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Arguments are few and far between, and usually about something small and stupid and therefore easy to get over with an apology and a kiss, but very occasionally there's something that feels like it might have the potential to blow up the whole world.
When they finally get round to sorting the black hole of their combined clutter that Ed's old spare bedroom has turned into, Stede finds his passport in a drawer and gleefully flips to the photo page hoping for a badly-lit mugshot as awful as his own. Of course that's not the case. In typical Ed-as-Blackbeard fashion he's managed to arrange his face into a moody, penetrating stare that somehow seems to promise you might be about to get the night of your life if you play your cards right. It's startling to see him with the beard and long hair again, both a little bit darker than Stede remembers. There's a smudge of black liner shadowing his eyes and the glint of saliva on his lower lip from a lick just before the camera flash. He's wearing the low cut Dairy Milk-purple t-shirt he had on the first day they met.
"My god, he's pretty," Stede tells Daphne wistfully, and she grins her agreement at him from the nest she's made on a pile of old clothes, enthusiastically wagging her tail.
"You better be talking about me," Ed calls from the hall, appearing a moment later in the doorway with two cups of tea which he sets down on a bookshelf before flinging himself at Daphne and burying his face in her fluff, making loud smooching noises.
Stede comfortably rests his leg over Ed's outstretched ankle. "Of course," he starts—then he notices something and falls silent, confusion stealing the rest of his words as he reads and re-reads the passport page wondering if there's a mistake or possibly he's losing his mind.
"Not as pretty as you," Ed is telling Daphne in a goofy indulgent sort of tone that none of his Blackbeard fans would ever believe, nosing up under her chin like an affectionate cat as she wriggles in delight and slobbers puppy kisses over his forehead. "Not as pretty as Daffy, am I? Who's my pretty princess?"
"Your birthday was in June?" Stede asks, and Ed goes very still.
"What?" he asks, sounding guarded, then his eyebrows twitch slightly when he sees Stede with his passport.
"You told me it wasn't until November. Ed! I missed your birthday!"
Somewhere vague and distant he's aware that this might hurt if only he were slightly less bewildered by such a weird lie. As it is, there's not much buzzing through his head except perplexity.
Ed sighs at that, propelling himself upwards to sit with his back against the dresser and taking his mug of tea off the shelf to allow himself an answer-delaying sip. "I don't do birthdays," he says eventually. "I mean, other people's are great. Can't wait for yours. Don't really give a fuck about mine, so who cares when it is?"
"Who—Ed, that's ridiculous. I care!"
He's bristling now, embarrassment so quick and easy to turn to useless anger these days after a lifetime of always being the butt of the joke. And why the hell is Stede embarrassed, anyway? He didn't lie to his boyfriend in January and let it carry on to August. He's not the one sitting there insisting it's no big deal. Something like a birthday is so basic, why would you ever think to question the date you were told? He's not at fault here. But of course now Ed's getting annoyed as well, and sulky with it, frowning behind his mug like actually Stede is the one being unreasonable.
"So what was the plan?" Stede demands. "Get to November and keep pretending? Suffer through a birthday dinner? Grudgingly accept my presents? Keep lying to me? Or would you have come clean at some point?"
"Stede, just drop it," Ed says, sounding tired and irritated. "It's not some huge conspiracy. I forgot I even said anything. I'm so used to just not having a birthday, it's been like thirty years."
"But why would you lie to me in the first place?" Stede wants to know, and that's the whole point of the matter, isn't it? That's why something that, Ed's right, really doesn't have to be a huge song and dance, hurts more than it probably should.
"I don't know!" Ed snaps. "I just say things sometimes, you know I do."
"What, lies? I don't know you lie to me, and certainly not that it's frequent enough to be unremarkable! What else have you made up? Is your name even Edward?"
"Fuck off," Ed snarls, and stomps back out of the room. Moments later, the front door slams.
AITA check? Stede texts Lucius an hour or so later when Ed's still not back.
The response is lightning-fast, of course, because Lucius is the world's most ravenous gossip. Always babe. What have you done this time?
If someone told you their birthday was in November but you found out it was actually two months ago, would you be cross?
The reply dots appear and vanish a few times, and eventually Lucius responds: Idk. More confused maybe?
Would your answer change if it was, say, Fang or Izzy telling you a fake birthday?
