Work Text:
Aziraphale leaned towards the mirror, thick black pencil trembling in her unsteady grip. Already her eyes were framed in carefully blended blacks and greys and golds, but they didn’t look smokey so much as…smudgy. And rather reminiscent of a racoon.
How did Crowley do this? Every time Aziraphale tried, the pencil tugged uncomfortably at her eyelid and left a dark, uneven blotch, a stuttering line much thicker on one eye than the other.
She glared at the mirror, but it was no good. She couldn’t miracle the cosmetics on unless she understood how they worked and she…didn’t. The last time Aziraphale had made her face up, the fashion had been for thick white paint and large red circles on the cheeks, and that had been trial enough. But this?
She sighed. Right. Lipstick.
Aziraphale selected a tube and twisted the bottom – oh, my. That was very red. But she was sure she’d seen Crowley wear it before, so that must be right.
Now what? She pursed her lips as if kissing the air and smeared the lipstick across her bottom lip—
A loud banging on the door. “Are you finished, Angel? It’s been almost an hour!”
“N-nearly!” She turned back to the mirror and – oh, bugger, there was a bright red line from the corner of her mouth all the way up to her cheekbone. Aziraphale grabbed a towel and tried to scrub the entire mess off, but it merely smeared, turning the entire bottom half of her face pink as lipstick, powders, and liquids all blended into paste.
Could… more foundation fix this? Or perhaps that’s what the concealer was for? She searched through the jumble of supplies, scattering them across the bathroom counter – a bottle of Crowley’s perfume teetered, toppled, and shattered on the tile floor.
“Blast!”
“Aziraphale?”
“No! I – I have this under control.” She started sweeping the glass shards into a pile by hand, planning to miracle them whole, but the sharp end sliced her finger, drawing out a bead of lipstick-red blood.
It was barely any pain at all, but of course Crowley sensed it immediately.
“I’m coming in.”
“Don’t—”
The bathroom door flew open and there – framed against the backdrop of their new bedroom – stood Crowley, tight black dress showing off every curve she could eke from her narrow frame, thick red curls framing a face made even more glamorous by dramatic makeup. One perfect eyebrow arched. “I see you’ve changed.”
“Yes, well.” Aziraphale stood up, tugging at her new dress. She’d thought it very fetching in the shop, belted tartan with wide lapels, short skirt and sleeves, neckline a little daring. But compared to Crowley, she looked…dull, uninspired. Frumpy, even, with the skirt well below her knees. “I’ve been wanting to…experiment a little…”
“You have? Since when?”
“Ah. Well. A month or so. Since…since we moved.” Aziraphale waved her hand vaguely to indicate the entire cottage. “I thought it might be nice to – to try something and, well, since it’s our first night out on the town, it seemed as good a time…” She pulled at her newly-lengthened hair. The plan had been for shoulder-length curls, tighter than Crowley’s, but as they’d grown, they’d simply become more unruly, transforming into a frizzy, tangled mess. A disaster. A nightmare.
This was why it was better not to try.
Well, that was easy enough to fix. One snap of her fingers would undo the night’s work, restore her usual appearance. But as she raised her hand, Crowley stepped quickly next to her, heels clacking sharply on the tile floor. Fingers tipped with red nails sharp as daggers gently enveloped Aziraphale’s hand, while Crowley’s other arm slid around her waist, as if they were about to dance.
“Angel. You look beautiful.”
She huffed. “Stop it. This is hardly the time for flattery.”
“You do.” Crowley pressed her lips to Aziraphale’s forehead, which must have been disgusting with blended oils and powders, but she didn’t react. “Would I lie to you?”
“Hmph. You say you don’t, but that could be a lie, too. I know how wily you are.” But Aziraphale leaned into the embrace, sliding her hands up Crowley’s back and finding quite a lot of exposed skin. Aziraphale really shouldn’t even have bothered with this silly outfit.
Crowley’s now-free hand settled into Aziraphale’s hair, nails gently scratching at her scalp. “You are always beautiful. You are,” she added before Aziraphale could object.
Sighing, Aziraphale stepped back to look up at her wife, clasping her hands. “Thank you, my dear. But I think we can agree that this is one experiment that rather failed? Or do you honestly think I can go out like this?”
Crowley pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes until the long black lashes concealed them as completely as her glasses once did. “Well...a few adjustments might be in order. Just a few. Will you let me try?”
What did she have to lose? Aziraphale rose up on her toes and pecked the corner of Crowley’s mouth, carefully, to avoid smudging the bright red lipstick. “If you think it will do any good.”
