Work Text:
Ed liked to wander the streets around his apartment to de-stress on his days off. So much had changed about the historically queer neighborhood since he’d opened Blackbeard’s Bar & Grill all those years ago—not as poor, maybe less diverse as wealthier white gays moved in—but thanks to a local rent control push in the 1980s, it wasn’t quite as gentrified as similar areas in other cities.
Still, change did happen. Old businesses closed as their owners moved or retired, and new ones were popping up all the time. Ed was excited to see that one shop whose windows had been covered in butcher paper for weeks finally looked like it was open.
As he approached the outside of the small store, Ed felt his eyes widen at the display. Sure, the gayborhood was pretty sex positive overall; Jackie’s leather shop was massively popular, but Ed wasn’t sure even she would have a window graphic like this.
The large windows on either side of the door were covered in vinyl cling decals, so that only the top 1/3 was bare and you couldn’t actually see inside. The photo on the left showed a vaguely phallic bottle pouring a thick golden liquid out of frame, while the one on the right showed a hand clenched around several large green objects (ben-wa balls maybe?) while the same viscous fluid dripped sensuously off the fingers and down the wrist.
Jesus. Not even Jim and Oluwande’s sex shop had a display this ambiguously pornographic on the fucking street. Ed was finally close enough to read the shingle hanging above the door: The Oil Slick.
Fucking hell, was this an artisanal lube shop?!
Ed was even more surprised by the interior: a small bell tinkled as he opened the door, and a cheery voice called out from behind the curtain to the back, “I’ll be with you in a moment!”
This gave Ed a chance to admire the bright lighting and further art on the pale walls, a combination of farmers and fields (maybe they contributed ingredients?) and more of the erotic lube photography.
The center of the room was filled with several tables covered in large silver canisters. Each canister had a small label describing the contents and rows of bottles on the shelves underneath, just waiting to be filled.
Ed was moving closer to read one of the labels when he was interrupted by the devastatingly hot shopkeeper emerging from the back. “Hi, I’m Stede. How can I help you?” he asked with a grin, sweeping his arms wide.
“I’m Ed.” Holding back his first thought (“Which of these do you use?”) as too much too fast, Ed settled on continuing, “What do you have for anal insertion?”
Stede’s confident smile faded from his face, and he heaved a defeated-sounding sigh. “I regret to inform you that I would not recommend any of these oils for that purpose.”
“What? You do realize what neighborhood you’re in, right?” Ed asked a bit grumpily.
“Oh, absolutely!” Stede reassured emphatically. “Perfect neighborhood, wrong marketing strategy. I thought I’d be edgy and provocative to appeal to the youth, but it seems in doing so I’ve completely obscured what I’m actually selling. My assistant did try to warn me, but I’m afraid I was too stubborn to listen.” He sighed.
Ed took another look around with the new information, but still couldn’t quite puzzle it out. “So what are you selling, then?”
“Oh,” said Stede, perking back up. He seemed a little surprised that Ed had stuck around and bothered to ask. “Specialty olive oils, imported from Italy mostly.”
Ed’s eyes boggled as his gaze swept over the shop again; there must have been more than 40 of the large canisters. “This is all olive oil?!” he asked with glee. “Fucking mental!”
“Well, that whole table over there is balsamic vinegars, and those few against the wall are nut oils—peanut, walnut, hazelnut, almond, avocado, sesame—but yes, most of them are indeed olive oil.”
Stede brought him to one of the nearby tables, taking a small paper cup from the stack on the corner and using a spigot on the nearest container to pour a tiny amount of oil for Ed to sample. He waxed melodic about how he had sourced the product as Ed processed the bold flavor profile of this particular oil. He was reading nearby labels trying to decide what to try next when Stede said off-handedly, “Of course I’m sure it’s nothing like the quality of what they have at Blackbeard’s.”
“What do you mean?” Ed asked, confused.
“Everyone who’s stayed to chat after finding out what type of store this actually is has commented on how Blackbeard’s already has a gift shop,” Stede bemoaned.
“Yeah, for sauces and marinades and things,” replied Ed. “We don’t have anything like this!”
“Do you work for Blackbeard?” Stede questioned with amazement.
“What? No,” Ed commented distractedly, reaching for another little cup to sample the garlic infused oil. “I’m Blackbeard.”
Thirty minutes later, having tried a few drops of everything in the shop, Stede set Ed’s eighth filled and sealed bottle on the counter and began to ring them up. Ed glanced at the wall above him and couldn’t contain his laugh. “Oh, come on, mate,” he teased.
“Yes, yes, I’m aware of it now,” said Stede a bit testily.
“Well,” reassured Ed. “At least the sexy signage has probably had people throwing themselves at you all day.”
“I suppose,” Stede said. “I believe Lucius got seven new phone numbers during his shift.”
“And what about you?” Ed asked as he swiped his credit card.
“Oh, no,” Stede blushed. “I’m afraid I’m too new at being out to flirt the way Lucius does.”
Ed smirked as he pulled out his business card and used one of the counter pens to write his cell number on the back, then smoothly tucked it into the front pocket of Stede’s vest. “What time do you get off?” he asked in his most sensuous rumble.
Stede gulped hard and managed to squeak out, “Seven?”
“Perfect, that gives me time to get groceries while you close up,” said Ed. "Dinner at mine?"
Stede nodded enthusiastically, eyes wide.
A minute later, as Ed was walking down the street, he got a message from a new number. Hello, dinner tonight would be lovely.
I’ll make sure I grab some lube that *is* safe for anal use so I have it on hand, he texted back with a wink. Anything in particular you want for breakfast tomorrow? he added, repocketing his phone with a grin and imagining how prettily Stede would blush.