His phone rings then, Lucius's face filling the screen, and Stede can't help a little laugh even though laughing is the last thing he feels like doing right now.
"You're so nosy," he says instead of a hello.
"Concerned bestie, you mean," Lucius retorts, definitely not as offended as he's pretending to be. His voice turns gentler. "Start from the top. What did he say, what did you say back, where is he now?"
"As I told you," Stede says, slumping miserably on the sofa with Daphne's head in his lap. "He said his birthday was November way back on that first night we went to Roach's together. But I saw his passport today while we were sorting out our junk room and that said June eighth, then he got all spiky and defensive."
"Weird," Lucius says after a long moment of silence. "Good thing he's so hot, am I right?"
"I'm hanging up now."
"No, wait, I'm sorry." Stede hears Lucius blow out a long breath on the other end of the phone, then he gets his practical voice on. "But seriously, babe—he is hot and you love him. Right? Just talk to him. That's what you're always telling everyone else. NTA for being a bit weirded out cos yeah, that's kind of weird. YWBTA if you sat there seething yourself into a dramatic little tantrum."
"I'm not seething," Stede seethes. The reality of what he actually is feeling crashes over him like a wave then, aching somewhere deep, and his voice wobbles a bit when he explains, "I'm hurt."
"Stedie," Lucius says, soft and sympathetic, none of the sarcasm or irreverence he's usually so full of. "Want me to come over for an emergency cuddle?"
Lucius is one of the only people in the world he can bear to get a hug from, but for some reason right now the thought of it even from him is unbearable. Stede doesn't want anybody's arms around him except Ed's.
"Daphne's got it covered," he says lightly, not wanting to hurt his feelings, as if Lucius is that delicate. "Just wanted to check I wasn't being too silly. Sorry to bother you on a weekend."
"You're never a bother," Lucius insists, then amends, "Well, no, you're frequently a bother, actually. But not about this."
The laugh feels easier this time, more real. "Thank you, Lucius. I mean it."
"Love you, babe. Please don't stress. You've got this."
"Love you too," Stede tells him, never quite able to get past the amazement of having friends he can say that to and mean it these days. "See you on Monday."
He's just starting to doze with his fingers tangled in Daphne's warm shaggy fur when the click of the door opening disturbs her and she flings herself off his lap, barking joyfully and skittering off down the hall to greet Ed. At least Stede assumes it's Ed. Wouldn't it just cap off this day beautifully for it to be an axe murderer or a burglar with a deep fetish for old adventure books and Victorian trinkets?
Of course it's Ed. He appears in the doorway with a clear plastic bag of pink and blue candyfloss in one hand and a toffee apple in the other, staggering slightly around Daphne's dancing attempts to get his attention on his way to the sofa where he sits beside Stede and silently offers him the apple.
"Thank you," Stede says quietly.
He unwraps it and takes a bite, cracking through the thin red sugar layer to the juicy flesh of the apple. What kind of weirdo's favourite fairground food is FRUIT? Ed says all the time, mocking so fondly that he might as well be saying I love you instead.
"I swear I didn't remember telling you that," Ed tells him, struggling with the knot on his candyfloss bag until he finally gives up and rips a hole so he can take a big pinch of the blue fluff. "Not until you said. Didn't even remember it was my birthday until like two days after. Then it just felt too weird to explain."
"After all the countless weird things we've said and done together?" Stede asks. He's trying to keep the accusing tone out of his voice and sort of half-succeeds. He doesn't sound angry, at least. He doesn't even feel angry any more, that all burned away as quickly as touchpaper. The confusion and hurt are the things that are lingering now, sticking to him like goosegrass. "Ed, you got a weird shark tattooed on your wrist for me."
"Ed really is my name," he says awkwardly, not seeming to want to answer properly yet. "Edward No Middle Name Teach. I still want to nick one of your spares, if you're cool with that. Like, officially."
Stede crunches another bite of his toffee apple, chewing slowly. "Edward Curzon Teach?"
