Chapter Text
“The Ineffable .” A greasy looking dock master growled around a mouthful of chewing tobacco. “Doc five.” He pointed Crowley toward a towering yacht that looked like it cost more than Crowley’s entire life.
It was a blinding sort of white that made you have to squint to look at it. Sporting shiny gold trim all along the side with large dark windows that hid all the mysterious goings on behind them. The word Ineffable was painted elegantly on the side in a swirling font that made Crowely dizzy if he stared at it too long.
“Oh, this is going to be a fantastic payday.” he said to himself as he sauntered confidently down the wooden deck.
He had been informed by his secretary- she would hex him for calling her that- earlier that morning that he had a job request on a fancy schmancy yacht. Something about building a few bookshelves. Enough to hold a couple hundred books or so.
He had shrugged at her and picked up the slip of paper with all the customer information, barely scanning it before he headed out to the docks. It didn’t really sound like a difficult job, but Anathema had said it was sure to pay well, and a good payday was exactly what he needed at the moment.
He put extra effort into looking cool and unimpressed while boarding the extravagant water mansion. It wasn’t like he had never seen a fancy boat before. Of course he had. He had seen quite a few, really. Loads of em’ even. He had taken a cruise in the seventies, for goodness sake. Although, the whole trip was a bit hazy if he was being honest. The point is, he’s not impressed. At all.
Regardless of his previous experience, he found it difficult to not take in the pristine and immaculate interior. It looked brand new, like no being had ever set foot on the thing. He vaguely wondered if he should even be wearing his boots on the shiny wooden floors.
He had been greeted by a member of the Ineffable crew, who had asked him to state his business. Bit formal, that. Crowely was feeling more and more out of place by the minute. Not that he would ever let anyone here know that.
He introduced himself, and as close to politeness as he was capable of, asked to see Mr. Archer, who had called about needing his services. The young man nodded once, still very formal, and led him to what he assumed was the main deck. There, a tall man with dark hair and broad shoulders appeared to be lazily hitting golf balls into the water.
Crowley rolled his eyes from behind his sunglasses. What a pompous looking arse, he thought. Of course this guy thought it was okay to add even more debris to the already alarming amount of water pollution. He no doubt thinks it’s someone else's problem. Crowley may even give him a stern lecture on the effects of water contamination on the local wildlife later. After he has money in hand of course.
He looked around for the man who had guided him here, only to discover he had been left on his own. Shouldn’t he have announced him or something? Taken the man a folded note containing his information? Signaled his arrival with a trumpet?
A bit awkwardly he approached the man he presumed to be Mr. Archer. He cleared his throat loudly, not sure of what the correct procedure for introducing yourself to a rich git would be. The man didn’t turn around, but Crowley could tell he had been heard by the way the man sighed like he was being interrupted during a very important meeting.
“Uh, Excuse me, are you, uh, Mr. Archer?” he managed.
The man finally turned, only to eye him up and down with a growing look of distaste and annoyance.
“I am.” He said with an American accent and a toothy grin that looked fake and condescending. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“I’m, uh, here to install some book shelves, or something?” He felt like an idiot, and this man’s judgy, I’m better than everyone, look wasn’t helping.
Mr. Archer rolled his eyes, dropping the fake smile and huffing dramatically. “That would be my husband Aziraphale’s thing.”
He looked even more irritated before turning back to his club and ball like he had just explained everything Crowley needed to know.
“Uh, okay. Where can I find this…Aziraphale?” he asked, trying not to let his own irritation be heard.
Without turning back around and hitting another ball out into the water he answered derisively, “He’s most likely in the kitchen stuffing himself with last night's leftovers. Or, he has his nose stuck in a book somewhere.” he didn’t look very pleased with either idea.
Crowley thought enjoying some good food or reading a book seemed like a much more worthwhile venture than polluting the waters. But, what did he know?
“I’m sure you will run into him somewhere.” Mr. Archer continued, still not looking at Crowley.
Lovely. Big help, this guy. Crowley thought bitterly. Rich bitch arseholes are clearly what these people are. Too good for the working class, but couldn’t live their fancy lives without them. This was obviously not a place where Crowley belonged. He was beginning to wonder if the money was even worth it.
Ugh. Of course it was, he needed the money, damn it.
He rolled his eyes again at the useless pillock with the golf clubs, realizing that was all the information and help he was going to get. He turned and began his leisurely journey of the large boat to look for the mysterious Aziraphale. He would have to run into someone eventually that would help him. Good thing he was going to charge by the hour.
The yacht was all clean lines and ultra modern decor. Everything was bright white and uncomfortable looking. The furniture looked more like art pieces than actual functional seating.
