[Centuries isn't so very long. He stops himself from saying it aloud. Whilst a good fight now and then is rousing and something they both enjoy, now isn't the time for it. It wouldn't take too much pushing or prodding to get them to fractiousness, not when he's still deeply angry under the surface distraction.

Instead he makes one of his noises that can mean anything, really.

It's growing harder to recognize the impulse to touch him as alien. It should be more alarming than it is to lose his awareness of this. Once he strokes down, he simply flips his hand and runs the backs of fingers back up again, just beneath his ear.

His heart gives a small leap at the mention of dancing.]

Oh, would you? Now Crowley, I hope you're not talking about that, that...disky sort of dancing. All that flinging about.