Chapter Text
Anthony J. Crowley was in the lobby of the London Arts Museum waiting for the elevator. He impatiently rocked his sleek, black wheelchair back and forth slightly as he anxiously watched the floor numbers decrease on the digital screen above the elevator doors. He was excited to see the new art exhibition on the fourth floor titled “Ineffable Beauty” that featured a familiar face and body: his own, on a bronze sculpture depicting Lucifer’s fall from Heaven. He had never been immortalized in a bronze sculpture or any sculpture for that matter. And he certainly never expected to be chosen to model for one being a paraplegic, but here he was anxiously waiting to see the masterpiece that was inspired by his handsome face, chiseled cheekbones, long and lithe figure, and his crimson, wavy hair that fell just below his shoulders.
The elevator doors dinged open and Crowley patiently waited for its occupants to exit as his right index finger rapidly tapped his armrest. He rolled himself into the now empty elevator and was about to press the button for the fourth floor when a posh sounding voice called out, “Could you be a dear and please hold the elevator?”
“Ugh,” Crowley groaned. He wanted to just press the button for the fourth floor and leave whomever behind, but the man did say please, so he shook his head and pressed the button that kept the doors open. When he looked up, he saw a vision on wheels, backlit by colorful sunbeams shining through the lobby’s stained-glass windows behind him. The whole scene made the man who had just gracefully glided into the elevator look like an angel straight out of a renaissance painting. He was accompanied by a shy, bookish young man nervously gripping a messenger bag.
“See, I told you that there are still kind people in this world,” remarked the thirty-something looking blonde man in the electric wheelchair to the younger man accompanying him. Crowley tried not to stare at the handsome quadriplegic who controlled his wheelchair using a joystick that responded to slight movements from his left hand. He knew first-hand how uncomfortable it was to be stared at, so he just looked down and fussed with his black ensemble: adjusting his black blazer, patting down his tight vest, and smoothing over pretend jean wrinkles from his lap.
In the meantime, the blonde man twirled around with ease in the tight space so that he now faced the elevator door and addressed Crowley, “Thank you for holding the elevator for us.”
“No problem. Which floor?”
“Four, please.” The man requested as he admired the handsome face of the redhead who seemed to be avoiding eye contact.
“Perfect.” Crowley pressed the button for the fourth floor, grateful that he did not need to waste time making a stop on another floor first.
“Are you also here to see the new exhibition?” The friendly stranger asked, hoping to get a glimpse of the rest of the redhead’s chiseled features.
“Yes,” Crowley responded, laser focused on watching the numbers on the elevator display above ascend.
“How delightful. I’ve heard wonderful things about it.”
“Yes, me too.” Crowley’s curt responses were not meant to be rude. Rather, he was simply anxious and nervous about seeing the larger-than-life bronze statue featuring his image and eager to finally get to the fourth floor. The anticipation was killing him and this elevator ride felt like an eternity.
“Hello. My name is Aziraphale and this is Newt.”
Suddenly, they reached their destination and a robotic female voice announced, “Fourth floor,” as the elevator doors opened.
“Nicetomeetyouboth,” Crowley remarked and then just as quickly wheeled himself out of the elevator and started looking around to see where the new exhibition was located. There were people all around making their way to and fro exhibits, blocking much of Crowley’s view. It was rather exasperating, but normal for Crowley. When he could walk, he stood at over six feet tall and could easily see above most people’s heads. Now his view was always obscured when in a crowd, having to crane his neck just to see past passersby.
Aziraphale drove up to a clearly flustered Crowley and remarked, “I know the way to the new exhibition. Just follow me, dear fellow.”
“Thanks.” Crowley followed right behind as they weaved through the crowd, with Crowley entertained by the determined blonde on his throne on wheels, who underneath his refined politeness was a bit of a bastard. Aziraphale was not above driving over toes with his heavy wheelchair when his repeated polite pleas of “excuse me” were rudely ignored. Behind Aziraphale and Crowley ran Aziraphale’s aide Newton Pulsifer who meekly apologized to those whose toes had been run over. A sacrifice Aziraphale was willing to make as he refused to stop until he escorted the handsome redhead to the entrance of the exhibition.