--
Crowley watched Aziraphale settle on the edge of the bed – their bed – and felt her heart swell. It wasn’t something she’d ever get used to. Their bed. Their cottage. Their home. Her spouse, her best friend, her angel. Sitting there looking very much like the day Warlock had gotten into his mother’s makeup and experimented with several hundred pounds’ worth of designer cosmetics before his nanny found him.
Aziraphale looked just as messy now, but also just as ashamed.
Crowley set her makeup on the bedside table and miracled one of the kitchen chairs into the room. She leaned against the back of it for a moment, studying Aziraphale’s face. “You shouldn’t have used mine, you know.”
Bright pink flush combined with badly mixed foundation, bronzer and blush until Aziraphale’s face appeared sunburnt. It was utterly endearing. “W-well, I certainly didn’t expect – that is – I didn’t mean to – if you hadn’t interrupted—” Blackened eyelids slammed shut and Aziraphale took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Crowley. I won’t use your things without asking again.”
“Don’t care about that.” Crowley spun into the chair, picking up a face wipe. She’d need a strong one (more likely three or four) for this mess. “It’s your home, too, Angel.” Carefully, making sure her nails pointed in a safe direction, Crowley took Aziraphale’s chin in one hand and used the other to wipe away the thick, greasy…paint, really, when it all came together like this…wiping it away until she could see Aziraphale’s pale skin again. “I mean, what I wear is too dark for you.”
“Really, Crmph—” voice muffled as Crowley worked to scrub the lipstick off the angel's mouth - and cheeks, and jaw. “Really,” Aziraphale tried again. “You think my problem was the color?”
“Nh,” Crowley admitted, selecting another wipe to start on the eyeshadow. “That and you need practice. Things have changed since Versailles. Lots more rules and subtleties.”
Aziraphale laughed at that. “Crowley, I would hardly call the state of your face subtle.”
“You’d be wrong.” A few more swipes along the hairline and the edges of Aziraphale’s face should do the trick. “There’s a lot to consider. Contours. Undertones. Highlights. What tones complement each other. It’s an art form, really, all about…” Crowley leaned forward to scrub under Aziraphale’s jawline, “…finding your strengths and highlighting them. Drawing focus where you want it.”
Even as she said it, Crowley shifted her leg, accidentally brushing her knee against Aziraphale’s, her toes moving into the warm space between Aziraphale’s bare calves, barely touching the soft skin - and suddenly all her focus was there, her whole mind and soul drawn to this tiny point of contact. It didn’t matter that her hands were touching Aziraphale’s face even now, nor did it matter that she’d spent the night before curled against Aziraphale’s stomach as her angel read to her, soft voice soothing as she drifted to sleep. Every touch thrilled her, shot her full of butterflies and electricity until she could think of nothing else—
Three years after their first kiss, she still wasn’t used to it. She hoped she never stopped feeling this way.
Aziraphale, however, seemed not to notice. “Well, I suppose you’ll have your work cut out for you, then.” Crowley blinked hard, pulling herself back to eyes that were a wondrous mosaic of blue and green and brown. They were turned slightly away, bashful. “I know I – I have my strengths, but I would hardly say they lie in, to put it bluntly, physical attractiveness.”
“Oi.” The gentlest tap from the point of a nail on that round chin turned Aziraphale back to face Crowley. “I won’t have anyone talking about my best friend like that, understand? I can be very defensive.”
“I just meant—”
“Nope.” One last brush of cloth over skin, and all trace of the cosmetic disaster was gone, leaving nothing but Aziraphale’s face.
Crowley took it in, her beautiful blank canvas.
Makeup was an art, and she was an artist, sometimes. When it suited her. When the images filled her mind, straining against her until she took up pencil, or clay, or paint, or stone. Anything to pull the visions from her mind, make them real, make them tangible. To create again.
Something left over from the dawn of time, she assumed, the last scrap of angelic nature in a thoroughly demonic soul. Once, she’d held the raw forces of the universe in her hands and molded stars from nothing; painted the vast emptiness of space with nebulae glowing in colors humans couldn’t perceive. Mortal art had always been a pale substitute.
But all of it – statues and frescoes and stars – paled in comparison to the angel sitting before her, the most beauteous, wondrous being in all creation.
If only Aziraphale could see it, too.
Well. Crowley would see to that. It would be her greatest work yet.
--
Makeup, it turned out, was very confusing.
Crowley had started by pulling Aziraphale’s long hair back with some sort of enormous clip. Then came the moisturizer, massaged across her cheeks and forehead. And now… something.
