Chapter 4: Shopping in Soho
Aziraphale knew Soho like the back of his hand, so he thankfully already had a clothes store in mind; he had never been inside before, but the display always had figures in denim jeans. Without dawdle or delay, Aziraphale walked to the store, only hesitating just outside the entrance. 'You can do this, Aziraphale,' he psyched himself up, and then strode inside.
It was a relatively small store, but what space there was, was used to its fullest; shelves filled with jeans lined the walls and tables full of a variety of shirts took up the middle, creating aisles, giving it what Aziraphale thought to be a cosy feel. A couple of changing rooms and the counter stood at the back, beside which was a large assortment of belts.
As Aziraphale was taking stock of all this, one of the staff approached. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked.
"Ah, um, yes actually," Aziraphale admitted, starting to feel nervous about the whole affair. "You see, I am in need of an outfit."
The saleswoman laughed, "Well, you came to the right place for that. What size are you, and we can get started?"
"Size?" questioned Aziraphale.
The lady (her name tag read Melissa) looked him up and down, as though just noticing him for the first time; he realized he must look terribly out of place, dressed as he was in his usual attire.
"I think I know what size should fit you," Melissa finally said. "And we can always get you to try them on to make sure."
"That would be splendid," Aziraphale breathed in relief; he was totally at a loss here, and any and all help was appreciated.
Leading him over to the shelves, she started pulling jeans down, handing them over. When Aziraphale had an armful, Melissa then guided him to look at shirts. He stared at them helplessly for a moment, before plucking up the courage to ask, "Do you have any recommendations for T-shirts?"
Smiling, Melissa grabbed a few shirts from a couple of the tables, placing them in his free arm.
"Now, if anything feels too tight or too loose, just let me know and I'll get you a different size," Melissa explained as she led him to one of the changing rooms.
"Okay," was all Aziraphale could manage, as he stepped into the small room, closing the door behind him. There was a bench, on which Aziraphale placed his pile of clothes, in front of a full-length mirror. Now this was what caused him the most anxiety about buying clothes, actually having to strip down to try them on; it made him uncomfortable and embarrassed to get undressed, even in his own flat. Shakily he took off his jacket, hanging it on one of the hooks that lined the room. Fumbling, he unbuttoned his vest, carefully setting it aside, leaving him feeling vulnerable. 'I'm doing this for Crowley,' Aziraphale reminded himself, as he slowly undid his shirt, placing it with his vest; all that was left to take off were his trousers. Trembling now, Aziraphale slipped out of his shoes and pants, leaving him standing there in nothing but a pair of socks and boxers (of which Crowley had insisted he try, and Aziraphale had, never looking back). Facing the mirror, he assessed his appearance, then, shaking his head at what he saw, reached for a pair of pants to try. Fiddling with the zipper, he eventually managed to pull them on and do them up. The fit was rather snug, but he supposed that was how they were meant to be. Pulling on one of the shirts, he glanced at his reflection, causing him to do a double take; he was blown away at just how different he looked. There was more definition to his legs than he had ever thought existed, and he seemed to have more muscle than expected. Turning, he peered at himself from all angles, gauging how he felt; it made him feel confident in a way he had never experienced, like he was ready to take on the world. 'It's like I'm an entirely different person dressed like this,' Aziraphale realized, not sure how he felt about it.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, startling him from his thoughts. "Everything going okay in there?" called Melissa's voice.
"Ah, yes, though I would like a second opinion, if you don't mind," Aziraphale replied, not quite confident of his own fashion sense in this case, opening the door.
Melissa just stood there and gaped at Aziraphale, making him feel incredibly awkward; had he done something wrong? Then, she broke into a beaming grin. "Those look like they fit perfectly, and I must say, that cut of jeans suits you," she blushed. "But with a style like that it's best if the shirt is tucked in."
"Oh, thank you." Aziraphale shifted from one foot to the other. "I wouldn't have known."
"Now, why don't you go try on the rest of those clothes?" Melissa suggested. "And if you need any more help, feel free to ask; I can offer any advice if needed."
Smiling shyly, Aziraphale nodded, and stepped back, closing the door behind him. As quickly as he could manage (which wasn't very quickly at all), he went through trying on the rest of the clothes, asking for Melissa's opinion on each outfit. In the end, he decided the first one suited him best, and after getting dressed in his usual attire, went to purchase his items. Walking to the till, one of the belts on display caught his eye; it showed a serpent winding its way along the side, the buckle forming the head, looking almost eerily reminiscent of Crowley's snake form. It entranced Aziraphale so much, that he shrieked slightly when Melissa asked, "Do you like it?"
