for salutosinedelectat

[sauntered_downward]

Follows this.

They couldn't just teleport themselves there. Any miracles, demonic or otherwise, would attract too much attention. No, Crowley was actually going to have to sit there, plugging their information into an online search engine, and do it all manually. Fluctuating airline prices were demonic work, and right now a trip to Japan was over six thousand pounds more expensive than if he had bought it three days earlier, which was totally outrageous. Crowley didn't know a lot about money except what it made men do to each other, he'd never had to. But now, making money appear out of nothing could turn the wrong eye on them if he wasn't careful.

Luckily, he had quite a few credit cards that never needed paying or had a limit on them. They would work in a pinch for a moment like this. He didn't know if that sort of perk-of-being-a-demon could ever be taken away from him, but he hoped not.

The flight itself was a long one, and Crowley settled himself in for it by making sure they were flying at least first class. That way they could see everyone coming at them and have a few glasses of wine on the journey.

"I don't think they know about these passports," Crowley says. "They might, but I doubt it. I had them made back during the last World War, just kept them in good condition."

The second World War was something that Crowley took responsibility for, but he hated every moment of it, and what his side did to make it worse made him sick. He was more than prepared to hide away if he needed to when things went wrong back then. And, at the time, he had also created a passport for Aziraphale, in case he wanted to come along. No other reason for that, he told himself.

Comments

[sauntered_downward]

The drink is definitely unweildy, but once Crowley has it in his hand, he manages to make it look like he's at ease holding it and giving it a sip. He certainly can't make it look cool, but that's something not even a really decent sized miracle could allow, to be honest. It's not so bad, and he hasn't eaten anything apart from the sushi and green blobby stuff, so that makes it even better.

"Yeah, I remember it, peasant dance. I used to love those," Crowley says. He gives a sniff. "Never very good at them. Too many steps. Dances nowadays, they're better. You just sort of move to the music." He sways a little, to explain.

He tries to imagine Aziraphale dancing to one of these dances, Killer Queen or whatever, and decides it is far too fantastic an image not to attempt to tempt him into it.

[salutosinedelectat]

He better plan that temptation thoroughly, because Aziraphale's not about to make it easy for him.

"Oh, but there's no-- artistry to it that way. No organization." He turns to watch a few mortals absolutely having a blast, dancing to bad live covers of songs. " Well, as long as everyone's having fun, I suppose."

[sauntered_downward]

Tempting Aziraphale into anything has never been easy (except maybe to lunch). But it wouldn't be any fun tempting him if it were easy, now would it?

"Sure there is," Crowley says, using his drink to gesture at the man shaking his hips. "You have to move all of your body in a synchronized manner, while still looking loose and relaxed. It's a matter of looking like you're not trying at all."

Demons, it should be noted, are terrible dancers. Crowley is especially terrible, though he'll never think it or admit it to anyone. He especially loved the disco era, because that was a time he could mostly pose on the dancefloor and get applause. Breakdancing involved too much laying on the ground and that would mess up his clothes.

[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale watches the man, pulling a face. Granted he doesn't have much knowledge about modern popular dances, but that's also because a lot of them, to him, looks like a moderately good actor pretending to be possessed by an evil spirit.

" Well, it looks like it does take quite a bit of effort." And none of it all quite worth it. Not that he should be a connoisseur of such things.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley takes another drink and puts his drink down. He gives Aziraphale a devilish smile. Aziraphale is not buying this. If this were a proper temptation, Crowley would be failing miserably. He would be heading back with his proverbial tail between his legs. All the same, it is a holiday, and he's more about succeeding than failing.

He gives the dance floor a nod. "I will if you do."

Crowley has no fear of dancing, especially with a little alcohol to loosen the mood.

[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale blinks at him, entirely too confused, before he looks towards the dancefloor, and back at Crowley. The realization hits him, and he's quick to say - " Oh, no."

