Ineffable husbands

The roaring twentys

1926
Aziraphale is usually very timid and unconventional. He's always a few years behind the times. Except a brief stint in the 1920's.

It may have been from the excessive drinking, that if he wasn't an angel, he would have dropped dead. This was exciting for the angel. Dancing and drinking and day drinking and smoking, and more drinking.

Crowley would have called it liver poisoning. Aziraphale would have called it a fun time.
Both were right.

Something Aziraphale was not very fond of was the end of the night. When he's drank so much that he blacks out. And in the morning to find him awake in a bed. Usually his bed. But this time he saw black satin sheets and a black comforter.

He felt the atmosphere around him.
Cinnamon, bonfire and fresh red apples

Crowley.

"Good morning angel." Crowley stood in the doorway. Wearing a black pinstripe pants and a black button down. His hair slicked back.
He always wore what was in fashion.

Aziraphale hummed in response, lifting up from the mattress with one too many springs.
The lights had found their way into the room. Shining down on the dark bedding. The isolated feeling of the room came fully into focus.

"Let me just tell you angel, you were quite the animal last night. Drank like a twice divorced widow."

The angel hummed again in response still not fully awake. He slowly came to a sitting position on the edge, his fingers lazily fixing the buttons on his own button down shirt.

"You told a young girl to and I quote "don't be a Pillock, I don't fancy women." When she offered you yet another drink. Never seen you be so, utterly demonic angel. I've got to say 1920 may be your downfall. You were very nice despite that."

Aziraphale's eyes flew open, his curls bouncing for a short moment. The second he heard Crowley's words he began to fret.
"Oh poor girl, I'm so mean when drunk! Especially to girls who should not be dressing the way she was... oh there I go again..." he worried, followed by noises that could only be categorized as stress.

Crowley sat down beside him, pulled back the fallen curls that laid on his forehead.
"Ohhhh, you weren't that bad, in fact you tried to bring everyone in the party to god. By showing your wings no less. Definitely gave me fright. Good thing I was there to talk your drunk self out of it."

Aziraphale looked mortified.
"Oh dear, it was probably like taking care of a child all night! A rude and utterly loud child. Please tell me I didn't do anything else!"

"No, not at all." Crowley smiled helping Aziraphale too his feet.

Normally Crowley never lied to Aziraphale but he figured some things were left unsaid.
...
The party was alive and roaring. Beaded and fringe dresses shining and swaying to the jazz playing in the background.

The dancing around that time was very army, and leggy and eccentric. But then the music would slow and it would become more of a slow drawl as people would sway cheek to cheek.

Aziraphale really wasn't the biggest fan of the arms and the leggy movements. So he would sit back and drink and sway to the movements. But that night Aziraphale threw everything out the window.

Aziraphale wore a three price suit. His pants being eggshell almost cream. His jacket matching the same with a golden pockets square. He would match it with a brown vest with a blue button down and a golden yellow tie with a slim blue tartan pattern.
In Crowley eyes, Aziraphale looked good.