Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“To the new and improved Stede Bonnet!”

The dining area of Blackbeard’s is empty, save for the two men seated at a high top in the bar, both leaned in close, their knees nearly touching under the tabletop. In their hands are thin, delicate flutes of bubbly champagne that sparkle in the low overhead lighting. Outside the tall windows, the evening rush of the city is in full swing, and inside, in the background of the quiet little restaurant, Sufjan Stevens plays quietly from the iPhone hooked up to the overhead speakers.

“I think ‘improved’ might be a bit of an embellishment,” says Stede wryly. “I’m still me, just minus a valid marriage certificate.”

“Think that’s absolutely a fuckin’ improvement over the last few decades of your life, mate,” Ed replies, rapping the tabletop with his knuckles. Stede fights the urge to roll his eyes, even if fondly.

“It could be, if I could get you out of it, too.”

“Aww,” coos Ed, puckering his lips, “shut the fuck up. You love me.”

“Yes,” says Stede, trying and failing to sound indifferent, “well.”

From across the table, Ed grins. It crinkles his dark brown eyes, scrunches up his handsome face in the way that Stede has always found incredibly endearing, even when they first met in this very bar over a year ago. Stede grins back, feeling light for the first time in—Christ, probably his whole life. There’s nothing to hold him back anymore, nothing to keep him from being who he’s always meant to be. Nothing forcing him to stay buried beneath the veneer of a family man, especially one that was never quite put together right, always sticking out at odd angles to chafe against itself.

The divorce had gone through that morning, which means that at forty-six years old, on a nondescript Tuesday in October, Stede is officially a single, out gay man. A terrifying prospect, certainly, but also an exhilarating one. And, most importantly, it’s freeing.

Stede holds up his champagne flute. It catches the delicate glow of the bar’s lights, highlights the bubbles that float up to the surface and dissipate. A part of Stede feels like those bubbles, buoyant and fit to bursting. “To living freely and to no more hiding.”

“Hear hear!” Ed cheers, clinking their glasses together. “To sucking dick!”

Stede chokes on an inhale, the rim of his flute centimetres from his mouth. Heat flares up on his cheeks. “Edward!”

Ed just laughs before taking a sip of his champagne. “What? It’s true! Unless you don’t want to, which is totally cool. Not everybody likes sucking dick. I’ve had a few partners like that.”

Truth be told, Stede hasn’t really thought much about that aspect, too preoccupied with court dates and lawyer meetings and making sure that the children were okay with everything that was happening. Besides, it wasn’t like he and Mary had done that often: she’d claimed to hate the repetition of it, how it made her jaw ache, and Stede had just hated the whole ordeal. Fucking at least was easier; with that he could close his eyes and let instinct take over.

But Ed is right: Stede’s out now, and he knows he’s at least tangentially interested in giving a blowjob. Perhaps blowjobs could be what everybody claims them to be, if done with the right person. Maybe he’d actually like sucking dick if he gave it a go—he’s always had a bit of an oral fixation.

“I never said that,” Stede replies, hoping the lighting in the bar is low enough to hide his blush when his thoughts begin to drift towards the more lurid sort. After taking a long sip of champagne he sets the flute down on the table, looking at the bare space on his finger where his wedding band rested for nearly twenty years. He’s had it off for months now, but it still catches him off-guard sometimes.

“Well, you’ve got all this time now to figure yourself out,” says Ed, pulling his phone out from his jacket pocket. He quickly taps something on the screen, then locks it and flips it facedown on the table. Leaning in on his forearms, he lifts his eyebrows, widening his eyes. His lower lip is wet, and it shines in the light. A corner of Stede’s mind catches on that detail, idly spins with it in the background of his thoughts. “What’re you gonna do?”

What indeed. Since the initiation of the divorce, Stede’s been hyper-focused on getting that done, on giving every spare ounce of time and energy to making sure that Mary and the children got everything they wanted. There hasn’t been much time left over for him to dwell on what he’d do after it was all completed, which is incredibly unlike him.

Where there would usually be churning anxiety as he reflects inward, Stede is surprised to feel a sense of blank calm, not a ripple in sight, not a breath of wind to stir it. There feels like a purpose just beginning to peek green buds out of the soil, seeking a new world above it to flourish.

Maybe it’s the champagne talking, or maybe it’s the elation and excitement of a future stretched out in sun-drenched cobblestones in front of him, but Stede feels hopeful, even if he doesn’t have a concrete plan for what to do next. Perhaps he doesn’t need a plan for what to do next! Ed’s always talking about how he goes where his gut takes him and rarely plans anything at all, and look where he’s at in life.

The Stede Bonnet of old could never do that. The new and improved Stede Bonnet, however, could. At least, he thinks he could, and he’d like to try now that he can.

Draining his glass, Stede stands and crosses to the bar to grab the bottle and give himself another generous pour. Wordlessly, Ed holds his own glass out; Stede refills that, too, then thinks twice about it and brings the bottle back to their table. He’s taken a leave of absence from his miserable job leading a department he doesn’t care about in a company he fucking hates. He doesn’t have a wife to go home to anymore. The kids aren’t in his primary custody.

The answer comes easily to him after another swallow.

“I’m gonna do whatever the fuck I want,” Stede declares, and Ed hoots, hoisting up his glass once more.

“That’s the fuckin’ spirit, Stede!”

“Fuck what anybody else thinks!” Stede says, throwing back half of his champagne in one gulp. It fizzes right to his head, smoothing over the rough edges of uncertainty. Most of the bottle is empty now, and there’s just enough left to refill both of their glasses one more time.

“Yeah, fuck ‘em!”

They toast once more, both tipping back their glasses. The room has begun to get a warm, blurry glow, Stede slipping into that soft, liminal space where everything seems like a good idea and all of his troubles and worries are miles and miles away, sequestered on an untouchable island.

“What else are you gonna do, Stede?” Ed asks, his words trailing slightly, dragging their heavy feet across concrete.

“‘m gonna…kiss some men,” Stede says with his own slight slur. It sounds like a great idea with the champagne in him, thinking about if kissing someone with a beard is as rough as Mary complained it is, and if men taste any different, and if they kiss any different.

“Yeah, you sure as fuck are.” Ed waggles his brows. “You’re gonna be kissing so many men, Stede. Your lips are gonna fall off from kissing so many that they’re gonna have to send you to, like, the fucking lip hospital.”

Stede giggles. The champagne-bubble feeling bursts and pops with fizzy delight. “I don’t think that’s a thing.”

“Of course it’s a thing! I should know,” says Ed, and it sinks an immediate heavy stone in Stede’s belly.

Right. Ed, with his decades of experience. Ed, who’s been out since he was a teenager. Who’s never hidden who he is despite the odds stacked against him. Who takes turns with the local LGBTQIA+ groups hosting meetings once or twice a month.

Stede knows he shouldn’t let what he hasn’t done yet hold him back. Ed’s said that endless times—that it doesn’t matter how long the journey takes, as long as you start it in the first place. A marathon, not a sprint.

Easy to say when you’re someone like Edward Teach.

As quickly and easily as it had appeared, the optimism sours, and it sits heavily alongside that stone in Stede’s belly. 

“Oh, fuck. I just don’t know if I can do this,” Stede moans, burying his head in his hands. When he speaks again, it comes out muffled. “I’m nearly fifty, Ed! Who comes out at nearly fifty to try to reinvent themselves?”

“Brave people, that’s fuckin’ who,” replies Ed from somewhere about Stede. It sounds floaty and far away as Stede drops his head from his hands to his forearms.

“I don’t feel very brave right now.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re drunk,” says Ed. The stool creaks as he shifts, the tread of his boot squeaking against the pedestal of the table. “I promise you, you’re brave as shit, mate. Lots of people would’ve just stayed in a loveless marriage ‘til they died without telling anybody. You didn’t.”

Ed makes it sound like such a big deal, but Stede doesn’t feel like it is. All his life, he’s never been good enough. Not enough for anybody, or anything. Failure at everything that wasn’t handed to him, and even then he’s still a failure at trying to live up to those expectations that have been set for him since birth.

Lifting his head, Stede finds Ed looking at him, and when their gazes meet, Ed widens his eyes slightly and inclines his head, silently saying Listen to me, I’m right and I know it.

“I can’t do it by myself,” says Stede quietly in response. Honest, practically bleeding with how raw it feels. That's something he knows for certain: it took months of psyching himself up to even broach the topic of divorce with Mary, and he only was able to do it in the end with the urging of his friends, including Ed.

“I could help you, you know,” says Ed. “Like, the reinventing yourself bit. Or figuring it out.”

Hope hops on its feet, attempting takeoff. “You would?”

“‘Course I would, mate. You’re my best friend.”

Stede’s heart tha-thumps off-beat. Even though it’s been a year, Stede still sometimes can’t believe Ed is his friend. And not just his friend, but his best friend, in the truest sense of the phrase. They know everything about each other, including things Stede’s never told another soul.

Also, as sad as it sounds—and it is pretty sad, in the grand scheme of things—Ed is the first friend Stede’s ever really had, best or otherwise. Sure, he’s got Ed’s friends that are now as good as his, and he’s got the friends he’s actually made at his dad’s company, if they can be considered friends, and Stede likes to think they can. But they don’t get to see this other side of him. They don’t know his vulnerabilities, or his fears; they know him on a surface level, with no way to tunnel deeper, all of those weak spots already sealed off and deemed impassable.

Except for Ed. Stede knows he can trust him. Knows he isn’t lying about this, and wouldn’t ever bring it up unless he was one hundred percent serious about it. The thought makes Stede feel warmer than the alcohol ever could.

So he says, just a little tentatively, “Okay,” and watches as Ed positively beams.

“Okay? Fuck yeah! So now that’s squared away, let’s say we get you acquainted with some queer drinks, yeah?”

“Queer—drinks?” asks Stede sceptically. Ed stands and stretches, the hem of his jumper pulling up to expose a soft half-inch of tan, furry belly. Stede stands, and Ed briefly clasps Stede’s shoulder before striding over to slip behind the bar.

“Yeah, man. You plan on going to a gay bar at some point, right?”

“Well.” Stede hadn’t put much thought into it, but now he is. It probably would be a good idea, wouldn’t it? Get experience, maybe actually have a good time. “I—I suppose so.”

“So then you need to know what drinks to order!”

“Why not just stick with my usual?”

“Pffft.” Ed flaps his hand, making a dismissive noise. “You can, if you want to be boring as fuck. But you’re going out to get laid! Why not have a bit of fun while you’re there?”

Stede hardly doubts that ordering a nice brandy is going to stop him from getting laid, but when Ed gets an idea he’s going to run with it and tell everyone else to bugger off. And, over this past year, Stede’s found that running with Ed’s ideas is much more fun than sitting back and simply watching them unfold. So, Stede dutifully sits down on one of the bar stools and folds his hands together on the bartop.

First up is a blowjob, which Ed says is “Not necessarily queer-coded, but since we were talking about blowjobs earlier…”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard of those!” says Stede, watching while Ed rifles through the liquor behind the bar and begins pulling out bottles. “I think I remember Mary mentioning several rounds of those at her bachelorette party.”

“Hah, yeah. Lots of those at straight bachelorette parties.”

The shot comes together quickly with Ed’s deft, practised hands. Stede knows that Ed’s been mixing for over a decade, but it still amazes him every time, how effortless he makes it look. Stede’s tried making his own drinks at home to mediocre results every time.

“So with these,” says Ed, pushing one of the finished shots across the bar to Stede’s clasped hands, “you actually aren’t meant to use your hands. You’re supposed to put your mouth on the glass and tip your head back. ‘Course, you can use your hands, nobody’s stopping you, but traditionally you put them behind your back.”

Standing up, Stede crosses his wrists behind his back, looking up at Ed. “Like this?”

The light must be playing tricks, because Ed’s eyes appear darker when he says, “Yeah, just like that. Then you put your mouth on the glass and tilt it back.”

Stede follows Ed’s instructions, feeling slightly silly as he wraps his lips around the shot glass. The whipped cream is the first thing he tastes on a curiously probing tongue, the sweetness hitting him right before he straightens and tosses back the shot. It’s simple and sweet, not strong at all. When he takes the shot glass from his mouth, he’s grinning. “Well, that was delightful! Are you going to take one, Edward?”

Ed blinks, as if not hearing him right away, before shaking his head. The song playing gently over the speakers ends, shifting to Cream. “You know what, why not. It’s been years since I’ve done one of these.”

Before Ed takes his own shot, he twists his hair up in a low, messy bun. Stede watches the easy flicks of Ed’s wrists, the furrow of concentration in his brow. Sees the flex of his shoulders under his jumper when he brings his hands behind his back, widening his stance before bending and taking the glass in his mouth.

The two greying strands of hair framing Ed’s face sway as he lifts his head up, and beneath the neat line of grey-white beard Ed’s throat bobs with his swallow. When he takes the glass from his lips with a giddy, triumphant grin, there’s a smear of whipped cream right at the left corner, where his moustache is still closest to black, and Ed doesn’t seem to notice.

“You’ve got a little, um. Just a bit of whipped cream in your moustache there.” Stede touches the corner of his own mouth, indicating the little dollop of whipped cream that remains.

“Oh, shit, gimme a sec.” Touching the opposite corner of his mouth, Ed silently asks if it’s right, and Stede shakes his head. Then, the right side, but too low, and Stede says, “No, here, let me—”

Reaching across the bar and bracing his weight with one hand on the smooth bartop, Stede gently brushes the pad of his thumb over the soft bristle of Ed’s beard, cleaning away the whipped cream before wiping his thumb on a cocktail napkin.

“Okay,” says Stede. It comes out slightly rough. The pad of his thumb holds the memory of Ed’s moustache. “There you go.”

Ed swallows. “Yeah, um. Thanks, mate.”

“So,” says Stede brightly, no matter how hard his heart is beating, “there were some other drinks you wanted to show me?”

——

Stede is an idiot.

Fuck, he’s such an idiot.

Fuck. He’s going to die and he’s still an idiot.

That anxiety that had been missing last night makes its triumphant return, circulating happily low in his belly as his head gives an angry throb. It could also be the hangover, but it certainly feels mostly like he’s made a huge mistake in thinking that he could actually do this.

Is it too late to stop the divorce? Too late to stay stuck in a loveless marriage where there was at least routine with its well-worn tracks he could easily tread with predictable steps? Those are at least safe. Those at least don’t promise inevitable failure. Sure, he’s miserable there, but there’s no way to embarrass himself. No way to disappoint himself, either, if he doesn’t bother trying in the first place.

His head feels full, like he’s thinking too many thoughts at once. As he gradually awakens, he becomes aware that he’s on Ed’s couch, the heavy purple blanket knitted by Ed’s mum half pushed off his legs to pool on the floor. Fuzzy, barely-outlined memories begin to pull together, and he recalls them walking home in the brisk, late autumn night from Ed’s restaurant, stumbling along the quiet streets, the occasional sodium glow of the street lamps shining silver off Ed’s loose hair. Stede’s new apartment was a half-hour train ride away, and they’d both decided it would be easier to walk the fifteen minutes through the West Village to Ed’s place.

