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Currently, everything—despite what Ed keeps trying to tell himself—is really not fine. Everything is, in fact, kind of on fire, and covered in spikes, and determined to burn and jab him in all his most vulnerable spots. And upon further reflection, as he sits here in this most unexpected and hellacious of morning traffic, his leg jiggling restlessly and the scent of burnt toast still somehow in his nose, he feels like he should’ve seen this coming.
The way he’d woken up should’ve been his first sign: unsettlingly disoriented, caught in the fading fog of a dream that he could only remember in vague sensations (dull fear, nauseating uncertainty) and muddled pictures (was that shattered glass he’d seen? Gleaming daggers? Sharpened teeth?). Bad dreams are—mercifully—few and far between for him these days, so he should’ve recognized this outlier as a warning. It seems obvious now, given everything that followed: the crick in his neck and the ache in his back, both of which had hit him as soon as he rolled out of bed; the tea he’d spilled on the first shirt he’d pulled on; the jam he’d gotten on the second one; the toast he’d accidentally turned to char, the toe he’d stubbed, the mug he’d very nearly dropped on the kitchen tile.
Stede had been blissfully oblivious to his nasty mood—he’d simply teased him about still being half-asleep after the tea and jam incidents, and chuckled when he had (somewhat) jokingly threatened the eggs as they’d cooked in their pan that he’d introduce the rest of their siblings to the bin if they so much as thought about following the toast’s example and burning themselves. Admittedly, it had stung a little, Stede not noticing, but Ed knew it was just because his husband’s mind was otherwise occupied: Today had been scheduled as one of the days they took every other month to visit the vendors who supply their restaurant, to check in and say hello. It was a tradition Stede had started when he’d opened his bar, and one he’d later inspired Ed to adopt as part of running his own, and naturally, they’d kept on with it together when The Gentleman Pirate and Blackbeard’s Bar & Grill joined forces to become The Gentleman Blackbeard’s Bar & Grill & Gift Shop. (It’s a mouthful, Ed knows, especially after they added the gift shop, but Stede had been so very sweet when he’d asked about marrying the two names—almost as sweet as he’d been when he’d asked about marrying Ed. How could he have said no?) In between fetching him clean shirts and popping fresh bread in the toaster, Stede had chattered excitedly about all the day’s stops, wondering aloud what might come of some of the surprises that a few of their vendors had alluded to.
Honestly, though, it was probably for the best anyway that Stede hadn’t noticed. By that point in the morning, Ed had felt close to swallowed by his growing unease, his skin prickling with the threat of thunder from the storm clouds gathering around him, and he hadn’t really had it in him to explain why quite yet. But even if it was for the best, it did present a bit of a problem when it came time to leave—since they were supposed to go on all of these visits together, as they usually did, Stede had given Ed a frown when he’d started for his own car, rather than following Stede to his.
“I think— Maybe you should just go on without me,” Ed had blurted, the muscles in the back of his neck tense with the effort of trying to come across cool and collected. “Feeling kinda tired today, don’t think I slept well. Probably wouldn’t be great company for chatting. Think I’ll just—go keep an eye on the restaurant instead, yeah?”
Stede had stared at him for a few moments while his palms started to sweat. Finally, Stede looked at his watch, shrugged, and said, “If you’re sure.” Then he’d narrowed his eyes briefly. “Are you sure?”
A nod. “Cross my heart.”
After one last look, Stede had surrendered; Ed felt immensely relieved that he was apparently too distracted by the day ahead to put up a fight. He’d given Ed an “I’ll miss you, you know,” and a prolonged parting kiss (“To help me make it through the day,” Stede said with a grin), and with that said and done, they’d gone their separate ways.
If Ed had to guess, everything up until he’d left the house had been premeditated. Surely, when the universe had shuffled her cards today, she’d already decided—cruelly, horribly cruelly—to start him out with a shit hand, a kind of test to see what she’d do with him for the rest of the day. A test he’d obviously failed, judging by the traffic he’s sitting in now, because he can only assume that it—and whatever hell is sure to follow—must be some cosmic retribution for giving up what probably would’ve turned into an alright day with Stede.
It’s something he’s been working on lately, not letting himself get sucked into the whirlpool of these kinds of moods. Generally speaking, he thinks he’s gotten better at digging his fingers into that cliff’s edge before he can tumble off of it, hauling himself back up to solid ground in the nick of time and making an effort to make the best of things. But for whatever reason, he’d lost his grip today, let himself get drawn into the “a few annoying things happened and now the entirety of the very universe is conspiring against me” spiral, and as a result, the universe chooses to laugh. Loudly.
You could’ve had a nice day with your husband, you clown, she hisses to him. But no—you had to be a whole fucking child about it, and just for that, I’m going to make everything worse.
So here he sits. All of the cars around him are moving at a snail’s pace, trying to squeeze through the one lane that’s been left open as a result of who knows what kind of traffic disaster, and everyone is honking at everyone else as they eke by each other. What the fuck they’re honking at is anyone’s guess—there’s literally nowhere else to go and nothing else to do—but they keep honking away regardless, and it has Ed clenching his jaw and cranking the radio up as loud as he can stand it in an attempt to create his own personal cacophony that will drown out the one outside his car.
When he finally gets to the restaurant, he’s fifteen minutes later than he’d like to be, and he has to keep forcing his shoulders down from where they want to hunch up around his ears. As he walks in, he finds that everyone seems to have everything well in hand already, which doesn’t really surprise him—he and Stede have cultivated a good little crew, and they can almost always be trusted to get their shit done. He still hates rolling in late, though. In the hope that it’ll blow this storm off course before the thunder can even get a chance to roll, he decides he’ll start with checking in on everyone and helping with some pre-opening prep.
He joins Fang and Lucius and Pete first, tries to help them roll silverware and set places. They’re in the middle of sharing some very spirited opinions about a movie they went to see together the night before: Fang thought it was great, Lucius thought the pacing was off but liked the soundtrack, and Pete is trying to explain some grand theory he has about how this movie is part of some bigger universe that the director’s secretly trying to create with their other films. Listening to them chatter helps to distract him a smidge, until he sits back and looks at all of the little bundles he’s made. Naturally, every single one looks like shit: Some of the napkins are rolled too tightly, some aren’t tight enough, and about half of them have at least one piece of silverware facing the wrong way. How he managed any of that, he has no idea. Immediately, that sense of distraction fades, and he starts to feel jittery and frustrated again; his hands are almost itchy as he rushes to fix his fuck-ups as best as he can.
Once everything looks passable, he decides he’ll try the bar next. After muttering a quick goodbye to the rest of the table, he makes his way toward Buttons and Ivan, who are checking inventory and washing some spare glasses. He starts to help Buttons with the washing, but he doesn’t even get half a dozen glasses in before he loses his soapy grip on not one, but two of them, right in a row, both of them falling to shatter on the floor in a million fucking pieces.
Ed takes a deep breath and tries not to shout. It’s fine. It’s fine! So he can’t roll a set of silverware to save his life, and now they’ve got to clean up all this glass, and he’s definitely been cursed to suffer today, probably by whatever it was that he couldn’t remember dreaming about. It’s completely fine. Everything’s f-i-n-e capital-F Fine. So, feeling completely, absolutely fine, Ed grabs the broom from the utility closet by the bar, and he sweeps at the mess while Buttons holds the dustpan for him. Ivan pats him on the shoulder and says, “It’s alright, boss, dropped a few glasses myself last week,” and it doesn’t really make him feel all that better, but he can appreciate the effort.
Once everything’s cleaned up, Ed comes to the conclusion that he’s obviously not meant to be in the middle of things today—probably best if he just makes himself comfortable (and scarce) in the back office. Finding a clear path through the busy kitchen feels even more difficult than usual, but he manages to dance past Jim and Frenchie prepping veggies, The Swede drying dishes, Wee John keeping watch over a pot of simmering stock. He’s nearly to the office when he somehow manages to trip over seemingly nothing at all, and he finds himself pitched forward, stumbling toward—oh, fuck, not Roach, who’s currently piping curls of frosting onto a picture-perfect four-tiered cake, shit—
There’s a tug on his arm then, pulling him off to the side, and Ed thanks every god he can think of when he just barely avoids slamming into Roach’s back. The sudden sidestep jostles his bad knee, but that’s a small price to pay for avoiding a complete confectionary catastrophe. When he turns to look at his savior, he sees Olu staring at him, his hand still on his arm.
“You alright?” Olu asks.
Ed blinks. There are several possible answers to that question, and none of them are affirmative, or even all that good. Instead, he just says, “Was just coming to join you.”
Olu’s hand leaves his arm. “And I was just coming to find you. Our produce guy’s on the phone, and—” Olu closes his eyes briefly, takes a deep breath, then looks at him again. “You just gotta hear this.”
Ed follows him back to the office, all but collapsing into one of the chairs across from the desk as Olu shuts the door behind them. He takes his own seat behind the desk and then reaches for the phone. “Get ready,” he says, just before he puts the phone on speaker.
As it turns out, the traffic that had held him up this morning? That had been courtesy of their produce guy, Joe. Something about a line of ducks crossing the road, so he’d slammed on the brakes, and little had he known that the back door of his delivery van hadn’t been closed properly, so there it went—peas all over the pavement, radishes all over the road. The sudden spray of veggies had the cars behind him slamming on their brakes too, although one of them did so too late and ended up crashing right into Joe’s van. As if that wasn’t mess enough, the ducks had then realized there was a veritable buffet behind them, and they’d toddled over to pick at the spilled produce until Joe managed to shoo them off.
Luckily, Joe finally tells them, he’s still got about half of the produce, but the van has to be towed, and then he needs to go back to the shop to replace the veggies that got lost, so their regular afternoon delivery will be a little later than usual. Ed’s completely stupefied by the whole story, but he manages to tell Joe he’s glad he’s alright, no worries on the delay, and they’ll see him later. Once the call disconnects, he and Olu stare at each other for several long moments before Ed collapses forward onto the desk, face buried in his arms.
It’s only midday and his head already feels like it’s been split open.
Thankfully, he and Olu break for lunch not too long after. Roach—bless his fucking heart—catches them as they’re coming out of the office and asks if they’ll play guinea pig for the new entree he’s been developing for this fall’s menu. When they both respond with an emphatic “yes,” he presents them with plates of ravioli that have been filled with pumpkin and cheese and topped with a buttery sauce that’s flavored with sage. He and Olu both agree that it’s the best thing they’ve eaten all month, and Ed tells Roach that it’s going on the menu immediately, no changes necessary.
Olu splits after that, telling Ed that he’s going to go catch up with Jim for a bit and he’ll find him again in ten; Ed waves him off, then grabs a bottle of water from the cooler before making his way back to the office and taking his seat again. As he sits and tries to let himself bask in the residual glow of a good plate of pasta, he pulls out his phone and sees that he’s got a few missed messages from Stede. First, there’s a photo of a lovely watercolor painting—it’s of a shady wood, the trees tall and elegant, a myriad of colorful flowers at their bases. The accompanying text reads: Isn’t this lovely?? Mary said she made this one just for the gift shop!! And this one too. It’s followed by a photo of another painting, this one of a quaint little store. Books of all sizes are crowded into the front window, flanked on one side by a collection of plants in mismatched vases and on the other by a large calico cat that’s curled up in a fluffy purple bed. She said Doug took her on a weekend trip to the cutest little town—we should go sometime soon!! is the caption for that one. The last text is time-stamped from just fifteen minutes ago: How are you doing, dear??
Ed glances up at the clock and finds that he’s still got about five minutes before Olu comes back. He could call Stede; maybe the sound of his voice would make him feel better. Plus, you know, complaining about this bonkers morning. That would also probably help. But even the thought of trying to recount everything feels more exhausting than he can manage right now, so he just starts to type, Been kind of a long day, but it’s fi—
That’s when his phone starts ringing, Stede’s face flashing on the screen.
Ed chews on his lower lip. He lets the phone ring once, twice, three times, four times. He seriously considers letting it ring all the way to voicemail, and then immediately feels bad about that. Maybe it’ll just be quick. Unlikely, knowing Stede, but— Shit, he’s probably almost out of rings. It feels more like a twitch of his thumb than an intentional movement when he finally taps at the screen to take the call.
“Hey, hon,” he answers, trying to make himself sound like something approaching cheerful.
“Ed! Darling,” comes Stede’s voice, bright and chipper and apparently none the wiser—his attempt at cheer must’ve worked. “How are you?”
“Oh, I’m—I’m alright,” he says, picking at the label on his water. “How are you?”
“Good! Things have been going really well today. I wanted to share some good news—do you have a minute?”