"Edward Malbec Teach," Ed says around another mouthful of candyfloss, and Stede lets a soft little laugh bubble out of him. The relief of it is astounding. He knew, really, that they'd figure this out, that it wasn't actually going to be some huge serious relationship-destroying fight. He can't imagine anything that could go that far, not even with his anxiety's talent of being able to turn the most mundane things into potential catastrophes. But being able to laugh now, realising that the tension in his shoulders and neck began easing the moment Ed came through the door? He's thankful for that. He needed the reminder from his own body, since his own brain doesn't always get there in a timely manner.
"That's not even my name. You'd be Edward Melfort Teach."
"Ugh," Ed says, wrinkling his nose. "That's shit, though."
"Yes. Why do you think I rejected all of those stupid names except the John part?"
Daphne tires of being ignored then and jumps up between them, turning round in circles a few times and settling with her chin on Ed's thigh and her wagging tail beating against Stede's until both of them start petting her.
Very softly, looking at the whale shark on Ed's wrist instead of at his face, Stede adds, "I've been thinking about names, you know. Since Lucius got engaged. He's going to change his surname to Black, he says. Just, you know, be their own little family unit, him and Pete, within whatever thing they've got going on with Izzy and Fang as well. He doesn't have anything to do with his Spriggs family any more, he's got no loyalty to the name. It just made me wonder whether maybe you and I might... you know. One day. Share a name."
Ed's gone very still beside him, his hand clenched in Daphne's belly fur but not moving for several seconds before he slowly begins to stroke again. "Yeah?" he asks, almost inaudible.
"I mean, god knows I don't have any attachment to the Bonnets either, nor you to the Teaches. But there's something petty and mean that I rather enjoy about the idea of parading one or both of those names about like a rainbow flag, knowing how much it would annoy our families that we're in love and thriving despite all their efforts to grind us down."
"I dunno if I'm always thriving," Ed says. His voice sounds amused, but there's the wavering threat of tears there as well and Stede finds his hand on Daphne's side, sliding his own over it to gently squeeze.
"Stede John Teach is... I mean in theory it's perfect. It's just not very musical, is it?"
Ed turns his hand over, letting Stede interlace their fingers. "So what? You're not a musician, are you?"
"No, but Edward Malbec Teach, that's incredibly romantic and sexy!"
"And ridiculous," Ed says proudly. "I mean, being fucking ridiculous is the point. Anyway, Bonnet's worse."
"Not with Stede! It flows better, the rhythm of it. But Edward Bonnet's my father's name, and calling you that might be committing a little too hard to the taunt."
"You think you might be overthinking this a bit?" Ed asks, teasing, and Stede gives his hand an admonishing little shake that makes Daphne grumble at the jostling.
"How dare you? I never overthink anything. Except, you know... when I overthink everything," he finishes weakly.
He takes another bite of his apple, carefully nibbling around the thicker area of sugar where it was placed down to set. He always saves that part for Ed and his horrific sweet tooth, not a fan of munching pure sugar without the tangy apple flesh to offset it.
All this time he's not looked at Ed, not since he came and sat down. He glances up now, finding Ed's steady gaze fixed on him. He looks tired, somehow small, like he's folding in on himself in some way that can't really be seen, only sensed.
"It was a fucking dumb shit stupid lie," Ed says all at once, speaking so quickly that the words blur together in places. "I'm sorry. You asked and I panicked, I didn't want to explain and ruin the nice date night. Thought saying November would give me enough time to figure out how to tell you without sounding like a dick. Then I forgot, genuinely. My brain's just, pfff"—he makes a gentle explosion sort of gesture by his temple with his other hand, his fingers sticky and blue with threads of candyfloss. "I never fucking remember anything unless I write it down, you know that. And my birthday's just such a non-thing, I honestly never think about it any more, not on purpose. Izzy's is a few weeks after so I get reminded by that, but I've not marked it since I was a kid. I just wanna forget it even exists. I should've told you, though. I'm sorry I didn't."
The sudden urge to crawl into his lap and hug him hits like a falling cartoon anvil, but that would involve moving Daphne off them and she's so drowsy and comfortable that Stede can't bear to. He reaches for Ed's face instead, touching his cheek, letting Ed gratefully nuzzle his bristly jaw into the cup of Stede's palm.
"I can't say I understand," he says apologetically, "but I suppose I can respect you doing whatever the hell you want. It just upset me to realise that's the day I went off with Daphne to the dog spa and had a lovely time while you were stuck at work with looming deadlines and it was your birthday. I've had all these big selfish ideas about getting a whole day and night to spoil you rotten."
