Soul Music: Love Sustained - 15. Going places

On that Saturday morning, Stuart lay in bed rereading a direct message he received overnight. This time he was able to study it, rather than squinting at the notification as he had done in the dim light of the cab home. Even pissed, he knew it was good news, and it looked even better in the curtained morning light. The guy, Wes, swallowed the bait without a murmur. Stuart shook his head. On the pretext of being an old friend wishing to surprise Tony at home, the other guy supplied as much information as he knew. No checks; no 'I'll ask Tony to contact you'. So many people didn't engage brain when they were online: handing out personal information – theirs or not – like it was of no consequence. At work, he had to toe the line absolutely; otherwise, he guarded his own data, while being happy to exploit the idiocy of others.

Stuart smiled to himself. As his eyes scanned through the message, he started to chew at a thumb. The information wasn't complete: Wes provided the street name, but not the number of the house. He could hardly go knocking on doors in the hope somebody would direct him to the correct house. And of course, he might inadvertently present himself at the right one. A grimace appeared. That would be tricky. Automatically checking the time, before remembering it was a day off, one finger tapped the phone screen as a plan of action gradually presented itself. His best hope of discovering the house number would be from consulting the public copy of the electoral register. Even if the Hulk had excluded himself from being listed in the accessible version, most addresses would be there.

How to ask Wes though? He concocted a note of thanks, followed by a plea for Wes to scour his memory for the Hulk's last name. To provide a reason, he gave a skewed version of the truth: having gathered on the grapevine that Tony had moved very recently, he now knew it was to be with a new partner. Hence the need for the boyfriend's name. That sounded OK. Hopefully it would produce results. If the other guy thought hard, perhaps a hint of the name would result. And an answer before lunchtime would allow a visit to the library and the start of his hunt. Even better. Satisfied with his morning's work so far, Stuart levered himself out of bed and headed in the direction of coffee.

The same morning, Tony turned the car engine off. The car park was busy and even though it was large, they spent several minutes trundling around looking for a space. Both men peered up through the windsceen at Hexham's town centre rising up steeply from the bottom of the Tyne valley where they were.

Geoff got out and stood, continuing to stare at the view, shading his eyes with a hand. “The way that church dominates the skyline is spectacular. How many centuries has that been the case, I wonder?”

Tony fished a couple of empty bags out of the boot and locked up. “It's an abbey. Anglo-Saxon origins apparently.”

He turned. “What's the difference?”

His boyfriend came and joined him, standing close. Not touching or otherwise advertising their relationship, but as a couple might do. “Well, since I'm the one who's done their homework...”

Geoff rolled his eyes. “Yeah. OK...”

An amused snigger made him glance sideways.

“One of us has to; otherwise we'll miss a lot.”

“Yeah, and you're better at it than I am. I get too distracted when something interesting comes up.”

“Hmm... How long did you spend looking at Alnwick Castle Garden's website?”

Geoff frowned mulishly. “And?”

“Nothing, love.”

He got a brilliant smile in return which made him glow inside.

“Anyway, back to your question.” Tony patted his pockets to make sure he'd got everything. “It was originally a monastic institution; one of the first churches built as a result of the early missionary work in the north of England.”

Geoff squinted up against the strong sunlight – he'd forgotten his ancient pair of sunglasses. He sighed. What else might be lacking? “What's the stone building to the left?” He pointed.

“No idea, but we'll discover presumably when we make it to the top.”

Tony set off across the tarmac, leaving Geoff ambling along behind. He didn't mind: sun; bright, northern air; and the novelty of everything around him was intoxicating. His lips thinned. Why hadn't he tried a holiday before now? Just the act of unpacking his bag in the holiday cottage the previous evening had seemed odd; out of the ordinary. He gave a mental shrug. There were plenty of reasons; none of them straightforward. That was in the past. This was now.

“Hurry up!” Tony waited at the edge of the car park, one arm waving in encouragement.

