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Black Sepia - chapter 6 by bladespark

Black Sepia - chapter 6

They went clothes shopping the next day.

Pain had left him, but Aziraphale was still molting. The itching wasn’t as bad, since he had no more feathers to shed, but the new pinfeathers still pushing up into place itched, and he felt vaguely irritated about small things rather out of proportion. Part of him wanted to be afraid that it was because he was a demon, but he knew perfectly well that he was always out of sorts while molting. He was glad that angels, unlike earthly birds, didn’t molt all that often. Why some birds molted three times a year! He molted once every three years, give or take a bit, and that was bad enough.

Still, being Fallen, or being in molt, neither meant that his life came to a halt, and he had acquired plans for the next weekend, plans which needed him to be out in public, and therefore required clothes.

He’d picked out the darkest suit jacket he owned to wear shopping, a warm caramel color, which would go with his wings well enough, if only he had the right accents to go with it, so he felt he could keep that. But the camel waistcoat under it and the pale tartan bow tie and the light blue shirt would all probably have to go.

Maybe he could keep the shirt? He frowned, thinking about possible outfits. It all depended on what he found, of course. But one could wear this particular light blue with nearly any color of menswear, really. Just because Crowley went in all dark colors didn’t mean he needed to. For one thing, it would make his hair look ridiculous, a fluff of white atop a sea of black. He just couldn’t possibly continue in all light colors.

Crowley seemed to think that Aziraphale was going to go as all-black as he, and they had a few friendly tiffs over Crowley’s continued suggestion of black everything. And when he ventured out of black…

“No, dear, I am not going to wear that. No. Red doesn’t suit me in the least.”

“Come on, angel, red, black and gold go perfectly well together.”

“I won’t have it. Now this one…” He ran a finger over a brown jacket that was a deep chocolate color only a few shades lighter than the black of his wings. “This one might do. I do wish there was room for the wings in a fitting room. It’s absurd how tiny they are.”

“Just pop them out in front of the hall mirror. I can guard the hall door so no mortals catch an eyeful.”

“You’re such a dear, Crowley. I’ll do that, then.”

He ended up with the dark brown jacket and matching dark trousers, and later found a waistcoat that while not metallic could probably be described as “gold”, neatly trimmed with just a little gold embroidery, which Aziraphale had been stunned to find. Nobody embroidered menswear anymore, and he had missed it so deeply. But a quirky little boutique with handmade clothing had turned out to have this perfect gem, and he was delighted to have it.

He hadn’t been able to find a bow tie he liked, though. There were none to be had in black and gold tartan, it seemed. He regarded his reflection in the latest dressing room mirror and considered, then shrugged and undid the top button of his shirt. He could go without, perhaps. If he left off the waistcoat, it would be a nice semi-casual look, and he could save waistcoat for when he found the perfect tie to go with it. Perhaps he would see if the boutique’s tailor took commissions and have one made?

When Aziraphale came out of the dressing room in a new shirt of a blue the same hue as his eyes, the top button undone, Crowley looked like he’d been pole-axed. His eyes fixed on the hollow of Aziraphale’s now-revealed throat and he swallowed hard. Aziraphale found himself smiling. Back in olden times he’d showed a lot more skin than this—he’d shown all of it at the baths more than once, back in Rome, for one thing—and it had never meant anything. Funny how covering something up could make revealing it so tantalizing.

He thought, suddenly, that Crowley’s goodness was like that. Something the demon had covered up, that made it all the more attractive when little glimpses of it were revealed.

They had lunch at a lovely little cafe in the shopping district. Crowley toyed with a croissant and sipped a cup of jet black coffee. Aziraphale ordered a croque madame and managed to eat it without getting a drop of yolk or sauce on himself. He wondered if it would be suitably demonic or only embarrassing if he licked the plate clean. He always wanted to, with anything that involved bechamel, hollandaise, or any of his other favorite sauces.

In the end he decided against it and ordered a dessert instead.

They wandered through the shopping district some more after lunch. Aziraphale had an outfit now, but there was no reason he couldn’t pick up a few more things. They wandered in and out of all kinds of little shops, clothing and otherwise, and they found their hands meeting often, fingers twining together, just because they could.