Just as he’d thought—there really is no such thing as a quick phone call with Stede. Ed glances at the clock again and sees that it’s been another couple of minutes; Olu will probably be back soon.
“Actually, babe,” he says, “I’m just about done with my lunch break. Sorry.” He truly does feel a little regretful, and it’s not all guilt—it really is a relief to hear Stede’s voice, and he could use some good news. Better to cut him off now, though, than let him get started and have to interrupt him mid-story. He knows that from experience.
“Oh, that’s fine,” Stede says. “I can just tell you about it when we get home, hm?”
“Yeah, definitely,” Ed replies. He starts twisting at the cap on his water, shifting his phone so that it’s pinned between his shoulder and his ear. “Can’t wait to hear about—”
As he tries to simultaneously crack open the bottle and shuffle his phone, he somehow manages to drop both.
“Shit fuck fuck, motherfucking son of a bitch, what the everloving fuck—”
The words are much louder and harsher than both intended and necessary, considering the fact that not only is it just some water, it’s some water that his phone miraculously managed not to land in. Nevertheless, they’re out of his mouth before he can stop them, and they’re still coming fast and furious as he grabs for his phone, tossing it on the desk before he turns his attention to the puddle rapidly spreading across the floor. He reaches for a spare rag from the basket of clean laundry they keep tucked into a corner of the office and mops it up as best as he can.
“Ed?” comes from the desk, just barely audible. “What happened?”
Ed picks up his phone again, feeling all out of sorts. “Sorry,” he says, although he can tell he sounds mildly strangled. “Just spilled something, fuck—”
There’s footsteps, and Ed glances up to see Olu standing in the doorway, looking at him with raised brows.
“Shit, babe, I’m sorry, but I gotta go—gotta get back to work,” Ed says. “I’ll—I’ll see you at home, yeah?”
There’s a brief pause. “Sure, okay,” Stede says, bewildered. “See you at home.”
“Alright, talk to you later,” Ed replies, and then he quickly hangs up.
“You good?” Olu asks as he walks around the desk to reclaim his chair.
“Yeah, fine,” Ed mutters. He slumps back into his seat, then tosses his rag toward the basket of dirty laundry that sits beside the clean one. Naturally, it lands on the floor, about a foot away from its target.
Ed glares at the basket. When he checks his phone one last time, he sees he has another text from Stede: Are you sure you’re alright??? A flash of guilt goes through him for hanging up so abruptly—he replies, Yeah sorry today just sucks, explain later. In a separate message he types, I love you, then he hits send and promptly shoves his phone under a stack of papers. Finally, he looks up at Olu, and he’s about to ask what they should tackle next when the office phone starts ringing. He glares at it before he hits the speaker button.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Ed! It’s Joe.”
Ed swears he can hear just the barest amount of trepidation in Joe’s voice, even through the crackly connection. He manages to stop himself from sighing in anticipatory disappointment, but he’s powerless to stop his headache from returning with a vengeance.
“Hey, Joe,” he says, bracing himself and aiming for good humor and nonchalance. From the way Olu furrows his brow at him, he’s not very successful. “Get everything all squared away at the store?”
Joe’s nervous titter gives Ed the distinct impression that things are most certainly not squared away.
“Well, funny you should ask,” Joe says. “The weirdest thing happened when I got back…”
It turns out that just before Joe finally made it back to the shop to pick up the secondary delivery van and his replacement stock, some woman who runs a local rabbit sanctuary—Ed didn’t even know those were a thing—had come in and essentially cleared them out. Unfortunately, this means the restaurant’s delivery time will have to be pushed back again until they get some more stock in. Which is fine, really—Roach keeps good track of everything they have, and they won’t run out of anything before that can happen. But it’s inconvenient—and just so fucking bizarre—that Ed once again finds himself at a loss. He promises Joe that everything’s still fine, though, and once they set a new delivery time, Olu hangs up.
Then, of course, the phone rings again. This time, it’s an extremely particular man who wants to place a very detailed catering order that will earn them a nice chunk of change, but holy hell, trying to keep up with him is like trying to run up a mountain on rollerblades. He’s followed by yet another catering call, which is equally difficult, but in the exact opposite way: this guy seems incapable of offering a concrete answer to anything. When Ed asks if he’s got any menu ideas, he says, “Well, I’m thinking sort of Palm Springs party food, but my friend who’s co-hosting with me is feeling more, like, royal luncheon, but casual—maybe we can combine those?” (Olu scribbles How the hell are we gonna combine those???? on the pad of sticky notes between them, with hell underlined four times.) Then, when Olu asks if they’ve got a date in mind, the guy says, “Hmm… Right now we’re looking at either the fifteenth, the seventeenth, the twentieth, the twenty-first, or the twenty-third.” (Ed has to stifle a groan.) And then, after Ed finally tells him they’ll start brainstorming menus and get back to him with which dates work for them, he asks if there’s anything else this guy wants to add, an offer he immediately has the feeling he’s going to regret.
The reply he gets?
“Oh, yeah—do y’all do party favors?”
After that, Olu very gingerly hangs up the phone. They both stare warily at it for a moment, like it might jump up and bite at even the slightest hint of movement. After it remains quiet for an astounding ten seconds, Ed reaches out and jabs at the Do Not Disturb button, leaving their voicemail box to fend for itself.
With the phone silenced, all they have left to do is go over order sheets and financials, and at that point, the day slows to an absolute crawl. Olu does his damndest to make things entertaining by playing DJ and nicking extra food from the kitchen when he can, but Ed’s foul mood refuses to leave him; music and leftover bruschetta are great, but they don’t change the fact that mind-numbing paperwork is mind-numbing paperwork.
With a fierceness that only grows by the second, Ed wishes Stede was here. He’d be thrilled by the catering orders, rambling excitedly about a dozen different ideas for each, brainstorming drinks and appetizers and, yes, party favors—Stede would be all over the party favors. Normally, Ed would be having more fun with all of this too, and not just because he likes listening to Stede get excited about stuff—he also likes the creativity of coming up with ways to satisfy even the most particular of catering needs. It gives his ever-whirring brain something fun and fresh to tease through. But right now, his head and his back and his knee still hurt, and he’s still nursing that sour feeling that’s been simmering in his chest ever since he woke up, and, like—
Okay. Here’s the thing: Ed’s an adult. He knows he is. He knows he’s smart, he knows he’s capable, he knows he’s seen worse days, yadda yadda yadda. (He really has seen far worse days—some of the early ones of running the bar would make today look like a cakewalk. A cakewalk for babies, in fact.) He knows he can handle all this shit, and he will handle it. And that’s all well and good, but, like— Fuck.
He’d kinda like to be held, just for a second. Okay, no—he’d really like to be held, for several seconds. Several minutes, actually, if he’s being honest with himself.
Pre-Stede, he never would’ve had the guts to admit it, not even under pain of death, probably. Ed Teach? Wanting someone to hold him? That was something little kids wanted when they, like, dropped their ice cream cones on the ground or something, or maybe got a bad grade on a test. That wasn’t something fully adult men asked for, especially not Ed Teach—he never needed reassurance or comfort from anyone.
But Ed Teach-Bonnet? He still might not strictly need it, but he sure as hell wants it. And he’s not above admitting that. He’s not ashamed to say that he wants nothing more than the quick squeeze of Stede’s arms, a gentle hand rubbed reassuringly along his back, a soft kiss pressed to his temple and a murmured, “It’s alright, everything will be okay—we’ll figure it all out.” He wants it so bad that his body practically aches with it. In fact, he can almost feel Stede’s touch if he thinks about it hard enough, although he realizes quickly that he should not think about it hard enough—all it does is make his headache pulse and his eyes and nose prickle with tears. Which feels potentially a touch too dramatic, but Ed can’t help it—he’s sore, and he’s tired, and he misses his husband.
But he knows there’s not really much he can do about that now, so he just shoves everything—his frustration, the way he aches for Stede, the entirety of this fucking ridiculous day—to the back of his mind, into a little box that has “DEAL WITH THIS SHIT LATER” scrawled hastily on the side. That just leaves him with the paperwork, which is… Well, not much better, honestly, but at least it’s mildly more straightforward.
After a couple of hours of it, though, it hits a point where every word and every number practically swim before Ed’s eyes. He has to read one particular shopping list three times in a row before he realizes that Roach has written down “1 dozen sticks unsalted butter, 10 lbs Alaskan salmon,” not “1 dozen Alaskan butter, 10 sticks unsalted salmon.” He’s wondering if salmon sticks could actually be a thing, and whether that would be worth bringing up to Roach as something new to test-drive for their appetizer menu, when the music coming from the computer beside Olu fades. (He’d turned on something called “10 HOUR PARTY PLAYLIST!!!!” earlier; under normal circumstances, Ed would enjoy the rather bonkers mix of pulsing dance music, horny 80s rock, and bouncy reggaeton, but right now the genre whiplash is making his brain feel like a plastic ping pong ball in a bingo cage running at warp speed.)
“Y’know, if you want,” Olu says gently, “you can head home. I’ve got it covered here.”
Ed frowns at the list in front of him. “Nah, s’fine. I’m good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, man. I’m great. Perfect. A-okay. Totally terrific.”
Olu snorts. “Sure.”
Ed blinks, then looks up at him. “What?”
“Something’s obviously up. You’re not great at hiding stuff. Today you’ve been—”
Olu stops there, and he looks up, like he might find the rest of his words hiding in the ceiling tiles. Ed waits for him to finish his sentence, silently wishing him luck on what’s sure to be a fruitless search for polite words.
“Seems like you’ve been having a bit of a shit time, if I’m honest,” Olu finally says.
He should’ve known that Olu wouldn’t bullshit him. There’s a reason he and Stede made him assistant manager.
Ed slouches further into his chair, Roach’s shopping list falling into his lap as he reaches up to scrub his hands over his face. “Just been one of those fucking days, man. Woke up and immediately got pushed down the proverbial stairs by the fucking hand of fate. Burned the shit out of breakfast, sat through the most god-awful traffic on my way in, and then I got here and—” He gestures vaguely at everything the day has been.
Olu chuckles. “Yeah, I get it. Been there myself last weekend.”
Ed looks at him again. “Yeah?”
He nods. “Dropped two plates while I was emptying the dishwasher,” he starts, “then I ripped the shirt I’d just bought the day before, spilled some dirt on the rug while I was repotting some plants, and when I tried making this new thing for dinner, it turned out awful.” He shrugs. “Shit happens. And,” he adds, “eventually it ends—Jim ordered some new plates and stitched up my shirt, I vacuumed the rug, and we ordered a pizza after we tossed what I’d made. All turned out fine.”
Ed waits for that yappy little voice from earlier this morning to fire back with some snotty response, but to his surprise, it remains quiet. Maybe Olu’s convinced it, in that way he has of making everything sound so easy; maybe it’s just tuckered out from today. Whatever it is, he finds himself tempted to believe Olu. Maybe things will indeed turn out fine. Honestly, at this point, he’s pretty tuckered out himself, and it kinda feels easier to throw up his hands, instead of trying to muster the energy to stay irritated.
“Suppose so,” he finally says. “Just— Fucking annoying when one thing rolls downhill and everything else goes too.”
“I get it. But it’s all just, like—weird coincidences, yeah? Shit just happens, man.”
“Yeah,” Ed admits. “Not wrong there.” He twiddles the pen in his hand for a moment before he looks back up at Olu. “Thanks, mate.”
“No problem. Now,” Olu says, “you get out of here. If Stede found out what kind of day you’ve had and he thought I’d kept you here at all, he’d probably have my head. And I like my head where it is, thanks very much.”
“You sure?” Ed asks.
“Yes.”
“Positive?”
Olu rolls his eyes. “Yes! God.”
Ed tosses his pen on the desk, then grabs his leather jacket and pulls it on, trying to hide a smile. “Alright, alright, I’m gone.” He heads for the door, then pauses when he gets there, turning back halfway. “I really mean it,” he says. “Thank you.”
“I know you do. And you’re welcome. Now get out of here,” Olu says, pointing at the door.
Ed’s smile wins out as he turns to leave.
He says his goodbyes to everyone as he makes his way out, and he gets the occasional friendly pat on the shoulder or back as everyone else says goodbye too. By the time he’s in the parking lot, he finds that he feels better. Definitely drained, and achy (both emotionally and physically—his back and his knee are still killing him), but he feels mildly less miserable than he’d felt half an hour ago.