Geoff lengthened his stride, though not too much as the impending steep incline would take most of his breath. “Sorry. Trying to take everything in.”

“It's OK. That's what holidays are about.” His boyfriend held out a hand, before letting it drop with a slight grimace.

Nobody was particularly taking any notice of them, but it was best to restrain themselves completely in a new place. Geoff sighed. At home, they didn't worry about it much in their own street. In fact, a couple of long-time neighbours had come up to congratulate him after Tony moved in. It was good to feel accepted.

“Ready?” Tony raised his eyebrows.

“For God's sake, you make it sound like we're going up Snowden.”

“Just checking.”

The sly grin that accompanied the comment made Geoff want to retaliate. However the steady stream of would-be shoppers prevented him from doing anything physical.

Instead he caught up sufficiently to mutter under his breath and still have Tony hear. “I'll get you for that when we're back at the cottage.”

In the short time they'd lived together as a couple, he discovered running a finger down Tony's tailbone gave him the shivers. Both in a good and bad way. Blood warmed his face briefly. The first time he dared, it felt like a significant step: he taking the initiative without prior invitation.

The other man smirked. “Bring it on!”

They exchanged glances laced with suppressed desire before wiping their expressions and addressing the steep gradient. Most of the townspeople strode out as if it were a slight slope. In local parlance, it was a 'bank' according to the signage.

Tony set a steady pace. Geoff managed to keep up, though his breathing was heavier, and a tightness grew in his legs towards the end of the walk. Maybe getting himself fitter wouldn't be a bad idea: it was hardly a long distance. All the while, he looked and listened, loving the sound of the bright, cheerful local accent from the nearby conversations and greetings. His observations were shot through with memories from the last time he'd employed a finger to tease Tony.

Sneaking up on him as he was kneading pastry in the kitchen, the finger strayed further down than usual. Instead of halting at the curve's end, it moved towards the hidden, inviting cleft and even pressed through material for a second before withdrawing. Again the thought came he was unbelievably slow in sexual matters. So far, in a way, they'd concentrated on the front. He enjoyed Tony kneading his buttocks when they embraced, but nothing had particularly focussed on his hole. What would it be like?

A realisation the path was now flat, brought him up short. He looked up to see Tony waiting. “That wasn't so bad.”

The other man grinned. “OK... how about doing it two or three times a day? I'm sure that'd get you fitter in no time at all.”

Thinking that didn't deserve a reply, Geoff pointed out the mystery building which was only a few meters away. They both spent a minute or two reading the information board outside.

“One of the first purpose-built jails?” Tony craned his neck to view the rest of the solid, stone structure. “What the hell was going on around here in the fourteenth century that necessitated this?”

He shrugged. “Maybe we'll find out later.”

On their way to the abbey, the men finished their tour of the compact town centre by passing through the market place with its ornate, permanent cover. It being a Saturday, there was a farmers' market which spilled out to occupy all the available space. Tony suspected it was a much better offer than the usual array of stalls. In his limited experience, market days – where there were still such things – meant a few produce stalls far out-numbered by those selling cheap tat.

Geoff wandered off to inspect a stall selling hand-crafted pies and pasties. Fond eyes followed his larger figure as he began a close examination of the wares. With a smile, Tony did his own scout around, noting a specialist cheese maker; another table with jams, pickles, and marinades; and a third with fresh bread and rolls. All the stalls were busy, with the people buying, not scoping out what was where. The activity boded well for the food's quality, but it did mean, by the time they got back from going round the abbey, there might not be much left on some stalls.

They were already both carrying full paper bags from a small independent bookshop. It was such a luxury to browse a shop whose selection was made by a local owner, not some corporate employee following orders. He spotted several titles which would make good presents. A short stroll to the pie stall followed to prise Geoff away. Abbey first; then they'd flash the metaphorical cash around.

As he approached, Geoff turned with a slightly guilty look on his face, though it scarcely dampened the underlying enthusiasm.

