"You could stay at my place, if you like," Crowley offered, barely daring to hope that the angel would say yes, but so glad for the excuse to finally ask him, as sad as that excuse was.

Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to go with him, but six thousand years of fearing the consequences was still with him. "I . . . I don't think my side would like that."

"You don't have a side anymore," Crowley said, as gently as he could, trying to disguise the heartbreak in his voice. "Neither of us do. We're on our own side. Like Agnes said, we'll have to choose our faces wisely."

Dejected, angel and demon boarded the bus. Neither one had expected to still feel so full of regret even after they had managed to save the world.

Agnes Nutter's last prophecy was not as clear as they would have liked, but on the ride back to Oxford Crowley and Aziraphale took their best guess and came up with a plan. Once the bus emptied of other passengers it was a perfect place to switch bodies. Belatedly Aziraphale remembered there was something he should have hidden first, but it was too late. Crowley would notice if he did something now. All he could do was hope it would go unseen.

Aziraphale passed a difficult night in Crowley's apartment, waiting for morning so they could meet and see what happened next.

Steering Crowley's taller body around was awkward at first, and he thought it might help to practice in the mirror. Unfortunately that proved a terrible distraction. Though Aziraphale didn't think Crowley chose his form on purpose, the trouble was that for him, Crowley's body was simply temptation incarnate. Every time he looked in the mirror to see if he was making his friend's mannerisms believable, he was caught up in looking at his amber eyes, his red hair, his long limbs. It made him hot and unable to concentrate. He didn't dare remove any clothing to cool off, dreading the idea of being undressed if demons came to grab him unexpectedly. Finally he gave up trying to act like Crowley and just resolved to act as simply and neutrally as he could if the need arose, and hoped that would suffice. He lay down on Crowley's bed, wrapping his arms around his body the way he wished he could with the demon himself, especially right now. "Please let this go well," he whispered, unsure who he was speaking to. "Please." The movement of Crowley's tongue in his mouth was another difficulty and he licked his lips. Oh, the things he had imagined this tongue doing to his body. He let his mind run away with that for a while as he held himself, licking his lips as he pictured melting into his demon's kisses. It helped him put off thinking about the inevitable dangers that lay ahead.

Crowley, meanwhile, was scouting. He'd walked Aziraphale to his own door, but didn't go inside as he knew the angel wouldn't. It was a long walk to the bookshop but it gave him something to do, and a chance to check for any lurking angels or demons. He saw none. It also gave him time before encountering the inevitable ruin of his friend's beloved shop. But to his wonder, as he arrived at sunrise, the shop was standing, unburned, miraculous. Going inside it seemed nearly exactly the same as always, except for a few new books he hadn't noticed before. He was glad to tell his friend about it when they met to confer, and equally relieved at what the angel reported about his car. The relief didn't last long though as their respective superiors showed up just as they'd feared.

Crowley was not very impressed with Heaven. It reminded him, frankly, of why he'd left. The view was nice, sure, but the self-righteousness of the angels was dreadful. Aziraphale had helped with the biggest Good Deed ever done on Earth, and they were willing to destroy him for it just because they thought God wanted them to. Hypocrites. He enjoyed every moment of scaring them shitless and made sure they promised to leave Aziraphale alone.

He landed back on earth just down the street from the A.Z. Fell Bookshop. He took a deep breath, safely out of heaven with his life and Aziraphale's body intact. He snickered to himself a little as he strolled toward the store, careful to continue maintaining the Angel's posture. Once inside the door though, he dropped into his natural slouch, and laughed hysterically. Every time he thought of the expression on any of the angels' faces another wave of laughter rolled forth. He couldn't wait to tell Aziraphale about it.

Aziraphale . . . he hoped desperately that his angel was getting on as successfully in Hell. He thought that he would FEEL it somehow though, if something happened to either destroy his own body, or the only being he loved. There was too much risk in trying to poke his head down and check how things were going, so all he could do for now was wait until the rendezvous they had agreed on. It was several hours away.

Aziraphale had fooled the demons far enough to get into the bath. He had left Crowley's black underclothes on, including his socks, not about to strip to the skin in this place. As an angel the feel of the holy water gave him pleasant tingles all over in a way he would have reveled in under other circumstances, but of course he needed his attention elsewhere. He splashed the water around menacingly but was careful not to actually hit the demons in the room. He would have felt terrible killing anyone, even a demon. He was appalled at the way they treated each other—but realized that the angels were really just as cruel, only with more lights on. The appearance of Michael was proof of that.

