Chapter Text
Aziraphale looked up at the community center with no small amount of trepidation, wondering what on earth he was doing there. This was madness, utter madness, and he should really leave. Tracy meant well, but there was no way this wouldn’t end in humiliation. He should leave.
But he didn’t. He had committed himself to do this, so he really needed to follow through. It would be unfair to Tracy - and reflect poorly on her - if he were to leave. He didn’t want to make a bad impression on her boss or whatever, so he would at least go in and talk to the instructor. But if he got a hinky feeling, he’d be out of there.
Squaring his shoulders, he marched up the pavement to the door of the community center with much more confidence than he felt. On the wall inside were a series of signs printed on A4. He glanced over them, finding the one he wanted, and followed the directions to room 6B.
There was a woman in the room, a tall brunette in a long, flowing skirt with round glasses on her face. She didn’t notice him at first, and he knocked on the doorframe.
“Hello, I’m looking for Anathema Device?”
“That’s me,” she chirped with a big smile. “You must be Aziraphale.”
“Yes, hello. I’m Aziraphale Fell.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Tracy has said such lovely things.”
He looked around the classroom, which consisted of a semicircle of easels with chairs around a solitary chair, and swallowed nervously.
“Tracy says you’ve never been a model before.”
“Ah, no. Not at all.”
“Well, it’s very easy.”
“What can you tell me about it?”
“It’s fairly straightforward. The class is an hour, and we usually try to do a couple of poses. I’ll put you in a pose, and you’ll be expected to hold it for a set amount of time, usually five minutes or so. Then, on my signal, you can break the pose. During the break you can roam around the room, if you want, get a drink of water or socialize with the students. The students will most likely still be working, but will like to talk to you. Then, I’ll put you in another pose and it starts over.”
“Yes, that’s essentially what Tracy told me. How many students?”
“About seven. We’re a small class, and most of us know each other very well.”
“Ah.”
She laid a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. “Everyone is very friendly. You’ll be welcome.”
He gave a wan smile. “I do hope so.”
“Tracy told me she suggested you for a reason.”
Aziraphale almost sighed. Leave it to Tracy. “Yes. She thought it might be good for my self esteem.”
“She said something about an asshole ex.”
Good Lord, had Tracy told this woman his entire life story?
“Yes. I was in a relationship with a less than pleasant man until about eight months ago, and it left my confidence a little battered.” Understatement.
“Well, the vast majority of models for life drawing classes find the experience to be very uplifting. Empowering, even. You get the opportunity to see yourself as other people see you - as a work of art.”
“I just worry… I don’t exactly have the ideal physique,” he confessed, blushing a little.
“That’s perfect, though. Absolutely perfect. If they wanted to draw the ‘ideal physique’, they could just download a photo from the internet. Real people, with curves and blemishes, are much more interesting.”
“Do I, um, do I need to be nude?”
“It’s highly preferred, but not an absolute requirement. If you’d like to leave on your shorts this time, no one will think less of you. But I hope you’ll get comfortable enough to take them off eventually.”
Aziraphale couldn’t imagine that, but he just smiled. “Yes, thank you.”
“You're welcome. As Tracy probably told you, you’ll be paid for your time. You’re guaranteed fifty pounds, but there is a tip jar and the students drop in some money at the end of class, usually about five to ten pounds each. Most models walk away with around a hundred pounds or so. Not bad for an hour of sitting,” she said with a grin.
“No, I suppose not,” he agreed, giving her a small smile.
“So what do you say? Are you willing to try it?”
“I - yes. I think I’d like that,” he said, not letting on how nervous he felt.
“Good,” Anathema said with a bright smile. She was opening her mouth to say something else when two people walked into the room, chatting with each other, carrying sketchbooks and little cases. “Oh, goodness. Time got away from me. You can go ahead and get undressed behind the screen,” she said, as more people filed in. “There’s a robe for you to put on, and I’ll introduce you to the class when you’re ready.”
Aziraphale swallowed hard. “Thank you, dear,” he said, then ducked behind the screen.
