Crowley and Aziraphale swapped their bodies back while they were in the park and then they dined at the Ritz to celebrate their success. Afterwards, they went to the bookshop. It was the most perfect evening Crowley had ever experienced, and he felt happier than he had in a long time.

No more having to pretend they weren't friends, no more clandestine meetings, no more holding back. Finally, against all the odds, Crowley had that closeness with Aziraphale he'd always wanted.

Crowley slept that first night on Aziraphale's sofa while Aziraphale sat in his armchair with a book, but the following night Aziraphale invited Crowley upstairs into his bed, and night after night, Crowley fell asleep in bed curled up next to Aziraphale while the angel read.

It was magical.

There was nothing sexual to it but Crowley had known for a long time that sex wasn't something that Aziraphale was interested in and had come to terms with that long ago. It would have been nice, sure, but he took care of his own needs just fine. The easy companionship between them was more than Crowley had ever thought possible. They even started spending time in Crowley's flat together, in his bed, and there was something wonderful about seeing his angel lying beneath his dark silk sheets with a book in hand.

They were inseparable. Everything was perfect. Or at least he thought it was.

Then something happened and it all went wrong, and he didn't know why.

After two weeks in each other's pockets, they decided to spend a day and a night apart - Crowley to catch up on his TV shows and Aziraphale to sort through his books. Even though they watched a lot of TV together, there were still plenty of shows that Crowley had been putting off seeing because he knew Aziraphale would hate them. He didn't want to force his angel to sit through TV series' he wouldn't enjoy, and he didn't want to listen to him complain through them either. This way they could both enjoy doing their own thing.

But it wasn't just about the TV shows. Crowley hadn't had a proper wank in the last two weeks, unless you counted the quick tugs he'd had in the shower. He longed to get close and personal with his vast sex toy collection.

If spending every night with Aziraphale became a permanent thing - and he hoped it would - then he would have to come up with some way around this problem. He secretly had visions of them moving in together one day in the future and if that did happen then he would have to figure out a way to find privacy besides stolen moments in the bathroom.

So for 24 hours Crowley alternated between watching television, tending to his plants, and masturbating furiously.

Aziraphale called him in the middle of the night to check he was okay - fortunately while he was in front of the TV rather than in bed – and it was nice to hear his voice and know that Aziraphale was thinking of him.

But as soon as they met up for lunch the next day Crowley could tell something was wrong. He just couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Aziraphale seemed distracted and slightly awkward around him suddenly, even in private when it was just the two of them. The relaxed and touchy-feely angel that Crowley had known for the past two weeks had vanished. It wasn't even like he'd reverted back to how he'd been before the failed apocalypse - this was something new. Whatever had happened, Aziraphale was trying his best to hide it and act as though nothing was wrong.

They went out for lunch and then they went for a walk before heading back to the bookshop where they ordered takeaway and ate it in front of the television.

Almost out of habit - or so it seemed - Aziraphale invited Crowley upstairs to sleep in his bed, but when Crowley curled up against Aziraphale's side he could have sworn Aziraphale tensed, and when he awoke the next morning he found himself alone.

Aziraphale was downstairs sorting through his books with a distracted air about him. After breakfast Aziraphale made his excuses and Crowley found himself being kicked out of the bookshop with promises of dinner later.

The weeks passed by and despite the fact that Aziraphale was now free of all divine duties he was suddenly busy. A lot. They stopped spending their nights in each other's beds. Sometimes, they went days without seeing each other, though they still spoke over the telephone. It felt as though they'd taken a step back, like they'd lost that closeness they'd had during those first two weeks, and Crowley didn't understand why. Had he done something to upset Aziraphale? But he didn't seem upset, just oddly withdrawn.

Crowley had thought that averting the apocalypse had brought them closer together but instead it seemed to have driven a wedge between them. Leaving Aziraphale alone to stew in his own thoughts for 24 hours so soon after all that had happened had been a stupid idea.

Aziraphale had been cast out of Heaven. The angels had even tried to destroy him! Deep down, Aziraphale must resent Crowley for his part in that. It had been Crowley's idea to stop Armageddon - Aziraphale had been tempted into it.

