Chapter Text
Ed paced the wooden floor, deliberately keeping his footfalls heavy, stomping from one end of the room to the other and glowering at the tranquil view outside the French doors. The lake was sparkling with the dying rays of a sun sinking into a clear, cloudless sky. The trees were lush and green, the garden just beginning to bloom, and there were birds singing. It was picturesque, peaceful, exactly what he'd asked his agent to book for him when he'd requested the time away to finish Broadswords and Bullets: A Sylas Rayde Mystery. Izzy didn't need to know he'd barely started the book, and as long as Ed could actually fucking write something in this time away he wouldn't care. All that mattered to Izzy was that Ed delivered. Three days in and his laptop had served as nothing but a taunting reminder of his failure (when he wasn't using it to help him miserably jerk off). He was exhausted, unable to sleep, and wishing he'd decided to go to a city instead so he'd have the opportunity for a fuck (or at least a sweaty dance in a packed club) to distract him from the itchiness under his skin.
He looked longingly at the wet bar in the corner of the open plan living room. He had absolutely unequivocally tried today, even though each word felt like passing a kidney stone - uncomfortable, alien, unpleasant, ultimately trash. Hadn't he earned a couple of drinks tonight? Fuck it . he slammed his laptop closed, grabbed the first bottle within reach and stalked onto the back deck to drink, smoke, brood, and watch darkness fall.
When he woke; body cricked and cramped into the chair, neck and knees stiff, mouth dry, bottle half empty on the floor, ashtray half full of butts, it was nearly pitch dark around him. The cabin was an empty black presence looming behind; lifeless and lonely. It was mid spring and most of the other cabins dotted around the lake were closed up, awaiting the warmer weather. It wasn’t quiet, though. There was plenty of space between each property but even so Ed could hear music and laughter, see the twinkle of lights through the trees, smell grilled meats, woodsmoke and weed drifting on the breeze. Just my fucking luck the only other rental rocked up right next door and are down to party . Ed's mouth watered at the delicious scents, reminding him he'd barely eaten today, and the half bottle of rum he'd sunk in misery wasn't helping any. Edward Teach, stranger to good decisions. He stumbled to his feet, swept back into the house, and slammed the door on the reminder of people having fun. At least he could only hear the music’s bass rumble with the door shut; the shouts and laughter were almost more than he could take in his current mood.
After a barely adequate dinner of cheesy scrambled eggs and toast, Ed hauled his body up the stairs and flung himself into bed, dragging a pillow over his head and praying to a god he didn't believe in that he'd get some sleep and miraculously wake up a new man.
~/~/~/~
Life outside of fiction generally didn't work that way and so Ed awoke the same as every other morning, with the added bonus of a hangover and stiff joints from his impromptu alfresco nap. He groaned, deep and despairing, and fumbled for his phone to check the time. 10.17am; no calls, no messages. He was grateful the real Izzy was leaving him alone (for now) even though his mental Izzy was snidely berating him for ‘pissing the morning away’. He felt like shit, the booze hadn't helped even while he was drinking it because he'd fallen asleep like an old man, he was no closer to getting the book done, and his brain was in even less of a mood to cooperate today. He knew why. He was stuck in a creative rut, books becoming formulaic, stale, fucking boring. He had so many ideas for new stories - new worlds yelling in his head - and just wanted to be done with Sylas bastard Rayde. Ed fucking hated how Izzy was just constantly on his arse to shit out another franchise title for the money and fuck what he actually wanted to write.
Fuck, this game had been such a lark in the begining. Writing smut for trade in prison quickly became an easy, fun and lucrative career in pulpy straight romance novels once he was out. And the best part was how he was putting one over on all the sad sacks that read his slushy bullshit. A fucked up, unlovable, brown, tattooed, ex-con setting their white middle-aged hearts and loins a-flutter with tales of true love, of kisses under a full moon, and strolls along a serene sandy beach. Unrealistic, pathetic and who the fuck wanted that anyway? He got laid plenty and didn't have to deal with the hassle of a relationship. It was easy to ignore the quiet pining of his heart (where all these romantic ideas actually came from) when he was exclusively writing white, middle class, heterosexual, painfully vanilla couples.
