(trashy 50s au that bans me from any church ever i am the true sinnamon roll)
[KELLY’S EDIT: anon. please come forward. please come talk to me. this is the best smut i’ve read in a long time and just… it’s really, really beautiful. it’s nicely written and funny and so in character and so original? please come talk to me. honestly. you need an ao3 account. this is… it’s really good.]
The thing about Michael is he’s got the face of an angel. Geoff, now, Geoff knows he’s a pretty handsome fella, but he’s what you might call rakish if you were feeling kind, and downright devilish if you weren’t. It’s his lips, Geoff thinks. He can’t help them, can’t help their cherry-candy color or the way they curve that makes dame’s blush. People look at Geoff, and they think trouble.
But Michael, with his soft curly brown hair and his bright brown eyes, smile like sunshine and features delicate enough for a doll – when people look at Michael, they don’t think trouble. They think sweet, or kind, or innocent.
Which is why he gets away with so goddamn much.
Nobody suspects Michael when Geoff explodes into a coughing fit in the middle of Mass on Sunday, they just all turn toward the back pew and glare. Like Geoff can control his bodily reactions when he’s got Michael whispering in his ear, low and dirty, about how he doesn’t know if he’s even gonna be able to wait til they get home, that Geoff just looks so goddamn good in his suit (suit that Michael’s seen a million times before, it’s the only one he has, but that doesn’t seem to matter), and “Daddy, need to get my hands on you, c'mon, nobody’s using the confessional now,” and that’s when Geoff’s breath punches its way out of his lungs and it’s only quick thinking that turns it into a cough instead of the low, shuddery groan that wants to escape.
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