As he walks up to his car, he pulls out his phone, and he sees that he has several more messages from Stede—ten, to be exact. The first one is a reply to his last two texts: Oh sweetheart I’m sorry :-( I hope the afternoon goes better…… I’ll send you some pictures to make up for things!! I love you too, very much. And the rest of his messages are indeed pictures: There’s a few of some cows that Ed recognizes as belonging to Cyril and John, their dairy suppliers (Darling as usual, although Clementine tried to eat my sleeve!! Stede added after one of the photos); two different selfies—one of Stede with the cows, and one of him sitting in his car, his hair charmingly messy (Bit windy outside today!!!); and the rest are close-ups of a variety of flowers (Found this lovely meadow on my drive home—we should come take a walk here sometime!! Maybe a picnic too?? So pretty—but not as pretty as you, my love. Hope these brightened things up a bit. See you when you get home. xoxoxoxoxo).
Ed flicks back and forth between the pictures a few times, a small lump in his throat at how nice it feels to be thought of. He considers texting back, but he decides to hold off—he’ll be home soon enough. Instead, he shoves his key in the ignition and gets the car started. He cranks the heat as high as it’ll go and holds a hand in front of one of the vents, letting the air blow over his fingers, and once it’s warmed up, he puts the car in drive and pulls out of the parking lot. He throws on some loud music just because he can, and feels the tension start to drain from both his body and his thoughts. It does start raining as he heads down the road, because of course it would (when it rains, it pours, et cetera, et cetera), but he finds he doesn’t mind much—just makes it a good night to be at home.
The rest of the drive is thankfully uneventful. By the time he turns onto their street, his skin practically starts tingling, and when he finally pulls into the driveway and he sees that the lights inside are already on, it’s all he can do to remember to throw the car in park before he leaps out and dashes toward the house, holding the back of his jacket up and over his head to try to shelter himself from the rain. He bounds up the three steps to their porch all at once—still-aching knee be damned—and practically blows through the front door. As soon as he’s inside, he’s shrugging out of his jacket and stumbling out of his shoes, not particularly caring where either of them end up because he’s much more focused on hurrying down the hall toward the spill of light coming from the living room, since that’s where he knows he’ll find—
Stede is sitting in his armchair, legs stretched out onto the ottoman before him, a book in his lap. The lamp beside him gives his hair a golden glow and glints off his reading glasses. He’s still wearing the clothes Ed saw him leave in that morning, but with a far more casual air now—his shoes are off, his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and the top button of his shirt is undone. When he looks up and their eyes meet, a smile breaks across his face.
“Hi, angel,” Stede says as he stands, and between the delight in Stede’s voice, and the relief he feels at finally laying eyes on his husband again after this longest and most exhausting of days, Ed just barely manages to keep his legs under him.
A brief “hi” is all he can think to reply. He strides across the rug until he’s near enough to pull Stede into his arms, and then finally, finally he’s got Stede beneath his hands, the smell of cedar and citrus cologne in his lungs. Now that he’s got something to sag against, he lets his relief overtake him, lets himself slouch against Stede as he groans into his shoulder.
“Yes, yes, you’re home,” Stede says as he holds him up and runs gentle fingers through his hair. “Home at last.”
“Fuckin’ finally.” Ed sighs, gripping at Stede’s soft waist, his broad back. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too. Sounds like you’ve had a bit of a day.”
There’s something in that simple phrase that nearly unravels Ed’s heart. Maybe it’s the way Stede says it, so sincere and concerned; maybe it’s the phrasing, the way that there’s no question in it, just acknowledgement, just support and understanding. Probably both. Either way, it has Ed’s eyes prickling, just as they did earlier.
“Yeah, a bit,” he says, feeling wobbly.
Stede tuts. “You poor thing. Well, it’s all over now.” He squeezes him tightly, rubs a hand between his shoulder blades and kisses the side of his head. “You’re alright, darling,” he murmurs. “We’ll get you all sorted out, and everything will be just fine.”
And there it is, exactly what he’s been waiting for all day. The rush of suddenly and finally having it actually makes Ed a little dizzy, and he doesn’t try to breathe through it this time—he lets himself lean into it, lets the tears well up and slip past his lashes while his face is hidden safely in the crook of Stede’s neck.
He thinks—not for the first time—about how lucky he is, having someone to come home to. His life with Stede has helped turn many old wounds into little more than scars, but memories from his time running the bar, of long nights that always ended in him coming back to an empty apartment, still haunt the very back of his mind. There had, of course, been nights where he’d come home with someone—nights where he’d felt particularly lonely, nights where he’d known that there was little he could do on his own to dull the sharp ache in his chest, so he’d picked someone else to do it for him. The selection was usually random, made without much regard for what this stranger might offer besides a brief respite from his perpetually empty bed, and if he was lucky, there was a fleeting relief in it. But even then, it was only ever a flimsy bandaid over what often felt like a gaping flesh wound; it never fully cured that craving he had for a life that was no longer solitary.
And yet, despite his hunger, the idea of coming home to someone had sounded impossible. The thought of that someone being some kind of partner, maybe even a husband? Nothing more than a fantasy, and one he’d tried not to let himself indulge in daydreaming about too often. He’d come to believe that a night was apparently all he was good for, judging by the fact that that was usually the longest anyone ever stayed. Occasionally there had been a subsequent morning, but those were anomalies, and they were never anything more than one last, quick fuck before whoever he’d brought home shuffled out the door and into the dawning day. He knew it was likely an unspoken assumption born of his reputation—there was no way a guy like him, who owned a successful bar, and ran said successful bar while dressed in leather and muscle tees and studded platform boots, could be down for a lie-in, right? No, no way. He had to be too cool and aloof for that.
Once—once—he’d offered breakfast to a guy he’d been messing around with for a couple of months. It was the first time (and only time, until he met Stede) that he’d ever seen anyone for any significant portion of time, so he’d been foolishly hopeful that that might’ve meant there was a chance for something more. But when he’d made his offer, the guy had looked at him with such disbelief, and he’d said, “Oh, you’re one of those dudes” with such derision that Ed had immediately felt like the world’s biggest chucklefuck for even entertaining the idea, much less voicing it.
So he’d just let people keep making their assumptions, and he’d never offered again, and then he started to think he just didn’t deserve it. That feeling only continued to evolve until it reached its final form in an oppressive cloud of overwhelming certainty that Ed Teach was simply not a viable long-term option for anyone, much less a marriageable man. If no one could even be fucked to share coffee and French toast with him—and he could French some damn good toast, he knew that for a fact—then how could anyone want to share a home? A life? Something like love? The very premise was a joke, one that the universe couldn’t stop laughing at, in a jeering tone that wasn’t unlike the one in which she’d laughed at him today.
But then she had stopped laughing, for reasons that are still sometimes unfathomable to Ed. He’s long since learned to stop questioning them, though, because here—against all odds—he is: Coming home to a cozy house with a light already on, the glow of it through the front window a beacon in the cold, rainy night, pulling him in and guiding him to—to—
A few more tears roll down his cheeks. Pulling him in and guiding him to a partner. To a husband. To Stede. To that deep-seated feeling of comfort and safety that he’d once been so certain he’d never get to have.
Ed tries to bury his face deeper into Stede’s neck, and Stede rubs a hand over his back in return.
“What are you thinking about?” Stede’s voice is gentle, and more than a little worried.
“You,” Ed mumbles into the collar of Stede’s shirt.
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” He leans back and meets Stede’s gaze, which is warm, even beneath his furrowed brows.
“Alright, angel?” Stede asks. He keeps one hand pressed to Ed’s back, but he lets the other reach up to cup his cheek, his thumb brushing away a few tears. The touch is calming, and Ed leans into it as he nods.
“Yeah. Just—” He finds he still can’t muster up the energy to explain anything. Maybe later. Instead, he says, “M’tired,” and then he says again, “I missed you.”
“I know,” Stede says reassuringly. “I missed you too.”
Ed stares at Stede for another moment, then cradles his face in both hands and moves in to press their lips together. It’s slow and unhurried, thorough and searching, and it all goes right to his head, the way Stede’s mouth works against his own, the angle of Stede’s hips into his, the firm press of Stede’s hand against the small of his back. Briefly, this moment feels like the whole of the world; there’s nothing beyond them, nothing more important than the way they’re all wound together.
When he finally starts to feel breathless, Ed pulls back, forehead resting against Stede’s as he tries to inhale slow, exhale slower. Stede’s fingertips trail up and down his spine.
“Still alright?” Stede asks.
“Mmhm.”
“Good.” Stede opens his mouth, then closes it. “I— Listen,” he finally says. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t… I thought about it afterward, and you had a bit of a morning too, didn’t you? Wasn’t just work, was it?”
Ed shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant. “Kinda.”
Stede’s expression shifts into one of regret, his mouth turned down in a frown and his brow heavy. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I should’ve noticed. I thought you were just— I don’t know. Tired, I guess. And I let myself get preoccupied with thinking about the visits and all that. I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” The apology isn’t strictly necessary, Ed supposes, but it touches his heart all the same. “Thanks. S’alright, though. I could’ve said something. Just… didn’t feel like talking about it then. Felt like too much. Still kinda does.” He kisses Stede’s cheek. “But thanks. You’re sweet.”
“Now you’re just humoring me.”
“Am not.” Ed holds his face in both hands again and tries to give him the most sincere look he can muster. “Thank you,” he says, very seriously. “All is forgiven.”
For a few beats, Stede just blinks at him, but eventually his expression softens. “Alright. If you say so.”
“I do say so.”
Now Stede’s almost smiling. “Alright,” he says again. Then he drums his fingers against Ed’s back. “I want to make it up to you, if that’s okay. Tonight will be all about you. I don’t know if there’s anything you’re in the mood for, but I picked up a few things for dinner on my way home, and I thought maybe we could watch a movie, if that sounds good? Or we could even go out and catch a movie if you wanted to, probably not too late for that. Or we could play cards, or there’s that new book we got last week, or I think we’ve got the stuff for cookies, maybe some baking would be relaxing—”
“Stede,” Ed cuts in. He’s trying very hard to hold in a laugh.
Stede stops, pink blooming in his cheeks. “Sorry. Getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?”
“Only a little.” Ed bumps their noses together. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it, but— A movie on the couch would be fuckin’ great, honestly. As long as it’s with you. I just want you.”
“Well,” Stede says, looking both flustered and delighted, “I think that can be arranged.” Then his gaze travels over Ed, a keen look in his eyes. “Now that that’s settled—what would you like to do first? Are you hungry? Thirsty? You’re not cold, are you?” Stede’s hands rub over his arms. “It’s gotten awfully nasty out there.”
Ed’s not really that cold, but a shiver runs through him anyway at the reminder of the rain, and it hits him then that a shower sounds pretty damn good—one so hot it’ll burn the remaining tension out of his muscles and wash off the mess of the day, really clear everything out of his system before he tries to settle in for the rest of the night.
“Think I’ll go get cleaned up,” he tells Stede. “That okay?”
“Of course.” Stede pats him on the hip. “You go wash up, and we’ll get dinner going after.”
Ed gives him one last hug before he heads down the hall. When he gets to their room, he heads to the closet first to grab some fresh clothes he can change into once he’s clean. He ends up grabbing a pair of flannel pajamas that actually belong to Stede—they’re a dark green and blue plaid, with an S stitched onto the chest pocket. Ed’s got his own matching set somewhere (red plaid, with an E on the pocket, of course), but he doesn’t care enough to look for it, not when Stede’s is right there. The safety of Stede’s clothes is preferable anyway, especially after a day like today.
Once he sets his stuff at the foot of the bed, Ed makes his way to the bathroom, strips and gets the water going. As he showers, he lets himself drift, muscle memory guiding him through washing and rinsing. The hot water is indeed a godsend over his tense muscles, and by the time he steps out to towel off, he genuinely feels refreshed. It’s with looser limbs and a clearer head that he tugs on a bathrobe and steps back into their room.
Stede is sitting on the bed, his back propped up against the pillows while he pages through the book in his lap, reading glasses perched on his nose once more. Ed’s heart flips when he sees that Stede’s wearing his pajamas, the red ones that match the set he’d grabbed for himself.
Stede looks up at him with a welcoming smile. “Feel any better?”
“Mm. Kind of a lot better,” Ed replies. He crosses the room, sheds his robe and reaches for his clothes, and when he touches them, he finds that they’re warm. His brow furrows. Why are they—
“I put them in the dryer for a few minutes,” Stede says. “My mum used to do it for me when I was little. Thought it might feel nice.”
Ed stares at the pajamas for another beat before pulling them on slowly. A pleasant shiver ripples across his skin at the feel of the warm flannel against it. It does feel nice. It feels really, really nice. It— It puts a lump in his throat is what it does, and Ed flops forward onto the bed so he can hide his blushing cheeks and the wavering corner of his mouth in Stede’s chest.