Eventually, over the weeks that followed, Aziraphale started to seem more like himself. They began to spend more time together - even occasionally sharing a bed - but even so, after those two magical weeks something still felt wrong. As much as Crowley wanted to talk to Aziraphale about it he worried it'd only result in Aziraphale building his walls even higher. So he held his tongue and made sure to be as supportive and understanding as possible. Hopefully this situation would resolve itself soon.

Aziraphale felt much better once he had his own body back. They celebrated their success at the Ritz and then they went back to the bookshop where they talked late into the night, Crowley falling asleep on the sofa.

The next night Aziraphale invited Crowley into his bed. It was more comfortable than the sofa, and besides, Aziraphale wanted to keep Crowley close, to protect him while he slept.

Despite Crowley's insistence that Heaven and Hell were now terrified of them, Aziraphale couldn't quite shake the feeling that they might not have seen the last of their old colleagues. The thought of Crowley alone and defenceless while he slept was unbearable and so Aziraphale decided to make sure they spent every night together so that he could keep guard. Not that he minded, of course. He'd always enjoyed the routine of getting ready for bed and settling in for the night with a cup of cocoa and a good book. Adding Crowley to the mix only made things better, and Crowley seemed to like it too.

Aziraphale enjoyed the company, the sound of Crowley breathing as he slept and the way he burrowed in against his side. More than once he found himself reminded of his dream, of the pleasure he'd felt and the way Crowley laid down on top of him. Aziraphale felt a stab of embarrassment and shame at the memory, but also curiosity. It had been an experience, at least. Aziraphale had always wondered what sex felt like, what orgasms felt like, and now he knew. More and more, he found himself wondering what it would be like to experience it when he was awake and in his own body.

They decided to have some time to themselves. Just 24 hours. Crowley wanted to catch up on some television shows and Aziraphale wanted to reorganise some bookcases and finally get around to reading some books that had been on his to-read pile for a while. He could truly relax and enjoy himself now that he didn't have to worry about the vast piles of paperwork, assignments and reports he usually had to do for Heaven. He hadn't needed to do any work at all in the last two weeks – and he never would again. He would never have to go upstairs into the oppressive white spaces of Heaven and listen to Gabriel patronise and belittle him ever again.

He should feel miserable - he'd been cast out of Heaven and disowned by his family. But they'd never been his family, not really. He didn't miss the angels or Heaven itself either. He could admit that to himself now. He felt free. Free to be himself. Free to be with Crowley.

The only part of his old life that he missed was feeling close to the Almighty, but he'd not seen or spoken to her since Eden. Where was she? Had she even known about his execution? She must have, omnipotent as she was, which meant she must have known he would survive it. Aziraphale had to believe that things had worked out the way God wanted, that this was all part of her plan. Deep down, even now, Aziraphale still wanted to believe in her.

Aziraphale started reorganising his Oscar Wildes, flicking through them as he went. He'd been rather chummy with Wilde, and had been gifted drafts of several of his books and unpublished work. Some contained homoerotic sex scenes, Wilde having assumed, like so many other humans, that Aziraphale was homosexual. Now, as Aziraphale scan-read through the saucy scenes, he found himself understanding them in a new way.

Yet again, Aziraphale found himself thinking about his dream and the pleasure he had felt. Would it feel the same in his own body? Would these books arouse him?

Shame burned inside of him but Heaven didn't control him anymore. He could make his own decisions.

Aziraphale made doubly sure that the bookshop door was locked, and then he went into the backroom with some of his books and closed the door securely behind him. He sat down in his armchair.

Giddy with excitement, and feeling rather mischievous, Aziraphale altered his corporation, making himself able to feel arousal. Almost immediately, Aziraphale felt a flare of heat, his skin tingling all over. He hadn't expected to feel so deeply affected quite so quickly. He pressed the palm of his hand against the bulge that was growing in his trousers, the delicious pressure making him whimper.

His eyes darted nervously to the door, but he knew he was alone. He could sense it. Besides, the angels wouldn't bother him now, and Crowley wouldn't use his magic to unlock the front door without first being invited. He was safe. He had privacy. But his face felt hot with embarrassment all the same.

He picked up one of the erotic books from the pile he'd placed on the side table and flicked to a sex scene. He started to read while stroking himself through his trousers, wondering if it would fuel his desire, but he couldn't concentrate on the words and ended up putting the book aside. He leant back in his seat, his eyes drifting closed as he focused on how good it felt to touch himself.

