* * *
Female of the Species
* * *
Aziraphale's hands were warm and surprisingly large on Crowley's hips. His breath smelled a little like bread and a lot like excellent port, and Crowley felt pink and huge and awkward.
"The secret is to work with your hips," said Aziraphale. "You walk like your hips were just something they stuck on to you by accident. All right, all right, but listen. You might as well make the best of it."
"Easy for you to say," grumbled Crowley. "You haven't been made into a girl because your superiors just threw your spirit into the first new body that came along without paying attention."
"No, my superiors did it deliberately," Aziraphale agreed. "Come along, there's a good fell -- gir -- fellow. Remember, your hips are your friends."
Which, really, was absurd, Crowley thought, but Aziraphale's hands were marvellously gentle and his body was warm, solid comfort, and any minute now Crowley was going to start wanting to eat chocolate and watch chick flicks and decapitate straying husbands, or whatever it was women did nowadays.
"If anybody ever hears of this, you're dead," said Crowley.
"Right," said Aziraphale patiently. "Now, walk." The gust of breath on his neck made Crowley shiver. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what it had been like not to be a total girl.