Into the Air

by thereluctantrose

Summary:

Spring is in the air at the Lock & Key. The Crew's got a questionable project

Chapter 1: Dramatis Personae

 

The staff of the Lock & Key pub, including Stede, Lucius, Roach, Olu, Frenchie, Jim and Archie.

The Staff of the Marsley Bridge Boatworks, including Buttons (and Olivia), Pete, John and the Swede.

The Members of the Gold in the Ground trio, including Ed, Mary Read, Anne Bonny and their manager, Izzy.

The Alamby/Bonnets, including Mary, Louis and Alma.

New friends? Old friends? New enemies? Who knows? Here we go.

Chapter 2: Solo Toast

STEDE'S OFFICE ABOARD KRAKEN

 

Tap, tap.

“Stop.”

Tap, tap, tap.

“That’s really beginning to get on my nerves, you know.”

Tap, TAP, TAP.

Stede gave an annoyed huff, stood from his desk chair and slid open Kraken’s window.

“Now, look here, you enormous, feathered tosspot, I’m trying to work in Excel, which, honestly, is hard enough without you cracking your beak against the sill, but if you’re looking for toast, you’re at the wrong bloody window anyway, so if you could kindly piss off, it’d be much appreciated!”

He was treated to the sight of the bird’s serrated inner beak and thin tongue bared at him as Swanye gave a vitriolic, bread-denied hiss, straining his long neck upward to snap at Stede.

The owner of the Lock & Key glanced down at his watch. 10:30. Just about the time Ed would be finishing up whatever he was working on in the studio in the front of Kraken and flipping on the kettle in the little galley kitchen to make them a cup of tea and a bit of toast with marmalade as a mid-morning snack. Ed would be doing that, if he were there.

A mournful glance to the calendar sheet on his corkboard told him it’d be another two days before his husband of three and a half months would be back from Gold in the Ground’s short tour of Germany, so he was not only bereft of his partner, but responsible for his own elevenses.

He twisted the ring round his left finger in a pleasing circle, thinking about how it glinted in the morning light, tangled in and amongst Ed’s lengthening silver curls. A familiar wave of giddiness bubbled up in his chest. How had it only been two years since he’d stood in the middle of the derelict, canal-side building on his own, wondering just what the hell he’d gotten himself into? And now, here he was, happily married to an impossibly wonderful man, enjoying his children and a warm relationship with his ex-wife and her husband and running a well-loved village pub (apart from that one single starred Yelp review) with friends who felt more like family.  Grateful didn’t really even seem to cover it.

Down on his desk, his phone buzzed.

 

Well, that took care of his gratitude for the morning.

He sighed, turning to the expectant waterfowl in the water.

“Come on, then, you great dinosaur. Toaster’s one window over.”

 

TWEET FROM LUCIUS

THE MARSLEY BRIDGE FACEBOOK GROUP

TEXT FROM STEDE TO ED

Chapter 3: Reflections

Ed leaned into the hotel room door, greeted by the above-average cleaning product smell of an upscale establishment like the Fontany, Hamburg. Beyond the sliding doors of the room, the Außenalster shimmered gently, reflecting the lights of the city. The sight drew him in like a moth to flame, suitcase discarded on the floor in favor of the cold air and water outside on the balcony. Taking a deep, refreshing breath after breathing in his bandmate’s recycled air in the minibus all day, he wondered if he’d wake up to the lovely, scintillating reflections on the ceiling if he left the thick, hotel drapes open. It was one of his favorite things about opening his eyes every morning in their flat in the Lock & Key—the sunrise hit the water at precisely the right angle so that he could enjoy the daily light show while Stede snored gently into the back of his neck and the coffee machine clicked on in the kitchen.

He would definitely miss the warmth of Stede at his back come morning. He always did, when he traveled, though this was the first mini-tour since their New Year’s Eve wedding, so he wondered if he was being poutier than normal at having to leave his husband behind.

Husband.

The word still tasted good on his tongue every time he’d the chance to say it. (And according to Izzy, he said it a LOT) He looked down to see the city lights reflected in the band of black diamonds around his finger, rolling the syllables around on his tongue like a sweet.

“Hus-band,” he whispered, smiling fondly before heaving out a sigh.

If he was honest, he wished the tour could have been shunted along the calendar a few weeks—he knew himself and how he got round this time of year. Last year, he’d been in the pink haze of a brand new relationship which had slapped a plaster over his usual March melancholy, but this year, in a more settled place, the old loss demanded to be felt ever more keenly-perhaps because of his contentment.

Married people talk about everything right?

So why did he find it so hard to talk to Stede about this?

As if in response to his thoughts, his phone vibrated in his back pocket.

TEXT FROM STEDE TO ED

Ed was glad to to replace more somber thoughts with the low hum of arousal that woke in his belly as he padded into the room to find whatever delightful little distraction his husband had hidden inside his suitcase. A quick tussle with his tightly packed clothes and the zipper of the inner pocket revealed what he had suspected— (and, if he was honest, hoped) the very first toy they’d tried out together. It had only been partially successful, as Stede had been called down to the dining room of the Lock & Key to replace an incapacitated Frenchie during it’s first use and had unfortunately caused at least five figures worth of damage to both the carpeting and guest property. However, subsequent usage, which they’d undertaken together, had been far more satisfactory. It was a plug with a history and Ed was anxious to write a new chapter. 

TEXT FROM STEDE TO ED:

TEXT FROM ANNE TO IZZY:

TEXT FROM ANNE TO IZZY:

Chapter 4: No Lift

THE WHITEBOARD AT MARSLEY BRIDGE BOATWORKS:

LUCIUS IS SEARCHING:

PETE IS SEARCHING:

TEXT FROM JIM TO OLU:

Chapter 5: Dark Dining

“I…I don’t know, Roach,” Stede said skeptically, blinking blindly behind the sleep mask while fumbling around for the fork that was supposedly on the table.

“Boss, they do this kind of thing in London all the time. It’s called Dark Dining and people pay good money for it! They put it on Instagram and Tik Tok!”

“Yes,” Stede continued, “But do people really enjoy not being able to see what they’re eating?”