They’d made it inside with no incident, just barely. Stede thinks he recalls—there had been some giggling, and more than a lot of stumbling and keys that wouldn’t quite meet their mark. A warm, heavy hand low on Stede’s back, urging him forward as Ed struggled to free the key from the lock. Hot breath over the vulnerable, chilled nape of Stede’s neck above the collar of his peacoat. Ed’s low thunder rumble of a laugh when Stede tripped on his way in.

Then—well, Stede isn’t fully sure. Thinks maybe Ed had gone off to bed after digging this blanket out of the storage chest in the corner of the living room. He could figure it out, probably, if his head wasn’t full of wet sand. Provocatively named shots, he can definitely remember that. Anxiety, too. Nothing new there.

“Fuck,” he groans, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I am an idiot.”

“Think we both are,” comes a pained voice from the hallway.

Lowering his hands, Stede reveals Ed standing in the doorway. His hair is loose and frizzy, clumped from fitful sleep. The fuschia birds of paradise robe Stede had gotten him for his birthday is thrown over his shoulders, open just enough in the front to expose bare, tan skin, the trailing wings of a hawk at his throat and the dark, perpetually trailing flags and mast of the ship low on his sternum. He’s wearing soft grey joggers; his feet are bare and vulnerable against the thick wool rug under them.

When their eyes meet, Ed grins and says, “Good morning. Breakfast?”

“God, please,” Stede breathes, struggling up. It makes the wet sand in his head slosh around, nearly sending him back down in a heap onto the couch. “Oof. Maybe some aspirin first, though.”

Once medicated, and with a cool glass of water in his hand, Stede treads into Ed’s kitchen, silently offering his help. They don’t speak much as they get bacon and coffee going, Stede whipping the eggs together in a bowl after putting the bread in the toaster. The Google Home on the countertop beneath the thin, rectangular window softly plays Free Throw; Stede mindlessly sways along with the swinging bass, despite—as usual—not knowing much of the music Ed plays.

It’s a quiet, simple sort of domesticity, and one that Stede latches onto with greedy hands. Before Ed, he’d never known how easy it could be to coexist alongside someone doing something as mundane as making breakfast, but now that he’s experienced it, he finds himself endlessly seeking more, chasing those little moments the way a plant chases the sun.

It’s difficult to believe that, just a year ago, they were strangers. Ed’s restaurant had been open late, and Stede hadn’t wanted to go home right away after work. A drink at the bar became two, Ed joining him on the neighbouring stool as the crowd slowed. Nothing’s ever been as easy as that night was, both of them filling in each other’s silences, slotting into otherwise dark corners that had been hidden from the light for too long. A once-in-a-lifetime friendship , Mary had said once during the divorce proceedings. There had been a twist to her mouth that Stede’s never quite been able to parse out, no matter how much he thinks back on it.

“So, last night,” Ed says once they sit down, plates filled and coffee mugs topped up. The music continues on in the background, and Stede groans, sinking low into the velvet seat.

“I’m sorry I was so dreary last night when we were just trying to have a good time.”

“Naw, fuck off with those apologies,” replies Ed, pointing his fork in Stede’s direction. A bit of scrambled egg covered in Cholula falls to his plate. “It’s a huge fucking step, mate. I would’ve been more surprised if you hadn’t freaked out at some point, honestly.’

Stede sighs. Knowing that Ed’s right really doesn’t make it any easier.

“And I meant it,” continues Ed. “I’ll help you with absolutely anything you need.”

“I don’t even know where to begin!” laments Stede, rubbing the heel of his palm over his brow in frustration, all of it quickly bubbling over as it mixes with the latent nausea and headache of his hangover. “I hardly even dated before Mary, and I have no idea what the queer dating scene is like, aside from stories you and Lucius have told me. What if I do or say the wrong thing?”

“Breathe, Stede,” says Ed, smiling. “It’ll be okay. That’s literally just dating in general. We’re all always worried about those things.”

“That hardly helps, you know!”

Ed chuckles, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Okay, hmm. Let me think.” He takes a large bite of marmalade-slathered toast and visibly perks up, saying through a full mouth, “Oh! I’ve got it. What you need is a list.”

“A list,” repeats Stede. He sips his coffee, arching a brow over the mug. Ed swallows, nodding and looking extremely pleased with himself.

“Yeah. Something to check off. Keep you on track. Fuckin’—I dunno, give you motivation. Like, Step one: Go to a gay bar.”

“Oh!” Realisation dawns like the morning sun does as it slants its way into the kitchen between the buildings. Lists Stede knows. Lists he's familiar with. “So a list of things I want to accomplish. I feel—shouldn’t something like Set up a dating profile on Grindr be on there first?”

“I’m not throwing you in there with the sharks, man. You need to build up to that.”

“I can manage a dating profile!”

“Stede,” says Ed. “You calling Grindr a dating profile is exactly why you need my help.”

Stede pouts and takes a sulky bite of his own toast. “You can date on Grindr.”

A tiny smile hooks one corner of Ed’s mouth. “Well, sure, but it’s really mostly a hookup app, mate. You’re gonna get a ton of dick pics once you set up a profile, guaranteed.”

While the idea of dick pics is terrifying but exhilarating, Stede may have to begrudgingly admit that Ed has a point about him needing his help. He has no idea where to even begin, much less how to even successfully navigate the queer dating field. What’s the etiquette of receiving something like a dick pic? Do you compliment them? Give them feedback? Send one back immediately even if you aren’t interested? There are too many possibilities, and they’re quickly becoming tangled the longer Stede dwells on them.

“Okay, okay, fine,” sighs Stede. “I’m hopeless, you’re right.”

“Not hopeless. Just…unsure. Like a little baby deer taking its first steps. Like Bambi!”

“Ed,” Stede says, holding back a laugh. “I am not Bambi.”

“Oh, you are so Bambi, mate. Wandering around on your little shaky deer legs, getting into all sorts of fuckin’ shenanigans…”

The next laugh Stede can’t hold back. “I’m convinced you haven’t ever actually seen the movie, because that is a terrible comparison.”

“How dare you slander my comparisons! They’re always completely accurate.”

“His mom dies, Edward! Very famously!"

Now Ed is laughing, unable to keep up the bit any longer, and this. God, it’s this that Stede’s been missing his whole life. Someone to play off of, someone to joke around with, even when the jokes are ridiculous and unfunny to anybody but them.

Ed really is his best friend, and Stede can’t imagine life without him.

That’s how they end up, breakfast plates in the sink, coffee mugs topped up with the remainder of the pot, and an open notebook spread between them. Written on it, in Ed’s neat, slanting script, is an eight-part list.

Stede Bonnet’s Big Gay To-Do List (work in progress):

• Go to a gay bar
• Go to a sex shop
• Make Grindr profile (flirting/sexting?)
• Get experience
• Go on a date (multiple, preferably)
• Fall in love?

Along with the addendums, the last bullet point is in Stede’s sweeping cursive, complete with a slightly shaky, unsure question mark. It seems like an appropriate conclusion to a list, the natural culmination of the journey he’s going to embark on. Falling in love is always the endgame, isn’t it? Stede’s read enough romance novels and binged enough rom-coms that it seems all but inevitable, his own experiences notwithstanding.

It all feels a bit silly, writing out a list like this. But it also feels empowering. Part of the idea of reinventing himself after his divorce is not being afraid of things; and, even when he is, facing them head-on rather than hiding behind the skirts of excuses.

“It’s a start,” says Stede, turning to Ed for confirmation. When he does, he finds Ed already looking at him, dark eyes amber in the morning light, unreadable where they slide over Stede’s face. Once Ed notices he smiles crookedly, nudging Stede’s shoulder with his own.

“I think it’s pretty a fuckin’ solid start,” says Ed.

Chapter Text

Ed has no idea why he agreed to this.

Well, that’s a lie. He does, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Makes it way fucking worse, if he’s honest. Because of course he can’t make things easier for himself, always has to throw some sort of wrench into things to fuck up the gears, because he can’t take a good thing at face-fucking-value.

For a year, Stede’s been firmly off-limits. First, because Ed thought Stede was straight (an easy enough mistake to make, the marriage to a woman and all). Then, because they’d become friends, and even though Stede confessed not long into their friendship that he thought he might be gay, Ed couldn’t ruin what they had, because that’s what he always, inevitably did.

And then, somehow, Ed didn’t. Those flaws didn’t matter; Stede stayed. Still met up with Ed as much as possible, still swung by the restaurant when he had a free moment and closed the bar out with Ed. Still always kept that space in his life that fit Ed just right, moulded around his imperfections.

Even when Ed has bad days, Stede stays. And when Stede has bad days, of course Ed stays, because it’s what best friends do. They don’t let the very human things like bad days, or weeks, or even months, ruin what they have. They’re stronger than that.

It’s just—he likes Stede, is the thing. Thinks he’s really fucking funny, and charming, and handsome. Fuck, he’s handsome. Exactly Ed’s type, and isn’t that just unfortunate? Took years to figure out that he’s actually into that artsy outsider type, and then Stede decides to saunter along and come out.

Ed sighs, looking at the mess of dirty dishes in the sink. Then at the notebook still on the table, with a single page neatly torn out and folded into a blazer pocket. All of it a sun-drenched space in his life that’s always open for Stede, a mirror to the one Stede has for him.

Stede’s gone back to his apartment in Park Slope in yesterday’s clothes like some sort of walk of shame, and Ed’s stuck with the emptiness of his one-bedroom, the silence pressed all the way up into the can lights in the tall ceiling. It feels extra oppressive today, so Ed connects his phone to his speaker and quickly queues up letlive., drizzling dish soap into the sink before letting it fill with hot water at the first strains of soft guitar.

There’s an entire world out there that Stede hasn’t experienced. A whole new side of himself that’s only ever gotten to briefly peek out before tucking itself back into hiding. And Ed is delighted to show him those things, to guide him and watch just off the sidelines as he grows. It’s what he said he’d do. It’s what he’s going to do.

Ed scrubs at a coffee cup, his brow furrowed.

He can do this. He can. Ed Teach has weathered worse than a simple little crush. It’s not even that bad! Sure, Stede is hot. Would Ed have slept with him when they met if the circumstances had been different? Abso-fuckin’-lutely.

He scrubs at the mug harder.

It’s just a list. A short list, at that. Stede is smart and capable, no matter what he thinks of himself. Ed will show him the ropes and Stede will take to it with the gusto he always takes to new experiences. They’ll have fun doing it, too. They’ve always been able to make anything they do together fun.

Whatever guy Stede ends up eventually dating—or fucking, Ed reminds himself as he grabs a plate to scrub—should only be so lucky. And if it’s the last thing Ed does, he’s going to find someone worthy of Stede. Stede deserves that, that happiness Ed knows he’s been searching for his entire life.

The plate slips from Ed’s hands on a particularly rough swipe, dropping back into the sink and splashing Ed with warm, soapy water. He sighs, shakes his head and fishes the plate back out, rinsing it off. Jesus. Get it together, man.

Once the dishes are done, Ed closes out of Spotify on his phone and heads down the hall to take a shower. While he waits for the water to warm up, he scrolls through Instagram, finding that Stede’s already added to his story this afternoon. It’s a snap of the sun crowning the buildings, taken just down the street from Ed’s place. He’s hashtagged it, because of course he has, #newbeginnings and #newsunrises in that swirly, near-unreadable cursive option. It’s so endearing and perfectly Stede .

Ed smothers his smile, setting his phone down on the sink as he strips, leaving his clothes in a pile to go into the hamper. He lets out a groan when he steps into the shower, the hot water and fucking amazing water pressure already beginning to work on the tension in his shoulders.

There’s a solace to showers that he likes. Sometimes he’ll put music on, but most of the time he likes to be alone with his thoughts as he runs through his regimen. The scent of the lavender shower steamer he’d tossed into the tub fills the bathroom, mixes with his shampoo as he lathers it through his hair and rinses it out, reaching for a bar of patchouli goat milk soap.

As he’s soaping up his cock he finds his hand lingering, and without Ed really trying, heat slowly begins to pool in his belly. Head down and legs spread, he watches the way his cock thickens in his grip, giving a slight twitch when he squeezes and drawing out a quiet, sucked-in breath.

It’s been a while since Ed’s been with anybody. Just a fact; he hasn’t been interested, and the restaurant’s been keeping him busy. Just been him and his vibrator, and sometimes the thick purple suction-cup dildo he keeps under the sink, and he’s been fine. It’s whatever. Sex with random men has lost its appeal over the years anyway, especially because good lays are few and far between and he’s tired of settling for something mediocre.

That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t like to think back on those good lays, and hope that at some point he’ll find somebody else who can push him face-down on the bed and rail him the way he loves, the thing that leaves him speechless, little more than a puddle of skin and bones and desperate, wanton moans.

He's more than halfway to hard now, foreskin just beginning to pull back to expose the swollen head. The suds from the soap quickly slip down the flushed skin of his cock, and, slowly, deliberately, Ed presses his thumb just under the head. His knees quake, and he gasps again.

Fuck it.

Moving most of the way out of the stream of water so that he’s not getting smothered by his own wet hair, Ed starts to work himself, swallowing down a moan as he firms up more in his grip. Doesn’t think about anything too concrete, never does when he jerks off—sometimes it’s old fucks, sometimes it’s fantasies with nameless, faceless men. Most of the time, it’s the sounds. The breathy groans, or the delicate whimpers. The last time Ed had gone down on a guy he’d had the sweetest moans, and Ed remembers them now, recalls the weight of a cock in his mouth and a guiding hand in his hair. Gives it time to stir up in his belly, coalescing into something more tangible. The bruise of a thick cockhead on his soft palate, the bitter drip of pre-come down his throat.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, pressing a hand to the cool, slick tile. Closes his eyes, squeezes them shut as his lips part and his hand speeds up. That sound, right when he pushes into someone, or when someone pushes into him. Overwhelmed and surprised, every time. Low, sometimes needy.

Christ, it’s been a long time since he’s been fucked, and he fucking misses it, alright. Wants to roll over onto his belly and push his arse up, play with himself while somebody watches and tells him how pretty he is. Ed moans at the idea, stroking once over the length of his cock quickly with a tight, twisting squeeze. Water spills down the bow of his lips; he swallows, wetting his dry mouth, taking some of that water with it. Thumbs the crown of his cock and tips his head back, water pounding down over his shoulder.

A body under his hands, firm and barrel-chested. Nice tits, soft belly. Great arse, great fucking cock. A thick one, one that’ll make his jaw ache and leave him walking carefully for days. It leaks against that soft belly, twitches under the imagined touch of his fingers.

