Chapter Text
Aziraphale wondered if Crowley knew about it.
I mean, he must know, mustn’t he? Surely?
...Should he mention it? No; that would be far too impolite. He has to know...
Crowley sipped his coffee and scrolled through his phone, apparently oblivious.
Perhaps he should mention something about shaving?
Presumably it was the slightly longer sideburns which were the cause. Would shaving encourage it back into place again? Was Crowley doing it on purpose?
Aziraphale tried not to stare.
The snake tattoo which usually resided just in front of his right ear, was currently half an inch lower than usual.
… But then again: so were Crowley’s sideburns.
Aziraphale sipped his tea, and decided to keep shtum.
Several weeks had elapsed, and Aziraphale had been busy in Wales on a series of blessings. Crowley had been up to some nefarious activities in Scotland, to do with ducks, as far as Aziraphale could tell, so when they met up for a cuppa and a chat at the British Museum café, the difference was startling.
Crowley’s sideburns were longer. And the serpent was now halfway to his chin.
It was getting harder not to stare.
It seemed everyone else was too polite to mention it either. Anywhere they went, where people like restaurant staff and suchlike were accustomed to meeting Crowley, never a word was said. Although Aziraphale could notice them trying not to look.
I mean, how do you tell someone something like that? ‘Young man your
car is on fire
snake tattoo is three inches lower than it was a few weeks ago?’
It was a dilemma.
Crowley had noticed. He was just hoping to hell that no one else would.
The troublesome little shit was squirming all over and flatly refused to return to his rightful place underneath his sideburn. Perhaps he found it itchy. He had no idea, but the little bastard wasn’t listening to him. He’d tried pushing it to extremes by letting his sideburns grow gradually longer, shaving lower down each time, hoping that at some point his sigil would just give up and return to where he belonged. But it wasn’t working, and he was becoming a laughing stock, he knew it.
He glared at his own face in the mirror to check progress.
His sigil was nowhere to be seen.
What the hell?
“Oi!”
Nothing.
He turned his head this way and that, searching for him. A tickle on his chest made him rip off his shirt just in time to see an inky black and red tail squiggling into his armpit.
"NOT THAT LOW! What are you doing down there you lil shit? That tickles! OI! STOPPIT!"
A tiny snake head emerged from under his arm and
blelelelele’d
his tiny tongue at him, then darted back in, and disappeared around his back.
“YOU LITTLE…!”
He frantically patted his body down, chasing the elusive tickle as his serpent wriggled in delighted glee all over, occasionally peeking out from somewhere or other to taunt him, before darting away again where he couldn’t see.
Aziraphale’s phone rang.
"ANGEL! I need your assistance."
"Of course. What is it?"
"I can't find my snake."
There was a careful silence on the other end of the line.
“Aziraphale?”
“... Is that a euphemism?”
“NO! I mean my sigil!”
“Your little tattoo, you mean?”
“Well, yes and no, he’s not tattooed on me, he’s just part of me, and he’s a little shit. The bastard has been misbehaving for weeks and now he’s gone AWOL and I can’t find him.”
“I see, I think. Come on over.”
Crowley arrived bundled up in a huge scarf covering the lower part of his face. Once he was in the bookshop he unwrapped it, revealing a curiously blank cheek, where for millennia, Aziraphale had been accustomed to seeing the familiar little serpent.
Aziraphale watched as Crowley shed his layers, stripping off jacket, waistcoat and shirt, then wrestling out of his sinfully tight jeans, until he stood there in only his socks and underwear, frantically scanning himself distractedly for a glimpse of the elusive sigil. Aziraphale circled him curiously.
“Whatever made him leave his post?”
“He got annoyed by the stubble. He kept squirming like it was itchy. I thought he’d settle down once it was established but the contrary little bastard just kept wiggling lower. I shaved it back up, but now he won’t come back.”
“I see.” Aziraphale dropped to his knees, peering at Crowley’s lower back. He tugged at the waistband of his underwear and peered lower.
"Uh, Aziraphale, what are you doing down there?"
"Well you want me to FIND him, don't you?"
“I…”
"Oh, I found him! Well hello there, little chap!"
"NGK!"
"He's right here on your..."
"YES, I KNOW NOW. "
“So how do we encourage him out again, do you suppose?”
“Buggered if I know.”
“Hmm.”
There was a tickling flash of movement skirting around Crowley’s hip, making him yelp, and he suddenly realised where the sigil had scarpered to. Aziraphale moved around the front, and bent over, facing Crowley’s crotch, calling out ‘pspspspspsps’ and wiggling his fingers as if summoning a recalcitrant kitten.
“What the fuck?”
“Well, it was worth a try,” Aziraphale pointed out with a wounded voice. He straightened up again. “I’ll go and make us a cup of tea and we can think it over, I suppose.” He left for the kitchen, and Crowley collapsed down onto the sofa with a resigned sigh.
A little snakey nose poked up above Crowley’s underpant elastic and blelelelele’d his tongue at him, then disappeared again. He shoved his hands down his pants in a futile attempt to grab at it, just as Aziraphale walked back in with two cups of tea. He paused briefly—while Crowley froze in mortified horror—then carried on with naught but a cynically raised eyebrow.
“Don’t let me stop you, dear,” he said, placing Crowley’s cup on the small table before sitting at his desk to sip his own tea. Crowley withdrew his hand, blushing red all over, as Aziraphale was clearly able to see. Crowley slurped his tea looking embarrassed.
As the afternoon wore on, the little snake occasionally ventured forth to taunt them some more, before darting back in another direction again. At one point he wiggled in a rapid spiral down Crowley’s left leg, making him squeal out at the tickly trail down his inner thigh, before hiding on his foot.
“Oh, for fucks sake. There’s a snake in my sock!”
“I’m sure he’ll come back out again when he’s ready, dear.”
Eventually, Crowley dozed off, soothed by the regular ticking of the clock and the comforting warm familiarity of the bookshop.
Aziraphale had returned to his book while he thought, until a flash of movement from the corner of his eye made him glance over at Crowley again. The little serpent was wiggling its way back up his thigh again, a guilty look on his tiny face. He saw Aziraphale watching, froze for a moment, then darted upwards again faster. Aziraphale pounced.
Crowley awoke with a startled yell, finding Aziraphale kneeling by the sofa.
"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS HAPPENING?"
"I caught him dear - right here under my hand!"
"Your hand is..."
"Oh don't fuss. Now, how do we tempt him back to where he belongs again?” Aziraphale pondered, one hand still under Crowley’s boxer briefs. “OH! I have an idea..."
He reached out at full stretch for a pen on the edge of his desk with his free hand. Crowley watched in bafflement as Aziraphale carefully drew a tiny ink mouse on his hip, and then slowly—ever so slowly—lifted his other hand off the little serpent. He waited, hardly daring to draw breath.
After a few seconds, a tiny tongue blelelelele’d past the underpant elastic curiously, followed by a head, and then he froze, eyeing up the ink mouse.
In a flash, he struck, grabbing the tiny drawing and swallowing it whole, before retreating back into Crowley’s underwear again. Aziraphale grinned in triumph.
“Right! Here we go, then…”
He began to draw a little trail of miniscule mice in ink going up Crowley’s body from his abdomen, up his chest, over his collarbone, up his throat, to his jaw, and finally, by his ear. Crowley flinched and tried not to giggle at the ticklish sensations.
A tiny snaky head poked out again, spied the next mouse drawing, and slithered up after it. He paused, then struck and swallowed it. Licking his lips, he slithered on upwards, scenting out the next one. He devoured that and carried on, chasing after the one on Crowley’s clavicle, then the one on his neck; spotting the one on his jaw, the little snake pounced, his belly now looking very full. Finally, almost too full to move, he pounced on the one by Crowley’s ear, then curled up in his rightful place to sleep it off and, presumably, digest them all.
Aziraphale leaned over and kissed it gently.
“Good boy,” he whispered. The little snake roused and looked at him curiously, tongue flickering. Aziraphale kissed him again, ignoring Crowley’s blush, and the tiny serpent squirmed happily under the attention.
“Now, if you stay right there, I promise I shall draw you a mouse once a week, and give you a kiss every single day. Do we have a deal?”
The snake sigil formed into a little tick sign, then back into his customary squiggle again, and fell asleep.
“What a good little noodle.”
“Did you mean it?” Crowley asked, eyes wide.
“Mean what?”
“About the kiss… every day?” Hope glimmered in his expression. Aziraphale smiled and placed another kiss on the middle of Crowley’s cheek, then another on the tip of his nose, smiling fondly.
“Of course I did, dear.” He finished with a soft kiss to Crowley’s lips. “I promise.”
(Illustration by IneffableChocolateCheeseCake. Can't see the image? Click here.)