“It activates the other senses!” the chef insisted passionately. “Smell and touch especially—I mean, we eat, but how often do we taste?”

Stede’s fork scraped across the porcelain of the plate as he searched for the entrée he was sure was there. His own fussiness about food, which had followed him from a childhood spent worrying about textures, didn’t make him an ideal candidate for the experience, but he could see some people might be keen on the novelty. He finally managed to spear something he could tell was a roast potato, popped it in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Strangely, without the use of his eyes, he did find he could concentrate on the actual sensation of eating—the crispy crunch of the outer layer and the savory hot mash within—it was surprisingly…pleasant.

“It might be fun, I suppose,” he conceded, pulling the mask off to look at the roast dinner in front of him. “Alright, talk to Lucius and look at the events calendar to see where we could squeeze it in.”

“Yes!” Roach cheered, pumping his fist and making for the kitchen, where he flung open the door and bellowed, “Stede said yes! We can order the night vision goggles!”

“Now, steady on, I did not say—"

“Hey, Stede?”

Olu had appeared at his elbow.

“What can I do for you?” Stede asked, popping another potato into his mouth.

His manager looked a bit sheepish.

“So, this guy stopped by yesterday, yeah? He was looking for you and Jim took his card, but…”

“But what?”

Olu rubbed the back of his neck.

“Jim’s kinda attuned to vibes and they reckon this guy was…off.”

Stede’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Off? In what way ‘off’?”

“I didn’t meet him, but the word Jim used was ‘creepy’,” Olu told him, holding out the offending business card for Stede to take it. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned being with Jim, it’s that they’re usually right about this kind of thing.”

Stede stared at the card skeptically.

“Well, I’ll be sure to keep it in mind, but I’m surprised at you, Olu! I wouldn’t have thought you for a fellow who judged a book by its cover!”

“Yeah, but the covers of books are there to tell you what’s inside, yeah?” the manager protested. “And if the cover of that book says, The True Story of A Creepy Fuck, maybe we should believe it!”

Stede was about to open his mouth to protest further when a text alert familiar to all of the Lock & Key staff sounded from his pocket. Olu shook his head and excused himself before the smile had even finished tugging up the corners of his employer’s lips.

TEXT FROM ED TO STEDE:

A little knot formed in Stede’s stomach. Ed being unhappy was bad enough, but Ed being unhappy hundreds of miles away was much harder to take. But before he could think on it too deeply, an unfamiliar number popped up on his screen.

TEXT FROM UNKNOWN NUMBER TO STEDE:

Stede gave a disdainful little snort. Creepy? The man seemed perfectly delightful. Complimentary, even! Jim’s vibe-meter must just have been malfunctioning when they met him, he thought, turning his thoughts back to Ed.

TEXT FROM STEDE TO ED:

The knot loosened a bit. All Ed needed was a bit of TLC and Stede knew there was little he was better at than administering it. Feeling determined to make the most of his husband’s return, Stede headed off to the kitchen to sort out the night vision goggle situation that may or may not have been developing within.

TWEET FROM LUCIUS:

(insane Chuck Tingle cover courtesy of @orphanednebula)

Chapter 6: Behind the Lens

Ed was feeling a bit of whiplash.

 

Just, physically, he’d been unprepared for the speed and force at which he’d been yanked out of the taxi and hauled into a crushing embrace by his husband. He should’ve been used to Stede’s brand of welcome by now, but it always caught him pleasantly off guard to be so thoroughly missed and so entirely home. (And far too occupied with Stede’s tongue in his mouth to notice the loud throat-clearing from Shaliq, one of the local taxi drivers from Tring station who was well acquainted with their nonsense, but had other places to be.)

 

Instead of being dragged straight upstairs to the flat, he was instead dragged, luggage in hand, down to Kraken. (He assumed this was probably due to their lesson learned about in inadequate soundproofing of their flat and the fact that there was a full lunch crowd in the bar that didn’t really need to know what sort of things they got up to in the bedroom) But as he ducked gratefully into the studio at the front of the cabin, Stede sank down to futon sofa and pulled him down to sit between his legs, wrapping his strong arms and thighs around Ed in a full-body hug. It was so fucking nice, he could feel every bit of tension from the trip bleeding out of him into Stede’s warmth.

 

“Hey, Boy Scout,” he murmured into the other man’s neck. “Thought I was about to get an impromptu afternoon delight.”

Stede chuckled, kissing him on the crown of the head. “I’m certainly not saying it’s off the table, but I’ve been worrying over you all week. Just wanted to make sure everything was alright before I started tearing your clothes off.”

Oh, right. He didn’t just get to tell his husband he’d talk about what was bothering him when he got home and not expect it to be the first thing on the agenda. He steeled himself and reluctantly leaned forward from the warm cocoon of Stede to open the front of his bag.

“I saw there was an envelope from my Auntie Kora just as I was leaving, so I just grabbed it and stuck it in my carry on.” He scrubbed his hand over his stubble. “I finally opened it when we got to Munich. Apparently, she’s been clearing out her attic and thought she’d send along some stuff she’d found.”

He opened the ripped envelope and put the contents on the coffee table.

“Oh, Ed,” Stede breathed, his eyes widening and beginning to shine, “Just look at you.”

“Yeah, it was a bit of a shock to see how fucking early I started going grey,” he said, ruefully, running his hands through his long curls.

Stede looked up at him in disbelief.

“Darling,” he said reverently, “These are all so beautiful.”

He ran his fingers over the photos, spreading them out hungrily, as if he wanted to take in every last detail. Ed wasn’t sure he understood the tears welling in his husband’s eyes, but his arm crept round his shoulders all the same.

“Just some photos, love.”

“No, they’re not,” Stede insisted, his voice breaking, “Look how loved you were.”

