Work Text:
Crowley scoffs as he slams the front door of his apartment shut behind himself. He has just returned home from reporting his wiles to hell and even the plants in the other room can feel the irritation run off the demon in waves.
"Good-for-nothing demon my ass." Crowley grumbles as he pulls off his sunglasses and throws them down on the nearest surface. "It's not my fault I have nothing to do here. 'S not like any angels to corrupt ever show up." He ignores the plants' fearful shivering as he stalks directly into his workroom. He needs to cool down, and what better way to do that then pour his heart and feelings into a sculpture?
The demon had picked up the art style a few centuries ago when he was sent to Italy to tempt Michelangelo into sin, but had become his friend instead. They had worked together in the galleries, where Michelangelo taught Crowley to manipulate solid blocks of marble into the most beautiful images with tiny details. Surprisingly, he found the motions of working for hours on one piece to be soothing. And so Crowley never stopped the practice of sculpting. In every piece he made, he poured his deepest emotions. Time slipped away from him when he worked on another carving. It was his time to relax and reflect and he truly enjoyed it.
Over the last 200 years, Crowley had really mastered the art, but he decided to keep his work to himself as it was very personal and the demon doesn't like to open up, not to anyone. It's just that not anyone he ever met was worth it. Crowley was most proud of the smaller sculpture he put in his hallway, depicting an angel and demon wrestling. It had been created in the eighteen-hundreds. Crowley had gone through a bad time wherein he had felt more lonely than ever. He had wished for somebody to keep him company, even if it was just an angel to torture.
As soon as the demon enters his workroom, he snaps his fingers, making a block of white marble appear that is as taller than Crowley himself. His clothes change into a more comfortable black ensemble before he picks up the tools and starts working.
Crowley loses all track of time when his emotions take over. Firstly, with the anger he harbours towards hell, he chisels off the biggest parts of the marble he won't need, muttering curses to himself about his superiors. Then when the sadness takes over, he chisels off the smaller pieces as the sculpture starts to take a more recognizable form. Loneliness runs through the demons veins as he starts on the details.
He never wanted to be alone. He never even meant to Fall. Crowley hadn't enjoyed heaven's authority and tight rules, but the company of the other angels was something he missed dearly in the six thousand years he has been on Earth. Humans never made good companions, for their lives were over in the blink of an eye for the demon. The few humans he had befriended over the years he can count on one hand. What he truly wishes for is an eternal companion. Someone who will stay by his side forever, despite him being a demon.
Tears fill his golden eyes as Crowley once again reminds himself he can't have that. He's a demon with a human wish. Hell would end him if they found out. The only things he can keep are his sculpture.
So Crowley starts carving out the details of this one. His imagination runs freely when he makes himself a companion out of stone and slowly but surely two magnificent wings come into being. Each feather given attention so the smallest details are just right. They are relaxed on the back of the stone, a sign that the owner of the wings is completely trusting his company. The skin of the creature looks just as soft as the feathers do when the demon works on it. Muscles and freckles come almost alive under his hands when he carves the soft curves along the angel's belly and thighs. Even veins are visible under his marble skin. Crowley then moves on to the cloth hanging over the angel's shoulder and down his chest, covering up his middle and part of his leg in a flowing movement, as if the wind is trying to blow it away.
The best part he keeps till last: the head of his creation. He wants to make it perfect, just like the rest of the body already is. Crowley works slowly on the curly hair which he imagines to be blond if the statue was a real person. He spends days working on the angel's features. He makes the lips plump, slightly opened, before moving on to the nose and lastly the eyes. Oh, his eyes. Crowley loves sculpting eyes. He has always had a talent for making the eyes so lifelike and full of emotion. They shine out intelligence and love when he finishes.
Crowley takes a few steps back and drops his tools when he sees his creation fully for the first time. Finally, he finished his sculpture. He worked for a month without stopping once and he hasn't even noticed the passing of time. A smile forms on his lips as he takes in the result. He created the perfect creature. An angel. His eternal companion.
"Aziraphale." Crowley whispers softly and walks closer again, this time to gently stroke his fingertips over the angel's cheek in adoration. "My angel."
~*~
The angel becomes a large part of Crowley's day as soon as he was created. The demon finds himself talking to the sculpture, imagining it... Imagining Aziraphale replies to him with those soft kissable lips. He can't help himself but fall for his creation. Oh, how he wishes the replies he makes up in his head were real and audible. How he wishes he could feel warmth under his hand whenever he softly touches the skin of the angel instead of the marble stone.
What first seemed to be Crowley's emotional salvation, was now quickly becoming his downfall.
The demon spends hours in his workroom having conversations with the sculpture and touching his angel softly. The plants in the other room had given up trying their best for the master of the house as he hasn't even enough time to spare them a glance. Crowley knows he is doomed, however, as soon as he feels his heart speed up at the fondness he feels when he stares at the smaller eternal being.
