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"Hey, IT Support, Crowley speaking, have you tried turning it off and on again?"
Bee's long-suffering sigh met his hilarious greeting. "It's the bloke on the top floor again. With the bow-tie. He says The Google isn't working."
“How-I’ll be there in two minutes.” Crowley said, before hanging up. This was the third time this month the man had called, well, one of his neighbors at least, cause he seemed to not have a phone at all.
Crowley messed with his hair in the mirrored wall of the lift as he travelled up. The new guy was cute, admittedly, but was absolutely useless with technology. Having to travel up 8 floors to switch a monitor on was going to get old, fast.
Still, totally worth his while. He could nick the good coffee from floor 6 and google up the caller, while bow-tie-guy explained the situation.
Luckily the espresso machine was working perfectly that day and he got his favorite coffee, the six shots of espresso and nothing else. By the time he made to the lift he had drank over half to mentally prepare to help the hopeless man.
Even at their cube farm it was easy to spot the white blond head, standing next the smoking remains of his computer. "Crowley," he breathed with relief.
Crowley was sipping his hellishly hot coffee (just the way he liked it) and let the coffee sit an instant too long as he took in the carnage. The pale man was fingering the button in his waistcoat in agitation.
"Newt wanted to help," the wreck of nerves stammered, "He said it would be tickety-boo."
“Jesus,” Crowley sighed. “Didn’t you see the memo we sent out? Big bright letters, never let the lizard touch any electronics. CEO signed it and everything, it’s official policy now.”
The plump man fretted. “I know,” he all but moaned,” but he wanted to help so much!”
“Alright, let’s see the issue.” Crowley said with a sigh. Aziraphale led him to his computer which was currently off. “I tried turning it off and back on again, but it didn’t work.” Aziraphale informed him.
Crowley could smell the acrid burning of something important and unsalvageable. “I hope you backed up your data,” Crowley said.
“Backup…the...what?” Aziraphale’s pale hazel eyes were wide and lost under lashes as he looked in distress at Crowley.
"I took notes on the typewriter" with worry he pointed to the device next to the dusty keyboard, "Oh, I hope I didn't do the wrong thing!"
Crowley sipped at his coffee. Fuck, he thought as he noted the expressive twist on Aziripahle’s mouth, this is going to be an issue.
Floor 8 was somewhat of an urban legend down in IT. Between Aziraphale's luddite incompetence with electronics and thecompany-wide policy on what Newt was allowed to touch and the dark haired witch who had spilled some sort of protection potion on her network phone because it was “haunted”, the tales kept coming.
Honestly it was kind of impressive - he doubted any other company managed to have their archival department be the stuff of legends and yet, here he was, about to add to the IT nightmare stories after no doubt discovering another of Newton's 'fried on sight' drives. It didn't help that the bowtie bloke was looking at him intently with a damsel-in-distress look that should be reserved for dashing action heroes (was he doing that on purpose? There was no way someone could do that without practising in front of a mirror first... no, focus, the fried computer, remember? That's what he was here for).
“Not sure you can do anything wrong, angel,” he said absently and then froze when his brain caught up with his mouth.
"Oh, oh, thank you, it's been bothering me this whole time - I read the memo but Newt was really trying to be friendly and helpful and he sounded rather more knowledgeable about technology than I am, and I thought, what harm could he really do so I said, there, just have a quick look... oh dear, it did turn out to be rather a mess, didn't it?"
“Yeah, but I’ve seen worse.” Crowley said, sitting in the computer chair. “Someone managed to get every single bit of food and drink all over the computer and both fried it beyond repair and gunk it up.” Crowley said, still pretty grossed out by that ordeal. “Newt is very knowledgeable, extremely knowledgeable. He just cannot physically touch anything more complicated than an abacus without it exploding,” he added.
Though the first abacus that company got him had apparently been too "modern" and "technological like" that the poor thing exploded within an hour of Newt using it. Beads went flying everywhere, Crowley recalled.
"Do you think it would be possible to fix it today?" Aziraphale asked. "I'm so sorry. I don't want to pressure you, but I do have an important deadline for tomorrow..."
Crowley grimaced, “I can try, but I can’t promise anything.” He said, apologetically.
Aziraphale sighted deeply. "It's my own fault. I should have called you right away... I imagine you wouldn't be allowed to lend me another one, in the meantime? Given what I did to this one."
Crowley looked at the man’s distress and felt his chest give an odd thump. Years later, he still could never fully explain the impulse that followed. “Well, maybe..” he said reluctantly. “There is a spare, kinda.”
Aziraphale’s face lit up like the sun, “Really?” He asked, happily.
Crowley rubbed his neck. “..maybe…” Assuming Bee never found out and Hastur was still being lazy about the network security patch, and Shax didn’t process the requisition slip until tomorrow…
"Oh, oh thank you! You have no idea how mad Gabriel would have been! You're my saviour!" Aziraphale exclaimed, suddenly seizing Crowley's shoulder in an unusual emotional effusion.
“Ngk” Crowley muttered. He looked firmly at the man. “Ok, but this is…unorthodox. We need to come to an…arrangement… about this…loan.”
“What do you suggest?” Aziraphale asked, with worried brows.
10 minutes later, the two men stood side by side next to a large unopened box of one of the newest, most advanced computers in the market, labelled very clearly “Gabriel Messenger, CEO”
“It arrived today,” Crowley said into the heavy silence.
Aziraphale paled. "Crowley... You can't be suggesting...?"
“Look, the delivery of replacement workstations got delayed by months. This is literally the only spare one in the building until I install it and free up Messenger’s. That will be at least a week before it’s done.”
Aziraphale started to play with the buttons of his waistcoat nervously. “But what if I break it?” He said, quietly.
Crowley felt an inexplicable need to reach out and reassure him, but he repressed the impulse (he was a professional after all) and said instead, "Don't worry. Just don't let Newt touch it. For any reason. I'll help you when an issue comes up."
Swiftly he took one of the yellow Post it's from the pile and scribbled down a row of numbers, "Call or text me at any time. I will come to you asap, wherever you are!"
They gathered a cart and hauled it to a quiet secluded workspace and Aziraphale admired the swift economy Crowley had in setting up. Crowley meanwhile thanked Someone for Hastur and Ligur being completely lazy gits who hadn’t updated the network security yet which would have added an hour to the software updates.
With the computer up and running, Crowley was about to take an unwilling but necessary leave. But Aziraphale's expression stopped him in his tracks. "What's wrong?"
"I'm so sorry to keep you so long. But everything looks so different. I have no idea how to even open the software..."
"Nhmth," Crowley said, eloquently. "Sure. I guess I can spare a few minutes. Just to make sure you know how to use it and make sure that it works properly."
Of course, he couldn't help but notice that as soon as he said that Aziraphale's face relaxed and he very confidently clicked the correct icon to open the program that had supposedly been so intimidating a moment ago. But that just had to be him gaining confidence, knowing that there was someone here to help, right?
Crowley’s suspicions definitely ramped up when Aziraphale managed to flawlessly map a network drive to a hidden server he knew for a fact was only kept because it hadn’t been archived properly yet to the main backup servers.
The man had to be marginally aware of Crowley's growing suspicions though because, after working efficiently for a quarter of an hour (while making the necessary saves with a well-practised tap of keyboard shortcuts) he turned in the most clueless face imaginable this side of kitten videos and said, pleadingly "I do hope you can tell me how to make this all stay that way so I can send it."
Crowley had had a soft, indulgent smile for a while now. His own sense of the absurd appreciated the utter commitment to the ruse and a certain hopeful expectation had taken root. “Sure, angel,” he said quietly.
He hesitated a moment before throwing caution to the wind. "You're really having a hard time with the electronics since you got there... Can't be easy for someone who has to do all of his work on it. You must be the one calling the most frequently since Next got his strongly worded memo... Or is it only when I'm working?" he added with an innocent tone.
Crowley didn’t miss the brief pause of Aziraphale’s hand before the man sighed theatrically. “Well, I get so nervous keeping up with the software changes,” he explained earnestly. “You don’t want Gabriel upset with you.” Eyes more green in this light looked at him under his lashes. “And you’ve always been so…kind…about it.”
Crowley stuttered, "K- kind? I'm- I'm not kind! Very selfish, me. I just happen to- to like... helping you." he finished awkwardly.
"Of course. Absolutely." Aziraphale nodded a little too quickly. "And I uhh... like you helping me. Too."
Crowley looked back at the screen as the awkward silence strung out. "I suppose I ought to... um..."