And then—fuck, he’s close already. Throbbing in his grip, the edge drawing nearer when he squeezes just under the head. A whimper caught in his throat, nails digging into the shower tile. Slick sound of skin-on-skin under the rush of the water, and he’s nearly there, fuck, his balls are drawing up and the heat low in his belly has grown nearly to scorching, and—

Right before he comes, the vision of the body under his hands pans up, and Ed’s eyes fly open, going wide while that heat explodes and he moans and trembles, semen spilling onto the tile at his feet in spurts as his cock jerks in his grip. He shudders and he gasps at the thought of blond hair and hazel eyes, smeared just enough with the haze of fantasy, but still undeniable when his mind clears.

His heart pounds. He stares at the shower wall, the orgasm settling heavily into his bones. The drain washes away any evidence of it, doesn’t let it linger.

Ed doesn’t let himself linger either. He re-soaps, then finishes rinsing and turns the shower off, resolutely not thinking about it. 

He was close, anyway. And he’s always liked blonds, always liked solidly built men. Just a bit of fantasy in a brain filled with thoughts from last night. It doesn’t matter.

So why does it feel like it does?

——

Stede closes the front door of his apartment and sinks against it without even bothering to take off his coat, letting his head thunk against the wood as groans.

A gay bar. Christ, what the hell was he thinking?

The answer, he knows, is not a lot. He’ll be the first to admit that impulsivity is one of his biggest flaws, and it’s one he’s never quite been able to tame. Add in alcohol, and the results are rarely pretty. Misguided attempts at romantic getaways. Miserable family trips. Unfortunate wardrobe choices that always ended up getting donated, tags still on, in a staggering display of waste that Stede is not proud of.

This idea, though. Without question, it’s got to be one of his worst.

The only bar he really ever goes to is Ed’s, and it’s mostly because it’s quiet and, well, Ed is there. So of course he’d be there, too—why go anywhere else? Especially not to bars with loud music that are filled with people over twenty years his junior, at the very least.

The list is still in Stede’s pocket, and he runs his fingers over it, brow furrowed.

There’s still time to tear it up and tell Ed it was a bad idea, says that little lurking voice in his mind, the one that sounds like the combined effort of every naysayer he’s ever known. It was loudest during the divorce proceedings, sometimes dialled up to a near-unignorable cacophony, but in the past weeks it’s quieted some. It seemed like maybe it was gone for good. So much for that.

He could throw the list away. It would be easier to do that. Bury his head in the sand for a while longer, ignore all his problems, just like he did for two decades, and like he did for most of his life. He has no problem with change, but he does have a bit of trepidation with doing something so unknown. Coming out, that was unknown and terrifying, but necessary. Putting himself out there, as a gay man, when he’s never actually dated anybody before? Unknown and terrifying for entirely different reasons. More tangible than just a statement, a declaration. It makes it real, and that’s what scares him the most.

But—he didn’t do this all for nothing. He did it for himself. For Mary, and for Louis and Alma. Mary deserved to find someone who loved her the way she was meant to be loved, and the kids deserved a father who wasn’t miserable and distant.

He can make a change. That was what part of it was about, originally. His father didn’t matter, his coworkers—the ones he hated, anyway—didn’t matter. What matters, who matters, are his friends. Ed. The people who have had his back through this entire thing.

“All right,” he says to himself. “You can do this.”

The first thing he does is take off his jacket, hanging it up in the entryway closet. Then his shoes, which go on a rack by the door. Stepping onto the plush runner with a grateful sigh, Stede fishes the list from his blazer pocket before making his way into the kitchen.

The final thing he does, and what is perhaps the bravest, is unfold the list, reading it over once more before securing it to the fridge door with a magnet. He steps back, cocks his head. It seems so small and insignificant there, but Stede knows the true weight of it, the importance of every line written that goes beyond its surface meaning.

Having a list is important—Stede has always liked the ritual of crossing things off once you’ve finished them. Gives him a more tangible sense of what he’s accomplished, and it helps him measure what else he needs to do. Without it, for something like this, Stede isn’t sure he’d make it past the first step of getting himself out there post-divorce.

He reads down the list, lingering on the last line and the only line fully in his handwriting. Fall in love. Could it be as easy as that? As easy as the movies have always made it look?

The thing is, Stede doesn’t know what that kind of love feels like. He’s heard it all: the butterflies; the pounding heart; the burning need to be near that person. But he’s never felt it—and he wouldn’t even know where to begin to try to untangle anything like that.

He wants that kind of love, that much he knows. Wants to be breathless and swept off his feet and so in love that his person is all he can think about. Wants to wake up pressed together, not as far apart on the mattress as they possibly could be like he and Mary were.

The longer Stede looks at the list, the lower his heart feels. The old taunts from childhood bullies, the endless feelings of inadequacy that have haunted him his entire adult life, the persistent fear that he made a mistake, all bubble up towards the surface.

Why did you ever think you were meant for happiness?

Nobody is going to want a forty-something inexperienced gay man who doesn’t even really know who he is.

You’re going to be alone forever, Stede.

Then: he takes a deep breath. Looks at the familiar slant of Ed’s handwriting, thinks back to his offer to help, his easy smile and his suggestions and the fact that he’s never, not once, made Stede feel bad for starting his life over. The way their friendship had blossomed uninhibited, both of them reaching unconsciously for each other from the start.

Gradually, his shoulders relax. His breathing eases. The dark cloud breaks up and clears away. He can do this. With Ed by his side, he can do it. There’s nobody else he trusts more. Nobody else he’d want to do this with.

It’s a little scary, but it’s also exciting. And he’s always loved that combination.

——

On Wednesday, during a lull in the dinner rush, Ed sneaks off to his office and pulls out his phone. He knows this is the part of the list Stede is dreading the most and he’s determined to show Stede that there isn’t anything to be worried about. Gay bars are so much fucking better than straight bars. Just a fact, and Ed doesn’t blame him. It’s a big step walking into this new world operating off of the surety of your identity, rather than just an idea. However, Revenge has their friends, and it’s the best jumping-off point Ed can think of.

Shoving half of a cookie in his mouth—stolen from Roach this morning, thank you, because he’s the boss and he deserves cookies—Ed composes a message to Stede while trying not to moan at how fucking good cranberry walnut is.

To Stede
revenge on fri?
fang’s gonna be there. lucius and pete too i’m assuming

While Ed finishes his cookie, he watches the little dots appear and disappear several times in quick succession.

To Ed
You assumed correctly. Lucius was just texting me about it.
I suppose there’s no time like the present!

To Stede
fuck yeah!!!
ok lemme text fang and let him know

To Ed
Sounds good! I’ll see you on Friday beforehand. My place?

Ed smiles to himself. A little time before they head out to give Stede a pep talk, if that’s what he needs. He doesn’t give himself enough credit, Ed thinks as he begins composing a response. He’ll be scared shitless but he’ll still do it, no matter what.

To Stede
Pre-game it is!

——

Ed arrives an hour before they’re scheduled to leave to pre-game, and Stede is standing in the middle of his closet in his underwear and feeling distinctly, terribly overwhelmed by it all.

Oh, god. He’s still in his underwear.

“Oh, Christ—just a minute!” he calls out when Ed knocks on the door, despite the fact there's no way for him to hear it. Looking frantically around, Stede grabs the pale golden robe he keeps hooked on the inside of his closet door, shrugging it on his shoulders and holding it shut with one hand as he rushes to the front door.

When he opens it, Ed’s standing on the stoop, leather jacket on and hair up in a low, messy bun. The gunmetal grey knit mock neck he’s wearing under his jacket hits slightly above the waistband of his tight leather pants, exposing soft, tan skin, and a hint of dark hair

“Are you ready to fuckin’—” Ed starts, then trails off as his eyes slide down, pausing on where Stede’s holding the robe shut. “You’re, uh. Still in your underwear, mate.”

The comment, for whatever reason he can’t decipher, makes Stede flush a bit in the cool afternoon air. Not like they haven’t seen each other in their underwear countless times by now—perhaps it’s the gravity of the situation, or the lingering embarrassment at being caught looking as frazzled as he is.

Stede readjusts his robe, pulling it tighter around him. “Hello, Ed. Afraid I’m having a bit of a crisis on what to wear.”

Ed blinks, looking back up. There’s something unreadable in his eyes, a there-and-back glance while he clears his throat, and it’s gone before Stede can fully notice. “Clearly. Need some help?”

“Please,” Stede begs, stepping aside to let Ed in. “I don’t know what to wear to a place like this!”

Ed chuckles, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over his arm. Stede shuts the door, leading the way to the bedroom, continuing, “There are just so many variables—do I want to look upscale? Modern? Hip?”

“Do you—Stede.” Ed pauses, grabbing onto Stede’s elbow, stopping him before he can swan into the closet with a flourish. “It’s a gay bar. Not a fancy restaurant. Nobody cares how you’re dressed.”

Stede flaps his hands in distress. “I care! Edward, it’s my first time out being…well, out!”

Ed tosses his jacket onto the chair in the corner before returning his full attention to Stede. “Okay, sorry. Clothes are important to you, I know. But, in my honest opinion, you don’t need to go fancy. Just wear something that shows off your arms and your legs.” He pauses, purses his lips. “Maybe something that shows off your tits, too.”

“Edward!” The blush returns full-force, the way it always does when Ed talks like this.

“What! They’re one of your best assets, Stede. Own it.”

Stede doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing, just hides his face a little at the spreading flush on his cheeks. “Y-Yes, well, anyway!”

Ed’s eyes sparkle in the light. “Come on, then. Gimme a show, tell me what you’re thinking.”

Stede launches into pulling out the outfits he’s pieced together, unable to choose between just one of them. Pressed trousers—Stede, you can’t be serious—to tight jeans—Those are the ones—to a shimmery button-down—There’s potential there, put a pin in it— to a tight polo—Does wonder for your tits, but it’s not screaming ‘I wanna party!’— and, finally, to his ankle boots, which Ed approves immediately.

As Stede’s putting together the pieces of his outfit, shimmery button-down included, Ed wanders over to the nook that houses Stede’s accessories, from his cufflinks and watches to his extensive collection of rings, as well as his modest selection of necklaces.

“What’s this?” asks Ed, reaching into an open jewellery box, the one Stede had started to look into earlier before Ed had knocked. He picks up the strand of small, delicate freshwater pearls carefully nestled in there. Recognition blooms when he takes sight of the necklace as a whole, and he lifts it, letting the pearls gently run through his fingers. He says, a bit quietly, “Oh, these are the ones I got you, aren’t they?”

“They are, yes.” Stede hesitates. A little sense of longing fills him, brought to the surface by the delicate way Ed touches the necklace, the careful and almost reverent way his fingers slip over it, gently thumbing over the individual pearls in turn. What that longing is, Stede can’t quite parse out, just knows that it settles in his belly in a space he isn’t sure he’s ever noticed before. “I’m sorry I don’t wear them more often.”

Ed looks up, a slightly horrified expression on his face. “Oh, shit, Stede, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to, like, make you feel bad. You don’t have to wear them.”

“I want to, Ed. Believe me. It’s just that…” Stede trails off, unsure how to continue. It’s one of those old wounds, buried deep but not forgotten, rearing up when the ground shifts and exposes the old bones of them.

There are things Ed knows, and things Stede still keeps clutched close to his chest. Ed knows that Stede’s father has never exactly been the type to kiss scraped knees and wipe away tears; it’s one of the first ways they bonded, talking about their shitty fathers. For the past year, Ed’s known that Stede was closeted in part because he refused to explore that side, the true side, of himself. He’d just never known why.

Reaching out, Stede silently takes the pearls from Ed, letting their cool weight pool in the palm of his hand. Ed had given him the necklace when Stede confirmed the divorce proceedings, told him it was made by one of the locals in one of his support groups. Stede’s worn it once or twice, but it spends most of its time in the finely crafted mother-of-pearl box, a token of what he could be, if he’d give himself the chance to spread wider than the box he’s confined himself to.

Maybe it’s time, Stede thinks. He can’t hide from it forever, can he? Doesn’t matter anymore, anyway, now that he’s not hiding from himself. The one thing he knows for certain is that Ed always makes him feel braver than he thinks he is. And this whole thing—he knows it’s about bravery, and being true to himself, and not hiding anymore from the people he cares about. He’s worth it, and his choices matter, even if others try to pretend that they don’t.

“I didn’t tell you when you gave this to me, but one of the first moments I knew I was—different, I was caught by my father admiring a string of my mother’s pearls. I never touched them again after that.” Stede looks down at the necklace in his hand, then back up at Ed.  “Tonight seems like a perfect night to wear them, hmm?”

Ed’s eyes are wide and liquid. Unknowable, unfathomable.

Stede undoes the clamshell clasp, reaching back to secure it around his neck. When he lets go, the necklace slides to rest just below his collarbone, exposed by the undone buttons of his button-down.

“What do you think?” he asks, once the necklace is settled and he’s adjusted his collar. His hair is still a mess, of course, but there’s time to fix it before they need to leave.

Those dark eyes are still liquid as they watch the pass of Stede’s hands, as Ed says, “I think it looks good, man. Real fuckin’ good.”

And there’s pride, as always, at someone as cool as Ed telling him he looks good. Something Stede isn’t sure he’ll ever truly get over, no matter how much time passes. Looking down, he smiles to himself. “I think so, too.”

Before they go, Stede pours them each a finger of Glenfiddich, the one in the heavy crystal decanter that he keeps around for special occasions. One of those ostentatious purchases he made in his old life to try to fit in, even if the whisky really is good. They use the time sipping it from the matching cut crystal glasses to catch up, figure out who all is going to be there and what time they think everybody will arrive.

Stede has heard of Revenge before, was invited several times over the past year by various friends, but had never accepted any of the invites. What he knows is that it’s a more low-key bar, run by Jim and Oluwande, who he’s met several times through Lucius and Pete.

It helps some, knowing that their friends will be there. And, Ed continues to reassure him, he’s not going to be pressured into doing anything that he doesn’t want to. If he wants to hang out and sip cocktails and watch the crowd, that’s well within his right. It’s just an introduction, a way for him to get a scope of the community from the other side, inserting himself rather than just standing off to the side.

Stede does want to do something, though. Wants to find a guy he thinks is attractive, wants to buy him a drink then maybe ask him to dance. Wants to know what it’s like to feel normal about it all, no lingering anxiety, no insecurity about his place in the community, because he knows that he shouldn’t have any of that. He belongs, that’s one of the first things his crew made sure to tell him when he officially came out.

Neither of them feel like walking to the subway and waiting for a train, so Ed orders them a Lyft, waving off Stede’s protests to pay him back as he opens the app and inputs Revenge ’s address.

“Not like I can’t afford it,” Ed says, tongue poking between his lips as he types. He locks his phone and fixes Stede with a lopsided grin. “Five minutes. You all ready to go?”

Stede rolls his eyes, but he still goes warm with the close attention. When Ed gets excited he tends to get a little upbeat, unable to stay still, and he’s rocking on his heels now, lips curled upward. “You act like we’re going on an adventure.”