There was a time and place he would have danced, certainly. And maybe some specific kinds of dances in very specific scenarios even now. But this? Oh, this is...oh, lord.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley considers dancing, just to prove to Aziraphale that there's nothing to fear, but that would mean letting go of Aziraphale's hand, and he's not certain he wants to do that right now. He does what Aziraphale did on the plane, and runs a knuckle across the top of Aziraphale's fingers.

He looks down at their hands, at how different they are, and yet how similar. They're very alike, he said once to Aziraphale in the park, when he first approached him about holy water. How right he was. They were alike, and their sides were very alike. It would be very, very bad for Aziraphale and Crowley if they started working together to find them.

"Can't find a karaoke bar on Alpha Centurai," he says. "Of course, they probably couldn't find us. If you want another option for escape."

[salutosinedelectat]

When Crowley runs his thumb across his knuckles, that's when Aziraphale finally looks at their hands. When he's finally forced to face what's happening, under the idle conversations, under the drinking, the bad music. There, in the dark, in the hidden booth, on the table. Their hands, and everything it means.

Crowley brings up Alpha Centauri, and there's a twinge somewhere in Aziraphale's mind. Images of the bandstand, the street in Soho. Of Crowley offering, scolding, begging him to go. Of Crowley leaving every time he pushed him away, but always coming back to him.

He meets Crowley's eyes, and there's something besides uncertainty there, in Aziraphale's. There's something, but even Aziraphale couldn't say what it was.

"Alpha Centauri." He repeats, quietly. He has to break the gaze at a point, glancing off somewhere, maybe his drink, maybe at someone passing by. He smiles, but it's faint. There's...heaviness. There's some guilt from moments past. "Quite a bit far."

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley meets Aziraphale's gaze behind his sunglasses, questioning. How does this work? What do we do next? How do I get permission? After all, they have been by each other's side for so long it cannot possibly be this hard to gain permission to---to---to step beyond this?

It has, after all, always been Aziraphale. In Crowley's black heart, the only thing he's ever loved has been the angel. He's given everything up, and he would do it again, to be by his side. Granted, he never quite thought they'd end up somewhere like this, but that was never guaranteed. And now here they are, holding hands, and there needs to be some way to ask for the next step forward.

"Aren't any restaurants there," he says. "But there aren't any angels or demons, either. It would just be us."

Who knows how far they'd be chased, though.

[salutosinedelectat]

Just them.

Run away together.

They could. They could just go. As far as they know, the world wouldn't be destroyed, this time. And they'd have each other. Crowley's proven, time and time again, they'd have each other.

...but he doesn't really want to leave this place. He doesn't want to leave this planet. He doesn't want to live what effectively has become their...well, their home.

He doesn't say it's ridiculous, this time. He doesn't say there's no 'their side'. He doesn't shoot it down as a terrible idea, because there isn't something outside of them threatening that still has its grip on Aziraphale.

He's out of excuses. The only thing stopping him is himself, and he doesn't know how to deal with that.

" Us and the stars." And it sounds so peaceful. So beautiful.

So why doesn't he want it?

[sauntered_downward]

Aziraphale doesn't say no. Which, by Crowley's standard, is a leap. There's not a no, not an of course not, and he's not pretending anything anymore. Maybe that's the permission Crowley has been looking for? Maybe that's all he needs, is just to know that Aziraphale would, even if there's no way they could.

After all, Alpha Centurai doesn't have wine or bookshops or parks for them to stroll around in. No cars, no televisions. Maybe one day they'll tire of the running and make the decision to leave for there, but they can't now. Not with all of their comforts still here. Not when they're in the only place they've ever belonged---not that Crowley has ever really belonged anywhere. If they can ever enjoy them with a moment to breathe.

But it is on the table for later.

"Doesn't sound so bad," Crowley says. A pause. A breath. "Romantic, even."

[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale definitely meets the demon's gaze over that last part. Something that shouldn't be surprising or startling in any way, but, again, he's still learning, still finding his feet, and their place. But he can't actually see Crowley's eyes, only a faint reflection of himself in his sunglasses. It makes him feel somewhat exposed, in this.

