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The air was thick with the musky scent of love as Aziraphale lay his head on Crowley’s chest, his white-blond curls a tangled mess. He traced a line between the constellation of Crowley’s freckles, from his collarbone through his chest hair to the jut of his bony hip.
“You’re more freckled than I imagined” Aziraphale mused, breaking their post-coital silence.
Crowley grinned. “Oh so you imagined me naked did you?”
Aziraphale blushed, as though he had suddenly recovered the modicum of modesty that he’d abandoned just moments before.
“I suppose I did,” Aziraphale admitted.
“So you really didn’t know what I look like naked?”
“Why would I?”
“You’re telling me you didn’t peek?”
“Peek! I certainly did not spy on you if that’s what you’re asking.”
“When we swapped bodies,” Crowley clarified. “You didn’t take a little glance?”
“Certainly not!” Aziraphale huffed. He raised his head to glare in Crowley’s direction: “Are you telling me you peeked?”
“Don’t look at me like that! I didn’t molest your corporation. I just had a bit of a look is all. An opportunity presented itself and I couldn’t refuse.”
“How gentlemanly of you.”
“Well, we can’t all be paragons of virtue.”
Aziraphale let the moment of indignation pass. He settled back into Crowley’s arms and resumed tracing his finger up and down Crowley’s delicate frame.
“Very well.” Aziraphale said at last. “If you must know, I peeked.”