“We are! It’s your first gay bar! How you made it this far along without going to one is impressive, honestly.”

“I go to a bar. It’s your bar.”

“Yeah, but it’s a bar and grill. Not quite the same, is it?”

“It is to me!” defends Stede. “Besides, you’re there, so why would I go anywhere else?”

It tumbles out before Stede is even aware he’s said it. Ed’s face does something briefly complicated before it settles on surprised, his brows raised. “Stede, you sap.”

Before Stede can reply, Ed looks down at his phone when it dings, says, “Fuck, a minute away now. Let’s go.”

The drive there takes about a half-hour, and as they cross the bridge into Manhattan some of Stede’s nervousness begins to chip off. What remains is stubborn, but he’s finally starting to get to the good side of the night, the one where he does something new. Ed’s telling him about his long, sordid history with Revenge and all of the other gay bars across the city he’s been to. Which ones are good for hookups, which ones are good for dancing.

When their driver drops them off, Stede pulls the door to Revenge open, Ed on his heels as they step inside. Ed moves in close and sweeps his hand up across the breadth of Stede’s back over his coat; he smells like Tom Ford cologne, smoky and spicy, as he always does, and it mixes in with the faint hint of cigarette smoke on his leather jacket, that reminder of the one lingering habit Ed has never been able to break himself of. It’s comforting, Stede thinks absently. Reminds him of Ed whenever he catches cigarette smoke on the street, always makes him wonder what Ed is doing right at that moment.

The lighting of the bar is a low purple, dim but friendly still, the kind of warm light that softens the edges of things. Not a big crowd for a Friday night, which makes Stede’s next breath come a bit easier. He can’t parse what song is playing overhead, but it’s something with a beat that hooks itself right within him.

The bar itself is edged with modern metal stools. Spaced around the room are high tops, and at the far wall are a few booths. It all feels intimate, but in a way that isn’t overwhelming. It makes you want to stick around, order a few more drinks and quickly lose track of time.

“See,” says Ed, voice a low rumble against the backdrop of music and a sea of conversation, “not too bad, hmm?”

“Mm,” says Stede. “Oh—I see Lucius!”

He sets off, hoping Ed is still behind him as he weaves through the modest crowd, coming to a stop at the far corner of the bar, where the crowd is thinnest.

“Stede!” Lucius says, setting his drink on the bartop to wrap Stede up in a hug. When they pull back he holds onto Stede’s shoulders, gives him a cursory once-over. “Don’t you look delicious tonight. Already planning on having a little fun in the restrooms later? Love those pearls, by the way.”

Stede makes a noise like someone’s choked him, and Ed laughs, coming up on Stede’s left. “Reel it in, mate. Stede’s just here to enjoy the atmosphere. And get drunk.”

“Maybe not that drunk,” Stede tries to argue, but he loses steam when he sees the raised eyebrow on Ed’s face.

“Jim has a heavy pour, and they know you’re gonna be here tonight. You’re gonna get drunk,” Ed says with a laugh. “Sorry, man.”

“ Si, ” says Jim, popping up behind Ed. “You deserve to let loose a little, Stede. So what’ll it be?”

It ends up being a whisky sour that’s more whisky than sour, but Stede likes what he likes and the burn is more than pleasant going down. Once Ed orders his own drink and heads off to say hello to Fang, Stede leans against the bar, watching the crowd. It’s a mix of everybody: old, young; gay, lesbian. Possibly a few straight couples mixed in. Booths are filled with friends crowded close, conversations rising above the noise in concentrated bursts of laughter. Every few minutes the front door opens to let in a few new people bundled up in thicker fall jackets, sending the chill of the evening along with it.

Revenge is—nice. That’s the best word Stede can come up with for it. Nice, and relaxed, and nothing at all like he was catastrophizing it to be. It’s just another bar, just like Stede is just another man, regardless of who he chooses to love.

“Enjoying yourself?” asks Lucius, leaning against the bar on Stede’s right.

“I am,” replies Stede, shocked to find that it’s the truth. Could be the whisky he and Ed had before leaving, honestly, but Stede’s already feeling comfortable and uninhibited. Not a way he gets often, so when it comes round he tends to latch onto it for as long as he can.

“Not too overwhelming?”

“I mean—a little. It’s certainly different from what I thought it would be, but in a good way. But Ed’s been really great at helping me so far.”

Lucius raises his brows and hides his smile with the rim of his glass. “Mm, that so?”

Before Stede can respond, a man appears at his side. Handsome enough, Stede supposes, but he really was just in the middle of conversation with his friend, and isn’t that a bit rude, to just interrupt like that?

“Can I help you?” he asks, and if it’s a little snippier than normal, well, that’s deserved.

“Couldn’t help but notice you from across the room,” the man says, leaning an elbow on the bar and looking Stede over from head to toe.

“You did?” Stede says.

Lucius snorts into his glass. “Oh, he sure did.”

“I did,” the man replies, wetting his lips. “I was wondering if you’d like a drink. Or if you’d like to just skip that and meet me in the restrooms.” He looks over at Lucius and his smile widens. “You’re invited, too.”

The restrooms— oh. Heat rushes up Stede’s neck to colour his cheeks. “I’m having a lovely conversation with my friend here, can’t you see that? I’m sorry, but it’s awfully rude to just interrupt somebody like that!”

“You heard him, Mike,” Lucius cuts in dryly. “Also, you know my boyfriends are here. I literally just saw you saying hi to Fang on your way over here.”

The man—Mike, apparently—huffs. “We could have made magic,” he says, before walking away and disappearing into the crowd.

Stede watches him disappear, shaking his head before he turns back to Lucius. It’s not like Mike isn’t attractive, but Stede just isn’t the type for random hookups. That’s something he knew long before he came out. “I highly doubt that. ”

“You never know, he could have been your soulmate,” says Lucius with a sly little grin. “I’ve heard weirder tales.”

“I’m offended you think he’d be my type, Lucius.”

“How am I supposed to know your type? You don’t really talk about what you’re interested in.”

Stede groans, draining the last of his whisky sour, hoping it will bolster whatever confidence has to get through this conversation.  “ I don’t even know my type.”

“Have you thought about it?”

“Jim,” Stede asks, “could I have another please?” Turning back towards Lucius, Stede says, “I don’t know if I have.”

“Silver foxes? Beards? Bears?” Lucius gets a devilish glint in his eye as he leans forward and whispers, “Twinks?”

It’s all so much, and it leaves Stede feeling unsteady. Like he’s got a tenuous grasp on the situation already and he’s starting to lose what little grip he has. Heat builds up at his neck, spreading upward all the way to the tips of his ears. “I…haven’t thought about it. Does it matter?”

“If knowing would help you put yourself out there, then yeah.” Stede makes what he's sure is his most sceptical face. “I'm just saying—your soulmate could be in this room right now and you’d never know if you didn’t try. You deserve to be happy, Stede,” says Lucius. “I mean it. I don’t say it often, so don’t even think about getting any sort of impression about it, but you really are brave.”

Stede blinks in surprise. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Ugh, that was too sappy for my taste.” Lucius pulls a face, then downs the rest of his drink. “I’m gonna go find Pete and make out with him now, babes. Here comes Ed.”

He winks at Ed when he walks past, and Ed looks in confusion at Stede, a Jack and Coke in hand. Stede just shrugs.

“So who was that?” asks Ed casually, taking a sip from his drink through one of the little straws. The light from the bar shadows his face, obscures the set of his mouth behind his moustache when he lowers his glass.

“Oh, the man who told me we could make magic together ?” Stede makes a face. “Not interested in that at all. ”

“He hit on you?”

“Well don’t sound so surprised!” says Stede, offended.

“No, no, god, it’s not that. It’s just fuckin’—that’s great, man. I told you that you’d get hit on the moment you stepped in here,” Ed says. He smiles, but it seems shallow, doesn’t fully reach his eyes the way his smiles normally do.

“He interrupted my conversation with Lucius, and then asked if we’d both want to join him in the restrooms. The cheek!”

A muscle in Ed’s jaw beneath his beard twitches, just briefly. His fingers clench on his glass, his rings clinking against it. “That so.”

“I turned him down, of course,” Stede replies. “Lucius is a dear friend, but I wouldn’t want to engage in that with him.”

“Hey, Swede,” says Ed to the other bartender. “Couple of lemon drops, yeah?”

“I’ve barely even touched the drink I have, Ed,” says Stede, gesturing to his full glass.

“Told you that you were gonna get a bit drunk tonight, mate.” Ed leans his elbow on the bar, shakes his loosened hair over his shoulder. His teeth are a sharp slash of white as he grins, and this one is more genuine as it scrunches up his eyes. “‘Sides, these shots aren’t that strong, promise.”

While Swede mixes their shots, Stede finishes half of his whisky sour in a few gulps. The lights have begun to have a hazed, fuzzed nature to them, and the world itself feels soft, a little less dangerous than it normally does. Stede takes the offered shot, clinks its glass with Ed’s, and feels its warmth join the what’s already spread all the way to his fingertips. The song changes, and he thinks he may recognise it, but it doesn’t matter; he’s overcome with a sense of goodness that just feels right, and he reaches for Ed, because Ed is there, he’s always there, and wraps his arms around Ed’s neck.

He stumbles, thanks in part to the alcohol; he can faintly hear Ed’s whoa above the music before hands are at his waist, steadying him. Broad hands, warm hands, warm even through the material of his shirt. Seems to melt all the way through him, bleeding into his organs and all that messy viscera inside him.

“You okay?” Ed asks, ducking his head. A trailing strand of hair tickles Stede’s cheek. His breath smells like beer and whisky, carries the tart tang of lemon from the shot. The scratch of his beard is a pleasant friction when he gets a bit too close.

“I’m fine!” Stede says, perhaps a little louder than needed. Then, because he’s feeling brave, adds, “Dance with me, Ed!”

Ed laughs, a surprised sound. He doesn’t falter, though; falls easily into step with Stede, moving his body like it’s second nature to let the beat of a song command it. “Do you even know this song?”

“No!” Stede laughs. Leans in, wrists crossed behind Ed’s head, and blinks up into his dark eyes. Over here, towards the corner of the bar, the soft purple of the light is a little darker, edging into violet, and it shadows them both, leaves more up to the imagination than not. He navigates Ed by the familiar breadth of his shoulders, the lean lines of his body. “That’s the best part. I have no idea what it is and I still want to dance to it.”

“Do you want me to tell you?” Ed’s hands don’t move from Stede’s waist. He’s begun to sway his hips, unconsciously leading Stede into his own clumsy version until he finds the rhythm and can fall into sync with it. He shifts, and the toes of their shoes brush, and the light plays over both of them.

“Tell me what?”

“The song.” Ed leans in closer. His breath is hot against Stede’s cheek. “I know what it is.”

“Does it matter?”

“No, but it’s a pretty good song, and I know you’re wanting to know to look it up.”

“Later,” says Stede. Later. Nobody else is dancing, this isn’t that kind of bar, but that’s okay. He doesn’t care. Right now, it’s just him and Ed, swaying along to the song Ed knows that Stede doesn’t, and that’s the only thing that matters. Stede is tipsy, and he’s happy, for once. Genuinely, truly happy.

Stede looks up, finds that Lucius and Pete and Jim are looking at them from over by a booth in the corner. What that means, he doesn’t let himself think about. There’s just enough room for him and Ed to sway together until the song ends. That's his focus.

“Okay,” Ed replies, a bit quietly, but he’s still smiling, still leading Stede in their tiny, concentrated dance. “Later.”

Chapter Text

When Stede wakes up, several things happen in quick succession.

One, he realises that he is, once again, hungover, though not as bad as he had been earlier in the week.

Two, that his phone is intermittently buzzing, because he’d set it to vibrate while he’d been at the bar. It is, miraculously, plugged in, if not slightly perilously askew on his nightstand.

And three, that he’s under the covers still in last night’s shirt, but down to his underwear.

How he actually got home is a bit fuzzy. Maybe a Lyft? Yeah, it was definitely a Lyft. Ed had been there—Stede is positive of that. He hadn’t been that drunk. However, an unfortunate consequence of getting older is that his alcohol tolerance seems to lower by the year.

As his phone buzzes once more, Stede groans, groping around for it and pulling it towards him. Through bleary eyes and the roiling nausea of a hangover, Stede unlocks his phone, clicking in on the most recent text, which happens to be the thread between him and Lucius.

To Stede
Well well…don’t you two look cosy
[One Attached Image]

The photo is from last night, and it’s slightly blurry and a little dark, hazed purple from the low light of the bar. It’s unmistakable—it’s him and Ed, wrapped up in their impromptu dance.

Stede stares at it, at Ed’s hands on his waist, his own arms tossed around Ed’s shoulders. It’s so…carefree. Uninhibited. Stede remembers not caring about what he was doing, or who saw them. Remembers, too, how warm that felt, and how it wrapped itself around him, as if a physical manifestation of what accepting that embrace was like.

He remembers, too, how quickly he’d lost his initial reservations and lowered his guard. So maybe gay bars aren’t as intimidating as he thought they’d be. Maybe he does belong there, even if it took him a couple decades longer than most people to figure that out.

There are also texts from Ed, time-stamped at around three in the morning.

To Stede
just got home. hope you got some sleep
last night was fun :)
take care of yourself tomorrow morning  

Then a few from this morning, less than fifteen minutes ago.

To Stede
fuckin izzy man
‘why wasn’t i invited’ maybe cause you’ve made it clear you don’t like half of my friends?
christ now he’s going on and on about it
guess we’ll have to invite him next time. UGH

Stede doesn’t realise he’s smiling until after he’s finished reading through all of Ed’s texts and notices an ache in his cheeks.

Truthfully, he doesn’t hate Izzy. He just…prefers when he’s not there. Izzy can be fun, if he lets himself, which is never. Stede’s seen him let loose precisely once, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever see that again.

Locking his phone, Stede rolls out of bed with a groan, giving his body—and stomach—time to adjust before he starts off towards the bathroom, where he’d left a bottle of water next to a packet of Liquid IV. He takes an aspirin first, then mixes in the powder, taking a few long drinks before screwing the top back on and bringing it with him to the bedroom.

It’s only nine, and he doesn’t have any plans for the day, so he allows himself the opportunity to burrow under the covers, pulling them up to block out the thin sunlight as he does his best to sleep off the worst of his hangover.

Stede wakes up again a few hours later, the sun slotting in lower through the window, slanting across the hardwood floor. The hangover is mostly gone now, clinging on through a lingering faint headache. In its place is an unmistakable itch, perhaps brought out of dormancy by his memories of last night, by implications made by—what was his name, Mike?

Unlocking his phone, Stede hesitates for only a moment before opening up the site he’s been frequenting recently. He stares at the search bar, Lucius’s words from last night resurfacing.

Silver foxes? Beards? Bears? Twinks?

