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[confoundthemighty]

(continued from here)

[Aziraphale is still catching his breath; his spine seems to have gone utterly liquid. What he feels is something vastly, ecstatically beyond debauched--well and truly fucked is probably the closest he could get. Love rings dizzily through every cell in his body.

He doesn't so much curl closer as flow in towards him, a lazy shift to his side.]

And where will you put it? [His voice is playful, if a touch hoarse from pleading--faster, faster, faster.] Over the bed? On your desk? Don't tell me you'll have it mounted on the ceiling.

[duckshaveears]

Nah, I think we've had enough mounting for one day already.

[Innuendo? Crowley doesn't mind if he does. He also doesn't mine pulling Aziraphale in close, as long as the angel is shifting in. They were both overheated after that last round but he cools down quickly. Besides, any opportunity to embrace Aziraphale should be taken. It's a philosophy he'll stand by to the end. Or lie next to.]

In the bedroom, I think. Right there.

[He points at a blank space of wall next to the door.]

So I can read it whenever I'm lying in bed next to you and remember what a wonderfully filthy mind you've got lurking under that angelic exterior.

[confoundthemighty]

[He giggles at the dirty joke—and, he immediately decides, he rather likes “filthy” as a compliment. It’s been delightful thus far, realizing that even without any actual experience he can tease and pleasure and satisfy the one person he’s wanted for most of his very long existence. “Filthy” registers on the same level as “just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing”: it’s proof that he is at least a little bit cool.]

Mm. We’ll have to find a good gilt frame of some sort, once I’ve made the text itself suitably fancy.

[Though he hasn’t done any actual calligraphy in at least two centuries, Aziraphale’s spent enough time working with illuminated manuscripts that he’s not entrusting the tarting-up of his dirty limerick to another artist, no matter how talented. He’s certainly done a few gratuitous snakes for S’s, in his time, especially during very long and boring afternoons of copying.

He rests his head on Crowley’s shoulder, relishing the easy press of skin against skin.]

Might do it in gold ink. Or at least give it some highlights. Probably in the gratuitous snakes.

[duckshaveears]

[Of course Aziraphale will do the actual calligraphy, Crowley hadn't reached that point of thought yet but he would have. They've met before in olden days in scriptoriums, long before they were what they are to each other now; Crowley too admired the beauty of the illustrated parchment, the artistry of ink on page. He'd have no one else render this bit of poetry to paper.]

Gold and ink, definitely.

[His arm tightens around Aziraphale, and he kisses the angel's hair.]

Black snakes, green vines, red and blue flowers since you seem to make those happen everywhere anyway--

[A chuckle for that inside joke. Crowley will never let Aziraphale live down all those flowers, not ever.]

Silver feathers and bronze books. Get both of us in there, not just me. And I'll get the most gaudy frame in all of London for it.

[confoundthemighty]

[The flowers, incidentally, are a regular occurrence now. Aziraphale sometimes wonders what would happen if they were to go to a botanical garden and Crowley happened to murmur something unexpectedly sweet to him there. He can't help it; he's too happy, and anyway he doesn't know how to turn off whatever part of his nature that causes it.

Breath leaves him as a happy sigh, fills him again with lazy delight.]

You might have to have one commissioned, if you can't dredge up something suitably dreadful secondhand. Little naked cherubs holding peaches on it. Or a snake with suspiciously shaped scales.

[duckshaveears]

[Flowers have never been Crowley's preference. He likes sleek, tall green plants, not fussy messy blossoming things. But it's hard to begrudge them knowing the source. He kisses Aziraphale's forehead.]

Not cherubs. Never cherubs, there are limits even to bad taste. Scales, maybe. Tentacle suction things.

[It's a completely bizarre mental image, which is why he chuckles before kissing Aziraphale again.]

This is ridiculous. You're ridiculous. Love you.