Ed had to admit it wasn’t the first thing he’d seen when the photos arrived. He’d seen a kid, who’d already watched his dad knock his mum around. He’d seen a teenager who hadn’t taken enough responsibility. He’d young man who loved the music, but hadn’t a clue how to build a successful career. But Stede had seen something entirely different, hadn’t he? (Didn’t he always?) He was looking from behind the lens--through the eyes of his aunties, his mum, his friends—the people who’d captured the moments. The thought made his throat tight. Both of them had had wretched childhoods in entirely different ways, but the way Stede said it—longingly, almost—made him wonder if his husband had any photos like this of own. Had anyone cared enough to take them?

His heart ached at the thought, and he resolved to circle back round when he had a moment. Resting his chin on Stede’s shoulder, he rubbed his nose affectionately against his cheek.

“Still am, mate. Don’t think I’m not grateful for it every day.”

“You are indeed, darling,” Stede answered, leaning into the touch. “And I’m grateful too.”

He drew in a cleansing breath, expanding his whole frame.

“So, this is what got your brain in overdrive?” he asked, picking up the photo of Ed and his mother. “Memories?”

“Something like that,” Ed admitted, scooting some of the pictures out of the way until one sat alone. “This one, mostly.”

In the photo, a much younger man smiled at the camera in a bar. A bleach-splotched denim hat sat on his head and a white scarf looped around his neck, finished off with a loud, too-big mismatched, knitted sweater.

Stede picked up the photo to have a closer look.

“How old are you here?”

“It was 2006 or 2007, I think, so thirty one? Thirty two? I was splitting time between London and Wellington, but I was back home for one of my aunties birthdays.”

Ever the fashion critic, one of Stede’s eyebrows started migrating toward his hairline.

“That’s quite the statement piece you’re wearing.”

The emotion rose up in Ed’s chest again.

“My Nan was a knitter. A really fucking bad knitter, if we’re being honest—colorblind, y’see. So every Christmas and birthday, everyone would get some fucking fiber nightmare. Lucky for most, it was just potholders or gloves or something like that, but I guess she wanted to challenge herself one year and knitted that for Mum.”

Stede smiled, imagined Ed’s mother having to carefully school her face when she opened the thoughtful, yet entirely eye-scorching gift.

“Nan died the next year and out of respect, I guess, Mum wore the fucking thing to the funeral,” Ed continued. “My auntie Maia took the piss out of her so hard, Mum hid it in her suitcase before she went home. After that, it became kind of a family joke—if you managed to sneak the thing into someone’s stuff without them noticing, they had to wear it the next time we all got together. One time, one of my cousins got almost all the way back to Hastings before he thought to check his stuff and literally drove back almost three fucking hours to dump it back on another auntie’s doorstep.”

Stede slipped his arm round his husband’s waist, grinning. “What a brilliant family tradition.”

Ed plucked the photo from his fingers, smiling sadly. “It always made mum fucking roar. She’d managed to shove it in the bottom of my bag before I went back to London, so the next time I came home, it was my turn to do the knit walk of shame.”

Laying his head on Ed’s shoulder, Stede tightened his grip. Taking a deep breath, Ed continued.

“Mum passed on the 22nd of March five years ago. Cancer. She had a lot of chronic pain shit going on because of things dad did and…she just kind of ignored signs until it was too late.”

Stede’s head jerked up, his face stricken.

“Oh, Ed, why didn’t you tell me that’s when it was? Of course you’re going to be struggling! You should have let me be there for you!”

Yeah, Ed knew that was coming. He put a placating hand on Stede’s knee.

“Look, I swear I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you or, you know, not ask for help when I fucking needed it or anything. Last year, we’d only just got solid, yeah? I was so fucking Stede-pilled, it just wasn’t as bad—and plus, fuck, we’d already had to go through Jack, so I didn’t want to empty my entire emotional dumpster in my new boyfriend’s lap.”

“Your new boyfriend would have been one hundred percent fine with emotional dumpster diving, I’ll have you know,” Stede said, sounding affronted. “Your husband even more so.”

Ed chuckled. “I know that now, mate. You’re welcome to dive in my emotional dumpster all you want.”

Gathering him in his arms and settling them back onto the pillows of Kraken’s worn futon couch, Stede gave a placated hum as the other man curled against his chest.

“So, the photo of the sweater,” he said softly, threading his fingers through Ed’s curls, “It just brought up a lot of feelings about your mum?”

Ed hummed in agreement, trying to memorize the feeling of relief washing over him at having shared his thoughts with the man he loved, just in case he ever got the bright idea to bottle shit up again.

“Yeah. She was just owed so many more years of watching us wearing that fucking thing and laughing her arse off that she didn’t get.”

He looked up into Stede’s bright eyes and kissed him on the chin.

“And I don’t half wish she could’ve met you. She’d’ve been gone on you, mate. Entirely smitten—just like me.”

“I’m sure the feeling would have been mutual,” Stede answered, tightening his arms around him. “Do you reckon she would have made me wear the sweater?”

Ed barked out a laugh.

“If she managed to sneak it into your luggage, she sure as shit would have!”

Both lapsed into giggles at the idea of Stede wearing the cursed piece of knitwear.

“So, what do you need from me, my love?” Stede asked finally. “How can I help get you through this?”

Ed leaned back into him, luxuriating in the solidity of the man behind him. “Just keep being you. Grief’s fucking weird. Just need time to grow into it.”

Stede hugged him hard. “I’m here for all of it,”

The quiet of the canal descended on the cabin and they basked for a few moments in the gentle sway of the boat and the sun streaming in the windows. Finally, Ed spoke up.

“Would you also be here for a scenario in which I yanked off your trousers, threw them out the window and sucked you until you blacked out?”

There was that magnificent color, spreading up Stede’s neck to the tips of his ears. Ed was going to lick it off him.

“I’m here for all of it,” he squeaked.

Over in the Marsley Bridge boatworks, Buttons suddenly looked up from his welding and smiled.

“All’s right wi’ the universe.”

Chapter 7: Rizzler of Oz

TEXT FROM STEDE TO ALMA:

TEXT FROM MARY TO STEDE:

“…and Rory’s mum made us some bussin wings—like, they were podium. But then Rory’s sister was tweaking because he fanum taxed the last one and she told his mum that he broke the living room lamp instead of the dog, which is minus a thousand aura points.”

