Work Text:
“Now it’s very important that you imagine, in your mind's eye, your own self staring back at you. And then I-”
“But you told me to close my eyes?” Crowley said, frowning. He cracked one open to see Aziraphale peering at him from behind the full length mirror that he’d made Crowley drag out from the closet into the main bedroom. He wore the disappointed pout on his face that so often went with his magician costume, but this time, he was pouting at Crowley instead of at his own fumble.
“Yes!” Said Aziraphale crossly. “That’s why you imagine!”
“So my eyes stay closed, but the second me should have his eyes open to stare at me? I thought this was supposed to be a mirror spell?”
“I…” Aziraphale’s frown deepened as he considered. “Hold on!”
“Can I put my arms down for now?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale scurried over to where he’d left his book lying open on his bed.
“It will only be a moment!”
Crowley dropped his hands from the awkward praying position Aziraphale had coached him into and trailed after the angel. “You know, magic is fun and all, but we could be doing other exciting things to pass the time…”
Aziraphale slapped Crowley’s hands away when they crept towards the book he was studying. “I just want to try this one last trick. Then… perhaps. Ah! Yes, I see now. Back in position, if you please.”
Crowley stole a kiss on Aziraphale’s temple before sauntering back to his place in front of the mirror.
“Now, you will close your eyes. Imagine, in your mind's eye, the reflection of yourself. His eyes are closed as yours are, but your minds are open to each other. Through them, you see each other: you in the real world, and he in the strange mirror dimension, where nothing is as it seems. Can you see him?”
Crowley could see nothing but the blackness behind his own eyelids. Now if Aziraphale meant see in the less technical sense, Crowley’s occult senses knew the exact layout of the bookshop, the streets outside, and the locations and vices of every human within a three mile radius. He did not, however, see anything resembling himself in the mirror dimension. Likely because neither it nor his alternate self actually existed.
“Uhm. Not as such.”
Aziraphale huffed. “Are you trying?”
“Yeah I’m trying. Do you think I’d stand in this awkward pose, and let you sprinkle me with lavender water, and light candles all around me, and not try?”
“Well… maybe try differently? What if you just imagined what you would look like in the mirror if your eyes were open?”
“Look bloody ridiculous,” Crowley muttered under his breath.
“What was that?”
“I said I look bloody ridiculous.”
“Hmph. But you can see yourself?”
“I can imagine seeing myself,” Crowley corrected.
“Exactly! Perfect! Just keep doing that while I say the magic words.” Aziraphale cleared his throat and then said in a deep voice: “From stillness sprung and light confined, awaken now, reflected mind!”
The mirror Crowley stayed exactly as he was, which was to say, he stayed a figment of Crowley’s imagination who was not at all real. But Aziraphale had been trying to do a magic trick, hadn’t he?
Crowley cracked one eye open and grinned as his reflection dropped his arms and dusted off his shirt. Wordlessly, Crowley held out a hand… and the Crowley grinning back at him reached out of the mirror and took it.
Aziraphale gasped. He looked back and forth between his Crowley and the one who had just stepped out of the mirror, and beamed. “I did it!”
“You sure did, angel,” said Crowley through his doppelgänger’s lips. Then the doppel looked back at Crowley — the real Crowley — and eyed him up and down with interest. “Well, Aziraphale is certainly gorgeous enough to deserve the best. I’m pleased to see he got it in you.”
“In us,” Crowley purred. He placed a hand on his doppel’s chest, feeling the firmness of his own lean musculature.
The doppel’s grin widened. He stepped into Crowley’s space and tugged playfully on his tie. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
As the doppel started unbuttoning his shirt, Crowley leaned in and kissed him. He groaned at the soft press of lips against lips, tongue against tongue. He tasted himself, if he let his imagination run wild enough. He felt the slide of fabric over his shoulders: rough from the newness of the costume Aziraphale had insisted on dressing him — them — in. He felt that same fabric in hands that were not his own, but which matched them in every way. They could be his own hands, if he let them be. He could have two pairs of hands, two sets of lips, two tongues… He was almost reluctant to put a stop to it, but he hadn’t gone to all this trouble just to kiss himself, even if he was finding it hotter than expected.