When he got the opportunity to start flexing his creative muscles and ditch the white heteronormative wank he quietly promised himself that he would only write queer POC protagonists from now on. Shit got a lot more emotionally dicey for him after that. Suddenly, no matter how bad and brooding his protagonists, they'd still end up in the arms of some compassionate soul. No matter the fucked up shit they did or how much hot, rough, casual sex they had across the gender spectrum, they would confess their sins and be absolved, always finding love in the end. It took a long time for Ed to be able to acknowledge to himself that all his happy endings were just pathetic wish fulfilment. No-one sane wanted to date a murderer outside of fiction.
Ed hauled himself out of bed before he gave into the temptation to lie there and brood about his shitty life for the rest of the day. Fucking obligations.
He was brushing his teeth and trying to cheer himself up by making faces at his reflection when he heard a knock at the front door. Swearing, toothpaste flecking onto his bearded chin, he made his way downstairs slower than he'd like without his knee brace. There was no second knock and Ed was beginning to think he'd imagined it under the buzz of his toothbrush. Only Izzy knew he was here so why would anyone be knocking on his door?
As predicted when he pulled it open there was no one standing on his doorstep. There was, however, a basket of cupcakes nestled in dark red silk with a note perched on top. Ed took a quick look around but whoever had delivered them had already vanished.
Hi neighbour!
Please allow me to pre-emptively apologise if our merrymaking last night was at all disturbing or deleterious to your wellbeing. Due to a woeful miscommunication I was under the impression we were the only people out here, and am afraid our "bacchanal" may have been a little too high spirited. Please accept these "forty orange cupcakes" (the forty refers not to the number of cupcakes, but the number of oranges required for the cakes themselves, fascinating stuff!) as a small token of apology. I would also like to extend an invitation; I operate an open house, and whilst I will ensure the music is of a more hospitable volume in future, you can be assured of good food and hopefully good company should you wish to drop by any evening after sundown.
With kind regards.
Your friend and “nuisance next door” Stede.
Oh fucking shitting dickfuck . Any other name and there's a fair chance it was just a coincidence. But that name coupled with the writing eloquence, the old fashioned charm and etiquette (who else would use the fucking word ‘deleterious’)? It had to be Stede Bonnet. Fuck my entire life.
Stede was something of an ingénue in the genre writing scene. His first series had appeared and disappeared with little fanfare but his latest, The Gentleman and the Dandy , was starting to turn heads, and rightly so in Ed's opinion. He loved the way Stede crafted a story, and could see where his rougher edges could be honed into a powerhouse of an author one day. Also his sex scenes were hot as fuck. There was a rumour going around that they were rivals because they both wrote "queer stuff", never mind their genres were completely different; although, it was true that Ed was rarely seen in the same room as him at conventions and signings. Ed knew that was far more to do with the fact that the first time he saw that gorgeous man - all pink and golden, wrapped in silks and velvets - he had just wanted to unwrap him and lick him all over. Not really knowing how to handle the pornographic images in his head he'd made a bumbling asshole of himself when they were introduced. So from then on he left any room that Stede was in, never exchanging more than head nods or vague pleasantries when forced into his orbit and declined to participate on any panel that Stede was also on. Instead he read and reread his books and interviews, stalked him on social media, and obsessively rewatched any panels that had been uploaded to YouTube. You know… like any healthy adult would.
Ed flicked on the coffee maker and sat at the kitchen table with the note open and face-up next to the basket. He dragged his thumb across the beautiful heavy weight stationary, tracing the exquisite penmanship. Of course Stede's handwriting would be elegant and refined, just like him. The cupcakes were bloody delicious, light and fluffy with a gooey marmalade glaze, and Ed polished off three with his morning coffee. He was actually seriously considering taking Stede up on his offer. Ed was lonely, cripplingly so some days. He loved burgers from a backyard grill, good music, delicious cake, fragrant weed, and uninhibited bohemian queers who may be amenable to a lapful of horny, squirmy, touchy-feely Ed: everything these gatherings seemed to be offering. And out here, Izzy wouldn't know, wouldn't get on his ass for taking a night off. Maybe cutting loose for an evening was what he needed to shake the story out instead of staring morosely at a beautiful landscape and a clear bottle filled with decreasing amber liquid.
