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go_exchangeMod note: A fortuitous circumstance led to 2 lovely gifts being produced for our lucky last recipient of the Exchange! This is Gift #1.
Title: Enrichment Activities
Recipient: Comicgeekery
Rating: T
Pairings: Aziraphale/Crowley
Summary: Eager for novelty, Crowley takes up art. Picking one medium would be too limiting, though. Aziraphale is confused by the deluge of sculptures, paintings, and drawings, but he tries to be supportive.
If there was one thing Crowley really hated, it was boredom. And, inconveniently, it didn’t take much to tip him into being colossally bored. Sitting still for too long or too much time spent on the same old things, and he’d find himself climbing the walls.
In this case, literally. Or slithering up the walls, actually. He worked his way up the side of the two-story cottage, trying not to dislodge any of the ivy growing on the walls. Evaluating, he rested his chin on the edge of the roof, and then slithered up the rest of the way.
He’d never been on top of the cottage in giant snake form before, but it still wasn’t unfamiliar enough to satisfy. He glided around in circles for a bit, seething with restless agitation, and then headed for Aziraphale’s library.
Crowley hung his head off the roof and looked in the library window. Aziraphale was happily surrounded by books, content and at peace. Somehow, Aziraphale never seemed to get bored.
Which was honestly unfair, given how little novelty there was in the angel’s life. Plenty of novels. Not much actual novelty.
Crowley, though, could never really find that sense of contentment. He was happy here in the South Downs, at least most of the time. But being out of London made it harder to scratch his itch for action and excitement.
He shuffled his coils around, making sure he had a firm grip on the roof, then swung his head forward. He tapped his nose against the glass, rocked back, and swung forward. He tapped on the glass again.
A twitch of irritation tugged at Aziraphale’s face as the noise broke his concentration, but he kept reading. Crowley tapped against the glass again. Aziraphale’s hands tightened on the book.
Like a mischievous kid annoying an animal in a tank, Crowley tapped on the glass again. This time, Aziraphale huffed and set his book aside. Then, pulling off his reading glasses, he glanced towards the window.
Aziraphale let out a thoroughly undignified shriek. He jumped up, mouth falling open, and pressed a hand to his heart. “Good Lord, Crowley!”
Crowley swung his head forward again, just to be extra annoying, but some of the shingles gave way under his scales. He slid, coils slipping off the roof, and barely managed to catch himself on the gutter. Shitshitshit, bad idea. “Hi. Little help, angel?”
“Oh, you foolish old serpent!” Aziraphale stormed to the window and wrenched it open, then thrust his arms out to capture Crowley’s head and pull him to the windowsill. “Get in here, you fiend.”
“Thanksss.” Crowley slid inside, grateful for the warm hands supporting his coils and stopping him from falling. He slithered in a loop around Aziraphale’s legs and coiled up.
Aziraphale sighed, closing the window. “My dear, what are you doing?”
“M’ bored.” Crowley tightened his coils around Aziraphale’s strong legs, like a constrictor. “Wanted some novelty.”
Aziraphale frowned down at him, trying to appear stern and utterly failing. “Dear fellow, I hardly think falling off the roof is a good means of enriching your life.”
“It’ssss not like I planned to fall off.” Crowley shifted back to human form and accepted Aziraphale’s hand up. He gave an apologetic smile. “Shingles gave way, I’ll fix ‘em later. Thanks for pulling me inside.”
“Of course.” Sighing, Aziraphale stroked hair off Crowley’s brow. “I suppose you’ve already tried your usual activities? I could always read to you, or we could watch a film together.”
Normally, he loved when Aziraphale read to him, and he adored watching films even if his angel was a pedantic bastard who loved pointing out historical inaccuracies. But none of that was quite what he needed right now. “Tried a drive. Yelled at my plants. And thanks, but I think I’ve gotta figure this one out on my own.”
“Ah, more than understandable.” Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him, a gentle and reassuring press of lips. Crowley surrendered to the softness of his angel, the tender encouragement. When he pulled back, Aziraphale smiled. “Let me know if you need anything, hmm?”
“I will,” Crowley said even though he probably would not.
---
It was a few hours before the idea came to him. Crowley had been pacing the cottage, dusting their belongings, and checking social media all at the same time. Flipping restlessly between Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr as he stomped through rooms and cleaned porcelain angel figurines.
Starting online fights hadn’t been hard, but it wasn’t satisfying either. And then, looking through all the different sites, he noticed a common thread in the posts. Humans made so, so much art.
Crowley had done art, once, if you could call it that. Designing nebulae and stars, he’d always seen himself as more of an architect, a builder.
But looking up at the night sky, it was hard not to see it as art. And humans certainly seemed inspired by it. He’d dabbled in more human creation too, back when he was friends with Leonardo da Vinci…
Crowley went to his study and looked up at the Mona Lisa cartoon. Then he headed to the living room and studied the portraits of himself and Aziraphale. He could practically feel the hot Florence sun, taste the chilled wine, hear the sounds of the city. And see Leonardo’s hand at work, moving across the portraits with practiced ease.
Crowley could do that. Well, not that, exactly, but he could learn to do something. If he was anything, he was persistent.
Eager to get started, he fumbled through Aziraphale’s desk and pulled out a stack of blank paper. Next, he searched for a pencil. When Aziraphale’s total lack of organization thwarted him, he snapped his fingers to summon his cool pen that could write underwater.
Crowley stared at the blank paper for a second, lost, and then grabbed his mobile. He pulled up a picture he’d taken yesterday out in the garden, one of the local ducks giving him an accusing look over a lack of snacks.
And then, with absolutely no idea what he was doing, Crowley began to draw.
---
The next day, after accumulating a half-inch stack of paper covered in sketches of various quality, Crowley decided to take a drive.
Not the sort of drive he usually took, just to unwind. This was a drive with a purpose. He cranked up his Velvet Underground CD, used his mobile to search for the nearest art store, and floored it.
It was a fast drive at the Bentley’s top speed. He parked and literally sprinted into the store, then froze. The store was packed with aisle after aisle of bright displays and countless supplies. Shit. What was he even supposed to buy?
Did he want to draw? Sculpt? Paint? And if paint, should he grab watercolor, acrylic, or oil?
And then there were fabrics, fibers. Knitting was probably a smart craft to try; blankets and scarves came in handy as someone who’d been a snake and got cold easily. He went down the aisles, investigated yarn and embroidery thread and fabrics. But none of it felt like him.
Drawing was probably a good call. Good foundation for basically any of the cool stuff he wanted to do.
