A/N:
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply. I own the characters Nessael, Leander, the coffee shop staff and any random art gallery goers that might be mentioned. World setting and characters Aziraphale and Crowley are property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.
The painting described in detail is actually a picture that I've drawn. It's in my Deviantart gallery, in case anyone's interested. (Just go to my DA page via the link in my bio and paste /art/Religious-Themes-69309397 after the address.)
EDIT: Allright, apparently this story was removed, for it was considered to be in wrong category/not fanfiction. I'm uploading it again, hopefully into the right category.
And If someone wishes to notify me that this can't be fanfiction, because it doesn't use the canon characters, be prepared to me disagreeing. The events I've written about take place in the world of Good Omens, therefore I'm basing this piece on existing work, therefore IS, indeed, FANFICTION.
Religious Themes in Contemporary Art
A bell above the door of a tiny, non-descript coffee shop jingled indignantly as the wooden portal was thrown open with a bit more gusto than it deemed appropriate. A man wearing a long, black leather coat, a pair of red-tinted shades and a large grin breezed in and flopped himself down on an empty stool at the end of the bar. The owner of the place, a blonde woman wearing an apron and an indulgent smile, walked up to him a steaming mug of coffee already in her hand, even though the other had made no order yet.
The mug switched holder and a long sip was taken of its scalding hot contents before a word was spoken.
"You busy right now, angel?"
The woman replied by nodding towards the other two patrons of the shop.
"Slow time of the day in an off-season. Not that I'm complaining about the peace and quiet."
"Great! Then you won't mind if I steal a couple of hours of your time?" The grin was back and Nessael found herself wondering if she was just paranoid, or if the expression held just a touch more infernal than usual. She crossed her arms and leaned her elbows on the counter, bringing her eyes to the level of those behind the red-hued lenses.
"Is there something on your mind, Leander?"
The demon dug into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a piece of newspaper, handing it to the angel, all the while grinning like an idiot. Looking at the torn paper, the blonde arched an eyebrow.
"An art gallery? Hardly seems like something you'd be interested in."
"Special exhibition of religious themes in contemporary art. It's gotta be worth a laugh or two." Then he leaned in and whispered conspiringly: "Just think of how wrong they've got it so far. This just might be the latest all time low."
"They do keep finding new ones..."
"See? You're already curious."
Just then the only waitress in the shop popped out of the back room. Her face brightened as she spotted the man her employer was talking to.
"Oh, hi, Mr. Malstrom!"
Leander turned his best non-seductive smile at the teen. Tempting her employees tended to make the angel less liable to agree to his ideas.
"Hey, Julie. You mind if I borrow your boss till say… two o'clock?"
The girl smiled even wider and waved a dismissive hand.
"No problem at all. Frank and I can take care of everything."
"What? Now wait a minute!" Nessael straightened and planted her fisted hands on her hips. "I never agreed to anything!"
"Oh, please, Onessa. When you're with Mr. Malstrom is practically the only time when you ever get out of this shop. It can only be good for you." the girl waved a scolding finger at the indignant woman.
"Besides, like you could say 'no' to this face." Leander continued, putting on his best puppy dog eyes.
The angel quickly turned her back so she wouldn't burst into laughter. The demon either had no idea just how silly he looked when he did that, or then he knew and used it shamelessly to his advantage.
"Alright, fine! I'll just get my coat."
As the blonde woman stalked into the back room, muttering about persistent demons and meddling teenagers in a voice too low for human hearing to discern, the said teen picked up the piece of paper still lying on the counter.
"An exhibit of religious art? Wow, you sure know her well. I've often noticed her looking at pictures of angels with a thoughtful look, even if she's never really said anything."
Leander just grinned. It was the closest he could manage to keeping a straight face.
"Well, she likes to compare different interpretations. It's something like a secret hobby of hers."
At that point the woman in question reappeared, now wearing her overcoat, and said to her employee as she walked around the bar: "I'll be back by one o'clock."
The waitress threw a glance at the man who was opening the door for the lady. He answered the look with a wink before closing the door. Through the window she could see the long haired man placing his hand on the back of the blonde woman with a familiarity that only formed around very old and often repeated gestures, steering her down the street. Smiling to herself, the girl returned to the back room, where a middle-aged man was doing an inventory.
"Hey Frank! Looks like we'll be alone for a while, Mr. Malstrom whisked Onessa away on another lunch date." she chirped.
"Is that so? When will she be back?"
"Not until two o'clock at least. They were going to an art gallery, and I'm guessing lunch after that."
The man just shook his head and turned back to the shelves.
"Those two… They see each other every day, can't they just call it dating and be done with it?"
"Fra-aank! Where's your sense of romance?"
When they came to the gallery, Nessael was more suspicious than ever. Mostly because Leander seemed to hardly be able to contain himself. But when questioned, the demon just gave a chuckle and a vague promise that "she'd see in time."
