds like," Adam snapped. He got to the Bentley, and knocked hard on the back window, turning his head to the side, so he wouldn't see anything that he didn't want to. "Oi, who's in there? This isn't your car! This is private property. Bugger off!"

"That's what we were trying to do, darling," a voice came from inside the car.

"Freddie?" Adam did look then, and he did see more than he wanted to. "For fuck's sake!" he looked away quickly. "Who the hell is that? And, why is he fucking you in Crowley's car?"

"Mnnh," Freddie moaned. "This is my husband, and we're… hnng… proving a point."

That brought Adam up short. He glanced across the roof and fixed his gaze safely in the vicinity of the bonnet, still bouncing slightly. Well, he supposed that if the Bentley minded, it wouldn't have unlocked the doors. Maybe Freddie and Jim having sex in its backseat was a dream come true for Freddie's biggest fan. Adam wasn't sure that he wanted to get involved with any of that. His night had been weird enough already, and he had to get Oscar back to Hell for… reasons.

Adam sighed. "Well, just hurry up, and clean up afterward," he said to the car. "Crowley and Aziraphale are going to need to get to Heathrow. I don't think Crowley will be very happy if his car smells like sex."

"Don't see how he would notice the difference," Jim grumbled.

"It's been nice meeting you, Adam," Freddie said, "but we're kind of busy, having a moment, here. Would you mind, terribly, fucking off now?"

"Straight to Hell," Adam grumbled, turning back to Oscar. He held out his hand again. "Let's go home."

The Citroen was handling strangely as they drove off to the corporate entrance to Hell. It seemed to have developed a bit of a rattle around the turns, and it was reluctant to accelerate. No matter what Adam did, he couldn't get the stereo to play anything other than Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy.