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Happy Holidays, MovesLikeBucky!
This is a gift for MovesLikeBucky. I had a lot of fun writing it. Hope you enjoy it ;).
Title: The 'Scales' Pattern
Summary: Sometimes Crowley is not very happy with his body. Perhaps one day Aziraphale can make him see what he sees.
Rating: NC-17
Author Note: This fic contains NSFW scenes. It is a Clone fic with queer characters and uncanny bodyparts. I wrote it with a lot of love for our characters and the prompts themselves.
The advertisement down the walk-street along with a picture of Queen Victoria read the following:
Make a moment last forever
The year was 1856 and photography was here to stay, finding its way into everyone's minds and hearts in hand with Queen Victoria. Its popularity had reached even the lower class; they would sacrifice weeks of supper just for a photograph with their families and beloved ones.
It was powerfully appealing: A moment that would last forever. Somewhat like a painting[1] but precise in a different manner. Photographs only required a single session, also they didn’t take as long to create and were cheaper than a painting. Not that coin was a problem for supernatural entities anyway.
Crowley knew that things from earth couldn’t possibly last forever; “a couple centuries at most” he thought as he regarded the sepia silhouettes of a couple in the store's showcase window. His mind hovered over the concept of eternity. Without the influence of miracles or curses, things tended to be devoured by time. He left the studio immersed in his thoughts and wandered London’s streets without direction until he was brought back by the intense sugary smell and bright colors of a sweets shop.
That day, Aziraphale was especially engrossed in an article titled “Yet to discover the spiciest fabric designs” — it was bookmarked to be read at discretion in this week’s Periodical. He had begun to think a single article was not enough to address such a controversial topic when all of a sudden a tempting box of Bonbons sauntered into the bookshop wearing a snaky smile.
“There’s a new candy shop down on Margaret's street, Actually, there are quite a few new businesses in town. Ever heard of photography?”
“Oh! Of course I have. It is the paintings with no colors! So very fascinating,” said Aziraphale, while softly lifting a chocolate out of the box. Pinky lifted.
“Right! Well it has become very popular these days. Humans gather together and have pictures of themselves taken wearing their best clothes. I was thinking… Maybe we should give it a try?
“You want to acquire a painting through this new technology?”
“Well, If you insist, Angel, then I shall accompany you into the photographic era. Let’s make a moment last forever!” Crowley said as he stood up and prepared to leave, feeling very excited somehow. It must have been some sort of muscle memory; after all he had arrived with a box in his hands, and was not about to leave empty handed. Of course, they were so distracted, neither of them noticed.
“I thought photography didn’t take as long-“
“I’ll be here tomorrow 11 am. Be ready, bye.”
“Hmbye,” Aziraphale mumbled, now completely absorbed in munching on the sweets. They were pretty good.
It was a successful start, Now that the Angel had proposed to him to get a photograph together, he could not let him down. Surely he would treasure it for a lifetime. Or at least a human lifetime or however long said photograph lasted.
Crowley cracked his knuckles and stretched his arms in front of him. They seemed quite long and thin. “Better get working!”[2]
With a long stride he started walking, effortlessly roaming the streets. Every being he passed started conceiving the wildest ideas:
Morgan the Banker wondered how many coins would fit his vest’s pockets before it was noticeable.
Little Timmy the shoe-shine boy was confident he could run fast enough to lose any pursuers after stealing his customer’s wallet.
Mrs. Smith had been feeling bored to death; some gossip would cheer her up. She could have sworn she saw her friend Sally’s husband leaving an indecorous inn a few weeks ago.
Mr. Ambrose, owner of a ceramics factory, thought it beneficial to increase working hours; no extra wages, of course. His footman had the small suspicion he would get a good extra coin by selling his master’s secrets. Even the carriage horses felt the urge of eating the footman's bowler hat.
That day several thrifting places in London emanated a devilish aura.
***
When Crowley finally arrived at his secret hideout on Cornwall Road, he promenaded towards his precious wood-carved mirror and stared at his reflection for a moment. He lifted his arms slightly, showing off his striped plaid suit. He twisted his lips and placed his hands in his pockets, then held his jacket lapels; he tried holding just one lapel… then placed both hands behind his head. He frowned and hid his arms behind his back. It made him appear like he had no arms at all.
“BLAST!” Crowley cried while throwing his arms to his sides again. Why the hell had he suggested taking a photograph?! He could only reach this poor level of Human shape. Deformed. No matter how hard he tried, his human transformation turned out disappointing every time.
He scrutinized his reflection up and down. He liked bowler hats; they had a stylish design, but after looking more closely, it made his chin look sharper and as crooked as a comic character. Well at least, he had good cheekbones… The hat was tossed to the bed.
The suit seemed elegant enough for a gala, but common enough for a walk in the park. It was classic, and the shoulder pads made his back look broader. He squinted his eyes and increased the pads’ size a few times. Now his head appeared quite small. He rubbed his face in such exasperation his shades flew off, oh yes, he also had these damned eyes! The jacket got violently thrown on the bed, followed by the vest and shirt.
He stood with a hunched posture wearing just his pants. In order to avoid his own gaze in the mirror, he fixed his stare on the scaly skin of his chest. Many humans have chest-hair, others have pimples or freckles, well, Crowley’s human form couldn’t help but be coated in hard scales here and there. At least he had hair on his head. He held his breath. With a blink he opened all the dresser drawers. Nothing… BANG! He opened the wardrobe. Nothing…
There were actually no clothes in his place at all, for Crowley kept furniture just as ornamentation; after all, he had never bought clothes.[3]
He laughed ironically. The demon tossed himself onto the bed, the illusion of clothes faded away to reveal a copy of The Tailor's Choice magazine.
Meanwhile in Soho, a couple of men left the bookshop with narrowed eyes, they had come to buy something, but somehow got out empty-handed and with a faint desire of getting themselves a photograph.