Ed cast a sneaky glance to Stede in the driver’s seat and was treated to the sight of a very noticeable eye twitch at the stream of chatter from the backseat that hadn’t stopped since they’d picked Louis and Alma up from Tring station.

“Oh…well, yes,” Stede said unsteadily, casting around for some kind of context. “I suppose…um…the aura would be a bit off.”

In the Mini’s rearview mirror, Ed locked eyes with Alma, who gestured meaningfully to her earbuds. He hadn’t expected to feel a little melancholy at just how much older and more mature her new glasses made her look. The thing about being part of a family, he thought, (the photos his auntie sent suddenly crossing his mind) is lamenting the passage of time—there was never going to be enough of it to enjoy and it moved so fucking fast. The sixteen year old, with the brassy, bleached hair was still the same Poison Pen he’d first met two years ago, but she was now so much more—writing for the school newsletter, active in the drama department and nervous about her upcoming GCSEs.

And Louis…maybe this particular moment in time could pass just a little faster.

“And after tea, we went to the cinema with the chat cause Rory wanted to rizz up this girl, Poppy, so he wore his new Ferrari jacket—he totally ate and left no crumbs! Fax, no printer!”

“Printer?” Stede repeated in a strained whimper.

“Right!” Ed interrupted a little too cheerfully. “What do you hooligans want for tea?”

 

FACEBOOK GROUP CHAT:

SUNDAY AFTERNOON, THE LOCK & KEY:

TEXT FROM ED TO STEDE:

 

TEXT FROM ALMA TO LOUIS:

 

TEXT FROM ARCHIE TO OLU AND JIM:

 

The thing is, Ed’s never really been a particularly jealous kind of guy.

Even in the midst of the worst betrayal  of his romantic life—when he’d come back to Jack’s hotel room on tour a few years previous to find him in the shower with an admittedly attractive young couple—his first feeling wasn’t jealousy, but rather a flood of self-loathing. I should have known better. What’s wrong with me? Now I’m going to need to get STI tested. Looking back, it probably should have told him all he needed to know about his feelings for Jack that the green-eyed monster hadn’t even poked his head up.

But as he opened the door into the pub from the upstairs flat, he was almost immediately hit with an unfamiliar, possessive stirring in his belly at the sight before him.

Stede sat at the bar in one of the shirts that always made Ed want to push him into a broom cupboard, to begin with—the deep, forest green one that brought out the reddish highlights in his hair and made his forearms look entirely bitable with the sleeves rolled to the elbow. But it wasn’t just how excellent Stede looked—it was the man sitting next to him. He was slightly built with a well-fitted white dress shirt and his hair feathered back as if he’d only just put a brush through it. His face had a bit of a ferrety quality to it, Ed thought, but his face wasn’t nearly as off-putting as his body language. It was far too familiar towards his fucking husband, for one, but there was something about seeing the two of them side by side—sort of like two well-bred horses from a prestigious stable—that got his hackles right up.

He blinked rapidly, trying to dispel some of the ugly thoughts forming in his head. Pump the brakes, dickhead, he thought. It’s just a business meeting for fuck’s sa—

But that’s when the ferret bloke made some crack that had Stede throwing his head back in one of those glorious belly laughs that Ed collected like rare trading cards and put his hand on Stede’s shoulder.

The ugly thoughts barged to the front of the scrum, holding up a red card.

Before he could stop himself, he’d crossed most of the pub to rest his palms lightly over his husband’s collarbones from behind.

“Alright, love?” He said, his voice sounding oddly buoyant in his own ears. “Bout ready to head out with the gremlins?”

Warmth flooded his chest when Stede turned to look up at him—the same adoring look on his face he’d always get if they’d been out of each other’s orbit for any length of time. It was gross, he thought contentedly—gross just how gone on one another they were. He’d seen couples like them before Stede came into his life, and remembered the contemptuous nausea he’d felt witnessing public displays like he was all too comfortable participating in now. I will love this man so hard that someone else pukes was his motto these days, apparently.

“Hello, darling. We’re just wrapping up here–Ricky, this is my husband, Edward.”

If he’d needed confirmation that the man Stede had been meeting with had definitely not just had business on his mind, the rodentine fellow stiffened uncomfortably and his thin lips stretched into a tight, forced smile as Ed extended a hand for him to shake. And if he squeezed just a little too tight as his palm met the clammy one that was extended in turn, well–he was only human.

“Ed Teach–pleased to meet you,” he said cordially as his eyes fell on the seven or so open bottles of beer on the bar top in front of them. “Hope you’re not trying to get my better half drunk–we’ve got a film to see this afternoon!”

“The pleasure’s mine, Mr. Teach,” Ricky replied, trying to rub some feeling back into his fingers after Ed’s greeting. “A husband! You really have been busy since you left London society, Stede!”

Stede’s fingers threaded warmly through his where they sat on his shoulder. “It has been a bit of a whirlwind, I suppose.” He looked up at Ed again with shining eyes. “Wouldn’t change a thing, though.”

“What’s with all the booze?

“Ah,” Ricky interjected with an oily smile, “I was just hoping to acquaint Stede with what we do at the Prince Richard Brewery with an eye to supplying this lovely little establishment. And one certainly doesn’t need to drink an entire beer to get the flavor–just a little mouthful is sufficient for a refined palette.”

There was definitely some kind of unpleasant double meaning hiding in his pronouncement of both ‘just a little mouthful’ and ‘refined palette’, but for the life of him, Ed couldn’t pin it down–he just knew this guy was a dick and he wanted him out of the pub and the fuck away from Stede, who seemed to be rather oblivious to the tension between the two men beside him. 

Ed wasn’t 100% sure the ‘fuck you but I’m being polite’ smile he had plastered on wasn’t about to lose it’s polite edge, but luckily for the unpleasant interloper, the owner of the Lock & Key also seemed to be of the opinion that the meeting was at a close. 

“It’s been lovely to chat, Ricky, but time’s ticking on and I owe the rest of my afternoon to Ed and the children. You send the contract over and we can get started stocking some of your delightful brews! Do give my best to the Dysons when you see them next, won’t you?”