For almost five minutes, Aziraphale had sat with her arm stretched out while Crowley rubbed dozens of lines of powder, cream, and goopy liquid on the back of Aziraphale’s hand, down her arm, near her elbow, apparently anyplace she could find space for them. The last half-dozen at least had all looked identical to Aziraphale, but Crowley insisted she was “finding your color” and that it was all very important, before laying a ribbon of shiny silver cloth across Aziraphale’s wrist and staring at it as if attempting to discern the secrets of the universe.
Well. Aziraphale certainly didn’t mind the brush of Crowley’s fingers again and again, or the warm puffs of breath on her arm. But it all seemed rather strange.
Finally, Crowley sat up, face set into serious lines. “I have your palette.”
“Ah. Good?” Aziraphale hazarded.
Crowley picked up another bottle and squeezed some sort of lotion onto a cotton ball. When she turned back, her legs had moved so that now her knees framed Aziraphale’s, ever-so-slightly holding them in place. It was more than a little distracting, but Crowley seemed completely unaffected.
“Let’s get started.” Holding the cotton so that her nails were at a safe distance, Crowley began brushing the lotion across Aziraphale’s cheeks, forehead and nose in quick gentle strokes. It was an odd sensation, firm but soft, and reminded Aziraphale of a mother cat grooming a kitten. Relaxing, almost, as the lotion blended into her face.
But as Crowley turned to collect the next tools, Aziraphale found herself fidgeting. There was something about being the focus of so much attention and intensity that made her…not anxious, but certainly restless. “Is this going to take long?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light.
“You can’t rush perfection.”
“Well, I think aiming for perfection is rather—”
“Shhhh.” A finger rested against her lips. “Hold still. I need to see where the concealer goes.”
In a flurry of little brushes, Crowley dabbed lines and dots under Aziraphale’s eyes, at the corners of her mouth, even the sides of her nose, smudging and blending each bit with a soft, wedge-shaped sponge. Every time Aziraphale thought she was finished, along came another brush, adding another quick tap of liquid. Finally, she ran the sponge along one side of Aziraphale’s nose and nodded, seemingly satisfied. The brushes were put aside, replaced by a compact of pale powder and an enormous brush.
“Am I allowed to talk now?”
“S’long as you don’t move.” The bristles tapped against Aziraphale’s forehead, pressing in the foundation. A flick as the bristles dusted lightly across her brow, then back again for more pressing.
Aziraphale twisted her hands, trying to keep still, looking for something to say to fill the silence. “I can see why you don’t do this every day. Seems exhausting.”
“Angel, you have no idea.” She paused to wink and dab the brush back into the powder, then moved on to Aziraphale’s nose. “This face here? That’s twenty...twenty-five steps, at least. Not even counting the hair and nails. But I don’t need all that when I’m gardening.” She tilted her head, thinking, before attacking Aziraphale’s nose again.
“But, er…” How to approach this question? “I suppose, you enjoy getting…dolled up some nights?”
“Yeah.” Again, the brush returned to the powder. “What about you? Not really your scene, new outfit, new everything. Why did you want to try it?”
Oh, this wasn’t where the conversation was supposed to go. “I…I’m really not sure.” The brush came to her cheeks now, quick gentle circles under the eyes. “Suppose I…I wanted to see what the fuss was about. Since you’re so fond of it. And I hoped...that is, I wanted to find out if...it would make me feel different.”
“Different how?” A few quick brushes across forehead and chin, and the compact was put away, replaced with another, nearly identical, and a large white puff.
“Well…I thought…” The puff tapped quickly across her forehead and down her nose, much more sharply than the foundation brush. Aziraphale nearly pulled back in surprise. “I just…” More powder under her eyes, and more gently across the lids. “Is that necessary?”
“Setting powder.” Crowley paused, clicking a sharp fingernail against white teeth, then pressed more powder into Aziraphale’s cheeks, from the corners of her mouth back towards her cheek. “Go on. What were you hoping to find?”
“I don’t know!” She blurted quickly, expecting the next assault to start any second. But instead, Crowley sat, another brush in hand, watching her. “I just thought, since you enjoy it so much, spend so much time on it…” She glanced back at the bathroom, trying to catch a glimpse of her reflection again. Couldn’t quite see it from here. “I wanted to feel more like you, I suppose. Confident. Elegant. Beautiful. I thought this might help.”
Once again, Crowley’s finger rested on her chin, turning her back to face golden eyes. “You’re already all of that.” Soft bristles dusted quickly over her face, with a few extra strokes on her nose that made Aziraphale smile.