Christ, he really is clueless. It’s easy to ignore some days, but other times, times like these when he can let himself stew in it, it’s not. He knows what silver foxes are, and beards, obviously. But bears? Twinks? There’s an entire community out there that he’s supposed to be a part of and he hardly even understands the lingo. The screen of his phone goes dim, and he taps it, pulling his lips into his mouth as he thinks.

Porn has been something Stede’s been researching since the beginning of the divorce process, once he was able to wriggle out from under the crushing guilt of decades of oppression. He’s definitely gay; it’s at least given him that much certainty. Thinks he’d like to at least try bottoming, to see what it’s like. And after his and Ed’s conversation at the bar the other night, he thinks he’d like to try blowjobs, too. 

The first faint stirrings of arousal pulse lazily through him as he looks through the popular videos. Maybe he does need to spend time figuring out what his type might be, because he isn’t sure if any of the videos are catching his eye. Keeps scrolling, and scrolling, going past blowjobs and handjobs and—eugh, no thanks. Not to yuck anybody else’s yum, of course, but just absolutely not for him.

The video Stede finally ends up selecting has a thumbnail of a tall, lightly-tattooed silver-haired man bending a dark-haired man in half on a bed. The dark-haired man is secondary; the moment the video buffers, Stede’s eyes are glued on the silver-haired man, on the long, lean lines of his body, gone slightly soft with age but still remaining strong and impressive. The various tattoos, all bold and colourful, some of which wind around the shapely muscles of his upper thighs.

It’s a short video, beginning just before the silver-haired man pushes the dark-haired man down onto the small, nondescript bed, crawling between his legs with a lithe, commanding grace, hair spilling over one shoulder. Probably a produced video, Stede thinks absently, going by the camera angle and the lighting, and the way the two men position themselves. They don’t kiss, and Stede desperately wishes they would.

There’s no dialogue right away, just harsh breaths, the squeak of bed springs, the rustle of sheets. The pop of a lube cap, the low groan from the dark-haired man when two slick fingers slip over his hole. Stede is still focusing on the silver-haired man: the flex of his shoulders; the fall of his shoulder-length hair; the way that he pushes the dark-haired man’s left leg over his shoulder, spreading him open and tilting his arse up. Then he sinks two fingers in deep, and the dark-haired man cries out, shoulders pulling up.

Fuck. Holding his phone in one hand, Stede lets the other drift down his belly. Strokes under the hem of his shirt, slow drags of his fingertips that spread across his skin like tongues of fire, sinking deep into his gut to pool there. He’s never been spread open like that, but it looks…nice. A stretch, he’s sure, but a challenge he’d willingly accept.

Already Stede’s heart is picking up, thoughts narrowing to a pinpoint, focussed only on how good these two men look, on how it would feel to be in the dark-haired man’s position, spread open, two thick fingers in his arse opening him up for a cock. Stede inhales deeply, pressing his head back against the pillow, shifting his hips on the bed. On the screen, the silver-haired man is taking his fingers out, reaching for the lube again.

Scratching blunt nails through the hair on his belly, Stede watches the silver-haired man slick up his cock with a few twists of his wrist, groaning as he does. The muscles in his thighs and arse flex when he fucks into his fist; Stede quietly echoes that groan, feeling his own cock begin to fill quicker against his thigh.

“Please,” the dark-haired man whispers, grabbing onto the silver-haired man’s elbow. He looks up, lips parted. “Please.”

Oh fuck. The plea scratches something Stede didn’t know existed in his brain, and he finds himself desperate to hear it again. He hastily unbuttons his shirt with one hand, unwilling to look away as the silver-haired man teases his cock over the invite of the dark-haired man’s hole, rubbing against it as he breathes sharply, before he steadies the heavy sway of his cock and begins to guide it in.

“Ohh, fuck,” he groans, and Stede bites back a moan, because the man’s voice is everything he’s hoped it would be: deep, rough; a low rumble of a noise that rattles his bones; almost liquid in the way it slides over him.

He doesn’t bother with taking his underwear off completely, just pushes them down enough to free his cock and balls, taking himself in hand with a little whimper. Christ, he’s wet. So fucking wet already, and getting wetter as the dark-haired man moans, “Yeah, oh, yes.”

Would he sound like that, Stede wonders as he palms the head and spreads the slick down the length, if somebody pushed into him that way?

The silver-haired man starts fucking in deep and steady, bent forward with a hand bracing him on the bed. The dark-haired man’s leg is still over his shoulder, and the position pushes him in half, has him crying out in strained, breathy uh-uh s. The hand that was on the silver-haired man’s elbow moves to his hip, gripping tight enough to dent the skin under his nails. He's looking up, forehead creased. Mouth open. Between them his cock bobs with every thrust. Stede gives his own cock a gentle squeeze, then goes lower to palm his balls, pressing them up against the base of his cock. Rolls them and squeezes, just enough to hitch his breath and leave him arching his neck. He moves back to his cock as the silver-haired man begins really railing the dark-haired man into the mattress, trying to match his strokes to the rhythm of their thrusts.

Fuck, it’s good. Stede can’t remember the last time he had a wank session this good, where the build-up has been an explosive rush rather than a slow, building flame. Where the fantasy shapes itself just right, and the lust pushes him forward rather than making him pull back into himself in shame.

Normally, he does his best to try to catch as much of his semen as he can in his hand to minimise clean-up, but this time, watching the dark-haired man whine and whimper his way through his orgasm, spurting over his chest and belly and down his knuckles, Stede wants to feel that, too. Wants to—to pretend it’s him, getting fucked like that, feeling so good he can’t help but come all over himself.

Oh, god. He speeds up, thighs trembling, spreading. Imagines it’s him on that bed, stretched to his limits, shivering with the wait. That it’s him moaning as a fat cock splits him open; that there’s another man, perhaps like this silver-haired man, looking down at him with lip-parting awe. Somebody so wrapped up in him, in them, rumbling out encouragement as Stede strokes himself off and they fuck him deep and slow, making him feel every inch as they push in deep.

That's it, thaaat’s it. So good for me, baby. So fucking hot. You wanna come for me, don’t you? Yeah, you do. ‘Course you do, sweet thing. Wanna show me how good I make you feel, make yourself all fuckin’ messy, just for me…

His orgasm hits him like a snapped cord, whipping into him hard. With a shout, Stede comes, dropping his phone to the bed so he can grip the sheets in his fist. He whines and whimpers his way through it, mouth going dry with every sucked-in breath. Muffled from his phone is a low groan that must be from the silver-haired man coming as well, then silence. He stares at the ceiling, heart hammering in his chest, limbs gone useless and jellied.

As he catches his breath and slowly begins to realise he’s going to have to shower sooner rather than later, he thinks he knows exactly what his type is now. And if the little cadence of the voice in the tail-end of his fantasy bears any resemblance to anybody he knows, it’s purely coincidental.

——

Another week passes, as it normally does, with both of them wrapped up in their lives, Ed with his business and Stede sorting out the last few bits and pieces from the divorce and preparing to meet with Mary for lunch on Wednesday. 

Ed’s never had a friend in his adulthood like Stede, so all of this, the regular texting, the phone calls at odd hours, the drop-ins and the last-minute outings, are all a marvel to him. Even a year later, they still feel shiny, plastic-on new. He gets it now, that kind of devotion he’s heard of from other people. He’d do absolutely anything for Stede, at any hour of the day, and knows Stede would do the same for him.

He's used to being a loner, and that’s fine. Truly. Spent his childhood like that, spent his youth like that. Thirties was when it got better, finally stepping back from the petty crimes and scams of his twenties and finding friends that actually cared about him. Opened a restaurant all on his own, fuck you, dad, finally made a fucking name for himself that was printed in headlines and engraved on awards.

Most of his life has been spent clawing his way up from the bottom, getting shit on and pushed down while he goes. There are a hundred different instances when he should have given up, a dozen wrong turns that should have never allowed him to find his way back on track. More than a few rough falls back to rock bottom. And yet, somehow, he’s here. Successful, and loved, and working on himself in ways twenty-year-old Ed Teach could never have imagined himself capable of. He’s got a therapist, and he’s got a group of friends he trusts more than anything. Got a routine, and healthier coping mechanisms, reasons to get up in the mornings and get going.

Maybe happiness can come when you least expect it, and maybe it does take form in the mundanities of life, those things often overlooked and taken for granted. A chat with a friend, a phone call. A memory resurfacing at a nondescript hour of the day that reminds him of those who care.

Stede calls on Monday evening when Ed is prepping his dinner, chopping neatly through a colourful pile of bell peppers and jalapeños for the chilli rice recipe he’s making.

“So I was thinking,” Stede says when Ed answers the phone.

Ed puts the phone on speaker and picks the knife back up. The dull thump of it against the cutting board underscores his words. “Thinking, eh? Could be dangerous.”

Stede’s snort carries over the connection. “Let me add ‘comedian’ to your list of talents.”

“I mean, it’s not wrong. I do have many talents. So many talents it’s impossible to properly list them all at once.”

“Anyway,” Stede stresses, a smile evident in his voice. “I was thinking about our list. W-well, my list.”

Ed stops mid-cut, setting the knife down on the cutting board. His mind loops over Stede’s stumble, the our list and the weight of that implication. The list. The one they crafted. Together. Oh yeah, he remembers everything about the list. Specifically, he remembers what comes after bullet point number one, go to a gay bar. “Time to tick off another one?”

“I think so. I was doing some research”—Christ, the fondness Ed has for this man has no limit—“and I think I found a sex shop I’d like to go to. And Google Maps says it’s not far from your place!”

“Oh?” asks Ed, going for caszh and thinking he’s fucking nailing it, quite frankly. Because he knew this was a step, alright, but it’s still a sex shop with his best friend. And that’s—it’s not fucking weird, not at all. They’re both comfortable with each other, and they’ve traded more than their fair share of sexual stories. It’s just that…he doesn’t want Stede to get overwhelmed, is all. Up until a few months ago he’d been resigned to a life of faked heterosexuality in a nearly-sexless marriage. A sex shop is a big step, which is why they ultimately decided to put it on the list in the first place.

“Yes!” Stede says. “The reviews say it’s pretty good. And we could grab lunch at that little diner over on 8th Ave.”

The peppers neatly diced, Ed transfers them into a bowl, moving on to the tomatoes. “Well, you know I’m always down to pick up a few new things for myself. Nearly out of Astroglide, actually, now that I think about it. When do you wanna go?”

“Oh, erm. Tomorrow? Preferably? I know it’s a bit last-minute, but with lunch on Wednesday, and then getting ready to have the kids this weekend, which Mary really should have given me more time to prepare for, I’m still waiting on better living room curtains, for Christ’s sake…”

“Stede,” says Ed, smiling. He looks over at his phone, the contact photo of Stede wearing a tricorn pirate hat and making a goofy face at the camera staring back at him. “Tomorrow is perfect. Iz can handle the restaurant for a few hours.”

Ed, like most people, he’s sure, prefers to order all his stuff online, have it neatly and anonymously left at his door while not having to interact with another human being in the process. As an older queer however, he unfortunately also remembers a time before online shopping became commonplace and therefore has set foot in many—probably too many—sex shops over his lifetime.

Stede wants that experience, and Ed wants to give it to him. Simple as that. Besides, it probably is better to see it all in person, get a real idea of the variety of things instead of trying to gauge off of a few two-dimensional photographs on a fucking webpage.

“Oh, really? You truly are the best, Ed. Do you want to meet there around eleven?”

Stede sounds relieved, and not for the first time does Ed want to invent time-travelling so he can go back and whisk him away from everybody who ever made him feel like a burden. Stede is so special, and he deserves so much more than what he’s gotten so far in life.

Ed turns the burner on under the skillet. Wonders what Stede’s going to eat for dinner, and then remembers he can ask. “Eleven sounds perfect, mate. Hey, question. What do you think of chilli rice?”

——

On Tuesday, Stede arrives at the shop almost fifteen minutes early, despite the train stopping for ten minutes between York St and E Broadway, despite the leisurely stroll he’d tried to adopt on the walk from Washington Square, despite the meandering aimlessness of tourists clueless that they’re in everybody's way.

He doesn’t know why he’s nervous. It’s just a sex shop! He’s had sex! Granted, not a lot—and not very good sex, either—but sex nonetheless. And he knows that Mary had…things, during their marriage. Nothing wrong with that, either. He’d been curious about her vibrator, the one time he’d seen it, but couldn’t fathom using it on her. So if she could do it, so can he! He can walk into this shop with his best friend, and he can get…

Oh, god, who is he kidding? He’s going to be lucky if Ed can talk him into buying a bottle of lube at this rate.

Rather than going in—mostly because he isn’t sure he could go in by himself without simply turning back around—he hovers around the metal panelling of the closed building next door, pulling up Instagram to scroll while every so often looking up to watch the bustle of a typical New York afternoon. Catches the flight of a few scraggly pigeons. Tries his best to ignore the clench of anxiety in his chest that tightens his breathing.

He looks up again just in time to see Ed across the street, waiting for a few cars to go by. He's left his hair down today, and it catches the wind, whipping around his face and his large, dark sunglasses as he looks both ways before walking briskly across the street. When he sees Stede he grins, waving.

“Hey, sorry I’m a few minutes late,” he says in greeting, pulling out his AirPod case to slip them back in. The sunlight reflects off the lenses of his sunglasses. “People really need to learn how to fucking walk.”

“Oh, I know!” says Stede. “I thought I was going to be late because it seemed like everybody thought today was a bloody Sunday for how slow they were walking.”

“Fuckin’ tourists, man. You ready?” Ed asks with a grin, bumping Stede’s shoulder with his. He slides his sunglasses off, hooking them into the front of his black shirt.

Stede sighs, looking over at the storefront with its Pride flag display and bondage mannequin front and centre. “As I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

“Aw, don’t stress about it, Stede.” Ed brushes his hand across Stede’s shoulders. His eyes have crinkled up from the sunlight, deepening the crow’s feet at the corners. “You’re gonna find some good things today, trust me.”

“I don’t even know what I want yet,” Stede laments, looking away at a passing group of people. He’s floundering again, unmoored at sea with nothing to grab ahold of. Anxiety spikes again sharply, gripping his stomach in a tight fist.

“And that’s why you’ve got me,” says Ed, those words like a line tossed out for Stede to take, steering him back towards the safety of his company. When their eyes meet he smiles again, this time a small one that’s hidden by his moustache, like a secret. “You can ask me anything.” Ed sees the hesitation still on Stede’s face. “ I mean it. Now c’mon.”

Ed goes first, pulling the door open for Stede. It’s brightly-lit inside, showcasing the walls lined with an endless supply of packaged sex toys and lingerie. There are a few displays in the centre, where boxed items are displayed. Gummies, and strap-ons, and those personal massagers that don’t look like sex toys at all. A room hooks off to the side, and Stede’s well-versed enough to at least know what’s around that corner.