He spent another half day hunched over his laptop trying to birth or at least shit out some smears of plot, munching his way through the cakes instead of preparing actual food. He took his breaks on the deck or walking around the garden to the lakeshore and back, gently stretching his knee, smoking and thinking, going back and forth over whether he would actually show up. Putting himself out there really wasn't his style, but his style had left him alone and depressed and pushing fifty.
At five he packed it in for the day, casting his eye one more time over the paltry evidence of the hours of work he pushed the laptop away, closing its accusing stare and heading upstairs to shower and change.
He dawdled in the shower, idly thinking about how tonight might go as he deep conditioned his hair so it would be at its softest. He tried to pretend for a little while that he'd be happy talking to or fucking any number of people, but he wasn't that good at lying to himself any more. He liked Stede, even from what little he knew about him he seemed fascinating. Maybe tonight, free from the pressures of seeing him at a work event, he'd actually talk to Stede, impress him a little, indulge in some flirting like a functional adult. When he was satisfied that he looked the right balance of cool and hot, (not an easy feat with his limited wardrobe, packed so he'd be comfy while he worked) he descended the stairs, grabbed the empty basket from the table, and headed into the backyard.
It was only polite to bring a gift, especially after the yummy cupcakes, but the cabin was rented, the booze was mostly rubbish or already half drunk, and Ed couldn't bake to save his life. He gently resettled the blood red silk that lined the basket and walked about the garden carefully picking flowers and arranging them artfully until the basket was brimming with a riot of variegated pastels, a dramatic counterpoint to the silk. Ed didn't know much about flowers but the mingled scent was lovely and the colours reminded him of Stede’s immaculately tailored and flamboyant suits. Stede specialised in the Regency period and Ed hoped he would appreciate the gesture; the romanticism could always be played off if Ed fell flat on his face with the flirting. He considered having a drink to calm his nerves before he walked over but settled for a cigarette and a spot of ineffectual deep breathing. The sun had set, the dusk drawing in, and Ed could see the fairy lights through the trees. “Come on bro, you're cool, you're slightly famous, you could do with a good time, and you'll have one if you can get out of your stupid brain so get your arse over there and dazzle that pretty boy!" Pep talk accomplished (they never worked but he persevered) Ed got to his feet, grabbed his phone, cigarettes and keys, locked up the house, and turned onto the gravel road to walk the short distance to the next cabin over.
There was no lighting on the single track road so Ed navigated by the sparkle of lights through the trees, turning into the driveway to see the entire façade garlanded in brightly coloured strings of fairy lights swaying gently in the breeze. The space in front was choked with vehicles, mostly functional and well loved, but right at the front was a gorgeous imported Aston Martin convertible, sleek, curvy and fast as fuck. Ed would've laid money on Stede driving some beat up family car but that colour of turquoise just had to be custom. The front door was open and through the wide bay windows Ed could see a few people in the living room gathered around a curly haired skinny guy on an acoustic guitar. He felt his nerves settle a little; bohemian queers seemed right on the money, and not just white people too. He'd probably fit ok with this crowd. Ed was slowly drifting towards the front door, eyes still on the group, when Stede entered the living room and they made eye contact through the window. Stede's face lit up and he pantomimed an exaggerated wait there to Ed and rushed out of view. Ed's pathetic romantic heart screamed at him about how quickly Stede had recognised him but his pragmatist brain told it, in no uncertain terms, to shut the fuck up.
"Ed? Edward Teach? Is that you?" Stede came tripping down the front steps, backlit by the bright house behind him, golden hair a bouncing halo around his crown, and rushed straight up to him. For a heart wrenching second Ed thought Stede was going in for a hug, but he stopped short, grabbing Ed's elbows in a firm grip and shaking him slightly.