“That’s nice of you to say, dear.” Aziraphale patted her knee, and though Crowley’s expression didn’t change as she reached for yet another powder, there was a faint pink glow under the dramatic shading of her cheekbones. “I know you mean it but, well, it doesn’t feel true.”
Crowley scowled a little, coating the next brush in pale coral color and tapping it sharply against the side of the compact. “Suck in your cheeks.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I need to see your cheekbones. Like this.” Crowley made a face like a surprised fish, and Aziraphale did her best to copy it. “Good.” The brush landed lightly by Aziraphale’s ear and dusted along her cheekbone, quick strokes and circles, then the same on the other side. “Do you always feel like that?”
“Er…you’ve lost me again.”
“Angel.” Crowley switched brushes and started another round of circles, this time without powder. “You said you don’t…I mean…” The brush paused, bristles just tickling Aziraphale’s skin. “I wish you wouldn’t doubt yourself all the time.”
“As do I.” The brush started up again. “It isn’t so bad, you know. In Heaven, I used to always feel… insufficient. Out of place.”
“Square peg in a round hole?” Crowley suggested. Good lord, how many brushes did she have? The next one was very small, dabbed into yet another light-colored powder. It flicked lightly across Aziraphale’s cheekbones.
“I suppose you could say that, yes.” Now the brush ran along Aziraphale’s nose, and dusted the spot right above her lips. “And it’s not that I still feel the same way. I just…thought I would feel better by now. Instead I’m just…” She gestured vaguely.
Crowley put the brushes aside and took Aziraphale’s hands, worry deep in her eyes. “Are you unhappy?”
“No.” Aziraphale squeezed her fingers. “No, I’m so…so radiantly happy, Crowley, I am. I just…sometimes I don’t think…not that I don’t deserve it, but that I haven’t earned it yet.”
“And you thought changing your whole look would help with that?”
“I don’t know. It was worth trying, I suppose.”
With a bump, Crowley’s forehead rested against hers, and they sat together for a long moment, just feeling the love flow from one to the other.
“Ah!” Aziraphale pulled back. “We’re going to be late! Are you finished?”
“Barely half done.” Crowley reached for yet another makeup case. “Time for the eyes.”
--
Mascara was out, and any sort of eyeliner. Aziraphale simply wasn’t used to the strange pressure against eyelids, and kept pulling back, flinching nervously even at the softest brush. Crowley didn’t push it, she never had, not when it came to Aziraphale.
It hurt, in a way, seeing these doubts in her partner even after all these years. Made Crowley feel inadequate. She wanted to push her angel down onto the bed, and kiss those soft lips, slow and languorous, pouring in every bit of love and acceptance until Aziraphale was filled to bursting—
But that wasn’t what Aziraphale needed, not this time.
So Crowley dabbed at the eyes with brushes, crease and corner, asking Aziraphale to open them every few strokes to see the progress. It was a tricky plan, but it seemed to have finally come together. Just a little dab under each eyebrow, blend with a clean brush and…
“Right. That’s it, I think.”
Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open one more time, and Crowley grinned. It was a sight to behold, really; when Aziraphale smiled, the relief was palpable, a soft glow that completed the look. Or nearly.
“Can I see—”
“Not yet.” Crowley held up the lipstick she’d selected earlier. “Open your mouth and relax your lips. Like this.” It took a few tries, but she managed not to giggle at Aziraphale’s attempts. Crowley tapped the lipstick a few times against Aziraphale’s lips, both sides of the Cupid’s bow and the plump spot just below. Next a few quick brushes from center to corner. Crowley demonstrated how to press lips together to smooth the color. After another moment’s thought, she picked up a second tube, dabbing a brush into the color, and added just a little more to Aziraphale’s bottom lip, blending it carefully. Yes. She held out a tissue for Aziraphale to blot against, then sat back and took it all in.
Perfect. At last, she was satisfied. Her work, her magnum opus, was complete.
“Alright, Angel. Let’s go have a look.”
Aziraphale bounced up and Crowley’s heart skipped again. So very lovely, dress flaring slightly around the softly curving calves. Sophisticated, like a high society lady of a bygone era, the sort that moved in circles where Crowley could never quite be accepted. Not that she cared, she had her own circles. But Aziraphale could be anywhere, be anyone, and yet chose to be here, with Crowley, to share her life, and her home, and her bed.
It was a miracle beyond belief.
Fighting back a soppy smile, Crowley followed after her partner, waiting for the reaction.
--
“Oh,” Aziraphale said, slightly disappointed. At first glance, there appeared to be nothing different about her face at all. Lips a little shinier, perhaps, and a bit plumper, something a little darker on her cheeks. What on earth had Crowley been doing all this time, applying clear cosmetics?
