Work Text:
They met once a month in a clearing in a forest a few miles outside of Camelot, when the knights and the King had turned in for the night. It was early days, they were so very careful, uncertain as to how much they could get away with. The consequences, of course, were not lost on either of them.
Their talks were strictly business at first, negotiating terms of their arrangement. They knew for it to work they needed strict rules and code words, secret meeting spots, convincing excuses, plausable deniability, and most importantly, a way of throwing off potential suspicions.
After a while, they realised they weren’t being watched quite as closely as they thought, and the meetings relaxed a little. Aziraphale began to look forward to them, they both took turns bringing refreshments (often wine).
It was Crowley who initially suggested swapping bodies, they’d had rather a lot of alcohol at this point. Aziraphale had laughed, it was a ludicrous idea, and shapeshifting was rather demonic, as it involved deception. Crowley had rightly pointed out, that it was the whole point of the exercise. Aziraphale could hardly argue with that, and before he could talk himself out of it Crowley was describing the specifics of shape-shifting, and how the best way to take on the form of another, was through direct touch.
Aziraphale needed time to think, and told himself if by the next meeting of he wasn’t able to think of a single, better idea, he would try it.
The next month soon rolled by, and Aziraphale approached the clearing apprehensively. Crowley was already there, leaning leisurely against a tree.
“I’ve thought about it, and I’d like to try it,” Aziraphale said, “Only because it will enable more of heaven’s will to be done.” Aziraphale said, eyes darting upwards… knowing he could fall for this, if heaven over knew.
Crowley gave him a knowing smile, to which Aziraphale smiled nervously back. After all, they both knew it was a load of bollocks, really.
“To the great plan.” Crowley said, with a wink.
He talked Aziraphale through the process once more, before reaching his hand out, Aziraphale hesitated, and took his hand.
They’d never held hands before, but it didn’t feel wrong at all. It had crossed his mind that this may all be an elaborate trick and Crowley was about to swiftly discorporate him - but Aziraphale, despite his best efforts to reason with himself, ultimately trusted the demon.
“Are you sure, angel?” Crowley said quietly, his tone sincere as he watched the angel closely, nothing about him indicated untrustworthiness.
Aziraphale nodded, and tightened his grip.
He closed his eyes, focussing on taking Crowley’s form. He felt the pleasant sensation of Crowleys power running through his hand, running up his arm and throughout the rest of his body. His eyes were the last to change, sky blue irises to a burning sunset orange.
Aziraphale blinked, and before him stood Crowley-as-Aziraphale. He was almost indistinguishable from his mirror image only with a Crowley-like expression on his face. His eyes were wide, jaw dropped, corners ever so slightly upturned in a grin. A fond reverance that Aziraphale would always remember from the first time they met in the garden of Eden.
Aziraphale, remembering himself, quickly retracted his hand, and tried to pretend he didn’t notice the flash of disappointment that flashed over Crowley’s face when the connection was broken. Something had passed between them, but there was no time for that now. They had business to do. If they were ever going to convince people, they needed to practice.