As the morning passed Crowley did his best not to fret. He realized he was hoping the angel would return early instead of waiting for their meeting, but knew it would probably be safer if he didn't. He paced around the shop like a pinball, trying now and then to pick up a book to read but unable to focus on anything for more than a few seconds as he waited. Sinking down for a moment on the sofa, he was startled to look over and see Aziraphale. But of course, it was only his reflection in the window as the light was changing. "Hurry up, Angel!" he said irritably to the reflection. Then he continued to stare at it. As a momentary entertainment, he made a face. Unfortunately the look of his own sneer on the face of his angel looked terribly disturbing and he quickly stopped. He tried instead to see if he could imitate Aziraphale's actual expressions, with limited success. This was why he had tried to keep his face neutral in Heaven, after all. Then just for fun he made a flirty face, wiggling his eyebrows at himself. And then a kissy face. As ridiculous as the results were it did something to his chest to see those expressions, imagining Aziraphale actually looking at him that. It gave him an idea.

Looking for a better mirror, Crowley poked around the shop with no luck. No reason there should be a mirror in a bookshop anyway. But there had to be one somewhere, wherever the angel dressed. Crowley couldn't imagine Aziraphale dressing without a mirror, even if the angel would assuredly look perfect without one. Toward the back of the shop was a door he had rarely seen open, the one to the bedroom. Feeling guilty, but also a mischievous, Crowley opened the door and went in.

Most of the room was as cluttered as the shop. Distracted from his original task, Crowley looked around. He breathed in deeply, a little dizzy with Aziraphale's scent that hung in the room, much more strongly than in the shop. There was a bed, unmade, with an impressive pile of books in arm's reach on either side. Pillows piled at the back and the location of an obvious dent in the mattress told him that Aziraphale clearly spent more time reading in the bed than sleeping in it. He smiled, picturing him there. Various pictures adorned the walls, but he didn't see any mirrors. What he did see was a large wardrobe, in the only corner of the room that was neat. Of course his angel would have a wardrobe like that for his treasured bespoke clothes. Crowley went to it and opened the door.

Inside the wardrobe were the last 200 years' worth of Aziraphale's suits and shoes. Crowley ran his hands over a few, remembering the occasions that he had seen them. But he didn't take long at that because on the inside of the wardrobe door was what he had been seeking: a full length mirror.

Taking a deep breath, Crowley stepped back and looked at Aziraphale's reflection. It was a strange feeling to simply stare at him. He always wanted to stare, of course, but he tried to avoid it. Even when he had his dark glasses on he felt the angel would be able to tell somehow. Now he took these long moments to simply drink in Azirphale's form. His beloved face, those stunning blue eyes. The perfectly-tailored suit that hugged his body in a way most men didn't wear them in this age. His fluffy white hair. Without thinking about it, Crowley brought his hand up and ran it through Aziraphale's hair, the way he'd always dreamed of doing. The pleasure of feeling the hair on his hand and the caress on his head shocked him and he quickly dropped his hand again, remembering that he shouldn't be doing this.

Aziraphale popped uncomfortably through the ground in a back alley somewhere in London, Crowley's outer clothes back in place though his underclothes were still a little damp with holy water. For several moments he just stood there, panting with relief that their ruse had worked. A smile spread over his face and he began to giggle angelically at the thought of how it had gone. And then he pictured what this would look like, Crowley giggling like him, and giggled even harder. He couldn't wait to share the story. Looking at the sun though, he realized it must still be a while before their planned meeting.

After the night before, he didn't trust himself to return to Crowley's apartment to wait. Besides, he was curious to see what the new world looked like. So after miracle-ing his clothes dry and checking carefully that no angels or demons had followed him, he began walking. It was a glorious day.

Crowley stood frozen in front of Aziraphale's wardrobe, telling himself to close it and leave the room. But as Aziraphale's eyes looked back at him from the mirror, he found himself unable to move. He doesn't have to know, his devilish side thought. Just . . . don't do anything he would notice. You're just touching his hair. That's not so bad. Hesitantly, Crowley brought his hand back up to his head and ran his fingers into the curls there again, seeing the heavy-lidded look it brought to the angel's face as he did so. Bringing his fingers to the back of the head he dug them into the thick curls and tugged a little, gasping a little at the feeling. He found the body growing warm, Aziraphale's tight cotton collar digging into his neck in a way that made it hard to breathe. I'll just loosen this, he thought. Angel won't think anything of that. I'm just getting comfortable.