"Small world eh?" Ed laughed, a little unbalanced by the full force of Stede’s attention being turned on him. They'd never touched before. Ed wished he wasn't wearing a jacket.
"What a lovely surprise! I do hope we weren't too much of a nuisance last night?" Stede's nose crinkled adorably in worry and Ed wanted to kiss it.
"Nah mate, no apologies necessary. Um, I bought your basket back." It was dangling awkwardly between them at Ed's hip and Stede was still cupping his elbows and smiling at him.
"Oh there was no nee–" then Stede finally looked away from Ed and saw the flowers. “Wow, those are fucking beautiful. You have an excellent eye for colour, Ed." His hand actually fluttered to his heart like one of his Regency protagonists as he stepped back and gently took the overflowing basket from Ed's limp fingers, raising it to his face to inhale indulgently.
"Well I couldn't beat those delicious cupcakes mate, they were amazing. I scarfed the lot while I was working today." Ed sidestepped the compliment and tried to ignore how hot it made him feel.
"Oh I'll have to introduce you to Roach, the man with the magic whisk! I barely helped really, just the glaze. Now come on in while I get water for these lovely flowers. Can you stay a while or do you need to get back to work?"
Stede turned on his heel and started back towards the cabin without waiting for an answer, with Ed dry mouthed and sweaty following in his wake.
~/~/~/~
It was late now, they'd been talking and laughing for hours, barely acknowledging the rest of the party except to accept food, a non-alcoholic drink or a few hits on a joint as everyone else ebbed and flowed around them and they inched closer together in their little bubble. Ed was sure he'd been introduced to about fifteen different people but he couldn't remember a single name. He was struggling to recall the last time he’d felt this good: relaxed and happy, belly aching from laughing so much, his mind engaged and stimulated, not gnawing at himself in boredom. He and Stede had quickly taken up residence on the enormous squishy couch in the living room, and there they stayed, edging closer and closer as the evening progressed and the vibe got quieter and more intimate. Now they were tipped against each other, knees touching, heads turned inwards, and the pauses in their conversation were becoming more drawn out as they were pulled towards each other; eyes beginning to linger on lips, a glimpse of throat.
Ed knew he was fucked, knew his instincts to stay far away from this man were spot on, because only a few hours in, he could already feel his stupid romantic heart beginning to pine, and his survivalist brain was apparently on a tea break because it wasn't warning him off. He wanted to fuck Stede, the man was hot, funny, and he looked strong enough to be able to throw Ed about a little; but now he'd got to know him through more than just his writing and public persona, he wanted so much more than that, too. And he didn't know what to do about it. Would he risk tomorrow's heartache for the chance to kiss him, to feel him, to fuck him, tonight? That thought was enough to make the decision for him. He shifted, turning his body more fully into Stede's, placing a hand on his knee and catching his eye.
"So am I off base here or–" he trailed off, pointedly dropped his gaze to Stede's mouth, saw his lips part on an inhale, couldn't stop his smile. Got him. Stede raised his hand, not entirely steady, and swept a tendril of hair from Ed's cheek to tuck it gently behind his ear. Time slowed as Ed's poor touch starved body felt the drag of fingertips across the delicate skin above his beard, and he had to clamp down hard to not start shaking out of his boots at the sensation.
Stede spoke softly into the air between them, his eyes unreadable. “Oh Ed, this, it's not a no, you're so–" Stede trailed off with an almost dreamy sigh, holding eye contact but looking perturbed. Ed was confused. It didn't feel like a rejection, especially since he'd rendered an author known for his prose into halting monosyllables with merely a suggestion and a hand on his thigh, but on the other hand Stede wasn't currently kissing his face off. Stede took up Ed’s hand, drawing his thumb gently across the back of Ed's knuckles, and that did nothing to help clear up the situation but did make Ed want to melt into a warm pile of goo. Ed curled his fingers and squeezed in what he hoped was an encouraging way.