"Oh yes, of course," Aziraphale nodded, visibly gathering courage. "I have found myself thinking, you know, that it might have been easier for me to work had there been someone to offer, I don't know, some private tutelage outside of working hours." He must have misinterpreted Crowley's frozen expression because his next words came very fast. "But of course, that's a terrible idea. That would never work. Please forget I said anything."
Crowley fought as hard as he could but he just knew he was smiling like an idiot. This had to be an invitation, right? Internally praying he wasn't going to end up with a complaint to HR, he asked with forced casualness. "Sure. You said you had a deadline, so should we say tonight? Yours or mine?"
There was a brief pause as Aziraphale apparently re-assessed, possibly having not accounted for this outcome. Then it was as if his whole face lit up all at once. "O-of course. I suppose it would probably be better- that is to say, I do live nearby and there is this lovely French bistro on the way where we could- That is to say..."
"Sounds like a great place to talk you through your computer problems!" Crowley said with the lightless hint of playfulness. "Text me the time and place?"
—-
Aziraphale sat for a long while in front of the new machine after Crowley had headed back down to IT. Had he just.... gotten a date with the stunning red head he'd been smitten with since he joined the company a month earlier? Had the Ruse worked? It couldn't be that simple... surely...
A few unbearably long and nervous hours later, Aziraphale found himself sitting at the bistro, fingers unconsciously fidgeting with the tablecloth as he waited. He was, of course, early and still not sure what exactly had happened earlier or if Crowley was actually going to show.
Or possibly even worse - what if the Ruse worked a bit too well and Crowley would show up, getting Aziraphale's hopes up only to actually want to talk about his supposed computer problems. That was a truly petrifying thought and was becoming increasingly plausible in Aziraphale's mind as minutes ticked by.
Unfortunately, he didn't have the time to come up with a plan, as the lanky red head suddenly entered. Drat, he was even more attractive in the soft light of the restaurant than he was in the awful neons of their workplace! Aziraphale was going to need some wine if he wanted to survive the night. French wine obviously.
Crowley paused as he entered, gaze sweeping the room until they spotted him. A crooked smile appeared that made his amber eyes crinkle at the edges stole Aziraphale’s breath.
Aziraphale just about managed to keep his hand from fluttering up to his heart or fan his face.
Surely it was illegal to smile like that when Aziraphale was still conflicted about whether he read the whole conversation at the office correctly? But then Crowley not only did not stop smiling like that at Aziraphale (at Aziraphale!) but he strode up to the table with that nonchalant way of his that spoke to either extensive dance training or not having a spine.
Aziraphale shifted in his seat as he watched that long, lithe frame and deceptively broad, solid shoulders swagger toward him.
He swallowed because despite not yet having ordered anything to drink he found his mouth was suddenly quite full with something that sadly wasn't wine.
“Hello, angel,” Crowley practically purred with a slightly wicked smile. “Fancy meeting you here,”
It took Aziraphale a second to remember that for this interaction to work he had to go beyond admiring the man and that he should respond. With actual words. This never seemed so complicated when he was coming up with the Ruse. "Hello," he managed.
He swallowed hard and looked up at the taller man. Despite the crowded room, he caught the musky scent that had been teasing him all afternoon and bit his lip. Crowley noticed.
He was basically purring when he said. "Did you already order something? I don't know about you but I'm very thirsty."
He winced a little internally as his ears caught on with his mouth. Hopefully the double entendre would slide by, or he would be coming out far too strongly.
Aziripahle’s mouth quirked. “Very thirsty,” he agreed and boldly met Crowley’s gaze.
Crowley held his gaze for a moment, his face valiantly trying to match the colour of his hair, then he cleared his throat. "Right. Ordering. We're supposed to do that." He hesitated briefly before sliding into a chair. It might or might not have been a coincidence that their knees brushed as he did. "Ordering. Let's do that. Anything you can recommend?"
"The kiss is very good, here" Aziraphale said.
Crowley stared at him. "I'm sorry, what?"
"'I said, the quiche is very good." Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Wine, wine is very good here! Too..”
Crowley looked at the blushing man and realized he was very much in trouble. And it was gonna be worth it if he had any say in the matter.
