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“Stede, I don’t wanna do it. You can’t make me.”
“Well, no, I can’t make you—you’re too stubborn for that. Even if I could, I wouldn’t, because that wouldn’t be fair. But we really need to do it, sweetheart. And I promise, it’ll feel so good after we’re done.”
“See, that’s the thing—you keep saying ‘after.’ Not ‘during,’ there’s no ‘during,’ only ‘after.’ How long, pray tell, do I have to wait for that ‘after’? An hour? Two hours? Seven hours? I won’t wait for seven hours, Stede. I can’t. I refuse.”
Sighing, arms crossed, Stede stares at his husband. Ed is currently sprawled across their bed looking rather like a Victorian maiden who’s collapsed on her fainting couch: His legs are akimbo, hair spilled across the duvet, one arm flung over his eyes, his mouth set in a grimace. He looks like his mother just told him that no matter how dull the man is, he must dance with Sir Archibald at the ball tomorrow night, and that’s her final word on the matter.
“It’s not going to take seven hours to clean the bathroom, darling,” Stede says. “You’re being a bit dramatic.”
“Me? Dramatic?” Ed gasps. “I am not being dramatic. I’m reacting exactly like I should, because what you’re asking me to do is nothing less than torture. You wanna know what I’m pretty sure people do in hell, Stede? I’m pretty sure when you’re in hell, you spend the rest of your miserable eternal existence cleaning bathrooms. Also, you’re, like, the king of dramatics, so you have no room to talk.” He turns his head to the other side, his arm still over his eyes, and he lets out a pitiful sigh. “I can’t do it. I won’t.”
Stede has to bite down on a smile. Truth be told, Ed’s very cute when he gets like this. He’d likely be devastated to be described as such—he’s clearly throwing his heart and soul into these theatrics—so Stede would never actually make the admission out loud. But in the privacy of his own mind, he can think it all he wants, and so he does: For a few lovely moments, he lets himself admire how adorable his husband is when he’s doing his damndest to avoid household responsibilities.
Honestly, he can’t even blame Ed for fussing—he doesn’t relish cleaning the bathroom either, not after the nice morning they’ve had. They’ve taken it so slowly: First, after they’d woken up, they’d stayed curled up under the covers for a bit, talking about nothing and everything. Then, after they’d finally roused themselves, they’d made quite the spread for breakfast—some fancy coffee (courtesy of Ed’s new espresso machine), and poached eggs and toast, and homemade cinnamon rolls that were left over from the day before. And once breakfast was had and done, they’d laid on the couch and treated themselves to the next episode of the TV show they’re currently devouring. Their Sunday mornings are almost always the picture of coziness anyway, but today’s really been one for the books.
Nevertheless, they’d promised each other last night that they really, truly, seriously would take care of the rest of their chores today—the bathroom has to be done, and the bed needs to be changed too. They’d meant to do it all yesterday, but right as they’d been ready to start, the rain that had been coming down all day had finally stopped, and the clouds had parted, and suddenly, it was far too pretty an afternoon to waste inside.
Instead, they’d gone for an impromptu drive to enjoy the sun, and to admire the way that autumn had recently set all the trees aflame. Their winding journey had eventually taken them to a small town they’d never been to before, one that they agreed looked far too cute to leave unexplored, so they’d parked and set out. They walked and window shopped, grabbed dinner when it got late enough, and by the time they came home, it was far past any sort of reasonable hour for cleaning. So they’d given up, promised each other they’d take care of it today instead, and obviously, that’s going swimmingly. Et voila, here they are, and here Stede is, making as much of an effort to convince himself as he is to convince Ed that they really ought to follow through on their promise.
Where to begin with the convincing, though? They’ll have to keep the endeavor short, that’s for certain—Stede can already tell that the slow start to their morning has drained Ed of any and all motivation to be productive. (To be fair, Stede can say the same for himself.) Maybe that’s a good beginning, then. After drawing himself up tall for a brief moment of confidence, Stede lays on the bed beside Ed.
“I’ll make sure we don’t spend more than an hour on it,” he says, doing his best to sound persuasive. “I’ll even set a timer.” He rests a hand on Ed’s chest and rubs gently. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t really want to do this either.”
“Lies,” Ed immediately responds. “You love cleaning shit.”