Another touch to Stede’s knee! “Oh, I will. I don’t get to Monoco as often as I’d like anymore but the next time I’m there I’ll give James your regards,” Ricky said, closing up his Prada satchel and slinging it over his shoulder. “Do feel free to text me anytime if you have any questions, Stede.”

The brewer looked to Ed, a smirk tugging a corner of his thin lips upward. “Lovely to meet you too, Edward. Hope to see you soon.”

Ed scrunched up his nose and gave a two finger-gun half-joking salute. “Hopefully not too soon!”

He had a moment of doubt when he thought he’d perhaps pushed it a bit far, but Ricky erupted in a tinny laugh, slapping him on the shoulder and wagging a finger in his direction. 

“You’ve got a funny fellow, here, Stede!” Ricky simpered, looking pointedly at the ink that climbed up Ed’s arms. “A real...man of the world, it seems.”

The hairs on the back of Ed’s neck prickled and his smile became tight enough to turn his teeth to diamond. The other man seemed to sense he’d landed a hit and took the opportunity for it to be the last word.

“Have a lovely afternoon, gentleman!” he said, pushing his bar stool in and heading for the exit to the parking lot with a cheerful wave.

“That went well, I think!” Stede said cheerfully, rolling one of the bottles round to take a better look at the label. “Very motivated chap–bit like me, really–was working in finance and then decided to pack it all in to pursue something a little more his speed. Turns out we have rather a lot of mutual friends, too! We were at the same party once when–”

He broke off at the sight of Ed’s face.

“Darling, what’s the matter?”

“Jim?” Ed barked.

The bartender, in the middle of clearing away the leftover Prince Richard bottles, had obviously been keeping tabs on the conversation. They raised one of their dark brows and jerked their head toward Louis and Alma in the corner.

“You gonna need a minute?”

“Yep.”

Jim nodded and called out to the children.

“Hey. Duendes. Wanna learn how to make a Sidecar?”

Two heads whipped round toward the bar and the quick scrape of chair legs on stone sounded through the pub as both kids made a beeline for the bartender, who Ed knew they both secretly had little crushes on. 

“Jim! That’s entirely–” Stede sputtered, only to find himself being steered by the shoulders back toward the door that led up to the flat by his husband. “Wait, where are we going? Our tickets are for–”

“I’ll drive,” Ed replied tightly. “You’re always saying I’ve got a lead foot, so we’ve got a minute or two.”

“A minute or two for what?” exclaimed Stede as Ed fit his key in the lock, opened the door and shoved him through it. 

The rest of the pub could only guess at the answer as the two were cut off by the heavy clunk of the latch and two sets of feet ascending the hidden staircase.

 

JIM IS SEARCHING:

Chapter 8: A Quiet Conversation

SOUP BOWL GROUP TEXT:

 

Stede had to admit that he was a little baffled as to why he was being manhandled up the stairs to the flat by his husband when they only had ten minutes or so before they really needed to be in the car and on the way to the cinema in Aylesbury.

“Ed,” he said pleadingly, as the other man shoved him through the door to the flat, “Love, what’s going on?”

Ed’s only answer was the unreadable look on his face as he slammed the door behind them. It struck Stede as being somewhere between thunderous and aroused, so naturally, Stede wasn’t entirely sure whether to feel worried or equally aroused.

Suddenly, his back was against the door and Ed pressed up against him—the long, warm inked body nearly vibrating with emotion as a desperate pair of teeth nipped hard at his earlobe. 

“First,” Ed finally said, his voice low and rumbling, “I’m going to extract your soul from your body while you’re very fucking quiet so you don’t alarm the punters downstairs.”

Stede didn’t really want to look a gift horse in the mouth when it came to his husband strongly implying the possibility of a quick and dirty blowjob, but his suddenly lust-fogged brain couldn’t help latch onto the word “first”. 

“And after that?” he gasped as those teeth scraped over the pulse point on his neck. 

“We’ll worry about that in a minute,” Ed rasped, breath hot in his ear.  

Stede was pretty sure it was the button of his soft, fawn-colored corduroys that he heard pinging off the kitchen counter as Ed not-so-gently prised open his belt and trousers and yanked them down to just above his knees in one go. The resulting yelp from Stede had him grinning maniacally.

“If you can’t keep quiet before I’ve even touched you, I think you might need a little help,” he growled, reaching one long arm over the counter to open a drawer and draw out a threadbare tea towel decorated with faded Union Jacks and a royal portrait in the center. 

“Oh, Ed,” he whined, “Not the queen .”

Ed’s lips twisted in dark amusement. “If she didn’t want to get shoved down my husband’s gob while I sucked his dick, she shouldn’t have been such a filthy colonizer. Open.”

Well, I tried, Your Majesty, but I suppose you should have cut down on the colonizing if you wanted your honor defending so badly , he thought, opening his mouth to allow the folded towel to be pressed carefully over his teeth and tongue. Ed was obviously in some kind of headspace that he didn’t understand, but he still looked to Stede with a questioning glance–always checking in.

“This okay?”

“Mm!” Stede hummed, his acknowledgement muffled in the cotton, but his vigorous nod giving Ed the consent he’d been looking for to drop to his knees in the entryway, thumbs digging hard into the flesh of his husband’s hips as he ran his tongue from the seam of his balls to the tip of his cock, which was just catching up with the strange turn of events. It wasn’t the wicked, flickering tease of a lazy Sunday morning, but a devastating, hot swipe along his entire length ending in the scorching heat of Ed’s mouth.

The first whimper that escaped Stede’s throat was deadened by the now-damp patriotic towel, but the cry when Ed hollowed his cheeks and took him down to the root was loud enough for a warning flick of his partner’s eyes. Ed pulled off, lips swollen and shining.

“You know how thin the floors are, Boy Scout” he purred, giving Stede’s cock a slick, indulgent pull and enjoying the muffled keen from behind the tea towel. ”So, you’re going to keep that pretty mouth quiet while I work.”

And that was the last warning he had before his possessed, single-minded husband descended on him like a last meal. 

