Chapter Text
Angels and demons are not supposed to dream. But Crowley is not a typical demon. Typical demons don’t love, bed, and wed Angels. Typical demons don’t marry their angels in front of the Demonic Mother, and dance with them to disco and pop . Typical demons don’t let Angels push cake into their face at a reception.
Crowley is not a typical demon, which is honestly preferable because life would have far more boring otherwise. Were he a typical demon he would not have been a very good - dare he think it - nice husband. Well.
For his husband, he can let himself be nice. A little.
For all of his insistence that angels don’t dance, unless that dance happens to be the gavotte, Aziraphale can be tempted to wiggle and jump at his own reception if the music is cheerful enough. Down Stairs likes to take credit for modern day pop, but Crowley is well aware that Up Stairs does as well. The songs manage to be bright and cheerful and positive (which are things Up Stairs likes) yet also get stuck in the heads of humans, lead to corporate consumerism, and stratify friends and family members (all important things to Down Stairs.)
Crowley and Aziraphale are both aware neither side caused it, and it was all the humans.
But Crowley will be blessed before he has to give up the sight of Aziraphale enjoying a Carly Rae Jepson song. The angel is the only person in creation that can pull him into dancing, and get him to smile all the while. Because they are all immortal, it’s tough to say how long they spend dancing and partying. Keeping track of time had never been Crowley’s strong suit - see his century long nap.
Demons come in and out as the night goes on, but Hastur, Ligur, Beezlebub, Dagon, Stolas, Legion, and others from Aziraphale’s posse stay most consistently. It’s when they start slow-dancing to “Cold Little Heart,” that Crowley realizes Aziraphale is all but dozing from where his head is resting on her shoulder, and that Crowley has been supporting his body weight for at least half of the song.
“You should have told me,” He admonishes, and the Angel gives him a sleepy grumble. “Can you walk or am I carrying you?”
Crowley can’t see his face, but he knows that the angel is blushing. Aziraphale loves being carried. Ever since Armageddon he’s been self-conscious about his own shape, and everytime he remembers Crowley just wants to stab Gabriel all over again. Maybe he will after he can pull himself away from the marriage bed, though that will be a while. But he’s always loved Aziraphale. It doesn’t matter if he isn’t the ‘perfect shape’ he’s the shape Crowley wants. But there’s people around and Aziraphale has hang-ups on getting carried in public, and Crowley understands that if he doesn’t understand why.
“Just… just give me a moment,” Aziraphale whispers back, and tries to put himself in a state of mind to walk. Crowley is still planning to support most of his weight anyway and Aziraphale doesn’t think he’s carrying him over the threshold then he married a very silly angel. He’s all the stronger for being in Hell that it would require very little of his power, and he can’t wait to show him , but the thoughts are interrupted with a tap on the shoulder.
Crowley turns and Aziraphale lifts his head to find Beezlebub and Ligur looking at them both, their faces are serious.
“What is it?” Crowley asks, adjusting his voice to sound a little more like the Prince of Hell that he is. Aziraphale does not whine, but it’s close.
“Tell them,” Beezlebub directs to Ligur, who face the newlyweds.
“My Princes,” And that title seems to snap Aziraphale right awake, “I noticed Lord Bane acting... suspicious during the ceremony.”
The prince is standing at attention, but were he not he would be groaning and cursing that stupid lord’s name. Neither wanted Bane there, it wasn’t a secret that he didn’t support the fact that there is an Angel in Hell. But their marriage is a political affair, and certain people had to be invited. Lord Bane being one of them.
“He disappeared during the ceremony, only to reappear an hour later. His whole demeanor changed ‘nd I don’ trust it.” Ligur reports.
Demons by nature are suspicious and untrustworthy, but Ligur has an uncanny sense to know when a demon is being a normal amount of untrustworthy and when it’s an abnormal amount.
“Thank you, Lord Ligur,” Beezlebub says, and he takes it for the dismissal that it is. Crowley sees him approach Hastur, and whisper something. Presumably, it’s similar to what he told them, because Hastur gives a solemn nod and they leave. Rarely will Hastur leave an event without trying to say goodbye to Aziraphale, and rarely does Hastur leave without saying goodbye to Aziraphale and it taking at least an hour .
(Though that is as much Aziraphale’s fault, not that Crowley likes to admit it. The moment they start to say goodbye is when more topics of conversation come up, and it annoys him but it’s also nice, which is just disgusting .)
Beezlebub pulls Crowley’s attention back to them. He looks back at the other prince, and so does Aziraphale. “I’m going to keep an eye on what Ligur and Hastur report over the next couple of days… and I’m going to cover for you in Court for the next month.”
Aziraphale and Crowley both gape at them. “That-Thank you,” Aziraphale says, giving a smile so sweet Beelzebub can’t physically look at him.
Crowley smirks. “How… positively nice ,” He teases, and laughs at the hiss he gets and the disapproving tut from Aziraphale.
“ Shut it, ” Beelzebub snaps, giving him a glare. “It’s my wedding gift to you both, so I don’t have to see your stupid face for a while. If it were safe for you to go back Up There I’d be pushing you up the stairs.”
“Of course, of course,” Crowley says agreeably, “But come visit at some point, alright?”
“You should join the book club!” Aziraphale adds on, and starts to lean more heavily on Crowley again.
Beezlebub snorts, but their gaze softens when Crowley narrows his eyes warningly. “Look, he’s a lot to handle when he’s mooning,” The Prince explains, “It’s nothing against you , but I’ve had to put up with moping for a long bloody time.”
“ Goodbye Bee !” Crowley is saying, hurriedly pushing Aziraphale away before he can start asking his sibling what that is supposed to mean.
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The walk back to their home isn’t far, but it takes all the longer for Aziraphale’s growing exhaustion, and his refusal to let Crowley carry him until it’s time to go over the threshold - the angel has standards still, and he is a romantic at heart.
“You burned up too much energy dancing,” Crowley chastises, but the angel can hear the fondness underneath the exasperation.
“I’ll make it up to you in the - ah - morning,” Aziraphale says, interrupting himself to yawn.
“You will,” Crowley agrees, and Aziraphale gives a pleasant shiver at the promise in his voice.
The demon sets him down on the bed, and they both shift, pulling the blankets up and over themselves. Aziraphale turns to his side, and Crowley spoons behind him, getting to feel like a serpant as he constricts around the angel.
“Goodnight, my dear,” Aziraphale yawns, drifting off quickly.
Crowley places a kiss to his temple, leaning down to gently nose at him.
“Goodnight husband ,” Crowley cooes, and Aziraphale drifts off to sleep with a smile.
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Demons are not supposed to dream, but Crowley has made it a habit to do things that a demon is not supposed to do.
Sometimes, in Crowley’s thousands of years of continued existence, he has slept. Sometimes, he has dreamed. Sometimes, he is able to remember those dreams when he awakens - can recall them in as vivid detail as Aziraphale can the plot to nearly every book he reads.
This is not one of those times.
Crowley dreams that night in sensation, rather then sight. He feels Aziraphale’s hands in his as the angel shrieks in pain, with encouraging voices around them. He hears more screaming, much higher-pitched that leaves him breathless . He tastes the lovely skin of his angel, as he places kisses to Aziraphale’s sweat-soaked face. He smells something so wonderful , so indescribable , as tiny feathers tickle his nose in a way he has never felt before.
In the morning, as Crowley awakens, he remembers none of it, except for a strange yearning he cannot describe.
And when he is more fully awake and present, he has forgotten it entirely.