On the other side of the shop window Aziraphale waved with a smile.
“Farewell, farewell. Please do not ever come again!”
His eyesight focused his reflection in the window. He took a good look at himself and adjusted his vest. He smiled, pleased. “It’ll do nicely. Now where did that magazine go?”
And so, Aziraphale had chosen what to wear, but his hunt for The Tailor’s Choice had just begun.
Crowley contemplated the magazine with a blank face, flipping its pages with slimy fingers. “Arg!, It’s Aziraphale’s, I’m in trou-“ He reached the bookmarked page.
Crowley's thoughts were captivated by the drawing of a decorated tie. His eyes like saucers, he took the magazine and jumped off the bed. A cravat slowly manifested around his neck, a pattern like scales, but not quite, appeared throughout the fabric, fitting like his own skin, a faint smile drawn on his face. The extra fabric hid his long slender neck. Maybe he could create a whole outfit out of this.
***
Aziraphale stepped outside the bookshop for the first time in a while and inhaled enthusiastically the cool air from the city. He saw Crowley approaching, walking the street in his own unique way, looking stunning. Then he spotted it. That tie. The angel straightened his spine and held his breath.
Crowley was wearing a coordinated suit and vest.[4] His scaled cravat was like the cherry on top. Initially, he had liked it so much he assumed Aziraphale would also appreciate its good taste and even compliment it. After all, he was into this kind of fashion, right?
The angel stood in front of him, eyes locked on the tie, expressionless for what seemed like an eternity. Crowley cleared his throat as he fixated on the tie, waiting for a response. Aziraphale exhaled painfully slowly.
“Ehm-” started Crowley.
“ - Let’s get going,” interrupted Aziraphale.
They reached the studio without a word. The photographer seemed to be a very moody man. He was being bossy and fussy about all kinds of rubbish like composition and light. He complained nonstop when Crowley refused to take his sunglasses off. He asked him to “turn slightly to the left, but not that much,” then to the right and more left. “Lower your chin a bit, sir,” and so on.
When they were finally settled, Crowley took a quick glance at Aziraphale; he had been unusually silent. He caught his gaze fixed at his neck.
Crowley felt so anxious the tie patterns started shifting and turning for a moment, Aziraphale’s eyes opened wider than ever. The photographer was taken aback, he blinked a few times and raised his hands as if to fix the cravat, but abruptly stopped midair. “That’s it, DON'T’ MOVE!” he unnecessarily shouted out as he jogged towards the camera.
Crowley glanced at Aziraphale one more time when suddenly an intense light filled the whole room and the smell of some odd chemicals rose. The picture had been taken.
“Alright, stay still for about 30 minutes.”
The picture was delivered a few weeks afterwards. Crowley hated it.[5]
***
The present day
Aziraphale rearranges his Bookshop every couple hundred years or so. He claims sometimes books bend their meanings when grouped with certain editions for a certain amount of time. He might take several weeks, unwilling to speak or chat, unless it is to demand a new box of biscuits. Crowley finds it very convenient to simply go back to his original snake form and sleep, or surf the internet or wander the store — every time something different, old or new, pops out.
Because not even tiktok can entertain one forever, Crowley started roaming the store. Snake shifting allowed him to reach the highest and lowest spots without making stupid poses. Alas! He found a small wooden frame and froze, it was IT! That bloody thing was hideous! He had tried to get rid of it before, but Aziraphale had loved it since the beginning. To be totally honest, it hadn’t really captured how gorgeous the Angel had looked that day, so why keep it? On the contrary, it exaggerated his unfortunate proportions. “Ssstupid photo!” he hissed, and flipped the portrait upside down with the tip of his tail. Crack. The serpent was now nowhere to be seen.[6]
Aziraphale was standing at the front of the bookshop, contemplating the update with utmost satisfaction, when suddenly his smile dropped. He knew the difference between the very atomic composition of the old and new bookshop, and something wasn't right. Squinting his eyes, he approached one of the eastern shelves and lifted a worn frame, revealing shattered glass.
“Oh, Crowley…” He frowned with a bit of concern, tracing the outline of Crowley's jaw with his thumb over the photo, stopping abruptly at his neck. He pulled the picture closer, his eyes sparkling intensely and cheeks blushing.
"If you hate it that much, dear boy, then we should take another one." Aziraphale smiled, a not very holy smile.
With a snap of his fingers the shelves moved towards the back of the bookshop, leaving enough space for a square bellows camera on a tripod to miraculously appear. He moved the chairs so that they would be in frame and brought over some good books from the era. (He initially intended to recreate the picture just as the original, but where was the harm in adding a little ambiance?)
He stood in front of the camera blank-faced, nibbling his right thumb.
“It can’t be that hard to use, right?”
Aziraphale made some gestures with his hands as if praying, and chanted words hard to pronounce; then a heavenly light appeared next to him and his body wavered in a funny way.
Crowley may have thought it to be some sort of punishment. Aziraphale had called and talked him into getting a new photo. The demon well-remembered the incident with the frame and did not complain too much about it, after all, technology had made it easier to obtain more graceful looks through filters and editing. Photoshop could disguise his slender uneven body; perhaps his nose wouldn’t look so crooked.
Or he wished!
Crowley’s nose wrinkled at the sight of the bellows camera in the middle of the bookshop. Aziraphale took a turn over himself and extended his arms to the sides while jolly walking towards him.
“What the He-”
“- Since some precious memories suffered an accident a few days ago, I thought it an opportunity for us to create new ones.”
“You know technology has evolved?”
“It’s important to capture the original essence,” said the angel, while pulling some folded clothes from an aged trunk. It looked pretty much like the suit he’d been wearing that day. Crowley flinched.
“There is no way I’m wearing that!” Damn that moment! It really was lasting forever.