His teeth clamped into the fibers as Ed employed all of his best tricks of the trade. The swirling tongue thing, skating just under the head of his cock. The wrist thing at his base, which he still hadn’t entirely figured out how to replicate when the positions were reversed. That overwhelming flick of tongue to frenulum and then, when his legs were literally shaking, the slide down the back of that exquisite throat where the talented muscles there rippled around him as one of his hands dug itself into Ed’s curls and the other clapped round his own mouth to aid the tea towel in muffling the wail that rose from his chest. 

The beautiful, dark eyes of the man on his knees bored into his, brimming with tears that built as he suppressed his gag reflex. Stede recognized the almost smug satisfaction in them at bringing him to the edge so quickly, and while he’d normally try to prolong something this good, the thought of cinema tickets and whatever else Ed had wanted to say sat primly in the back of his consciousness, looking awkwardly at their watches. So when the absolute menace dug his fingers hard into his backside and forced his considerable length down his throat with a satisfied gurgle, Stede let the leash of his control slip, fisting his fingers into Ed’s hair and crying out into the towel and the crook of his arm, as he quickly realized fingers wouldn’t be enough to hold back the sounds of his pleasure as he spilled down the throat of the cocksucking savant at his feet, who’d shown an astonishing degree of dedication to his craft over the past two years.

When he finally managed to open his eyes, a strong pair of hands was fixed around his waist, supporting his trembling frame. Ed’s face looked debauched–lips red, shining and curled into a satisfied grin and tell-tale tear tracks down his flushed cheeks. 

“Welcome back, Boy Scout” he purred, giving the towel a gentle yank in order to get Stede to relinquish it. “How you feeling?”

“Entirely soulless,” Stede breathed, taking Ed’s face in his hands to kiss him deeply–chasing his own taste off of his husband’s tongue. He couldn’t even bring himself to be self conscious about still being naked and slightly damp below the waist as he pulled a moan from Ed’s chest. Any other time and without the knowledge of his children downstairs pursuing their new career in barwork, the sound would have been enough to make him hoist all six feet of Ed off his feet and carry him to their bedroom, but he pulled back reluctantly, relishing the slightly dazed look on the other man’s face.

“Now,” he said, pulling his boxers up. “Are you going to tell me what that was all about?”

 

TEXT FROM LOUIS TO MARY

Ed wasn’t sure his face could get much redder than it already was as Stede slumped to the floor, pulling the other man with him and gathering him to his chest. 

“Darling, you know the whole pub would have to be burning down for me to turn down a chance at that wicked mouth of yours, but if you don’t mind my saying, it did seem a bit…out of the blue.”

“Wasn’t out of the blue,” Ed grumbled, his face buried in the crook of Stede’s neck. “Just not used to seeing some smarmy bloke’s hands all over my husband.”

He felt Stede’s body still beneath him.

“Do you mean…Ricky? He wasn’t–Ed, he’s just a supplier! And I’m positive he wasn’t–”

Ed sat up, putting a silencing hand on his husband’s chest. 

“Stede.”

“Yes?”

“Do you remember that party we went to at Blue Armadillo in February?”

“Your record label? Of course!”

“So, you also remember how the CEO Amit’s wife was giving you fuck-me eyes all night and taking any excuse to touch you and then when Annie called you a ‘pussy magnet’ after, you freaked out but admitted to me later you had kind of a blind spot when it came to people coming on to you?”

Stede’s brows furrowed.

“Well, yes, but–”

A pointed finger pressed against his lips.

“You still have that blind spot, mate.”

Stede’s face did that funny thing that it always did when he couldn’t quite believe something–the opening/closing fish mouth and the eyebrows that couldn’t quite figure out at which altitude they belonged.

“Wha… really ?”

Ed couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Yes, really. That ferrety git absolutely wanted to get in your pants.”

The crease between Stede brows deepened. 

“Gosh.”

“Plus,” Ed said carefully, “He wasn’t exactly being too complementary about me either.”

It made his heart skip a beat to immediately see the outrage bloom on his husband’s face. Trust this oblivious man to believe him immediately about Ricky’s unpleasant manners towards him rather than his rather obvious overtures toward Stede.

“He wasn’t? Oh, god, Ed, I’m so sorry. I know we’ve talked about…what did you call them? Microaggressions? I wish I was better at spotting them. The fucking cheek of the man! Well, he can take his beer and shove it right up his–”

“Whoa, slow down, love,” Ed chuckled. “Full husband marks for defending my honor, but it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t stock the beer if it’s good .”

Stede sniffed. “No beer’s good enough for me to want to work with a supplier who was dick to you, no matter how many friends we’ve got in common.”

Ed gave a warm, lopsided grin and kissed Stede’s still outraged mouth.

“When you told him to ‘say hello to the Dysons’, you meant the bloke who makes the weird, expensive hoovers, didn’t you?”

“He gave an entire selection of oddly shaped cleaning equipment to Mary and I as a wedding present,” Stede admitted. “Not sure what the fuss is, really–could do the same job just as well with a Henry Hoover. But James makes a rather good gin and tonic, it must be said.”

A chuckle made its way up from the bottom of Ed’s chest.

“You’re really fucking lucky you’re cute, one- percenter.”

Chapter 9: Partnership

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ED'S MUSIC JOURNAL

“What’dya reckon he’s doing out there?”

Stede turned from the cappuccino machine to see Ed leaning against the counter in his favorite, dark teal bathrobe with his coffee and staring out the kitchen window across the canal. He took a moment to admire his husband’s strong, lanky silhouette and the messy spill of his charcoal and pewter hair, now so much longer than it was when they met. It was enough to make a man who’d always had a little bit of a thing for the windswept heroes on the covers of romance novels swoon.

The glasses were a new addition for seeing distance. Ed had grumbled just like Alma a few weeks earlier, but Stede had pointed out that getting to fifty without needing any sort of vision correction was pretty good going and that he’d help him pick frames that suited him. And lord, did they suit him. Stede’s thoughts on the glasses were definitely not for mixed company.

“What who’s doing?” he asked, watching the machine finish his frothy coffee.

