A/N: So, I just finished this book, and I'm in love with it. Since the very first "my dear," Aziraphale and Crowley have been my favorite characters…and conveniently enough, they make an adorable couple. However, I don't go for "PWP," so this is me getting them together as realistically as possible (in my mind)…though by this point in the story, they're at least part-way there already. This chapter is rated T for deep kisses and indirect discussion of sex… Ahem, but it is just the first chapter. If Crowley can be patient, so can you. Read on, and I hope you enjoy!
Chapter 1: Dance with the Devil
Wash that man right out of my hair,
I'm gonna wash that man right out of my hair.
I'm gonna wash that man right out of my hair.
"And send him on his way…" the angel sang under his breath. He was listening to the soundtrack of an old Broadway play, South Pacific, as he cooked. He was cooking because he'd gotten tired of his usual meal at the Ritz. When he'd voiced this sentiment, Crowley had challenged him to make something better. The verse was, "Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God," but tempting his followers was an entirely different matter, and thus, Aziraphale had risen to the challenge. However, his skills in this area were very…underdeveloped, so instead of salmon and asparagus, their lunch would consist of an over-salted beef stew with rather misshapen dumplings.
It doesn't look terrible, he thought to himself as he peeked into his flat's small and rarely-used (that is, never used until that particular day) oven. And truly, it wasn't terrible; in fact, he was quite proud of himself for producing something marginally edible with no supernatural help.
"I'm sure he'll at least appreciate the effort I've put in," he muttered, though he wasn't really sure at all. At that moment, he hear the soft click of his door opening, locks easily undone by a hand which ignored their existence. "Hmph. Speak of the devil…" Crowley stepped inside without waiting for an invitation as Nellie Forbush sang, "I'm in love with a wonderful guy."
"Hi," he said, the corners of his mouth turned slightly upward. "I know I'm a little early."
"You could at least pretend to respect my privacy," the angel responded with a glance in his direction. "Or do you normally enter other people's homes without knocking?" Crowley's smirk didn't falter.
"Want me to go back out and try again?" Aziraphale shook his head dismissively, and his guest wandered inside, observing the very modest accommodations. "You know, you did invite me over. I figured that was permission enough. …Still listening to this CD, are you?"
"It was a gift, if you recall," the angel answered as he removed his…creation from the oven and set it aside to cool. "I've nearly memorized them all."
"Really." This word was more of a placeholder than an actual question. Something to fill the space between them while he made his way across the room behind Aziraphale. The next song began while the angel removed his oven mitts. It was one of his favorites, if he'd been forced to choose. "So sing."
"I'd rather not," he mumbled bashfully. "And I'm sure you'd prefer it if I didn't, as well." He laughed at that, but as he turned to face his demon (as it were), he found him much closer than expected. Still with that wicked, serpentine curve on his lips, he took another step forward. Aziraphale was forced back against the counter, and the words, "lead us not into temptation" passed through his mind.
Angel and lover,
Heaven and Earth,
Are you to me…
Crowley was just enough taller than he was that he had to lean down slightly to hiss in his ear. The angel cleared his throat, tried to ignore the increase of his heart rate. Then his demonic guest (if he could so be called) caught his lips, and he stiffened.
And when your youth
And joy invade my arms
And fill my heart
As now they do…
Only moments after it began, the kiss was ended.
"Really, my dear, you've only just arrived," the angel said, flustered. He pushed at Crowley's arms and continued, "Our food will get cold." It wasn't that he disliked the act of kissing (or being kissed, which was probably more accurate). In fact, the first time it had happened, he'd been surprised at how…guiltless he'd felt. There had been no discussion of it at the time, but Crowley's attitude toward him seemed to have changed slightly. For the better, he felt. Still, the entire area of physical affection made him a bit uneasy, so he'd effectively restricted it to very short, simple kisses and the occasional embrace.
"Here," he said as he placed a steaming bowl at either end of the table. "I know it isn't perfect, but this is my first attempt." The demon eyed his meal dubiously as he sat down. But he had, in a way, provoked this, so he had no choice but to suffer the consequences. So he tried a bite…and suppressed a grimace. "Is it that bad?" The angel laughed weakly and tasted it himself. "Er. I'll keep working on it, then, shall I?" Crowley didn't answer; he was dutifully emptying his bowl, perhaps eating quickly so he wouldn't have to taste it. Once he'd finished, he spoke.