Crowley loaded up on sketchbooks, some small and some massive. He grabbed a couple pads of bristol paper, then toned paper. Then there was a whole display with loads of different pencils. Graphite and charcoal, colored pencil, pastel.
Cool, some of each should do the trick. But what if he wanted to try ink drawing? His pen that could write underwater worked, but it wasn’t really made for that. Ah shit, and he’d forgotten about pencil sharpeners and erasers.
Crowley loaded all that into his cart, then looked it over. Okay. That should be good.
But what about painting? And sculpting?
After spending several hundred pounds, he rolled his heavily laden cart out of the art store. This was gonna be so much fun. Granted, he still had zero clue what he was doing, but the massive stack of art instruction books should help. Plus there was always the internet.
---
Crowley spent the whole night just reading through his new books. He’d moved from chair to chair, room to room, needing the variety to stay focused. Currently, he was lying on the living room sofa with his head in Aziraphale’s lap, devouring a book on watercolor.
He finished that book and set it aside, then grabbed one on drawing landscapes. That would be cool. They had great views all around the cottage.
Aziraphale’s nimble fingers sifted through his hair, scritched across his scalp. “Goodness, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you read so much! Does this have anything to do with the hundreds of bags you brought inside earlier?”
“Maybe.” Crowley flashed a grin at him. “I don’t want you snooping around in my study, though. Gotta figure out what I’m doing first.”
Aziraphale pouted, stroking his hair. “You’re not going to show me what you’re doing? I always share my cooking with you.”
“That’s because you cook enough to feel a whole village, and you know what you’re doing.” Crowley wriggled into a different position and opened his book on landscapes. “And don’t pout at me. S’ not gonna get you what you want this time.”
“Oh, very well.” Aziraphale pouted anyway. “But can it get me kisses?”
Crowley looked to his book, conflicted, and then back to his husband’s adorable pout. Laughing, he tossed the book aside, sat up, and pulled Aziraphale into a passionate kiss. He was itching to start making stuff, but there was no reason to pass up a good kiss.
---
Buying so much different stuff had maybe not been the best idea. How the Heaven was he supposed to decide what to focus on?
Crowley switched from medium to medium, playing with everything. The graphite alone varied enough to keep him interested, some pencils leaving light scratchy marks and others dark and smudgy. He scribbled lines and shapes, pushed at the lines with his fingertip, lifted out darkness with his cool kneaded eraser.
Then he got distracted by trying to turn the kneaded eraser into a duck. The weird grey substance could be molded into different shapes, which he’d already learned made it great for erasing little details. But it also meant he could basically sculpt it.
Crowley found his sculpting supplies and pulled out a stylus, fumbling along until he figured out how much pressure to use for shaping and smoothing and leaving little details. He made a really lumpy eraser duck and grinned at it.
“You’re really cool,” he said, setting the eraser duck on a shelf and getting a fresh eraser for his drawing. “You look kinda lonely, though, might need a friend.”
And then Crowley’s gaze fell on all the polymer clay he’d bought, an absolute bloody rainbow of colors. More than a rainbow. Browns, awesome sparkly metallics, and tons of really bright colors. He could make a duck in every color.
He could make anything he wanted.
A row of a dozen colorful ducks soon perched on a metal sheet he’d miracled up. The first ones were really lopsided, wings uneven, eyes staring off in completely different directions. But by the end, it almost looked like a duck.
“But do you quack like a duck?” Crowley asked his sculptures, picking up the tray. He quacked at them and blushed at his utter uncoolness right now, but he was too excited to stop himself. “You do! You must be a duck!”
He slipped out of the study and took his tray to the living room. Aziraphale was at his desk, digging through the drawers with a frown. “Crowley, have you seen my paper?”
“Nope,” Crowley answered, unconvincingly. He held his tray up where Aziraphale couldn’t see what was on it. “Hey. Are you planning to use the oven for anything, or is it cool if I steal it for a while?”
“Um. No, I was just going to make some pasta.” Aziraphale looked up, craned his neck in an attempt to see the tray. Crowley raised it higher. “Are you baking?”
“No. Well. Not food.” Crowley rushed out before the angel could ask any more questions. A quick miracle preheated the oven, and he shoved his ducks in and set the timer.
Shit, now he had to wait. He found the unused paper in his study and delivered it to Aziraphale, then went back to pacing. Back and forth from kitchen to living room. And while he paced, he thought.
He could make planets. Whole little star systems. Wait, no, that might be hard to do in clay. He could definitely paint star systems, though. Art was like creating a whole world of his own, ultimate power.
Aziraphale had been doing his daily crossword, but he finally caught Crowley’s arm as he stomped past. “Dear fellow. As nice as it is to see you so excited, you’re giving me a headache storming around behind me.”
“Whoops. Sorry.” Crowley bent and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s head, kissing the headache away with a gentle diffusion of power. Then he flung himself into the nearest armchair and snapped his fingers. A sketchbook and pencil appeared in his lap. “How’s your crossword?”
“It’s good! I’m having rather a lot of fun.” Aziraphale gave a little wiggle in his seat, then sniffed the air. “Good Lord, what is that smell? I suppose you weren’t joking when you said it wasn’t food. Or at least, I hope you weren’t.”
“S’ not food. That is kinda chemical-ly, huh?” Crowley let his tongue dart out, scenting the air more thoroughly. It was more of a smell of hot plastics, maybe. Not unpleasant, exactly, but different from Aziraphale’s cakes. “It’s, er, polymer clay.”
Aziraphale lifted his eyebrows in polite inquiry. “It’s what?”
“Y’know, clay! It comes in loads of different colors, honestly so cool. I made sculptures.” Crowley wiggled his fingers, miming sculpting. “It’s really fun. Do, er… do you wanna see them when they’re done?”
He hadn’t meant to offer, had wanted to get really good first. To make some sort of masterpiece, something that would really make Aziraphale gasp in amazement.
But he wanted to show off his lumpy ducks.
Aziraphale’s face lit up, and he gave another little wiggle. “Oh, I would love to see what you’ve made! It bakes in the oven?”
“Yeah! I might, er, actually enlarge my study and turn it into more of a studio. Can get an oven of my own, then.” Crowley glanced at his timer. Still fifteen minutes to go. He might as well draw for a bit.
---
Aziraphale watched his demon with mild bemusement. Crowley had always been awfully restless, always active, but this was a new degree of excitement. Whatever he was doing—his sculptures, apparently—he was very much enjoying it.
Crowley flipped around in his chair, cycling through at least fifty different positions in fifteen minutes. As soon as his timer went off, he bolted off to the kitchen.
