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.

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[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.

[salutosinedelectat]

Six thousand years...

Six thousand years, a good few centuries since he first had to face how he felt. Six thousand years, and only ever one person who could relate, even though they shouldn't see each other.

Six thousand years of conversations, drinks, lunches, dinners, late night talks in the back of bookshop, arguments, silences, rescues, surviving and living.

Six thousand years and almost losing it all, almost losing each other, but making it through, together.

Six thousand years and he thinks he's ready to meet him there.


He closes his eyes, and he can't tell what music is playing. He doesn't know modern music, he can't tell how close the singer is to being accurate. His hand is still on Crowley's shoulder, the other still on his arm. There's still a nagging feeling at the back of his head, telling him he shouldn't, telling him he should go, but, frankly, he doesn't feel like listening to it now.

The whole world blacks out into silence for a few seconds that feel like delightful hours. When he does pull back, he does so just barely, gently, opening his eyes to look at him, no words to be found.

This is all they should have said. Figures it happens in the most innocuous of places.

[sauntered_downward]

He's wanted to do this for a long time. Long, so long he can't properly think of the first time he's thought of it. Maybe not as far back as Eden, but certainly somewhere back there. Maybe the first time he realized what a disobedient angel Aziraphale could be, and that fascinated him----but that would have been Eden, so maybe that far back. Hard to tell. It seemed to be back as far as Crowley could remember. And now here they were, kissing in a karaoke bar in Japan. Not an ideal place for a romantic interlude, but it could have been the Ritz for all Crowley cares right now. The song's not got much time left on it, Crowley's not about to waste this moment.

Aziraphale looks up at him, and Crowley gives him a small smile. Not a smirk, not his usual flair of a smile. Just something genuine between them. He can't think of what to say at all, though there should be something to say, right here. Right in this moment.

But surely Aziraphale must know.

He moves his hand up from the angel's waist to cup the side of his face. That stupid face he's come to associate with all things good.

[salutosinedelectat]

And he keeps looking at him, wishing, even more than before, that he could see his eyes. Crowley's hand cups the side of his face and it feels warm, gentle.

The angel smiles, faintly, but fondly. A whirlwind of words in his head, but none to be used. Not here. Not now. But they're there. They don't need to say them, but they resonate all the same.

The moment is only broken when the song ends and other people in the bar start applauding. He looks towards the stage, remembering where they are, then looks up at Crowley again, smiling sheepishly.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley glances away, at the people cheering for the person on stage. Oh, right, karaoke bar. Lots of people around. Not just Aziraphale and Crowley existing on another plane for what felt like hours. And now, his hand is on Aziraphale's face, and he could easily lean in, kiss him again, maybe a little more properly this time. Maybe say a few of the things that need to be said between them.

New music starts up, some song Crowley has never even heard of before, and everyone around them starts dancing again. The happy, crazy dancing from before, what he'd originally wanted to try to get Aziraphale to do.

Maybe now isn't the time for what he wants to say to him. Somewhere more private.

"Should we get out of here?" he suggests. "Coast might be clear."

[salutosinedelectat]

Somewhere where the moment won't be right, either, but maybe it never is.

He has to clear his throat quietly, idly straighten up Crowley's lapels, even though there's absolutely nothing wrong with them, but it keeps his eyes and hands focused. "Yes. I do believe it is getting quite late."

Not that it matters. Never did.

[sauntered_downward]

It's getting quite late, Aziraphale had mentioned before. And what will they do? Certainly not sleep. Maybe eat the sushi that Crowley froze in time for them. Then, what? Sit there and not talk about what they're not talking about? Maybe lie on the bed and wait for morning, wait for the next wave of trouble to follow them? Drink, maybe? Crowley could sit, stare at Aziraphale, and long for what they almost have right now?

Aziraphale is literally in his arms right now. Right now. And if Crowley can't do anything about it now, when will they ever? Another thousand years? Another six? If they even make it that long.

"Oh, fuck it." he mutters, and he leans in to kiss Aziraphale again.

/victorious airhorns

[salutosinedelectat]

The angel stares up at him when he lingers, finding himself in another kiss before he even knows it. There's only a muffled beginning of a word, a few seconds of startled confusion, and then--


--and then he just...closes his eyes. Holds onto his jacket, gently, and, for a moment, he wants to keep forgetting. Keep himself from all the idle comments that mean nothing and go nowhere, from advertising the looks he can't make himself keep. For this moment, just this. This is all there could be, and he's more than fine with that.

AT LAST!

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley can't say anything he wants to, but he can try to show Aziraphale. He's tried to show him for thousands of years, but it's never been enough. And now, in this moment, he tries to say what he can't through a moments-long kiss.

After all, demons don't love anything. And Crowley doesn't really like much of anything that isn't associated with Aziraphale. He's been soft for a long time, but he's not soft enough to think he loves things. Except Aziraphale. And if he could express how unique and special the angel is to him in this kiss, he would, and he tries to. He tries to share it.

Because, if this is all they ever have, Crowley wants it to be enough.

[salutosinedelectat]

Angels are beings of love. They can sense it, among other types of auras, ever lasting as it might be. And it's not that Aziraphale couldn't read the signals Crowley was sending him. It's not that he doesn't know the words and thoughts unsaid, however vague his assumptions might be. It's all the things in the middle and around it, making it too risky, impossible, too dangerous. Too terrifying and strange.

But here they are. Here they are, and living years at a time, in a moment, all their looks and the more powerful times when things went unclear, unsaid. And he's holding onto the now, the Present.

Another moment, he doesn't know how long it lasts. Can't tell how people and sounds and things change around them. When he does pull back, barely so, he looks up at him again, and all he wants is a moment of peace, alone, with him. All he could give everything for.

"...Crowley-" He starts, muttered, but doesn't quite find the words even then.