CardamomFlower
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Summary
Aziraphale could not stop staring at Crowley’s lips.
“Right-o.” Aziraphale breathed, hoping it made up for the fact that he hadn’t heard a word. His mind was much too focused on the delicate dip of Crowley’s cupid’s bow, the sleek cut of his opera gloves, the impossible tightness of his leotard.
The leotard which was now hanging loose off his newly-masculine chest, exposing the whole of his torso. A gasp slipped from between Aziraphale’s lips before he could catch it, and he averted his eyes, lest his sin be made evermore blatant.
Oh, dear Lord.
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In which this author/artist team explores what might have transpired if a certain demon had taken his angel’s place on a West End stage back in 1941.
Series
- Part 14 of the flash bastard and the southern pansy