#key developments

“Guess who asked to grab drinks,” Stewy says as you unload the takeout for that night’s dinner.

“Colbert?”

Stewy chuckles before correcting: “Grant.”

You go still for just a moment before setting down a container of white rice.

“You gonna go?” You ask.

“Thought I would, yeah.”

“Okay.” Then, before you can stop yourself, “You gonna fuck him?”

You feel more than see the way Stewy turns to look at you. You can imagine his expression—lips twisted into an intrigued smile, brows tipping skyward as he watches and waits for you to say something else. You stay carefully quiet, beginning to sort through the sauce packets.

“Do you want me to fuck him?” Stewy asks after a moment.

“Why would I want that?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes you feel bad when your friends aren’t gettin’ any.”

“Oh, please,” You scoff. “This is not that. I’m just asking, ‘cause…I don’t know, you two seemed pretty into each other in Vegas.”

“He’s hot.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“Does he bottom?”

“You’d have to ask him, though I’m stunned that didn’t come up between the two of you before.”

“...Are you seriously sorting the duck sauce and soy sauce into different piles?”

“I like to be organized.”

You glance toward Stewy, and find him watching you with the stunned little look you thought he’d have. You sigh softly, looking down at the piles of sauce packets.

“Look, fuck him, don’t fuck him, whatever you wanna do. Just…”

“You wanna know if I do?”

“Yeah. Just…You know.”

“You don’t think he’d tell you if we did?”

“I dunno…Probably? I haven’t told him yet.”

“About?”

“This,” You wave a finger between the two of you.

“Oh, I see,” Stewy teases, sidling up beside you. “Are we engaging in a clandestine affair?”

“You’re such…” You start to call Stewy an asshole, but you stop, considering. He’s just teasing you; he’s not being mean about it.

“Such?” Stewy asks.

“A ham,” You insist softly. You reach up, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. Stewy hums, pleased, and wraps his arm around your middle.

“What were you gonna say?” He asks knowingly.

“Something mean and unwarranted.”

“Nice catch.”

“Uh-huh.”

“...Douche-canoe?”

“Oh, nothing nearly as fun as that.”

--

The text you get from Grant after he sees Stewy is fairly straightforward:

I FUCKING KNEW IT BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

--  

Michael finding out is a complete accident.

You’ve been working up to public affection with Stewy. It’s a little hard for it to be a ramping and not simply a launch. Stewy is so easily casually affectionate, quick to touch your arm, your shoulder, your waist; to drop a peck to your cheek or neck or lips; to cuddle up against you in line and make fun of the fellow patrons in murmured tones.

So you suppose that Michael’s finding out is sort of…inevitable. You blame yourself, honestly. You’ve started to relax, you’ve loosened up. You don’t look over your shoulder when you’re out in public with Stewy anymore. You let yourself get caught up in him.

So you don’t think anything of it when he turns you on line at Starbucks and leans in for a kiss. You do think, for a moment, that you’ve become the sort of gooey, dopey couples that annoy the shit out of you—the ones that are lovey-dovey in public, that feed each other off of their forks and use disgusting pet names like cuddlechops and gigglepuss.

“What was that for?” You mumble as Stewy leans away just a little.

“Why’s it have to be for anything?” Stewy counters, turning his head and pressing a kiss to your cheek. You huff a soft laugh through your nose, giving his arm a squeeze to spur him on as the line moves forward.

“I thought that was you,” You hear. Your heart sinks into your stomach as you turn to see Michael standing in front of you at the line. If Stewy is at all concerned, he doesn’t let it show. He just curls his arm around your waist with a smile, greeting, “Hey, Mikey.”

Michael is smiling mirthlessly, his eyes narrowed critically at you. You feel about an inch tall under his scrutiny.

“Can we get your coffee?” Stewy adds, nodding toward the counter as you inch closer.

“By ‘we’, he means him,” You clarify.

“Won’t even spring for coffee?”

“They don’t pay me enough to spring for three of these, Stew.”

“Don’t get my coffee, just tell me what the hell is happening,” Michael says, waving his fingers between the two of you.

“What’s it look like? We’re getting breakfast,” Stewy answers breezily before stepping up to the counter as the person ahead of you steps away. Before Michael can ask again, Stew glances back and asks you, “Your usual, babe?”

“Uh-huh.” You fold your arms across your chest, glancing nervously at Michael. His face is twisting in confusion and shock.

“Mikey, sure you don't want anything?” Stewy adds. Michael just raises his hand, scrubbing his hands across his eyes as he turns to leave.

“I’m getting a headache,” He mumbles.

--

You go into the office on tenterhooks. You wait for a boss to call you into an office somewhere, to make you aware of company ethics policies. You do get a glare from over the top of Michael’s laptop as you pass him on the way to your desk, but he says nothing. The two of you work together in moderately stony silence for most of the morning, hardly meeting one another’s eyes, or speaking unless it’s absolutely necessary.