“What did I do to deserve you?” he asks.
“Oh, same thing I must’ve done to deserve you.”
Ed makes a sound that’s laugh-adjacent if you don’t listen to it too hard. He tries to focus on the beat of Stede’s heart against his forehead so he doesn’t tear up again.
“You smell good,” Stede says after a moment.
“Thanks. I used some of the soap we got at that new store last weekend.”
“I thought it smelled familiar. You’re like a… a lemon bar.”
Ed groans. “Fuck, I could destroy a lemon bar right now. We should make some soon.” He gets an arm under Stede and squeezes him as tight as he can manage in this slightly cramped position.
“Mm. Next weekend, maybe,” Stede says. He starts running his fingers through Ed’s hair. “Speaking of food—are you hungry? Should we get started on dinner?”
Immediately, Ed’s stomach all but howls. But just as he’s about to yield to it, Stede moves his hair to one side and then scratches lightly over the back of his neck. Ed whines at the sensation, and tries to press up into it. “That’s not fair,” he says. “How am I supposed to get up now?”
“Sorry,” Stede says, the smile in his voice suggesting he’s really not that sorry at all. His nails ghost up and down Ed’s neck a few more times. “Would you like me to do something with your hair first? Before we eat?” he offers.
Another unearthly sound from his stomach, likely in protest. Ed nods against Stede’s chest anyway.
“Alright. Can you sit up?”
Ed groans. “’M comfortable. Can’t you just do it like this?”
“Not very well, no. Would probably look a bit of a mess.”
A few seconds pass before Ed finally makes himself move, but even then, he doesn’t sit up right away—as a self-prescribed reward for making himself get up, he undoes the first couple of buttons of Stede’s shirt and drags his lips up the now-exposed slice of his chest, and then up his neck, before finally landing at the corner of his laughing mouth. Stede catches him for one quick, proper kiss before he guides Ed to sit in the middle of the mattress. There’s some rustling behind him, then Ed feels his hair being gathered up and moved so it all spills down his back. Short, careful strokes of a comb follow, starting at the very ends of his hair and working upward.
“So,” Stede says as he goes, “tell me all about your day.”
Ed wrinkles his nose. He does kind of feel like he could about talk it now, but he doesn’t want to right this minute, not while he’s in a post-shower, Stede’s-hands-in-his-hair haze. “Can you tell me about yours instead?” he asks.
“Tonight’s about you, dear. I thought I said that earlier.”
“Sure, but—” Ed shrugs. “Would make me feel better, I think. To just listen to you for a while.” And he means it—after a whole day without Stede, with only their brief phone call to break things up, he’s missed his easy chatter.
“I see. Butter me up, why don’t you.” Stede pauses. “You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Alright then. Let’s see… I got some good news from John and Cyril.”
“Oh, yeah? How’re the cows?”
“Naughty—I think I texted you that one of them tried to eat my jacket—but otherwise good. Cyril said business has been good enough that they’ll be getting some new animals soon.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmhm. They’ve got their eyes on some goats.”
Ed whistles. “No shit! Roach’ll be falling all over himself when he hears that.”
“Indeed. And we’ll finally be able to free ourselves of that man from the farmers market.” Stede’s voice drips with disdain, and Ed immediately knows who he’s referring to: Robert, the guy they’ve been buying their goat cheese from for the restaurant, and Stede’s most recently acquired mortal enemy.
“Good—maybe Roach will finally let you go shopping with him again,” Ed teases.
“I told him I’d be responsible if I went with him! It’s not my fault that he doesn’t trust me.”
“Babe, to be fair, I don’t trust you either.”
Stede’s gasp is surprisingly loud and very dramatic. “Not you too? Unbelievable.”
“Uh, sorry—who’s the one who keeps leaving comments on this guy’s Yelp page? Under a different username every time? On a nearly weekly basis? About how his cheese really isn’t that good, and how he overcharges everyone, which is—what was it—”
“‘Both unfair and seems unnecessary for a man who wears such obviously expensive leather loafers, even if they are in the most hideous shade of yellow’?” Stede quotes.
Ed snorts. Of course he would have it memorized. “Yeah, that. Roach said Robert brought that up the last time he was there.”
“So it’s working.”
When Ed glances over his shoulder, he sees that Stede has the satisfied look of a general who’s just won a skirmish.
“You know he’s gotta know they’re from you, right?” Ed goes on. “The first time we met him, you literally made a different passive-aggressive jab at his shoes after he told you how much the cheese cost. I really don’t think most other people are doing that.”
Stede pushes gently at his head, turning him back to face front. “Who’s to say that it’s me? I can’t be the only person in town whose eyes bleed at the sight of that man’s footwear. Or his cheese prices.”
“Okay, fair. Don’t get me wrong, I’m on your side—his shoes are horrible, and the cheese is way too expensive.” Ed pauses briefly as he enjoys the light drag of the comb over his scalp. “But the cheese is also way too good,” he continues, “and I think Roach would go on strike if we stopped buying it. So all I’m saying is that if we can get an in with someone else that we already trust, that’s good, because I can’t see you going back to the farmers market and it not ending in blood and guts all over the sidewalk. No way you’d be able to keep any of this to yourself if you saw him again.”
“God, Edward, really,” Stede says, sounding equal parts exasperated and disapproving. “I would never fight a man in public. It’s unbecoming.” He runs the comb through his hair a few more times. “I’d at least pull him into an alleyway or something. And he would have to be the one to start it—gentlemen don’t start fistfights.”
A grin tugs at Ed’s mouth. “You’re something else,” he says.
“I’m right is what I am. And I’ll take that as a compliment.” The comb disappears then. “All set, sweetpea,” Stede says, hands coming to rest on his shoulders.
Ed’s stomach makes the faintest of noises, impatiently reminding him that he’s still hungry, but Stede’s touch feels so good—he doesn’t want to give it up quite yet. “Can you keep going? Please?”
Stede chuckles. “Well, when you ask so nicely.” His fingertips meet Ed’s temples, sweeping back along his skull and gathering his hair once more. Ed feels him lifting and layering sections of it, his movements steady and sure.
“Just so you know, I’m also on your side if you do want to fight Robert,” Ed adds. “I think he deserves it. And I think we could take him.”
“Mm, I think you’re right. We’d make quite the dangerous pair, wouldn’t we?”
“I think we already do.”
Stede laughs. “Very true.”
They’re both quiet after that; Ed lets himself be lulled into a trance by the rhythmic movement of Stede working with his hair. Eventually he hears the quiet snap of a hair tie, and then there’s a kiss to the top of his head.
“There you are, love.”
Ed runs a hand over the back of his head—Stede’s braided his hair, loosely but neatly. “Thanks.”
“Anything for you. Now,” Stede says, clapping his hands, “I’m open to suggestions for dinner, but I did have one idea: I got some soup when I was at the bakery, and I know we’ve got the bread we made last weekend, and John wouldn’t let me leave today without some fresh cheddar, so I was thinking—”
“If you say ‘grilled cheese,’ I’m gonna marry you all over again.”
“Well, now I have no choice but to make you one.”
Ed tips his head back to look at Stede, heart melting when he sees the look of affection on his face.
“Sorry I don’t have another ring on me—wasn’t expecting a proposal tonight—but I’ll get you one quick as I can.”
Stede grins at him before he slips off the bed. “I can allow that.” Then he holds out his hand. “Come along, then. I need to earn my ring. And I still want to hear all about your day.”
A sense of appreciation surges through Ed as he takes Stede’s hand and follows him to the kitchen. He really hadn’t been trying to avoid talking, but Stede’s insistence still feels nice, and makes him feel wanted.
It’s a brief walk down the hall, and when they get to the kitchen, Ed starts to head for the fridge, but Stede catches his sleeve and holds him back.
“Ah-ah—you are not lifting a finger tonight,” he says. “Or for the rest of this weekend, if I have anything to say about it.”
Ed turns back to look at him, one eyebrow cocked. “That right?”
“It most certainly is.”
“I promise, babe, I really am feeling better. I can handle making grilled cheese.” It’s true—he feels entirely relaxed now, the rest of the day already turning into a distant memory.
“Be that as it may, I’d like to spoil you for a bit, so—take it or leave it.” Stede attempts to glare at him, but there’s too much fondness in his expression for it to really be anywhere close to effective.
Ed waits for a few beats, then sighs in mock defeat. “Fine—you win. Can I at least grab us a couple of drinks, though?”
Stede waves him away. “Fine! Fine. You can grab drinks. But that’s it,” he insists with narrowed eyes.
When Stede releases his sleeve, Ed walks the last few steps to the fridge, grabbing the bottle of moscato that’s tucked among the dressings and condiments on one of the shelves in the door. He starts to reach for what must be the soup from the bakery too, and the plastic-wrapped block of cheese that must’ve come from John, but then there’s the press of a warm body at his back and hands gripping firmly at his hips, startling him.
“I said you could grab drinks, and that was it.” There’s a bite in Stede’s voice, playful but definitely there, and when his teeth nip at the shell of Ed’s ear, goosebumps ripple up his arms. As he shivers, Stede presses even closer.
“Christ, you’re so bossy,” Ed says. He tries to make the words an indignant huff, but they come out kind of extremely turned-on instead.
Stede’s nose brushes along the back of his neck. “Only when it comes to making sure you get to relax.” His arms wrap around him then, squeezing once before tugging him backward, and Ed lets himself be walked away from the fridge.
“I told you I’m feeling better! I’m relaxed, I swear.”
“I believe I will be the judge there.” When they reach the counter, Stede turns him around so that they’re facing each other, then he takes the wine from his hand and sets it aside. He runs his hands along his arms and up to his shoulders, fingertips feeling along his muscles. “I’m not sure, dear—you still seem tense to me. I think we’ll have to do something to fix that.”
Another shiver runs through Ed—both the unwavering focus of Stede’s gaze and the way Stede’s got him backed up against the counter have him feeling pleasantly pinned down. He can certainly think of more than a few things that might help ease some of that tension, but he kinda wants to hear them from Stede’s mouth first before he makes any suggestions. So, mouth a little dry, he says, “Any ideas?”
Stede just stares at him for a few moments, hands still on his shoulders, the heat of his body both pleasant and terribly tempting. Ed’s starting to feel like the suspense might kill him when Stede finally starts leaning in, face growing closer, and Ed feels something hungry stirring in his chest, want prickling along his skin, and—
Stede kisses the very end of his nose and then turns around, heading toward the fridge. “A few ideas, yes,” he says over his shoulder. “But I think I’ll save those for later.”
Ed blinks at his confounded husband’s back, then groans. “Fuck me,” he wheezes.
“Not until you’ve had something to eat.”
Stede returns to his side with an armful of food and a shit-eating grin on his face. When Ed swats at his shoulder, Stede catches his hand and kisses his knuckles.
“You suck,” Ed mutters, not meaning it at all.
“I do my best.” Stede grabs a couple of wine glasses from the cabinet and hands them over. “Now—get yourself a drink, take a seat, and tell me everything.”
Ed does just that—he pours them each a generous glass, then hops up to sit on the counter next to the stove, and while Stede works, slicing bread and cheese and stirring the soup as it reheats, he recounts his day, heels kicking gently against the drawers beneath him. Stede groans in sympathy when he talks about the napkins and the dropped glasses, chuckles and shakes his head when he explains Joe’s shenanigans and the catering orders. He hands Ed spare pieces of cheese too as he cooks, and offers him sips of his wine, even though Ed’s got his own glass sitting next to him. And it feels good, finally letting everything out—Ed starts to feel lighter as he goes. Once he’s finally unpacked the whole of the day, he heaves a sigh, head bumping back against the cabinets.
“Jesus,” he says, rubbing at his eyes. “Today was fuckin’ long.”
“Sounds like you could say that twice.” Stede flips the grilled cheese he’s got in the pan. “You’re very brave, you know.”
Ed snorts. “Sure, that’s me. Big, brave man makes it through one whole work day on his own.”
Stede knocks a hip against his thigh, eyes still on the frying pan. “I wasn’t being sarcastic. I’m serious.” Now he does look at him, and he does it from beneath his brows, his expression pointed. “I know these kinds of days. I have these kinds of days. You’ve seen me have these kinds of days. They’re not easy. But you made it through, darling. And all in one piece.” Stede turns back to the pan, but not before patting his knee. “I’m very proud of you.”
He does indeed sound serious, and it makes Ed feel flushed. “Thanks,” he mumbles.
“See, this is why it’s good that we’re closed on the weekends. You need some rest. If anyone calls, they’ll have to go through me.”
Ed smiles. “Yeah? Is that a threat? You gonna fight someone about it?”
