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    Summary

    It was as if Crowley had not suffered enough. As if the liquid fall of toga in that squalid little tavern in Ancient Greece wasn’t enough. As if the silvery-blue doublet and confectionary travesty of a ruff in 1601 hadn’t been enough. As if those ridiculous, satiny pink shoes and the bloody chains in the Bastille hadn’t been enough.

    No, apparently none of that had been enough. Apparently, some sick, vindictive fucker – whether it be from Above, Below, or the chaotic whims of Fate itself – was having a jolly good time making Crowley suffer by parading Aziraphale around in all sorts of ridiculous attire. Ridiculous attire specifically designed to drive Crowley mad.

    Or: five times Crowley was preoccupied with Aziraphale's body, and one time he could act on it.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    11,432
    Chapters:
    6/6
    Comments:
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    Kudos:
    413
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