Ed twists to kiss Stede's palm, lingering and soft. "You do that anyway," he points out. "Fuck, how could you spoil me more than you already do?"
"I suppose you'll never find out now," Stede says, not quite able to keep his snippy tone in check, and Ed laughs and gently bites the tip of his thumb.
After a while of apparently searching for the right words, he hesitantly says, "It was the thing with my dad. When he decked my mum for like the fourth time that week over nothing and I fucking snapped and tried to strangle him. That was my fifteenth birthday. Everything just kind of lost any shine for me after that."
Stede decides in a split second that he could either let himself feel like shit for making a fuss over something without realising there was some serious background involved, or he could make some attempt to salvage things, and one of those options feels too poisonous and exhausting to contemplate.
"Your birthday could be in November," he suggests lightly. "Tell me to shut up and I will, I'll never bring it up ever again. But if you wanted a fresh start, like your new middle name, well... why not?"
Ed seems to be turning that over in his head for a while. "Huh," he says eventually. Not quite an encouragement, but not a refusal either, so Stede presses on.
"Would you be a November Scorpio, do you think, or a November Sagittarius?"
"Scorpions are cool as hell," Ed says at once, then one side of his mouth lifts in a tiny smirk. "But you're good at riding horses and you wanna fuck Robin Hood, so maybe the centaur archer guy's the winner there."
"Pick a number, twenty-two to thirty."
"Twenty-six."
"Why?" Stede asks, curious about the instant response, but Ed just shrugs.
"Vibes felt right."
"Okay," Stede agrees softly, levering the thick slab of sugar off the top of his apple now he's bitten all around the sides to free it. He holds it out, and Ed takes it from between his fingertips with his lips as solemnly as if he's taking communion. "Edward Malbec Teach, Sagittarius, November twenty-sixth. I won't push. If you really don't want a birthday, that's your choice. But now you've got options that have nothing at all to do with that monster."
"Stede," Ed says, quiet and shaky and tearful again, and sinks heavily into Stede's embrace while Daphne huffs her annoyance between them at the insult of being disturbed.
It doesn't fix everything entirely—how could it? Some events are just cursed to be a burden forever and a day, no matter what you do—but something about Ed feels lighter after that in a way Stede probably couldn't quite pinpoint if his life depended on it. It's no one thing in particular, just a general sensation of ease that turns even the most boring, eventless day together into a joy. What's more, he's letting himself get quite ridiculously excited about Stede's upcoming birthday, like for some reason he feels the need to be extra indulgent now as if he has to earn whatever spoiling he may or may not allow for himself when November comes around.
"Given what I know of your... dissatisfaction, shall we say, with your former life," Stede starts carefully one afternoon, "but also given that you keep asking what I want for my birthday, and when I asked 'anything?' you replied 'anything'..."
"Yeees?" Ed prompts, clearly trying hard not to grin at Stede's awkward attempts to spit the request out.
The back of his neck is starting to feel prickly with vaguely anxious sweat, and Stede rubs it as he tries to lego-brick his words into the right order. "Well, not that I don't already love what we do, you understand..."
Maybe Ed gets it without it even being voiced, because when Stede runs out of steam again he abandons the enormous sandwich he's building and steps closer, backing Stede against the opposite kitchen counter and gripping his chin between fingers and thumb to tilt his face up and force eye contact. "Tell me," he says, "now," low and soft and dangerous, so thoroughly Blackbeard instead of Ed in only three seconds and three words that Stede feels a bit swoony and weak suddenly, grabbing the rim of the counter behind him with both hands for support.
The words tumble out, a rush of breathless obedience. "I find myself intrigued by the idea of, you know, The Full Blackbeard Experience."
Ed's pretty brown eyes are too warm and amused to be anything but Ed now, but the velvet purr of his Blackbeard voice is no less disarming. "Do you," he says softly. "You realise you've got to pay for that?"
The urge to kiss him is immense, but Ed's still holding his chin and at the first hint of movement he pinches harder and holds Stede right where he is, giddy with longing.
"I'll pay."
"And book through Izzy."
Well, that's gone and ruined the mood. "Edward!" Stede snaps, scandalised, and Ed finally leans in for a quick, sweet kiss before letting go of his face to get back to his sandwich construction.
"What, you think Blackbeard ever did his own admin? Fuck that!"
"I think maybe the admin can be a bit lighter since we live together and do all this stuff anyway!"
Ed shrugs. "Maybe," he says, stuffing a couple of skewers through the overloaded baguette to stop it falling apart when he cuts it in half and splits it between their two plates. "Come and eat this, let's talk."
"You've been... I don't know, just more Blackbeardy recently," Stede says, when Ed raises his eyebrows like an invitation to start things off. "A little less me cuffing you to my chair leg, a little more you bossing me around."
Ed chews his bite of sandwich slowly, trailing his gaze all over Stede's face. "Is that alright?" he asks after swallowing, and Stede hastily reaches over the table to grab his hand and squeeze it reassuringly.
"Yes! Oh my god yes, it's sensational."
"Good," Ed says, laughing, visibly relaxing a bit like he was worried this was going to go in some other direction. "Hope you know it's not like I'm bored of the other way or whatever."
"Course not," Stede says softly, running his thumb over the bumps of Ed's knuckles until his one-handed attempt to eat his sandwich lets a saucy aubergine slice fall and slap wetly onto the kitchen table beside his plate. He sits back, squishing the overloaded bread together with both hands now to keep the lamb and vegetables and, for some unholy reason, crisps where they are. "I think I've realised something, actually."
Ed looks interested, raising his eyebrows in vague surprise. "Yeah?"
"I mean, aside from you being the undisputed world champion of lunches," Stede adds, sucking a thick savoury drop of perfect tomato sauce off his fingers.
"Now you're just flirting," Ed accuses, kicking Stede's foot lightly under the table, but he looks pleased with the compliment. "What?"
Stede hesitates for a moment, figuring out how best to word it. "Being, I suppose, submissive—I think maybe that's not even what we are, strictly speaking, but it's close enough for what I'm trying to say. Liking it when you thrash the soul out of me and make me hump your boot isn't the same as you liking it when I put you on your knees and tie you into a corset. It's always a, you know, sex thing for me. I'd hate you ordering me around anywhere else. But for you, it's not a sex thing, is it, generally?"
Ed's eyes are soft, besotted. He puts the remaining half of his sandwich down and rests his elbow on the tabletop, his face on his curled fist, letting a crooked little smile tug the side of his mouth. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. Never really thought about it. I mean, it often is a sex thing. You're really good at sex, Stede."
Well, now he feels a bit giggly and dishevelled. Another blob of sauce falls out the bottom of his sandwich and thwaps onto the plate, and, like Ed, Stede puts his food down and leans on the table too, watching him right back.
"More than anything, I realised, it's a sort of mood thing for you, isn't it? If you're stressed or tired or worried about something or having a bad depression day and I tell you come here, kneel down, wear this, breathe deep, don't think about anything in the world except what I allow—that helps."
Ed exhales slowly, a little bit shaky, and nods his head.
"But when you're happy and relaxed and your brain's being good to you, and now you've sort of settled your issues with Blackbeard, I think you'd always rather buckle me to your cross and bruise me all over than do what I tell you."
"Feeling a pretty strong urge to drag you in there and make you choose a whip right now, actually," Ed says, low and velvety in a way that raises all the fine hairs on the back of Stede's neck.
"Good! I love it. That's how I know you're doing well. I like the gorgeous things you do to me even more for knowing that." Stede reaches for Ed's hand again, letting him slot their fingers together, feeling the familiar lovely intrusion of Ed's favourite rings against his own bare hand.
"What's made you go all navel-gazey?" Ed asks, teasing, and Stede grins a bit bashfully.
"Just idle thoughts becoming not so idle. It feels, I don't know, nice. To get all of this in a shape I can look at properly instead of this amorphous cloud of mysterious new feelings. It feels so real."
Ed laughs, covering their clasped hands with his other one, warm and beautifully possessive. "Dickfuck, it is real! Please don't tell me I'm dreaming, you'll jumpscare me awake."
"It is real," Stede repeats, and it sounds stupidly uncertain, as if he hasn't been sure about this pull between them almost from the very first moment their eyes met across the shop last January. A very ridiculous giggle bubbles up and he half-smothers it with his fingers. "It is real," he insists again. "Always has been. But, god, now it feels real."