They’re the only ones in the shop aside from an employee that greets them. Ed makes a quick detour over to the lube display as Stede heads towards the back of the store, where there are rows upon rows of various types of dildos. He feels, somehow, impossibly intimidated and curious. They’re in all sorts of colours, and shapes, and sizes! Thick, thin, vibrating, pulsing. Where should he even look first?

“See anything you’re interested in?” Ed asks when he returns, a bottle of Astroglide in a basket in hand. The scent of Tom Ford cologne follows him.

“I don’t even know where to begin!” says Stede, feeling distinctly overwhelmed the longer he looks at the rows. “There are…a lot of dildos here.” He begins to reach out a hand before he lets it drop back to his side. “And many of them are surprisingly anatomically correct.”

“Yeah,” Ed replies from over his shoulder. Unlike Stede, he actually reaches out and grabs one. “Those feel real fucking great pressed against your arse. Almost like the real thing.”

Stede blinks. Then he tries very hard not to imagine Ed using this toy, because it’s—well, because it’s Ed! And the longer he tries not to think the more he does start to think, and he starts to wonder. Recalls the video he’d watched the other day, with the silver-haired man. How he’d wanted to know what it would feel like to be held down like that, fucked like that. Balls against his arse, strong thighs against his own.

When Ed offers him the package, he takes it, turning it over in his hands. It’s thick, not too long. Pretty close to his own dick, actually, girth-wise. His cheeks grow pink. “Do you, erm, recommend it?”

“Oh, abso-fuckin’-lutely, mate. This one's not too big, either. It’ll be good, um, practice.” Ed stumbles briefly over his words, and when Stede looks over he catches Ed shaking his head.  

Before Stede can say anything, the employee pops up beside them. “Good afternoon! Are you both looking for something in particular? Most of our couple’s toys are in that display over there. Our bondage gear is also back around that corner, if that’s something you’re interested in as well.” They wink, the warm overhead light glinting off their eyebrow ring.

It takes a second for the words to sink in, then for him to see what the situation looks like. He’s holding a packaged dildo in his hand, and Ed has a bottle of lube tucked under one arm, and they’re standing close enough that their shoulders could brush if they wanted them to.

“I’m sorry, we aren’t—” Stede starts.

“We aren’t a couple, mate, sorry,” says Ed at the same time, glancing briefly over at Stede and back at the employee. “Just friends.”

“My apologies,” the employee says, unfazed, like this is a common occurrence.

“Hardly the first time it’s happened,” Ed says with a laugh. Now he nudges his shoulder to Stede’s, looks over with a grin and doesn’t look away. “Right?”

“Right,” says Stede, even though he can’t think of any other situation where this exact scenario has happened. Ed is his friend. His best friend! He’s been there through Stede’s lowest moments during the divorce, picking him back up with promises of strong drinks and rom-coms, pep talks when he’d felt like he’d made the wrong decision or didn’t know how to move forward.

Ed is somebody who knows him the way nobody else has. It lends a sort of closeness that, if Stede steps back and tries to see their relationship through different eyes, could be seen as more. But Ed is handsome, and far too cool for somebody like Stede. Absolutely off-limits if Stede were to even try. Which he wouldn’t, because he hasn’t ever seen Ed in that way.

“I’m gonna head over there, mate,” Ed says, hand on Stede’s shoulder as he nods over towards the centre display. “Saw something that caught my eye.”

After Ed leaves, Stede ends up picking up a small purple bullet vibe at the suggestion of the employee, who says, “The vibrations feel amazing against your cock, trust me.” And this whole day has been about trust so far, so Stede takes it and adds it to the basket hooked over his arm, trying to ignore how his face burns at the easy, candid way a complete stranger is discussing using a sex toy.

“What about, um, plugs?” asks Stede, ears heating up. There’s a section of them next to the dildos that he’s been looking at out of curiosity. He’s learned a bit about them through his research, just enough to be curious about giving one a try. “Do you recommend those?”

“Oh, absolutely!” the employee says. They reach over and snag a package that has a set of three black plugs, ranging from small to large. “I highly recommend getting a starter kit for your first one, because not everybody can start out with the same size, or find that they don’t want to go any larger.”

They hold out the package, and Stede takes it. A little flash of something stirs in him, a growing interest that could easily morph into that liquid heat, if given time.

“And,” the employee continues, lowering their voice as if letting Stede in on a secret, “these have suction cup bases, so they’ll stick to most smooth surfaces.”

Stede has a sudden vision of himself in the shower, easing his way through the largest plug, and has to take a deep breath. Then another. Christ, he is not going to get hard at a sex shop. Not over butt plugs. Even if the idea of them is extremely appealing.

He still doesn’t know what he prefers. Ed’s said he’s vers before, and while Stede still isn’t a hundred percent on what a lot of the terminology means, he wonders if he might be, too.

The package in his basket and the employee off to help another customer, Stede wanders over to the display in the centre, where he finds Ed perusing a section of boxes that feature a black device Stede can’t parse out.

“Ohh,” says Ed, picking up the box. “Never tried one of these before. Hmm.”

“What is it?”

Flipping the box over so Stede can see it, Ed says, “It’s a prostate cock ring. Supposed to stimulate you from the outside while you fuck somebody.”

Oh. Oh. “You can do that?” Stede knows about the prostate, how men can derive pleasure from it during sex, but not that it could actually be stimulated from the outside.

Ed stares at him. “You telling me you’ve never rubbed your knuckles over your taint while jerking off? Stede. Mate. It’s amazing. Fuckin’ phenomenal. You gotta do it.”

Stede glances back at the packaging, at Ed’s long, thin fingers holding it. Imagines, then, with a flash so hot it feels like it scorches the idea into his brain like a shadow left behind, what they’d look like handling the ring, getting it situated just right. Getting—getting ready to fuck somebody while wearing it.

And that—fuck. He can’t think of that.

“I’ll—I’ll have to try it,” he says a bit weakly, because this is what they do; this is comfortable territory. They talk about these things, and Ed helps him out, and that’s all there is to it. Nothing more.

Except…

His mind casts back to the video from the other day, the one with the silver-haired man. When Stede pictures the scene again, it’s him spread out on the bed; it's that cock, with this ring now snug at its base, making the man above him tremble with pleasure while he sinks in and it presses tight behind his balls.

Stede’s fingers grip tighter onto the handle of his basket.

“Hey,” says Ed, knocking him out of his thoughts. “Are you ready to check out? I’m fuckin’ starving, man. Find everything you need?”

Tearing his eyes away from the box, Stede looks up at Ed, at his wide, dark eyes. At the loose strands of grey hair that fall across his face, and the black of his moustache, and the strong, proud line of his jaw.

Another quick flash back to the fantasy, only now the silver-haired man is grey-haired; it’s longer, curlier, spilling across his shoulders like moonlight. His skin isn’t white. His tattoos are plentiful and sprawling, a familiar mishmash of different styles.

“Of course,” Stede says, and then he promptly banishes those thoughts to the corner of his mind to be barred behind a heavy door. Because he can’t think about them any further; Ed is his friend, and he can’t risk what they have. “Yeah, I—I think I’m ready. Lead the way.”

Chapter Text

The sun has long since set by the time Ed gets home. He drops his bag from the shop onto the floor in the entryway, strips himself of his coat and his boots neatly and efficiently, and curls his socked toes in the shag rug for the comfort of the act. Exhales, shoulders dropping in the safe space of his apartment, where they no longer need to be angled up against an unforgiving world.

There’s always a certain sort of high that he lives on after hanging out with Stede. Doesn’t matter what the day was like before, or what his mood was; Ed knows there’s no one else he’d rather be spending time with. Even today, with the strange energy after the shop that persevered most of the way through lunch.

Ed still can’t quite place it, and isn’t sure where to begin. It wasn’t a bad sort of energy—things just felt…off, by a few centimetres. Shifted, in a way. Kind of wobbly, steadying itself in a new formation, but if there’s anything steadfast in his life at the moment, it’s Stede. Ed isn’t worried.

Still, he thinks as he picks the bag of goodies up again and trods towards his bedroom, seeing that veil over Stede’s usually-readable face had been a bit surprising. They talk about everything! Things Ed’s never told anybody, not even Izzy, not even in the nineties when the two of them were crammed into a shitty studio off 45th and 9th with nothing but a twelve-inch television and each other’s company. Those soul-bearing secret things that tend to get stuck in your throat unless you’re with the right person—those are the things Stede knows.

He allows himself to fall into his evening routines. Does a spot of cleaning after he puts his purchases away and changes into joggers and a sweatshirt, finishes off the dishes left in the sink from breakfast. Lights a candle, one of those ones with the crackling wick and that smells like tobacco and whiskey. The familiar motions ease out the remaining stiffness from his body, give him the space he needs to fully relax.

Ed loves living alone, don’t get him wrong. Nice to not have to worry about housemates and whether or not they’re gonna bring over people to fuck at random hours, or if they’re going to steal your food that’s clearly labelled, or constantly cleaning up after them. No noise, and no false niceties when he’s having a bad day.

It’s also just…sometimes it becomes a lot, that solitude. Some days, the bad days especially, being left alone with his thoughts is worse than picking up used condoms from behind the bathroom rubbish bin. He’s on the wrong side of forty-five these days, and sometimes the walls close in and it gets a bit hard to breathe through it all. That’s it.

There’s a number in his phone clearly labelled as DO NOT ANSWER!! Ed misses Jack like he misses a fucking stab wound, if he’s being extremely fucking honest. But Jack had at least been consistent when it came to sex and partying, and though Ed’s long since aged out of the party scene, he hasn’t aged out of unfortunate booty calls. Hence the contact name and why he’s trying harder than ever to ignore it right now.

Ed likes the solitude of his life, because he’s worked hard for it, but he hates the loneliness. Hates how it chews at him, not a full bite but something worse, something slow-going.

Does Stede feel the loneliness, too? Going from a big house in New Rochelle to a tiny place in Park Slope has to be an adjustment. Ed couldn’t do it; he knows he couldn’t. Too much space to not enough, no thank you. Some days the space feels like it’s right at his fingertips, ready to snap in on him like a bear trap, like he’s teetering around on ballerina toes, wobbling his way through life.

So maybe it bothers him, sometimes, the way Stede seems to have adjusted. No true fuss, just a get back up and try again attitude.

It’s going to be one of those nights, Ed can already tell. Can already feel the gnawing at his skin, the scratch at the back of his mind. When the loneliness comes like this, teeth bared and eyes gleaming, sometimes it’s simply easier to close the door and accept defeat.

——

It isn’t Stede’s fault that he’s running late, because how could he predict disruptive passengers at the station ahead, but it doesn’t make him feel any better about it when he arrives at the restaurant to see that Mary has already gotten them a table outside in the patio, presumably to soak up the unseasonably warm late-October afternoon. The table is hunkered right up against the pale brick, and the afternoon light slants across the concrete, a perfect little slash of colour and warmth.

“Stede!” says Mary, standing up to pull him into a hug. “So good to see you.”

It won’t ever stop being strange, Stede thinks as he pulls Mary in close, this ease between them now. Any hugs during the duration of their marriage were always stiff and impersonal, and they both felt like dolls with very stiff arms being forced to navigate them. Now, they can melt into each other, embrace the way they maybe should have been doing for all those years.

“How’s Doug?” he asks as they sit down.

“You know. Busy with his new class,” says Mary, picking up her menu. The slight breeze rustles her long brown hair, sending a familiar waft of YSL through the air. It threads right through Stede, pressing on a longing, nostalgic part of him. He’d spent two decades waking up to that scent, catching it on Mary’s skin, her clothing and their bedding. He doesn’t miss who they were then—who he was then—but the quick way it clasps onto him momentarily sends him reeling. “It’s really tripled since the last one.”

“Did it? That’s great.”

Their waiter stops by, filling up Stede’s water glass and taking their drink orders before disappearing back into the restaurant. Once he’s gone Mary leans in and rests her elbows on the table, pushing her sunglasses up on the top of her head. “How’s Ed doing?”

“As busy as ever,” says Stede, watching a woman walking her dog go past before adding, “Oh, we went to a sex shop the other day, actually! My first one.”

“Oh,” says Mary with a blink of surprise, “I didn’t know that you two finally got together. Congrats!”

“We aren’t?” Stede furrows his brows and tilts his head, quite confused. Where on Earth could Mary have gotten that idea from? Stede’s recent…thoughts aside, he and Ed have always behaved perfectly friendly around Mary. “We’re just friends.”

That gives Mary pause, and she squints at him. “Friends who go into sex shops together.”

“Well, surely that’s a thing!”

“Just seems unconventional, is all,” Mary replies casually.

Maybe it is a bit unconventional, but Stede’s never really thought of his and Ed’s friendship as conventional anyway. Ed’s been key to his road of self-discovery in ways nobody else has. He’d been the first person Stede had told, when he was going to ask for the divorce. First person he came out to. First person he’s ever opened his heart up to like this, unselfconscious about all the vulnerabilities piling up in the palms of his hands.

“He’s been helping me,” says Stede. Gathers the fringes of his honesty and says, “I—we—started this, um, this list. Of things I wanted to do, now that I’m out and single.”

It isn’t the first time they’ve discussed Stede’s sexuality in each other’s company, but Stede doesn’t think he’ll ever get over how novel it all feels, being open like this with his ex-wife. It could have easily gone sour, but it didn’t, and he’ll be grateful for that for the rest of his life. Having Mary in his corner means more than he thinks he’ll ever be able to properly express.

“Stede, I’m so proud,” she says, reaching across the table to grasp his wrist. She smiles, and she means it, Stede can tell. “I am! You always did love your lists. Now tell me all about it. All of it.” 

Stede smiles back, picking up his water glass. “Where to begin?”

——

Ed absolutely does not text Jack, but it becomes a close thing over the next few days. The loneliness seeps in steadily, staying longer than it normally does. Gathers itself in little pockets, like a leak, to drip onto him. Drip, drip, drip, like it’s drilling little holes into the soft exposed bits of himself he can’t cover up.

He isn’t even sure why, and that’s what bothers him most of all. 

Sure, okay, Stede had looked at him at the shop the other day, a sneaky little sideways glance he hadn’t thought Ed noticed, but it had just been a look, and looks can be wrong. Not like Stede even made a move, and he had time! He could have, if he wanted to, so clearly he didn’t. Which is fine.

It remains fine until Ed slides into bed that night, dick half-hard and blood hot; until he gets about halfway through his wank and his mystery partner is blond; until he comes so fucking hard he nearly pulls his fucking calf muscle arching up off the bed. There’s jizz on his throat and his heart is racing and he’s pretty sure his neighbours heard him.

Christ. He really needs to get fucking laid.

——

Since he has the kids that weekend, Stede isn’t able to make much headway on the rest of his list. His purchases from the shop stay tucked away nice and safe in his bottom nightstand drawer, and his mind wanders there only occasionally for the rest of the week while he tidies up his place—curtains be damned, even though they really will tie together his living space once he gets them.