But as she looked closer, she began to notice – nothing, in a sense. No imperfections. No unevenness. Her cheeks seemed perfectly round, her forehead less wrinkled, the curve of her nose more…retroussé.
It was as if all the flaws that seemed to overwhelm her appearance had been washed away, leaving her…distilled. Perfected. More herself.
“Oh, my.”
“You like it?” Crowley pressed up behind her, arms around her waist, chin resting on her head, smug grin all over her face.
“My dear, I…I’m…beautiful.”
“Told you.” Crowley’s fingers traced along the curve of her jaw, sending a shiver down Aziraphale’s spine. “This is how I see you. Always.”
For a moment, Aziraphale thought she might cry. Then she noticed the reflection of her eyes – somehow, the one on the left appeared blue, while the one on the right was green. Her eyes were always a little different, depending on the light, but somehow, she couldn’t shake the illusion no matter which way she turned her head. “How did you…”
“You noticed!” Pleased as a cat, Crowley stepped back and unclipped Aziraphale’s hair, gently working a wide-toothed brush through the tips. “It wasn’t easy, you know. I mean, I could just do entirely different colors on each side, but it would look…uneven. Instead, it’s a bit cooler on one side, a bit warmer on the other.
“I have no idea what that means,” Aziraphale said, still in awe.
Her wife chuckled, working her way towards the roots of her hair. “It’s a magic trick.” Aziraphale gasped in indignation. “Yes, Angel, I’m afraid there’s only one magician in this house, and it isn’t you.”
“Take that back!”
“Nope.” Crowley tossed the brush aside and ran her fingers through Azirpahale’s hair and, oh, yes, she would certainly be keeping it this length. Crowley picked up a bottle of product from somewhere, squeezed it into her hands, and began working it into Aziraphale’s frizzed-out curls. “You want to reclaim that title, you’ll have to fight for it.”
“Are you sure you want to challenge me?” She tipped her head back slightly, enjoying the feeling as Crowley divided her hair into three parts. “In a fair fight, I’m sure we both know who would win.”
“Hmmm.” Crowley began carefully weaving the sections of hair, one over another. “Don’t be too sure. As the official magician of this cottage, I always have tricks up my sleeve.”
“You don’t even have sleeves.”
“I’m just that good.”
With one last tug, the braid was completed. Aziraphale opened her eyes again and - oh. It was loose enough at the top to give her hair a little body, and loose ringlets, somehow perfectly formed, hung beside her ears.
Crowley’s hands slid around her waist again. “But perhaps we can wait. I have other plans for tonight.”
“I’m sure you do, you wicked thing.” There was something absurd about their reflection, the simplicity of Aziraphale beside the extreme glamour of Crowley, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away.
At least, not until Crowley held out a hand, producing a brooch shaped like a feather, tipped with diamonds. “No outfit is complete without an accessory or two.”
“Thank you, my dear.”
While Aziraphale pinned the brooch to her lapel, Crowley manifested a gold chain about her own neck – then a string of garnets – then pearls – and finally a black chain with three jade serpents hanging from it. “What do you think, too much?”
“Oh, no, it’s quite stunning. I think the pearls might work for me, though.”
Crowley snapped her fingers, and the necklace reappeared around Aziraphale’s throat.
It was only as she was adjusting the neckline to better show them off that Aziraphale realized how…natural it all felt. Two wives, getting ready for dinner in town. Teasing each other, sharing jewelry. It felt – just for the moment – as though she truly fit.
It was…astounding.
She spun to Crowley, ready to tell her. But what could she say? You fixed me? Obviously not. She wasn’t naïve enough to think a single moment without her doubts meant they were gone forever. I’m happy? But she was always happy, that didn’t do it justice. Not even I love you seemed strong enough.
Well. There was one thing she almost never said. Perhaps that would do.
“Crowley. About those…plans.” Aziraphale stepped close, resting a hand on her hip, looking up coquettishly through her eyelashes. “After dinner, would you like to go…dancing?”
Her entire face lit up. “You mean it?”
“Mmmh. I think…I’m ready for a little more experimenting.”
With a flick of her wrist, Crowley transformed her black dress – still tight through the bodice, but the skirt a little looser, with a scandalously high slit that would allow her to really move. Her eyes glowed as she smiled. “Whatever you like, Angel.”
Rising up on her toes, Aziraphale brushed her cheek against Crowley’s, kissing the air on first one side of her face, then the other. Wouldn’t do to ruin their makeup before anyone saw them.
She took Crowley’s arm, beaming, certain for once she was precisely where she belonged.