He gestured at one particular pie with a thick, golden, all-round crust. “I've just tasted a sample of that one. It's delicious: pork, black pudding, and red onion marmalade. So rich.” He turned to the stallholder, a middle-aged woman in white, hygiene kit. “Bet it's popular.”

“Aye. Never have any of that one left.”

Scanning the refrigerated display, Tony admired various specimens of the piemaker's art, until he reached a curious cake-like object topped with pine nuts and something green. Kale, possibly.

After a minute spent looking at it from all directions, he was none the wiser. “What's that? Looks intriguing.”

She grinned. “Ye not the first to ask that this morning. It's a cauliflower sformato.”

“Pardon?”

“It's Italian. Think of it as a kind of baked cauliflower quiche without the pastry.”

Both eyebrows shot up. “OK...”

With a chuckle, the woman continued. “It's something new for us. We don't expect it to be a long-term item, mind, but it's a way we can show our keenness to experiment, and how vegetarian pies don't have to be soggy veg in an equally wet pastry.”

Tony continued to eye it up.

“We don't have any samples unfortunately. If you buy some, you'll have to eat it today, mind, as it's got eggs and milk in it.”

“Wow. I may well take you up on that. We need something to eat tonight.”

Geoff gave him a sideways look. “You can have that with pleasure; I'm buying a large slice of this one.” He nodded at the pork pie from before.

Weighing up the chances of there still being slices left when they returned, Tony waited until after the woman served someone else. “I'll guess the cauliflower'll still be around, but would you keep back a slice of the pork and black pudding?”

“Aye. That'll be nae problem, hinny.”

“Great. We'll only be half an hour or so.”

After backward glances that lingered on the wonderful food, they crossed over the road and approached the abbey. In the bright June sunlight, the light-coloured stone seemed almost golden. Venturing inside, they stopped part way down the nave and drank in the atmosphere: cool, serene, and many centuries old. Looking altarwards, the blond wood and metal greys of the modern-looking organ case contrasted – or maybe clashed – with its surroundings. Strolling in that direction, they smiled to each other as they reached the central area where all parts of the architectural cross met.

Geoff clapped his hands and listened. “Hmm... there's a delay, but not much of one.”

Tony spun slowly on his heels. “It'd be a great place to perform. Imagine doing a candlelit concert? Magical: all those dark, mysterious areas outside the reach of the lights.” He turned to gauge the other man's reaction. “Hmm?”

“Sorry.” A flush passed over Geoff's face. “I was thinking...” He swallowed.

Tony cocked his head.

His boyfriend took a deep breath. “This place would be a wonderful venue for a wedding.” His pinkness deepened.

Tony's heart swelled with love for the shy, funny, adorable, sexy man who stood in front of him. Ever watchful, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a number of other people around.

He moved in closer. “If we were on our own, I'd be kissing the living daylights out of you up against that column. Church, or no church.” Geoff's mouth dropping open slightly didn't help at all with his current difficulties. “That is a beautiful idea, my love.”

“It just popped up. It feels right; ever so right.”

He wasn't even sure whether Geoff was baptised. Neither of them was religious, so it hadn't exactly featured in their heart-to-hearts. The dreamy look opposite continued to cause stirrings in his nether regions. Tony gave himself a shake. Geoff suddenly noticed the other visitors and became very interested in the choir stalls. With difficulty, they resumed their tour.

Walking on, the two men kept close: fingers sometimes touching, as if by accident, but not linked. Tony grimaced to himself. Who were they kidding? Anyone who looked twice would realise the core of their relationship. Well, it would be their problem if they objected, not his.

Coming back later to the same spot, Geoff pointed to a curiously random headstone they'd missed. “It's in Latin, I think.”

Reading the plaque next to it, they discovered it was a memorial to a Roman centurion.

“I know stone from the Roman Wall was used to build all sorts of places.” Tony shrugged. “This one included, I imagine.”