By the time Stede has a moment to breathe again it’s Tuesday, which is luckily one of Ed’s nights away from the bar. The morning is spent wondering if he should, and by the afternoon he texts Ed to ask if he wants to come over for dinner and, if he’s feeling up to it, a little more research.

Ed replies a few minutes later.

To Stede
ofc mate! be there at 7

The buzzer goes off at two minutes past, when Stede is scrolling through Uber Eats on his phone and wondering what they should order in. His leg is jiggling, despite all efforts to ratchet down his nerves, and jumping up to answer the door seems like a perfect way to try to burn off some of that energy.

“You look cosy,” says Ed when Stede opens the door, his shoulder resting on the doorframe. His hair is pulled back into a low bun, and the rips on his tight black jeans tease the thick black lines of tattoos hidden beneath dark hair. His black hoodie is worn and loose, and he’s foregone his usual boots for a pair of black Vans slip-ons.

Stede looks down at himself, at his pale yellow jumper and grey slacks. He feels, as usual, distinctly overdressed next to Ed. “Do I?”

“Mhmm. It’s very caszh, in that ‘off duty country club dad’ kinda way. Actually, you should lean into this look. DILFs are hot right now.” He grins, crinkling his eyes up, and leans in to wrap Stede up in a hug. “Hi, by the way.”

“Hello, Edward,” says Stede, patting the jut of Ed’s shoulder blade. “Are you hungry?”

“Fuckin’ starved,” says Ed, squeezing Stede tightly once more before letting go. “What’re you thinking?”

They settle on a Mexican place, and, after, as Stede is sorting out the recycling, Ed flops onto the couch. “You think you’re ready to set up a Grindr profile?” he asks. He spreads his arms out over the back, then tips his head back to watch Stede. “We can wait for another day, if it’ll help. Got all the time in the world, yeah?”

“There’s no time like the present,” says Stede, though he’s inclined to agree with Ed on this one. Is he ready to set up a profile? He doesn’t have to do anything with it if he decides not to, he knows that, but the whole point of it is to do something. Get himself out there, find somebody. Get experience.

The list is still on the fridge, checked off with tidy little checkmarks leading up to bullet point number three. Which is what they’re doing now, of course, but bullet point number four is the endgame Stede is hoping for once his profile is actually up. If he can do it.

They settle together on the couch, shoulders brushing while he downloads the app. Ed gently directs him through signing up, and Stede opens his camera roll to begin looking for photos to add. 

“Oh, what about this one—”

“Stede,” says Ed in disbelief before swiping away from the photo, “you absolutely cannot have a photo of you and your ex-wife on here.”

Stede pouts. “But my hair looks so good in that one!”

“Your hair also looks good in this next one, see, it’s doing that little swoopy curl thingy over your forehead. Use that.”

He adds it, because Ed’s right, then goes back to his camera roll, scrolling through photos and stopping when he gets to the past summer. “Can I use the one you took of me at Rockaway in June? My calves look good in that.”

“Um, yeah. Go ‘head.” Ed’s voice sounds a bit far away, and Stede turns his head to ask if everything’s all right, but before he can Ed says, chipper as ever, “That’s a great choice. Good photo. Love it. What’s next?”

“Hmm. My bio,” says Stede, “that’s next. What should I—oh, Ed, I don’t even know what to say about myself! I’m so boring. ”

“Absolutely fuckin’ false. You’re the least boring person I know.”

“Now you’re just being nice,” says Stede, even as a happy wiggle makes its way through him. Ed is so cool, and he’s done so much in his life; Stede will never tire of hearing Ed think he’s cool.

“I’m being honest. Swear down, mate. You can say anything about yourself. What do you want people to know?”

“Nothing, if it’ll scare them off—”

“The only people who’re gonna get scared off are losers who don’t deserve you in the first place. What about your book collection? Oh! Or that time in college when you studied abroad and did that cool as fuck museum internship.”

In the end, Stede’s bio is simple, leaving room for people to message him and initiate deeper conversation: 40s, recently out (and divorced). lover of books and a fine fabric. proud annual donor to the ANHM :)

“So once you’re live, you’ll be able to see people who’ve tapped you, that means they’re interested and wanna talk, and who viewed you—”

“You can see people who viewed you ?” Stede asks, aghast. Ed laughs.

“Yeah, don’t think too much into that, seriously. And then, if you go to filters, you can select what you’re looking for.” Stede pulls the filters up, cheeks immediately beginning to grow warm as he reads over the section labelled Position.

“And uh, these are for your preferences?” he asks, and Ed nods. Stede looks over them again. He has no idea what he prefers. He has no experience! How could he possibly know what to do when he’s never done anything?

He can feel himself beginning to spiral, the first tendrils of insecurity and self-loathing stretching from the mire of his own mind. Taking a breath, he tries to corral those thoughts away. This is why you’re doing this. You don’t know what you want yet, and Grindr can help you with that.

“It’s okay if you don’t know,” Ed says gently, predictably picking up on Stede’s panic. “You don’t have to select any of that right now.”

Stede wants to, though. More than anything he wishes he could already know the things he likes. Wishes he had at least some experience, enough for him to decide if he liked to top or bottom or—or any of it, really. It’s another reminder, and it jabs him sharply.

Turning to Ed, he asks, “How did you know what you wanted?”

“Practise, mate,” says Ed. “Lots of trial and error.”

That makes up his mind. “Let’s practise, then,” says Stede.

“What?”

“See if I match with somebody. It’s why we’re here, right?”

Ed stares, and a few long seconds pass before he finally nods, trapping his lower lip between his teeth. He shifts on the couch and fidgets with the cuffs of his hoodie, and says, definitive, “All right, let’s fucking do it.”

They spend the next twenty minutes going through everybody local, with Ed adding in his opinions on each photo that pops up—“He dresses worse than Jack”; “I’d sit on that lap for fuckin’ sure”; “No way he’s actually read all those books, you haven’t even read that many books this year”—until Charles, Top, 786 feet away, pops up. Stede’s thumb hovers over his screen, and Ed urges, “Tap him! Look at those fucking arms, man. See if he’s interested.”

So Stede does. And he gets a chat immediately after.

looking good, love the mustache ;)

“Told you that would be a good fuckin’ photo,” Ed says smugly.

“You were right, as always,” Stede says with a smile, rolling his eyes. He reads over the message again. Easy enough, right?

Thank you! However, that’s a bit of an old photo, I’m afraid. I shaved that off about a year ago.

oh? no sweat, you want something else on your face to replace it?

Beside him, Ed begins laughing. Stede shushes him, even though he does have to agree with Ed on that line.

That’s very kind of you. What did you have in mind?

“You’re absolutely fucking ridiculous,” says Ed.

“It’s called building a rapport, Edward,” replies Stede with a huff, but he's biting back a smile. Then his phone chimes again, and—

“Oh,” says Stede, a bit faint. “That’s a—that’s definitely a dick.”

“Your first dick pic, man, congrats!” Ed claps a hand to his shoulder, then leans in and rests his bristly chin on it. An errant strand of grey hair tickles Stede's cheek. “Ooh, and he’s uncut.”

“What do I do?” asks Stede in a panic. Because there’s a dick on his phone, and his best friend is leaning over his shoulder, and he’s never been in this situation before. Of course, he figured this would be a possibility, especially since his entire idea had been built around getting experience, especially with flirting and sexting. It certainly doesn’t make it any easier.

“Well,” begins Ed, voice low enough that it scrapes across Stede’s skin in a way that has him fighting back a shiver, “you could tell him he’s got a nice cock, ‘cause he does. You could also tell him all the things you wanna do with it. Those are great options. Or you could…” 

“What? ‘Could’ what?”

Ed wiggles his brows. “You could send one back.”

“A photo?” Stede squeaks.

“Surely you’ve heard of sexting by now, Stede.”

“Wha—well—of course I have, Edward! Stop laughing!”

“So send him a photo back! Seriously, that’s a good fuckin’ cock right there. I wouldn’t say no to getting experience with that thing.”

It is a good cock. Bit smaller than Stede’s and, as he’d noticed with some satisfaction, not as thick. The sight of it sets his pulse to galloping in his veins, strong enough he feels as if he could look down at the pale expanse of his wrists, the threads of blue underneath, and see it beating against his skin. This stranger sent a dick pic to him! Inviting him to react, respond. Thinking back to the bar on that very first night after his divorce, Stede remembers the discussion of blowjobs, the freedom to perform them now that Ed had mentioned. It makes him want to whine, just a little bit.

He could suck this man’s dick, if Charles were to ask. With the twist of heat that goes through him, he wants to.

What holds him back, though, is fear. Not true fear, not the stinking kind; this is the inadequacy kind, the I’m nearing fifty and I’ve never done this kind. Pulls at him with strong, unyielding hands, holds a clammy palm over his mouth.

“I want to, but I don’t know how,” says Stede, and it comes out all maudlin, no good for a night like this. Luckily, Ed’s always been good at steering things back on track, hands easy on the wheel, like they aren’t even doing the steering at all. He places a hand on Stede’s knee, grounding him, and tilts a smile that warms the frost-bitten edges of Stede’s racing mind.

“You just”—Ed moves his hand to his lap and mimes a wank—“until you’re hard-ish, and snap a photo. Easy peasy.”

“Yes, I do know how to get there,” says Stede, cheeks burning. He can’t stop staring at Ed’s lap and the black denim stretched tight over his thighs so he forces himself to look away, back to his phone.

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“Well, you’re here, for one!”

Ed says, “We’re best mates, aren’t we? I’m not gonna judge.” Adds, cutting his gaze to the side and crossing one leg over the other, “‘Sides, his dick is kinda hot, huh? Maybe it’s just ‘cause it’s been awhile for me, but I’d definitely be sending a photo back to him.”

Objectively, Ed is right. He should send a photo back. It's only polite. Ed already knows what’s going on, and he’s suggesting it, so it must be okay. It won’t matter later, won’t matter tomorrow. It’s just a photo. He could walk into his bathroom, easily get hard enough to take one.

Still, Ed’s voice is husked all low, like when he’s grown tired, and it comes out of Stede before he can allow himself to do more than let the thought cross his mind. “Is that the kind you’re interested in?”

Ed’s head snaps up, and his eyes grow wide. This isn’t something they’ve really talked about before, likes and dislikes and all that, because there hasn’t been a reason to. Silly, really. And Charles’s dick is close enough to Stede’s own, and they’re here, and it wouldn’t hurt, would it?

“Um,” says Ed, his composure rattled, shaking all over itself. “I’m not really picky when it comes to dicks, long as they’re clean. All dicks are good dicks!” He chuckles, pushes the trailing strands of hair off his face. “That's why you should send a photo back, man.”

Stede turns to the hallway, envisioning the walk down towards the bathroom. Ed would stay here, and he’d wait, and Stede would…there’s really no easy way to say that he’d jerk off until he was hard enough to take a decent photo, but he would, and Ed would simply be here, on the couch. And he’d—he’d know. Of course he’d know.

He’d know and he’d stay.

Stede thinks of Ed in the shop, looking at the cock ring. Thinks of Ed’s hands, and how capable they are. The skill with which they handle a chef’s knife, how easily they can sketch out a beautifully detailed portrait. That fantasy comes back, and Stede doesn’t try to stop it this time, lets it take the shape it’s been meaning to. He turns back, takes in Ed’s liquid gaze, the cross of his legs, the tense way he’s holding himself. Is he—?

They both pause. The air in the apartment feels heavy, charged. Stede’s phone pings with a new message, but he barely hears it. Ed’s eyes are the same wide, liquid brown they always are, but Stede feels like there’s something else in there. A depth he never noticed before, perhaps that’s always been there.

Stede had thought he’d felt lust before. Thought he knew how need felt as it blossomed deep inside before beginning to branch out. Now, he’s not sure, because he’s never felt it like this. It’s never been something he knew he needed to act upon immediately, something that would eat you up from the inside out.

He’s also never thought of himself as particularly brave, despite what Mary and Ed have said. However, one thing he’s learned over the past year is that life is short, and that nothing is ever certain no matter how much you think that it is.

“Stede?” Ed asks, and it’s scratched, rougher than normal.

The tension between them snaps forcibly, and it’s like Stede can feel its vibration echo through him. He can’t hold it back, can’t ignore it any longer. If he does, he thinks, he doesn’t know what’s going to happen. If it’ll back up, implode, be another regret in a long, long list of regrets. And, honestly, he’s fucking tired of regrets—he wants to live.

Fuck it.

“Please tell me if I need to stop,” says Stede, and then he’s climbing onto Ed’s lap. Tosses his phone somewhere —it clatters to the floor, hardwood, not his nice plush rug, and he doesn’t fucking care. Ed’s thighs are solid under him, warm against the insides of his own. He's looking up, brow creased, lips wet where they’re parted, just slightly.

“Stede,” he says, low. His hands go to Stede’s waist. Automatic. They tremble. They don’t move.

“Tell me to stop,” Stede repeats, leaning in, in. Breathing in Tom Ford, the hints of the lavender patchouli beard oil he knows Ed uses, because he bought it for him for his birthday last year. Braces himself, hand on the back of the couch, the other at the ball of Ed’s shoulder. Catalogues the minute tics in Ed’s expression, the dart of his eyes. Feels an impossible surge crest up inside him, break with a froth like waves. “Ed. Tell me.”

He waits. His heart hammers. The clock ticks, and the world moves on outside. He waits, and he hopes. Shivers with it, nerves racing through him. And—

And Ed doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t look away. Exhales, instead, squeezing Stede’s waist, a silent urge that he can’t ignore. Then, he nods, a slow, sure thing. The heaviness on Stede’s shoulders lifts.

Resting his full weight on Ed’s lap, Stede feels that Ed’s grown hard—not fully, not yet. Just enough to be a faint pressure against his arse as he settles.

“Fuck,” he breathes, because yes, that is, that’s…Ed is hard. For him. Because of him. It’s exhilarating, and it zips hotly down his spine, cinches itself at the curve of his skull. Ed wants him. Him. It’s his first time feeling a hard cock against him, and it’s Ed’s.

Ed breathes in, shuddering, shifting against the couch cushions. His pulse ticks in his throat. One hand slides halfway up Stede’s back, bunching up his jumper, before it stops and falls back to his waist. “Are you sure?”

“We’re friends, right?” asks Stede, gone a little breathless with feeling how Ed’s cock twitches under his arse. “Friends—friends do this. Some of them. Right?”

Ed swallows, hard enough to make an audible gulp. He stares at Stede: fathomless dark eyes; long eyelashes; deep crow’s feet and sun spots and marks of a long life lived. “Y-yeah. Friends with benefits. Can—can get a bit tricky, if you don’t set ground rules. But they do this.”