Blushing furiously at his own reaction, he apologized, "So sorry. Yes, it's a gorgeous belt."
"I think it would be a good accent to the clothes you picked," Melissa supplied, apparently unfazed by his scream.
He pictured himself wearing the belt, wrapping that lovely, Crowley-ish snake around his waist, and shivered; a fluttering started in his stomach and slowly worked its way down to his groin. Shaking himself a bit to distract from those feelings, Aziraphale nodded, before adding the belt to his pile and proceeding to pay for everything, once again thanking Melissa for her help.
"No trouble, and feel free to come again," she said, and with his stuff paid for, he left the shop.
Once free in the familiar streets, Aziraphale figured he would make a stop for a spot of tea and cake on his way home. One of his favourite little cafés just so happened to be right around the corner, so he popped over there, where he watched the people walk by, going about their business, whilst sipping on his drink and nibbling at his food. As he sat, something started to niggle at the back of his mind; he had the distinct feeling he was forgetting or overlooking something. Putting down his fork, he pondered what it might be. Aziraphale had gotten a T-shirt and jeans like asked; with the addition of the belt, it should make the perfect outfit. Thinking hard for a moment, it finally dawned on him; he had forgotten all about getting a new pair of shoes, an absolutely vital piece of any outfit. Groaning, he realized he would have to make another stop, though he was at a loss as to where to go, not having given it any thought. Wracking his brain, he tried to come up with a store, but just couldn't place any that would sell a modern set of shoes.
'Oh dear,' Aziraphale fretted, picking up his fork and poking at his cake. 'What do I do now? I would rather not go home without getting everything, but how do I find somewhere that has the appropriate shoes? I could just ask someone, but who?' Then he thought of how nicely he was treated at the clothes store and figured if anyone knew where to get a fashionable pair of modern shoes, Melissa might. It was at least worth going back to ask. His only other options were to abandon the endeavour for the day, or to find a phone and ask Crowley for advice, and that was the last thing that he wanted to do; having to do that was like admitting defeat.
Polishing off his food and drink, he paid and then headed back to the store. Once again, he had to pause and work himself up before entering. Melissa was lounging behind the counter, and she smiled when she saw him. "Back so soon? Something wrong with your clothes?" she queried.
"What? Oh, no, nothing of the sort," Aziraphale answered, shifting his bag from one hand to the other. "I was just wondering if you knew a place to buy shoes that would go with my outfit?"
Melissa looked into the distance, as though calculating. Then she grinned wider, like the solution just hit her. "There is a store that should be suitable; it's just two streets over and up from here, on the left," she offered. "It should be easy enough to find; just look for the large shoe shaped sign outside."
Committing the directions to memory, Aziraphale thanked Melissa profusely again, before excusing himself and heading out to get some trainers.
Crowley had decided to walk to his destination, instead of driving the Bentley; he needed time to think things through, to process his emotions. Currently, they were a tangled web of conflicting feelings, of elation mixed with fear, of desire blended with unease, of anticipation crossed with trepidation. Sure, all of this felt like a dream come true, but he kept expecting the other shoe to drop at any moment. Ever since he had fallen, it was as though anytime something seemed to go his way, it either backfired brilliantly or failed to come to fruition. Now that he had this opportunity, so close he could almost grasp it, he was terrified of all that could go wrong. The worst was still his concern that this date and any further relationship that could come of it, would cause Aziraphale to Fall; it would rip out Crowley's soul if that occurred. Surely Aziraphale would never want anything to do with him after that, could never forgive him for having any role in him being cast down. Crowley's other fears were that he would push the angel too far, too fast or that he would be asking too much of himself by restraining his feelings, until he was sure where he wanted this relationship to go, if he even wanted it to go at all. 'After all, one date isn't a promise to the rest of eternity,' figured Crowley. 'I can always say it's just this once, and then back off. We could still be friends of course, if he wants that.' Deep down though, he knew he couldn't actually bear for that to be, that he didn't think he could stop whatever might happen from occurring, didn't think he could stop himself.
At this point, he had already reached his location, having been so caught up with his thoughts and feelings that he barely noticed the walk. Sighing slightly, he entered the store; now was the time to buy himself some new clothes, not for hopeless introspection.
Unlike Aziraphale, Crowley had kept up with fashion, and knew this was the store to go to in order to get an outfit for their date. Confidently, he went over to the shelves, which held a variety of cuts of denim jeans, and pulled down a couple in his size. Looking next at the shirts, he snagged up a few to try. Heading to the changing rooms, he looked at the girl behind the till, who he had felt staring at him since he had entered the establishment.
"Just gonna pop in and try these on," Crowley said, flashing a smile at the clearly smitten woman. She flushed in response, and waved a hand, indicating he go ahead.