“Ancient recycling.” That made them both chuckle. “Very true though.”

“Maybe the headstone took the fancy of some stonemason?”

Tony continued to gaze at the Latin inscription, trying to dredge up the little he could remember from his school days. He cross-referenced the translation with the original, eyes moving back and forth. Some of it was kind of obvious: the guy's name and such, but much of the rest was in a kind of shorthand. The analogy with phone texting occurred and made him grin. He turned to pass this on, but Geoff was facing away.

“What've you found?”

“A staircase leading nowhere.”

“Yeah?”

He joined the other man in contemplating an ancient stone flight of stairs fitted into a corner. It went straight up most of the way, then turned sharply to the left.

Geoff pointed. “How many countless generations used these? The centre of each step is worn away.”

The central dip certainly indicated continued use. “Maybe the stone's fairly soft? It's hardly granite.”

Another plaque informed them the Midnight stairs were used by monks as a quicker, covered way into the abbey from their dormitories.

Geoff winced. “Bloody hell. I bet it was cold in winter.”

“And dark. Imagine being woken up in the middle of the night, stumbling your way down those stairs, and taking part in whichever service it was.”

“No, thank you.” A dark-haired head shook vigorously. “Ugh.”

“Come on. I think we need some daylight again.”

Once outside, Geoff screwed his eyes almost closed against the continuing sunshine.

Tony had already put his sunglasses on. “Where're yours?”

“Left them behind.”

“OK. Next stop, somewhere that sells cheap, ready-to-wear eye protection. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Later the same day, Geoff sat alone in the cottage, looking out through the picture windows. The scene was one he imagined had gone on for generations. Sheep quietly grazed, ewes and their teenage lambs, their white fleeces standing out against the greens and browns of the landscape. Ever the walker, Tony was out taking a short post-supper stroll. His own feet throbbed as though they'd already tramped far too many miles.

He stretched lazily and let out a deep sigh of contentment. Only one day of their holiday gone and already his everyday cares had faded into the background. A day of sightseeing and happiness rounded off by them making love. Eyes rolled: they started off on the sofa, but after a couple of alarming creaks they took things into the bedroom. It wouldn't be good, having to explain how the damage came about to an irate owner. Even the thought of it suddenly brought on a burst of warmth. Anyway, in amongst them giving release to the day's pent-up desires, he'd allowed his hands to continue their exploration of Tony's enticing backside.This time in the nude. It turned into a sexy game. Cuddled together, facing each other, one pair of hands mirrored whatever the other pair did.

A shiver made his extremities tingle. Tony's infinitely more experienced digits teased, stroked, and dipped in and out of the entrance to his most private place. No penetration yet, but more than enough to know anal play got him going just as much as anything else. Geoff gently squeezed his package through his light shorts, making the sleeping beast stir once again.

The front door opened.

His hand dropped. “Good walk?”

Tony scraped his boots before coming in. “Yeah. It's a lovely evening out there, watching the sun setting over the hills. Not going to last though, according to the forecast.” He sat down. “OK… What are our plans for tomorrow?”

Not at all early on Sunday morning, Stuart parked the car clumsily in between two others, just avoiding the back bumper of the one in front. He was a little way down from the house he now knew to be Tony's. The previous day went to plan: the guy called Wes only half-recalled the Hulk's surname, but it was close enough. 'London' wasn't that far off 'Lumsden'. And the entry was there in the electoral register for all to see. He scowled. It was a bloody huge place, like the rest of them. How the hell did they afford to live in a house that size? There he was scraping to live in a rabbit hutch. It was so fucking unfair.

He stared blankly at the windscreen. Yes, he knew where Tony was living, but he had no idea what to do next. There was no rush. A plan would come to him. Stuart decided a session in the gym would help his grey cells. Turning the key in the ignition, he backed out in a hurry, nearly colliding with another vehicle travelling along the road. Ignoring the idiot's insults, he set off. The treadmill awaited.