You dread your 11 o’clock meeting with him and one of your other clients. The two of you sit across from one another, each working with laser-focus on your laptops as you wait for the client to dial in.

You’d typically just let the silence hold, and sit and wait, but you can’t bring yourself to now. You feel ready to crawl out of your skin with the tension.

“So?” You speak up. Michael’s eyes flicker to you, brows arching curiously. You swallow thickly before pressing: “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“...Can we talk about it anyway?”

Michael sighs heavily, leaning back in his seat.

“Has this been going on since Vegas?” He asks.

“What? No!”

“You sure?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“The two of you were there together.”

“I swear to god, that was a coincidence.”

“When, then?”

“Uh…God, like…Four months ago?”

“Seems serious.”

“I mean…I guess.”

“You guess.”

“It hasn’t affected my work, it has not affected my contributions to their account—”

“Hell, I bet it’s made your work harder.”

“...C’mon.”

Michael rolls his eyes a little, turning back to his laptop.

“We’re even,” He mutters.

“What?”

“You didn’t tell them about me asking you to—You know. I won’t say anything about…You know. We’re even.”

“...I mean I’d say yours was worse…But thank you.”

Michael rolls his eyes, then springs into action as the client’s voice floats up from the muted conference phone.

--

“What’s going on up there?”

“...Hmm?”

Stewy presses a tender kiss to your temple, sliding his hand over your shoulder.

“Where are you?”

“I’m right here,” You laugh softly, tipping your head up to look at him.

“Your head is all over the place, baby.”

“...Yeah, a little. Sorry.”

“So?” Stewy asks.

“I don’t know, just…Running into Michael—”

“He say something to you?”

“We’re fine. That’s all fine.”

“You sure?”

“Totally fine.”

“Well you said ‘fine’ three times, so it must be true.”

“Don’t,” You groan softly, pulling yourself off of his couch.

“Don’t what!” Stewy laughs. “I’m asking a question. You’ve been distracted all night. I want attention.”

“So needy.”

“I can call Tiff over.”

You shoot Stewy an irritated look before reaching his bar cart.

“You want one?” You ask, holding up the bottle of scotch.

“See? That’s more like it.”

“Yes or no, Stewart.”

“Yes, and please.”

“Please, wow,” You mutter. “Good boy.”

“Careful, baby. I’m gonna get hard over here.”

“Shut up,” You chuckle, pouring Stewy two fingers worth. “Come and get it yourself, I’m still making my drink.”

“Why didn’t you pour mine right before you came back?”

“Cause I know you’re a lazy bastard and I estimate a minimum of six people have brought you drinks today, so come and get one for yourself.”

“How do you figure that?” He asks as he pushes himself off of the couch.

“Have you gotten your own coffee today?”

“...No.”

“How many did you have?”

“Four.”

“Aaaand did you have water at your office? The ones that come in those fancy-ass glass bottles?”

“...Uh-huh.”

“Two?”

“Do you have cameras installed in my office?”

“No, but that tells me that I’m right.” You give Stewy a cheeky smile as he comes to stand beside you. He leans against the counter beside you, watching you make your drink.

“...I talked to Michael today,” You admit.

“Sounds predictable, since you uh—you work together.”

“I mean I spoke to him about us.”

“And?”

“It was fine.”

“Fine again. So what’s got you all out of your head here?”

“I don’t know, I guess…” Your eyes train carefully as you fill your glass. “I guess…I’m just surprised that we’re still kinda doing this.”

“Being together?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Cause when we met, you drove me fucking nuts—Well, not exactly when we met, though you did piss me off during the presentation.”

“What! How’d I do that?”

“You fucking smirked, dude. I wanted to slap your stupid handsome face.”

“You can slap it now if you want.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

“You’d enjoy it too much.”

--

Meetings are twice as insufferable now. It doesn’t matter if it’s over the phone, over Zoom, or in-person. Stewy slips in the odd innuendo as he asks about the pros and cons of a media plan. It used to be a little irritating, but it’s so much worse now that Michael knows what’s going on. He was suspicious of you and Stewy’s interactions before. Now, all of the signs seem so much more obvious; he seems stunned that he missed them at all. You can’t help but notice the way he bites his tongue or rolls his eyes.

Stewy notices it, too.

--

“You’re no fun anymore.”

“Tell that to my sore jaw.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Stewy groans, pushing your hip to turn you over in bed. You go, settling on your side and tucking your hand under your head.

“What do you mean, then?”

“When we’re at work.”

“I can’t just give into every single goad you level at me.”

“You don’t give into any of them anymore. That used to be half the fun.”

“What was the other half?”

“Making money.”

“Well, you’re still doing that.”

“That’s true.”

“Small wonder.”

You smile as Stewy’s eyes flicker to your face.

“I’ll start being a bitch at work again, okay?”

“Thank you,” Stewy sighs, flopping back in bed.