Amused, Aziraphale filled in a bit more of his crossword. He glanced up when Crowley returned, but he wasn’t carrying the tray. “Oh dear, did something go wrong during baking?”
“Nope, s’ all good. They look…” Crowley gave a little wince, then grinned. “I mean, the first group is pretty goofy, but they’re fine. Just gotta cool down.”
“Oh, I see.” Aziraphale caught his hand and tugged him over. “You’re drawing, too? Is that what happened to all my paper?”
He gave Crowley a mock stern look, and Crowley draped an arm around his shoulders. “Caught me. I’ve got about a million sketchbooks now, though, so I won’t need to steal your paper again.”
“Well, I’m glad of that.” Aziraphale leaned his head against Crowley’s trim side, enjoying the chance to have him still for a while. “Do let me know when you start taking requests, hmm?”
“Definitely.” Crowley hugged him close, then grabbed Aziraphale’s pen and doodled a rather lopsided, uneven serpent on the corner of the nearest paper. “Look, a self-portrait!”
Aziraphale laughed, delighted if a bit alarmed at the thought of how many drawings and sculptures would soon cover the cottage. “That’s lovely, my dear.”
Looking entirely too pleased with himself, Crowley flopped back into the armchair and scribbled away in his sketchbook. Occasionally he pulled out his mobile, frowned at something, and then went back to drawing.
It was quite fun, really. Aziraphale busied himself with his crossword, basking in Crowley’s contagious enthusiasm.
Before too long, Crowley sprinted off to the kitchen. He was back in seconds, holding a metal sheet. “Okay. So. They’re a little dodgy, but…”
He thrust the whole sheet into Aziraphale’s hands.
“Oh!” Aziraphale caught it, and found himself confronted with two lines of six sculptures each. Some sort of birds, ducks perhaps, but in simply the most garish colors he had ever seen. Bright pink, pastel purple, neon green, flaming red, and every other color besides. “Oh! These are some lovely, er…”
“Ducks!” Crowley said with immense, unfettered enthusiasm and pride. He pointed to a deeply misshapen red blob, the head drooping down in a way that suggested a broken neck. “This is the first one I did. Well, technically the first one I did was an eraser. But this is the first clay one. It’s kinda, uh…”
His cheeks flushed, and he made a face as he looked at it.
“It’s adorable,” Aziraphale decided. He reached up and gently plucked the fiery red duck off the tray. Nestled in his palm, it looked rather more curious than dead. “See, he’s looking down in the water for goodies!”
Crowley’s expression brightened again. “Yeah! That was what I was going for. I got loads better after that, see? Last couple look pretty good.”
They were still garishly colored and bore many marks of Crowley’s clever fingers, but they made Aziraphale smile. Each one had clearly been crafted with love and enthusiasm. “They’re delightful, Crowley. May I keep this one?”
The demon’s golden eyes widened. “Really? You want him?”
“Of course I do! He’ll be a marvelous little desk friend.” Aziraphale set the little sculpted duck on his desk beside a few angel statues. “Perhaps you could make me a companion for him so he doesn’t get lonely.”
Biting his lip, Crowley looked over the tray. Then he worked a bright blue one loose—with some difficulty—and handed it to Aziraphale. “How about that one? You like blue.”
Aziraphale liked light blue. But the cheerful, awkward little sculpture seemed to smile up at him, and he chuckled with delight. “Yes, I do very much like blue.”
He set it on his desk beside the red one, and Crowley grinned. “Terrific. M’ really enjoying this. It’s good, uh. Enrichment, was that what you called it?”
“I think so. And I’m so glad, dear fellow.” Aziraphale patted his arm. “Will you show me what you make next?”
“Yeah!” With that delighted exclamation, Crowley dashed off to his study like a child rushing to open birthday gifts.
Aziraphale gazed after him for a moment, smiling fondly. Oh, he did absolutely adore his silly old demon. Especially when Crowley was so deeply excited about something.
---
After a few weeks of nonstop practice, art had gotten easier. Still not easy—Crowley had a vague feeling it would never get really easy, especially if he kept challenging himself—but he was starting to understand what he was doing. And the best part of being a demon was that he didn’t need to sleep unless he wanted to.
And right now, he didn’t want to. He spent loads of time in his study working on technique, trying new mediums, and generally just playing around. His sculptures came out recognizable now, and drawing stuff was starting to make sense. Painting still eluded him, but that was just because he hadn’t spent much time on it yet.
He carefully added a few more lines to his current drawing, a landscape of the South Downs. It reminded him vaguely of Warlock’s drawings, too simplistic to really capture what he saw in his head, but he was making progress. More grass in the foreground, some highlights on the path…
Doing this in color would be great. Maybe with the colored pencils, or even as a painting. But right now he was working on a toned green pastel paper, the texture rough under his graphite and white charcoal. He shaded in a section of the grass to give it some depth, then held up the drawing and looked it over.
Clouds. It needed more clouds in the sky.
He picked up his white charcoal pencil, jammed it in the sharpener, and twisted enthusiastically. There was a snapping sound.
“Ah, fuck.” He pulled out the pencil and sighed at the jagged, broken charcoal, tapped out the shards onto the table, then sharpened again much more carefully. Once he had a good point, he worked in light circles to add some clouds.
That was better. Not perfect, but better. And most importantly, he’d had fun on almost the whole thing. Only got frustrated when he was working out the initial sketch and couldn’t figure out how to get the path to lay right.
He signed the drawing and displayed it on an easel. It had taken some violations of normal physical space, but he’d set up an awesome studio for himself. Drafting tables, regular tables, easels. Plenty of cool organizing thingies for all his supplies. And loads of blank wall space.
Well, it had been blank. Now it had tons of artwork hanging up.
He rushed around and tidied things up. Not a ton, he wasn’t too worried. Aziraphale was the messy one in their relationship. But things should look good. It was important.
So he wiped down all the charcoal dust, swept up the pencil shavings. He moved around all his sculptures, the funny animals and flowers and even some anatomically wonky people.
Satisfied, he dusted off his hands and surveyed his domain. It was good enough to show Aziraphale now.
---
Aziraphale leaned back against the wall, listening to Crowley’s low grumbles. The demon had shown off rather a lot of his drawings over the past weeks and even more of his sculptures, but until today he hadn’t agreed to let Aziraphale see his study.
But thirty minutes ago, he’d finally offered. After he finished a drawing.