“You looked so very handsome.” Aziraphale got closer and looked up through his lashes. Crowley blushed and turned his eyes to one side.
“Obnoxious,” said the demon, slightly stepping back. “Do you even know how to use-”
Poof. Suddenly the old suit miracled on top of his own materialized clothes; somehow tickling his skin. He frowned. Why is it when you point out you don’t like this or that about yourself, people try to deny it? It’s so very irritating, how could he know?
“You DON-“ Crowley was about to list the 1001 reasons to hate his body, the short version, when Aziraphale spoke. Not completely using his human voice. blurring everything around them.
“Although, I must admit those are obnoxious.” Aziraphale was looking at his shoulders, twisting his mouth to the side.
Crowley blinked. Hadn’t he said just now how handsome I looked?
“This jacket, however fine the fabric, is like a lie pushing you down,” he said as he examined the coat between his index and his thumb.
“Your shoulders are barren and bony having suffered the wrath of God yet they cunningly face towards heaven. They are strong as to carry all the terrible truths and secrets of creation without a flicker.”
A blast violently stripped the jacket off Crowley; he was still wearing his own jacket underneath, but he felt a warm wind surrounding his shoulders and his back as if he was shirtless. He was unable to blink as the jacket floated away.
“To neglect them wouldn’t do.”
Aziraphale’s hands got to the level of his nose, steadily removing his shades, caressing his sharp cheekbones with his fingers as he did so. Crowley allowed him to do it, slightly lifting his chin with anticipation, hoping to hide the awe in his heart.
“What can I say about these?” Aziraphale looked at the sunglasses with a small smile, “I think they really are you,” he said, as he let go of the shades and they floated away.
“But darling, of all the greatest sights on heaven and earth, there has never existed one more sublime than to look into your eyes.”
Crowley’s face widened and then relaxed, he smiled the sweetest smile a serpent or a middle-aged man was able to summon, and his pupils dilated so much they were almost round shaped. Aziraphale mirrored him, unable and unwilling to look away.
When suddenly an intense light filled the whole room. Poof!
Crowley remembered they were standing in the middle of the bookshop, Aziraphale stood still, lost in thought. It had been the bellows Camera on the other side of the room, smoke now coming out of it. But there was also someone else with them. Under a large piece of dark cloth, a figure emerged. It was AZIRAPHALE?!
He looked at him tenderly, raising his thumb with a triumphal smile.
“I have it!”
“Ah,” Crowley blinked rapidly and turned his head back and forth. “Why are – two – when?” he babbled.
“Oh. Well, you didn’t expect me not to appear in the picture, right?” the Aziraphale next to the camera said.
Apparently Aziraphale had cloned himself in order to take the photograph. Clones were made, in theory, by stretching one's soul until the mass got redistributed through space. It seemed quite complicated and Crowley had never tried it himself. Aziraphale was creating entirely too much bother just to get a picture. Or perhaps he was trying something else…
“Aziraphale, you bastard, tricking me to get what you want,” Crowley hissed, faking a hurt expression. “Very wicked of you.” Then he smiled to the side.
“I really-” Camera Aziraphale lifted his eyebrows in concern and seemed willing to clarify everything but got interrupted by himself.
“-Crowley.”
The angel next to him squeezed his shoulders, making his spine shiver. Aziraphale reached for his hands and interlaced their fingers, twisting his arms to wrap his plump-self around them.
“Without those long arms of yours how could you possibly hold me? Squeeze me?” Aziraphale stopped with his lips slightly open. “Take the whole shape of me?” he whispered.
Crowley stopped sensing anything around him; he was no longer able to hear the Gramophone playing boring tunes nor the distant noises of the city. The only thing he was able to hear was his own heartbeat. Or perhaps it was Aziraphale’s.
He couldn’t resist it any longer. If there was any losing-your-inhibitions side effect for cloning yourself, then he was not going to let it go to waste. He bent forward to tighten the embrace, but at that moment the angel clenched his tie. It dyed itself another color, with thicker folds and sharp shapes sprung across it. Aziraphale shortened the end by rolling it around his fist, pulling Crowley closer.
“But this one I hate. Not only does it hide your wiry neck,” he bit his lower lip, “but you look so damn hot wearing it.”
He stepped backwards until the couch appeared and slipped down without losing the grip on the silk. Crowley’s legs spread on top of him. He was flushed from head to toe/tail.
He kissed him tenderly at first, his arms around his neck, but a demon can only restrain himself for so long; the angel’s lower lip felt so round and fleshy. He sucked it a few times and then sunk his pointy teeth into it. Aziraphale tore apart Crowley’s upper clothes with a muffled groan. He fondled Crowley’s waist side with his left arm, playing with the skin scales by pressing them counterclockwise.
Crowley shivered; he started weaving his body while snatching sticky kisses from his lover’s lips. His smooth long fingers slithered under the angel’s old clothes, pinching his nipples and softly lifting them as far as possible just to release them and repeat the trick. Aziraphale was squeezing on his left butt cheek, stretching him with circular movements, increasing the pace impatiently. It was time to level things up. Crowley's hand traveled downwards and reached a rounded prominence. Aziraphale had already made a choice, their legs twitched when Crowley’s fingertips hovered over it. Crowley smiled and licked his lips, then he made a slender crooked effort. Aziraphale took it into his left hand and stroked it firmly while thrusting into Crowley’s fingers.
The demon stood up a little and licked a plump finger between the forks of his tenacious tongue; he attempted to get on his feet but got violently pulled back in place by the tie. Aziraphale pierced him with a hungry stare as fierce as a lion’s, Crowley’s scales all around his body flicked. Contrary to his stare, Aziraphale held his nape gently and pulled him towards his chest.