“Mm, I love clean shit. The clean-ing part I could take or leave. Believe me, I’d much rather be doing something relaxing with you, especially since it’s raining again—”
“Exactly.” Ed flings his arm away from his face and tucks it behind his head instead, propping himself up a bit so their eyes meet. He’s grinning now, bright as a car salesman who’s ready to sucker some unsuspecting fool with a clever loophole in their contract. “So we’ll relax instead. Fuck the cleaning.”
Stede looks at Ed from beneath his brows. “Edward.”
“Stede-ward.”
They stare at each other for a beat, eyes narrowed.
“We can make it fun,” Stede finally says, “I promise.” As far as promises go, it’s a thin one, and he knows it—he can hear the wheedling note in his voice. Hopefully Ed will believe him, though.
Ed’s grin fades, and he huffs, flinging his arm over his eyes again. “Impossible,” he says. “No such thing as having ‘fun’”—his fingers curl into massive air quotes around the word, and his voice drips with sarcasm—“while you’re cleaning, much less cleaning the bathroom.”
Not believable enough, then.
“Oh, come on. We can…” Stede thinks, hard as he can. He’s really got to sell this. “We can listen to some music?” he offers. “As loud as you want, and you can be in charge of picking it.” Not his best work, because Ed almost always plays DJ while they’re cleaning anyway, but it’s a start. “And I will set a timer,” he says again, “I really will. And then…” He chews on his lip, racking his brain. And then… they’ll both probably want to wash up once they’re done. A-ha. Stede smiles to himself. “After—”
Ed grumbles.
“—I know, I know, ‘after,’ yes, but after, we can take advantage of that nice clean shower.” He pitches his voice low, trying to add some heat to it.
Ed peeks out from under his arm. It’s nothing more than the slimmest glimpse of one eye, but Stede feels encouraged nonetheless. He props himself up on his elbows, excited, desperate to maintain this momentum.
“And after that, once we strip—”
“Yeah?”
“—the bed—”
“Fuck! Since when’s the bed part of this?”
“We did discuss that too yesterday, if you’ll remember.”
“Mm, choosing not to.”
“Isn’t that convenient,” Stede says dryly. “Regardless—it needs to be done. And once it is done…” Stede considers, and then he sits up even straighter. “Once it’s done and we get some fresh sheets on, we could have a cuddle.” He waggles his eyebrows at Ed. “Take a nap if we’re feeling really dangerous.” He knows he’s playing dirty now, because if there’s one thing Ed can’t resist, it’s a nap—especially a co-nap—but desperate times do call for desperate measures.
There’s a pause.
A long pause.
A very long pause.
When the silence feels stretched nearly to breaking, Stede opens his mouth, ready to ask Ed if he heard him. That’s when, in a shocking display of speed—born, most likely, of a sense of very grim resolve, if the firm line of his mouth is any indication—Ed shoves himself up to sitting.
“Alright—fuck it,” Ed says. “Let’s go. Get that timer going.”
Stede blinks. “We haven’t even started yet.”
The words are said to Ed’s back as he makes his way to their closet. Once there, he starts to shed the clothes he’s got on and grab for some different ones. And as he does, Stede allows himself a moment to drink in the sight of his husband: his long limbs, the tattoos painted over his skin, the easy grace with which he moves as he changes. It’s such a mundane thing, the act of getting dressed, and Ed’s not even putting on anything fancy either—just the same old clothes he always wears when they clean. Really, it shouldn’t be worth much attention at all. But Ed makes it look beautiful, somehow.
Stede knows he’s likely biased, seeing as Ed’s got his whole heart in his hands. But he also feels like it couldn’t just be bias, because how could someone look at Ed and not see all that grace and beauty? You’d have to be a fool to miss it. Not just a fool, but a fool without eyes. Watching him dress, it’s like it’s all one fluid movement; when he peels off his leggings and slides on a pair of athletic shorts, then stretches up as he tugs off his oversized sweatshirt and slips into a faded tank top, there’s an element of… dance to it. Not catching that elegance would be impossible.
Heavens, Stede thinks, that’s sentimental, even for him. Better than the alternative, though—marriage without sentimentality is, unfortunately, familiar territory. Territory that grows less and less familiar with every second he spends at Ed’s side, true, but it’s still ground he’s trod, and ground he’s extremely eager to avoid trodding ever again. Much preferable to be starry-eyed. Thankfully, Ed makes that a piece of cake.
“Stede? Hel-lo?”
Stede shakes his head, eyes refocusing to see that Ed is standing at the foot of their bed now, staring at him with his hands on his hips.
“Sorry, darling,” Stede says. “Drifted. You were saying?”