“Now wait just a moment,” Crowley said, setting two fingers against his doppel’s lips as if they were needed to hold him back, and maybe they were, in a way. “Aren’t we forgetting someone?”
Crowley’s eyebrow arched dramatically as he turned towards Aziraphale, who was standing where he last had been, mouth agape and trousers obscenely tented. The doppel turned with him, and grinned Crowley’s sly grin.
“Why don’t you join us, angel?”
“It was your magic trick that led us here, after all.”
“My…” Aziraphale breathed out, his eyes flitting between the two Crowley’s in astonishment at his perceived success. “Why… why yes. Of course.”
Crowley held out a hand. Aziraphale took it, and let himself be tugged into the fray.
One Crowley kissed him on the mouth while the other meticulously untied his bow tie and turned down his collar to nibble at that soft, forbidden skin that he always kept so well hidden. Crowley himself wasn’t entirely sure what was him and what was only his imagination, but it hardly mattered now. Aziraphale experienced them both as vividly as Crowley tasted both the salt of the nervous sweat on his neck and the faint hint of creamy vanilla on his lips: the lingering sweetness of the custard tart from the new bakery that had just opened up across the street from Crowley’s flat. He opened his mouth wider and sucked Aziraphale’s top lip between his own, finding more crumbs from the pastry as he swiped his tongue over it.
“Tell us what you want, angel,” Crowley purred in Aziraphale’s ear.
“You. Both of you.”
“Well that you have already,” said the other.
He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale from behind and started the work of undoing the sparkly buttons of his magician coat from bottom to top, while at the same time, his second pair of hands mirrored him from top to bottom. They met in the middle, and the mirror Crowley — Crowley was fairly certain it was the mirror Crowley, considering he was the more dressed of the two of them — pulled the coat off of Aziraphale’s shoulders.
“Make sure you-”
“Hang it up so it doesn’t wrinkle,” Crowley finished for him as he started on the waistcoat.
“So many layers. You wrap yourself up like the sweetest treat.”
“And you’re worth it.”
“Why don’t we continue this on the bed, angel?”
Aziraphale giggled, his grin so wide it barely fit his cherubic face, and nodded. “Oh please!”
Crowley snapped his fingers, removing what little clothing was left between the three of them. The bed was only a few paces away, but he scooped Aziraphale up and carried him to it while his doppel moved the spell book safely to the windowsill.
“You spoil me, my dear,” Aziraphale said when Crowley laid him back with his head on the pillows and kissed him soundly.
“As you deserve,” said the doppel, sitting on Aziraphale’s opposite side and taking his turn to taste the angel’s lips.
“How long did you say this spell would last?”
“Oh, only half an hour,” Aziraphale sighed. “And then the mirror will have to recharge for at least a fortnight, though if a full moon occurs during that period, I could set it facing the open window and it may reduce that period by as much as three days. I’ll have to check the-”
Crowley kissed him again, just a brief press and a slow release to quiet him. “Later. We should make good use of the time we have for now.”
“We must,” the doppel agreed. He gave Aziraphale Crowley’s sly grin as he slid down the bed, peppering the angel’s body with kisses that started at the soft curve of his jaw, and ended on the plumpness of his inner thigh, so close to the prize that he had Aziraphale quivering in anticipation.
“He’s a perfect copy of me, you know,” Crowley whispered against Aziraphale’s lips. “So perfect that I see what he sees, hear what he hears, taste what he tastes…” Crowley swallowed down Aziraphale’s moan with an open mouthed kiss as his doppel wrapped his lips around the head of Aziraphale’s cock and sucked.
“Crowley…” Aziraphale gasped.