He curiously opened a few cabin doors only to find more bright white interiors and empty rooms. One was obviously a game room, another a theater room. He laughed at the unnecessary areas, betting his life that they never get used.
He ventured further below and opened the first door he came to, expecting more of the same bland and empty spaces.
He was wrong.
The second he opened the door he knew he had made a terrible mistake. The smell of lavender and warm vanilla hit him like a slap in the face. Thick hot steam seemed to wrap him up and cut off his oxygen supply.
Before he could slam the door shut or even close his eyes they were full of lush rounded body, and water damp pinkened skin. A very naked, and very beautiful, man was just stepping out of a large claw foot tub, a towel hanging from his hands and thankfully, or not, hiding the most important bits from Crowley’s view.
Crowley couldn’t help but scan the soft looking thighs on display or the gentle roundness of a nice behind, even as panic and humiliation started to set in.
“Good Lord!” The man yelped, trying to quickly cover the rest of himself with his towel.
“Fuck. Sorry. Shit. Sorry.”
“Get out!” They yelled, and Crowely realized belatedly that he had just been standing there staring instead of leaving like a normal human fucking being.
He ducked back out of the cabin and slammed the door shut.
“Fuck. Well that was a thing.” He mumbled to the closed door.
He hurriedly went back to the upper deck. Waiting for this Aziraphale to come by, or at least someone willing to point him toward him. It was probably a much better idea than opening random doors on a boat he knew nothing about.
Hindsight and all that.
He sprawled out on a not so comfortable bench, that was clearly there for looks rather than actual sitting. He was only there a few minutes before he heard someone approaching. When he looked up his first instinct was to find a place to hide, but he had already been spotted so that idea was out the window. Of course it would be the man he had barged in on only a few moments earlier.
The man, now fully dressed and looking like some sort of Victorian Literature professor, stomped toward him with a look on his face that Crowley couldn’t exactly say was pleasant. His face was red with anger and possible embarrassment, and his fists were clenched tight at his sides looking like they were ready to throw a punch. Probably at Crowely’s face.
He sighed to himself and turned to face the approaching confrontation. He couldn’t blame the man for being upset. Not really. He thought quickly about what the best approach would be for this particular situation. Blaming his husband for his lack of help didn’t really seem like the right move, and reassuring the man that he had very much enjoyed the unexpected show probably wouldn't help the situation either.
More apologizing then. Maybe even a bit of groveling.
“Look, I’m really sorry. Really, I am. I didn’t mean to barge in on you like that. Honestly!” He started before the man had a chance to speak.
“Exactly why were you snooping around my yacht in the first place?” The man asked angrily, clearly ready to strangle Crowley.
“Uh, your, yacht?” He asked dumbly.
Oh, hell. Surely this man isn’t the one he has been looking for. The guy he will be working for during the next few days. The rude golf pricks husband.
“Yes, my, yacht. What business do you have here?”
Crowley looked over at his tool box and belt, thinking it was pretty obvious who he was. Then again, he doubted this man had ever seen a hammer, let alone used one.
“I’m, uh. I was called to do some remodeling work. I’m looking for a Mr. Archer.”
The man’s blue eyes grew wide.
“And do you usually make it a habit of violating your customers' privacy?” He asked, still full of indignation.
“What? No! I just…I was told to…look, I didn’t know you were in there taking a bath!”
The man squinted at him suspiciously like he didn’t believe Crowley. Like Crowley had walked in on him intentionally. Anger rose up in his chest at the unsaid accusation.
“Why the hell didn’t you have the door locked anyway? Huh? A bit irresponsible, I'd say.” He said, feeling the need to defend himself.
The man was only taken back by Crowely’s words for a moment before his face settled back into a hard scowl. He probably wasn’t used to meeting any sort of opposition, or being talked back to, Crowley thought.
“It doesn’t matter why I had the door unlocked. This is my yacht! I can have the door unlocked if I please!
Crowley couldn’t do this. Yes, he needed the money, but who the hell could work for a bunch of spoiled rich upper class people like these two clowns? No, it wasn’t worth it.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see myself off of your yacht, then.” He said with as much venom as he could muster.
“What? You are not going to build my book shelves?” The man looked stricken.
“You’ll have to find someone else. I’ve seemed to have overstayed my welcome already.”
He grabbed his tool belt and stood up. He would make up the money somewhere else. Probably. “There is no one else!” The man said, his voice rising in pitch.
“That’s awful for you then isn't it.”
A bookshelf was not a life or death situation. Even if there wasn’t anyone else here, they could hire someone at the next port. Someone willing to work with pompous snoots.
He started to walk away, but the white haired man quickly followed alongside him.
“Please,” he begged, sounding stressed. “I need these bookshelves installed. Today.”
