(Day 1: Dance, Music, Poetry)

Chapter 1: Bees Can Dance Why Can't We?

"Oh dear, oh this is not like what I expected it would be," Aziraphale panted as he tried to match his movements to his partner's fluid cadence.

"What did you expect, angel?" Crowley asked. His voice was warm as the honeyed cider they'd been drinking before Aziraphale had this damnable idea.

"If I'm being entirely honest? Rather more like the gavotte." He knew he was pouting, but it was worth it when Crowley threw his head back and laughed. It wasn't often, even now, so many years after the apocalypse was averted and their respective sides decided a more hands-off approach was best, that he saw Crowley this carefree.

He loved it. He loved the way he could just catch glimpses of the demon's eyes behind his sunglasses, the corners crinkled with mirth and the pupils blown wide by pleasure and exertion. His hair, just brushing the base of his ears as was the fashion this decade, caught the late autumn sunlight and was set alight, burning with the same fire Aziraphale imagined was at the core of the stars his beloved had spun into existence.

Oh, spinning, that was new. He swallowed hard as Crowley's hands slid from their positions on Aziraphale's hips and pressed outward, spinning him away, away, his delicate fingers trailing along Aziraphale's outstretched arms as he went. Then, he was caught and pulled back in with another flourish.

"It's unfair, is what it is," he panted. "I thought demons didn't dance any more than angels."

Another laugh, another piece of Aziraphale's heart irrevocably, unashamedly given over to Crowley.

"We prefer disco," Crowley allowed, "But, disco doesn't lend itself towards well," his hands were back on Aziraphale's hips, guiding him to find the beat, "thiss. I took a few lessons[1]." His breath was hot on Aziraphale's face and he found himself unable to look Crowley in the eyes because the demon was wearing his glasses in deference to the humans who surrounded them. Aziraphale was not in denial about the depths of his love, he sworn after he nearly lost everything before that he would never deny himself or Crowley anything like that again, but he was still uncomfortable seeing it reflected (literally) back at himself. He still struggled with feeling worthy of the happiness he would be able to see on his own face.

The music shifted toward something faster, more upbeat, and Aziraphale started to pull away. He did not want to, of course, but he also knew they were quite at the limit of his own ability to dance without embarrassing himself. Crowley did not let him go. In fact, he tightened his hold and pulled Aziraphale closer.

"Crowley, dear," Aziraphale said, "Unless you plan on finding a number of other gentlemen who know the one dance I can do at this tempo, it's probably best if we adjourn to the buffet."

Crowley leaned in, wrapping his arms tightly enough around Aziraphale's waist that the angel was forced to shift his own arms up and around Crowley's neck. Crowley tilted his head so their foreheads touched.

"Do you want me to go find an unspecified number of other gentlemen?"

Aziraphale huffed a short laugh, "No, you're quite enough for me, love." They were swaying back and forth now, quote at odds with the upbeat music and the young people bouncing around them.

"Good," Crowley breathed into his ear, "Because, I don't think I'm very much of a gentleman."

There was a tense moment where the energy around them crackled with an unspoken something before Aziraphale laughed. It burst from him as first a giggle and then a short and then he couldn't stop laughing. He tilted his head forward to press it against Crowley's chest.

"That-," he managed through his laughter, "Was the cheesiest thing you've ever said to me!"

He could feel the heat radiating from Crowley's blush and knew if he looked up the demon's entire neck and face would be blazing red.

"Fine," Crowley murmured, "See if I try and tempt you again."

"Was that a temptation?" Aziraphale snickered, "Because it sounded more like a line from one of Anathema's more objectionable smu-"

"Oh look at that!" Crowley said stepping away from him and towards the buffet, "They've got those little puddings you love."

Aziraphale watched him go with a broad grin on his face. He was right, the demon's entire face and neck were flushed. He had just stepped from the dance floor to follow him when the music suddenly shifted again and his laughter returned.

Someone, likely Warlock himself, had requested "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" and Crowley's inarticulate noise of protest was enough to drown out even the groans of the other guests. He noticed, however, that despite his rapid and violent gesturing to the DJ, Crowley did not drop the small plate of pastries he'd been gathering.

Aziraphale did so love that demon.

Perhaps, after partaking in the deserts, Aziraphale might convince him to show off a few more of the moves he'd learned in dance class.

[1] What he should have said was this; "Warlock told me that if I didn't take lessons I wasn't allowed to dance at the wedding because 'disco is embarrassing, Nanny' and so Crowley, unable to deny his boy anything and thinking about how lovely it would feel to surprise Aziraphale took the lessons.