He lingers. Then drops his gaze. But there's a faint, very sheepish smile to him when he does.

"...it does, doesn't it?" Quiet, but enough for his companion to hear him. A permission, an admission, or just another something without a name.

[sauntered_downward]

Aziraphale catches his gaze, and Crowley searches it, trying to see if he's reading it correctly. Is this---does that mean---? And then he's looking away, but he's smiling. It's always been there, something between them. Friendship, more, whatever it is, Crowley refuses to think he's the only one in this pairing who has felt this way. Too many times they've sat for too long together, bonded over the most ridiculous things together, and it's always felt right.

The song ends, and someone else steps up to sing another Queen song---Crowley wonders, idly, if the number of Queen songs is strictly due to the fact that he's entered the karaoke bar. Love of My Life. Classic.

"Oh, come on," Crowley says. "This one? It's easier to dance to the slow ones."

[salutosinedelectat]

He glances at the stage and dance-floor again, snapped mostly out of his too-deep thinking, and he listens. The song sounds familiar to him. The singer sure seems to have a better grasp of the language and vocal skills than the previous entertainer.

"Oh, I couldn't." Now, the 'why' might be a bit harder to explain.

[sauntered_downward]

"I'll lead," Crowley says. Not that it's always the best to follow Crowley. Into danger, into dancing, into basically anything involving using brain cells at all. All the same, he's wiling to lead here. At least give it an attempt.

He slips out of the booth, keeping his hand in Aziraphale's, giving it a gentle tug.

"You'll do great. It's a great song," he pleads.

[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale looks up at him, considering it all for a moment. He's still thinking No, still thinking this is...something he wouldn't do, but looking at Crowley's face, hearing how he asks. Considering how he wouldn't expect the demon to want to do something like this.

...who would ever know, but the strangers that aren't aware a demon and an angel are dancing in a karaoke bar somewhere in Japan?

He smiles fondly, remembering ball-dances from centuries ago. "Oh, fine." He stands.

[sauntered_downward]

He honestly thought Aziraphale might put up a bit more of a fight, but now that he has the angel standing with him, he feels less confident than he did a moment ago. After all, now he has to lead, and Aziraphale is trusting him to do just that. And now, well, now he has a moment to do something about this, and permission.

He takes a step towards the dance floor and turns towards Aziraphale. Crowley isn't much of is a slow-dancer, apart from in the occasional temptations, but he knows how. He's never done it for just himself before.

"Ready?" he asks. He puts a hand down to Aziraphale's waist.

[salutosinedelectat]

Well, maybe he's just tired. Tired in a way that isn't quite physical, maybe emotionally, who knows, but maybe he's tired. Of running, of letting things go, of not making the right choices.

When they move to the dance floor, he's nervous. Preemptively embarrassed. Feels a bit unbecoming, but, oh, why not? Why not-- and then Crowley's hand is on his waist, and he's putting his arm on the demon's shoulder. And he's looking up at him, still unable to see his eyes, but he's looking, and this is a thing that's happening.

He lingers for a second too much, catches himself, clears his throat. "Yes. Ready."

[sauntered_downward]

"Just move with the music," he says. He gives him a smile. "Defy all the other angels. You know, again."

Making an angel dance. Just like Crowley, tempting him into some sort of nonsense or other. This time, tempting an angel to dance. He wonders if all angels really can dance, they just don't want to. Too prudish, too obnoxiously pious. Or maybe they're just too worried about doing it wrong. Demons don't worry about that. Demons don't sing, though, and Crowley can't actually remember why. It seems ridiculous, humans have so much fun singing. Not that Crowley has any intention of getting up there and singing, but still.

He starts to move to the music, leading the way. Again, he's not entirely on-beat, not the best dancer, but slow dancing like this isn't exactly difficult. It's more about enjoying the company, enjoying the music.

"Why don't angels dance?" Crowley finally asks.