Aziraphale was unable to resist ducking into a classy little stationary shop when they passed by it. He browsed the fascinating assortment of papers, pens, inks, and other miscellany with a kind of lazy delight, knowing that he had nowhere to be, no one to answer to, nothing to do but spend the day out with Crowley. Crowley slunk along after him, poking at the pens and complaining that he was bored and that this was all stuffy and dull. It was a teasing sort of complaint, and the fact that he was paying attention was made quite clear when he said, “Oh hey, angel, come look at this one.”

“This one” proved to be a pen, one of just a handful in a display of high-end fountain pens. It was jet black, with bronze fittings that glowed like gold, and a little segment just between the grip and the nib that was a cross-hatch of black and gold that almost resembled tartan.

“Oh my.” Aziraphale looked at it and wanted it immediately. He already owned several fountain pens, as well as a few nice ball points and even one lovely quill pen that he’d cut from one of his own feathers. Though he’d probably have to make a new one now, given that even shed, the white quill might well burn him now.

He regarded the gorgeous fountain pen and considered using the need to replace his quill as an excuse to get it.

“Try it out if you like,” said the young man behind the counter. “It’s got a cartridge in and there’s paper right there.”

Aziraphale lifted the pen, and smiled at the smooth, elegant line it left behind. Using a fountain pen was so much more satisfying than a modern ball point or felt tip. Those had only taken over the market because they were cheaper, but a good fountain pen was just as easy to use, and felt simply glorious to write with.

He scrawled out his name, then Crowley’s after it, putting an ampersand appended with a little heart between them. Then he returned the pen to its stand and glanced at the price.

“Oh dear.”

“It’s our most expensive model right now,” said the clerk, apologetically. “It really is a fine pen, you won’t find a better one, and it’s a true prestige item! But it’s not for everyone, of course.”

“You should buy it, angel,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale frowned. “I should hardly spend almost a thousand pounds on a pen. I already have more than enough of the things.”

“Money is hardly an object for you. You spend more than that on books all the time.”

“The books are my passion, my dear. I can justify them. They’re for education, for understanding, for my own personal betterment. I know they are also an indulgence, but this is something I do not need at all. I only want it because it looks nice. That’s really quite absurd.”

“Oh yes, it very much is. Still, I don’t see why you shouldn’t. If this is a sin… Let’s see, what of the ones you’re trying to tick off would this fall under? It’s not envy, exactly… Don’t think ‘covetousness’ is on the list of the classic seven deadlies.”

“Greed,” said Aziraphale, suddenly smiling. “Covetousness and greed are quite close. It would most definitely be greedy to acquire something rare and expensive that you do not need, solely because you want it. So I do believe I shall purchase it,” he said, as he turned to the clerk.

“Oh! Thank you very much.” The way the clerk was suddenly beaming made Aziraphale suspect that he got a commission, but he didn’t mind that. It meant he’d be doing good and sinning at the same time, which felt strangely right. “I’ll get it boxed up for you, then.”

“Knew you had it in you to be greedy,” said Crowley, smirking.

Aziraphale lifted his eyebrows. “I’m not sure there was ever any doubt, given how close a cousin greed is to gluttony.”

“Well, you never know. You used to come over all virtuous against all reason sometimes.”

There was a flicker of worry across Crowley’s face as he finished speaking, as if he regretted those words, but Aziraphale had just had another thought, and he leaned close to Crowley and said, softly, just in Crowley’s ear, “Do you know, Crowley, my dear, what I’ve been greedy for the most often down the millennia?”

“Ah…” Crowley was blushing, and Aziraphale grinned.

“You,” said the former angel. “Always you.”

“I, er, uhm, that is…” Crowley floundered, and Aziraphale couldn’t help himself, he laughed.

“Bastard,” Crowley groused.

“I’m given to understand that’s why you love me, dearest,” said Aziraphale, with teasing fondness.

Crowley only scowled.

Aziraphale only laughed again.

Black Sepia - chapter 6

bladespark

A small intermission. Tomorrow: Aziraphale tries out Wrath at a Pride parade.

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