AN: Someone on Goodreads (I can't remember who) made a comment about Pritkin dealing with Cassie's bra. This story was inspired by that. It ran on a little longer than I intended, so I decided to end it a little abruptly, but if there is enough demand (or would that be desire?) I will write a Pritkin-POV of Cassie's morning wood scene.

Disclaimer: Of course I don't own any of this, I'm just having a little fun.

Corsets Were Easier

John woke to the feeling that something was terribly wrong. He lay in bed with his eyes closed, feeling sore and tired but not remembering why and feeling content to leave it that way. Something tickled his cheek, and reached up to scratch the spot. Instead of rough stubble his fingers encountered smooth skin and a lock of curling hair.

Memory returned in a rush and he sat up abruptly, feeling ill. Watery early-morning sunlight streamed through the vine-covered window, illuminating the small room and his own smaller-than-usual body. He stared down at his breasts and spent a few minutes trying to convince himself that this was just a very bad dream. After a while, a pressing need to urinate convinced him it was a wasted effort.

He peeled himself off the sheets—the mud had dried during the night—and staggered into the hall, every muscle in his borrowed body screaming in protest. He managed to make it to the WC and took care of what he had to do, very carefully not thinking about what he was doing. He expected to be startled when Cassie's face looked back at him from the mirror over the sink, but her blue eyes seemed more resigned than surprised.

"I suppose shock is setting in," he told his reflection.

He lurched back into the hall and pushed open the door of the bathroom. His clothes, coat, potions, and weapons, all covered with a thick layer of dried mud, lay in a heap on the tile floor where Cassie had apparently left them. John added Cassie's clothes to the pile. The outfit was obviously charmed, but last night's adventure seemed to have been too much for it; it seemed to be broken. The dress, jacket, and panties were easy enough, but his shoulders refused to bend far enough for him to unhook the bra. Even when he managed to reach to clasp he couldn't get it undone. Finally he just pulled off the straps and twisted the bra so the hooks lay beneath his breasts, where he could easily reach them.

John climbed into the shower without looking at his reflection and let the spray wake him up. Oddly, he already felt more awake than he normally would without a couple cups of coffee. Cassie would say it was because her body wasn't addicted to coffee like his.

After a while, the hot water loosened his muscles and he started washing off the crusted muck. It clung stubbornly to his skin, and he had to lather and scrub repeatedly. The process forced him to become far better acquainted to Cassie's body than he wanted. The space between his legs felt... empty, and every movement caused his breasts to bounce and sway.

When he finally stepped out of the shower, the mirror was mercifully clouded with steam. He cracked the bathroom window to let some of the humid air out. Toweling off was just as bad as washing had been, forcing him to feel all the contours of Cassie's body no matter how much he didn't want to. Even though he was just touching himself he couldn't help but imagine his hands—his own male hands—replacing the towel as it glided across her pink-and-gold skin.

By the time he finished drying off his feet the steam had mostly vanished, and the mirror now clearly reflected Cassie's curves to him. The reality of looking into a mirror and seeing someone else look back was so strange that it didn't seem real at all; as long as John didn't think about it, it was more like looking through a window into another room, one where Cassie stood looking back at him, her bare skin beaded with moisture.

Framed by a mass of limp, damp curls, her eyes seemed bluer than usual, and her face, missing its usual lipstick and eye makeup, looked naked, vulnerable, and prettier than ever. To John's eye, accustomed to older standards of beauty, she was too thin: the sweep of her collarbone was too pronounced, and the edges of her hipbones showed through her skin. Yet John found her beautiful, dangerously so—for both of the,m. Her fragility made him want to protect her, but the tight curve of her waist and the carefully waxed triangle of dark gold curls below made him want something else entirely.

At first he neither noticed nor recognized the languid warmth that grew between his legs. The sudden stab of hunger—for sex rather than food—did not go unnoticed. His heightened demon senses and fast healing seemed to be tied to his body, but his incubus needs had made the swap with him. Without realizing what he was doing, he stroked his hand up from his navel to his chest, cupped one breast and stroked his thumb across the nipple, which had hardened in the cool breeze from the open window. The sudden jolt of sensation snapped him back to himself, and he snatched his hand away.

Furious with himself, aching with unfamiliar arousal, and hungry for sex, John threw a towel around his waist and flung open the bathroom door.

Jonas stood in the doorway, a bundle of clothing in his hands. He blinked in surprise at John's chest and said, "Oh my."

Too late, John remembered that he should have wrapped the towel much higher than his waist. He uttered an unmanly shriek and dived back into the bathroom. Leaning against the closed door with his arms crossed protectively over his breasts, he cursed himself for a fool while he waited for his pulse to edge out of heart attack territory. What did it matter if Jonas saw him naked? He wouldn't care if he was in his own body.

"Ah, John?" Jonas spoke through the door. "I brought some clothes for you."

"Yes. Fine." John hastily re-wrapped the towel and opened the door again.

Jonas handed him the stack of clothes. "There's some of my things in there, too, for Cassie."

John snatched the clothes from Jonas and shut the door as quickly as he could. He waited, listening, so Jonas had left, or at least waited until he was out of earshot to start laughing. John promised himself that somehow he would get back at Cassie for this.

Jonas had guessed at Cassie's size, and the clothes were a little large, but John thought they would fit well enough. He had both legs in the jeans before he realized that if he and Cassie managed to switch back anytime soon she'd be upset to find her body going commando. He took the jeans off and put her panties on first, trying not to notice that they were black, edged with lace, and very sexy.

The bra gave him problems again. The shower had loosened his shoulders enough for him to reach the two hooks in the back, but he couldn't seem to get them hooked. Finally he gave up turned the bra around so he could do the hooks in front, where he could see what he was doing. When he tried to pull the straps back up, however, he discovered he had it on inside-out. Growling with frustration, he unclasped the bra, turned it the right way, and did up the hooks. At first the underwire dug into his ribs, and he had to do some uncomfortably intimate rearranging to make the damn undergarment comfortable.

"This was easier in the sixth century," he muttered, squashing things into place. "Hell, corsets were easier."

Then he made the mistake of glancing in the mirror again. Somehow, Cassie in black lace panties and matching bra was even more attractive than Cassie naked. Swallowing hard, John pulled on the jeans and a shirt so he wouldn't have to look at what he couldn't have.