Archive of Our Own ^beta

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“Angel, for the last time – it looks perfect as it is. Why don’t you leave it? You’ve been torturing yourself enough over this!” Crowley enters the room and shakes him out of his daze. Aziraphale knows, however, that it is not perfect. Something is missing from his painting. Something he can’t quite point out and put his finger on, but he knows that the piece is simply not complete yet. As cliché as it sounds, it’s like the canvas speaks to him. When a painting is finished, he feels it in his gut. He never knows quite what can bring the feeling about, but once he reaches the point of completion, this feeling of warmth and satisfaction blooms in his gut and spreads slowly through his body. It warms him, makes him feel certain that he has achieved what he was meant to achieve.

Crowley stretches out on the sofa beside his canvas and releases a deep sigh. “How long have you been at it now? Eight days without stop? Just allow yourself a break. Come on, live a little.”

"Ten days," Aziraphale mutters distractedly, as he squints down at a small fragment of the painting. "This one has to turn out just right..."

"What makes this painting so special? Come on, angel - let me take you out somewhere. My treat. How about The Ritz? It's been weeks since we last went, and I know how you enjoyed that Cornish Turbot."

Crowley is right, of course. The Turbot was an excellent meal. Delicate, served with the most exquisite cauliflower purée, and seasoned to perfection. Later, Aziraphale had the chocolate sufflé, which was decadent, sweet, and the perfect ending to a wonderful evening. Just the thought of their date, and also its continuation back at home is enough to make his mouth water, and his thoughts go foggy. It appears that Crowley planned on just this happening because his mouth curls into a barely-contained smirk. He gets up from the sofa where he is sat and struts over to Aziraphale's workspace. "What do you say, angel? You, me, that Cornish Turbot, followed by a bottle of wine back at home and a massage provided by your favourite demon."

Aziraphale does forget sometimes just how good Crowley is at the art of temptation. Luckily, he also always gets reminded. As Crowley leans down to Aziraphale's neck and trails delicious kisses all the way to his collarbone, Aziraphale's breath hitches. Crowley's lips feel amazing and he allows himself to enjoy the feeling. However, he only lasts in this peaceful state for a moment.

"I have it! It finally came to me! Oh, thank you Crowley, my dear." He announces as he springs up to action, leaving Crowley hanging over his neck, dumbstruck. He reaches for the paint tubes he has lying scattered around him, and starts mixing a new shade, poking out his tongue in concentration. When he is finally pleased with how it looks, he mutters to himself, "Mr. Damon will be delighted."

The statement has Crowley groaning in frustration, but Aziraphale is gone - sucked into the world of art once more. There is nothing Crowley can do now to get him out, and frankly, it would be a crime to do so. Even though it is annoying how the hobby has taken over all of Aziraphale's time, the angel looks so happy and engaged that Crowley wouldn't dream of doing anything to sabotage his new project. All he can do is let him work, and wait for Aziraphale to finish. He always does, eventually. And this time, Crowley tells himself, he will try not to spark any new projects for the angel to complete once he is finished with this one.

He gets up from his crouched position and walks over to the door to get his leather jacket. "Well, I'm going for a ride, angel. Will bring you back some cupcakes from that place you like, so make sure you don't discorporate from working too hard." No answer comes from Aziraphale. Only the sound of his paintbrush stroking against the canvas can be heard as his new painting is getting closer and closer to completion.

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Aziraphale’s obsession with painting had started one lovely, unassuming afternoon. He was full of good food, as Crowley and he had visited Aubaine Selfridges earlier that day, and he was also in good company because as mentioned, he was with Crowley. All of this contributed to a very happy Aziraphale, and it also made Crowley less grouchy than usual - seeing the angel in a good mood just did things to him.

Aziraphale had had octopus carpaccio, followed by lamb with smoked aubergine purée and confit potatoes for lunch, while Crowley had only stared at him intently, occasionally sipping his coffee. The interior of the restaurant brought out all of Aziraphale's most angelic features. The purple of the wisteria-draped ceiling accentuated the angel's blue eyes, and it took all of Crowley's efforts not to lean over the table and kiss him right there and then.

After the meal, they went for a stroll in a nearby park, because neither of them felt like going home just yet. All in all, it was a brilliant day, but Crowley still shudders when he thinks back on it. This happens to be because this was also the day that he had told Aziraphale about Etsy. It was a recent and demonic invention, so Crowley could not help but to brag about it. So, he told Aziraphale of the site and all the handcrafted items that are to be acquired on it, as they were sitting down on a bench and enjoying each other's presence.

"I might not understand properly, but the idea sounds rather nice. A place for artistic individuals to sell their artwork and the items they so lovingly crafted. How is that demonic?" Aziraphale remarked, which made Crowley huff out a laugh.

"You're so innocent, angel. Sure, the idea might sound nice, but you don't know what humans are capable of using such a site for. It's not just drawings of apples and bananas, but it's dead bees. It's not just sculptures of someone's grandma, but it's Ouija board lunchboxes. See what I mean?"