"It was fine," he said, though his voice strained slightly. "Thanks." A few moments of silence passed in which Aziraphale appreciated his friend's uncharacteristic courtesy. Then, "…could I get some water?"
"Oh, of course!" He hastily filled a glass and brought it back, watching the demon drain every last drop.
"Haah. Thanks," he repeated. His host wore a pleased smile.
"It's always nice to see you care for someone other than yourself." Crowley looked unamused, but not actually irritated.
"Yes, well, keep it a secret, will you? I do have a reputation."
"Your secret's safe with me, dear boy," Aziraphale replied, taking their dishes (his still nearly full) back to the kitchen. "Well, that took less time than expected. I suppose you have plenty of wicked plans to be running off to now?"
"Nope," Crowley answered idly as he leaned back in his chair, never falling back. "Not today, anyway. What about you?"
"Well…there is a stack of books downstairs that I had hoped to get to this afternoon," he said thoughtfully as he rinsed out their bowls. He felt a pang of guilt at throwing out so much food, but he had the feeling that even the neediest child might turn his nose up at his cooking.
"Mm-hm. Don't suppose that could wait."
"Until…?"
"Until I'm ready to leave."
"Hm. And when might that be?" Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder to find his friend gazing back at him over the top of his sunglasses, yellow eyes unblinking.
"Who knows?" the demon said with a shrug. He gestured to the CD player, and the music changed to a somber tune on piano and violin. As he got to his feet, he pushed his shades back up. "So…?" Aziraphale swallowed hard and turned away, trying to focus on drying the dishes and putting them away.
"So," he responded. "What?" Crowley let out a sigh and moved closer, this time pinning Aziraphale's front against the edge of the counter, his hands resting on either side of him to form a sort of cage.
"You know I'm bad at this sort of thing," he said quietly, with a slight hiss between "this" and "sort."
"I don't know what you mean." Lying lips are abomination to the Lord…
"I think you do. Stop making things more difficult than they have to be." One of his hands found the angel's, and he pulled, forcing Aziraphale to face him. His other arm snaked around his friend's midsection and tightened, pulling him closer still. "You can dance, right?"
"I…learned the gavotte once," the angel responded apprehensively, somewhat out of his element. "But that was decades ago; I can't—"
"Sure you can. I'll lead." So he did, but in a way Aziraphale was entirely unaccustomed to. Slow and close, they moved, one step forward, two steps back, with the angel nervously stumbling now and then Still, once they'd learned the rhythm and started to match each other's movements, things grew easier and smoother for both partners. As he followed Crowley's lead, he wondered vaguely, didn't the mortals have a saying about dancing with the devil? Somehow, he imagined most didn't get the opportunity.
"I do hope you plan to put my music right before you leave," he scolded.
"Couldn't you just as easily do it yourself?"
"That isn't the point; it's the principle of the matter." Even though he couldn't see them, he knew Crowley rolled his eyes.
"Don't worry, angel; I'll fix your music," he promised.
"…why are we dancing?" The demon's sunglasses glinted with light, and he answered honestly.
"Because I don't feel like leaving yet. And I get the feeling that hearing what's really on my mind would ruffle your feathers beyond repair." Aziraphale stopped the dance and looked up.
"And what is that, pray tell?" Aware that was on dangerous ground here, Crowley chose his words carefully. He then decided not to use them, instead responding with a firm kiss. The angel tensed, but Crowley was intent on getting his point across this time. Before the angel had time to protest, he found himself wrapped in an embrace stronger than the ones previous. The kiss that accompanied it was different as well; it was deep and…not warm so much as hot. Not soft, either. An entirely new experience for both parties. Aziraphale's shocked eyes drifted closed, and the slightest sound of surprise or (Heaven forbid) pleasure was muffled between their lips. For several moments, the angel was trapped, hands curled into helpless fists at his sides. As much as he wanted to react, he stayed frozen, too stunned to do anything. Their music had stopped. A heavy silence filled the room, stifling and pressing down until neither party could stand it any longer, and the contact was broken. However, they remained where they were, not a word, not a breath between them. Crowley wished he had removed his sunglasses beforehand; maybe if he had, his host wouldn't be avoiding his eyes so.
Aziraphale, meanwhile, wasn't sure exactly what to think. His mind felt clouded, hazy, and for all his efforts, he couldn't seem to focus. What could he do? His options had been quite effectively limited. He couldn't look up for fear that Crowley would see the bright blush creeping into his cheeks. As they were in such close quarters, he noticed now the beat of his friend's heart against his own chest. The rhythm he felt was as frantic and nervous as his own, which comforted him a bit; at least he wasn't alone in those feelings. The silence was positively deafening…but what was there to say? After a few more minutes, the demon spoke.
