- Well, perhaps you could tell me … while we dance.
Crowley blinks in surprise, trying to figure out if he heard it. Angelic blue eyes look like bottomless lakes with hidden devils in the depths, challenging demonic endurance. Is he kidding? Crowley is desperately trying to talk about an army of demons standing just a few meters away from them, but he wants to dance?
- We don't dance.
The last attempt to piece reality together is doomed to complete failure. A quick sly glance from the angel, and now Crowley is already grabbed by the hand, being dragged into the very center of the shining, shiny and whirling room. From the shock, there is only one emptiness in the head, and the body itself begins to move, following an unconscious inner impulse. They merge with the dancers, exactly repeating their movements. Or is it rather everyone else repeating after them?
Nina and Maggie, for whom this ball was originally started, practically did not pay attention to each other, watching with interest the unexpectedly joined dancing couple. Crowley turned away - such attention strained him, and it was not in his style to be embarrassed by other people's hinting glances.
— Well... What did you want to tell me? Something about demons?
The sight of a dancing angel takes your breath away, knocking the last hints of sound thoughts out of head. Crowley feels a magical tension in the air, driving the other couples, but... not theirs? Naturally, he knew about Jane Austen's belonging to the world of literature, even he himself once tried to understand and learn the very dance that reunites and breaks millions of noble hearts. But Aziraphale? He can't dance. At least, it is given to him with great difficulty.
Contrary to Crowley's contradictory thoughts, the angel gracefully accepts the demon's hand in an aristocratic manner, circling around him, after a few seconds almost weightlessly changing partners. His eyes, previously perky and cheerful, more and more often cast questioning glances in the direction of a friend desperately trying to hide his confusion.
- Crowley?
Another circle, and here they are again standing in front of each other, trying to catch their breath. All of Crowley's plans, still held in his head at that moment, are shattered by the blue, sky-azure eyes, anxiously looking straight into the demon's soul, even through the glasses of sunglasses. Music again, and their hands are entwined in a kind of dance, not wanting to let go of each other. The demon's breathing quickens when the angel is very close to make another circle.
The nose catches a barely noticeable aroma of books, baking with cinnamon and something citrus. A new perfume?
No.
His scent.
The native smell of Aziraphale, felt only at such a close distance. Crowley inhales deeply, and the ringing emptiness in his head becomes almost tangible. The angel raises his head, looking questioningly at the suddenly frozen demon.
- You know, - Crowley clears his throat and, under Aziraphale's uncomprehending gaze, takes off his sunglasses, flashing yellow snakes of clouded eyes, - these demons will wait.
His external confidence is off the scale, while inside his heart, which has gone into a frenzied rhythm, is ready to jump out of excitement. Pulling his partner by the hand towards him, Crowley leans over the frozen angel, covering eyes and very carefully, almost weightlessly touching his soft lips with his. The whole world freezes around, while Crowley dissolves into the gentle unconscious touches of an angel. A few seconds stretch into infinity, and now the demon can breathe, hear, feel again: Aziraphale slowly, clumsily, almost fearfully, but responds to the trembling kiss expected for such long millennia.