Aziraphale’s eyes dart from one aisle to the next; from window to window, from stewardess to emergency exit, with such frequency, such alarm, that he appears almost cross-eyed, to Crowley - slouched casually in the seat beside him, not a care in the world, as the plane sails smoothly through the night sky.
“I don’t trust these contraptions, you see.” Aziraphale utters for what must be the twentieth time, hands gripping the armrests of his seat with a ferocity that would bruise mortal skin. “They seem perfectly sensible in theory, but… but it’s so terribly confined and… and what if something stops working?”
“We’re on this one, Angel, we just hold it up ourselves.” Crowley retorts calmly, taking a sip of the whiskey he had shameless flirted with the stewardess to acquire.
“Oh… oh, right. Yes. That’s right. Just hold it up ourselves. Mmm…” The blonde seems less than comforted by Crowley’s words, gaze hovering aimlessly upon nothing and everything, and the demon sighs, shaking his head and standing suddenly, with a tap to Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Hm?”
“C’mon, I’ll show you a good distraction from flight-jitters.”
“A distraction, dear…?”
“It’s called the Mile High club. You’ll love it… very exclusive.”
“Oh! My, that sounds interesting, doesn’t it?”
“You have no idea, Angel…”
Sourse: http://ineffably-british.tumblr.com/
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En realidad simplemente estoy recomendando algúnos dignos drabbles.
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Keep calm and post