[confoundthemighty]

[He laughs against Crowley's lips, one hand tangling lazily in his hair for a moment to hold him close. It is all rather ridiculous, if one stops to think about it, but--really, so is all of history, and either way it's led to the two of them sharing a life and this specific moment, so it's not necessarily a bad ridiculous.]

I love you too. [He never misses an opportunity to say it, now; they have quite a bit of lost time to catch up on in that regard.] And I'm sure we can find a perfectly hideous frame without cherubs. But if it startles you before you've had coffee or sobered up, I will remind you that it was your idea.

[There's no heat under the words, only the fond teasing of someone who's witnessed and committed his share of embarrassing acts of cowardice while not fully in command of his faculties.]

[duckshaveears]

[It's one of the things he hadn't expected about being in a relationship, that being ridiculous would suddenly stop being embarassing or cringeworthy and instead become something to laugh about together, even to cherish. Most things they share are things he cherishes, from the utterly absurd to the everyday to the intimate.

Crowley is growing more soppy by the day, and the worst part is he can't even bring himself to mind. It's also the best part.]

There are worst ways to wake up in the morning. [He has destroyed many alarm clocks since they were invented.] But naah, I won't get something too dire. Just dire enough.

[He blatantly snuggles in more, turning his head so Aziraphale's fingers pull at his hair.]

So, was this a one-off drunken frenzy of rhyming inspiration? Or is it a new hobby?

[confoundthemighty]

Mmm... [It's almost impossible not to notice that little tug, which isn't at all dissimilar from a cat insisting pet me, and with a surge of fondness Aziraphale begins to stroke back the messy red waves. (He's pretty sure anyone who sees either of them in public can tell simply by the state of their hair these days that they're a thoroughly debauched pair, and he's getting used to it.)]

You know, if you count the fairy tale--which I did mostly write sober, by the way--I think it might be turning into a hobby. The alcohol might just bring out the rhyming bit.

[duckshaveears]

[It's not at all dissimilar, and Crowley reacts much as a cat would to being stroked, with a low, pleased rumbling noise in his throat.]

Thought it might be. You should keep it up.

[He opens his eyes and grins.]

Gotta keep ourselves busy somehow now we're unemployed, yeah?

[confoundthemighty]

Mm, you do have a point.

[He's still getting used to it--no reports to file, no constant second-guessing about how something he does will look to his supervisors. Certainly there's the shop, but that's always been his, and if he feels like it he can just put a card in the window saying he's elsewhere until a certain date. Being out of a job has suddenly freed up an astonishing amount of not only his time but his mental energy--though admittedly that second part has been helped by regular bursts of delight, after that rainy night when everything changed.

He's starting to wonder, now, what he could do with this sudden windfall.]

You know... we could have hobbies. [A beat, as he realizes this means--] I've got so much more time to practice my magic act...

[duckshaveears]

[Crowley realizes what's coming a little too late, groans, lifts himself up and covers Aziraphale like another blanket as though that will somehow smother the suggestion.]

Satan, please, no. Not that. As much drunken poetry as you want, whole books of bloody sestinas, but not that.

[Maybe if he kisses Aziraphale for a few more hours the angel will forget. It's worth a try. Can't do prestidigitation with your wrists pinned to a mattress.]

[confoundthemighty]

[He pouts just a little as Crowley rolls on top of him, but there's a playful glitter in his eyes.]

But I could get so much better at it! Next time I present you with drunken poetry I could pull it out of your ear. Or turn it into a bouquet. Or I could learn that thing with the rope, where you cut it in half and it knots back together...

[duckshaveears]

[Crowley cuts this off with a very determined kiss, taking Aziraphale's face in his hands and sliding his tongue into that mouth to stop the flow of words.]

'll give you a better hobby--

[It doesn't come out seductive or threatening, either of which had been his intention, so much as just muffled.]

[confoundthemighty]

Mmf--

[Before he can protest, he's being very thoroughly kissed. And Crowley's not wrong, this is an excellent hobby--and one they've both gotten quite good at through the amount of practice they've had over the past few weeks.