Bringing his hands to his neck, Crowley untied the tie and unbuttoned the collar. It helped a little, but not much. He decided to take off the jacket as well. Knowing he would need it again soon he turned and laid it neatly on the bed, then sat down there. From the bed, he stared at the mirror again, wrestling with his conscience. He was a rare demon who still had one. His angel kept it alive.

There was Aziraphale in the mirror. Aziraphale on a bed, no less. Aziraphale, the angel he'd fallen for the moment they met on the wall of Eden so long ago. Aziraphale, his pure and perfect angel, who loved him, he was sure, but who would never lust for him like a demon would. Would he ever again have a chance to touch him like this? Crowley could live another six thousand years without that, if he had to, as long as Aziraphale lived too. But the desire for his angel was a sweet torture, constantly present. Here was the angel's body and he'd always wanted to see it. I'll just look, he thought. Just one look, and then I'll put his clothes back on and pretend it never happened. His demonic nature having won again he stood as if in a trance and began unbuttoning his angel's waistcoat.

So many buttons, these old-fashioned clothes, and he didn't dare rumple things in the process. Crowley checked the time, realizing he was going to have to button them all again afterward, but he had a couple hours left. One at a time the garments came off, laid carefully on the bed. Waistcoat. Shoes. Shirt. With each one Crowley breathed more easily, yet faster with the excitement of what he was doing. Finally he removed the trousers and laid them on the pile, closing his eyes as he turned back toward the mirror. He stood without looking for a moment, part of him still protesting that this was wrong, he hadn't asked, Aziraphale wouldn't want him to. But the temptation was too great, and he opened his eyes.

There in the mirror was his nude angel and Crowley drank in the sight of him. He stared and stared, turning in the mirror to admire him from all sides, trying to memorize everything. The firm chest and round belly. The strong thighs. The cock laying soft for now in front him as he did his best to leave it there and not let it tempt him more. He fought the desire to caress the creamy skin. I'm only looking, he thought. I promised myself I would only look. Many long minutes passed as he gazed dreamily at the body he'd desired for so long. But the soft chiming of a clock nearby in the shop reminded him that time was passing, and reluctantly he turned to get dressed again.

As he did so, something caught his eye that he hadn't noticed before—a dark mark high on the inside of Aziraphale's left thigh. That's odd, he thought. Many demons were covered in ugly marks of all kinds, but the only marks he'd ever seen on angels were gold. This one was black, just over an inch long. Looking at it in the mirror he couldn't see it very clearly. Curiosity getting the better of him again, he sat on the bed with his legs open and leaned down to get a better look.

It was a tattoo, an old one by the looks of it, faded at the edges in a way that made the design difficult to discern. He traced his finger over it. It was a line that curved and recurved back on itself, like a fancy script letter.

A serpent.

Crowley was momentarily dumbstruck. What on earth was this design doing on his angel's body? Surely heaven would never have marked him that way. Indeed it looked like an ordinary tattoo, something he couldn't imagine his conservative and proper angel choosing to get, especially in such a location.

But as he continued looking he realized it wasn't just any serpent design. It matched the one on the side of his own face, the one that had been part of him since he fell, so long ago that he no longer gave it any thought. Aziraphale had marked himself with a copy of that design . . . here. As Crowley continued staring he realized it actually mirrored his own. It was as if Crowley had leaned his face there, between Aziraphale's legs . . .

"Ohhhh!" Crowley gasped with the revelation of what his angel must have been thinking. Aziraphale imagining him, Crowley, leaning on his thigh, looking at this beautiful cock that was rapidly coming to life, thick and hard in response to the mental picture. Aziraphale imagining Crowley's mouth here. Aziraphale marking himself in a way to remind him of Crowley every time . . . "Ohhh!" Crowley reached down to stroke Aziraphale's cock, unable to help himself. With both hands he pulled and squeezed, reaching down sometimes to cup the heavy balls, his entire body shivering and tingling with the pleasure of it. Moaning his angel's name, he stroked and stroked until soon he was coming in hot spurts against his chest and across the bed. With a trembling sigh he collapsed on his back, still holding his angel's cock in his hands, breathing hard. "Oh Angel!" he said out loud. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The angel walked for hours, enjoying the odd feeling of stretching Crowley's long legs at a pace that he would have had to trot in his own body to keep up. Now and then, for fun, he tried to saunter like Crowley did, but the looks he received from passerby told him it wasn't working. Oh well. Finally as the time neared to meet he headed toward the park as planned, overjoyed that Crowley had arrived before him and was sitting in his body at the bench already. It had all worked out! Soon enough they had traded back into their own comfortable bodies and headed to the Ritz for a celebratory lunch.