“Of course. A gentleman must always be ready to fend off attackers when his husband has had a very trying day, and needs some peace and quiet in which he can recuperate.”
“I thought you said earlier that gentlemen don’t start fistfights.”
“Over some cheese at the farmers market? And with a man who’s so far beneath us? God, no. But for you? Of course I would.”
Stede is still totally straight-faced as he gives the soup another stir and checks his grilled cheese before sliding it out of the pan and onto a plate. And it makes Ed’s heart do a funny little dance, because that’s just it—he really doesn’t doubt that Stede genuinely would fight someone for him if the opportunity presented itself. He’s actually gotten close a few times, on busy nights at the restaurant where Ed’s stationed himself at the bar to help Buttons and Ivan make drinks, and some tipsy asshole has gotten a little too friendly with him, even after he’s told them to piss off. On those nights, Stede calmly walks closer, asks if there’s a problem, and then he does this really sexy thing where he gets this look in his eyes and this set to his shoulders that both clearly say, “Try making a pass at this guy one more time.” He never does need to raise a hand or anything after that, because his entire aura is enough to make said tipsy asshole disappear. But Ed doesn’t think he’d put it past him—Stede is nothing if not full of surprises.
It’s then that Ed feels a hand on his knee again. He looks up to see Stede’s already looking at him, one eyebrow raised. He blinks; he must’ve zoned out.
“Alright there?” Stede asks. “Seemed like you drifted off.”
Ed blinks again, then nods. “Yeah. Sorry. Just—” He sees no reason to lie. “Got distracted thinking about you decking someone for me. Kinda hot. Are you, like, in love with me or something?”
He’s expecting Stede to laugh, or maybe toss off some witty one-liner in response. Instead, Stede’s mouth curves into this soft little smile—the word “besotted” pops into his mind, a word he’d never had a person for before he met Stede—and he says, “Very much so.”
And how is Ed supposed to do anything other than kiss him for that?
The answer is that he can’t, of course, so he doesn’t stop himself, and his stomach somersaults when Stede laughs against his lips and kisses him right back.
“Well,” Ed says when he pulls away, “that’s great, because I’m kinda in love with you too.”
“Really? Oh, what a relief—it would be so lonely, pining after you for the rest of my life. Not that I wouldn’t do it.” Stede grabs one of the bowls he’d set on the counter and ladles some soup into it, then hands it to him, along with one of the plates. “For you,” he says proudly.
Ed marvels at Stede’s creation: The bread is a photo-worthy golden brown, fragrant with the garlic butter (leftover from the restaurant) that he’d slathered it with, and cheese oozes out the sides, crispy along the edges where it melted onto the hot pan. Generally speaking, Stede is no master chef—he works best when they cook as a team—but he has perfected the art of the grilled cheese on his own, a blessing for which Ed is perpetually grateful.
“Shit,” he says, stomach practically roaring. “This looks incredible. You’re the best, y’know? Thank you.” He steals one more kiss before he slides off the counter and onto his feet.
They take their adjacent seats at their little kitchen table, elbows and legs brushing as they eat. Ed listens happily as Stede fills him in on some of the other vendors he met with that day: Mary’s made another addition to her studio, and the new distiller they’ve been trying to win over made him an offer today to work on some booze that would be exclusively for the restaurant. The news is a pretty big and very pleasant surprise—the woman is notoriously selective about who she works with, and only chooses people that she really likes. They’d been courting her business for months now, and given how long it had been, they’d been afraid lately that despite their best efforts to cultivate some kind of relationship, they’d fucked up somewhere along the line.
“Guess all that schmoozing really paid off,” Ed says, lifting his wine glass in a salute.
“Seems like it,” Stede agrees as he clinks their glasses together. He takes a sip, and then he says, “Actually, speaking of that—we’ve been working awfully hard lately. For good reason, I know—business is better than ever—but it’s been a long summer, and I was thinking: How would you like to go sailing sometime soon? Close down for a few days, give everyone some time off? It’s been a while since we’ve gone. I’d already been thinking about it today, and then after I talked to you at lunch, well—seemed even more necessary.”
It has indeed been a while since the last time they took the boat out. They’d gotten it just last summer, after they’d been talking about bucket lists one night and discovered that they’d both always dreamed of learning how to sail. Immediately, they’d jumped into research—they’d pored over books and articles in search of the perfect vessel, Stede had subscribed to not one, but two boating lifestyle magazines, and they’d spent more than one night in bed scrolling through website after website full of deck shoes and cable knit sweaters. It took a few months of searching, but eventually they found the perfect boat (and the perfect shoes and sweaters), and they’ve been seamen ever since.
They usually try to take a day trip or two every couple of weeks, but it’s been nearly a month and a half now since the last time they were out; it had indeed been a busy summer, and time had just gotten away from them. The next month or so will be the perfect time to be on the water, though—it’ll be cool enough that they can be out without roasting, but not so cold that they’ll risk freezing their asses off.
Ed bumps Stede’s elbow with his own. “I think that is an excellent idea,” he says. “Good thinkin’, captain.”
Stede smiles. “Wonderful.” He takes another sip of his wine, and then he says, “You know, you look so handsome out at sea. You look like you belong out there. Like… Like you’re some dashing, sea-faring man who lives in a nice cottage by the beach. Someone who catches all his own fish and knows everything about the ocean, and everyone in the little town down the road is in love with him because he’s so clever, and kind, and beautiful, and…” He’s staring off into the distance now, a faraway look on his face.
“And?” Ed prompts after a moment, curious where he’s going with this.
Stede blinks, his gaze refocusing. “And…” He blushes, and he looks back down at his plate, the corner of his mouth hitching up further. “And there’s a new guy who comes to town. And one day when he’s in town, he sees the guy from the beach, and he—he falls for him, just as hard as everyone else does.”
“Just from seeing him once?”
Stede nods. “I said he was beautiful.”
Warmth spreads through Ed’s chest. This is a game they play sometimes, making up new meetings, creating new universes in which they find each other.
“So what brings this guy to town, then?” he asks.
Stede takes a sip of wine. “He… His grandfather used to live in town. And… he inherited his grandfather’s house, and his boat. And he wants to learn how to sail it. But he has no clue where to start, and he hears that the man on the beach is the best sailor in town—on the whole coast, maybe—so he goes to find him.”
“Mm.” Ed takes another bite of his sandwich. It’s exactly as good as it had looked; it just might’ve earned Stede yet another wedding. “Sounds kinda lonely, living out away from town like that—bet the beach guy’s happy to see someone. Share some of the stuff he knows. What’s the new guy good at? Does he get to teach something too?”
Stede swirls his wine in his glass. “He… likes… building dollhouses.”
The response is both so unexpected and so completely Stede that it startles a laugh out of Ed. “Yeah?” he says.
Stede grins. “Mmhm. Really big ones, really fancy, lots of… colorful wallpaper, and working lights. Hand-carved furniture and little knitted rugs. I found this guy online the other day who makes them, and—” Stede cuts himself off and shakes his head. “I’ll have to show you some other time.”
Ed laughs again, leaning back in his chair. “That’s something. Sure—fancy dollhouses. Love it. Bet this guy on the beach would love it too. Like— He loves sailing and fishing and all that, but it probably gets kinda old, right? Same old work, day after day? And sometimes he wishes he could do something totally different, y’know? So when this new guy comes in with his thing he’s never seen before, he’s like, ‘Fuck yeah, this rules—bet I could do that too.’”
Stede looks pleased by his approval. “So they trade?”
“Yeah. Beach guy teaches the new guy how to sail, and the new guy teaches him how to make tiny couches and shit. And this new guy is funny and kinda weird—in a good way—and he’s interesting, and before you know it, the beach guy is falling for him too.”
“Is that so?”
“Mmhm. Like, ass over tits, fully obsessed. Can’t stop thinking about him. I mean, he liked this guy right away, but now that they’re hanging out and stuff, it’s, like, a whole new level.”
A shy look steals over Stede’s face at the indirect compliments; he looks down at the table, scratching at some invisible speck of something. “Is it love, then?”
“Uh, duh. They…” Ed drums his fingers on the table, his thoughts sprinting ahead of him, trying to craft something interesting. “Maybe they’re working on building a house that looks like the beach guy’s cottage. And once it’s all done, the new guy surprises him with a little doll that looks like him, and he’s like, ‘Here, wouldn’t be a home without you in it.’ And then that gives the beach guy an idea, and he starts working, and a couple of days later he invites the new guy over and shows him the doll he made that looks just like him, and he puts it in the little cottage and he’s like—” He pauses for effect, and when Stede looks back up and raises his brows in anticipation, Ed gives him his best smolder and says, “‘Kinda starting to feel like it’s not a home without you in it either,’” his voice all low and smoky.
Stede stares at him for a second, and then he smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oh, that’s very smooth,” he says. “Aren’t you clever?”
“I know,” Ed replies, feeling proud of himself. “Beach guy’s a real romantic in secret, I think.”
“I think so too.” Then Stede shrugs. “Well, that’s it, then—the new guy can’t resist those charms.”
“’Course he can’t. So he moves into the cottage, and then they’re together forever, fishing and sailing and making fancy dollhouses until the cows come home. Well, not cows, I guess. They’re not on a farm. Fish, maybe? Yeah. Dollhouses til the fish come home.”
“And they live happily ever after?”
“Damn right they do.”
Stede reaches for his hand. “That’s a good one. I like that one.”
“Me too.”
“You know, I really do think we could’ve been sailors in another life. Like real, proper sailors. Not just weekend trips.”
“Still could be,” Ed says. He squeezes Stede’s fingers. “We could find a cottage on a beach somewhere. Bring our boat along. Learn how to make fancy dollhouses.”
Stede’s smile turns a little dreamy. “We could. Would be a lovely retirement, wouldn’t it?”
“Mmhm. Perfect retirement. I can see it now.”
And indeed he can see it, so very vividly. Not just this eventual direction their shared life might take, but this parallel universe they’ve created too: He can see his house on the sand; he can see this alternate version of Stede showing up in town, a little clueless and a lot charming, brimming with infectious enthusiasm; he can see the two of them dancing around their burgeoning feelings for one another as they sit side by side on the swinging bench he keeps out by the shoreline, bent together over practice fishing knots and hand-whittled furniture. It surprises him, sometimes, how immediately and clearly he can almost always picture these things. But there’s a comfort in it too—it makes him feel like they’re forever connected, now that they’ve already found each other once. Like the universe—much as she likes to toy with him, at times—won’t let them live another life apart.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ed catches movement, and it pulls him out of his thoughts. He sees Stede sit up straighter before rolling his neck and shoulders a few times.
“Well,” he says, “as much as I’d like to sit here with you for the rest of the night, I suppose I ought to get things put away. You still want to watch a movie?”
“That okay?” Ed asks. “I know it’s kinda boring.”
Stede waves a hand in dismissal. “Not boring at all. You go pick something out, and I’ll be right in,” he says, and then he collects their dishes and takes them over to the sink.
Ed stands up from the table and turns toward the living room. He’s only a few steps away when he hears the bright strum of a guitar and strong, smooth vocals. When turns, he sees Stede setting his phone on the counter beside him, then swaying to the music as he ties on an apron and dons some gloves. He starts singing along as he gets to washing.
For a few beats, Ed lets himself stare, eyes caught by the strong line of Stede’s plaid-clad shoulders, the side-to-side of his hips. It’s all terribly endearing. And then he thinks to himself, sure—he could go pick out something to watch. But instead of making for the living room, he shuffles over to the sink, and as soon as he’s close enough, he wraps his arms around Stede’s waist and tucks his face into Stede’s hair.
“I thought I sent you off,” Stede says.
“Sorry. You looked too good over here.”
Stede chuckles, then he tips his head into Ed’s, and he doesn’t say anything more after that—he just keeps on washing, and Ed clings, eyes closed, letting his thoughts drift along with the music.
It only takes one more song before there’s the squeak and rustle of Stede tugging off his gloves, followed by the run of the faucet. Ed opens his eyes and stands up just as Stede twists around in his arms to reach for a towel to dry his hands. When he’s done, Stede turns to face him, cupping his cheeks in warm palms. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, and then a new song starts: There’s a sweet, sticky line of brass that jumps briefly into a jaunty little melody before it slows back down, followed by plodding piano and bass, shuffling drums, and syrupy strings, all of it cushioning a woman’s clear, effortless voice. Stede smiles just as Ed feels the corner of his own mouth pull up—it’s the song they danced to at their wedding.
“Well, isn’t this a coincidence,” Stede says. He takes Ed by the waist, then reaches for his hand. “Might I have this dance?”
