I Forgive You

Chapter Twelve

Without much ado, enjoy their continuous awkward adorable dumbassery. And kissing. Lots of kissing.

And talking. If this is your first fic of mine - you'll quickly realize there is a LOT of talking, even during my smutty times. So...stay tuned lol

~oOo~oOo~oOo~

Aziraphale was warm under Crowley's hands, alive, real.

He shivered delightfully when Crowley's fingers followed a path up his spine, as far as his shirt would allow.

Shirts, plural, Crowley realised in despair. Of course his angel would wear a frickin undershirt, like his thousand blasted layers before that hadn't been enough already. It was infuriating and unnecessary and in the fucking way and so incredibly perfectly like Aziraphale that he couldn't even be mad about it.

He forced his hands away from Aziraphale's back, wandering to the front of his dress shirt again and undoing the rest of the buttons. He cursed under his breath when one slipped his trembling fingers repeatedly, resisting the urge to just rip the blasted thing off Aziraphale's body. His angel would never forgive him, he knew, so of course he would never. No harm picturing it in his mind, though - pristine fabric tearing, cursed buttons flying everywhere...Perhaps he'd fine one on the floor under his bed later-

Finally, the last button slipped free, and Crowley let the light-blue fabric fall from Aziraphale's shoulders, turning away from his angel's seeking lips for a moment to let it join the rest of his clothes on the newly designated chair.

A slow breath of air escaped Crowley's lungs when he turned back, sure his slitted pupils must be dilating as he let his eyes wander over Aziraphale's exposed arms, upper body laid bare except for that stupid white undershirt. He reached out, let his fingertips trail down the angel's arm, watching as Aziraphale's eyes fluttered shut at the featherlight touch.

"Can I..." Crowley licked his lips, fiddling with the cotton strap of the shirt between his thumb and forefinger. "Can I take this off?", he asked, seeking the angel's wide eyes. "Would that be okay?"

For the first time, there was some hesitance to Aziraphale's demeanour, his lips parting silently before he pressed them together tightly. He could see the angel swallowing hard, but then he nodded at Crowley to proceed.

Crowley's movements were slow and reverent when he reached out, grabbing the hem of Aziraphale's shirt and pulling it up, waiting for the angel to lift his arms to assist him. He watched as more and more of Aziraphale's chest was revealed - his plush belly, a sprinkle of soft white curls on his chest, the line of his collarbone that Crowley instantly wanted to latch onto and mark up with his lips and teeth. Of course, he didn't, simply kept staring as he let the shirt fall mindlessly onto the chair without ever taking his eyes off his angel.

Aziraphale looked away, hands wringing nervously in his lap.

"I know, I-" The angel avoided Crowley's eyes, arms coming around his middle protectively. "I-I mean, it's not much, really, but I always- y-you see...", he stammered, clearly embarrassed, and Crowley wouldn't have that, not on his watch, oh no-

"And compared to you", the angel went on, "I know I'm no-"

"Perfect", Crowley cut him off, eyes wide and lips parted in wonder as he stared at his angel. "You're perfect."

Aziraphale blushed hard, a lovely shade of pink reaching down to his chest, but he lowered his eyes, so Crowley reached out and carefully tipped up his chin with his finger.

"Angel", he said, gentle yet firm enough to make sure there was no doubt about his words. "Angel, you're stunning."

"Oh", Aziraphale breathed out. Nothing more, just that, a little sound of recognition and awed disbelief. And Crowley smiled, using his fingers on Aziraphale's chin to lead him forward into a soft kiss.