Crowley felt a hand on the back of his head, tangling in his hair. It took him a long few seconds to sort out that it was Aziraphale’s hand on his doppel’s head, pulling him down, making him take the angel's cock deeper.
“I’m gonna make you come so hard, angel. You’re not going to know where you are in space or time, what parts of your body belong where. That’s what it’s like for me — us — when we’re like this. I can suck you and kiss you all at once. I can taste your cock while I whisper dirty things in your ear, like how I want to make you moan more obscenely than you did for that bite of tiramisu you stole off of my plate at The Ritz last night.”
“It’s… uuuh. It was hardly stealing if you would have given… given it to me if I’d asked for it.”
“But you didn’t ask, did you, angel? You gorgeous bastard. You took it, because you know just the way to touch my every nerve. Well, I know how to touch yours too.”
Aziraphale gasped as the mouth wrapped around his cock swallowed him down to the root and sucked hard. Crowley tasted the salt of his orgasm, and in that same instant, he kissed him with all the hungry desperation of a demon who had spent too long waiting for his prize.
When Aziraphale was spent, Crowley withdrew, sitting back on either side of the angel, and looking down at his gorgeously flushed and panting body.
“Catch your breath, angel. We’re far from finished with you yet.”
“Is that a promise?” Aziraphale, insatiably horny bastard that he was, giggled.
“Oh yes.”
“Yes it is.”
“But we’re going to make you beg for it.”
“Get on your knees, angel.”
Still shaky from his first orgasm — the first of many, Crowley hoped — Aziraphale rolled obediently into position. Crowley stepped back off of the bed and grabbed him firmly by his love handles to pull the angel towards him, and Aziraphale came willingly, inching his knees forwards until they pressed against the fronts of Crowley’s lean thighs, bare chests almost touching. The doppel followed and knelt behind him, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s plump chest and pressing his hard cock into the small of Aziraphale’s back.
“Kiss me,” Crowley said, taking Aziraphale by the chin and guiding him upwards while he tilted his own head only slightly down.
Aziraphale rose to meet him, and Crowley’s doppel rose with him. His cock slipped between Aziraphale’s thick thighs, fucking slowly into the soft space between them. His head dropped to Aziraphale’s shoulder and kissed it open mouthed. Bit it. Sucked on it until he drew the blood up to the skin in a darkening, purplish bruise.
Crowley pulled back from Aziraphale’s lips to take in the sight of him. His face stayed tilted up, chin jutting towards the space Crowley had vacated. His eyes were closed and his mouth was open, spit-slicked, swollen lips moving in a slow, silent prayer that matched the cadence set by the body behind him. Crowley could feel every slide of the cock that almost, but didn’t quite, belong to him. He could feel the way Aziraphale squeezed down around it — around him — in earnest.
“You’re gorgeous,” Crowley breathed. He ran his hands over where his doppel gripped at Aziraphale’s chest, slipped his own fingers underneath, and found the hard bud of a nipple.
Aziraphale’s whole body pushed into Crowley’s hand as the demon pinched it gently. “Fu… fuck me.”
“Oh I will, angel. I’m going to fuck you until the only thing you can think of is me.”
“Yes! Yes, Crowley!”
“Are you begging for a demon to fill that pretty little angelic hole?” the doppel purred, then nipped softly at the lobe of his ear for good measure.
“Ah! Yes! Yes, please!”
“Well in that case, who would we be to deny such a desperate, lustful plea?”
While the doppel continued to slow-fuck Aziraphale’s thighs, Crowley reached around and grabbed a handful of his plump arse to squeeze, making him gasp and buck his hips backwards in search of more.
“Crowley…”
Crowley dropped his own head to Aziraphale’s other shoulder, mirroring every kiss, bite, and suckle that the other him made on the opposite side. He reached both hands around to Aziraphale’s arse, leaving his doppel to work Aziraphale’s nipples alone, and used two miraculously slick fingers to slowly toy with the angel's rim.
“Crowley… more. Inside.”