He was currently squeezing Aziraphale’s beefy breasts, licking and purring between them when a soft palm gripped him and pulled him from behind. He was startled for just a bit. Aziraphale narrowed his eyes for less than a second,[7] then loosened his grip on the cravat so Crowley could be held a bit further out. It was Aziraphale the angelic photographer! He had forgotten completely.[8]
Before Crowley attempted to turn, AP[9]held his chin in a firm grip, guiding the way to meet his lips, then he rested his head on his shoulder. “Do you mind if I-" AP breathily whispered into his pointy ear as he smooched kisses behind it and licked under his jaw. The feeling of a warm tongue against his oily scales made him drop his head sideways, lifting his chin and exposing his neck. At this sight, Aziraphale lost grip of the tie and bent forward to kiss on Crowley’s scaly chest while stroking his dick; while Crowley at the same time leaned backwards, arching his back onto AP’s bulge.
AP lifted one of Crowley’s hands from Aziraphale’s back. He interlaced their fingers from the back side of his lean hand and guided it to meet his lips. With his other hand he took a sturdy hold of the demon’s hip and pulled it towards his chunky body. AP’s body shape began to shift; not only did he seem bigger and feathery, but also hotter to the touch.
Aziraphale pushed Crowley to stand up, but they themselves remained seated on the couch crossed-legged, they rested their chin over both hands looking playful. Feathers begun to burst over their forehead like a flower crown.
AP bit on his lip and grabbed Crowley's chin, opening up his mouth so he could stick his tongue in. Crowley grabbed on his ass and narrowed the gap between them while sucking his tongue, soon enough AP’s miracle became as hard as a diamond, hitting proudly against his lower abdomen. The demon took both dicks within his slippery hands and stroked them. He felt as if a thousand eyes were staring at his every movement. Of course, all those eyes were Aziraphale’s.
Content with the display, Aziraphale spread one leg on top of the sofa, making sure to provide a nice view of their vulva; which spread like a blooming peony covered with rumpled petals. It was already soaking wet, but as the other two’s kissing and grabbing intensified at the very sight of them, so Aziraphale increased the pace, rubbing deeper through their folds. They let out an abrupt moan, making AP and Crowley turn towards them completely. Aziraphale reached up and gripped AP’s penis with their wet palm; covering it with their thick, sticky fluid. They also grabbed onto Crowley's hip with the other hand, effortlessly pulling him closer; their shape had also begun to distort bigger and their body beamed all kinds of colors. They approached Crowley’s face and sweetly rubbed their noses together.
AP was already sitting on the couch when Aziraphale pushed Crowley towards it. With their large sticky fingers, they expanded Crowley's arse open. AP kissed and licked until the demon gripped AP's bulky dick and used it to slap his own rear before leading it to his entrance. He thrust once, Crowley let out air from his lungs with an adorable hiss that made Aziraphale smile and wiggle their hips before getting on their knees. He thrust twice, AP pushed so strongly Crowley had to reach for the couch to hold on. He thrust thrice and it all went inside.
Aziraphale stood on their knees. They held Crowley’s waist, they planted kisses across the serpent’s belly and leaned towards his erection with their tongue slightly out. They licked and sucked,slurp, the demon felt his heart boiling in his stomach slurp, slurp. He grasped a handful of golden hairs and closed his eyes slowly, letting his mind wander inside Aziraphale’s throat. But before he was able to get loose. Aziraphale stopped sucking altogether. They pushed him out of their mouth and mounted on top instead, ready to take him all in.
The demon’s scales twisted and curled and shivered between the angel’s soul. He could feel Aziraphale holding him from all around and inside out. There was no longer a difference between Aziraphale and AP, there were also no boundaries between them
Human shapes becomes meaningless when the messy mixture of scaly and feathery flesh, and the thunderous sound of bells and flames realize who they are.
***
When he opened his eyes, Crowley lay comfortably on Aziraphale’s lap. He smiled tenderly at him, caressing the dark hairs over his moist forehead. An overexposed photo was displayed in a scale-patterned frame on the coffee table.[10]
Crowley felt so very joyful inside. His body, no matter the shape, was able to give and receive, whether it was pleasure or leisure. It allowed him to experience all moments in the eternity of his life. It allowed him to exist next to the ones he loved.
Crowley looked up into Aziraphale’s eyes, shining like seas of stars. Aziraphale held his cheek and got closer to his face. ‘Dear’ Crowley’s eyes widened; he pressed Aziraphale’s hand against his cheek.
“STOP MESSING AROUND WITH MY STUPID SHELVES, YOU OLD SERPENT!”
FIN
1 Actually Aziraphale and Crowley had got themselves a portrait painted back in the 16th century. It took several sessions for the artist to finish it, but when it was finally ready, it mysteriously disappeared.↩
2 People do not get tempted themselves although they are capable enough; a little push is required. Fleeting thoughts create daring ideas; these ideas can be planted as little seeds to produced apples in the future. Also, it was much preferred to report in early than to have useless imps on your tail, especially the following hours.↩
3 Crowley manifests his clothes directly onto himself, so there is no point in storing them; however he does get influenced by human fashion.↩
4 The poor soul had stepped outside his lair a few times and entered back in again to slightly change the color of the suit so his skin would look “fairer.” He had also spent all night convincing himself not to materialize bigger shoulder pads.↩
5 It took a miracle for the photograph to not spontaneously combust.↩
6 Most of the bookshop contents are over 300 years old. Aziraphale is not able to stop time for the objects and, in his opinion, magic could potentially spoil the core essence of fine crafted goods. Instead, he creates the best environment (humidity, light, soundproofing) to preserve them. So nothing protects them against a fire or emotional snakes.↩
7 It was a “you should be at work” kind of stare.↩
8 Because he and Aziraphale were the same person, Crowley hadn’t sensed him coming closer, neither did he know how long he had been there. However, since they were the same person, Crowley fancied both their essences. He was quite confused.↩
9 We will refer to Aziraphale the angelic photographer as AP from now on.↩
10 AP was not a very good photographer after all. However the essence was captured. ↩
Title: The 'Scales' Pattern
Summary: Sometimes Crowley is not very happy with his body. Perhaps one day Aziraphale can make him see what he sees.