At first, she decided to ignore her companion, who seemed to be constantly chuckling at some private joke, and just concentrated on the art, but soon she started to feel uncomfortable. It seemed that many of the people around her were observing her rather than the works hanging on the walls or standing on the pedestals. She knew very well that she and Leander appeared such complete opposites that they drew attention whenever they were together, but this seemed different. Either she was really getting paranoid, or…
"Leander, is it just me or are people… staring? As in… not staring at us but… just me?"
She glanced over her shoulder and another group of people looked quickly away. Some of them even blushed, which disturbed the angel to no end.
The demon's grin was positively unholy. "Oh, it's probably nothing to be worried about. Let's just continue."
With that, he took her arm and started pulling her towards the next room. Nessael allowed herself to be dragged forward, but kept her eyes on the man in black. There was no doubt now, the demon was plotting something. He had the gleam in his eye.
"You know something about this, don't you?"
"What? Me? M'lady, your lack of trust wounds me deeply."
"Don't even try that. For a start, the only reason you'd ever set a foot in a place like this is for an op… por…tu…" the angel's annoyed tirade trailed off. It was a good thing that she didn't really need to breathe, because right at that moment, she'd have been hard pressed to remember how.
The main wall of the room they had just entered was dominated by one painting. There was a crowd of people standing in front of it, but the picture was so big that she could see it just fine over their heads from where she was standing in the middle of the room.
Rendered on the canvas in bold strokes of oil paint was the image of a nude blonde woman, who regarded the viewer through half lidded blue eyes, seemingly indifferent and challenging at once. On either side of her, stretching from her back to somewhere beyond the picture frame were huge, pristinely white wings. Behind the angel woman there was a semi-humanlike shape that partially blended into the dark background. The only clearly defined features of the figure were the silver-white hair, glowing red eyes and the clawed hands that were drawn in sharp, slashing strokes, like shadows against the pale flesh. One pair was wrapped securely around the angel's chest, the tips of the lethal claws resting gently on the creamy collarbones, and another pair circling her hips, carefully hiding anything shameful from prying eyes.
The woman was languidly leaning back against the demonic figure, her posture utterly at ease. And while she seemed to be a prisoner in the circle of the other's arms, her own arms were raised above her head and her fingers tangled equally possessively in the long white tresses. The demon's mouth was open just slightly, either to growl or whisper something horribly obscene into the ear nearest to it, both options seemed just as likely. The angel's lips were parted as well, showing just the slightest hint of a smile.
All in all, it was a breathtaking painting. A blend of skill and true inspiration, the fickle spirit that artists everywhere worshiped over any god, powered by raw emotion. Not showing anything immoral, but utterly shameless in everything it left unsaid, to be read between the lines. A genuine study in sensuality.
And a detailed portrait of herself and Leander.
Nessael felt her knees going weak for a moment as her entire blood supply rushed up to her face, leaving her with a momentary feeling of vertigo. But just as the world started tilting around her she was caught and braced against a solid form.
It took her higher functions a moment to recover from the shock enough to realize that the said form was trembling with barely contained laughter.
Angelic blue eyes snapped up to the face of the demon supporting her, shock and embarrassment dominating her emotional range too much for her to summon the full divine rage that otherwise would have seemed a proper reaction to the situation.
"Y-you… y… You! You're behind this, aren't you!?" she hissed between her teeth.
Leander finally managed to contain his amusement, though the grin was still threatening to split his face, and scratched his chin in a mock thoughtful gesture.
"Well, I might have done some… musing."
A feeling of dread was quickly spreading through the angel.
"You what?"
Seeing that the other could now stand on her own and sensing that he might need enough space to dodge any minute now, he removed his arm from its place around her shoulders and buried his hands casually in the pockets of his coat.
"One night I met this sorry excuse of an artist in a bar, drowning his sorrows. The poor sod was so far gone that at first it seemed there was nothing left for me to do, but then I thought of something even better."
"You… Inspired him?"
"Thought I'd see what he could do if he got something to really work with. Didn't take much really. The guy knows a good picture when one is planted into his head, I'll give him that."
He turned a critical eye at the painting, and the smile he had worn all day took a career change into a professional leer.
"A rather good eye for detail, too, wouldn't you say? Exactly like I formed it in his mind. Though he did take some artistic liberties in a few parts, it seems."
Grey eyes followed the curve of a soft, creamy hip on the painting and then turned to study the same part on the real thing, the layers of cloth covering the female's body seemingly non-hindering to the scrutiny.
"You're… not quite as full in all areas, are you?"