"On your knees, right here," Ed suddenly says, pointing at the rug on the tiled floor of the kitchen. "I'll show you fucking real."
The abrupt demand freezes him still for a moment. Stede's been very insistent these past few months about his desire to be used at will, but hearing the non-sequitur of it actually happening is always a lot, still not quite familiar enough not to be startling. Delicious tingles start to creep up his spine.
"I know I won't have to tell you twice," Ed says, softly warning, or maybe he's Blackbeard—or Edbeard, which one of them, Stede can't remember who, coined for the glorious new combination of the two in the middle of a very tipsy post-date groping session a few weeks ago, and then they giggled about it stupidly for a solid hour.
Stede kneels hastily, hands resting on his thighs because Ed's already unbuttoning his black leather trousers as he stands up and clearly has his own plan in mind that'll only be hindered by attempts to help. He stalks closer, inching his trousers and boxers down just enough to scoop out his cock.
"Get this hard," Ed commands, and no, he absolutely does not need to ask twice. Stede crawls the few feet to him and takes over—he's already half-hard, swelling prettily in Stede's hand, and when Stede slips his wet lips down to suck him all the way ready he can't help smiling around his mouthful at the feel of Ed's fingers on his face, gently sliding off his glasses, folding them, hooking them over his own t-shirt collar for safekeeping.
There's nothing particularly fancy or special about this, it's just an average regular lunchtime quickie, but right after the conversation they just had it still feels a little more weighty and memorable somehow. More real.
Still, it's over quickly, and Ed rakes his fingers hard through Stede's messy hair to squeeze convulsively around a handful of strands. "Good boy," he murmurs, low and just very slightly trembling as the last few drops of his come coat the back of Stede's tongue. "That's it, swallow everything I give you. Show me how fucking greedy you are for it, baby."
Stede can't not melt a little bit at the endearment, it warms him right through just as much as the groan and pulse of Ed's orgasm, and Ed obviously notices because he squeezes again and tugs roughly, tilting Stede's head back until only the slick swollen head of his cock is still resting on Stede's tongue.
"You really do love this, hmm?"
Stede releases him just long enough to say yes, sir, throaty and hoarse, before Ed presses a thumb into his mouth to drag it wide open again and shoves his cock back inside. Stede sucks it down, ravenous and frantic, hollowing his cheeks around the softening flesh.
"Love being put on your knees for me, don't you?" Ed says softly, pushing on the back of Stede's head until he's so close he's got his nose nestled in Ed's pubic hair, the grimy scent of mingled sweat and leather making his mouth flood again with saliva. "Love being filled up. And I think you love..."
He wrenches Stede off his cock again by the hair, then releases him and swiftly, sharply, slaps his cheek.
The unexpected pain of it feels fresh and invigorating somehow, like the rough spray of salt water when the tide is in and the wind's high enough to send waves scattering over the prom. Stede grabs Ed's thighs, an instinct, needing to hold something and ground himself as the sting becomes a fading smudge of heat. His breath comes in a great sucking gasp, then a shuddering one, then stabilises and he's quiet again, eyes closed, fingers rubbing the back of Ed's knees to feel the beautiful, familiar creases of the leather.
Like always, he finds himself wanting another one, another shock, no warning except the split second rush of air, but he feels Ed's fingers stroking his hot cheek instead and, god, that's just as good.
"Yeah?" Ed asks, quietly.
Stede nods, leaning into his touch. "You know I do. You know me."
"I know you," Ed repeats, warm and satisfied. "Yeah, reckon I fucking do. Giving me lots of cool ideas for your birthday night."
He steps away suddenly, tucking himself back into his boxers and zipping his trousers, and sits back at the table to finish the last chunk of his sandwich. There's something ridiculously cute about his whole bearing now, amused and pleased with himself, eyeing Stede where he's still kneeling on the thin rug with his cock pressing uncomfortably behind the fly of his soft yellow jeans.
"Finish your lunch," Ed says, gesturing at Stede's plate.
"You finish your lunch," Stede grumbles, taking his seat again and trying to rearrange himself in his pants. "I'm about to pop my buttons."
"Oh, yeah, I intend to," Ed tells him, smirking around his finger as he swipes up the last drip of sauce from his plate. "You're dessert."