Rating: NC-17
Author Note: This fic contains NSFW scenes. It is a Clone fic with queer characters and uncanny bodyparts. I wrote it with a lot of love for our characters and the prompts themselves.
The advertisement down the walk-street along with a picture of Queen Victoria read the following:
Make a moment last forever
The Queen’s favor
The year was 1856 and photography was here to stay, finding its way into everyone's minds and hearts in hand with Queen Victoria. Its popularity had reached even the lower class; they would sacrifice weeks of supper just for a photograph with their families and beloved ones.
It was powerfully appealing: A moment that would last forever. Somewhat like a painting[1] but precise in a different manner. Photographs only required a single session, also they didn’t take as long to create and were cheaper than a painting. Not that coin was a problem for supernatural entities anyway.
Crowley knew that things from earth couldn’t possibly last forever; “a couple centuries at most” he thought as he regarded the sepia silhouettes of a couple in the store's showcase window. His mind hovered over the concept of eternity. Without the influence of miracles or curses, things tended to be devoured by time. He left the studio immersed in his thoughts and wandered London’s streets without direction until he was brought back by the intense sugary smell and bright colors of a sweets shop.
That day, Aziraphale was especially engrossed in an article titled “Yet to discover the spiciest fabric designs” — it was bookmarked to be read at discretion in this week’s Periodical. He had begun to think a single article was not enough to address such a controversial topic when all of a sudden a tempting box of Bonbons sauntered into the bookshop wearing a snaky smile.
“There’s a new candy shop down on Margaret's street, Actually, there are quite a few new businesses in town. Ever heard of photography?”
“Oh! Of course I have. It is the paintings with no colors! So very fascinating,” said Aziraphale, while softly lifting a chocolate out of the box. Pinky lifted.
“Right! Well it has become very popular these days. Humans gather together and have pictures of themselves taken wearing their best clothes. I was thinking… Maybe we should give it a try?
“You want to acquire a painting through this new technology?”
“Well, If you insist, Angel, then I shall accompany you into the photographic era. Let’s make a moment last forever!” Crowley said as he stood up and prepared to leave, feeling very excited somehow. It must have been some sort of muscle memory; after all he had arrived with a box in his hands, and was not about to leave empty handed. Of course, they were so distracted, neither of them noticed.
“I thought photography didn’t take as long-“
“I’ll be here tomorrow 11 am. Be ready, bye.”
“Hmbye,” Aziraphale mumbled, now completely absorbed in munching on the sweets. They were pretty good.
It was a successful start, Now that the Angel had proposed to him to get a photograph together, he could not let him down. Surely he would treasure it for a lifetime. Or at least a human lifetime or however long said photograph lasted.
Crowley cracked his knuckles and stretched his arms in front of him. They seemed quite long and thin. “Better get working!”[2]
With a long stride he started walking, effortlessly roaming the streets. Every being he passed started conceiving the wildest ideas:
Morgan the Banker wondered how many coins would fit his vest’s pockets before it was noticeable.
Little Timmy the shoe-shine boy was confident he could run fast enough to lose any pursuers after stealing his customer’s wallet.
Mrs. Smith had been feeling bored to death; some gossip would cheer her up. She could have sworn she saw her friend Sally’s husband leaving an indecorous inn a few weeks ago.
Mr. Ambrose, owner of a ceramics factory, thought it beneficial to increase working hours; no extra wages, of course. His footman had the small suspicion he would get a good extra coin by selling his master’s secrets. Even the carriage horses felt the urge of eating the footman's bowler hat.
That day several thrifting places in London emanated a devilish aura.
When Crowley finally arrived at his secret hideout on Cornwall Road, he promenaded towards his precious wood-carved mirror and stared at his reflection for a moment. He lifted his arms slightly, showing off his striped plaid suit. He twisted his lips and placed his hands in his pockets, then held his jacket lapels; he tried holding just one lapel… then placed both hands behind his head. He frowned and hid his arms behind his back. It made him appear like he had no arms at all.
“BLAST!” Crowley cried while throwing his arms to his sides again. Why the hell had he suggested taking a photograph?! He could only reach this poor level of Human shape. Deformed. No matter how hard he tried, his human transformation turned out disappointing every time.
He scrutinized his reflection up and down. He liked bowler hats; they had a stylish design, but after looking more closely, it made his chin look sharper and as crooked as a comic character. Well at least, he had good cheekbones… The hat was tossed to the bed.
The suit seemed elegant enough for a gala, but common enough for a walk in the park. It was classic, and the shoulder pads made his back look broader. He squinted his eyes and increased the pads’ size a few times. Now his head appeared quite small. He rubbed his face in such exasperation his shades flew off, oh yes, he also had these damned eyes! The jacket got violently thrown on the bed, followed by the vest and shirt.
He stood with a hunched posture wearing just his pants. In order to avoid his own gaze in the mirror, he fixed his stare on the scaly skin of his chest. Many humans have chest-hair, others have pimples or freckles, well, Crowley’s human form couldn’t help but be coated in hard scales here and there. At least he had hair on his head. He held his breath. With a blink he opened all the dresser drawers. Nothing… BANG! He opened the wardrobe. Nothing…
There were actually no clothes in his place at all, for Crowley kept furniture just as ornamentation; after all, he had never bought clothes.[3]
He laughed ironically. The demon tossed himself onto the bed, the illusion of clothes faded away to reveal a copy of The Tailor's Choice magazine.
Meanwhile in Soho, a couple of men left the bookshop with narrowed eyes, they had come to buy something, but somehow got out empty-handed and with a faint desire of getting themselves a photograph.