The angel let out a sound that was half embarrassment and half indignation, the wilting blush back in full force, and quickly turned away from the demon before she could do something un-angelic. She couldn't bear to meet the eyes of the people around them, looking from her to the painting, so she just glared at the floor. It was good glare too. One small chip in the hardwood three feet from where she stood even quickly fixed itself, just to avoid her attention. Leander simply continued like the subject in no way breached any personal matters for either of them:
"But I must say, what I'm most curious about is…"
A hot breath teased the hairs on the back of Nessael's neck as the demon suddenly invaded her personal space without a warning. A hoarse whisper washed over her ear:
"Would it be even remotely possible for you to match the emotion that your artistic counterpart shows?"
She knew better than fall for that. She really did. But caught off guard and already reeling from the mortification and the sudden onslaught of lusty demonic aura, the angel found her eyes drawn back to the vision of implied debauchery on the wall.
The face was so similar, so detailed, that no one could have possibly mistaken it for anyone else. But there was so much there that really didn't belong on her features. It was like her alter ego on the wall was more aware of what she was getting into that any angel had any business to be, and welcoming it with open arms. Someone wanted her and she wanted them to want her. And she didn't care a lick about anyone who might have felt like frowning upon her actions. It was all there, in those eyes shaped from a few masterful strokes of azure and ultramarine. Detachment. Challenge. Sheer confidence. And something heated, inviting and very, very un-angelic.
For a split second, Nessael found herself wondering. Lust was one of sins humans most easily succumbed to, that was no news to her, but she'd never before understood why. But that was before.
Now, there was something stirring in some secret part of her that she usually didn't like to acknowledge at all. Now she could see that the woman on the painting not only leaned towards the demon, but actually rubbed against him, fisting his hair in her hands to pull him closer. Unbidden, a single thought floated up through the haze that seemed to be enveloping her mind:
'How would it feel…?'
Suddenly the spell was broken when something even hotter than her own overheated skin touched her neck just above the material of her collar, leaving a cooling wet trail in its wake.
She didn't yelp, she simply didn't have the breath to. She whirled around to face the man standing behind her, golden curls bouncing from the force of the motion. At some point the demon had pushed his shades up onto his forehead, mussing up the already unruly bangs in a rather fetching way, she noted in passing, so now she was staring right into those flickering grey eyes with no filter. The teasing glint that was more or less his default setting was still there, but there was something else, too. Something warmer…
The swirling mix of emotions finally boiled over, and she obeyed the one instinct that for the moment was the strongest; she turned and ran back the way she had come, muttering only the hastiest of apologies to one person she bumped into on her way out.
Leander blinked once, but then the emotional scent trail the angel had left behind caught his attention. A pair of raven black eyebrows went up and then came back down above eyes that narrowed into pleased slits. Oh yes, he still had it.
The demon was just about to start towards the exit when someone nudged at his elbow. He turned to see a thin young man of nineteen at the most. He was dressed in a style that probably aimed for 'non-conformist' but sort of sputtered and died somewhere between 'yuppie in disguise' and 'lazy slob'. The boy nodded in the direction where the blushing woman had ran off, but his eyes flicked towards the painting.
"You hittin' that?" he asked with a lop-sided grin that held all the lustful innuendo only a teenage boy can pull off.
Leander returned the grin and the boy's smile found itself not thoroughly outdone, but absolutely humiliated in its own game.
"It's… on my to-do list."
The boy had a sudden sensation that felt somehow akin to watching a large, powerful and above all graceful predator stalk something equally elegant but of far milder nature. And he wasn't exactly sure if the sharp points of the leather-clad man's canine teeth were just a trick of the light. He didn't feel himself any less of a man for whimpering something that sounded like 'cool' and quickly moving away, pretending to be interested in some other painting.
Chuckling to himself, the dark haired man turned and followed his angel. He fully expected to be forced to jammer off something that could be construed as an apology and a promise to never dabble in anything that involved art again once he caught up with her. He'd most likely also need to buy a very expensive lunch in a very non-contemporary restaurant in order to keep his regular seat at the coffee shop, but it seemed well worth it.
He off-handedly contemplated about attaching a picture of the artwork to his next report to Down Below, but decided that a vague verbal description would do. 'Making an artist depict a divine creature in a sinful way.' Yeah, that sounded pretty good.
Demons were nothing if not possessive, and it was enough that a blue million humans were already ogling at his territory, thank you very much.
And no one really needed to know about the angel girl's little slip of mind, either. Something so small would have been chalked off as a fluke, anyway, right? Of course right.
As Leander hurried after the fleeing angel, he just missed another seemingly mismatched couple who came in through the door at the opposite end of the room. The two men had been playfully bantering about one of the sculptures in the other room, but as the blond one in a somewhat dated outfit spotted the room's main exhibit he stopped dead in his tracks in mid-sentence. His darker companion first turned to him, confused, and then to see what had caught the other's attention. And then he stopped and stared, too.
"…Nessael?" the fairer one whispered, blush slowly working its way up his neck, while a pair of yellow, inhuman eyes blinked behind dark glasses.
"Malstrom?"