Ed pokes at his forehead. “I was say-ing that physically, no, we haven’t started yet. But mentally”—he taps his temple—“I’m already there. Planning the attack. That counts. Changing into the right uniform counts too,” he adds, gesturing to his outfit. “That’s, like, wage theft otherwise, if we don’t count the prep. You’re a small business owner—you know what wage theft is, right?”
“Oh, lord, of course,” Stede says gravely. “We can’t have that.”
“Right. Exactly. So—reckon this puts us at, what, fifty-eight minutes now? Fifty-seven and a half?” Ed ties his hair into a bun on top of his head, then reaches over and pats Stede on the ass. “C’mon, haven’t got all day. Fifty-three minutes and counting, sweet cheeks. Let’s get a move on.”
Stede’s smiling when he rolls his eyes. “You really won’t let this go a minute longer than it has to, will you?”
“Fuck no—more important things to do later. I’m gonna have to make sure a certain husband fulfills some certain promises.” Ed jabs a finger at him. “Also, you suck for pulling the big guns on me like this, but we’ll talk about that later.” He starts for the bathroom then, his stride quick and purposeful. “Come along,” he says, with the booming voice and wildly gesticulating hands of a carnival barker. “Onward and upward, tally ho, nose to the grindstone and all that shit.”
Stede laughs to himself, and then he finally pushes himself off the bed.
He changes first, then grabs their cleaning stuff from the closet down the hall, and when he rejoins Ed, he finds him in the midst of clearing toothbrushes and face washes and bottles of cologne off the countertop. He goes ahead and tells Ed he can just worry about washing the shower and mopping the floor; much as he himself prefers those tasks, he knows how much Ed would hate the alternative—he despises scrubbing the toilet and cleaning the sink (not that Stede can blame him)—and he doesn’t want to subject him to that, not if he doesn’t have to. It ends up being entirely worth it for the way Ed lights up and plants a sloppy kiss on his cheek in response.
After Ed puts on some music and Stede sets their timer, they finally get started, and at first they’re both quiet—while Stede dusts the mirror and wipes down the counters, all he can hear beyond Ed’s music is the sound of the shower tiles being scrubbed. In its own way, though, the quiet is good, companionable. And there’s a sweetness to just being in the same room at the same time, working together to take care of their home; even after all these years, Stede refuses to take that for granted.
But as the minutes go on, songs starting and fading and starting again, Stede thinks he hears Ed… singing along? Which surprises him, to say the least—Ed’s too heart-on-his-sleeve to be very good at faking it when he’s anything less than happy, so if he was really still that disappointed about cleaning, he wouldn’t be making a peep. And sure, Stede knows that he was being dramatic earlier—despite his claims to the contrary—but… hm. Interesting.
Surreptitiously, Stede glances over his shoulder, and he nearly drops his rag when he sees that in addition to singing along to the music, Ed’s shimmying a bit as he scrubs. All his protesting earlier, and now the man is singing and dancing. Well, okay—loosest definitions of both words. But still. Stede’s so amused and endeared that he can’t stop himself: He laughs.
“What’s so funny?” Ed asks, not missing a beat.
“You’re having fun,” Stede says.
Ed stills. “I’m what?”
“You’re having fun,” Stede says again. “Aren’t you?”
The grout between the shower tiles is apparently fascinating all of a sudden, judging by the way that Ed leans in close to peer at it. “Fuck off,” he says, no actual fire in his voice.
“Fuck on—I can see you smiling.”
Ed shakes his head, the aforementioned smile shifting into a ridiculous and completely unconvincing scowl. “You’re seeing things, mate. You wanna go in and get your eyes checked? We can make a call tomorrow, set up an appointment.”
“Not necessary, because you are having fun, Ed Teach-Bonnet. Don’t you lie to me—”
Stede’s cut off by a kiss then, and the wet press of Ed’s soapy hands to his waist. The edge of the counter digs against his ass briefly before Ed lifts him up and onto the marble, and then they’re pulled flush. His thighs instinctively close around Ed, locking him in place, and Ed kisses him with renewed enthusiasm once they’re both steadied. Although a “kiss” is maybe a generous thing to call what they’re doing—the way they’re both grinning now makes it rather uncoordinated, and turns it to more of a giddy half-meeting of misplaced lips than anything else.