“Yes,” Crowley purred. He pushed his fingers in to the second knuckle, crooked them, and tugged gently on Aziraphale’s rim.
“Cro-”
Crowley cut Aziraphale’s plea off with a kiss, crashing their mouths together and capturing the angel's lower lip in his teeth with enough force to leave indentions, sucking with enough desperation to bruise. He pulled his fingers out of Aziraphale’s arse only to tangle them in the nest of pale curls on his head, to pull Aziraphale even closer to him. In the same instant, his doppel’s hands slipped down Aziraphale’s body, abandoning his sensitive nipples for the plush curve of his hips, and the hold that at last let him line his cock up and push it in.
The three of them groaned together as just the head of Mirror Crowley’s cock sank into the angel’s willing body.
“You’re perfect,” Crowley breathed out, using his doppel’s mouth since his own was still occupied.
Slowly, the other Crowley rocked his hips, thrusting deeper in steady increments until every stroke went all the way through Aziraphale from root to tip. Aziraphale moved with him, his groans of pleasure broken by whimpers for more, as if Crowley giving him everything still wasn’t enough. Greedy angel.
“You want more?” Crowley purred against Aziraphale’s lips.
“I want all of you. All of both of you.”
The doppel grinned, and Crowley grinned with him. Wordlessly, he inched backwards on the bed, pulling Aziraphale’s hips with him while the real Crowley held his head, slowly forcing Aziraphale’s body to lean forwards until he fell onto his hands.
Keeping one hand firmly in Aziraphale’s hair, Crowley stroked his own cock from base to tip. “Go on then, angel, eat up.”
No one else was capable of an expression that made Crowley feel as if his cock was the finest dessert humanity had ever crafted. He was certain of that as he watched Aziraphale part his plump, angelic lips, swollen and bitten from the ferocity of Crowley’s attention to them, and wrap them around his cockhead as delicately as he might take the decorative flake of chocolate from atop a slice of cake.
“Nghhhh,” Crowley groaned, both of his bodies shuddering under the perfection of that mouth. “Fuuuuck, angel.”
He could feel the smile around his shaft as Aziraphale took him deeper, all the way to the root, and swallowed him down. His hips bucked, both of them, driving into Aziraphale from both directions. The angel groaned sharply in surprise, but dutifully sucked him down again.
Wrestling himself back under control, Crowley breathed out and started to rock his hips more slowly, alternating this time. He pushed Aziraphale’s willing body first one direction, thrusting into his arse, then the other, taking his mouth in the same way while the pair of hips behind him gave way. His angel moved easily with him, like a boat rocked by the ever-strengthening tide of Crowley’s growing lust.
Praises that spoke of Aziraphale’s perfection rumbled from Crowley’s lips. Desires followed them: demonic desires to take, to claim, to make the angel his and his alone. To steal him from Heaven, to steal him from Her, even; though even in the madness of lust, his tongue stopped short of saying her name.
Throughout, Aziraphale played the part of the demon’s pliant toy. His arse clenched hungrily with each thrust, making Crowley feel every inch of himself. His eyes drooped in a satisfaction that could only belong to someone in the throes of passion. His lips worked along the demon’s length as it slid through them, time and time again, and his tongue caressed every delicate wrinkle and every pulsing vein. His throat rumbled with something akin to a purr, and that was nearly Crowley’s undoing.
“Fuck, angel,” Crowley groaned from both of his mouths in tandem. His hips stuttered, then started up again with renewed vigor, sensing that the peak of ecstasy — which had seemed so far away only moments ago — now came rushing towards him whether he was ready for it or not.
Aziraphale smiled around him like a cat who’d got the cream. It was mildly infuriating for Crowley how easily the angel could take control of him when he was the one taking a cock at each end. It was also undeniably arousing.
Crowley shuddered again as Aziraphale’s tongue curled to stroke the underside of his cock, then wrapped around it fully. He teased it with a gentle suck, then a firmer one, drawing Crowley ever further towards his undoing.
