Chapter Text
Aziraphale was making a list.
It was all in his head, of course (he hadn’t thought to bring a pen) and regardless, the idea was entirely too silly to risk someone reading it over his shoulder.
No, his paltry list of excuses was to remain private, and in all likelihood, completely forgotten by the end of the night anyway, as his resolve slowly slipped away.
First and foremost, he was at a wedding. Quite a lovely affair, if he did say so himself (and he did, whenever he found himself politely pulled into a bout of small talk amongst people he barely knew). Love was in the air, as the saying goes, and being that he had no obligations other than to be a guest on his newly wed coworker’s behalf and enjoy himself, he figured nobody could rightly blame him for where his own thoughts wandered.
Second, they were all rather cooped up in the reception hall. While it wasn’t overwhelmingly crowded, there was certainly less distance between everyone than there would have been if they had all stayed outside like was originally planned. The oppressive clouds encroaching throughout the day had been polite enough to wait for the ceremony itself to wrap up, but everyone involved felt it best to not push their luck and migrated indoors for the rest of the evening. Thus, he had no excuse to linger on the edge of the lawn, distance himself from temptation and wallow in his loneliness.
Lastly, and most certainly of all not least, the temptation itself. That slinky little waiter with the striking red hair and sunglasses that Aziraphale was certain had to be some sort of dress-code violation. They made him look more like a bond villain than a server, but really that just made him all the more fascinating.
But Aziraphale was making a list of excuses , and the redhead with the slight waist and legs a mile long was not an excuse, he was the problem itself. The excuse was the frankly indecent amount of decadent wine he was proffering. It seemed that the very moment his glass was empty, the man would appear (though his approach was never quite so sudden, he seemed to make a show of slipping elegantly through the crowd on aforementioned legs, seemingly bound to no laws of anatomy) with a bottle and a disarming smile, offering to top him up.
Well, you could hardly blame him for accepting the offer, time and time again. The wine was rather good. It was a wedding, he was allowed to indulge.
It was likely that very same wine that was already dissolving his list of excuses into a pleasant haze. His own self-appointed trepidation was the only thing that kept him from admiring without guilt, as if having an eye for beauty was some sort of crime. The liquid courage that warmed him from the inside out made the notion seem laughable, and as he drained the last of his most recent glass, it put forth the idea that really , he could certainly do more than just look.
---
Crowley hated weddings, if you were to ask him.
You wouldn’t have to, he would tell you anyway, unprompted.
He was more than happy to complain about the happy couples (it would never last), the shitty DJ’s (underpaid uni students more often than not, couldn’t really blame them), the rowdy guests (he’d lost track of how many middle-aged women attempted to feel him up discreetly after one too many drinks), and the ridiculous posh caterer’s uniform he was forced to wear.
But that was off the clock.
On the floor he was a beacon of decorum. Polite well-wishes, charming smiles, cheeky retorts, and a platter of nibbles and wine at the ready.
It wasn’t all misery, even he could admit that, especially when his request for a break was granted (a discreetly raised eyebrow above the rim of his shades and a vague hand gesture, answered by his supervisor with a put-upon roll of the eyes and the gracious slap of a half-empty cigarette carton into his palm as he passed).
At least he could commiserate with his coworkers, to some extent. They weren’t chummy, never had been, but grumbling about shit work was cathartic in its own right, even if that’s all it ever was.
Misery loves company, and all that.
There was none of that now, however, the festivities hadn’t quite wound down for the night and it would be a bad look to have half the staff out on the balcony whinging about their job while the guests suffered from lack of tasty morsels and quite preposterous amounts of alcohol.
It was just him, out on his lonesome in the dark, cursing and attempting to keep the lighter aflame long enough to catch the cigarette as the wind and the ever fattening raindrops fought him tooth and nail.
A futile effort, surely, given the balcony’s lack of adequate protection from the elements, but he only had fifteen minutes of solitude to spare and he’d be damned if the weather was going to ruin that for him.
Between the curses growled under his breath and the pitiful clicks of the lighter, it took him a moment to notice the quiet patter of rain on his shoulders had disappeared and was replaced by a slightly louder patter of rain off of an umbrella.
He looked up.
A drop of rain that still clung to his hair slipped down the back of his neck and he shuddered, snapped back into the moment.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Right, the umbrella hadn’t miraculously appeared, someone was holding it over him.
He was startled, but he was a master at playing it cool (the shades helped), so he schooled his expression and turned his attention to the voice.
Oh, and if the umbrella wasn’t enough of a blessing already.
Soft, white, lamb-ish curls that were already starting to dampen from the rain. Bright eyes that caught the warm light that streamed through the window from the party within. The upturned nose with a healthy flush of alcohol and excitement that spanned across his cheeks.
Yet another bit of this particular wedding he couldn’t bring himself to complain about, he found, was the man he couldn’t help circling like a shark all evening. The one who made a whole song and dance of insisting he couldn’t possibly have another drink, but always relented with a coy smile and a “Oh, well if you insist.” The one he couldn’t keep his mind off of despite his (dwindling) conviction that people who wore bow ties were not his type.
Cowley realized he was staring (the shades helped with that too) so he cleared his throat and shrugged in a manner he hoped was casual.
“S’alright, you don’t have to do all this, though,” He gestured towards the umbrella held over his head, “You’re getting wet yourself.”
The man scoffed and offered him a cheerful grin despite the fact that he was, in fact, getting rather wet.
“Nonsense! I’m not the one trying to use a lighter in the rain, now am I?”
Crowley raised an eyebrow, but who was he to thwart the good-will of handsome, angelic men?
“Well,” His lips twitched into a smirk, “ if you insist. ”
He delighted in the way the man seemed to flush even darker as his own words caught up to him, but he didn’t want to push his luck, and brought the slightly damp cigarette back to his lips and was thankful it only took a couple clicks of the lighter for it to do its job properly this time.
He took a long drag, careful to exhale well away from his unlikely companion.
They stood together in silence for a beat, looking out into the rain. Or at least the other man was, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. Crowley was watching him out of the corner of his eye, hidden beneath the glasses. The rain really was starting to come down and the light blue of his shirt was darkened with wet splotches, but he hardly seemed to care.
Crowley took another drag and squinted, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth as he turned to face the man fully.
“Didn’t you have a coat?”
The man seemed startled out of whatever it was that had him staring contemplatively out into the distance and blinked at him owlishly.
“What? Oh, um -”
“You did, I saw you wearing it during the ceremony,” Maybe giving away that he’d been staring at the man all day was too much information, so he added, “It would definitely be helpful with the rain. What happened to it?”
The man opened and closed his mouth, looking around as if that would grant him answers.
Crowley grinned.
“Lost it on the dance floor, did you?”
The man huffed indignantly and tucked his chin towards his chest, still refusing to meet Crowley’s gaze.
“I gave it away…”
“You what?”
“I gave it away!”
He finally looked back at Crowley, his eyebrows pinched together.
“On the walk here from the ceremony - there was a woman waiting for the bus and she was expecting! I couldn’t just let her sit out there in the rain, it was getting cold enough already, so I said “Here you go, nice warm jacket. No need to thank me. Make sure you get home safe.” ”
He took a breath and let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping.
“I did rather like that coat, though.”
Crowley took in the outburst with an incredulous raised eyebrow. The man really was an angel.
He took another silent drag from his cigarette before holding it out with an equally silent offer.
Stormy blue eyes blinked at him, flickered between his outstretched hand and Crowley’s face a couple of times, before creasing at the corners above a grateful smile.
“Oh, thank you.”
Crowley nodded his assent, pretending not to notice the way his heart thumped in his chest as the man brought the cigarette to his lips (where his own had been only moments before) and inhaled like it was an act of reverence.
He cleared his throat when it was returned to him and idly flicked away the ash.
“I’m Crowley, by the way,” His own voice sounded strained to his ears. He hoped the man wouldn’t notice, “Anthony Crowley.”
The man looked up at him through damp lashes and snorted a bit of smoke out of his nose, though he did turn to blow the rest out away from them. When he turned back to Crowley’s face his lips were pursed in an obvious attempt to hide a smirk.
“Like.. Bond, James Bond?”
Ah. Cheek.
Crowley huffed, though he was fighting a grin of his own. He took a drag to compose himself.
“If you like,” He managed after a moment, “We’re a lot alike, he and I. Devilishly handsome, preference of a surname, I could go on.”
He definitely didn’t miss the way the man’s eyes gave him a thorough once-over. If that alone was as apparent as a slap to the face, the appreciative hum that accompanied it when their eyes met again might as well have been like being hit by a car.
“Quite.”
Crowley didn’t even bother to suppress his grin.
“Did you come all the way out here to be my knight with a tartan umbrella just so you can oggle me without giving me your name? Or are you just hoping I’ll give you more wine?” He drawled, stepping a little closer into the man’s space, “Because if it’s the latter, there are a dozen other white-coated twats inside who would be happy to help. I’m on break.”
The man sputtered and blushed (as if he wasn’t already flushed as it was) but he didn’t step away.
“Oh, good lord! I’m so sorry, I’m Aziraphale Fell. Bit of a mouthful, I know,” It was Crowley’s turn to hum in amusement, but he continued, “And while the wine was lovely I do think I’ve had quite enough for the evening, best not to make a fool of myself.”
The man - Aziraphale - gave Crowley another quick once-over, though this one was certainly more nervous than the first, and the look in his eye when they met again was almost sheepish.
“As if I haven’t done enough of that already.”
Crowley waved a hand dismissively, flicking the butt of the cigarette to the ground where it sizzled in the rain, and crushed it beneath his heel.
“No need for all that, Aziraphale,” The name rolled across his tongue like honey, “I’m just taking the piss, you’re fine.”
Aziraphale, thankfully, seemed to relax a bit at that.
“Hardly the way to thank your - oh, how did you so elegantly put it? Ah, yes - ‘ knight with a tartan umbrella’ don’t you think?”
The cheek was back, Someone give him strength.
Crowley snorted a laugh and checked his watch.
“Well, I’m back on the clock in a minute or so, and you said yourself you’re done with drinks for now, so I’m not sure how I can make it up to you tonight,” He looked up from his watch and caught those striking eyes again, sucking in a breath to steady himself and hoping it came off as casual, “But if you’re free later this week, why don’t I treat you to a proper wine tasting, yeah? Classy place, seems right up your alley, and I know the owners.”
There was a look of surprise, followed by disbelief and a series of rapid blinks, and before Crowley had the chance to think about how he had possibly never met another human with a more expressive face, he was blindsided by the most breathtaking smile.
“ Oh, ” And it really was more of a dreamy sigh than an actual word, “That sounds lovely, Crowley.”
And now it was Crowley’s turn to be caught off guard, forcing himself to swallow and run a hand through his damp hair.
“Yeah?” And if his voice cracked on that one word, Aziraphale was kind enough to not react, “Right. Good. Yeah. Well - good.”
He cleared his throat and gestured towards the balcony door.
“Let's head in and I can write my number on a napkin or something for you, yeah? We can sort out details later.”
Aziraphale, beaming with the light of the sun despite the rain, nodded and followed his lead, their shoulders brushing briefly beneath the umbrella.
“I’d love nothing more.”