Aziraphale nodded, but then a thoughtful look came over him. “What about paintings? Surely such works of art are not sold this way also?” Aziraphale enquired, and if Crowley had thought any more about it, he would have known that something was up. However, he could not have foreseen the coming days and weeks, so he simply answered: “Oh, yes, paintings too. As said, anything you could imagine. You wouldn’t believe what sort of paintings I saw last time I browsed it.”

Later that day, when they were already in bed and about to sink into the comforting, but unnecessary realms of sleep, Aziraphale let out a nervous breath and uttered the words Crowley can’t stop replaying in his head. “I think I might give it a go. You know, that online store you mentioned?” he said.

"What would you sell, angel? As mentioned, you could sell pretty much anything, but I don't think this would be the best place for your books..." Crowley said, burrowing closer to steal Aziraphale's warmth. Neither of them needed sleep, but they were fond of it. After millennia of denying themselves closeness and touch, something about the intimacy of sleeping was appealing to both of them.

"No, you're misunderstanding, dear. It's not my books that I would want to sell, and frankly, even selling them at the bookshop is hard for me, as I grow attached to them." Aziraphale explained.

"What then, if not books?" Nothing else came to Crowley's mind. What could the angel possibly wish to sell, and on Etsy at that?

Aziraphale's confession came, after a few thoughtful seconds. "It's been a secret of mine for quite a while, but I am fascinated with the art of painting. I have given it a few attempts in the past, but nothing too serious. I always thought to myself - why should I paint? What do I have to contribute? But I suppose we have all the time in the world now, and we could both do anything..." He paused for a moment. "That's why I'm entertaining the idea of taking up painting. And if it brings joy to someone besides myself, then all the more reason to do it."

"My angel, as long as it makes you happy, I'm happy. Hell, you could even take up Cancan dancing and I wouldn't complain." He was speaking the complete truth. He wouldn't mind some Cancan. In fact, he would wholeheartedly welcome it.

They exchanged one more goodnight kiss, and sleep overtook them quickly enough. The next morning, Crowley was surprised to wake up in bed alone. Aziraphale's side was unnaturally empty, which made Crowley immediately bounce up from his resting state, assuming the worst to have happened. He equipped himself with his trusted water spritzer and stalked over towards the living room. The spritzer was only filled with normal, unholy, water, but Crowley could play it up to look more threatening if needed. He was not taking any chances.

He was prepared to snarl at, threaten, and discorporate any intruder that might have taken Aziraphale from him - no matter if they represented heaven or hell. However, he was soon stopped in his tracks, by a note he found on the kitchen counter. The note read: Dear Crowley, I have gone out to purchase the items I will be needing for my art project. I did not want to wake you, as you looked so peaceful and demonic. With love, Aziraphale.

And so, Aziraphale's obsession had begun. Little did Crowley know that the worst was still to come.

Chapter Text

In the angel’s absence, Crowley had tried to busy himself with things to do, but to no avail. Their small cottage felt too big for his body, and it made him feel antsy and anxious. He settled for making himself an espresso, which he refilled several times (this did not help his already anxious state) while waiting for Aziraphale in a chair that gave him a view of the entrance. From time to time, he also disciplined one of the potted plants. 

When Aziraphale finally came through the door, it was several hours later. He came in bearing over-filled bags of art supplies, and on his face, there was a brilliant smile that nothing could shake. Emotion clutched at Crowley’s heart, even as he was playing it cool behind his sunglasses. 

“Had fun, angel?” he asked, getting up from the chair to plant a kiss of Aziraphale’s plump cheek. Said cheek blushed delightfully at the touch. 

“Oh yes, dear boy! I had the most wonderful time, and I believe I picked up everything that might come in handy.” Aziraphale smiled at him, putting down his bags and perching them against the wall. 

“Did you really?” Crowley whispered against Aziraphale’s skin, crowding him against the wall and inhaling the scent of him. The angel’s breath hitched and Crowley had him exactly where he wanted him. 

“You know what else might come in handy?” He asked, his lips smirking.

“Wh- What might that be, dear?” Aziraphale nearly moaned out, but still had it in him to act all prim and proper.  That was alright, Crowley did enjoy a challenge after all. 

“How about I take you to the bedroom and show you?” Crowley answered, in between kissing the angel’s neck. He started out gentle, with little pecks, but soon he was opening up his mouth to lick and suck at that gorgeous, cream-coloured skin. He couldn’t help himself, with Aziraphale being so gorgeous, smelling so sweet, and moaning just for him to hear. 

“Crowley-” Aziraphale moaned, but his voice cut off before he could answer. Instead, he fisted his hands in Crowley’s shirt and dragged the demon towards their bedroom himself. The painting would have to wait, but Aziraphale was willing to accept a delay if it was due to something like this.