"Oh, Aziraphale. Why are demons bound to be lonely creature?" He sighs as he softly touches the palm of the angel's hand. "Heaven was lovely. There was actual social contact, and I loved taking care of the fledglings." He smiles as he reminds himself of a time before his wings were scorched black. "Down in hell all's just... 's just demons grunting to each other, tha's all it is." He slides his hand up over the silent angel's arm, slowly over his shoulder and up to cup the cold cheek.
Crowley sighs and steps closer, he leans down slightly to place his forehead against the angel's. "You are all I have." He closes his eyes and gently kisses the statue. A chill runs through him as he welcomes the new sensation of... love. It's ridiculous. The thought invades his brain like a bullet and makes him step away shaking his head. The plump lips of his marble lover would never be responsive to his kiss. Aziraphale is just a statue after all.
The weight of the realization hits him like a brick and Crowley feels his heart shatter just a bit. He can't keep doing this. He has to move forward. After all, there is some tempting he has to do.
Determined, Crowley steps out of his apartment.
~*~
His determination doesn't last a day.
Before the sun set again, Crowley finds himself talking to his creation again. And the day after. And the day after that one too.
Neither can he derive himself of the need to touch his angel, with his hands, his lips...
It goes on for months and Crowley works himself into a deeper pit each day that passes. He desires for Aziraphale to become flesh and blood so badly, Crowley would even give up his wings.
So one night, after downing multiple bottles of wine and whispering his lustful thoughts to the angel, the demon bursts out into tears. He had left his lover behind in the workroom and stumbled into his bed. The loneliness drove him to his breaking point. Ugly sobs wreck through his corporeal body. "I hate You!" He slurs, raising his head to stare at the heavens. "You made me Fall! You made me unlovable and now You can't even give me this one thing!" Tears are running down his cheeks. "I love him!" He sobs and curls into himself, giving up the anger. "Just, please. Please."
Crowley passes out that night while crying, clutching his chest in a desperate attempt to hold himself together.
~*~
Amber snake eyes blink open disturbed in the morning. The early morning light is already creeping in through the windows and Crowley groans at the headache the wine left him.
He quickly miracles the hangover away and sighs, sitting up on his bed and stretching.
A short scream and a thud then sound from the hallway and Crowley snaps his head up immediately. His nostrils flare. Someone broke into his apartment.
In a flash he is out of his bed and stalking over to the hallway, his face a snarl. He throws open the door and looks around. The door to his workplace is ajar so that is where the demon is headed.
"I know you are in there." He states as he pushes through the door with a smirk. "Come out, come out wher-" His smirk drops immediately when he takes in the scene in front of him. The workroom is empty. His tools are still there but the biggest piece, his most important sculpture is gone. Like it never even existed.
"No." Crowley whispers. He goes through the room shaking his head in panic. "No, no, no!" They stole his angel. His angel.
Footsteps sound from the open doorway and catch Crowley's attention. The thief is still there, and the demon will not show mercy for him.
Once again he storms to the source of the noise, ready to attack the robber, but freezes in the middle of the room where he keeps his plants. There, at the other side of the room stands a man with his back to the demon. Crowley has gotten to know this man so well over the last year. He had created him. The cloth is now wrapped around his middle like a skirt and his wings are angled downwards and rest on the floor. The demon hadn't even seen angels in heaven so unguarded and at ease.
"Oh, he keeps you so well." Crowley almost melts at the friendly voice directed at his plants. "You are all so beautiful."
"Ngk." Crowley chokes out. At the other side of the room, white wings immediately shoot up in a defensive stand as the angel whirls around. The demon lays eyes on the man's face for the first time then and almost cries. He is perfect. Even more so than the marble version was. The white complexion is now broken by rosy cheeks and even more beautiful eyes than he could have imagined.
"Oh, my dear." The angel smiles and drops his wings again. "You scared me." He walks closer towards the demon and hums. "Are you okay?"
Crowley is still frozen in place and all he can do is stare at the being in front of him. "W-Who are you?" He stutters, even though he already knows who this is.
"Now now, my dear. Surely you couldn't have forgotten me. We have lived together for a year." The angel stops only inches away from Crowley and the latter can feel the heath radiating off him, the heath of a living being.
"Aziraphale?" He whispers, not able to look away from his eyes. In response the angel smiles and nods.
"Yes, Crowley. It's me. Your angel." He lifts his hand up to cup Crowley's cheek gently.
"I don't understand." Crowley goes to cover the hand on his cheek with his own, but changes his mind and lets his fingertips roam over the other man's features instead. Over his cheeks, his nose and his magnificent lips.
Aziraphale closes his eyes and brings his wings up to cocoon the two of them in a soft bubble of feathers. "Neither do I." He whispers back and strokes his thumb over the demon's cheekbone. "But I don't care. I'm just so glad I can finally give you back the love you gave me." Aziraphale leans his forehead against Crowley, mirroring the way Crowley kissed him for the first time all these months ago. "I love you."
And as soft warm lips finally meet his, Crowley knows that this is his forever now.