Ed motioned with his favorite Pet Cats, Hail Satan mug. “Buttons. He’s up on top of the boatshed.”

“Oh god, tell me he’s got clothes on!” Stede exclaimed, taking a few anxious steps over to the window. “We don’t need any more public indecency complaints.”

“Nah, he’s not got his dick out or anything, he’s just…standing there. With the duck. Look.”

Sure enough, the odd man was balanced on the shed’s decorative dovecote, the ever-present Oliva balanced on his head with one finger in the air as if he was checking the direction of the wind with a worried look on his face.

Stede breathed a sigh of relief. “As long as he keeps his bloody pants on and doesn’t give the punters in the garden an eyeful, he can do whatever he likes.”

“No, but seriously, what do you think’s going on in that fucking head of his?”

The cappuccino foam clung to Stede’s upper lip as he went to take a sip.

“After that bizarre business last year when you were gone, I don’t really like to let myself imagine the inside of Mr. Button’s head–it’d be unsettling at best.”

Ed chuckled, wiping the foam off with his thumb and drawing it across Stede’s tongue to clean it off.

“You’re still mad about the mushrooms.”

“You’re bloody right I’m still mad about the mushrooms!” Stede said indignantly. “You try getting chased by a frog the size of a Vauxhall Astra and see how you feel after.”

Ed’s eyes creased fondly. “You looked like a big, gorgeous golden retriever, hiding under the bed like there was a thunderstorm.”

Stede humphed, but lightly knocked against Ed’s head as his husband leaned into his shoulder with a sigh.

“Everything alright with you, love?”’

“Yeah,” Ed sighed, “s’pose. Just still…working though stuff, I think. Trying to turn it into music, but it’s fuckin fighting me. Seems like prime material for the blues, but it’s…just not working.”

Stede snaked an arm around his waist, taking more of his weight.

“Maybe it’s not meant to be a song?” he suggested gently. “I suppose as an artist, your instinct is to try to look at a problem through the lens of your art, but maybe it’s just feelings that need to be worked through?”

“Ugh. That sounds like actual fucking work,” Ed grumbled, pushing his nose into the juncture of his husband’s neck and shoulder.

“Well, please don’t forget you’ve got someone right here who’s more than happy to help with the heavy lifting.”

Stede could feel his smile against his skin.

“I know, mate,” Ed replied, rubbing his bristly chin against Stede’s neck until the other man squirmed away from the prickly sensation. “This’d be ten times the ball-ache without you.”

“Heaven forbid your balls suffer even the slightest inconvenience,” Stede said fondly, rubbing at the fresh beard burn.

“You know what would be convenient for my balls right this moment?” Ed asked, waggling his eyebrows.

But before Stede could answer, there was a buzz from the counter from his mobile.

 

TEXT FROM OLU TO STEDE

“Like, I know he’s better at it than he used to be, but I still think you should double check those orders before they go out.”

“I know, I know! We’ve just been working on the Birdman stuff and it slipped my mind.”

Jim and Olu’s voices from the pub downstairs were probably louder than they had meant to be, but Stede couldn’t find it in himself to be offended. He was honestly glad that someone was checking his work to make sure he didn’t do anything too boneheaded–because let’s face it, he was still learning. However, he was almost willing to bet money on the fact that he’d done the Prince Richard order carefully. He hadn’t wanted to order at all after Ricky’s treatment of Ed, but it was in fact Ed who convinced him to do so the evening after the fateful meeting.

“I can’t believe I’m gonna fucking say this,” Ed began that night, lying next to him in their comfortable bed in the flat, Fang and Ivan nestled at their feet, “Cause the guy seems like a massive dick, but maybe…you know, you could just get a few bottles in.”

“Why?” Stede asked in surprise, lowering his book, “You certainly seemed a bit…erm…adamant about him earlier today.”

Ed scooted closer, butting his head up against Stede’s hand like Fang asking for scritches. Indulgently, Stede sank his fingers into his curls.

“Yeah, but that was before I went back and tasted the chocolate stout,” Ed replied sheepishly, fluttering his dark lashes at his husband. “And the raspberry sour. As Lou might say, it’s ‘totally fuckin’ sigma’–or whatever.”

“You know I can’t refuse you anything when you look at me like that,” Stede chuckled, “But how do you propose to offset his dickish behavior so it all comes out in the wash, morally speaking?”

Ed shrugged.

“I dunno–like, every time I have one, I’ll donate to a charity for people who’ve been victimized by shitty, rich, white arseholes. Mind you, that’s pretty much every charity, if we’re being honest, so I can pick a different one every time I have a beer.”

“Done and done,” Stede agreed, dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll put in a little order for you tomorrow.”

And that’s just what it had been: a little order. Two cases of twelve bottles–one of each of the flavors Ed had requested–he was quite sure of that. He’d even used his personal credit card rather than the pub’s account since Ed made it pretty clear he wasn’t interested in sharing with the punters. So, he really didn’t understand why there was such a–

“Good lord,” he exclaimed, stopping at the bottom of the flat staircase to stare out the window into the car park.

 

 

“I ain’t got all mornin, mate–can we wrap this up?”

The annoyed voice of the truck driver drifted over from the bar where Olu was still scratching his head, looking over the invoice.

Stede’s slippers scuffed hurriedly along the floor toward the small gathering. 

“Hello,” he said a bit breathlessly, “I’m the owner of the pub and the one who placed the order–I’m afraid there’s been a mistake.” 

“Not according to this invoice,” Olu said, handing him the sheet of paper that detailed a truly vast quantity of alcohol on it. “That’s your signature, right?”

“It’s my digital signature,” Stede conceded, “But I have the email receipt of the order right here, see?” He pulled out his phone to find the document. “See? Just two cases of bottles!”

Jim craned their neck to look at Stede’s phone screen.

“It’s legit, cariño,” they said, a note of concession in their voice, “Looks like el major jefe del mundo didn’t fuck this up.”

“Thank you, Jim,” Stede said, meaning it, as even a grudging admission from Jim was like full throated support from anyone else. “So, I’m afraid we can’t accept this delivery.”