“Christ almighty,” Ed says when they part for breath. “You always have to be right, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Stede replies, a little lightheaded and extremely pleased. “Always. And I am right—you’re having fun. You said it would be impossible, but look at you—”
“Alright, alright. Watch your mouth, sunshine,” Ed says. His body presses forward, and Stede finds himself forced to lean back a bit. Ed’s not really looming over him, but he does feel tall and playfully fierce, and it makes Stede’s blood shimmer with heat.
“You love it,” Stede volleys back.
Ed wrinkles his nose. “Unfortunately, I do.” Then he dips down to nose up to the underside of Stede’s jaw, lips eventually landing just past the corner of it, right below his ear. “How much longer we got left?”
The last thing Stede wants to do is lean away from all this, especially when Ed starts nipping at his skin, but luckily, he finds that his phone is less than an arm’s length away. He grabs for it, and when he sees the time, he sighs. “Five minutes. Damn. I know that’s not much time, but we really should finish this, love—”
When Ed kisses him on the mouth again, it’s much gentler.
“I know,” he says. “We’ll get it done, promise. Much as I want to, I won’t cut you off.”
Stede cocks an eyebrow, and Ed stares at him for a moment before he lets out a short sigh.
“Alright,” he says. “Maybe… Maybe I am having a bit of fun. Just a bit,” he adds quickly, after Stede opens his mouth, “just a tiny, itty-bitty bit, like so fucking tiny, ooh, ah, so fucking small. So, like, don’t go getting a big head about it.”
“Mm, no promises. I do always have to be right, didn’t you say? Would be in my nature, I’d think, to get a big head about it when I’m right.”
Ed rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Not my fault that you—” He pauses.
“That I what?” Stede asks. He tightens his legs around Ed’s waist, trying to pull him closer, eager—as he always is, as he always will be—to hear whatever’s on his mind.
Ed leans in again, close enough that their noses brush and their hair mingles. “Not my fault that you make even the bullshit fun.”
Stede feels a little rollercoaster dip in his stomach. “Oh?”
“Mmhm. Like—okay,” Ed says. “Cleaning the bathroom is still for chumps. Worst fuckin’ chore there is. But maybe,” he continues, drawing out the “may,” turning it singsong, “when you’re in the room… Maybe it’s not so bad then. Like, maybe doing it together isn’t the end of the world. Because just having you here is…” His gaze roams over Stede, and when he apparently finds whatever he’s looking for, another grin blossoms on his face, although this one is softer, smudged around the edges. His eyes wrinkle at the corners. “It’s nice.”
“Nice?” Stede repeats.
“Mm,” Ed says. “Real nice.”
Coming from anyone else, the word could be anticlimactic. To be called “nice” when you could be “excellent”? Or “terrific”? Maybe even “wonderful”? Might be a bit disappointing. But coming from Ed? The way he says it makes it sound so… refreshing, so easy. It’s like—like a perfect summer day, when the clouds are fluffy and the breeze is light, and you’ve got a cold drink beside you as you lay in the grass. There’s a clear, charming simplicity to it; it’s delight boiled down to its purest form, a smile in the very word. It’s surprisingly wonderful, and it makes warmth bleed into Stede’s cheeks. He reaches for Ed’s face to pull him in for another kiss, and the way Ed kisses him back—squeezing at his hips, tongue pressed along his—makes his heart beat double-time.
“Nice,” Stede says again after he pulls away, letting the word rest on his tongue. It tastes like sugar-dipped strawberries, like whipped cream and pink wine. He smooths down the wisps of hair that have escaped Ed’s bun, enchanted by the way it makes him flush, eyes fluttering closed. “You’re awfully nice yourself,” he tells Ed.
Ed sways a little closer. “You’re too kind,” he murmurs.
They sit there for another few moments, Stede petting over Ed’s hair, Ed pressing up into every touch. Stede’s starting to wonder if maybe they should just say to hell with the cleaning and stay here for the rest of the day when his phone goes off, timer blaring into the silence. For a few beats, they just look at each other, and then, to Stede’s surprise, Ed’s eyes go wide, his eyebrows jumping up his forehead.
“Bed,” he says. “Fuck, Stede, we still gotta do the bed too, shit—fuck, let’s go—”
In a blink, Stede’s been pulled off the counter, and then Ed’s gone, beelined to the shower, taking only a brief moment to crank up his music even louder before he sets to scrubbing again.
Stede swallows his laugh. “What’s the rush?” he asks, wide-eyed and innocent. “You act like you’ve got something waiting for you.”
Ed doesn’t even look away from the tiles when he points behind him. He doesn’t quite find him, Stede notes, but he gets the general direction.