Crowley was running a bit behind for his life drawing class, and hurried up the pavement with his stuff, hoping he wasn’t too late. Without even looking at the sign, he headed down to room 6B and was relieved when he got there and saw that everyone was just settling in, but hadn’t started yet.
“Crowley,” Anathema said with a smile. “We were wondering about you.”
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, going to his usual seat. “Traffic was hell.”
“Quite alright.”
Crowley returned her smile quickly and got to work, pulling out his sketchpad and charcoals.
“Now, as I was saying, Tracy isn’t able to come on Thursdays anymore, so we have a new model. He’s never modeled before, and he’s quite nervous, so I’ve allowed him to keep his shorts on for now. Is everyone agreeable?”
There was a murmur of agreement around the room, and Crowley murmured something agreeable, too.
“Very good. You lot be on your best behavior, since he’s anxious.” She turned towards the screen. “Aziraphale? Are you ready?”
Crowley didn't look up right away, still getting his supplies out, and when he glanced up to see the model, he did a double take and his eyes widened behind his glasses. The man that was supposed to model for them tonight was simply the most beautiful creature Crowley had ever seen. He looked like a damned angel, from his cottony hair to his blue eyes to his sweet face. Crowley felt his mouth go dry. Bloody hell, he was supposed to draw this man? He’d never be able to do him justice.
“Aziraphale,” Anathema was saying, giving him a soft smile. “If you'd like to take off the robe and have a seat, I’ll pose you.”
The angel - Aziraphale - looked hesitant, but untied the belt of the dressing gown and opened it. Crowley made a muffled sound that lacked vowels, something like ‘ngk’. This man was the sexiest human that had ever lived. He had to be. He had a pelt of blond hair on his chest, and a slightly round tummy that Crowley wanted to bite. His thighs were strong and thick, also dusted with dark blond hair, and Crowley's hands itched for want of touching. He looked soft in all the best ways, and seeing him (mostly) nude did nothing to dispel Crowley’s belief that he was an angel.
God help him, he had a crush.
He watched with wide eyes as Anathema got Aziraphale posed on the chair, pretending to be unconcerned, but it wasn’t easy. It was highly improper for him to be attracted to the model. Aziraphale might be married with a passel of kids, for all he knew. Unable to help himself, his eyes flicked down to the angel’s left hand to see that there was no ring there. Good. But Crowley deflated a bit when he realized that he was still probably straight. He fought down a sigh. It would be just his luck to stumble upon the man of his dreams, only to find that he wasn’t interested in men.
Anathema got the pose just right, then asked Aziraphale if he was okay. He gave her an unsure smile then returned to the pose, and Anathema turned to the class.
“Alright, your time starts now. You guys know what to do.”
Crowley certainly did know what to do. He sketched Aziraphale’s face, ignoring the rest of his body for now, feverishly working to capture how beautiful this man actually was.
“So how was your week?” asked Dagon, the woman that sat next to him on the left.
“Not bad,” he said without looking up. “How are you?”
“Not bad,” Dagon replied. “Started my new job Monday. Well, a different job for the same company.”
“Oh yeah?” Crowley asked, not interested at all.
“Yeah,” Dagon said, then launched into a description of her new job. Crowley offered the occasional ‘yeah’ or ‘uh-huh’ as she talked, but his attention was focused on the blond angel. He was just so beautiful. Did his insides match his outsides? Did he act like an angel? Crowley didn’t know, but he wanted to find out.
He was a little encouraged when he saw Aziraphale dart his eyes towards him, looking at Crowley, then they'd skitter away nervously. He hoped that was a good thing.
Anathema started making her rounds through the class, commenting, praising, and critiquing. Crowley didn’t care. He was entranced by the angel, his attention and complete focus on him.
“Crowley,” she said when she got close enough to him.
“Anathema,” he replied, droll, still working.
Anathema just looked at his picture for a moment, but he could hear her smile. “You’ve got a remarkable likeness here. Some of your better work.”
“Thank you,” he replied.
“Maybe you should sign up for a portrait class,” she teased, “since that seems to be what you’re favoring this time.”
Crowley’s ears heated a little. “He’s got an arresting face,” he said simply, hoping she’d let it go.