It felt like inevitability, like Crowley had tipped over the event horizon and was now barreling head over heels towards perfect entropy. It would be so easy to let himself go. To let himself be dragged into that abyss. To see what, if anything, lay beyond.
Crowley knew what lay beyond. He’d travelled this path many times before, letting himself be taken into that blissful oblivion, and somehow, always, finding his way back to a world of sanity that seemed so improbable after being turned inside out. After spiraling inwards on himself until he was nothing but a single point of pure ecstasy.
The end was set now. There would be no escape, even if he had wanted it. There was a comfort in that, in knowing that his fate was sealed, and that it was Aziraphale more than himself who decided his last few moments — but what was a moment when time stretched out to eternity? Still, Crowley held back as much as he was able, swimming against the heavy current that shifted and lurched him forwards with every drag of Aziraphale’s tongue. He fought with everything he had to slow his descent, because he knew the longer he held, the more epic his climax would be.
“Aziraphale…” Crowley groaned, hearing the name before he realised his own mouth was moving to make it.
“Aziraphale,” he said again, with more intention this time. He treasured it, the way his tongue caressed the roof of his mouth to form the point, then softened to let it spill over. The way his teeth just brushed his bottom lip, light as the touch of a feather, before releasing the last syllable. The way his tongue curled up again, point pressed more firmly in as if to capture the memory of it.
“Az- Hngk!”
It was like catching lightning in a bottle. Like the spark of a dying star. It was the crest and crash of a tidal wave. Crowley’s fingers twisted tightly in Aziraphale’s hair. His hands bruised his hips. He shook apart, cells rending at the atomic level as Aziraphale held him, humming, stroking, swallowing him down.
Then he came back together.
“Aziraphale…” Crowley breathed out, no louder than a whisper. His body — bodies — lay strewn over the bed, limbs splayed in all directions. Aziraphale lay between the two of them, an arm wrapped around one and a hand stroking the other’s cheek.
“Good?” Aziraphale teased.
“Uhm,” Crowley breathed out, which was confirmation enough.
Aziraphale snapped to clean the three of them and the bed — a good thing, because Crowley wasn’t sure he could find his fingers if he tried. There were too many of them, more than usual. More of him than usual. Maybe it was best if they all just laid here for a while. Maybe things would eventually make sense again. And anyway, Aziraphale had an arm around both of him now, so what could be better than staying right where they were?
After the three of them had been lying there for some time, Aziraphale said, “it’s been a lot longer than a half hour, you know.”
“Uhm,” said Crowley, reddening.
Aziraphale sighed. “It’s alright. I had suspected my spell was rubbish from the start. It had several glaring grammatical errors; Hoffman never would have let such things go to print. And anyway, the professor practiced in illusions, not real magic, as this spell purports itself to be.”
“Hmm,” said Crowley, who had been listening, but had lost the plot somewhere around the mention of grammatical errors somehow being proof of a spell’s illegitimacy. He’d known plenty of cultists who had minimal mastery of the English language, but could make themselves think they were successful ritual castors as well as the most learned man — sometimes even better.
“To be honest though, your version is better. No time limits, for starters. Though I imagine it’s taking quite a bit of mental energy to keep him around.” Aziraphale glanced between the two of them, his brow furrowing. “Actually, I’m not sure which one of you is the real one and which is the figment.”
“I am,” said Crowley from both of his mouths. “Uhm…”
“Do you really not know?”
“It’s definitely me,” said the Crowley who was definitely the original.
“It isn’t! It’s me. I made you, you ungrateful git!” said the other Crowley, who was also definitely the original.
“You’re being dreadfully silly, the both of you,” Aziraphale scolded while stroking them both fondly on their cheeks. “I imagine there will only be one of you left beside me when we wake up in the morning, but for now, the bed is plenty big enough for three. And I think I’ve more than proven that I can handle both of you.”
Crowley saw reason enough in this, so he laid his heads down, one on each of Aziraphale’s shoulders, and closed his eyes while their breaths steadied.