His rapid tread thumped behind the closed door, so he’d likely finished drawing by now. Aziraphale chuckled to himself and waited. He had meant to work on some translations of an ancient scroll today, but he wanted to be supportive of his husband’s new hobby.
And, more than that, he was awfully curious.
The door banged open, and Crowley stepped out. There was a charcoal smudge on his cheek and a spattering of glitter in his hair, but he looked thoroughly happy. “Okay. Ready.”
Smiling, Aziraphale took his arm and let himself be led into the study.
It was no longer a study. The room had at least doubled in size, full of tables, cabinets, things with drawers, his very own oven. Artwork hung all over the walls, some of it framed, other pieces simply held up with tape or—presumably—miracles. Drawings of bugs, the cottage, snakes, rats, even a whirling mass of coils and scales that looked suspiciously like Crowley’s True Form.
“Another self-portrait?” Aziraphale asked, smiling as he pointed to the grey paper. He didn’t know enough about art to be certain what medium it was. Charcoal, perhaps, dark blacks and white highlights.
“Yep! And…” Crowley pulled out another drawing with a flourish. “A companion piece.”
This was on tan paper, the same style. But it sported wheels, wings, and many, many slightly misshapen eyes.
Aziraphale laughed, delighted. “You drew me?”
“Yup. Couldn’t let my self-portrait be lonely.” Crowley flashed a grin and put the two drawings together. “Mind, I had to work from memory rather than using a reference photo. Can’t really take metaphysical references.”
Aziraphale wrapped an arm around his waist and reached to brush away the charcoal smudge on his demon’s cheek. “Well, you did a magnificent job.”
“Thanks!” Crowley grabbed another drawing, this one on green paper. “Check it out, I just finished this.”
Smiling, Aziraphale studied the recreation of the view from their back porch. There were quite a few eraser marks in some areas, as if Crowley had struggled with the drawing, but it was easily recognizable. “This is wonderful, dear boy. It all is. Absolutely delightful.”
And oh, there was so much. All the drawings, several very experimental paintings that were largely just splashes of bright color.
Then the sculptures, all sorts of different animals in brilliant color. There were a handful in more neutral colors—a whole group of cats, for example—but Crowley seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the whole product line of clays.
“Are you going to bring more of these out to the rest of the cottage?” Aziraphale asked, gently stroking one of the cheerful orange cats.
Crowley’s expression brightened even more. “Yeah, as long as you’re cool with it. I know it, er, doesn’t really match most of our decor.”
“Well, we’ve never had the most cohesive decor to begin with. And you’ve always indulged me.” Aziraphale palmed the kitty and pretended to pull it from Crowley’s ear. “Ooooohwahhh, what’s this? A furry friend for my library?”
Crowley laughed and pressed their foreheads together. “Sure, angel. Take a second one so it doesn’t get lonely.”
“Oh, I will.” Heart warm with affection, Aziraphale pulled his demon into a hug. “And I simply can’t wait to see what else you come up with.”
---
One year later
Crowley bent over his drawing, letting his gaze soak in the details. The ivy on the side of the cottage, the overlapping shingles, the subtle clouds against the blue sky. He’d chosen to do this one in colored pencil, eager to capture the greenery, the flowers, the storybook vibe.
He added a little more detailing to the front door, darkening the shadows under the doorframe. The drawing wasn’t perfect, perspective off and the whole thing a little chaotic. But looking it over still flooded him with pride.
Smiling, he signed and dated the lower right corner of the drawing. Then, happy, he hopped up and headed for the kitchen.
His artwork of the past year greeted him as he passed through the cottage. New paintings hung on the walls of his study, careful watercolor studies of the nearby Seven Sisters cliffs and other cool areas of the South Downs. A menagerie of clay creatures smiled at him from shelves in the hall, giraffes and zebras and a million different kinds of birds. His original goofy portraits of his and Aziraphale’s True Forms hung in the living room beside the portraits by Leonardo.
And in the kitchen was the project he’d been working on for the past week. Aziraphale wasn’t baking today, and the studio oven had been packed full of clay snakes. So Crowley used the kitchen one again.
Crowley had been itching to try a realistic sculpture for a while, but he held off. Had to figure out a lot of intricacies first, to get in some good practice. But he’d finally made a duck, and it turned out pretty great.
He took it off the metal sheet, then rushed upstairs to where Aziraphale was working his way through the complete Georgette Heyer collection. Crowley took the steps two at a time, bounding up with his heart thudding in his chest.
He knew Aziraphale would like it. Aziraphale even treasured that incredibly lumpy red duck. But showing him something new still brought on a thrilling flood of adrenaline.
Aziraphale looked up as he ran into the library, corners of his eyes crinkling with a smile. “Hello, Crowley. How was the art today?”
“The art was great. I got another drawing done, and…” Impulsively, Crowley dropped to one knee.
The amusement on Aziraphale’s face only increased. He reached out, lightly brushing his fingers across Crowley’s lips. “If you were planning to propose to me, we’re already married.”
“Hhhn.” Crowley kissed his angel’s fingers, then held out the sculpted duck. “Check this out.”
Aziraphale’s eyes widened, and he gave a soft gasp. He took the duck and turned it over in his hands, studying the feather patterns, the careful detail of the eyes, the almost accurate color. “Oh, Crowley! This is absolutely gorgeous!”
“Thanks!” Crowley flopped onto the sofa beside him, pointing at the green feathers on the head. “I don’t think I got that shade quite right, s’ a little flashy even for a mallard. But I really like it.”
“It’s stunning, dear boy.” Aziraphale stroked it, awe on his face. “You do such beautiful work. I’m so proud of you.”
Crowley curled a hand around the back of Aziraphale’s neck, pulling him in for a slow, tender kiss. Their lips slid together, comfortable presses. Sometimes light and teasing, daring the other to try for more. Other times deep, the kind of kissing where they just sank into each other and emerged later, breathless and gasping for air.
A few more light kisses, and then Crowley snuggled against Aziraphale’s side. “I gotta decide what to work on next,” he said, mind already buzzing with ideas. “I could do more animals. But I was thinking it might be nice to try jewelry. I haven’t done that before.”
Aziraphale’s arm settled around him, heavy and reassuring. “Well, wherever it is, I’m sure it will be magnificent. I have the utmost faith in you.”
Grinning, Crowley wrapped both arms around him. It was fantastic to have such a great husband, who would cheer him on every step of the way. “I know you do. And I’m having such a blast that I don’t think I could stop even if I wanted to.”
There were still so many things he wanted to explore, to try, to learn. Countless paintings, drawing, sculptures, and so many types of art that he hadn’t even sampled yet. In time, Crowley was determined to try them all.