In lieu of a verbal response, Ed takes Stede’s hand, and then he wraps his arm around Stede’s back, pulling them flush. Their foreheads press together, noses brushing cheeks, lips close but not touching. Quietly, Stede hums along with the first couple of verses, and then he lets out a soft sigh, his arm curling more tightly around Ed’s waist.
“When we get married again,” he says, “should this still be our first dance?”
“Hm? Oh. Hmm.” They shuffle from foot to foot a few more times. “I think we should pick something different,” Ed finally says. “Something… Something we can do with, like, choreography and costumes. Second wedding’s the time to get wild, I think.”
“Ah, that’s brilliant. See, this is why I married you—you understand the value of a good performance. Most people don’t.”
“And here I thought you just wanted me because I’m so hot.”
“Mm, there’s that too. And don’t forget about your sparkling wit, your brilliant mind, your kind heart, your wonderful sense of humor, the way you’re so brave and strong… I could go on forever, you know.”
If he was a cat, Ed thinks, he’d be purring. The smile that’s still on his face grows a little wider. “You trying to get me to marry you again?” he asks.
Stede laughs. “Maybe. Is it working?”
“Definitely. Doesn’t take much to convince me.” Ed follows as Stede turns him in a slow circle. “Honestly, that grilled cheese earlier was so good that I was already thinking about another wedding. So now we get three more weddings. Second one gets the whole routine, maybe for the third one we can do this song again, and then for four… world’s our fuckin’ oyster, babe.”
“Wow. Three whole weddings. We’d better start planning. Not tomorrow, though—we’ll get started after you’re all rested.” Their song comes to an end then, and as the next one starts, Stede says, “You know, this is perfect—I have just the thing to celebrate our engagement. Well, plural engagements, now.”
“Oh?”
“Mmhm. When I stopped at the bakery earlier, I saw that they had a certain someone’s favorite kind of cake on display, so I picked up a couple of slices.”
Ed pulls back to see that Stede looks incredibly pleased with himself, eyes damn near sparkling.
“You really are the fuckin’ best, you know that?” he says, punctuating his delight with a kiss.
“Just luck, really, that they had it today, but I’ll take it,” Stede replies. “I’ll get everything ready—you go find something to watch.”
Once Ed finally makes it to the living room, he sifts through their collection of movies for a bit before he lands on one that’s become a staple for them, a good old-fashioned fairy tale full of adventure and revenge and true love. Stede joins him just as it’s starting, and they take their seats on the couch, side by side, eating and watching in easy silence. When they’ve finished, they grab a blanket and lay themselves out along the couch. Ed tucks himself into the space between Stede’s body and the back cushions, his head pillowed on Stede’s shoulder and an arm laid over his ribs, and Stede holds him close, cheek against the top of his head.
Their silence stretches on for the rest of the movie; sometimes they like to talk while they watch stuff, reciting favorite lines or making silly commentary, but Ed’s too tired to contribute anything. Stede must understand, because he doesn’t try to talk either—he just rubs his back, or toys idly with the end of his braid. It’s so relaxing that Ed ends up drifting off, and it’s not until he blinks his heavy eyes open and sees the credits rolling on the TV that he realizes he’d even been asleep. He digs his face into Stede’s shoulder, and Stede pats his back.
“Hello, sleeping beauty,” he says. “Have a nice nap?”
“Wasn’t napping,” Ed yawns. “I just had my eyes closed.”
“Ah. I see. My apologies.” Stede kisses his hair. “So you’re not ready for bed, then?”
“Pfft. Bed shmed. We’re already all laid out—no need to get up. Can just sleep here.”
“Agree to disagree there, darling—if you don’t want your back to be sore tomorrow, we do indeed need to get up.”
Unfortunately, the man has a point.
Ed groans. “Fuck. I hate not being twenty anymore. Could fall asleep anywhere back then.”
“Mm, I know.”
They untangle themselves and slowly sit up. Ed rubs at his eyes and lets out another yawn, and then he looks at Stede, who’s stretching his arms up and over his head, twisting this way and that. The movement causes the hem of his shirt to ride up and expose a few delightful inches of his stomach, and immediately, Ed’s remembering his words from earlier, when he’d backed him up against the kitchen counter; suddenly he feels much more awake, a flame of desire licking at him, hot and hungry.
“Thought you were gonna fuck me after I had something to eat,” he says, reaching out for Stede’s bare skin.
Stede starts at his touch and looks at him with wide eyes. “Ed-ward,” he says, theatrically scandalized. “Aren’t you bold?” He tuts. “I’ll have you know that I was going to woo you once we got to bed. Emphasis on the ‘was,’ though—I gave up that idea once you fell asleep. Aren’t you tired?”
Ed pinches Stede’s hip. “Never too tired for you.”
“Mmhm. Regardless—you’re so impatient.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when I spend a whole day without you—I develop an overwhelming need for Stede.”
They manage to stare straight-faced at each other for about three seconds before they burst into laughter. Stede falls back against the couch cushions, and Ed feels horribly in love with the dimples in his cheeks and the way his nose scrunches up, and the fact that he gets to be the cause of both of those things.
“I’m serious,” he eventually manages to get out. “It’s a very real condition.”
Stede buries his face in his hands briefly before looking over at him, and the pure affection written all over his face hits Ed like a fist.
“Silly,” Stede says. He gazes at him for a bit longer, and then he’s clambering off the couch, saying, “Alright—up we go, then,” rather decisively, and in a blink, he’s bent down and scooped Ed into his arms.
Ed blinks at Stede once he’s cradled against his chest. Stede’s cheeks are pink with the effort of picking him up, and a lock of hair has fallen to curl over his forehead; he looks horribly charming, like something off the cover of a romance novel.
“May I carry you off to bed, my sweet prince?” Stede asks.
Well, this is it—it was nice knowing the world while it lasted. Let it be known that Edward Teach-Bonnet lived a good life, and he went out doing what he loved: swooning over his husband. So long, farewell, auf wiedersehn, goodbye.
…When he manages to stay alive, though, he says, “Alright then—go on.”
Stede beams at him, then kisses his forehead and starts heading for their bedroom.
“This never gets old, y’know,” Ed says as they go. “Always very hot.”
Stede’s arms tighten around him. “I’d carry you everywhere if you’d let me,” he says.
“Yeah?”
“Mmm. If I had my way, you’d never have to walk again.”
Ed doesn’t doubt that he means it. “Awfully generous of you. Spoil a man like that, though, and he might start getting used to it.”
“Good. I like spoiling you.”
Something in Ed’s chest tightens at that, and he’s not really sure what to say in response, so he just presses his cheek to Stede’s shoulder instead.
It’s a short walk to their room, and once they get there, they make quick work of getting ready for bed: Stede washes his face while Ed brushes his teeth, and then while Stede’s brushing his, Ed hangs off his back again. Suspense has his stomach fluttering—he’s eager to see exactly how Stede was planning on “wooing” him. Briefly, he thinks again about the way Stede had crowded him up against the kitchen counter; he certainly wouldn’t object to some more of that kind of energy.
For all his excitement, though, he doesn’t try to rush things, because this feels nice too. For as long as they’ve lived together, Ed’s always cherished these moments where their routines run parallel, the way that even when they’re not exactly doing something together, they still orbit each other in these in-between times, like while they’re getting dressed, or puttering around the same room while they’re tidying up. So instead of egging Stede on, trying to get him to hurry up, Ed just holds him. He starts humming their song again, and when he sways side to side, Stede sways with him, even twirls him around the bathroom a few times after he’s done brushing.
It’s not long, though, before Stede’s scooping him into his arms once more and carrying him to bed. Ed reaches out to pull the covers back, and Stede sets him down gently. After he switches on the bedside lamp, he slips in beside him, and now that they’re laid down, Ed’s heart joins his stomach, the beat of it light and hummingbird-fast; when he reaches out to grasp at Stede’s shirt, his hand shakes.
“So how were you going to woo me, then?” he asks. He aims for flirty and sure of himself, but the words come out like spun sugar, made delicate by his overwhelming sense of anticipation.
Stede’s gaze roams over his face, and between the focus in his expression, and the way he looks so very handsome in the soft lamplight, the back of Ed’s neck feels hot. “I want you to tell me what you want,” Stede says.
The breath is momentarily stolen from Ed’s lungs; he hopes he knows where this is going. “Yeah?” he croaks.
“Mmhm.” Stede tucks a lock of hair behind his ear, one that must’ve come loose from his braid. “What can I do for you, dearest?”
A shiver goes through Ed, and his grip on Stede’s shirt tightens. This is exactly what he’d been hoping for—the way Stede can turn just so and slip into this side of himself that he only ever saves for Ed, the one where his voice turns rich and sweet, like homemade caramel and sun-warmed honey, and his words and his touch get this edge to them that’s tender but commanding. Ed craves it— Well, all the time, honestly, but especially after days like today, when he’s tired and hungry and he wishes someone else would run the show for a second. It’s the kitchen all over again, everything he could possibly want, and the fact that he didn’t even have to ask for it, the fact that Stede already knew to give it to him, makes him feel so unbelievably lucky.
It also makes him so horny that his thoughts essentially fade into static, which isn’t all that helpful at the moment, seeing as Stede’s waiting for an answer from him. And Stede will wait—Ed knows from experience that there’s nothing he’ll be able to say to convince him of his empty head, so he does his best to think. Every single option, though, is so very tempting, and his thoughts become little more than a blurry carousel as his mind supplies for him flashes of the heat of Stede’s mouth, the roll of Stede’s hips into his, the feel of Stede’s thighs around his waist as he’s the one pressing Stede into the mattress.
It’s then that Stede leans in and presses the lightest of kisses to his forehead, and if this was anyone else, Ed would be embarrassed by the sharp breath he sucks in at the touch.
“Can you give me an answer, please?” Stede prompts.
Fuck, fuck, he’s thinking, he is. What does he want? Mentally, he digs his heels in, tries to slow the spin of his mind; with some effort, the fantasies fade away, and he finds he can think a little more clearly.
Truth be told, even though Stede won’t tell him what exactly he meant by it, the thought of being wooed sounds nice. It sounds romantic, and loving, and that… That’s really it, isn’t it? That’s what this whole night has been. The carousel starts up again, but with new images this time: Strong arms wrapped around him as soon as he walks through the door. The warmth of a pair of pajamas fresh from the dryer. Loving hands moving through his hair. A flawless grilled cheese. A slow dance in the dim light of their kitchen. Dozing on the couch while someone else keeps watch. Those same strong arms whisking him off to bed. A particular brand of tenderness that makes him feel like—like—
Like he’s cherished. Like he’s beloved. It’s been so relaxed, and so golden, and it’s filled in every little crack that the day made in him, turning him whole again.
With his pulse racing, Ed tugs at Stede’s collar. Stede follows the pull of his begging hands and gives him a kiss, and then, it’s against Stede’s lips that Ed whispers, “Can you—slow, please?”
A few strands of golden hair brush against his forehead as Stede leans closer. “Slow?” he repeats.
“Mm.”
Stede gazes at him for a moment before giving him a smile, one so pleased that it nearly gives Ed goosebumps. Then he leans back in for a kiss, light and chaste, just a brush to the corner of his mouth. He lingers for a few heartbeats, then moves to Ed’s cheek, the spot just below his eye, his forehead. Once again, he lingers briefly before moving on to his temple, his jaw, and finally stopping at the base of his throat, just over his collarbone. There’s the barest hint of teeth against his skin before Stede soothes over the same spot with his tongue, and it’s so good that Ed clutches at his shoulders. Stede presses a hand to his hip, as if to steady him.
“Alright, darling?” he asks.
Ed nods. “Y-Yeah.”
Stede nuzzles against the slope of his shoulder before dragging his lips up the length of his neck, stopping just over his pulse. He doesn’t kiss so hard that he’ll bruise—Ed knows that exquisite pain by heart, and this is just a touch too light—but he does suck at his skin just enough to send pleasure tingling up his spine.
“God, Stede,” Ed pants, “you gotta—c’mere, please—”
He’s cut off by Stede’s mouth then, by kisses that are almost unbearably tender, simple and closed-mouth until Ed finally asks for more with parted lips and a whine. And even then, when Stede opens up to him, it doesn’t turn frantic or impatient—Stede kisses him like it’s an indulgence, one he wants to enjoy as thoroughly as possible. It’s delicious and heady, and Ed lets himself get lost in it for a while, lets the world fade until all he knows is the slow drag of Stede’s mouth.
It’s not until Stede slips a leg between his own and his hips instinctively twitch upward that Ed suddenly remembers he’s extremely hard. He gasps against Stede’s mouth and rolls his hips again.
