Work Text:
Crowley sighed and looked up from his sketchbook he had just opened at Beelz’s signature knock on his open door, a rather annoying pattern of knocks that pleased the little gremlin immensely and bothered Crowley to no end. At the look on their face he set down his pencil and sighed again, dramatically for the effect. So much for getting any work done this evening, it was nearly closing time and he’d just finished cleaning his space after his last scheduled tattoo appointment. He had been hoping to get in another couple sketches before closing; art ideas always popped into his head at the least convenient times.
“Walk-ins,” Beelz complained, nodding towards the front of the studio. “I’m going to vomit and die on the spot if I have to do another lame couple’s tattoo, so they’re all yours.” And before Crowley could even open his mouth to protest, Beelz had disappeared back into their studio across the hall.
“Thanks, best friend!” Crowley called sarcastically after them. The only response he got was a slammed door and loud metal music pouring from the room. He sighed again, to himself this time, and got up from his cluttered little desk, sketchbook sadly left behind. He headed out into the lobby, trying to plaster a fake smile on his face, when his eyes fell upon the most beautiful man he’d ever seen before in his entire life. He was pretty sure his jaw might have dropped. And then he saw the red-headed woman patting his arm and quickly schooled his expression into something more neutral. He’d been terribly single for so long, of course he’d try to fall instantly for a beautiful man who was attached.
“Welcome to Hell, best tattoos in the country, how can I help you this evening?” he rattled off the scripted greeting, noticing how it made the man flinch ever so slightly and the woman’s grin turn more amused.
“This place is perfect,” she patted the beautiful man’s arm again.
“Couple’s tattoo?” Crowley asked, wanting to get right to the point. If he could get this finished and done with as quickly as possible, he could get back to his sketches and he wouldn’t have to stare any longer at the man he’d suddenly begun pining for. It would probably be just a little heart or some dates or something like that, easy and fast.
“Oh, heavens, no,” the man gasped, looking scandalized and like Crowley had told him a hilarious joke.
“I’m just here for moral support!” the woman laughed. “And we’re just friends, if you were wondering,” she winked at him, and Crowley got the impression that she was flirting on behalf of the man instead of flirting with him herself. He liked her.
“I, um,” the man stumbled. “I need a tattoo.”
Interesting choice of words. Crowley paused. “Right. Yeah, I gathered that. What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know,” the man fretted, twisting his hands together. Crowley fell even harder; he was adorable.
“Okayyyyy,” Crowley drew out the word. He sometimes got clients who didn’t know what they wanted, it gave him more creative freedom, but he liked to have a bit of a baseline to know where to start. “Placement?”
“What?” The questioning frown on his face was also the cutest thing Crowley had ever seen. This was going to be a long consultation.
“Where do you want it?”
“Oh. Um. I’m not sure either…” he glanced at the woman beside him, who rolled her eyes fondly at him.
“Are you sure you want a tattoo?” Crowley frowned.
“Yes! I do! I-...oh, dear. Tracy, I-”
She patted his arm again. “He’s nervous,” she explained. “Moved away from his godawful religious family this year finally, bunch of prudes if you ask me, they always hated me, said I was a harlot, anyway, Aziraphale dear has been making great progress spending the year reinventing himself and rebelling against their wishes,” Tracy rattled off, barely taking time to breathe. “He moved away from their hometown, he opened his own bookshop, he started drinking-”
“Just wine!” Aziraphale interrupted.
“Really expensive wines,” Tracy sighed dreamily. “Which is great for me since he needs someone to share them with. But yes, he started drinking, wine, he went dancing, he even came out!”
Oh. He was single, and he was gay. Crowley’s heart thudded wildly in his chest. He tried to squash it down, it wouldn’t do to fall for a client. His heart yelled that it already fell.
“And they...wait, all of that was rebellious?” Crowley asked with a frown as the rest of the words caught up to him. None of that seemed particularly scandalous.
“None of that was allowed,” Aziraphale replied.
“Damn,” Crowley sighed sympathetically.
“Ah. Yes. Um.”
“Still trying to get him to swear,” winked Tracy. Yep, he liked her a lot, he decided. Maybe he could convince her to get a tattoo as well.
Crowley grinned. “So, a tattoo wasn’t allowed either I’m guessing.”
“Oh, they’d hate it,” Aziraphale agreed. “So I need one. I’ve honestly wanted one for decades,” he said conspiratorially. “I just never can decide what or where or anything.”
“Alright, well, why don’t you two come back to my studio and I’ll work up some sketches while we try to narrow down some ideas,” Crowley said, leading them back to his room. He suddenly was very glad Beelz had given him this appointment, this was going to be fun. Pissing off awful family members, designing a brand new piece, and working on the skin of a beautiful and single and gay man: Crowley was going to have a great time with this one.
They talked and talked, mostly about the tattoo, but also about Aziraphale’s life with Tracy filling in bits that he was too shy to bring up himself. Crowley found himself telling little stories in return as he sketched. When he finally had something in his book he thought was good enough, he turned the sketch around to show them.