When they arrived at their destination, the trio looked up at the inviting sign above the exhibition’s entrance that read “Ineffable Beauty: The Art of Religion” and then went in, moving in unison as they looked about the room. About 20 feet in sat the crown jewel of the exhibition on a pedestal made of marble. It was Crowley’s bronze statue depicting Lucifer’s fall from grace entitled “Fallen Angel.”
Aziraphale gasped as he gawked at the bronze statue before him in utter astonishment. He was rendered speechless for a few minutes, which surprised Crowley, as he studied every line, curve, and muscle of the larger-than-life figure before him. The sculpture was so striking and dynamic that Aziraphale slowly drove himself around the sculpture to take in every angle of the lithe, yet muscular, figure in front of him. Crowley watched Aziraphale closely as he scrutinized the statue, not only to discern his opinion of it, but to admire the man’s delicate alabaster skin and soft facial features, which were captivating.
Aziraphale’s eyes watered as he found the sculpture both beautiful and tragic as it depicted Lucifer’s fall from grace, and the more Aziraphale stared at it, the more familiar the beautiful and evocative face of Lucifer seemed. By now, he was situated close to the mysterious redhead once more and looked at him curiously, glancing back and forth from Lucifer’s face to the redhead’s face. Suddenly, his eyes opened wide, he inhaled a breath in surprise, and exclaimed, “Oh my word, that’s you!”
“Yes, it is.” Crowley smiled brightly and proudly preened his chest, delighted that Aziraphale recognized that he was the model for Lucifer.
“My dear, you are simply exquisite… in real life as well I might add.” Aziraphale winked. Crowley relished in the compliment and melted in the way Aziraphale referred to him as dear. It made him feel quite special, especially coming from an angel, and his blushing cheeks proved it.
“Thank you, but it was much more the artist’s doing than my own.”
“Nonsense. I am sure that you inspired every ounce of this sculpture from the moment the artist laid eyes on you.”
“Stop it, Angel. You’re killing me with kindness and I am the devil after all.” Crowley laughed out loud and Aziraphale giggled in response. That sweet laughter was music to Crowley’s ears.
“My name is Crowley by the way. Anthony J. Crowley.”
“Pleasure to meet you. May I ask what the J. stands for?”
“Nothing, just a J. Thought it sounded cool when I started modeling as a teenager. How about we see some of the other exhibits in here?” Crowley suggested as he nodded his head to the right.
“I’d love to. How about you, Newt?”
“Sure. Lead the way.”
The three men moved leisurely around the exhibition. Newt trying to stay close in case he was needed, but still far enough to give the two men their space as they admired the other sculptures and paintings. He could hear soft whispers and laughter as they commented on the exhibits and it made Newt smile to see Aziraphale enjoying himself in his element. Aziraphale impressed Crowley with his extensive art history knowledge.
They came upon an interesting sculpture of a demon wrestling an angel. Their bodies entangled and their wings majestically spread wide as the demon pinned the angel down. Aziraphale commented, “Quite a dynamic representation of the battle between good and evil.”
“Are they engaged in battle?” Crowley looked at Aziraphale, raising an eyebrow seductively.
Aziraphale retorted, “Of course they are, the demon is clearly pinning the angel down.”
“I can see that, but pinning someone down can be an effective move for lots of activities.”
“Hmm… Oh!” Aziraphale suddenly blushed.
“It’s not all black and white, Angel. It’s a matter of interpretation.”
“I see. Although, if that’s the case, I would have preferred it if the angel were pinning down the demon.”
“That’s just because the angel looks like you. Broad chest, strong arms, and luscious thighs.” Crowley growled, smiled mischievously, and wheeled himself to the next art piece, leaving Aziraphale with his mouth wide open and even redder cheeks than before.
After a few more exhibits and coy flirting on both their parts, Aziraphale suggested, “There is a lovely lounge on this floor with a full bar. Can I tempt you into having a drink with me?”
“I thought we established that I was the tempter in this scenario.”
“Next time.”
Next time sounded nice. “Temptation accomplished, Angel.”