[salutosinedelectat]

He's not the best dancer, but neither is Aziraphale. It took him a long time to ever try dancing, as Angels Don't Dance, and when the particular dance he learned and thoroughly enjoyed got out of style, he was very put off about it. It's been a very long time, so one could say they're at equal levels.

But it's not the dancing. Or even the music. Certainly not the location or the people around them - it's this. It's the moment. It's Aziraphale's hand on his shoulder, it's Crowley's hand on his waist. It's the drinks, it's the chatting. It's a slowing of time.

He's distracted, looking up at him, but he blinks and takes a moment to think. "You know..." Brows furrowed in thought. " I don't quite know, really."

One of those Ineffable things, you know?

[sauntered_downward]

There's a lot about angels and demons that Crowley thinks they just know but they don't know where it comes from. All part of what is designed, or considered part of the design. Part of that mold that Crowley and Aziraphale never quite fit into, the mold that they still didn't fit into, slow-dancing here, right now.

Looking down at him now, standing this close, its really impossible to remember a time without Aziraphale. There was always the time before he Fell, which Crowley thinks of often, but that's more in a philosophical sense, rather than the sense of who he is now and who he was. As long as there have been humans, there has been Crowley and Aziraphale. Aziraphale is part of him. Not an easy thing to say.

"Well, they're missing out," Crowley says. "But I think they're missing out on a lot of things."

[salutosinedelectat]

There's certainly a lot that the soldiers of Heaven and Hell don't know. The whole Great Plan deal finally made it clear to Aziraphale, as much as it took him thousands or years and the Earth nearly being destroyed to finally be forced to face it. Not to mention believing he'd finally lost his companion, the only person who he could ever relate to, over blind faith.

But that doesn't matter now. It can't matter now, on this dark karaoke bar, in his arms.

Aziraphale smiles faintly. There's still some heaviness to it, but his expression is soft. " They certainly are." So many things Earth and Humanity have to offer. That the two of them were sure to try and protect, cherish, and enjoy.

[sauntered_downward]

Demons don't love anything, and Crowley doesn't know why either. They can't even really love their jobs or what they do, they just do them. They don't have room in their hearts for anything else. And like so much with the rest of the demons, Crowley doesn't fit in there, either.

It would be so easy, right now, to just say it. To just tell Aziraphale that he loves him. To just...to just say it. And it should be said, because Aziraphale is the only angel in the universe who dances and Crowley is the only demon who loves and they should both be showing it right now.

Instead, he leans forward, gently pressing his forehead against the angel's.

[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale had spent most of his existence defending concepts he thought he understood. Being another cog in the Plan, being 'the good one', all the while slowly but surely falling in love with the place he'd been sent to watch over. Enjoying human delights. Participating in things not because he needed to, or even should - quite the opposite, actually, by most angel standards - but because of his exposure to them, to enjoying things, to living life.

They almost had that taken away entirely. Destroyed. And they almost payed for their indiscretions with their lives - they were supposed to be taken out of existence entirely.

And he could forget all of that. In this moment, he could forget, when the silence falls between them, when it's too dark to see his eyes, when he can't tell if the music's still playing. He could forget all of it, when the demon leans in and he almost expected something else, and didn't find himself flinching away, not running, just frozen in the moment.

He forgets to breathe. He doesn't need to, but he forgets he was doing that too.

[sauntered_downward]

They picked this hiding place well. No one is here to stop them this time. No demon about to stop the plane, no humans causing issues outside the window, no disaster about to occur. No, the only one stopping them right now is themselves. Or, well, maybe just Crowley stopping himself. Things take time. Things take six thousand years to progress. He can't move forward in the matter of minutes, that would----well, that would be too fast. Aziraphale had once told him he moved too fast.

But, no, Aziraphale isn't telling him he's moving too fast. He's just there, not flinching away, not moving away. It's only Crowley stopping this now.

"Six thousand years, angel," he says, quiet under the music. "You must already know."

This time, when he leans in, he presses his lips against the angel's.