On the other side of the shop window Aziraphale waved with a smile.
“Farewell, farewell. Please do not ever come again!”
His eyesight focused his reflection in the window. He took a good look at himself and adjusted his vest. He smiled, pleased. “It’ll do nicely. Now where did that magazine go?”
And so, Aziraphale had chosen what to wear, but his hunt for The Tailor’s Choice had just begun.
Crowley contemplated the magazine with a blank face, flipping its pages with slimy fingers. “Arg!, It’s Aziraphale’s, I’m in trou-“ He reached the bookmarked page.
Crowley's thoughts were captivated by the drawing of a decorated tie. His eyes like saucers, he took the magazine and jumped off the bed. A cravat slowly manifested around his neck, a pattern like scales, but not quite, appeared throughout the fabric, fitting like his own skin, a faint smile drawn on his face. The extra fabric hid his long slender neck. Maybe he could create a whole outfit out of this.
Aziraphale stepped outside the bookshop for the first time in a while and inhaled enthusiastically the cool air from the city. He saw Crowley approaching, walking the street in his own unique way, looking stunning. Then he spotted it. That tie. The angel straightened his spine and held his breath.
Crowley was wearing a coordinated suit and vest.[4] His scaled cravat was like the cherry on top. Initially, he had liked it so much he assumed Aziraphale would also appreciate its good taste and even compliment it. After all, he was into this kind of fashion, right?
The angel stood in front of him, eyes locked on the tie, expressionless for what seemed like an eternity. Crowley cleared his throat as he fixated on the tie, waiting for a response. Aziraphale exhaled painfully slowly.
“Ehm-” started Crowley.
“ - Let’s get going,” interrupted Aziraphale.
They reached the studio without a word. The photographer seemed to be a very moody man. He was being bossy and fussy about all kinds of rubbish like composition and light. He complained nonstop when Crowley refused to take his sunglasses off. He asked him to “turn slightly to the left, but not that much,” then to the right and more left. “Lower your chin a bit, sir,” and so on.
When they were finally settled, Crowley took a quick glance at Aziraphale; he had been unusually silent. He caught his gaze fixed at his neck.
Crowley felt so anxious the tie patterns started shifting and turning for a moment, Aziraphale’s eyes opened wider than ever. The photographer was taken aback, he blinked a few times and raised his hands as if to fix the cravat, but abruptly stopped midair. “That’s it, DON'T’ MOVE!” he unnecessarily shouted out as he jogged towards the camera.
Crowley glanced at Aziraphale one more time when suddenly an intense light filled the whole room and the smell of some odd chemicals rose. The picture had been taken.
“Alright, stay still for about 30 minutes.”
The picture was delivered a few weeks afterwards. Crowley hated it.[5]
The present day
Aziraphale rearranges his Bookshop every couple hundred years or so. He claims sometimes books bend their meanings when grouped with certain editions for a certain amount of time. He might take several weeks, unwilling to speak or chat, unless it is to demand a new box of biscuits. Crowley finds it very convenient to simply go back to his original snake form and sleep, or surf the internet or wander the store — every time something different, old or new, pops out.
Because not even tiktok can entertain one forever, Crowley started roaming the store. Snake shifting allowed him to reach the highest and lowest spots without making stupid poses. Alas! He found a small wooden frame and froze, it was IT! That bloody thing was hideous! He had tried to get rid of it before, but Aziraphale had loved it since the beginning. To be totally honest, it hadn’t really captured how gorgeous the Angel had looked that day, so why keep it? On the contrary, it exaggerated his unfortunate proportions. “Ssstupid photo!” he hissed, and flipped the portrait upside down with the tip of his tail. Crack. The serpent was now nowhere to be seen.[6]
Aziraphale was standing at the front of the bookshop, contemplating the update with utmost satisfaction, when suddenly his smile dropped. He knew the difference between the very atomic composition of the old and new bookshop, and something wasn't right. Squinting his eyes, he approached one of the eastern shelves and lifted a worn frame, revealing shattered glass.
“Oh, Crowley…” He frowned with a bit of concern, tracing the outline of Crowley's jaw with his thumb over the photo, stopping abruptly at his neck. He pulled the picture closer, his eyes sparkling intensely and cheeks blushing.
"If you hate it that much, dear boy, then we should take another one." Aziraphale smiled, a not very holy smile.
With a snap of his fingers the shelves moved towards the back of the bookshop, leaving enough space for a square bellows camera on a tripod to miraculously appear. He moved the chairs so that they would be in frame and brought over some good books from the era. (He initially intended to recreate the picture just as the original, but where was the harm in adding a little ambiance?)
He stood in front of the camera blank-faced, nibbling his right thumb.
“It can’t be that hard to use, right?”
Aziraphale made some gestures with his hands as if praying, and chanted words hard to pronounce; then a heavenly light appeared next to him and his body wavered in a funny way.
Crowley may have thought it to be some sort of punishment. Aziraphale had called and talked him into getting a new photo. The demon well-remembered the incident with the frame and did not complain too much about it, after all, technology had made it easier to obtain more graceful looks through filters and editing. Photoshop could disguise his slender uneven body; perhaps his nose wouldn’t look so crooked.
Or he wished!
Crowley’s nose wrinkled at the sight of the bellows camera in the middle of the bookshop. Aziraphale took a turn over himself and extended his arms to the sides while jolly walking towards him.
“What the He-”
“- Since some precious memories suffered an accident a few days ago, I thought it an opportunity for us to create new ones.”
“You know technology has evolved?”
“It’s important to capture the original essence,” said the angel, while pulling some folded clothes from an aged trunk. It looked pretty much like the suit he’d been wearing that day. Crowley flinched.
“There is no way I’m wearing that!” Damn that moment! It really was lasting forever.
“You looked so very handsome.” Aziraphale got closer and looked up through his lashes. Crowley blushed and turned his eyes to one side.