Though at the rate this was going, he should probably take the hint and order the wine. He had a feeling he might need a bit of liquid courage if he was expected to produce more than two words containing consonants with Aziraphale looking at him the way he did
"Bonjour messieurs! Have you madeu your choiceu? May I recommendeu somefing to drink?" They had both started at the sudden appearance of the waiter, but Aziraphale recovered promptly. "We would like a bottle of Chateau-les-Moines, please."
"Excellent choice, messieur. Anything to eat for you and your friend?" the hint wasn't even subtle in the man's voice
“And the…quiche..” Crowley added with a side look at Aziraphale
"Yes," Aziraphale said firmly, looking straight at Crowley. "I'd very much like a quiche this evening."
“The pompe a l’huile as well, “ Aziraphale added.
Crowley raised one brow and smirked, “oil pump?” He murmured, knowing the translation of the sweet bread name
Aziraphale grinned saucily, “ just an amuse bouche, my dear.”
Crowley looked intently at him. “I’ll be sure to amuse your bouche” he said then flushed at the horrible line.
Aziraphale laughed and placed a hand on his arm and stroked the fabric. “I’m Sure you will, dear boy, I’m sure you will.”
"Who will be testingeu ze wine?" asked the waiter, with the suspiciously fluctuating accent.
Crowley leaned closer to his companion, thigh pressing close in the small space. “May I, angel?” He asked quietly, intently.
"Of course," Aziraphale answered and then Crowley thought he heard a whispered, "With thighs like that I'd let you do anything you want..."
Crowley waved at the waiter who was starting to feel a little a hot under his collar at the electric current running between the two men. The waiter poured the wine and watched as Crowley took a full, deliberate sip while gazing at his companion. Aziraphale felt his breath hitch as Crowley made a soft sound of satisfaction.
Crowley set down his glass with a faint smile. "We're getting dangerously good at making dinner awkward, aren't we?"
Aziraphale smiled. “Quite,” he murmured and leaned closer.
Crowley handed him a wine glass as the waiter retreated. He could smell the bergamot and slight tangy tea scent of the man’s cologne. He was so tempted to steal the ..quiche…he’d promised. Was it weird he’d already memorized the angel's scent?
He found himself wondering if his flat was filled with the same scent. If the sheets on his bed would carry them when he wrapped himself in them. Would he smell like that by morning?
He took a deep breath (to settle himself! Not to have the scent last longer! that would have been weird) and he forced himself to straighten back up. If he played this right he might get a chance to find out about Aziraphale's flat after all. He just needed to act like a sane person throughout the evening. That should be easy, right?
"This is a really nice place. D'you come here often? You said you lived nearby?"
Aziraphale blinked and pulled himself back a bit. He’d been eyeing the long, slender neck he could see move as Crowley swallowed the wine. It was not helping his…situation.
"Yes, uh... every so often. Though I'm usually on my own so I tend to only come in when it's quiet."
The waiter brought the bread, smelling of orange blossoms and glistening with suggestive sheen of oil.
Aziraphale took a piece and tasted it. Crowley froze as the man moaned softly, a low sound that went straight to the primal part of his brain and took up permanent residence. Bread would never be the same again.
"You have to give it a try. It's so good," Aziraphale said, licking his lips and very nearly causing a critical overload of Crowley's neurons
Aziraphale offered a bit of the bread and with Crowley.exe offline, Crowley’s mouth opened compliantly and tasted the warm, sweet texture. Aziraphale’s fingers brushed his lips. “Such a good boy,” the angel murmured and Crowley.exe crashed again
"Ngk" Crowley managed around the bread as he chewed mechanically.
Aziraphale blinked in surprise, seemingly coming back to himself, and lowered his lashes over his very pink cheeks. "So!" he cleared his throat, asking weakly, "IT support. Was that... err.... your lifelong ambition?"
"Nah," Crowley said. "I would really rather be working in my garden, but there's not much of a living in that... so, tech support."
"Oh my dear, do you have a garden?" Aziraphale asked gently.
"I do," Crowley nodded. "Maybe I'll show it to you sometime."
Aziraphale gave him a slow smile. “I’d like that, Crowley.” Crowley .exe almost crashed a third time at that soft look, feeling Aziraphale’s strong, thick thigh warm along his and the warm, solid weight of his hand on his arm. He felt his body relaxing into Aziraphale’s orbit, pulled inexorably home. It was the best feeling he’d had in a long, long time.