“Wait,” he manages between kisses, “Stede, you—more, please—”
Stede’s hand comes to rest on his ribs, then drifts down, down, trails over his waist and the curve of his ass before finally grabbing just above the back of his knee, hiking his leg up and pulling him closer. The added pressure has Ed biting at his lip.
“What would you like now, love?” Stede asks him.
If the thought of trying to come up with an answer had seemed difficult before, it feels damn near impossible now. This time, Ed does try to wriggle his way out of it: “Fuck, babe, I can’t even think—”
“Yes, you can,” Stede interrupts, gently. “Tell me.”
Ed takes a breath through his nose, then sighs it out, steady as he can. “I want…” He tries to order his thoughts. More of what they’ve been doing, that’s what he wants—more of this gradual unraveling, more of this candlelit intimacy. He wants Stede’s touch, but he still wants his kiss too, still wants him close and leaned over him, like he is now. With his heart still fluttering madly, Ed says, “I want… slow, still. And… just your hand?”
“Yeah?” Stede says.
Ed nods. “Mm. Please? Want you to—” Heat flares in his cheeks. “Keep kissing me,” he mumbles.
Stede looks at him like he hung the moon. “Of course.” Fingertips trail along the waistband of his pants. “May I?”
Ed nods and starts fumbling at his clothes. Stede helps him shimmy out of his pants and briefs, starts undoing his shirt too when Ed’s eager, clumsy fingers struggle with the buttons. All he’d wanted was to avoid making a mess of Stede’s nice pajamas, but Stede takes it a step further by dropping kisses down the length of his chest with every button he slips free. When he stops at the soft bit of his stomach just beside his hip, Ed feels teeth again, and this one will blossom into a nice little bruise by tomorrow, he can tell, and the thought makes him feel all shivery. His mouth practically aches for another kiss, so he reaches for Stede’s face, says, “C’mere, c’mere, please—”
Instead of moving toward him, though, Stede reaches for the nightstand. Ed whines at that, trying to tug him back.
“Still so impatient,” Stede teases. “Just a second, dear—now where did I leave that lu—”
There’s some shuffling, an “a-ha” and the click of a cap, and then Stede’s finally back and leaning in, giving him his kiss at the same moment that he takes him in his hand. The slick slide of his grip has Ed’s brain going staticky again, a moan caught in his throat.
“There, sweetheart,” Stede murmurs against his lips. He starts moving, his touch sweet and patient. “Is this good?”
“Fuck, yeah,” Ed says, “just like that. Come back, come back—”
Stede leans in just as he reaches for him, and when their lips meet again, Ed could almost cry with relief.
It ends up being a bit of a tricky business, the kissing—with the way Stede lets him luxuriate in every moment of his touch, every squeeze of his fingers and every twist of his wrist, Ed has to pull away to groan or swear, more often than not. But Stede just ducks down to his neck and his chest when he has to, moves back up to his mouth when he can handle it, and it’s so good—so fucking full of love—that Ed hurts with it. He’s already so worked up that it doesn’t take long for him to find himself meeting his edge.
“Stede,” he pants, “I’m—fuck, please—”
“Are you close?”
Stede’s voice is crushed velvet in his ear, and the mere sound of it makes him whimper.
“Shit, yeah, I’m—” He forgets his words when Stede’s grip goes a little firmer.
“Go on, darling, it’s alright.”
And Ed’s nearly there—seconds away from falling—when he abruptly realizes he wants to drag this out further. Startled and desperate, he gasps, “Wait!”
Stede’s hand stills immediately, and his expression shifts to one of worry.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “Is something wrong?”
Ed shakes his head. “No, fuck, you’re perfect, I just—” He tries to breathe through it. “Don’t wanna. Yet,” he clarifies.
Just as quickly as it came, Stede’s worry melts into understanding, and he beams at Ed, like he’s offered him some kind of gift. This is far from the first time they’ve done this, but somehow it always seems to fill Stede with the same amount of delight every time that he asks for it.
“Not yet?” Stede confirms.
Ed nods.
Stede nods as well, then leans down and kisses him until his breathing’s not coming quite as fast, until the pleasure recedes to a lazy wave lapping at the shore of him, no longer an impending hurricane. Only after Ed pulls back and says, “Good, m’good” does Stede’s hand start moving again, slow and steady.
Ed trusts Stede, at that point, to lead—he knows that Stede will hold him, that he’ll be gentle and guiding. It’s a reality that’s still a bit wild to him, because for so long, he’d thought it could never be like this. Sure, he’d wanted it, but he’d never had the confidence to ask for it, nor had he ever known how to say no to the people who so clearly expected him to be in charge in these situations, just like your one-night stand who brought you home in his leather jacket and shredded jeans surely ought to be.
And then Stede Bonnet had tugged him into his bed. Stede had felt the hesitation in Ed’s hands when Ed had touched him—because Ed felt safe enough around him to let his hands hesitate—and then Stede had asked him if he was okay. And when Ed had haltingly told him that he thought he might be too nervous to lead this time, Stede had said that he’d never asked him to lead in the first place. And he’d told Ed—somewhat haltingly himself, at first, but then with that stubborn willingness to try that Ed so loved and admired in him—that he could just let go, if he wanted to. Stede had said that he was new to this, obviously, but he’d like to—he’d be happy to—take care of him, if he would be alright with that. And if Ed hadn’t already signed his heart away to Stede ages ago, he certainly would’ve done it right then.
The Stede of today is no less caring than the Stede of that first time; he takes such wonderful care of him, over and over again. Ed quickly loses track, actually, of how many times they go back and forth, close then far then close once more—numbers and time become meaningless when his world is little more than the pressure and glide of Stede’s hand.
Maybe even better than his hand, though, is the way Stede talks to him—he practically croons in his ear, a sweet, unending song of praise. It starts with the “you’re doing so well, so well” as he works him up to the edge, then shifts into the “oh—hold on, love, not yet, not yet, just breathe” when he’s close. When he manages to hold back, there’s the “there you go, sweetheart, there you are” and the “oh, you did perfectly,” and in the in-between, as Stede waits for him to drift back down, it’s a chorus of “oh, Ed, you’re so lovely, dearest,” and “you’re so wonderful, absolutely wonderful,” and “oh, aren’t you an angel, doing so perfect and so well,” all of it tucked between kisses. Then, when he thinks Ed’s alright, it’s “are you ready?” and “can you do that again?” And when Ed says yes, it’s “alright, once again,” and then “there, angel, there you go, I’ve got you,” and “don’t worry, go on, you’re doing perfectly.” As much as it gets him all hot and bothered, it’s also so comforting, like sinking into a warm bath; he lets it all swim around his head and soak into his skin, buoying him as he drifts.
They keep going and going and going, and Ed’s starting to wonder if maybe they could just stay here forever when his legs start to feel weak and his lashes grow damp with tears, and he knows then that this is it, that he likely won’t be able to hold himself back again. He doesn’t even have to wonder if Stede notices as well because he knows that Stede knows him like he knows his favorite sonnets, that Stede has the rhythm and sound of him memorized. Sure enough, in one of the in-betweens as he’s coming back down, Stede leans in and bumps their noses together, and he whispers, “You’re just about done, aren’t you?”
Ed swallows, lightning shooting down his spine at being so seen. “Yeah, yeah. Think—ah, ah, fuck—last one,” he finally says.
“Last one?”
“Mmhm.”
“You want to—?”
Ed knows that Stede’s just clarifying, like he always does in these moments, but he finds himself biting at his lip anyway. “Yeah. That— That okay?”
Stede nods fervently. “Of course, of course,” he says. “Anything you want. Anything.”
Ed reaches up to comb his fingers through the loose waves of Stede’s hair, and then he cups Stede’s face in his hand, just because he wants to. His thumb brushes along Stede’s lower lip, and Stede nips at the pad of it before turning to kiss his palm. It’s the smallest of gestures, but it’s so endearing, and Ed’s so worked up and infatuated, that a little sob catches in his throat. He holds Stede’s gaze for a few moments before he says, “Please.”
Stede nods again, then his grip tightens just the slightest bit, pace picking up just a smidge, and Ed soon finds himself slipping toward the edge again. As certain as he’d been that he wouldn’t be able to keep his footing this time, habit has him fighting the tide as it rises and threatens to crash over him, but he forces himself to breathe, to let himself get swept up in it so he can fall, just like he wants to, just like Stede’s promised him he can. It takes some effort, but he lets himself drift up to the crest of that wave, and then he’s there, his breath caught in his throat, back arching in anticipation, everything balancing on a knife’s edge, and he can fucking feel it, he’s so fucking close, good God, he’s right there, and—
And that’s when Stede’s lips brush over his brow, and he whispers, “Oh, there—aren’t you beautiful?”
That little bit of sweetness is what does Ed in, has his heart racing, a sound tearing out of his throat that starts as a moan and then splinters into something higher, something both desperate and satisfied. He fists one hand in the sleeve of Stede’s shirt, the other still pressed to his cheek, and Stede leans over him, broad body sheltering him as he comes undone.
For the briefest of seconds, Ed swears he loses all connection to himself; he feels suspended somewhere, weightless. When he floats back down, Stede is guiding him through the aftershocks, still murmuring to him (“You’re so good, darling, so good”), and pressing kisses to his chest as it stutters through uneven breaths. It’s not long before he’s over-sensitive enough to start trembling, at which point Stede begins pulling away, but Ed stops him, fingers clutching weakly at his arm—the excess is its own kind of good, and he doesn’t want it to stop, not yet. Stede obeys and keeps working a light hand over him until it finally is too much, until he’s over-over-sensitive, at which point Ed lets his grip go lax.
Stede’s hand retreats, although the rest of him doesn’t go far—he stays bent over him, forehead against his temple and the tip of his nose against his cheek, pressed close and protective. The fact that Ed doesn’t even have to ask for it is sweet enough to make his teeth ache; Stede’s long since learned that he craves the warmth of him in these moments, that he wants—needs—the safety of his proximity. So he stays, waits patiently until Ed lets both hands drop to the mattress before he starts to pull back.
“Can I go get something to clean you up, love?” Stede asks. “Would that be okay?”
A dull ache cuts through the pleasant fuzziness otherwise surrounding Ed—Stede can’t leave. It’ll be so cold without him. But he also knows it would be worse to dry a mess, so he nods anyway.
“Wonderful. Be right back.”
Stede slips away and makes for the bathroom. There’s a drawer opening and closing, the sound of the faucet, and then Stede’s back with a damp washcloth and steadying hands. Relief washes over Ed to feel him so close once more.
“Here we go.” Stede dabs the washcloth over his stomach. “Alright there?”
Ed struggles to find a thought that’s not completely shapeless; both his body and his brain feel like fresh taffy, all stretched out and soft. When Stede reaches up to touch his cheek, Ed squeezes his eyes shut, leaning into his palm.
“Words, please, if you can,” Stede says, in the gentlest of voices. “Okay?”
It takes Ed a second to get his mind and mouth to cooperate, but eventually he finds it in him to say, “Okay.”
“You promise?”
“Mmmyep.”
“Good.”
Ed can feel Stede moving around after that, but he doesn’t open his eyes until Stede slips a hand beneath his back and says, “Can you sit up, sweetpea? Just for a second?” When he does, Stede offers him a glass of water, and he takes a few grateful sips. Then Stede grabs his pants from where they ended up at the foot of the bed.
“Did you want these?” he asks.
Ed nods, reaching for them with trembling hands—the prospect of being wrapped up in something, of cozying up and bundling himself away, sounds ideal. When his fingers fumble, Stede helps him pull everything back on, then tucks him back under the sheets and blankets. Once Stede’s tucked under them too, he holds out his arms, and Ed crawls right into them. He presses his face to Stede’s chest and takes a few slow breaths.
Stede starts rubbing a hand over his back. “Still okay?”
“Mmm. Just… Need a minute,” Ed mumbles.
“Alright,” Stede says. “Is there anything I can get you?”
Ed shakes his head. “No, just…” Even though they’re already all folded together, he tries to get closer, like maybe Stede could just absorb him if he pressed in hard enough. “Just this.”
“Of course, sweetheart. Anything you want.” Stede kisses his hair. “You’re alright—I’m right here.”
Time seems to melt, after that; Ed’s not sure how long they lay there. He starts to come back to himself by degrees, thoughts beginning to take shape again, but there’s still that pleasant fuzziness wrapping around him like a blanket, cushioning him. Beneath the sheets and beside Stede’s body, wrapped up in both his clothes and his arms, Ed feels so warm. Everything is so wonderfully quiet too—there’s only the beat of Stede’s heart in his ear, the patter of the rain on the roof, and the hum of the heating as it kicks on. Above all else, it just feels so fucking good to be… held. To have this private corner of the world in which he’s safe. To have someone who’s willing to—wants to—treat him with such care. Someone who’s so very, very sweet to him. It’s so thoroughly soothing, in such a bone-deep way, that it gets him a bit worked up, actually, this sense of belonging and contentment. Ed forces out a heavy breath, like it might work as some kind of pressure valve to release some of the feelings he’s all jammed up with.