Stepping into the small room and closing the door behind him, he threw the clothes onto the bench and began to strip. When he was down to just his boxers and socks, he grabbed at the nearest pair of jeans; as he was sliding them on, the chime that signalled a customer entering the shop rang.
"Back so soon?" a lady, who he figured was the one behind the till, asked. "Something wrong with your clothes?"
Crowley choked as he heard Aziraphale's voice answer, "What? Oh, no, nothing of the sort. I was just wondering if you knew a place to buy shoes that would go with my outfit?"
Crowley's heart was racing, beating wildly at the realization that Aziraphale had actually gone with his proposal of getting modern clothes, and had, in fact, already bought some. He had expected the angel to fret and worry his way out of it and was pleasantly surprised to learn he hadn't. Standing there thinking of it, with pants that were only halfway up, a heat started to creep through his body, before settling in his groin.
'Now is really not the time or place for this,' he mentally berated himself. Then, he heard Aziraphale thank the woman, followed by the chime going off again, signalling his departure, and sighed. Now, he had to worry about how to get rid of his newly formed erection. Using all his willpower, he focussed his thoughts on the most disgusting thing he could think of at the moment: Hastur. This seemed to work and eventually his hard-on abated.
Finally, he was able to finish pulling up the jeans, and then threw on a shirt, looking at himself critically in the mirror; he really liked the shirt, which was made of cotton, coloured wine red. It was just tight enough to add some definition to his chest but was still pleasantly airy with its short sleeves and low-cut collar. On the other hand, the pants had the opposite effect on his arse, making it look as flat as a board, not a curve in sight. Trying on the other pairs yielded similar results when he looked in the mirror, checking every angle possible.
A knock sounded on the door, pulling Crowley from his assessment of his appearance. "Yes?" he called.
"Just making sure everything is okay, sir," the saleswoman replied. "Need any assistance?"
Throwing open the door, then leaning against the frame, he smirked, causing the lady to blush furiously. Glancing at her nametag, he said, "Well, Melissa, if you can help me find a pair of jeans, preferably in a dark colour, that doesn't make my arse look flat and unflattering, then sure."
Still clearly flustered, Melissa couldn't help her eyes from checking what he meant, and he shifted to give her a side view, showing off his currently non-existent rear. He knew she had looked earlier, and would surely notice the difference, and she seemed to, with the way her eyes narrowed.
"Show me what you've tried," she practically demanded. Crowley was more than happy to oblige, showing her his selection. Melissa tutted, and then headed to a shelf and pulled down a dark blue pair of jeans, before returning and handing it to him. "Try these, the cut should suit your build."
Feeling dubious about her selection, and the fact that she had only given him a single pair, he closed the door and pulled off his current jeans to try on the new ones. Crowley noticed they were a size smaller than what he had picked for himself, but shrugged, and decided to try them anyways. After some minor shimmying and shuffling, he had them on; they were snug, and looking in the mirror, he could see the pronounced curve of his arse, perfectly sculpted in the tight denim. Making sure he had full mobility in them, he squatted, and realized that when he did, it brought attention to his crotch as well, which was an added bonus. The colour also complimented the shirt he had picked; he really had to hand it to the lady, but she knew what she was doing. After a few more moments, in which he admired himself, Melissa asked, "Do they fit?"
"Like a glove, darling. Thanks for that," Crowley answered through the door, and he meant it.
"No problem; it is my job after all," Melissa laughed. "Now if you get changed, we can ring you up."
"Of course," Crowley replied, giving himself one more appreciative glance in the mirror, before shedding his current clothing, and pulling on what he came in with.
When he stepped out of the room, his bundle of clothes to buy in hand, Melissa was already waiting for him at the till. He glanced at the belts in passing, then froze, as one caught his immediate attention, causing him to gasp slightly. It wasn't much, just a mostly plain, black, leather belt; what had caught his eye though, was the buckle, which depicted a beautiful pair of creamy white wings. It reminded him so much of Aziraphale, that he just had to have it. Plucking it up before he could stop himself, he went to the till to pay.
"Like wings?" Melissa questioned, scanning the belt.
"Yeah," Crowley smiled, his thoughts trailing to the last time he had seen the angel's wings; he had stared for a long time, unable to pull his gaze away from the soft and fluffy looking feathers. There had been a desperate, aching urge to touch them, to brush his fingers over each individual feather one at a time. "Utterly fascinated," he mumbled, more to himself than anything.
Paying, Crowley finally left the shop, a fluttering and burning sensation settling in his core, filling him with euphoria. The entire walk home, he wore a goofy grin, his thoughts filled with Aziraphale.