It feels like hours before they break apart again, and who knows, maybe it is. Aziraphale can never seem to keep track of time when they're this close. (He wouldn't be surprised if one day they climb out of bed to find they've spent an entire week just kissing.) But he's beaming, flushed pink with the simple pleasure of touching, his eyes a little hazy with love.]

Come to think of it, [he murmurs, one hand stirring through Crowley's hair in little petting motions,] we could always learn something together. Piano, maybe.

[duckshaveears]

[It's a good hobby, and one where they're certainly spending time mastering the skill and artistry required to make something memorable. And it brings them both a good deal of entertainment, which is the point of any hobby. Crowley will swear that it counts.

Still...more than one hobby probably isn't a bad idea either. Just to keep them from getting complaisant.]

Huh. Suppose we could try that. Start with Chopsticks and build our way up to Tchaikovsky. Hadn't thought of music, I was more--

[He stops abruptly, suddenly flushing in a way that doesn't seem to have anything to do with their nakedly entwined state, for all that he immediately busies himself with another kiss.]

[confoundthemighty]

[Aziraphale notices that flush, that sudden embarrassment, and even an enthusiastic kiss can’t chase it out of his mind. As soon as there’s an opportune moment he pulls back, hand still tangled in Crowley’s hair.]

More what? Did you have something in mind, my dearest?

[It’s a bit of a sneaky bastard move, trying to tease the information out of him with sweet words and sweeter looks, but neither of them are above that sort of thing at this point. And he is terribly curious.]

[duckshaveears]

[It's definitely a sneaky bastard move, especially since Aziraphale pulls it after allowing just enough kissing time for Crowley to think he's gotten away with his attempt at a distraction. Combining the question with hair teasing makes it a downright low blow.]

Nah, not really. Nothing important. Just an idea I was toying with.

[Oh look, neck. He can kiss that. Graze teeth along it, even. Bury his face in it so that his embarassment isn't so obvious. Crowley loves the greater levels of intimacy he and Aziraphale have these days, the way no subjects seem to be taboo anymore, but sometimes it's still hard to let himself be seen too nakedly. Not in the physical sense, that he has no problem with at all, but in the sense of letting himself be vulnerable. Even for Aziraphale, millennia of Hell-driven paranoia aren't lightly set aside. He's working on it. Mostly. Sort of.

He is working on it, so he takes a breath, places another careful kiss just under Aziraphale's ear, and eventually murmurs quietly.]

Painting. Maybe. Just to try my hand at it a bit.

as an amateur painter, DO THE THING, CROWLEY :D

[confoundthemighty]

[He's distracted from wondering what on earth must be so embarrassing about whatever Crowley has in mind by the gentle scrape of teeth along his neck--talk about a low blow. But just as he's starting to tame his breath back into a regular pattern, there's a soft kiss behind his ear, and then a very quiet admission.

It feels like a secret, as close to shy as Crowley has ever been with him, and a rush of tenderness sweeps warm tingling up through his chest.]

I think that's a wonderful idea.

[His voice is gently encouraging, entirely without any sort of laughter or shock that a demon might suggest such a thing. This has some importance attached to it, and just as Crowley's made him feel safe with regard to the things that really matter in his own life, Aziraphale wants to return the favor. Not out of any angelic principles, really--just because he wants the person who's made him happiest to be as happy as he can.]

I knew that would be Bob Ross. I didn't even have to click, I knew.

[duckshaveears]

[Crowley, having exposed himself this much already, may as well go further. He sighs and shifts his body down a little so he can rest his head on Aziraphale's chest. He catches one of the angel's hands, entangles their fingers and brings them to his mouth for a quick kiss.]

Yeah, well. Tried my hand at it a bit, once. Long ago. Leo gave me a few lessons when I knew him, taught me some of the tricks.