Title: Enrichment Activities
Recipient: Comicgeekery
Rating: T
Pairings: Aziraphale/Crowley
Summary: Eager for novelty, Crowley takes up art. Picking one medium would be too limiting, though. Aziraphale is confused by the deluge of sculptures, paintings, and drawings, but he tries to be supportive.
If there was one thing Crowley really hated, it was boredom. And, inconveniently, it didn’t take much to tip him into being colossally bored. Sitting still for too long or too much time spent on the same old things, and he’d find himself climbing the walls.
In this case, literally. Or slithering up the walls, actually. He worked his way up the side of the two-story cottage, trying not to dislodge any of the ivy growing on the walls. Evaluating, he rested his chin on the edge of the roof, and then slithered up the rest of the way.
He’d never been on top of the cottage in giant snake form before, but it still wasn’t unfamiliar enough to satisfy. He glided around in circles for a bit, seething with restless agitation, and then headed for Aziraphale’s library.
Crowley hung his head off the roof and looked in the library window. Aziraphale was happily surrounded by books, content and at peace. Somehow, Aziraphale never seemed to get bored.
Which was honestly unfair, given how little novelty there was in the angel’s life. Plenty of novels. Not much actual novelty.
Crowley, though, could never really find that sense of contentment. He was happy here in the South Downs, at least most of the time. But being out of London made it harder to scratch his itch for action and excitement.
He shuffled his coils around, making sure he had a firm grip on the roof, then swung his head forward. He tapped his nose against the glass, rocked back, and swung forward. He tapped on the glass again.
A twitch of irritation tugged at Aziraphale’s face as the noise broke his concentration, but he kept reading. Crowley tapped against the glass again. Aziraphale’s hands tightened on the book.
Like a mischievous kid annoying an animal in a tank, Crowley tapped on the glass again. This time, Aziraphale huffed and set his book aside. Then, pulling off his reading glasses, he glanced towards the window.
Aziraphale let out a thoroughly undignified shriek. He jumped up, mouth falling open, and pressed a hand to his heart. “Good Lord, Crowley!”
Crowley swung his head forward again, just to be extra annoying, but some of the shingles gave way under his scales. He slid, coils slipping off the roof, and barely managed to catch himself on the gutter. Shitshitshit, bad idea. “Hi. Little help, angel?”
“Oh, you foolish old serpent!” Aziraphale stormed to the window and wrenched it open, then thrust his arms out to capture Crowley’s head and pull him to the windowsill. “Get in here, you fiend.”
“Thanksss.” Crowley slid inside, grateful for the warm hands supporting his coils and stopping him from falling. He slithered in a loop around Aziraphale’s legs and coiled up.
Aziraphale sighed, closing the window. “My dear, what are you doing?”
“M’ bored.” Crowley tightened his coils around Aziraphale’s strong legs, like a constrictor. “Wanted some novelty.”
Aziraphale frowned down at him, trying to appear stern and utterly failing. “Dear fellow, I hardly think falling off the roof is a good means of enriching your life.”
“It’ssss not like I planned to fall off.” Crowley shifted back to human form and accepted Aziraphale’s hand up. He gave an apologetic smile. “Shingles gave way, I’ll fix ‘em later. Thanks for pulling me inside.”
“Of course.” Sighing, Aziraphale stroked hair off Crowley’s brow. “I suppose you’ve already tried your usual activities? I could always read to you, or we could watch a film together.”
Normally, he loved when Aziraphale read to him, and he adored watching films even if his angel was a pedantic bastard who loved pointing out historical inaccuracies. But none of that was quite what he needed right now. “Tried a drive. Yelled at my plants. And thanks, but I think I’ve gotta figure this one out on my own.”
“Ah, more than understandable.” Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him, a gentle and reassuring press of lips. Crowley surrendered to the softness of his angel, the tender encouragement. When he pulled back, Aziraphale smiled. “Let me know if you need anything, hmm?”
“I will,” Crowley said even though he probably would not.
---
It was a few hours before the idea came to him. Crowley had been pacing the cottage, dusting their belongings, and checking social media all at the same time. Flipping restlessly between Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr as he stomped through rooms and cleaned porcelain angel figurines.
Starting online fights hadn’t been hard, but it wasn’t satisfying either. And then, looking through all the different sites, he noticed a common thread in the posts. Humans made so, so much art.
Crowley had done art, once, if you could call it that. Designing nebulae and stars, he’d always seen himself as more of an architect, a builder.
But looking up at the night sky, it was hard not to see it as art. And humans certainly seemed inspired by it. He’d dabbled in more human creation too, back when he was friends with Leonardo da Vinci…
Crowley went to his study and looked up at the Mona Lisa cartoon. Then he headed to the living room and studied the portraits of himself and Aziraphale. He could practically feel the hot Florence sun, taste the chilled wine, hear the sounds of the city. And see Leonardo’s hand at work, moving across the portraits with practiced ease.
Crowley could do that. Well, not that, exactly, but he could learn to do something. If he was anything, he was persistent.
Eager to get started, he fumbled through Aziraphale’s desk and pulled out a stack of blank paper. Next, he searched for a pencil. When Aziraphale’s total lack of organization thwarted him, he snapped his fingers to summon his cool pen that could write underwater.
Crowley stared at the blank paper for a second, lost, and then grabbed his mobile. He pulled up a picture he’d taken yesterday out in the garden, one of the local ducks giving him an accusing look over a lack of snacks.
And then, with absolutely no idea what he was doing, Crowley began to draw.
---
The next day, after accumulating a half-inch stack of paper covered in sketches of various quality, Crowley decided to take a drive.
Not the sort of drive he usually took, just to unwind. This was a drive with a purpose. He cranked up his Velvet Underground CD, used his mobile to search for the nearest art store, and floored it.
It was a fast drive at the Bentley’s top speed. He parked and literally sprinted into the store, then froze. The store was packed with aisle after aisle of bright displays and countless supplies. Shit. What was he even supposed to buy?
Did he want to draw? Sculpt? Paint? And if paint, should he grab watercolor, acrylic, or oil?
And then there were fabrics, fibers. Knitting was probably a smart craft to try; blankets and scarves came in handy as someone who’d been a snake and got cold easily. He went down the aisles, investigated yarn and embroidery thread and fabrics. But none of it felt like him.
Drawing was probably a good call. Good foundation for basically any of the cool stuff he wanted to do.