"Would you like to come for a walk?" Stede asked. His voice was unnaturally bright but his look was hesitant. "I'm feeling a little fuzzy and cooped up, can't believe we've been sitting here all evening! I want to talk to you and I think the night air will help clear my head a bit."
Ed stood up, kept his hand in Stede’s and pulled him gently to his feet in answer.
"Thought we'd been talking all night mate," Ed joked, trying to defuse the sudden air of awkwardness before it threatened to stamp out this little flame he was nurturing.
"Yes, it's been delightful but I feel there are things we have been avoiding, too." Stede looked obviously and directly at Ed's mouth, dragged his gaze up to his eyes, and Ed could read desire there.
Ed stepped in closer until they were almost chest to chest. His breath hitched at their proximity, loud and sharp in the quiet room. He lowered his voice so it resonated between them. “Yeah, absolutely let's walk and talk and then come back here so I can lay you out and lick you all over.”
Stede giggled and blushed like an ingénue (cute as fuck) when Ed winked at him, then he dropped eye contact and turned away.
"My phone's upstairs,” Stede stuttered, crossing to the hallway. “I'll be right back. We should go out the front, everyone's asleep in the yard.”
Ed had barely noticed that the party had apparently wound down some time ago. Through the French doors at the back he could see the vaguely menacing shapes of pop-up tents dotting the backyard, all a discrete distance apart from each other. What the fuck, was this a cult? Stede had referred to them as “the crew” earlier and what did that even mean?
Ed ambled out onto the driveway to wait for Stede, lighting a cigarette and taking long drags, trying to steady his nerves a little and making a hasty mental list of deal breakers: no dice if Stede told him he was married, or a serial killer, or a cult leader. That seemed sensible. ‘Bout fucking time my brain showed back up.
Stede reappeared on the front steps, tilting his head to the sky and taking a deep breath, then stepped up to Ed and casually retook his hand. “Lovely,” he exhaled.
Ed didn't know what he was referring to, was too scared to ask, so let himself be led quietly past the cars and onto the road.
"Won't all those tents fuck up the grass? You'll never get your deposit back on the rental if the letting agent finds out." Because obviously Stede wanted to talk about fucking rental deposits. For fucks sake you're showing your nerves.
"Oh, I own the cabin. Did you not think it was a little extravagantly decorated for a rental?"
"Honestly mate you're such a lunatic I assumed you bought all the bits and bobs with you on vacation."
"Even the chandeliers?"
"They were top of Stede Bonnet's list of holiday essentials I bet."
Stede laughed, his shoulder bumping against Ed's as they strolled along, and it was nice. There was an ease between them and it felt uncomplicated. Talking about stuff would definitely be complicated, may even destroy whatever fragile new thing seemed to be happening here. Ed didn't want that. They were about halfway to Ed's place now, and his knee was starting to twinge a bit, too many laps around the garden earlier. Just his luck that walking helped him think. He squeezed Stede's hand encouragingly; the sooner Stede said his piece the sooner he could get to the licking, or the sooner he could slink home for a sad wank. He desperately tried not to care.
Stede cleared his throat. His voice was soft in the night air, almost wistful, but it was so quiet out here it carried fine through the peaceful dark.
"You know, if you'd asked me this morning I would've sworn that Edward Teach hated me, or I don't know, thought I was invading his turf, too big for my boots as a new voice or something. And maybe that's accurate, fuck knows I don't have an iota of your experience or talent." Ed bristled a bit at that; surely Stede knows how fucking good his writing is? He was going to interrupt to say so but Stede was barrelling ahead.
"But then you show up at one of my silly gatherings with a beautiful hand picked flower arrangement, and engage me in fascinating, stimulating, and funny conversation all evening. Which, considering your writing, isn't a surprise at all of course, just an unexpected delight. And now we're here, hand in hand, rapidly approaching your place, and well I'm a little confused. Why has it felt like you've gone out of your way to avoid me all this time?"