“Don’t even joke about that,” Ed threatens. “Certain promises, remember?” He snaps his fingers. “C’mon, c’mon, let’s get this show on the fuckin’ road!”
Tempted as he is to toy with Ed a bit, Stede does get the show on the fuckin’ road—he’s actually eager himself to lay down, to slip back into that slow, lazy mood they’d spent the first part of the morning floating in. Between their combined enthusiasm, it only takes another ten minutes or so before they’re done, and then Ed is immediately throwing the shower on and trying to tug simultaneously at both his and Stede’s clothes. Honestly, it’s a miracle they both manage to strip and stumble into the shower without falling on their asses, or dislocating a rib with a misplaced elbow.
It’s a testament to how much the man loves a good cuddle that Ed doesn’t try to turn their shower into anything sexy (not that Stede would complain if he did—certainly not). Sure, Ed does press him up against the wall a little, then lets him return the favor, fingers tracing slick lines over his tattoos and slipping over his chest. But Stede can also tell that Ed’s trying to get him to hustle, handing him shampoo and conditioner and soap before he can even reach for them himself—and practically shoving them into his palms when he does—so he does his best to make things quick. Before long, they’re toweling off and bundling themselves in robes, and making their way to the closet for clothes once again.
Once they’re dressed in the coziest stuff they can find—a sweater and a different pair of leggings for Ed, and Stede grabs himself a pair of cloth shorts and one of Ed’s many too-big sweatshirts—they tackle the bed. It goes quickly: Ed is clearly a man on a mission, tucking and folding his halves of the fitted and flat sheets and stuffing pillows into fresh pillowcases with the frantic energy of a runner who’s rounded the last bend in the course and can see the finish line ahead. Stede just barely gets to drape their favorite blanket artfully over the duvet before Ed is yanking him onto the bed and tugging said blanket over them, immediately burrowing into his side.
“Awfully eager, aren’t we?” Stede teases, even as he wraps his arms around Ed and pulls him in, hungry for his closeness and his warmth.
“I almost died, Stede.” Ed smashes his face against his sternum. “Can’t believe you tried to kill me like that. Also, you really snuck one in on me with changing the bed. Real dick move.”
“God, you’re right. I’m a horrible husband.”
“Mm, no, you’re the best husband, but you are evil sometimes. And then you exploited me.”
Stede laughs. “What, with an offer for cuddles? You could’ve said no, you know. I’m so sorry that I can play you like a fiddle.”
Ed pinches his hip. “You’re fuckin’ diabolical. Don’t ever make me do all that again.”
“Of course not, sweetheart. Never again.”
“Cross your heart and hope to die?”
“You have my word,” Stede says, and he seals his promise with a kiss to the top of Ed’s head.
“Good.” Ed wiggles in closer, arms tightening around Stede’s waist. “If you rub my back, though, I might forgive you.”
“That’s all it’ll take? That’s easy.” Stede slips a hand beneath Ed’s sweater so that his fingertips can drift along his bare skin. “Like that?”
A sound escapes Ed, too soft to be a whine, but too wanting to be a mere sigh. “God, yeah. Can you scratch a little—” His words do break off into a whine this time when Stede applies his nails a bit. “Yeah,” Ed says again, breath whooshing out of him, “fuck, that’s perfect,” and then he goes completely boneless, slouching warm and pleasantly heavy against Stede.
It still amazes Stede sometimes, the way Ed will just dissolve like this. It makes him feel… trusted. Like Ed’s deemed him safe enough that he feels comfortable melting against his body and into his arms when they’re together, all defenses down, loose-limbed and blissed-out. And to Stede, that’s a blessing of the highest order, because he’d never gotten to be someone’s safe space before. He gets to be that now for Ed, though, and he takes it terribly seriously, a knight with an oath to obey and a prince to protect. It’s his default to be gentle with Ed—he couldn’t drain the love from his touch if he tried—but in these moments, he can’t help but move with extra care, can’t help but treat him with reverence.
And often, he finds that that reverence does something for him too, somehow. Everything in him calms down when he gets to direct all his focus toward Ed: His brain stops darting around from thought to thought, his heart feels held, even his bones feel settled. It soothes something in the deepest part of his soul. Sometimes it feels like—
Stede swallows. Sometimes it feels like he had spent most of his life with all this wild, rootless love stored up inside him. Like he’d had all this want to give and get affection that he’d had nowhere to put, and that excess had made him over-full, wobbly on the same legs he’d walked on since birth. But then he’d met Ed, and finally, all that love and want had somewhere to go—he had someone to share it with, someone to bathe in it, someone who wanted it all so badly and scooped it up with eager hands. And once he got to love, once the weight of it was no longer tipping him sideways, he could move steady again.