Crowley loaded up on sketchbooks, some small and some massive. He grabbed a couple pads of bristol paper, then toned paper. Then there was a whole display with loads of different pencils. Graphite and charcoal, colored pencil, pastel.
Cool, some of each should do the trick. But what if he wanted to try ink drawing? His pen that could write underwater worked, but it wasn’t really made for that. Ah shit, and he’d forgotten about pencil sharpeners and erasers.
Crowley loaded all that into his cart, then looked it over. Okay. That should be good.
But what about painting? And sculpting?
After spending several hundred pounds, he rolled his heavily laden cart out of the art store. This was gonna be so much fun. Granted, he still had zero clue what he was doing, but the massive stack of art instruction books should help. Plus there was always the internet.
---
Crowley spent the whole night just reading through his new books. He’d moved from chair to chair, room to room, needing the variety to stay focused. Currently, he was lying on the living room sofa with his head in Aziraphale’s lap, devouring a book on watercolor.
He finished that book and set it aside, then grabbed one on drawing landscapes. That would be cool. They had great views all around the cottage.
Aziraphale’s nimble fingers sifted through his hair, scritched across his scalp. “Goodness, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you read so much! Does this have anything to do with the hundreds of bags you brought inside earlier?”
“Maybe.” Crowley flashed a grin at him. “I don’t want you snooping around in my study, though. Gotta figure out what I’m doing first.”
Aziraphale pouted, stroking his hair. “You’re not going to show me what you’re doing? I always share my cooking with you.”
“That’s because you cook enough to feel a whole village, and you know what you’re doing.” Crowley wriggled into a different position and opened his book on landscapes. “And don’t pout at me. S’ not gonna get you what you want this time.”
“Oh, very well.” Aziraphale pouted anyway. “But can it get me kisses?”
Crowley looked to his book, conflicted, and then back to his husband’s adorable pout. Laughing, he tossed the book aside, sat up, and pulled Aziraphale into a passionate kiss. He was itching to start making stuff, but there was no reason to pass up a good kiss.
---
Buying so much different stuff had maybe not been the best idea. How the Heaven was he supposed to decide what to focus on?
Crowley switched from medium to medium, playing with everything. The graphite alone varied enough to keep him interested, some pencils leaving light scratchy marks and others dark and smudgy. He scribbled lines and shapes, pushed at the lines with his fingertip, lifted out darkness with his cool kneaded eraser.
Then he got distracted by trying to turn the kneaded eraser into a duck. The weird grey substance could be molded into different shapes, which he’d already learned made it great for erasing little details. But it also meant he could basically sculpt it.
Crowley found his sculpting supplies and pulled out a stylus, fumbling along until he figured out how much pressure to use for shaping and smoothing and leaving little details. He made a really lumpy eraser duck and grinned at it.
“You’re really cool,” he said, setting the eraser duck on a shelf and getting a fresh eraser for his drawing. “You look kinda lonely, though, might need a friend.”
And then Crowley’s gaze fell on all the polymer clay he’d bought, an absolute bloody rainbow of colors. More than a rainbow. Browns, awesome sparkly metallics, and tons of really bright colors. He could make a duck in every color.
He could make anything he wanted.
A row of a dozen colorful ducks soon perched on a metal sheet he’d miracled up. The first ones were really lopsided, wings uneven, eyes staring off in completely different directions. But by the end, it almost looked like a duck.
“But do you quack like a duck?” Crowley asked his sculptures, picking up the tray. He quacked at them and blushed at his utter uncoolness right now, but he was too excited to stop himself. “You do! You must be a duck!”
He slipped out of the study and took his tray to the living room. Aziraphale was at his desk, digging through the drawers with a frown. “Crowley, have you seen my paper?”
“Nope,” Crowley answered, unconvincingly. He held his tray up where Aziraphale couldn’t see what was on it. “Hey. Are you planning to use the oven for anything, or is it cool if I steal it for a while?”
“Um. No, I was just going to make some pasta.” Aziraphale looked up, craned his neck in an attempt to see the tray. Crowley raised it higher. “Are you baking?”
“No. Well. Not food.” Crowley rushed out before the angel could ask any more questions. A quick miracle preheated the oven, and he shoved his ducks in and set the timer.
Shit, now he had to wait. He found the unused paper in his study and delivered it to Aziraphale, then went back to pacing. Back and forth from kitchen to living room. And while he paced, he thought.
He could make planets. Whole little star systems. Wait, no, that might be hard to do in clay. He could definitely paint star systems, though. Art was like creating a whole world of his own, ultimate power.
Aziraphale had been doing his daily crossword, but he finally caught Crowley’s arm as he stomped past. “Dear fellow. As nice as it is to see you so excited, you’re giving me a headache storming around behind me.”
“Whoops. Sorry.” Crowley bent and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s head, kissing the headache away with a gentle diffusion of power. Then he flung himself into the nearest armchair and snapped his fingers. A sketchbook and pencil appeared in his lap. “How’s your crossword?”
“It’s good! I’m having rather a lot of fun.” Aziraphale gave a little wiggle in his seat, then sniffed the air. “Good Lord, what is that smell? I suppose you weren’t joking when you said it wasn’t food. Or at least, I hope you weren’t.”
“S’ not food. That is kinda chemical-ly, huh?” Crowley let his tongue dart out, scenting the air more thoroughly. It was more of a smell of hot plastics, maybe. Not unpleasant, exactly, but different from Aziraphale’s cakes. “It’s, er, polymer clay.”
Aziraphale lifted his eyebrows in polite inquiry. “It’s what?”
“Y’know, clay! It comes in loads of different colors, honestly so cool. I made sculptures.” Crowley wiggled his fingers, miming sculpting. “It’s really fun. Do, er… do you wanna see them when they’re done?”
He hadn’t meant to offer, had wanted to get really good first. To make some sort of masterpiece, something that would really make Aziraphale gasp in amazement.
But he wanted to show off his lumpy ducks.
Aziraphale’s face lit up, and he gave another little wiggle. “Oh, I would love to see what you’ve made! It bakes in the oven?”
“Yeah! I might, er, actually enlarge my study and turn it into more of a studio. Can get an oven of my own, then.” Crowley glanced at his timer. Still fifteen minutes to go. He might as well draw for a bit.
---
Aziraphale watched his demon with mild bemusement. Crowley had always been awfully restless, always active, but this was a new degree of excitement. Whatever he was doing—his sculptures, apparently—he was very much enjoying it.
Crowley flipped around in his chair, cycling through at least fifty different positions in fifteen minutes. As soon as his timer went off, he bolted off to the kitchen.