Ed was speechless for a moment (that was a whole lot to process) and he was feeling very hot after all the rapid fire compliments, but his explanation should come first before he allowed his brain to turn to mush.
He cleared his throat. "That thing I said, about, um, licking you all over? Let's just say it's not the first time I've had that thought." He could feel a blush heat his cheeks, silently thanked whoever that it was too dark for Stede to see it.
"And you thought I wouldn't be interested in that?" Stede was trying to keep his voice steady but Ed could hear the slight waver.
"Well a bit, not all posh blokes go in for a bit of rough like me and you'd never eye fucked me before tonight, I definitely would've remembered if you had. It's more like Con hook ups can lead to complications and mess, and there's already all those rumours flying around about us, easier to just avoid temptation."
"So I'm tempting?" Ed chanced a glance; they were walking down Ed's driveway and there was enough light now to see the little pleased smile on Stede's face.
Ed tilted his head, brought his mouth close to Stede's ear and whispered, "Irresistible."
Stede shivered, turning subtly into Ed, their shoulders knocking as they stumbled slightly and came to a stop. Their faces were closer than ever but Stede was suddenly looking a little flighty. Ed took a step back to give Stede a little space while he brought out his front door keys. "Do you want to come in for coffee? Not a line, genuine offer."
Stede tilted his head to the sky again, exposing the line of his throat. I wonder if he knows how beautiful he looks in the moonlight. Better than the cover art on any of my books. He swallowed hard and wished bon voyage to the last shreds of his pathetic hope as it fucked off into the night. He'd fucked it up before it even started by being weird and aloof and too scared to just have a conversation with the man. And, yeah, that tracked. But then Stede lowered his head to catch Ed's eye and hold it, something steely and determined in his expression. Fucking hell that's hot.
"What I really want, Ed, is to come in and be licked all over like you promised, but I just…just need to get this out first. My resolve isn't that good, honestly you have the nerve to call me irresistible when you walk around looking like that, with your talent!” Stede made a dramatic hand gesture. “You don't make it easy."
Ed went more than a little gooey at that, ducking his head a little as the compliments washed over him, warming him from the inside out. By the way Stede bit his lip, Ed could tell it was light enough near the door for him to see Ed was blushing.
"What I'm trying to say is, your books meant a lot to me for a long time. I've been closeted for most of my life and your novels provided an escape when times were hard. It hurt a little that I'd seemed to offend you without ever getting a chance to talk to you, if only to gush embarrassingly at you like some over-attached fan."
"Stede–" Ed was shocked to hear how choked up he sounded. Stede couldn't know how much he treasured the stories from fans who felt seen or safe by reading his books, and he felt like the worst kind of dick for giving Stede the cold shoulder for nearly two years because of his own hang ups. "I'm sorry mate, I didn't know. Shit I feel like a right wanker now. It was all me, nothing about you, I'm just a fuck up y’ know? But I'm glad you felt my books helped some."
Stede stepped forward, gripping his biceps and squeezing reassuringly. "An apology isn't necessary Ed, that wasn't why I brought it up. Christ, I'm really not good at this, I run on too much, my editor hates me."
"An apology isn't necessary." Ed parroted. "I love your run on sentences, your editor is a hack."
Stede smiled, radiant. "That's very sweet. Ok, home stretch, here's what I'm trying to say. I like you, Ed. I’ve nurtured a bit of a crush on you for a while, even before I saw your author photo, which is stunning but doesn't nearly do you justice, by the way.” Fuck, Stede is gonna kill me if he keeps going with all this praise . “But I don't want a Con hook up or a coincidentally close cabin hook up, I want more than that, more of you .” He poked Ed playfully in the chest in emphasis. “I have for a long time and this evening has only confirmed that for me. But I think, I hope, you might want that too? And also,” he stopped, a slow smile inching across his face, “if the flesh and blood Ed Teach is half as hot and filthy as the fucking he puts on the page, I would be crushed to only experience it once, considering how many times I've jerked off to it."