The tightness of his clothes was beginning to feel uncomfortable. His trousers were not as tight as Crowley's had been but he had grown to a surprising size. With a last guilty glance at the door he unbuckled his belt and then unfastened his trousers, shimmying them down around his thighs along with his underwear.

The sight of his cock – red and stiff - was jarring. He'd had this body for 6000 years and he'd never seen it like this. As shaken as he felt at the sight of it, his body longed to be touched and so he began to caress himself with hesitant fingers. He touched the head, the thick length, the roundness of his balls, discovering what he liked, and then he took himself in a loose grip and started to stroke himself in earnest.

His movements were clumsy but what he lacked in experience he made up for in enthusiasm. Each stroke felt electric, the pleasure building as he fell into a rhythm with his fist. How could he have ever thought this was wrong? It felt wonderful. He bit his lower lip as he stroked the slickness at the head down over his length.

The sensations were becoming overwhelming, something was building up inside of him, and soon his hand was speeding up and his hips were moving, chasing something that felt just out of reach. He felt as though he were teetering on the edge of a cliff.

And then he fell over the edge.

He let out a breathless cry as a wave of ecstasy crashed through him, his cock spilling across his thighs, hand, and his shirt. He sat there, trembling, panting, covered in his own mess for several seconds, and then he looked down and let out a disbelieving laugh. A quick miracle and the mess vanished.

He put his clothes back to rights and then settled back in his seat, shocked but satisfied, a warm afterglow settling over him, though a stab of shame soon ripped through his contentment. He had indulged in himself so wantonly. He couldn't blame it on sleep this time, he'd made a conscience decision to engage in sexual activity, something he'd always believed angels were not allowed. He reminded himself that he was free, that he knew the differences between right and wrong, and sexuality was not a sin. The Almighty had designed the human body perfectly and she had gifted humanity with the ability to feel pleasure.

With shaky legs, he got to his feet and went into the kitchenette to make himself a cup of tea, the routine familiar and soothing. This orgasm had been even better than the one he'd experienced in Crowley's body, though he suspected that was because he'd been awake this time.

Aziraphale got back to organising his books. He really did own quite a lot of erotica, didn't he? He found himself flicking through the many homoerotic texts of Wilde before moving on to an unpublished draft of Maurice by his old friend Forster. It held an extended version of the scene where the gardener - Alec - climbed in through Maurice's bedroom window and touched him. This version did not just skip to the morning after as the published work did.

Aziraphale also stumbled upon a set of raunchy ink drawings by Aubrey Beardsley.

He ended up naked in bed with a variety of books and artwork scattered all around him while he touched himself once again. It was lucky that he had a full day and night to himself in order to experiment.

Was this the real reason Crowley had wanted time alone in his flat? So that he could indulge himself too? They'd been in each other's pockets for two weeks. Maybe Crowley was in his bed touching himself right now too. The thought of it made Aziraphale's cock twitch, but he was already spent, laying back in bed with closed eyes and a dreamy smile on his face. He felt like he might fall asleep at any moment. Was that normal? Did Crowley feel sleepy after touching himself too? Maybe that was why he took such long naps.

Aziraphale's eyes flew open. What if Crowley were asleep right now, vulnerable and defenceless? He'd watched over Crowley every night since their trials so far.

Aziraphale tried to tell himself that he was being silly, that Heaven and Hell were too scared to try anything, but he couldn't stop the fear that clawed at his chest.

A quick miracle and Aziraphale was cleaned up and in his pyjamas. He picked up the receiver of the rotary phone from beside his bed and dialled Crowley's number. As the phone rang, Aziraphale glanced at the clock on the wall. It was gone midnight.

"Hi, angel. You alright?"

Aziraphale relaxed at the sound of Crowley's voice. "Oh, yes. Tip top." He floundered for a moment, no idea what to say. "Just wanted to make sure everything is alright your end."

"Yeah. Just binge watching Netflix. What about you?"

Aziraphale twisted the phone cord around his fingers. "Oh. You know. The usual. I was just wondering if you were planning on sleeping? You haven't slept alone since everything happened…"

Crowley made a dismissive sound. "Don't worry, angel. It's been two weeks and we've not heard anything from our old people. Besides, I wasn't planning on sleeping tonight, anyway. I'm super invested in this TV show and there's another two seasons to go."