“You’re such a big baby,” You mutter, reaching out and skimming your hand over his middle.

“...Michael’s over it,” He comments. 

“Michael’s been over it. I think he’s been over it for a long time, you know. Before he really knew.”

You glance up and see Stewy’s brow furrowing as he repositions his head on the pillow to get a better look at you. You hesitate before adding:

“When you asked us to the bar on a Saturday, way back when, to talk about the strategy to take over ATN…He said that we’d been weird, and that he knew the difference between you flirting with someone and you fucking around with someone.”

“Which one did he think I was doing?”

“I don’t know,” You shake your head, “I shut the conversation down.”

Stewy is quiet for a moment, his eyes darting to the window as he hums thoughtfully.

“If you’re about to admit that this was all a She’s All That-esque bet, I’m gonna trash one of your bathrooms,” You add.

“What if I need that one?”

“You have two more.”

“That’s true. Go nuts.”

You smile, shaking your head and lowering your eyes to his chest.

“...Were you fucking with me?” You ask quietly.

“No.”

“Never?”

“Well, when you say fucking with you—”

“Oh, god.”

“No, c’mon,” Stewy pushes himself up to lean back against his elbows, and you shift back, eyeing him warily. “I didn’t fuck around like…For fun. I mean, watching steam come out of your ears like a looney tune, that’s one of my favorite things—”

“Great.”

“—But that’s like—I mean we fuck around with each other.”

“So you never did it just for fun.”

“...Look, was it immature, was it like pulling your pigtails on the playground? Yeah, a little. But you fuckin’ pulled mine, too.”

You consider and settle back onto the bed.

“That’s true.”

“Exactly.” Stewy slides down beside you, dropping a kiss to your neck and trailing them down to your breasts. You press up against his lips, running your fingers through his hair.

“Hey,” He murmurs.

“Mm?”

“I’ve got this conference that I need to go to next week.”

“Ugh, great. You gonna give me a key to get in here and drink all your alcohol and eat all your food?”

Stewy rolls off of the bed, walking over to his pants, and you frown, pushing yourself up onto your elbows and watching him rifle around in his pants pockets. Well—honestly, you pay more attention to his ass as he bends over, so you miss him throwing something under his arm and calling out, “Catch.”

You half-leap off of the bed, but your foot is tangled in the sheets. As you try to catch whatever it is, you topple onto the floor. You land on your ass in shock, but break out laughing, unable to help it even as Stewy runs around the bed to see if you’re alright.

“Are you okay?”

“Damn, Hosseini, warn a girl,” You laugh, looking up at him. “What the hell did you even throw?”

“You didn’t catch it?”

“I didn’t see where it went!”

“Oh, my god,” Stewy sits on the floor beside you, “Fuck, you’re awful. Did you hit your head?”

“I don’t think so.” You’re still giggling as you sit up, reaching up to unwrap the sheets from where they’re still wound around your foot and ankle. You glance at Stewy and find him gazing at you fondly.

“What!” You laugh, looking around, “What the hell was it, anyway? It was like…Tiny.”

“It wasn’t that small.”

Stewy looks around, frowning, before he leans forward, reaching out under the dresser.

“Got it?”

“I think so…It’s either that or a very cold, very long, very dead spider.”

“Fucking gross,” You mutter. Stewy leans back with something in his hand, and you watch him dust it off before he holds it up. Your eyes slide to it, but it takes a few moments for you to process what he’s holding out.

“...Where’d you get that?”

“From under the dresser,” Stewy deadpans. Your jaw works wordlessly for a moment, and when you take too long, Stewy takes hold of your hand and drops the key into it.

“...What’s this for?”

“For you to get in here and drink all of my alcohol and eat all of my food.”

“I wasn’t serious about that.”

“Well, I am.”

You look up at Stewy as he leans back against the bed.

“Since when?”

“Uh—Since I went to get the key made.”

“So it was a split-second decision?”

“Have you ever known me to make split-second decisions?”

“One word, Hosseini: Colbert.”

“That old excuse.” Stewy huffs a laugh through his nose before his eyes lower into his lap. “...Look, you don’t have to take it, but I want you to have it,” He admits.

You smile, getting up onto your knees and shuffling over to straddle Stewy’s thigh.

“Besides, I’ve seen your apartment,” Stewy adds, running his hands over your thighs. “I just think it would be nice for you to spend some more time in a place that isn’t, you know…A hovel.”

“Fuck, not this again.”

“I’m just–”

“Just because I don’t have central air–”

“Or a functioning kitchen. It’s like you live in the fuckin’ Stone Age.”

“So I shouldn’t make you a key to mine, too?”

“I mean it’d be a cute gesture.”

“Mm, but you wouldn’t use it.”

“Oh, I would. I’d order upgrades and let workmen in—You know what, make me two.”

“You know how I’ve been working on not unduly insulting you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re a dickhead.”

Stewy grins, curling his arms around your waist.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way, baby.”