“Indeed he does, and you’ve done an excellent job capturing it.” She patted his shoulder. “Keep up the good work.”
She moved on to the next person, and Crowley continued his work. There was the chance that Aziraphale might like to see it, and he wanted to make it perfect, as perfect as he could get it. It would never be worthy of Aziraphale, but he could try.
Aziraphale was sitting in the pose Anathema had put him in, almost sweating, although the room was quite chilly. He couldn't help it. He felt so exposed. All eyes - save Anathema’s - were on him, and he was unused to the attention. Aziraphale never attracted attention, and he didn’t quite know what to do with it. So he just held still.
His eyes darted over to the red haired man in the sunglasses - Crowley, he thought - and he felt his heart rate spike. Oh, he was just so attractive. It was almost unfair for him to be that beautiful. Aziraphale wished wholeheartedly that he’d met the man with his clothes on - although that wouldn’t have made any difference. Aziraphale attracted even less attention in his clothes. (Not that he was ever unclothed in public - tonight being the exception.) But this man… this man looked like he should be the model. Aziraphale tried to put him out of his mind. This Crowley almost certainly had a significant other. A man that attractive absolutely would.
Still, Aziraphale could enjoy looking at him for the rest of his class. That wouldn’t hurt anything.
“Aziraphale, are you ready for a break?”
He glanced over at Anathema, who was smiling softly. “That would be nice.”
“You can relax,” she said, and Aziraphale did, letting his muscles uncoil while Anathema spoke to the rest of the class.
Aziraphale got to his feet, uncertain what to do, and Anathema approached with a bottle of water and a smile. “You can put on your robe, if you like.”
He picked up the dressing gown and slipped it on, tying it securely, then took the water. “Thank you.”
“You’re really doing well,” Anathema said. “You're very good at this.”
“I’m just sitting there.”
“It's harder than it looks,” Anathema said.
“It is,” Aziraphale admitted. “I’m glad to hear I’m acquitting myself well.”
“Would you like to see their art?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t wish to interrupt.”
“Nah, they’re art students. They love to show off their work. Plus, their work is really good. I think you’ll especially enjoy Crowley’s.”
Crowley. That was the red haired gorgeous man, he thought, and the idea of talking to him made his heart flutter pleasantly.
“I - I think I would like to see,” he said uncertainly.
“Of course. I’ll go with you so you feel a little more comfortable. Shall I?”
“That would be nice, thank you,” he said.
“No problem. Let’s start on this end, with Pepper,” she said, and pointed to the person on the far right.
The art was good, he thought, although it seemed they all had different styles. The first person, Pepper, had done almost a comic, with clean lines, and it was a flattering image of Aziraphale. He was at least recognizable in it. The second person, Brian, had a more eclectic style, like an impressionist, and Aziraphale had a harder time seeing himself in the drawing. It was pretty, though. The third person, Dagon, had a very unusual style, similar to a Picasso or something. Aziraphale’s nose was on his forehead in that one, and he didn't see the likeness at all. But he spoke with each artist, made a little small talk with them, and complemented each one’s work. The whole while, however, he was thinking of the redhaired man, Crowley, and trying to plan what to say to him that wouldn’t sound stupid.
Finally, Anathema brought him to the gorgeous man and smiled. “Aziraphale, I’d like you to meet Anthony Crowley, Crowley to his friends.”
The red haired man looked up from his drawing and turned around to speak with him - the first person to do so for more than a moment - and gave a radiant smile to Aziraphale. He offered his charcoal-dusted hand.
“Hi there,” he said. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
Aziraphale took the hand and felt a little jolt of electricity skitter up his arm. Oh, goodness. “I’m - I’m pleased to meet you, too,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound like a fool.
Just then, someone called for Anathema’s attention. She acknowledged them, then turned to Aziraphale. “You stay here and chat with Crowley, alright? I’ll be back in a moment.” Then she was gone.