“Oh, it’s perfect,” Aziraphale gasped, and Tracy beamed at them. Crowley felt his heart fluttering at how pleased he made him, his little gasp of awe and his beautiful smile.
They figured out a placement and a size, something visible so that Aziraphale could be bold, but able to cover if he was feeling more shy and needed to hide it. His forearm would be best. Crowley added some flourishes to the drawing to shape it for an arm, and cleaned up the edges a bit, continuing to talk to them about any and everything until it came time for the shop to close.
“Alright, well, if you’re ready for it, come back anytime this week,” Crowley smiled, the movement a little foreign on his face. “I’m open most evenings except I have a long session booked on Thursday.”
Aziraphale nodded, gathering his things.
“Yours will probably take about four hours, give or take, eight hundred dollars unless you change your mind and want to add colors then I’ll have to work up the math on that. Make sure to eat and hydrate beforehand, don’t want you passing out on the table!” He waited. For something, anything, for Aziraphale to blanch or complain or change his mind or something. But no, everything about this appointment was going so perfectly. Crowley couldn’t believe his luck.
“Perfect,” Aziraphale beamed at him, and Crowley was sure his heart was about to jump out of his chest and flee.
“Perfect,” Crowley repeated, and he wasn’t just talking about the tattoo.
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To Crowley’s surprise, Aziraphale returned the very next day, by himself and with a very determined look on his face. Crowley lit up when he saw him walk through the door, and Beelz punched Crowley in the arm for ‘being so gross and obvious’.
“Hey, you came back,” Crowley smiled at him.
“I did,” Aziraphale smiled back.
“Ready?”
He took a breath in, and out. “Ready.”
Crowley led him back to his table. “I cleaned up the sketch some more and I’ve already traced it over onto the transfer paper, but if you want anything changed we’ve got time?”
“No, no, it’s absolutely perfect,” Aziraphale assured him, perching himself delicately in the chair.
“Alright,” Crowley grinned. He wished more clients were like this. And he also wished they weren’t because his poor heart couldn’t take it. He rolled up Aziraphale’s sleeve and tried to not let his fingers linger on the perfect skin underneath as he cleaned the area and applied the transfer paper.
“Ok. Get comfortable, take a breath, and I’ll start.”
Aziraphale nodded and steeled himself, eyes screwing shut before the needle even touched his flawless skin. Crowley lowered the tattoo gun and started the linework.
“Oh,” Aziraphale said softly, eyes opening back up. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“Nah, it’s not too bad,” Crowley replied. “Depends on where it is and how thick the lines are. Shading and whatnot. Everyone tolerates it a little differently.” He continued tracing, carefully following the lines of his sketch. Aziraphale sat so still, not even a flinch or a twitch. “You sit like an angel,” Crowley mumbled, losing himself a bit in his art.
“Oh,” Aziraphale said again, and when Crowley glanced up there was a pink tint to his cheeks.
He continued on and the tattoo was beginning to take shape on his arm. “Alright, angel, tilt this way a bit,” Crowley said softly, and he realized he was flirting. Aziraphale followed his movement, turning his arm just the right way.
And after that, it was like their conversation from the night before had never ended. They talked, trading stories back and forth, silly jokes and serious moments, likes and dislikes, whatever crossed their minds. Crowley usually had music on while he tattooed, or had his clients listen to whatever they wanted in their headphones. This was unusual for him. But he found himself enjoying it immensely.
Eventually Aziraphale started asking about his tattoos, and Crowley got the chance to explain each and every one to attentive ears. Most people got bored after his fourth or fifth one; they were complicated and had a lot of meaning. Besides the few drunken mistakes he’d been slowly getting Beelz to cover and re-do for him in their spare time.
Before Crowley knew it, he was finished. He found himself a little reluctant to pull his hands away, sad that this was over and that he’d probably never see Aziraphale again unless somehow the mad decided to get another tattoo. He hadn’t had such an easy conversation with someone in so long, he hated to see it end.
“Alright, you’re all finished,” he said softly as he pulled away, turning off the tattoo gun and setting it to the side so he could get the wrappings ready.
“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed. “Oh, it’s perfect.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Crowley smiled.
“Oh, thank you,” Aziraphale gushed, admiring it as Crowley hesitated with the clear wrap.
“Mind if I photograph it for my portfolio?” he asked, partly because it was truly one of his best works and he should have a record of it, and partly because he wanted to draw this out a little longer.
“Oh! Yes, of course!” Aziraphale held his arm back out, wiggling a little as he got re-situated in the chair. Crowley took his time with his camera, getting a few angles and orientations, until he realized he was taking much too long.
“Would you-” Aziraphale began suddenly, then stopped himself.
“Would I what?”
“It’s...well, it’s terribly forward of me to ask, with you being at work, but I’ve been trying new things. Would you want to get coffee sometime?” Aziraphale blurted.
Crowley grinned. “Yeah. Yeah I’d like that a lot,” he said, carefully wrapping Aziraphale’s tattoo. Aziraphale beamed at him again, and Crowley’s heart beat a tattoo in his chest.