Amused, Aziraphale filled in a bit more of his crossword. He glanced up when Crowley returned, but he wasn’t carrying the tray. “Oh dear, did something go wrong during baking?”
“Nope, s’ all good. They look…” Crowley gave a little wince, then grinned. “I mean, the first group is pretty goofy, but they’re fine. Just gotta cool down.”
“Oh, I see.” Aziraphale caught his hand and tugged him over. “You’re drawing, too? Is that what happened to all my paper?”
He gave Crowley a mock stern look, and Crowley draped an arm around his shoulders. “Caught me. I’ve got about a million sketchbooks now, though, so I won’t need to steal your paper again.”
“Well, I’m glad of that.” Aziraphale leaned his head against Crowley’s trim side, enjoying the chance to have him still for a while. “Do let me know when you start taking requests, hmm?”
“Definitely.” Crowley hugged him close, then grabbed Aziraphale’s pen and doodled a rather lopsided, uneven serpent on the corner of the nearest paper. “Look, a self-portrait!”
Aziraphale laughed, delighted if a bit alarmed at the thought of how many drawings and sculptures would soon cover the cottage. “That’s lovely, my dear.”
Looking entirely too pleased with himself, Crowley flopped back into the armchair and scribbled away in his sketchbook. Occasionally he pulled out his mobile, frowned at something, and then went back to drawing.
It was quite fun, really. Aziraphale busied himself with his crossword, basking in Crowley’s contagious enthusiasm.
Before too long, Crowley sprinted off to the kitchen. He was back in seconds, holding a metal sheet. “Okay. So. They’re a little dodgy, but…”
He thrust the whole sheet into Aziraphale’s hands.
“Oh!” Aziraphale caught it, and found himself confronted with two lines of six sculptures each. Some sort of birds, ducks perhaps, but in simply the most garish colors he had ever seen. Bright pink, pastel purple, neon green, flaming red, and every other color besides. “Oh! These are some lovely, er…”
“Ducks!” Crowley said with immense, unfettered enthusiasm and pride. He pointed to a deeply misshapen red blob, the head drooping down in a way that suggested a broken neck. “This is the first one I did. Well, technically the first one I did was an eraser. But this is the first clay one. It’s kinda, uh…”
His cheeks flushed, and he made a face as he looked at it.
“It’s adorable,” Aziraphale decided. He reached up and gently plucked the fiery red duck off the tray. Nestled in his palm, it looked rather more curious than dead. “See, he’s looking down in the water for goodies!”
Crowley’s expression brightened again. “Yeah! That was what I was going for. I got loads better after that, see? Last couple look pretty good.”
They were still garishly colored and bore many marks of Crowley’s clever fingers, but they made Aziraphale smile. Each one had clearly been crafted with love and enthusiasm. “They’re delightful, Crowley. May I keep this one?”
The demon’s golden eyes widened. “Really? You want him?”
“Of course I do! He’ll be a marvelous little desk friend.” Aziraphale set the little sculpted duck on his desk beside a few angel statues. “Perhaps you could make me a companion for him so he doesn’t get lonely.”
Biting his lip, Crowley looked over the tray. Then he worked a bright blue one loose—with some difficulty—and handed it to Aziraphale. “How about that one? You like blue.”
Aziraphale liked light blue. But the cheerful, awkward little sculpture seemed to smile up at him, and he chuckled with delight. “Yes, I do very much like blue.”
He set it on his desk beside the red one, and Crowley grinned. “Terrific. M’ really enjoying this. It’s good, uh. Enrichment, was that what you called it?”
“I think so. And I’m so glad, dear fellow.” Aziraphale patted his arm. “Will you show me what you make next?”
“Yeah!” With that delighted exclamation, Crowley dashed off to his study like a child rushing to open birthday gifts.
Aziraphale gazed after him for a moment, smiling fondly. Oh, he did absolutely adore his silly old demon. Especially when Crowley was so deeply excited about something.
---
After a few weeks of nonstop practice, art had gotten easier. Still not easy—Crowley had a vague feeling it would never get really easy, especially if he kept challenging himself—but he was starting to understand what he was doing. And the best part of being a demon was that he didn’t need to sleep unless he wanted to.
And right now, he didn’t want to. He spent loads of time in his study working on technique, trying new mediums, and generally just playing around. His sculptures came out recognizable now, and drawing stuff was starting to make sense. Painting still eluded him, but that was just because he hadn’t spent much time on it yet.
He carefully added a few more lines to his current drawing, a landscape of the South Downs. It reminded him vaguely of Warlock’s drawings, too simplistic to really capture what he saw in his head, but he was making progress. More grass in the foreground, some highlights on the path…
Doing this in color would be great. Maybe with the colored pencils, or even as a painting. But right now he was working on a toned green pastel paper, the texture rough under his graphite and white charcoal. He shaded in a section of the grass to give it some depth, then held up the drawing and looked it over.
Clouds. It needed more clouds in the sky.
He picked up his white charcoal pencil, jammed it in the sharpener, and twisted enthusiastically. There was a snapping sound.
“Ah, fuck.” He pulled out the pencil and sighed at the jagged, broken charcoal, tapped out the shards onto the table, then sharpened again much more carefully. Once he had a good point, he worked in light circles to add some clouds.
That was better. Not perfect, but better. And most importantly, he’d had fun on almost the whole thing. Only got frustrated when he was working out the initial sketch and couldn’t figure out how to get the path to lay right.
He signed the drawing and displayed it on an easel. It had taken some violations of normal physical space, but he’d set up an awesome studio for himself. Drafting tables, regular tables, easels. Plenty of cool organizing thingies for all his supplies. And loads of blank wall space.
Well, it had been blank. Now it had tons of artwork hanging up.
He rushed around and tidied things up. Not a ton, he wasn’t too worried. Aziraphale was the messy one in their relationship. But things should look good. It was important.
So he wiped down all the charcoal dust, swept up the pencil shavings. He moved around all his sculptures, the funny animals and flowers and even some anatomically wonky people.
Satisfied, he dusted off his hands and surveyed his domain. It was good enough to show Aziraphale now.
---
Aziraphale leaned back against the wall, listening to Crowley’s low grumbles. The demon had shown off rather a lot of his drawings over the past weeks and even more of his sculptures, but until today he hadn’t agreed to let Aziraphale see his study.
But thirty minutes ago, he’d finally offered. After he finished a drawing.
His rapid tread thumped behind the closed door, so he’d likely finished drawing by now. Aziraphale chuckled to himself and waited. He had meant to work on some translations of an ancient scroll today, but he wanted to be supportive of his husband’s new hobby.