Ed was reeling. No-one wanted more of him, ever. Especially after getting to know him a bit. "Oh fuck off, you write the hottest, tenderest, most jerk-offable shit I've ever read and I've been in the game for decades.” He immediately deflected.
"You like it tender, Ed?" Stede quirked an eyebrow at him, and Ed huffed out a breath. The damn blush was back as well; he had so little chill around this man but for once he didn't care.
"With you? Fuck yeah. Wanna look into your eyes as you rail me, take it so slow we're half mad by the time we come, till we're trembling and aching for it."
The noise that came from Stede was almost a growl and suddenly Ed was being manhandled back against the door, Stede's hands beneath his jacket and resting heavy on his hips.
"And what if I want it filthy? Bruised hips." He squeezed his fingers against Ed's skin; holding on tight. "Bitten lips." He dived forward, teeth nipping at Ed's bottom lip for a brief second then pulling away. "Hair tangled in my fist." He paused for a moment, eyes searching Ed's face, waiting for consent.
Ed's breath was already coming shorter as he nodded once, grabbed one of Stede's hands and dragged it up his body to his hair.
"Fuck yeah, pull it till I see stars."
Stede groaned as his fingers tightened, increasing the tension in increments until Ed's head was angled backwards, moans dropping from his mouth as the sparks skittered across his scalp. Stede leaned forward, exhaling across the revealed skin of his neck under his beard.
"Purple marks left where I kiss." He breathed out, goose bumps rising across Ed's arms as Stede started sucking a love bite into the sensitive skin, maintaining the hold on Ed's hair, pinning him in place. It was hot as fuck. Ed grabbed at Stede, pulling their hips flush, and Stede made a strangled noise against his throat as their groins came into contact. Stede pulled off with a smack, giving one last rough lick at the spot, and Ed felt a bolt of lust shiver through him at the ebb and flow of pain at the flowering bruise.
"Yeah, yeah ok you win, filthy it is," he slurred out, light-headed.
Stede gentled the hand in his hair, allowing Ed to move his head enough to look Stede in the eye, beautifully flushed.
"Mmm I don't know, bet I could make you ache and tremble too." Stede raised an eyebrow, sexy and confident, and Ed no longer wanted to lick him all over; he wanted to devour him.
"And what a tragedy if I lose that bet," Ed drawled, enjoying the way Stede's eyes lit up in amusement. They stood for a moment, just looking at each other, Stede petting absentmindedly at his hair, something passing between them that seemed too significant, too big to put into words so early in their fledgling relationship. Ed cleared his throat, mouth suddenly dry, shifting his eyes away.
"To give you a clear answer, this isn't just a hook up for me either, but I'm a bit of a shit bag asshole with a ton of heavy stuff in my past, so yeah if you want an out, I'm a fucking awful prospect honestly." Ed had unconsciously curled a little into himself, making himself smaller, defensive and prickly at the vulnerability, prepared for Stede to agree he was probably too much or not enough. To his surprise, Stede placed one hand on Ed's heart, slid the other gently from his temple down his cheek to cup under his chin, encouraging him to look up, to see the compassion and understanding radiating from his eyes. Fuck.
"Darling, we're both middle-aged queer creatives, of course we've got baggage. How about I'll make you pancakes in the morning, you can share what you're comfortable with, and I'll tell you all about my ex-wife and kids."
Stede said it casually but his smile was a tight line and Ed could read how nervous he was at the admission, and wasn't that a revelation, how quickly and deeply he felt like he knew what made this man tick.
"Pancakes and a past post-mortem sounds great; noticed you said morning though, any ideas about how we're going to spend all that time before the sun rises?" Because fuck what was going to happen in the morning, fuck the potential heartbreak, he wanted this and damn the consequences. He waggled his eyebrows in comic flirtation, topped off with an exaggerated bawdy wink. Stede smiled, and Ed could see him physically relax, a subtle weight lifted from him. Stede leaned in, snuggling up against Ed still plastered loose limbed against the door, and they both moved to draw their arms around each other in a reassuring embrace.