"And you?" He said, lifting his wine glass. "Strategic archival operations. Dream career, or...?" he left the line open and watched as the blonde man's mouth quirked.
Aziraphale sat back as the quiche was delivered and Crowley didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed. Aziraphale took careful forkful of the dish and eyes fluttered shut in delight. Crowley leaned in and regretted his choice of tight jeans.
Because it meant he couldn't eat as much of this delicious food as he wanted. Aziraphale made it sound so good that Crowley suddenly realized that he hadn't eaten all day and tucked in with gusto.
"No one dreams of strategic archival operations, dear." Aziraphale said, patting his mouth with a napkin. "But, like you, my passion isn't something that's easily monetised. I love books. Old, rare books."
Crowley, now with a full belly, looked at this man now examining the desert menu the way a lion evaluated a gazelle herd, and admitted he was a lying liar of a man. It wasn’t just food he wanted right now.
No. Not at all. Because after that filling, delicious meal he really could use some sleep. Also because he had finally managed to get Aziraphale to look at him like that, and even Crowley knew better than to rush something this rare.
Aziraphale, however, was a hedonist through and through. He’d never, not since he’d been adult enough to decide, denied himself the sumptuous pleasures of life. Not the rarest book he couldn’t really afford, not the desert temptingly presented before him, and especially not the pleasures of the body. Crowley didn’t stand a chance and Aziraphale, looking at the man’s snarky smile, knew Crowley wasn’t exactly upset by the situation. The bill was settled and large tip left as the two men strolled out the door. Crowley did not think about the fancy bathroom door and definitely did not notice the shiny lock as they walked out.
They walked out to a street that definitely didn't look romantic with the pavement, wet from drizzle, reflecting light because Crowley wasn't a romantic and definitely wasn't that far gone. And then Aziraphale took his hand. "Would you like to see where I live? I could.. show you some of my rare books."
Crowley curled his fingers around Aziraphale’s and squeezed gently. “Lead on, angel,” he said.
The collection (and range) of Aziraphale's books was vast, and he happily listened to the man's adorable enthusiasm until, finally, he couldn't resist the tendrils of an exhausting day that had started to wrap themselves around him during dinner.
"Sorry, angel," he murmured, stifling a yawn, "I think I need to head off, but I... I've had an amazing day, y'know?"
Aziraphale quickly hid the hint of disappointment from his expression and smiled. "So have I. If you say you need to go... well, I would not be opposed to repeating the experience."
Crowley smiled, his mind buzzing with alcohol and tiredness. "I would love to. Maybe next time we could even get to talk about your computer problems. But no rush, take as many dates as you need," he teased with a wink.
Aziraphale blushed to his hair. "I have been rather transparent, haven't I?"
Crowley chuckled. "I thought it was very cute." He hesitated briefly then leaned and kissed him softly on the cheek. "Good night, angel."
"Um.... goodnight." Aziraphale said as he followed Crowley to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow at work? I think I might find that new computer a little bit confusing at around... lunch time. If that suits."
"Looking forward to it," Crowley grinned, already mentally preparing an excuse for why they absolutely needed to wander over to the local park for a picnic in order to sort the issue.
"Lovely," Aziraphale smiled as Crowley stepped out onto the street. "It's a date. Err.. I mean - not -" he looked round eyed and pink cheeked.
"Definitely a date," Crowley said quickly, wanting to reassure him, "if you, ah, if you want?"
Aziraphale’s expression cleared and Crowley was treated to a beaming smile, "very much so. And no further electronic devices shall be put at risk."
Crowley laughed, and Aziraphale practically glowed in response, looking so inviting and pretty in the streetlights. On impulse, Crowley stepped forward and brushed his hand in Aziraphale’s check softly. “May I kiss you goodnight, angel?” He asked hopefully.
"Oh, well..." Aziraphale gave a shimmy, "perhaps just a---" Crowley quickly pecked him on the lips.
"Right then." Crowley was the one turning pink now. "Date. Tomorrow. No IT disasters."
Aziraphale pouted slightly, and damn if Crowley didn’t feel indulgent. “Newt is my cubicle mate,” Aziraphale said with a wicked twinkle in his blue eyes,” I’m absolutely positive I’ll need you…services…sooner rather than later.”