Stede looks down at Ed. His hair’s all spilled across his shoulders, and his back rises and falls on steady breaths; Stede catches the peek of his toes from beneath the end of the blanket for a second before he draws them back in. He looks perfectly at ease. And it makes Stede’s heart ache, how horribly fond he is of him. Here he is, his favorite person, the most marvelous one he knows, curled up to him like it’s the only place he wants to be. No one’s ever been as lucky as him, Stede thinks.
Slowly, he tips his face down and kisses Ed’s forehead. “I love you,” he says.
“Love you too,” Ed replies, automatic. Then he pauses, and Stede swears he can hear the ding! of a lightbulb going off over Ed’s head. “You love me enough to never make me clean the bathroom again?”
Stede hums. That’s the least of it. But he tucks an “mmhm” into Ed’s hair anyway. “I did promise you that very thing, didn’t I? About a minute ago?”
“Yeah, well, gotta double-check. In fact, maybe we should write up a contract, get it all signed—”
“Why don’t you just take your cuddles, hm?” Stede interrupts. He nudges Ed’s calf with his heel.
Ed snorts. “Let the record show that you’re— Shit, what’s the phrase? Oh, yeah, that’s right—avoiding the question.” Still, he winds their legs together, face rubbing against Stede’s chest. “This isn’t over, Mr. Teach-Bonnet,” Ed says, although the gravity in his voice is severely undercut by the massive yawn that follows his words.
“Oh, certainly not, I’m sure,” Stede agrees.
“Bet your fuckin’ ass you’re sure.”
Stede chuckles, and he scratches harder between Ed’s shoulders, enjoying the way it makes Ed moan, soft and syrup-sweet. “Take your nap, angel,” he murmurs. “You’ve worked so hard.”
Ed’s sleepy laugh is the last sound he makes before he drops off.
Once Ed’s been breathing deep for a good few minutes, Stede lets himself relax against the bed, body going heavy into the mattress. He considers drifting off too, but… No. This is too good. Being able to look out their window to see the chilly gray of the sky, and the leaves on the trees shivering beneath the falling rain, while he gets to be safe inside with a lovely, cozy husband sprawled over him? He’d much rather stay awake so he can luxuriate in that fact. So with one hand still pressed against Ed’s back, the other reaching up to tease through his hair, Stede settles in, fully prepared to lay here for however long Ed wants to sleep. Alright, maybe not quite that long—Ed could probably sleep for days if he was left to his own devices. They will indeed need to get up for lunch at some point. But Stede can let him doze for… oh, a good half-hour, at least. He’s earned that much.
Ed shifts in his sleep then, one arm curling more tightly around Stede’s waist, a muted, sleepy sound escaping him as he pushes his face against Stede’s sweatshirt. When Stede looks down, he catches the slightest of pinches in Ed’s brow; he rubs his hand over Ed’s back, and that pinch disappears, his expression smoothing out.
For a moment, Stede’s throat feels tight. Ed looks so very beautiful—his lips are pursed from where his face rests on his chest, and his eyelashes fan over his cheek, fine and delicate, occasionally fluttering with dreams. A prince indeed.
Stede traces a fingertip up and down Ed’s spine. Maybe… Maybe he ought to let him sleep for an hour instead. Would be no good to interrupt the prince’s rest too early, would it? No, no good, no good at all. An hour would be much better. An hour would let him get in a real, proper nap. Yes—an hour is perfect.
After he takes a long, quiet breath, Stede presses his face to the top of Ed’s head. Later, they’ll shuffle out of their room; maybe they’ll make some sandwiches, eat them while they watch another episode of their show. Or they could finish off the rest of the cinnamon rolls and putter with the jigsaw puzzle that’s spread across the card table behind the couch. There’s lasagna too from a couple of nights ago, and they still have a movie from the library, right? Could watch that. Could do almost anything, couldn’t they? Still a whole day ahead, just waiting to be lived.
For now, though, they can lay here. For now, they can rest, and they can leave the afternoon for later, because it’s not going anywhere—they’ll make it there eventually. And when they do, they’ll figure it out together, like always. But for now, Ed will sleep, and Stede will keep watch, and they’ll rest, and that’s good. Nice, even, Stede thinks with a smile.
So very, very nice.