"I'd like to think none of this would have worked out," the angel said, "if you weren't at heart, just a little bit, a good person."

Oh Angel, you have no idea. "And if you weren't," the demon replied, "deep down, just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing. Cheers," he raised his glass, "to the world!"

"To the world," replied his angel, and Crowley's heart lurched in his chest at the way Aziraphale was clearly glowing with happiness at having saved it. He felt he would do anything to keep him that happy if he could.

They clinked glasses and drank.

Aziraphale leaned forward and continued regaling his friend with details of his visit to Hell. Soon enough an opening came for Crowley to ask the question that was really on his mind.

"So what was it like?"

"What was what like?"

"You know. Being in my body."

Aziraphale flushed with embarrassment. "It was, um . . ." (Delicious. Exhilarating. Miserably tempting.) "Warm."

"Warm?"

"Yes. Quite warm."

"Um. OK." Crowley could tell Azariphale was flustered, and rather enjoyed it. "You mean like, warm and cosy, like a nice fireside? Or warm and icky, like Florida?"

"I don't know. Just, warm." The angel was avoiding eye contact, and looked like he was feeling quite warm right that moment.

"Well if you say so, Angel. Personally I didn't notice your body feeling any cooler than mine."

"What was it like for you then?" Aziraphale asked.

"It was . . ." A smile tugged at his lips, and Crowley struggled for words he could say in a public restaurant. "Enlightening. Not what I expected."

Aziraphale had no idea what to make of that. "Well, what did you expect?"

"I'm not sure, but I guess I had wondered for a long time . . ." Crowley's voice dropped and he scooted his chair closer. He looked like he was about to continue, then hesitated and scooted closer still.

"Wondered what?" Aziriphale asked, feeling warmer still with Crowley now sitting so close.

"Well of course this wasn't quite the context I had in mind, but I always wondered what it would be like to be . . . inside an angel."

Aziraphale stopped breathing. Crowley scooted right next to him and leaned toward the angel's ear. "Or what it would be like to have my angel inside me . . ." Aziraphale gulped. HIS angel! Crowley leaned back enough to look him in the eyes. Poor Aziripahale looked about to panic. "Did you ever think of it Angel? What it would feel like if we . . ."

"No!" Aziraphale spluttered. "You know perfectly well that angels can't have thoughts like that!"

"Right," said Crowley. "But you're not like most angels, are you? I think maybe you have thought of it. Maybe you even thought . . . about me too."

"Of course not! I could never!" Aziraphale began, until he saw that Crowley had taken his glasses off and was staring pointedly down at his lap. Humiliation set in as he realized that indeed the demon had seen! He didn't even know what to say. Crowley looked back up at his angel's wide, fearful eyes, placing his hand gently on his left thigh near that spot. There was no mistaking what he was talking about as he continued.

"I have a confession to make, Angel—and I hope you can forgive me. I only meant to look. Thousands of years wanting, I thought, just one look while I have the chance, in case I never have the chance again. But you know I'm a demon for a reason. It was too much temptation for me. Once I saw, I just couldn't help it. I touched you, Angel, imagining how you would touch yourself, imagining you thinking of me, wanting me back." Aziraphale was picturing it too, speechless. "I'm really sorry, I know I shouldn't have done that to your body without permission, but it felt so amazing that I couldn't stop. It was . . . heavenly. But ultimately it wasn't really what I wanted."

"It wasn't?" the angel squeaked, barely able to speak as he processed the revelation that Crowley was admitting wanting to see him, to touch him. The feel of Crowley's hand on his leg made it difficult to concentrate.

"It was your body, Angel, but you weren't there. And I touched, but with your hands. What I really wanted was to touch you with MY hands." He pressed Aziraphale's leg a little harder in a way that made the angel gasp. "To taste you with MY mouth. To feel your—"

Aziraphale abruptly stood up, clumsily, nearly knocking over the chair in his haste to stand behind it. Oh no, Crowley thought, I've gone too far and ruined everything. He'll run away now and I'll never see him again . . . but then he saw the bulge in his angel's trousers. Aziraphale was shaking with both nervousness and arousal, but managed to say primly, "Your place or mine?"

Crowley stood nearly as quickly as Aziraphale had and took his friend by the arm. "Whichever's closer, love." Aziraphale shivered with anticipation.