Okay, the world had almost ended and okay, the trouble wasn't over. And yes, both the legions of hell and heaven were supposedly coming to rumble Crowley and Aziraphale, according to the prophecies of the only book Crowley would consider reading. But. He'd received the best present he could ask for.

"So, I'll spend the night at your flat and you spend the night at the shop!" Aziraphale said. The body he was currently inhabiting was tall, lean and pale, encased in black jeans and a black jacket. It also was not his own.

"Sure. There's no saying how long we'll need to do this for," Crowley said, discreetly running his hands down his chest when Aziraphale wasn't looking. God, Aziraphale's body was so soft and warm. He loved the way the stomach rounded slightly. He wanted to bury his face in it. Not that such a thing was possible, seeing how it was currently his stomach. He wondered if this body would give him Aziraphale's appetite. For food. Aziraphale had never expressed a hunger for...anything else.

"I'd like to set some ground rules while we're in each other's bodies. Firstly, return it to me in the same condition as you got it. I don't want to be hungover or with a new haircut or any of that."

"Fine. Seems reasonable."

"Secondly, no being rude to customers or other humans. I know what you can be like,"

Crowley stuck his tongue out at Aziraphale's back.

"Thirdly, no getting undressed. So, no showers, no changing my clothes, nothing,"

"Wait! That's not fair!"

"Those are my terms," Aziraphale said. "Not sure why you'd want to undress while in my body anyway,"

That struck him as an odd comment, but he chose to ignore it, still pondering a way to make the angel grant him permission to disrobe.

He needled, wheedled and even begged at one point, but Aziraphale wouldn't budge. Crowley sulked but he didn't want to keep pushing; Aziraphale would want to know why this was so important to him. It didn't occur for him to agree to his terms and then go against them. He was a demon, he wasn't a monster. Well, okay, he sort of was a monster but even monsters had standards.

As long as he didn't remove any clothing, it should be fine.

He found himself in Aziraphale's cosy little bedroom, tucked away at the back of the shop, and oh, how he delighted in being in such a private place. His first point of call was Aziraphale's bed - he pressed his face into the sheets and inhaled deeply, but to his disappointment, the sheets barely smelt of him. It shouldn't surprise him, Aziraphale didn't sleep. Although he did read in bed, apparently, judging by the books on the bedside table.

Aziraphale's wardrobe was depressingly sparse, and he didn't have any exciting angelic contraband anywhere in the room. The only thing that perked up Crowley's spirit was the standing mirror, near the foot of the bed. He could use that.

He threw himself down on the covers, letting his legs hang over the edge of the bed. Perfect, he had a clear view of his body. He tried a smile, and almost laughed; he didn't think he'd ever seen Aziraphale grin so widely. His teeth were nicely shaped. His tongue was very pink. He'd seen glimpses of that tongue before, mainly, when the angel was eating. Licking cream off his lips as he bit into a profiterole, or working between the tines of a fork to scoop up the last drops of tomato and mascarpone sauce. Pink, wet, throbbing muscle, so obscene amongst those pretty white teeth and that innocent, sexless smile. He laughed, but it was Aziraphale's tinkling giggle that worked its way out of that pretty mouth, not Crowley's guttural bark of a laugh. He sounded just like him. What else could he make this body say?

"Oh, Crowley…" Not quite right. Sounded too sardonic.

He tried again. Concentrating on pouring sweetness into every letter. Widened his eyes and beamed at the reflection. Aziraphale looked so happy to see him.

"Oh, Crowley, you're ssssso…" No, that wasn't right. The sibilant hiss of his serpentine tongue was ruining the illusion. He let his eyes fall shut briefly, while he conjured up memories of his dearest friend. Wrapped himself up in Aziraphale's voice, echoing through his memories. Opened his eyes and tried again.

"Crowley, you shouldn't tempt me like this," That was better. That actually sounded like something the angel would say. "I'm an angel, I shouldn't think of you this way…" He licked his lips, waiting for inspiration to hit him. "You're wild, Crowley, you're dangerous. I shouldn't want this and yet...I do."

He let his legs fall open. It was slightly uncomfortable to keep those thick thighs closed anyway. He spread them open, trying to make the gesture look slutty. A juxtaposition with Aziraphale's cherubic face.

"I want you to destroy me…" He palmed his crotch through his trousers. He was burning to unzip those unfashionable trousers and curl his fingers around Aziraphale's cock, feel the length and reassuring weight of it in his hands. But he couldn't. Because he'd promised Aziraphale he wouldn't remove any clothing.

He ground his palm harder against his cock and was rewarded with a pleasant friction that sent tingles through his body.

"Fuck me!" In six thousand years, he'd never heard the angel swear. It was quite novel, hearing that brutal, staccato word burst out of those perfect pink lips. He liked it so much, he said it a few times, rubbing harder. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, Crowley, fuck me 'til I scream! Ruin me for anyone else!"

He figured rolling up his sleeve wouldn't count as undressing. He bit down hard on the meat of one creamy forearm and moaned, his voice muffled. "Mark me, own me."

His eyes found their reflection and fuck, Aziraphale had never gazed at him with raw lust before. He wanted those eyes on him forever. "Spend eternity with me, my dear," he cooed, the angel's beatific voice shimmering in waves as it swam in his ears. "I love you, Crowley."

"Crowley!" He jerked his head up. He hadn't said that.

To see his own body standing in the doorway, scowling at him with narrowed serpentine eyes was a strange feeling. How many people had been on the receiving end of that glare?

"Angel, I can explain-"

Aziraphale stalked closer, his golden gaze burning Crowley's face. He was just grateful Aziraphale hadn't thought to look down; Crowley's erection still throbbed urgently. "What are you doing to my body?"

"I was - I'm sorry-"

"You were telling yourself you love...yourself. Are you really that self-absorbed?"

"What? No!"

Aziraphale grinned, and on Crowley's face, it looks positively evil. "I suppose you kiss your mirror goodnight, don't you?"

Crowley thought it would be prudent to cross his legs. The pressure of a shapely thigh against his crotch made him stifle a moan. He tried for speech. "No, I was - look, I-"

"I only came to get a book for some light reading. I wasn't prepared for how long this night would feel. You're acting strange, you know. Stranger than normal."

He lied. Because he had to. "I'm just not used to being in your body. Navigation is tricky."

Aziraphale agreed to that, and departed after a long rant about how Crowley was too tall and his legs were too long, that Aziraphale felt unsteady on them and had to duck under doorways. Crowley watched his friend leave, a tall, leggy man bumbling along in a gait that didn't match his body, and he sighed. He could have told him what he'd really been doing. He could have told him he loved him. But Crowley, for all his theatrics and daredevil acts, for his reckless driving and smart mouth, he wasn't brave. Not when dealing with love. So he waited until sunrise, when the day would begin and they could walk through the streets, wearing each other's skin. And if he spent those hours, gazing at the mirror and whispering sweet nothings, well, that was his business, wasn't it?