TFLN overflow.

[questionablewit]

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Exactly! AND he gets to feel superior about his own art knowledge. Total Crowley win.

[duckshaveears]

I don't believe this. This is fantastic. You really had no idea.

[If they'd had this conversation a few months ago, before Crowley'd been able to openly admit just how attractive Aziraphale is, it would've been much, much more frustrating. As it is, this is the most hilarious thing Crowley's ever heard. He kisses Aziraphale again, amused as hell.]

Yes, you oblivious, gorgeous, angelic bastard. You were literally turning heads back in Greece and Rome, and then again in Italy during the Renassaince, and at varying other times and places. Giambologna would've worshipped you if he could've gotten you to sit for him. I can name you at least a dozen who were inspired enough just by a few glimpses to try and capture it.

[confoundthemighty]

[The heat has spread down from his ears to his cheeks now. Aziraphale squirms, just a little, as the new knowledge jangles its way into his brain.]

Well--I--suppose it's a good thing I didn't encourage idolatry, then...

[He's... honestly not sure how to react to the idea that humans have found him beautiful, that he of all people has made his way into some of their art. It's one thing to know the love of your life likes the way you look, and entirely another to think about your face being considered fine art.]

[duckshaveears]

'Course you didn't. You couldn't, you're an angel. A proper one.

[Aziraphale's obvious discomfort sinks in past Crowley's amusement, however. He rolls off Aziraphale, stretches alongside him, lifting himself up on one elbow.]

That's why, you know. Wasn't just your pretty face. Well, maybe for some, but for others...

[Crowley reaches out and brushes a few errant curls back from Aziraphale's forehead as he tries to find words.]

You're good, Aziraphale. You radiate it, kindness and love for all mankind and all that, right out there in the open for all to see. Of course they wanted to try and capture just a little bit of it.

[confoundthemighty]

[He tilts his head into that warm touch, almost reflexively, eyelids fluttering at the simple joy of affection. His own hand strokes through Crowley’s hair again, and at that last statement he gives Crowley a searching look, something vulnerable in him suddenly jarred loose.]

I can’t help it. I do love them—humans, I mean. I don’t know if any of the others do, but—for all their flaws, for all the terrible things they’ve done... so many of them just want to do the right thing, and to make something beautiful.

[He’d never once heard any of the other angels talk admiringly about a human, except maybe for Christ, who doesn’t entirely count. Never once seen one of them willing to sit down to a meal or stroll through a museum just for the fun of it. And, he still thinks, there might yet be one soul in the Heavenly Host who understands what he sees in them.

But he hasn’t yet met that soul, and he has yet to meet someone who understands as thoroughly as Crowley.]

[duckshaveears]

You know humans, Aziraphale. Most of the rest don't ever interact with them. People are just numbers to count. A way of keeping score.

[It's not the first time he's said it. Probably won't be the last. The irony is that demons are far more familiar with humans than their angelic counterparts. Have to be, the better to tempt them into sin. Though even demons don't like humans so much as find them entertaining. Except Crowley, who does both.]

Maybe we should lure some of your ex-coworkers down to get their portraits painted, hmm? Get 'em in the vainglory.

[confoundthemighty]

[At Crowley's first statement, he sighs silently--it's been a sinking suspicion in the back of his own mind for ages, and it's a part of why it took him so long to admit that it wasn't something he could change. For so long he'd hoped, wondered, prayed in his heart that if he could just get any of the other angels to try experiencing the world as he did, to listen to human song or try human food or in any way give themselves over to appreciating any of the innumerable incredible things about humanity, that they would understand. But it had never worked.

It had been very lonely, trying to talk to anyone at the head office.

And now he gets to spend eternity with someone who actually understands.

At the thing Crowley says next, though, he feels an indignant laugh begin to bubble up. His expression is fondly reproachful, and perhaps a touch surprised.]

Don't you dare, Crowley. You know how big Gabriel's head is already!

[duckshaveears]

[That expression is a definite improvement, and Crowley grins.]

Not nearly as big as it'll be after a few good caricaturists have a go at sketching him. We'll need some extra large paper for that.

[confoundthemighty]

God, no. And you know if he had his way he'd have himself drawn in some hideously expensive suit that makes him look like what he does for a living is embezzlement.

[Aziraphale can just picture it--one of those outfits that's too fashionable and too clean-cut for trust to adhere to, a disturbingly immaculate haircut. But Crowley's words do make him imagine it as a caricature, the sort of thing where he looks as much of a prick as he acts, and he can't help laughing.]

[duckshaveears]

He already looks like that, the colossal wanker.

[Gabriel is now permanently numero uno on Crowley's shit list, ahead of everyone else who's ever existed, including Hastur and Torquemada. But the mental image of a caricatured Gabriel has made Aziraphale laugh, so it's been worth mentioning him. Crowley shifts his position, leans a little further up, grinning down.]

We could go traveling for a while. Find museums where I know for a fact that there's some piece of art you inadvertantly inspired and make you guess which one it is.

[confoundthemighty]

[Now there's a thought. Traveling together, instead of just running into one another in some part of the world. And, even better, coming home together afterwards. He absolutely beams up at Crowley, the entire room brightening along with him.]

You know, I think I'd like that. If we made a sort of game of it, maybe. Where would you take me first?

[duckshaveears]

Rome.

[It's said with such quickness and certainty that it catches Crowley by surprise too; he hadn't actually thought about it, but the answer was there, waiting for him. He looks thoughtful for a second, then shrugs, smiles a little.]

First place you ever invited me for a meal. Feels like...a lot of things started there, yeah? I'd like to go back. With you.