“Obnoxious,” said the demon, slightly stepping back. “Do you even know how to use-”
Poof. Suddenly the old suit miracled on top of his own materialized clothes; somehow tickling his skin. He frowned. Why is it when you point out you don’t like this or that about yourself, people try to deny it? It’s so very irritating, how could he know?
“You DON-“ Crowley was about to list the 1001 reasons to hate his body, the short version, when Aziraphale spoke. Not completely using his human voice. blurring everything around them.
“Although, I must admit those are obnoxious.” Aziraphale was looking at his shoulders, twisting his mouth to the side.
Crowley blinked. Hadn’t he said just now how handsome I looked?
“This jacket, however fine the fabric, is like a lie pushing you down,” he said as he examined the coat between his index and his thumb.
“Your shoulders are barren and bony having suffered the wrath of God yet they cunningly face towards heaven. They are strong as to carry all the terrible truths and secrets of creation without a flicker.”
A blast violently stripped the jacket off Crowley; he was still wearing his own jacket underneath, but he felt a warm wind surrounding his shoulders and his back as if he was shirtless. He was unable to blink as the jacket floated away.
“To neglect them wouldn’t do.”
Aziraphale’s hands got to the level of his nose, steadily removing his shades, caressing his sharp cheekbones with his fingers as he did so. Crowley allowed him to do it, slightly lifting his chin with anticipation, hoping to hide the awe in his heart.
“What can I say about these?” Aziraphale looked at the sunglasses with a small smile, “I think they really are you,” he said, as he let go of the shades and they floated away.
“But darling, of all the greatest sights on heaven and earth, there has never existed one more sublime than to look into your eyes.”
Crowley’s face widened and then relaxed, he smiled the sweetest smile a serpent or a middle-aged man was able to summon, and his pupils dilated so much they were almost round shaped. Aziraphale mirrored him, unable and unwilling to look away.
When suddenly an intense light filled the whole room. Poof!
Crowley remembered they were standing in the middle of the bookshop, Aziraphale stood still, lost in thought. It had been the bellows Camera on the other side of the room, smoke now coming out of it. But there was also someone else with them. Under a large piece of dark cloth, a figure emerged. It was AZIRAPHALE?!
He looked at him tenderly, raising his thumb with a triumphal smile.
“I have it!”
“Ah,” Crowley blinked rapidly and turned his head back and forth. “Why are – two – when?” he babbled.
“Oh. Well, you didn’t expect me not to appear in the picture, right?” the Aziraphale next to the camera said.
Apparently Aziraphale had cloned himself in order to take the photograph. Clones were made, in theory, by stretching one's soul until the mass got redistributed through space. It seemed quite complicated and Crowley had never tried it himself. Aziraphale was creating entirely too much bother just to get a picture. Or perhaps he was trying something else…
“Aziraphale, you bastard, tricking me to get what you want,” Crowley hissed, faking a hurt expression. “Very wicked of you.” Then he smiled to the side.
“I really-” Camera Aziraphale lifted his eyebrows in concern and seemed willing to clarify everything but got interrupted by himself.
“-Crowley.”
The angel next to him squeezed his shoulders, making his spine shiver. Aziraphale reached for his hands and interlaced their fingers, twisting his arms to wrap his plump-self around them.
“Without those long arms of yours how could you possibly hold me? Squeeze me?” Aziraphale stopped with his lips slightly open. “Take the whole shape of me?” he whispered.
Crowley stopped sensing anything around him; he was no longer able to hear the Gramophone playing boring tunes nor the distant noises of the city. The only thing he was able to hear was his own heartbeat. Or perhaps it was Aziraphale’s.
He couldn’t resist it any longer. If there was any losing-your-inhibitions side effect for cloning yourself, then he was not going to let it go to waste. He bent forward to tighten the embrace, but at that moment the angel clenched his tie. It dyed itself another color, with thicker folds and sharp shapes sprung across it. Aziraphale shortened the end by rolling it around his fist, pulling Crowley closer.
“But this one I hate. Not only does it hide your wiry neck,” he bit his lower lip, “but you look so damn hot wearing it.”
He stepped backwards until the couch appeared and slipped down without losing the grip on the silk. Crowley’s legs spread on top of him. He was flushed from head to toe/tail.
He kissed him tenderly at first, his arms around his neck, but a demon can only restrain himself for so long; the angel’s lower lip felt so round and fleshy. He sucked it a few times and then sunk his pointy teeth into it. Aziraphale tore apart Crowley’s upper clothes with a muffled groan. He fondled Crowley’s waist side with his left arm, playing with the skin scales by pressing them counterclockwise.
Crowley shivered; he started weaving his body while snatching sticky kisses from his lover’s lips. His smooth long fingers slithered under the angel’s old clothes, pinching his nipples and softly lifting them as far as possible just to release them and repeat the trick. Aziraphale was squeezing on his left butt cheek, stretching him with circular movements, increasing the pace impatiently. It was time to level things up. Crowley's hand traveled downwards and reached a rounded prominence. Aziraphale had already made a choice, their legs twitched when Crowley’s fingertips hovered over it. Crowley smiled and licked his lips, then he made a slender crooked effort. Aziraphale took it into his left hand and stroked it firmly while thrusting into Crowley’s fingers.
The demon stood up a little and licked a plump finger between the forks of his tenacious tongue; he attempted to get on his feet but got violently pulled back in place by the tie. Aziraphale pierced him with a hungry stare as fierce as a lion’s, Crowley’s scales all around his body flicked. Contrary to his stare, Aziraphale held his nape gently and pulled him towards his chest.