And, more than that, he was awfully curious.
The door banged open, and Crowley stepped out. There was a charcoal smudge on his cheek and a spattering of glitter in his hair, but he looked thoroughly happy. “Okay. Ready.”
Smiling, Aziraphale took his arm and let himself be led into the study.
It was no longer a study. The room had at least doubled in size, full of tables, cabinets, things with drawers, his very own oven. Artwork hung all over the walls, some of it framed, other pieces simply held up with tape or—presumably—miracles. Drawings of bugs, the cottage, snakes, rats, even a whirling mass of coils and scales that looked suspiciously like Crowley’s True Form.
“Another self-portrait?” Aziraphale asked, smiling as he pointed to the grey paper. He didn’t know enough about art to be certain what medium it was. Charcoal, perhaps, dark blacks and white highlights.
“Yep! And…” Crowley pulled out another drawing with a flourish. “A companion piece.”
This was on tan paper, the same style. But it sported wheels, wings, and many, many slightly misshapen eyes.
Aziraphale laughed, delighted. “You drew me?”
“Yup. Couldn’t let my self-portrait be lonely.” Crowley flashed a grin and put the two drawings together. “Mind, I had to work from memory rather than using a reference photo. Can’t really take metaphysical references.”
Aziraphale wrapped an arm around his waist and reached to brush away the charcoal smudge on his demon’s cheek. “Well, you did a magnificent job.”
“Thanks!” Crowley grabbed another drawing, this one on green paper. “Check it out, I just finished this.”
Smiling, Aziraphale studied the recreation of the view from their back porch. There were quite a few eraser marks in some areas, as if Crowley had struggled with the drawing, but it was easily recognizable. “This is wonderful, dear boy. It all is. Absolutely delightful.”
And oh, there was so much. All the drawings, several very experimental paintings that were largely just splashes of bright color.
Then the sculptures, all sorts of different animals in brilliant color. There were a handful in more neutral colors—a whole group of cats, for example—but Crowley seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the whole product line of clays.
“Are you going to bring more of these out to the rest of the cottage?” Aziraphale asked, gently stroking one of the cheerful orange cats.
Crowley’s expression brightened even more. “Yeah, as long as you’re cool with it. I know it, er, doesn’t really match most of our decor.”
“Well, we’ve never had the most cohesive decor to begin with. And you’ve always indulged me.” Aziraphale palmed the kitty and pretended to pull it from Crowley’s ear. “Ooooohwahhh, what’s this? A furry friend for my library?”
Crowley laughed and pressed their foreheads together. “Sure, angel. Take a second one so it doesn’t get lonely.”
“Oh, I will.” Heart warm with affection, Aziraphale pulled his demon into a hug. “And I simply can’t wait to see what else you come up with.”
---
One year later
Crowley bent over his drawing, letting his gaze soak in the details. The ivy on the side of the cottage, the overlapping shingles, the subtle clouds against the blue sky. He’d chosen to do this one in colored pencil, eager to capture the greenery, the flowers, the storybook vibe.
He added a little more detailing to the front door, darkening the shadows under the doorframe. The drawing wasn’t perfect, perspective off and the whole thing a little chaotic. But looking it over still flooded him with pride.
Smiling, he signed and dated the lower right corner of the drawing. Then, happy, he hopped up and headed for the kitchen.
His artwork of the past year greeted him as he passed through the cottage. New paintings hung on the walls of his study, careful watercolor studies of the nearby Seven Sisters cliffs and other cool areas of the South Downs. A menagerie of clay creatures smiled at him from shelves in the hall, giraffes and zebras and a million different kinds of birds. His original goofy portraits of his and Aziraphale’s True Forms hung in the living room beside the portraits by Leonardo.
And in the kitchen was the project he’d been working on for the past week. Aziraphale wasn’t baking today, and the studio oven had been packed full of clay snakes. So Crowley used the kitchen one again.
Crowley had been itching to try a realistic sculpture for a while, but he held off. Had to figure out a lot of intricacies first, to get in some good practice. But he’d finally made a duck, and it turned out pretty great.
He took it off the metal sheet, then rushed upstairs to where Aziraphale was working his way through the complete Georgette Heyer collection. Crowley took the steps two at a time, bounding up with his heart thudding in his chest.
He knew Aziraphale would like it. Aziraphale even treasured that incredibly lumpy red duck. But showing him something new still brought on a thrilling flood of adrenaline.
Aziraphale looked up as he ran into the library, corners of his eyes crinkling with a smile. “Hello, Crowley. How was the art today?”
“The art was great. I got another drawing done, and…” Impulsively, Crowley dropped to one knee.
The amusement on Aziraphale’s face only increased. He reached out, lightly brushing his fingers across Crowley’s lips. “If you were planning to propose to me, we’re already married.”
“Hhhn.” Crowley kissed his angel’s fingers, then held out the sculpted duck. “Check this out.”
Aziraphale’s eyes widened, and he gave a soft gasp. He took the duck and turned it over in his hands, studying the feather patterns, the careful detail of the eyes, the almost accurate color. “Oh, Crowley! This is absolutely gorgeous!”
“Thanks!” Crowley flopped onto the sofa beside him, pointing at the green feathers on the head. “I don’t think I got that shade quite right, s’ a little flashy even for a mallard. But I really like it.”
“It’s stunning, dear boy.” Aziraphale stroked it, awe on his face. “You do such beautiful work. I’m so proud of you.”
Crowley curled a hand around the back of Aziraphale’s neck, pulling him in for a slow, tender kiss. Their lips slid together, comfortable presses. Sometimes light and teasing, daring the other to try for more. Other times deep, the kind of kissing where they just sank into each other and emerged later, breathless and gasping for air.
A few more light kisses, and then Crowley snuggled against Aziraphale’s side. “I gotta decide what to work on next,” he said, mind already buzzing with ideas. “I could do more animals. But I was thinking it might be nice to try jewelry. I haven’t done that before.”
Aziraphale’s arm settled around him, heavy and reassuring. “Well, wherever it is, I’m sure it will be magnificent. I have the utmost faith in you.”
Grinning, Crowley wrapped both arms around him. It was fantastic to have such a great husband, who would cheer him on every step of the way. “I know you do. And I’m having such a blast that I don’t think I could stop even if I wanted to.”
There were still so many things he wanted to explore, to try, to learn. Countless paintings, drawing, sculptures, and so many types of art that he hadn’t even sampled yet. In time, Crowley was determined to try them all.