Crowely almost felt sorry for yelling at the man with his soft blue eyes and nervous ringing hands. Until he remembered what an arse he had just been, and the fact that he still hadn’t apologized for overreacting.
So, yeah. Crowely had walked in on him getting out of the bath. He hadn’t done it on purpose, it was a bloody accident, and the man should have had his door locked. With a boat full of people running around, it was just common sense!
“Sorry about your luck.” He said, starting to walk away again. He wasn’t even sure he was going in the right direction, but he would figure it out.
“I’ll…I’ll pay you double.” The man said quickly.
Crowely stopped in his tracks turning to glare. Like he could be bought. Like he would accept being mistreated and looked down upon just for a little extra money. The nerve!
“Tripple.” The man said quickly.
Crowley looked to the heavens irritated at the man, but more so at himself.
Damn it! He apparently could be bought. He knew he needed the money, and he couldn’t pass up a payday like that. He clenched his fists and took a deep breath.
“Show me where you want the bookshelves.” He gritted out.
“Right this way.” The man said with a smirk that clearly meant, I knew money would get me what I wanted. It had Crowely fuming.
He could hear the thoughts behind that irritating smirk all the way to their destination. I’m rich and you’re poor and I can get anything I want because I have money and you’re a desperate pathetic working man just barely getting by.”
He wanted to punch the man right in his smug mouth.
Maybe after he got paid.
He was led to a cabin that was only a few doors down from where Crowley had previously found a naked and dripping rich man. He dared his face to turn red in embarrassment at the remembered scene. He would not be giving the man the satisfaction.
“This is to be my library and I need a place to store my books.” The man said, opening the door and getting straight to the point.
Crowley was surprised by how different this room was compared to the rest of the ones he had been in. Instead of the floor to ceiling white and untouchable furniture, this one was darker, cozier, warmer. It reminded him of a soft warm blanket on a chilly night, or a cup of hot cocoa in the winter time. It felt comfortable, like a well loved pair of shoes.
He loved it.
“Three shelves should do nicely I imagine.” the man was saying, bringing Crowley back from his thoughts. “Right along these two walls, here.” He pointed to the walls mentioned.
“Bookshelves, right.” He said, still a bit dazed from the shocking change in scenery. “I’ll uh, go grab the rest of my tools and get started then.”
“Yes. Please do.” was the man's irritated response. Or maybe that was just his, too-good-to-be-speaking-to-peasants voice. “I’ll leave you to it then. If you need anything to eat or drink, the kitchen is on the first floor.”
He turned to leave but stopped before opening the door and looked back at Crowley. Those deep blue eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief, and Crowley held in a shiver at the look.
“And please, Mr. Crowley. Knock before opening any more doors. I’m sure I am not the only one on this yacht that is unclothed on occasion.” He gave a wicked teasing smile, then he was gone.
Crowley stood with his mouth open in shock.
“That bastard!” he choked out, when the surprise had worn off and he could say more than just a few sputtering words. He pushed down the feeling of admiration he felt bubbling to the surface. Had the man been teasing him playfully, or just being a dick? Either way, Crowley was kind of into it.
“Nope.” He told himself. That man is a rich arsehole that doesn’t deserve even the slightest hint of his approval. So what if he’s good looking? Personality could make a beautiful person ugly in an instant. And that man clearly has a less than pleasant personality.
He shook himself from his thoughts and returned his attention back to his task.
He was glad to be left alone to his own devices. He had been worried the man would be the type to hover and nitpick while he worked. Hopefully there would be a few floors between him and Mr. Moneybags for the duration of his stay.
He eyed the open spaces and then the large amount of books scattered and stacked around the room. He could definitely build three shelves that would fit that amount, but what if the man wanted to buy more? It was obvious that the guy loved his books, Crowely was certain he would want others along the way.
He hummed for a moment in thought, designs and blueprints swirling behind his eyes. He had always been good at creating something from nothing, and he smiled as an idea began to take shape in his mind. He was going to build the tosser a very nice bookshelf, even if he didn’t deserve it.
The next morning he began to put the finishing touches on the shelves. He was quite proud of his work and was thrilled with how it had turned out. He carefully placed the last book, a modern English translation of Hamlet, into its slot and stood back to admire his creation.
Right on cue the fussy little man, and possibly Crowley’s arch nemesis, stepped into the room.
“Hello.” He greeted in a much softer voice than yesterday. “I came to check on your progress.” He said, his hands behind his back and not meeting Crowley’s eyes.
“Oh, uh yeah, I just finished up actually. Here, take a look.”
When the man came further into the room Crowley turned the small lever and watched excitedly as the front bookshelf split in two and moved out of the way to offer up even more shelves behind it, then repeating the same process once again. The front books rotated back out of the way and allowed the hidden books from behind to emerge. It was like magic, really.