"Righto."

"You're welcome to come over though if you want? So long as you don't mind me watching my programs. How's your re-shelving going anyway? Did you get it finished?"

Aziraphale cleared his throat. "I, er. I've still got a bit more to do."

Crowley let out an amused laugh which made Aziraphale's chest feel tight. How had he never noticed how lovely Crowley's laugh was?

"Got distracted, did you? I bet you're nose deep in a book."

Aziraphale let out an embarrassed chuckle. "I- Yes. Something like that. I confess I've still got rather a lot to do, so I'd best stay here for now."

"No worries."

"Well, I'll let you get back to your television shows then."

"You still want picking up at 11am, yeah?"

"Please. I thought we could go to that nice little café that does those delicious cheesecakes."

"Sure, angel. Sounds great."

They said their goodbyes and then, once they'd both hung up, Aziraphale looked around at the erotica scattered here and there. He needed to tidy it all away before Crowley got here - not to mention the erotic fiction he'd left lying around in the back room and the shop itself. Plus, he should change his bed sheets and put the hand lotion back in the bathroom where it belonged.

The sun had risen by the time he had everything tidied away, and he'd pleasured himself twice more. Now he was sat in the kitchenette with French toast and a cup of coffee. He felt utterly exhausted. Did masturbation count as exercise?

He'd had every intention of wishing away his sexuality before Crowley arrived but he found himself rather attached to it. He could wish it away later if it got a bit much. And besides, he wanted to know if he would feel different around Crowley.

He felt relaxed and content as he ate breakfast, still basking in the afterglow of his sexual exploration, but when he started to get ready for Crowley's arrival he found himself becoming anxious. He couldn't get his hair to look right and his bowtie looked wonky. He ended up using a few miracles to make himself presentable. He just wanted to look his best for going out for lunch, that was all.

Aziraphale was already in the front of the bookshop and looking out of the window when the Bentley pulled up outside. He stood up so quickly he almost knocked his desk chair over. 11am already!

He opened the door seconds before Crowley swept in with a while cardboard box in one hand.

"Hi, angel. I swung by the patisserie down the street that you like and grabbed some of those fancy éclairs. I'll pop them in the fridge for later."

Aziraphale's heart fluttered. "Oh, Crowley! Thank you!"

Crowley sauntered through the shop with Aziraphale following close behind. Crowley talked about the plot twist in a TV show he'd been watching but Aziraphale wasn't really paying attention. Crowley wasn't wearing his jacket, and Aziraphale found himself mesmerised by his slender waist, round bottom and long legs. He quickly looked away, face turning red, ashamed that he had been ogling his best friend like that, but he felt so curious. He wondered if Crowley could sense this change in him but if he'd noticed anything he certainly wasn't letting on.

Once they reached the kitchenette Aziraphale was careful not to let his gaze wander, but he still noticed the way Crowley closed the fridge door with his hip. He had no idea why he found such a simple action so alluring. He'd assumed sexual attraction was based purely on physical appearance, and was surprised to discover that Crowley's voice, his walk, even the way he bit his lower lip in thought, stirred something deep inside of him.

They went out for lunch and then they took a stroll through the park before returning to the bookshop. They had food delivered and ate it while they watched a film. They had the éclairs for dessert.

Aziraphale struggled to concentrate on the film, there so much going on inside of his head. Such a lot had happened and he longed to talk to Crowley about it all even though he felt embarrassed. There was so much he wanted to ask. Had Crowley found it this overwhelming at first too? Aziraphale wanted help understanding these feelings, but he didn't feel ready to talk about it. On top of everything else, Aziraphale was fairly sure he had romantic feelings for Crowley - but he had to be sure. He didn't want to risk making a fool of himself or hurting Crowley's feelings.

By the time the film had finished Crowley was yawning, clearly tired, and Aziraphale found himself inviting the demon upstairs into his bed once again. He felt nervous suddenly but he hated the idea of sending Crowley away to sleep, and if he was to stay then he deserved to be in a comfortable bed. Besides, Aziraphale liked having his dear friend beside him. Surely he could manage a night without any inappropriate thoughts?

Despite already having made sure he'd not left anything risqué laying around, Aziraphale still found his eyes darting around the bedroom nervously looking for any saucy books he might have accidentally left out. Fortunately, he'd done a good job of tidying up.