“You okay?” Stede asks.
Ed nods. “Yeah. I just— You’re really good,” he says.
“At getting you off?”
A weak laugh stumbles out of Ed. “Well, yeah. Really fuckin’ good at that.”
“That’s good.” Stede tugs him closer. “I don’t remember if I’ve ever told you, but… I like when we do that, you know. I like getting— Well, getting to make things last. Making you feel good for as long as I can. And you get so… pretty,” he adds. “When you get all worked up like that. And when you finally come.”
He makes the admission like they’re teens sharing secrets at a sleepover, his voice bright and giddy. That last confidence is shared in little more than a mumble against the top of Ed’s head, the word “come” close to inaudible, like he’s a bashful first-timer and not some kind of ridiculous sex wizard who just sweet-talked him nearly to tears and edged him like a goddamn professional. He’s so… “Adorable” feels too juvenile, but it’s the only word Ed can think of. Stede Teach-Bonnet is so adorable that it makes him a little sick. Ed could eat him up with a fucking spoon.
“I like it too,” Ed says. “And—” Something hangs on his tongue, sweet but uncertain.
“And what?” Stede prompts, when he doesn’t pick back up.
Ed hesitates. All fucking day, it’s felt so hard to say anything—he’s almost always been too irritated or too wrung out to put words to what he’s been feeling. His brain’s automatic response is to clam up, keep it close to his chest.
But he’s been able to talk tonight, he reminds himself. Once he got home, once he had Stede, it was easier. He’d finally unpacked all the shit he’d been through, and Stede had listened, and he’d felt better afterward. And this is something even more important than his shitty day—the words teetering on the tip of his tongue feel big and unwieldy, but he’s willing to try to get his arms around them because he wants Stede to know—badly—just how precious he thinks he is. Not just for this current moment, for his giggly confessions, but for this whole night, for the way he’s been so supportive and kind, and the way he gave him not just a soft place to rest, but also every reason to trust that he was allowed to sink into that softness, nestle into it like a feather bed. Yes, he’s still pretty come-drunk and likely minutes away from falling dead asleep, but he’s sorely tempted to at least try explaining himself. In fact, as he thinks about it more, that temptation only grows, and then it starts shifting into an overwhelming need.
He just has to do it. He can do it. One foot in front of the other and all that.
Ed swallows. “I just— I love you,” he starts. “A lot. So much it’s hard to say it sometimes. But I do, y’know?” He looks up at Stede, chin propped on his chest. “You do, right? You know?”
Stede nods. “Of course.” The giddiness has faded, and his brow is pinched now, the corners of his mouth dipping into a frown as he smooths Ed’s hair away from his face. “You sure you’re okay, dearest?”
Ed nods too. “Yeah. It’s just—” He chews on the inside of his cheek. “You’re not just good at—you know. It’s—”
He’s silent for a moment, trying to think this through, and Stede doesn’t interrupt him—he just keeps stroking his hair, his expression one of utter patience.
“You’re—good,” he finally says. “To me. Really good. Like, always. And sometimes it feels like— I dunno. Like, how did I get here? Having someone who—who wants to do this stuff. Who wants to make me happy. And I feel safe when I’m with you. No one’s ever made me feel like that before. But you do, and it’s still just fuckin’ wild to me sometimes that I can have a shit day and come back to someone who’s here, and who wants to, like, be nice to me, and I— Christ,” he chokes out, his voice breaking. “You’re just—” He shakes his head and hides his face against Stede’s shirt.
It feels like he’s cracked himself open, left the gooey center of him all exposed and raw. Normally he doesn’t mind that with Stede, but in an abrupt and mildly freaky turn of events, that need he’d felt mere moments ago fades, and he has the sensation of not just falling, but plummeting, toward a hard, hard ground. Maybe it’s some kind of surprise emotional whiplash from laying himself so bare so quickly; maybe it’s a belated shutting-down of his brain as a result of having an orgasm so good that it probably cost him a few IQ points. Whatever the cause, he’s plunged into this weird low for a second, and within it, there’s a fleeting moment—a brief flash of ancient muscle memory—where guilt and shame for being so naked and needy streak freely through him, rushing past his crumbling emotional walls. An apology immediately rises in his throat, a wavering start of, “I’m sorry—”
“No, no, none of that, please,” Stede gently interrupts. “You’re perfect. Nothing to apologize for. Certainly not for being so honest, hm?” Stede squeezes him so tightly it almost hurts, but he’s grateful for the grounding pressure. “You are safe, I promise you. And you can tell me whatever you like—I want to hear all of it. Whatever you want to say.”
And there it is—Stede Teach-Bonnet, doing what he always does: Looking at him not with disgust, or even disapproval, but with a kind smile instead, placing careful hands on either side of his self-split ribs and staring right at his bright, messy heart, and making him feel like it’s still beautiful. Like it’s something worth loving. A sob hiccups out of Ed, and he digs his face against Stede’s chest; Stede tangles their legs together in return, bringing them even closer, and he keeps stroking a hand over his hair.
“You really are safe,” Stede says, his voice soft. “I promise. You’re alright. And I’m— I’m glad you feel that way. I like being here for you. I like it a lot. It’s—” He pauses. “I think it’s what I’ve always wanted,” he goes on. “I’ve never gotten to do it before, to be there for someone. And to get to do it for you, of all people… I do want to make you happy. It’s my favorite thing in the world, you know. Truth be told, I think it may be my very life’s purpose.”
Ed’s worried he might choke on his heart, considering the way it’s caught in his throat. “Yeah?”
“Mmhm. Maybe I should get business cards. They’ll say, ‘Stede Teach-Bonnet: Chief Executive Officer of Making Sure Edward Teach-Bonnet is Happy.”
“Nothing about the bar?”
“Oh, in tiny letters at the bottom, I guess. But the bit about making you happy is the important part.”
Ed sniffles. “You do make me happy,” he insists, almost pleading.
“And you make me happy.” Stede kisses the top of his head. “And I’ll always be here, you know. To do this, to do whatever you need. To give you a nice night, to listen to whatever you want to say.” He tightens his embrace. “To hold you. Part of being CEO, sweetpea—I’m always here.”
The words are a cool cloth pressed to Ed’s feverish cheeks. He’s not plummeting anymore, but has instead slowed to a drift, and he doesn’t have to look to know that it’s not pavement that’s going to catch him—that soft place that Stede had made for him is still there, and it’s waiting to welcome him back. Now it looks like… clouds, maybe. Or an ocean of silk. Slowly, his grip on Stede’s pajamas loosens, and his heart settles back into place behind his ribs. It’s true, what Stede’s said, he knows it: He will always be here. Always.
It takes several deep breaths, and a few kisses from Stede to the top of his head, but eventually Ed finds himself feeling less frantic and scattered, his attention able to drift again; it ends up tethering itself to the sound of the rain still falling on the roof, and the way Stede traces figure eights over his back with the tips of his fingers. They’re both pleasantly hypnotizing, and soon, he feels his eyelids starting to grow heavier, and he’s unable to contain a yawn. Stede chuckles at the sound of it.
“There we are,” he says. “I was surprised you hadn’t nodded off yet.” He pats Ed’s shoulder. “Go to sleep, angel.”
Ed yawns again. “I know, I know. Just… nice, laying here.”
“It is nice. But we’ll still be laying here even after you’re asleep.”
“Mm. Suppose you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right.”
“Uh-huh. And so humble.” Ed slips his arms around Stede and tangles their legs further.
“Always.” Stede’s face presses against the top of his head. “You get some rest now, and we’ll have a nice quiet day tomorrow. And I really do promise that if anyone tries to bother us, I’ll kill them.”
Ed laughs, a little wobbly, but genuine. “We’ve made it to murder now?”
“I know it’s a bit messy, but if anyone’s really irritating, we’ll have to teach them a lesson, won’t we? Just promise me that you’ll bail me out of jail if things get ugly.”
“‘Ugly’? What do you think is gonna happen?”
“Well, you know—just in case I get caught somehow.”
“Ah. Possible, I guess,” Ed says. “But I think you’re smart enough to work your way out of things if necessary.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, and I’d like to agree, but one must always be prepared for every possibility. I just want to make sure you’ll break me out if they put me in the slammer.”
“‘The slammer.’ What are you, an old mobster?”
“People call it that!” Stede protests.
“I don’t think they do, babe.” Ed smushes his face more firmly against Stede’s chest. “But yeah, I’ll break you out if they put you in the slammer. Unless I’m in there with you, in which case we’re both fucked.”
“Heavens, I’d hope you’re not in there with me,” Stede says, a note of disapproval in his voice. “I told you that you’re not allowed to lift a finger for the next two days, this being your weekend of relaxation and all. I regret to inform you that ‘relaxing’ does not include burying bodies.”
“Speak for yourself.” Ed thinks for a second. “I could stand watch for you instead?”
“Hm… Don’t think so. If you get arrested for being an accomplice, that puts an end to the relaxation, no? I’m sorry, my sweet peach—I think you’ll have to sit this one out.”
Ed grumbles. “Fine. Spoil all the fun, why don’t you. I think it would be kinda sexy of us to break ourselves out of jail, though. Some real Bonnie and Clyde shit.”
“Did they have to break out of jail?”
“I dunno. I’m just thinking, like, badass power couples.”
“Mm. Either way, I’d certainly hope we wouldn’t end up like they did.”
“’Course we wouldn’t—we’re a couple of geniuses. We’d be out and away before anyone could find us.”
“That sounds about right.” Stede sighs dreamily. “It would be very romantic, wouldn’t it?”
Ed looks back up, and he sees that Stede’s eyes are practically twinkling with mischief, a grin on his lips. When Ed reaches up and tucks a stray lock of golden hair back in with his bangs, Stede’s eyes drift shut.
“Very romantic,” Ed confirms. He lets himself stare for a moment, and then he scoots up to kiss Stede, just once, just because he can.
After Ed pulls away, Stede nudges him to lay on his side before he curls close around him, his chest a shield against Ed’s back, their legs all tangled together again. When Stede drapes an arm over his waist, Ed takes his hand and slips it beneath the hem of his shirt, pressing it to his bare skin.
“Comfortable?” Stede whispers.
“Mm.”
“Good.”
Stede’s fingertips trace circles over his stomach, not so light that it’s ticklish, but just enough to lull him back into that sweet, hazy state of drowsiness. Ed scoots back against him, trying to get even closer, and Stede responds by shifting closer as well, knees tucking further into the bend of his own.
“Get some rest, husband of mine,” Stede says. “I’ll be right here.”
“Mmhm. Yessir.” Ed presses his cheek against his pillow, one hand seeking out Stede’s where it’s still tucked under his shirt; he braids their fingers together and squeezes. “Thanks, husband of mine,” he whispers. “I love you.”
“I love you back,” Stede says, and he tucks a kiss behind his ear. Then he makes a soft sound and, to Ed’s dismay, starts to shift away. “Oh, I should get the lamp—”
Ed whines, holding tight to his hand, and Stede immediately stills.
“You want it on?” he asks.
It had only been an instinctive reaction to keep Stede close, but now that the question’s been posed, Ed realizes that he does want it on—it’s so cozy, being curled up in bed beside the dim light, and Ed likes the idea of waking up to it too. It’s reached that point in the year where it’s always dark when they get up, and the thought of opening his eyes to find their room all fuzzy-golden, rather than doused in black, sounds much more welcoming. Kind of like coming back not to a dark, lonely house, but to one with the living room already aglow.
“Yeah,” Ed finally says. “Can you leave it?”
Stede settles back down, curling around him once more. “Of course. Whatever you’d like.”
Ed lets out a contented sigh. “Thanks.”
Everything goes quiet after that, and it’s not long before Ed feels himself slipping toward sleep. The press of Stede along his body, the tangle of their legs and the slow rise and fall of Stede’s breathing against his back—it’s all so soothing that his thoughts keep shifting in and out, before ultimately melting into incoherence.
One of the last ones he manages to hold onto is that he’s safe. He’s safe, and he’s held, and everything is—finally—okay. Tomorrow, he’ll wake up warm and still in Stede’s arms. There will be a light already on to greet him and pull him gently into a fresh morning, and today will be long forgotten and left behind.
And everything will be just fine.