"…that was why we were dancing," he said plainly, taking a step back and smoothing the wrinkles from his suit. And he was right; had Aziraphale's wings been out at the time, his feathers would have been quite ruffled indeed. When he didn't respond after several moments, Crowley wondered if he might have overdone it. Then, as though waking from a trance, Aziraphale jerked away and strode over to sit on the couch, head in his hands.
"Maybe you should go," he said quietly. His mind, usually the safest place to be, was such a frenzied mess that he could barely think straight. Considering his age, it was very rare that he encountered something he wasn't used to, yet here he was, and he hardly knew how to cope. And what was Crowley thinking, putting him through this all of a sudden! What did he— "What do you want?" He spoke without looking up.
"Whatever you want to give me," the demon answered simply, relieved that he was still being spoken to. Aziraphale seemed agitated, a rare state for him.
"What does that mean?" he grumbled.
"Don't play dumb, angel. You know what I want." As he spoke, Crowley took a seat on the couch as well, watching the angel thoughtfully. "What I'm actually going to get just depends on you." Aziraphale was quiet. Of course, he could guess what his "friend" was after, but he could hardly believe it. Six thousand years, and this had never come up before. It was a general rule that angels were sexless, both in form and in practice, so for Crowley to ask this…
"Why?"
"Tch. Does it matter?" Naturally, the demon was loath to talk about the real reason behind his desire, the reason he wouldn't just ignore it or spend it elsewhere.
"Yes. Your answer could help your cause." A brief moment of silence passed. "It's important."
"Nph." He leaned back in the couch, turned away, crossed one leg over the other, trying so hard to be casual. It was horribly apparent, however, that he was failing. "Well…who else? I sure as Hell wouldn't do it with another demon. Sure, you work for the other side and all, but I think of us as…" He trailed off awkwardly; he really was bad at this
"…friends?" the angel suggested helpfully. They were both doing an exemplary job of avoiding one another's eyes.
"Right. That."
"And that's the sort of thing you'd do with a friend?"
"…point taken. So maybe not exactly friends in the traditional sense. Maybe after a couple of millennia and the whole Apocalypse ordeal… It's different." More silence. The music came back to fill it, saxophones and pianos singing softly through the still air. "It's the lust thing, right? That's why you hesitate?"
"Technically," Aziraphale began hesitantly. "By definition, lust simply means putting the desire for worldly or…sensual things above Him."
"Well, that's not exactly what I'm asking for, is it?" Now, he turned, yellow eyes peering over his sunglasses once more. The angel wasn't budging. He was thinking furiously, his mind racing and keeping him from looking up. Something told him, That isn't good enough. Simply having no reason not to is not a good reason to do something. So what reason did he have? This was a decision that required more time than Crowley was giving him. This was something that required careful analysis of himself, as well as his relationship with a certain snakelike demon. That was what he needed most: time. Alone.
"We'll see," he said finally. Crowley let out a snort of laughter.
"That's diplomatic."
"What did you expect? I can't give a definitive answer at the moment." He smiled pleasantly. "In any case, not today." As he stood, his guest frowned.
"So you're kicking me out now?"
"Unless you'd like to stay and read along with me, yes." He had to admit, that thought didn't sound so bad.
"I'll pass." Still, he didn't stand up yet. Behind his sunglasses, his eyes were closed. It was clear (to him, at least) that he hadn't made his point properly. So he had to try again before he left. "Look. It isn't easy for me to say it out loud. It's difficult enough saying it in my head… You're practically the only half-pleasant company I have. Doesn't it follow that I would think of you differently? Isn't that how things like this work?" He stopped there, unsure of what he meant by "things like this" and sure he was only digging himself deeper into a hole. Just as he was about to stand and awkwardly excuse himself, the angel's lips against his kept him seated. Aziraphale's kiss was not at all like his; it was far gentler, unsure to the point of being almost timid, but affectionate nevertheless.
"Next week," Aziraphale said as he straightened up, trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. "We can go out. I'll buy you dinner to make up for this." He gestured to the kitchen. An accomplished grin spread across Crowley's face.
"Fine. Next week, then." With this, he left, waving a hand at the CD player as he went so that it returned to its previous showtunes. As he left, he was even smugly whistling along to "Younger Than Springtime." What could he say? It was catchy.