They changed into their pyjamas using their powers.

Aziraphale thought he had it together, but Crowley decided tonight was the night to remove his pyjama top and sprawl out enticingly on his back with his bare chest and taut stomach on show. Crowley had his hands up near his face, pale wrists visible and Aziraphale had the sudden, horrible urge to pin him down and hold him there. Aziraphale had never - and would never – hurt Crowley, and this almost aggressive urge shook him to his core.

Crowley rolled onto his side, his knees brushing against Aziraphale's side and making him flashback to his dream. Aziraphale's cheeks burned, and it was some small mercy that Crowley had his eyes closed and couldn't see the effect he was having on him. Aziraphale didn't know how to deal with everything he was feeling, it still felt so new and alien.

The moment Crowley started snoring Aziraphale slid out of bed and went downstairs to distract himself by doing the re-shelving he had intended to do the day before. Although Crowley was alone in the bedroom, Aziraphale still felt close enough to protect his sleeping friend. He just needed some time away from him to think.

Aziraphale refused to touch himself while he had company. What if Crowley caught him? They needed more days like yesterday, days where they could have time to themselves to do their own thing. Aziraphale wanted to learn more about his sexuality, and the time apart would give Crowley a chance to watch his television programs in peace so everyone would win.

Over the next few weeks Aziraphale made his excuses and fortunately Crowley seemed none the wiser to what he was up to. There was so much to try, so many things to experiment with. Once he'd learnt how he liked to stroke himself, he decided to try anal stimulation too, and then he tried having a vulva and taught himself how to climax in that form as well.

As the weeks passed and they remained unbothered by Heaven and Hell, Aziraphale started to feel more confident in their safety - so much so that he no longer felt worried about Crowley sleeping alone, though he still liked to know when he planned to do so. He got into the habit of calling him to check up on him.

All of their days out – from restaurants and cafes to theatres and museums – felt like dates, and he became more confident every day in his romantic feelings for Crowley. His new desires scared him as much as they excited him, but Aziraphale had loved Crowley for thousands of years and he knew that this was just a new facet of that love.

The question was - did Crowley return those feelings? Aziraphale was hopeful that he did. At the very least he was sure that he used to.

In the early 1800s, shortly after Aziraphale had opened his bookshop, they started to regularly drink together in the backroom. One night, Crowley had snuggled up close to him on the sofa and Aziraphale had wrapped an arm around him drunkenly, pulling him in and enjoying the closeness between them. Crowley had misconstrued his intentions, swayed towards him and kissed him on the mouth.

With some embarrassment - and more than a little pity - Aziraphale had gently explained to him that he was deeply sorry but angels were not sexual beings.

Crowley had sobered himself up and then apologised profusely, embarrassment and shame in his eyes. Aziraphale had assured him that he wasn't angry or upset, and Crowley had insisted that he'd just been drunk and it hadn't meant anything, but Aziraphale had seen the disappointment in his eyes.

It was a long time before Aziraphale saw Crowley again after that. He assumed Crowley was licking his wounds, as it were, but a horrible voice in the back of his head told him that they'd never really been friends, that Crowley had been trying to seduce him this entire time and now that he knew he was a lost cause he'd lost all interest. Aziraphale missed Crowley desperately and when he finally came back Aziraphale was relieved beyond measure. Crowley still liked him after all.

Then came the incident in St James' park with the holy water, and Aziraphale feared that Crowley had abandoned him for good this time. But Crowley came back, just like he always did. He saved him from the Nazis, and after everything that had happened they were closer than ever before.

Did Crowley still want to kiss him? Did he want more than that? Aziraphale suspected he did, but he couldn't be sure. It was possible that Crowley's feelings might have faded over time. Oh, but Aziraphale was hopeful.

Alone in his bookshop, Aziraphale reminisced about that drunken kiss while writing in one of his ledgers. He put down his pen, daydreaming about what it would feel like if Crowley kissed him like that again. His face flushed at the thought of it, a giddy smile pulling at his lip.

The bell above the door rang and he jumped guiltily. He hoped it wasn't Crowley – he was the last person he wanted to see right now. Terribly embarrassed, he sat up straight, trying to regain his composure.

"Hallo?" he called, hoping to see a customer instead.

But somehow, it was someone he was even less ready to talk to, and they'd brought friends.