“Look,” the driver drawled, yanking his trousers up, “Your name’s on the bloody form, so you’re accepting it. You can sort it out with billing later–it’s above my bloody pay grade, that’s for sure. ‘Sides, Baz’s already started unloading the lorry.”

One glance outside the window showed that a round, surly man with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth had already unloaded a sizable number of casks and boxes. Noticing the pairs of eyes directed at him through the open window, he gave a short salute. 

“You’re not making any friends here, Baz!” Stede called, which elicited a careless shrug from the brewery worker.

“What the fuck’s all this about?”

Ed was stood at his side, peering out at the unwanted merchandise stacking up beside the cellar doors.

Jim blew out an exasperated breath. “Dios mio, could you two at least pretend this is a restaurant before coming downstairs?”

Both men gave each other sheepish looks and cinched their bathrobes more tightly around their middles, ignoring the side eye of the lorry driver as he walked out the door.

“There seems to have been some sort of error with the Prince Richard order,” Stede replied. “I’ve got the man’s number–I’m sure I can sort it out.”

 

TEXT FROM STEDE TO RICKY

From his vantage point at the bar, picking at a big of crisps he’d be calling breakfast, he couldn’t really tell entirely what was transpiring on Stede’s phone screen, but from the pallor of his face, he was willing to bet it wasn’t being sorted out the way his husband had hoped. 

Jim frowned at him downing the cheese and onion snacks.

“How do you eat that shit first thing? You probably only just had coffee.”

Ed smacked his lips, considering. 

“Definitely not the worst flavor combo ever, although I’m not sure it’ll win any awards.” He called out across the bar. “Everything okay, babe?”

Stede looked up at him, ashen and stumbled toward him, hand out-stretched.

“Here, read this. Give me your phone.”

Dumping his own phone into Ed’s hands, he reached into the pocket of Ed’s dressing gown and pulled out his phone, making the other man yelp as it nearly undid the sash protecting Jim and Oluwande from getting an eyeful.

“Babe…” he began, but Stede cut him off.

“Just read!”

As Ed began to scroll through the text, Stede collapsed unsteadily on a barstool next to Jim and Olu, quickly pulling up the Prince Richard Brewery website. A quick click through to the “corporate partnerships” revealed a splashy announcement page, complete with links to the Lock & Key, the menu and another suspicious section titled, ‘history’.

“Que carajo?” Jim blurted out, slapping the bar top as they stared over his shoulder. “What’s that asshole done?”

 

PRINCE RICHARD BREWERY WEBSITE

Stede’s stomach did a nose dive, but he was too fixated on the image on the screen to notice Ed’s approach, looking dark and murderous. Olu and Jim exchanged nervous glances and quickly made themselves scarce, reckoning they’d be told whatever part of the tale they needed to know at a later date. 

In the middle of the webpage was a touched up picture that Stede barely recognized of himself and Richard Banes. It had been edited to look like they were the focus of the picture, posing together with glasses of champagne and smiling in that way that supremely privileged people did when they clearly didn’t want to be somewhere. 

“That weaselly little shit!” Stede exploded, at the same moment Ed blurted out, “What the fuck was going on with your hair, mate?”

Stede cast a withering glance at his husband, whose eyes were twinkling mischievously at the ancient photo.

“The blunt cut was very popular back in 2014, Edward!” he insisted, running his hand through his thick curls. “But I’ll admit it was an absolute bitch to grow back out. However, that is not the point here, the point is that that little toad’s blackmailing me into pretending we’ve entered a partnership of some sort! And have been acquaintances–no, friends–for years! This was a large group photo–everyone else has been scrubbed out!”

“Where was it even taken?” Ed asked, still a bit fixated on Stede’s past follicular choices.

“Some god awful fundraiser for my father’s “leadership” foundation,” Stede answered sourly. “A big, bloody tax write-off scam. Honestly, the only reason I remember the night it was taken at all is because it was the night father strode up to Mary, who was about seven months pregnant with Louis, and told her that she was too ‘unseemly’ to be about in society in her “advanced condition”.

“What in the 1950’s fuck?” Ed exclaimed.

Stede’s face grew dark and hard. 

“It was one of the very first times I ever told him off,” he said quietly. “I asked how dare he speak to my wife like that–my wife who was carrying his grandchild, no less. He was so surprised, he dropped his Bollinger.”

His forehead creased into a sad wrinkle. “Christ, that was only a little over eleven years ago. The first time I ever stood up to my father was in my late thirties.”

“But you did fucking stand up to him, babe,” Ed said, dropping down in the chair next to Stede and squeezing his thigh. “And you did it for a good fucking reason–for your wife and your kid.”

“Honestly, I think even if I hadn’t, Mary might have broken off the stem of her non-alcoholic champagne flute and shivved him with it.” Stede gave a melancholy smile. “We ended up going home and watching some shit films and chatting over junk food. It was the most like friends we’d been in ages.”

He glanced at Ed, an old hurt in his eyes. “You can see why I was worried about being a good partner to you. I buggered it up so badly the first time. And now I’ve only dragged her into this as well–”

“Hey,” Ed said firmly, grasping Stede’s chin to force his gaze up. “You don’t get to talk about my husband like that. Besides, this doesn’t have anything to do with your dick dad or a marriage you didn’t get to choose. This is about that little cockwomble Banes trying to blackmail you into pretending you’ve entered into some kind of fucking partnership that you haven’t agreed to.”

Stede drew in a deep breath and nodded. “Yes,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, “Yes, I know. It just feels a bit like a time period I’ve tried very hard to overwrite has come back to bite me in the arse.”

“Nope,” Ed said definitively, nipping him on the tip of the nose. “Only I get to do that. Look, I get this is a lot, but let’s go upstairs, have another cup of coffee, talk to Mary and worry about the weaselly little fuck once we’ve got pants on, yeah?”

Stede allowed Ed to hoist him to his feet off the stool.

“Yes,” he said grimly. “Coffee and pants first. Banes second.”

 

TEXT FROM STEDE TO LUCIUS

 

TEXT FROM ED TO IZZY

 

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Lock & Key