He was currently squeezing Aziraphale’s beefy breasts, licking and purring between them when a soft palm gripped him and pulled him from behind. He was startled for just a bit. Aziraphale narrowed his eyes for less than a second,[7] then loosened his grip on the cravat so Crowley could be held a bit further out. It was Aziraphale the angelic photographer! He had forgotten completely.[8]
Before Crowley attempted to turn, AP[9]held his chin in a firm grip, guiding the way to meet his lips, then he rested his head on his shoulder. “Do you mind if I-" AP breathily whispered into his pointy ear as he smooched kisses behind it and licked under his jaw. The feeling of a warm tongue against his oily scales made him drop his head sideways, lifting his chin and exposing his neck. At this sight, Aziraphale lost grip of the tie and bent forward to kiss on Crowley’s scaly chest while stroking his dick; while Crowley at the same time leaned backwards, arching his back onto AP’s bulge.
AP lifted one of Crowley’s hands from Aziraphale’s back. He interlaced their fingers from the back side of his lean hand and guided it to meet his lips. With his other hand he took a sturdy hold of the demon’s hip and pulled it towards his chunky body. AP’s body shape began to shift; not only did he seem bigger and feathery, but also hotter to the touch.
Aziraphale pushed Crowley to stand up, but they themselves remained seated on the couch crossed-legged, they rested their chin over both hands looking playful. Feathers begun to burst over their forehead like a flower crown.
AP bit on his lip and grabbed Crowley's chin, opening up his mouth so he could stick his tongue in. Crowley grabbed on his ass and narrowed the gap between them while sucking his tongue, soon enough AP’s miracle became as hard as a diamond, hitting proudly against his lower abdomen. The demon took both dicks within his slippery hands and stroked them. He felt as if a thousand eyes were staring at his every movement. Of course, all those eyes were Aziraphale’s.
Content with the display, Aziraphale spread one leg on top of the sofa, making sure to provide a nice view of their vulva; which spread like a blooming peony covered with rumpled petals. It was already soaking wet, but as the other two’s kissing and grabbing intensified at the very sight of them, so Aziraphale increased the pace, rubbing deeper through their folds. They let out an abrupt moan, making AP and Crowley turn towards them completely. Aziraphale reached up and gripped AP’s penis with their wet palm; covering it with their thick, sticky fluid. They also grabbed onto Crowley's hip with the other hand, effortlessly pulling him closer; their shape had also begun to distort bigger and their body beamed all kinds of colors. They approached Crowley’s face and sweetly rubbed their noses together.
AP was already sitting on the couch when Aziraphale pushed Crowley towards it. With their large sticky fingers, they expanded Crowley's arse open. AP kissed and licked until the demon gripped AP's bulky dick and used it to slap his own rear before leading it to his entrance. He thrust once, Crowley let out air from his lungs with an adorable hiss that made Aziraphale smile and wiggle their hips before getting on their knees. He thrust twice, AP pushed so strongly Crowley had to reach for the couch to hold on. He thrust thrice and it all went inside.
Aziraphale stood on their knees. They held Crowley’s waist, they planted kisses across the serpent’s belly and leaned towards his erection with their tongue slightly out. They licked and sucked,slurp, the demon felt his heart boiling in his stomach slurp, slurp. He grasped a handful of golden hairs and closed his eyes slowly, letting his mind wander inside Aziraphale’s throat. But before he was able to get loose. Aziraphale stopped sucking altogether. They pushed him out of their mouth and mounted on top instead, ready to take him all in.
The demon’s scales twisted and curled and shivered between the angel’s soul. He could feel Aziraphale holding him from all around and inside out. There was no longer a difference between Aziraphale and AP, there were also no boundaries between them
Human shapes becomes meaningless when the messy mixture of scaly and feathery flesh, and the thunderous sound of bells and flames realize who they are.
When he opened his eyes, Crowley lay comfortably on Aziraphale’s lap. He smiled tenderly at him, caressing the dark hairs over his moist forehead. An overexposed photo was displayed in a scale-patterned frame on the coffee table.[10]
Crowley felt so very joyful inside. His body, no matter the shape, was able to give and receive, whether it was pleasure or leisure. It allowed him to experience all moments in the eternity of his life. It allowed him to exist next to the ones he loved.
Crowley looked up into Aziraphale’s eyes, shining like seas of stars. Aziraphale held his cheek and got closer to his face. ‘Dear’ Crowley’s eyes widened; he pressed Aziraphale’s hand against his cheek.
“STOP MESSING AROUND WITH MY STUPID SHELVES, YOU OLD SERPENT!”
FIN
1 Actually Aziraphale and Crowley had got themselves a portrait painted back in the 16th century. It took several sessions for the artist to finish it, but when it was finally ready, it mysteriously disappeared.↩
2 People do not get tempted themselves although they are capable enough; a little push is required. Fleeting thoughts create daring ideas; these ideas can be planted as little seeds to produced apples in the future. Also, it was much preferred to report in early than to have useless imps on your tail, especially the following hours.↩
3 Crowley manifests his clothes directly onto himself, so there is no point in storing them; however he does get influenced by human fashion.↩
4 The poor soul had stepped outside his lair a few times and entered back in again to slightly change the color of the suit so his skin would look “fairer.” He had also spent all night convincing himself not to materialize bigger shoulder pads.↩
5 It took a miracle for the photograph to not spontaneously combust.↩
6 Most of the bookshop contents are over 300 years old. Aziraphale is not able to stop time for the objects and, in his opinion, magic could potentially spoil the core essence of fine crafted goods. Instead, he creates the best environment (humidity, light, soundproofing) to preserve them. So nothing protects them against a fire or emotional snakes.↩
7 It was a “you should be at work” kind of stare.↩
8 Because he and Aziraphale were the same person, Crowley hadn’t sensed him coming closer, neither did he know how long he had been there. However, since they were the same person, Crowley fancied both their essences. He was quite confused.↩
9 We will refer to Aziraphale the angelic photographer as AP from now on.↩
10 AP was not a very good photographer after all. However the essence was captured. ↩