“Well, what do you think?” He asked, after demonstrating the frankly genius rotating bookshelf he had just designed, built, and installed all by himself. He leaned confidently against the wall, arms crossed, with a proud smile on his face.
The rich, uptight, and fancily dressed man…Aziraphale was it? Spent some time staring at the bookshelf, then back and Crowley, then back at the bookshelf with wide disbelieving eyes. His mouth opened then closed a few times, but no words came out.
Crowley’s smile grew even wider. He’s speechless, he smuggly thinks to himself. He had done an outstanding job and he was going to be showered in praise and gratitude as he normally was after he had nailed his assignment. Crowley was good at building things, and he knew it.
“That is not at all what I asked for.” Aziraphale finally huffed. To Crowley’s surprise and annoyance he sounded almost affronted.
His smile faltered a little before he regained his composure. Maybe he just hadn’t understood what Crowley had built for him.
“It’s better!” He started to explain. “Look how much more room you’ll have for even more books!” He waved his arms around the leftover space where two other bookshelves would have been.
“But that is not what I asked for.” Aziraphale said, sounding more upset than Crowley thought necessary. “And what is this…this… thing even made of?”
“Wood, of course.” Crowley snorted.
Aziraphale just gave him an unimpressed look.
“Er. It’s uh, made of oak.” He answered.
“Oak!” Aziraphale said with a scandalized hand upon his chest. Crowley almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it. What, was he a Victorian maiden or something? Should Crowley be finding a couch for him to faint upon?
“Everyone knows a good bookshelf is made of cedar! Good Lord, my books will be moth infested in a month!” He looked horrified at the idea.
“Well, I don’t think moths are really a problem out on the seven seas, really. Your books will be fine.” Crowley argued.
“Some of these are first editions for heaven's sake!” Aziraphale was sounding even more irritated than before. It seemed he was really getting himself worked up. “I certainly hope you do not expect payment for such…such blatant disregard for what I hired you to do.”
“What?” Now Crowely was getting upset. “I absolutely expect payment. You said you wanted a bookshelf, I’ve given you a bookshelf! A damn good one too!”
“No, I specifically told you I wanted three bookshelves along these two walls. You took it upon yourself to come up with this…this… monstrosity all on your own.” Aziraphale was definitely angry now.
“Monstro…look, I made it even better!” Crowley nearly yelled. “It’s way more efficient this way! I was doing you a favor!”
“I did not ask for efficiency or favores. I asked for three bookshelves.”
“Why do you even have so many books on a boat anyway? Seems a bit ridiculous, don’t you think? I mean, especially first editions .” Crowley said the last bit in a voice that was clearly meant to mock the man’s proper English accent.
The look on Aziraphale’s face made him almost regret the jab. He was all fury and a bit scary if Crowley was being honest.
“Look, I’ll take these out and redo the shelves like you want, okay?” He said trying to de-escalate the situation and keep his payday. He rubbed a tired hand over his face in an attempt to calm his temper. “I’ll come back tomorrow to get it done.”
“I’m afraid that will not work.” Aziraphale said, his hands back behind his back and his nose in the air. “We are to depart early in the morning. Which is why when I first spoke with your secretary I asked if you could have it finished by today. To which she reassured me that you most certainly could.”
“Okay, look. I can probably have it done before you leave tomorrow. I can pull an all-nighter.” He said more calmly than he felt. He really can’t afford to lose this job.
“No, thank you.” The man turned and began walking out the cabin door. “If you would be quick in gathering your, uh, tools and things,” he said with a hint of disgust that Crowley really didn’t appreciate, “I’ll have my valet show you off the yacht.”
“No, no, no, wait!” Crowley followed him out into the hallway. “Listen, I really need this money. I can have it done tonight, I promise. Exactly how you want it.”
“That will not be necessary. Your services are no longer required.”
This man was infuriating! He wasn’t even looking at Crowley now, just walking out onto the deck like he wasn’t even there. He almost screamed when he realized he had been fucking dismissed!
“Aziraphale, please.” He tried desperately.
Aziraphale finally stopped and turned to look at him, his face hard and stubborn. Crowley knew there was no getting anywhere with him now.
“That’s Mr. Archer, if you please. As I said, I am no longer in need of your services, Mr. uh, anyway.” He said, straightening his stupid little bow tie. “Now, if you will please gather your things and remove yourself from my yacht, I would like to take tea and figure out where I can hire a carpenter at our next stop that will actually do the job I asked for. Good day, sir.”
And with that the man stomped off and disappeared back into the ship, leaving Crowley fuming on the deck.