[Leo meaning Leonardo Da Vinci, of course. If Crowley could have granted immortality to one human being, out of all those he'd ever met, that's who it would've been. That brilliant, elastic mind, foreseeing and engineering marvels far ahead of his time, seeing all the art and science of the world and never tiring of questioning it, understanding it, loving it. If Crowley ever loved any human, it was him.

The Renassaince. That had been a good century, even without having been an antidote to the Hell on Earth that'd been the 14th.

Crowley squirms, trying to get comfortable, and looks at their joined hands.]

Spent a lot of time learning about art, back then. Good times. Didn't really have the chance to keep it up afterwards, but...yeah. Was thinking about that, a bit.

Every day's a good day when you paint! :D

[confoundthemighty]

[Aziraphale shifts a bit under him, trying to position himself as the optimal pillow, though his hand stays in Crowley's hair. From the way he's pretending it's not a big deal, it's definitely important to him--Aziraphale has known him too long not to know his tells.

He squeezes Crowley's fingers a little.]

You have the chance now, [he says softly, punctuating the words with a kiss brushed against Crowley's forehead, just below the hairline.] If you enjoyed it, you should pick it up again. See what you can make.

[It's at this point he realizes something wonderful: in pursuit of these things they've spent centuries wondering about but have been too busy to indulge in themselves, they can learn new things about each other. Aziraphale has no idea what sort of painter Crowley will be--he's barely begun to learn what kind of writer he is himself--and if they do try piano, he has no idea what sort of musicians they'll be, separately or together. It's all gloriously unknown, and nothing as urgent as the end of the world is riding on it.]

Long time since I did any and now I suddenly miss it! Also I have Art Forger Crowley headcanon now;)

[duckshaveears]

Yeah? That mean you'll model for me, when I get to that point?

[Crowley looks up, suddenly grinning and resting his (pointy, and probably uncomfortable) chin on Aziraphale's chest.]

Boring work, being a model, but you said you wanted to do things together. Could paint you reading, if you like. Be nice to do one myself instead of having to track down things other people've done.

[Hobbies Crowley's never admitted to having: purchasing art of Aziraphale. You can't have a literal angel walking around the world, however incognito, without his inspiring a number of artists and sculptors, and Crowley had become adept at spotting those who'd shared his fascination.]

...omg. I love it. <3

[confoundthemighty]

[It is a bit uncomfortable, but it's one of the happier discomforts Aziraphale's ever endured, after having Crowley actually fall asleep on him (which has happened several times and left him in no position to grab a book). But the grin is deeply encouraging, and he beams right back.]

Well, if I was reading, I wouldn't be too bored--

[Then the last part of what Crowley said registers, and he blinks, trying to process it.]

Hang on, one moment--what other people? I've never sat for a painting before.

It's a crime that encourages larceny and greed and fraud while not reeeeeally doing harm! Perfect

[duckshaveears]

[Crowley's more jealous side is unexpectedly pleased to hear his angel never actually acted as a model. (Which is utter hypocrisy as Crowley has, and not just for Da Vinci, but hey, demon). But Aziraphale's astonishment earns a laugh.]

You didn't know? You never noticed? Ohhhhh, angel...

[There's a kiss for that, though one interrupted by mirth.]

Maybe not formally but believe me, artists have definitely noticed you over the years.

And later everyone gets to laugh at the dupes who fell for it! Perfect mischief.

[confoundthemighty]

[He's rather startled at the idea--Aziraphale has never thought of himself as being anything like attractive, not until the recent flashes of it that have been brought on by living with someone who loves him. Certainly he takes pride in the way he dresses, but... but that's not to any purpose other than because he likes a certain aesthetic.

He's not sure why the thought makes his ears hot.]

Not that many, surely. I mean--I know it's not bad as corporeal forms go, but nothing here is really museum-worthy--

[His eyes grow wider as Crowley's grin does.]

Crowley, am I in museums?!