Aziraphale looked at the spot she’d just been helplessly, then turned back to Crowley, who was smiling blindingly. This close, Aziraphale could see more of his face, although his eyes were still covered, and oh heavens, he was stunning. His face was angled beautifully, and his nose was small, almost elfin. He had a fine dusting of freckles sprinkled across it, and his lips were curled into a smile that Aziraphale found sexy. He was just… gorgeous. Ten feet away, he’d been stunning, but this close, he took Aziraphale’s breath.
“So what do you think?” Crowley asked.
“Hmm?” Aziraphale replied, very intelligently.
Crowley’s smile grew. “About the art.”
“Oh!” Aziraphale said, then flushed to the roots of his hair. He hadn’t even noticed the art. He tore his eyes away from Crowley’s face to look at it and what he saw left him speechless. It was him, but he was somehow... enhanced. He’d never seen himself that attractive before, and even though the charcoals created dark lines, somehow, the Aziraphale on the paper seemed to glow.
“I - I don’t know what to say,” he said honestly. “It’s absolutely stunning.”
“It’s not done yet,” Crowley said. “I have lots more to do.”
“Do I really look like that?” he asked, unable to believe.
Crowley gave him that radiant smile again. “That’s exactly how I see you. But to be fair, it’s not good enough. It’s the best I can do, but it's not good enough. I could never do you justice.”
Aziraphale’s cheeks reddened again. “You - you’ve done an amazing job. You have a talent.”
“Nah. I think it’s just that the subject is so stunning.”
Was that flirting? It seemed to be, but then Aziraphale couldn’t be sure. It had been ages since anyone flirted with him. He didn’t usually attract much attention to begin with, but certainly not amorous attention, and definitely not from people as beautiful as Crowley. No, he decided, this couldn’t be flirting. But oh, how he wished it was.
Anathema clapped her hands at the front of the room to call the class to order. “Alright, you guys seemed to like the first pose, would you like more of it?”
There was a murmur of assent from the class, and Anathema turned to Aziraphale. “Aziraphale, would you be willing to hold that pose again?”
“I would, yes.”
“Excellent. If you’ll just come over here,” she said, indicating the chair.
“Talk to you later, angel?” Crowley asked with a smile.
Angel? Aziraphale felt a little faint.
“I - yes. I’d like that.”
He gave Crowley an unsure smile and went to the chair to let Anathema pose him again.
Over the next three breaks, Aziraphale wasn’t really able to talk to Crowley more and see his art. Other students wanted to talk to him, and Aziraphale felt obliged to speak to everyone. But he was always keenly aware of Crowley’s presence, and he felt Crowley’s eyes lingering on him from time to time - even when he wasn’t posing.
At the end of the class, Anathema stepped to the front of the classroom and put her hand on his shoulder. “Aziraphale, you can relax and go get changed while I dismiss this lot.” Then she turned to her class. “To the rest of you - great class! Be sure to stop by the tip jar, and I’ll see you all next week.”
Aziraphale hustled behind the screen to put on his clothes as quickly as he could. He was hoping for a chance to talk to Crowley again, if he could get dressed in time. But he had dozens of buttons, plus his bow tie, and for the first time he could remember, he cursed his own style.
He was hopeful when he stepped out from around the screen, finally fully dressed, but Crowley was gone. Everyone was gone, save Anathema, and he felt a pang of disappointment that he tried to push down.
“So how did I do?” he asked as cheerfully as he could.
“You did an amazing job,” Anathema said warmly. “Almost like you were born to model.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, but I thank you.”
“Did you have fun?”
“You know, I did. I’m a bit surprised that I did, actually, but I really did.”
“Would you like to do it again next week?”
He smiled lightly, thinking of Crowley, and that modeling would give him the opportunity to see him again. “I think I would, yes.”
“That’s excellent! Here’s your money - fifty pounds plus tips. It seems someone really liked you tonight, because you got a fifty pound tip.”
Aziraphale’s eyes were wide. “I did? From who?”
“I don’t know,” Anathema said, although her eyes twinkled. “There’s no way to tell.”
“No, I suppose not. Well I do thank whoever it was. And I thank you, too. I’ll see you again next week?”
“Yep! Right here at six thirty.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Anathema.”
“Have a great week, Aziraphale,” she smiled.
Aziraphale returned her smile, then left.