“Can we?” asks Stede, rolling his hips experimentally, a familiar movement made unfamiliar with the body under him, the groan it elicits. Just as good as that video he’d seen, everything he’d hoped for. A low rumble, one he can feel in his chest. God, the way it makes Ed’s face crumple, expression shifting with the slow surface ripple of an earthquake.

One of Ed’s hands slides to Stede’s arse and squeezes. Stede keens at the sensation, rocking forward, bearing down. Chases it, this bright spark of a feeling, something he’s never experienced before.

He knew he was gay, but theoretical knowledge doesn’t prepare you for the real thing. Ed’s hands aren’t small and dainty. His lap isn’t narrow. The chest Stede slides his hand down is flat, muscled. Broad. The pec that he rubs his palm over is firm, but the feeling of a nipple that pebbles under his touch is familiar, something to grab onto in the face of all the newness.

“Jesus, that feels good,” Ed moans. His eyes go half-lidded, and he traps his lower lip between his teeth. “Okay, hold on. We need rules.”

“O-Okay. Yes. Fuck.” Stede stops, bracing both hands on the back of the couch. Looks down, and can’t help himself: he gently trails the backs of his fingers across Ed’s cheek and down his chin before anchoring back to the couch. “What rules?”

Ed’s hands slide to Stede’s thighs, where they rub, slow and soft. “W-we aren’t exclusive. This is just me helping you out.”

Stede swallows hard. “The list, yes, of course.”

Ed chuckles, and his eyes grow fond. “I mean, yeah, the list. But I also mean, fuck, sex as well. You wanted experience, right?”

Oh.

“You don’t have to wait to get it from randos on Grindr,” Ed continues, thighs trembling as he arches up, starts that steady, fuse-burning grind again. “I can—oh, god, yeah— help you with that, too.”

Oh.

“Y-you mean…more than this?”

“I’m offering to help you with this, too,” confirms Ed. A flush spreads across his cheeks, nearly imperceptible with his fading summer tan. His breath has started to become irregular, and its heaviness interspersed with the more shallow inhales burrows deeply under Stede’s skin. “Practise, like we said. Anything you want, Stede. I wanna help you discover this part of yourself.”

It hits Stede someplace he didn’t know existed, someplace desperate for approval and attention and this, any iteration of it that he can have. Ed under him, above him; sex, the way he’s wanted for perhaps his whole life, if he’d have let himself feel anything at all.

“Please,” he says, surprised at how it comes out thin and pleading. A type of noise he’s never made before, a strain to the words that stretches thin and unfamiliar. One hand migrates to Ed’s elbow, and he rolls his hips down; greedy, desperate, wanting nothing else but what’s offered to him right now. Wants to take, and he understands the urge; wants to touch every part of Ed that he can, leave reminders that won't wash off. Wants the echo of his fingertips and his teeth to be there when Ed looks in the mirror tomorrow morning. “Everything, Ed. Oh god. I want—”

Touch me, make me feel anything at all. Make me feel everything.

“Does this feel good?” asks Ed, rushed, tripped over itself. When Stede nods, Ed lets loose a quiet groan, eyes sliding shut. His breath hitches. His tongue wets his lower lip. “That's good, ‘cause fuck, it does for me.”

Stede is shocked to find that he’s close already, that it’s snuck up on him. The tight coil in his belly, growing warmer and more insistent by the second. Under his knees the couch shudders, and a part of him starts to lean towards the embarrassment of being so debauched before he stops it. He’s never had sex like this, never felt like he’d die if he didn’t get more.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting it. He’s allowed to want it, encouraged to take it.

“I—I think I’m close. Christ. Ed.” He drops his head, and one of Ed’s hands cups the back of his neck, threading through his hair. It’s warm, and heavy, and perfect, and he leans into it, moaning quietly as he grinds in Ed’s lap, drags the hard ridges of their cocks together, over and over. “O-oh, god. Oh, fuck.”

“Shit. Already?” Ed sounds surprised, and it pits Stede’s belly just wrong. Immediately he’s trying to pull back, put some space between them so he doesn’t embarrass himself further, but the hand on his hip tightens, slides to the small of his back. Pushes under his jumper, rough fingertips spread as Ed pushes him down, tilting his own pelvis up to grind against him dirty and fast. “No, fuck, don’t—that’s not bad, Stede. It’s fucking hot.”

Stede moans helplessly, humping down against Ed, letting it turn over and over in his mind. It’s fucking hot. It’s fucking hot. No one’s told him that he’s hot before. No one’s looked at him like this, abject animal lust and desire and pure pupil-dilating need.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Ed whispers, pulling Stede in closer, letting go of his neck to grip his hip. His breath is humid against Stede’s neck. His cock is hard against Stede’s own. His body is a vibrating spring, poised to snap, shaky as he thrusts up to match Stede’s speed. The hand on Stede’s hip clenches, releases, clenches again. “Oh, fuck, keep using me—yeah, just like that. You can come anytime you want. I’ve got you, Stede,” he rumbles, voice pitched sweetly. “I’ve got you.”

When Stede comes a few desperate minutes later, thighs and lungs burning and eyes squeezing shut, it’s unlike any orgasm he’s ever had before. It’s ripped from him, feels like it’s turned him inside out. He shudders against Ed, crying out. Grips at the couch, at Ed’s shoulder, moans and trembles through it, and he opens his eyes, stares down into Ed’s, and it’s close enough, his mouth, he could—

And then Ed is biting out a curse, arching up, going taut, and his jaw is dropping, his brow cinching tightly; it’s beautiful agony, and Stede understands what that means now. Ed is beautiful when he comes, and Stede did that: Ed came because of him. Cried out because of him. Looks like this, feels like this, because of him.

“Oh my god,” Stede whispers, body a fuzzed, staticked approximation of something. His heart pounds, blood rushing in his ears. The inside of his briefs are a mess, the front of his pants surely no better. It’s sticky, and it’s gross. Stede loves it.

“Yeah,” Ed pants before he breathes out a laugh. Dropping his head forward, he rests it on Stede’s chest. “Fuck, that was good.”

Sagging against him, Stede can’t help but let his hand cup the curve of Ed’s skull, just under his bun, where it seems to slot perfectly. They sit there in silence for a few long moments, catching their breath, until he asks, “You meant it, didn’t you?”

“Hmm?” Ed pulls back and Stede gives him room, fingers trailing on the slope of Ed’s neck buried under his hoodie. Ed blinks, still looking a bit dazed. The bridge of his nose and his cheeks are still dusted pink.

“Wanting to help me,” says Stede.

“Oh, that.” Ed cups his hand over Stede’s side again; this time it’s gentle, and his thumb gently strokes along Stede’s side over his jumper. “‘Course I did. Better to sort yourself out with somebody you’re close to, yeah?”

A sharp pulse, just under his breastbone. Has to be heartburn. “Suppose you’re right.”

“We do need to set rules, though,” says Ed, slow, like he’s carefully choosing his words, picking them up with hesitant fingers to arrange neatly in front of them. “This isn’t—we’re not dating, yeah? We’re still friends, we’re just friends who…”

“Have sex with each other?” Stede finishes.

Ed snorts. “Help each other out.”

“By having sex with each other,” says Stede, biting back a smile. Carefully climbing off, he settles back onto the couch next to Ed with a groan. His knees won’t thank him tomorrow, that’s for sure. Hips either, probably, the way they sometimes ache now on rainy days. Christ, when did he get so old?

Ed stretches out with his own groan, keeping his bad knee straight; when he notices Stede looking at him he cants his hips up, drawing attention to where the denim at his crotch is slightly darker. Then asks, pulled slow and long like sweet taffy through a rumbling baritone and lilting accent, “Ready to go again so soon? Didn't think you’d have it in you.”

“Ed!” Stede’s flush spreads hot down his neck, and he looks away, though he can’t ignore how it does make a hot spark zip back through him. He could, couldn’t he? Could reach over, and Ed wouldn’t stop him, because he wants it, too, apparently. Get a hand in his pants, wrap it around that thick cock he could feel grinding against his own—

“Can’t believe you’re blushing right now, mate,” Ed tsks, and it snaps Stede right out of his fantasy. “Right after you just came in your pants.”

“You also came in yours!”

“I did, and I haven’t done that in at least fifteen years. It was fuckin’ fantastic,” says Ed, sounding a bit dreamy and faraway, chin tilted towards the far wall. He shakes his head and turns his attention back to Stede. “Now, back to rules. We aren’t exclusive, okay? We check in with each other. Set up boundaries, discuss what we already like beforehand, and you let me know the second you don’t like something. I’ll do the same. Oh, and testing. We should both probably make sure we get tested before we do anything else and keep doing it regularly.”

“You know I haven’t been with anybody but Mary,” says Stede.

“And I haven’t been with anybody since my last test,” says Ed, the most serious Stede’s ever heard him. “That’s not the point, though. It’s all about trust between you and potential partners, yeah? Plus, the goal is for you to be able to fuck around on your own, and that means regular testing.”

The reality of Ed’s words seem to suck the air right from the room. Right. The goal in all of this. Tonight is—well, it’s just a stepping stone, more or less, isn’t it? And what he and Ed will do, however they’ll do it, will be more stepping stones. An endless path leading Stede right to his goal, which should make him happy. It’s what he wanted. It’s what Ed’s offered to help him with.

“Is that all right?” asks Ed.

One of the strings of Ed’s hoodie is pulled longer than the other, Stede notices, bunching up a side of the hood; it hadn’t been like that when they were going through Grindr, so he must’ve done that at some point. The mass of his bun is also askew, more hair trailing along his neck and face on one side.

Stede knows, then, without a shred of doubt, that there’s no way he’ll ever be able to back down from this thing. No way he won’t ride it to the end, or until it breaks, as things inevitably do around him. He hopes it doesn’t.

“More than,” he says, leaning over to gently squeeze Ed’s good knee.

“Aces,” replies Ed with a smile before shifting and then wincing. “Please tell me you’ve got some pants and underwear I can borrow.”

“I’ll do you one better and offer my shower as well,” says Stede, standing up with a grunt and a crackle of joints. Changing sounds increasingly optimal; might just have to steal the show once Ed’s done. “How about a movie after?”

“Oh fuck yeah. You still got that nice brandy?”

And this is just them, Stede knows, this ease. Amazing how quickly it slips back on, fitting itself over them with a well-worn stretch. Nothing has changed, even though everything has. “Of course I do.”

Chapter Text

“Fuck—”

“Oh my god, Ed—”

“You’re so fucking wet—”

“I’m so close, please—”

“Yeah,” Ed pants, gripping Stede’s hip. Ruts forward hard, harder, their wet cocks rubbing together. “Gonna come for me, Stede? All over yourself?” Sweat slicks his back, the creases of his elbows and knees. One hand braces his weight on the mattress, sheets bunched up between his fingers. On a particularly rough thrust he has to readjust himself as his knees slide akimbo.

“Oh my god,” Stede whines again, writhing underneath him, eyes squeezed shut. Then he opens them, looks up, and Ed’s never seen his eyes this dark before. Like midnight. Bottomless, the pure kind of black you get if you close your eyes in the darkness of a cave. Ed finds himself swirling around in there, arse over tits, lost and happy about it.

They’ve been fooling around for a few weeks now, a sparse handful of times under their belts. Handjobs, mostly, some rutting like they’re doing now, bit of mutual masturbation, and it’s been fucking fantastic. Best thing Ed’s ever done, in his expert opinion. No regrets at all for starting this whole friends with benefits arrangement thing.

Stede is so responsive to everything: he shivers and cries out when Ed so much as strokes his fingers over his skin; chokes out these low, deep, desperate noises before he comes that hook themselves right into Ed’s bones to hang around for a while. Makes sense, given how Stede’s never had orgasms like this before in his life.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Ed chides, curling his fingers around the meat of Stede’s thigh to hike it up. Tips his head down as he goes, watches the slide of his cock over Stede’s, and lets out a soft moan at the catch of the head against his own. Stede’s cock drools a bit against his belly, a string of pre-come that sticks to the fine hairs there.

“I didn’t think it needed to be answered,” says Stede, digging his head back into the pillows. The movement exposes the long line of his thick throat, highlights the bob of his Adam's apple when he swallows hard and exhales sharply. The little roll of belly as he cinches his leg up tighter around Ed’s waist is so delectable that Ed wants to bite it. Could that be considered cuteness aggression? “Of course I am, Ed, unless there’s someplace else you’d like me to come.”

In my mouth or in my arse, honestly, maybe even on my back, thinks Ed with a grunt, but they aren’t there. Not yet, at least. Stede had wanted to take it slow, and Ed had to agree. Besides, watching Stede come all over himself is fucking hot, because sometimes Stede comes a lot, and it spills down his sides and pools in the delicious stretch of chest between his tits. God, his fucking tits. Perfect handfuls, with rosy nipples Stede’s just now learning feel real fuckin’ great when they’re between Ed’s teeth.

Ed can’t believe he was ever nervous about the transition from friends to friends with benefits. It’s been so easy! The people who said things can go bad quickly clearly just weren’t good enough friends beforehand. Goddamn liars, all of them. He and Stede can go from coming their respective brains out to laughing like they always do in seconds. Even after that unexpected first time it wasn’t awkward: they slid right back into their normal dynamic immediately after they’d finished cleaning up, maybe a little bashful at first to maintain eye contact, but that was mostly because Ed was still reeling from how stunning Stede had looked when he’d come.

“I’m close,” gasps Stede, knocking Ed neatly from his thoughts. He’s shaking, bed trembling with it, and the breaths he’s pulling between his teeth are thin and choked. His other thigh goes around Ed’s waist, and he pulls him in, rocks up, up. His hands curl around Ed’s shoulders, and his heels press into the backs of Ed’s thighs.

“Fuck,” Ed says again, and he’s snapping his hips forward, rubbing their cocks together with relentless, single-minded abandon, chasing the deep bloom of pleasure that rolls through his gut like a summer storm; then Stede is coming with rabbit-fast hah-hah-hah of haggard breath and a groan that rattles its way through them both. Splashes hot between them, Ed looking down to watch, pearlescent sheen of semen arcing over Stede’s chest and belly from the frantic, powerful jerk of his cock.

It makes Ed feel crazy, reaches deep inside and grips him tight. “Oh my god,” he breathes, and his thighs are trembling, skin smarting where Stede’s nails are dug deep. He wants to wrap himself up in this moment and seal it the fuck up so he’s trapped in it forever. “Stede, fuck, you’re so fucking hot, man. Gonna make me fucking come.”

Stede’s looking up at him glassy-eyed, half-lidded and lazy with his release. Chest heaving, it and his face and neck all splotched ruddy. Sliding a hand down Ed’s collarbone to his chest, he rests his palm over the beat of Ed’s heart and murmurs thickly, “C’mon, then. I know where you’d like to do it. Make a mess of me, Edward.”

And that’s all it fucking takes. All she fucking wrote. The way his whole body feels tight, scalp to fingers to toes, straining towards the spark of firelight. Ed whines and his spine curls forward and he’s coming with a grunt that wrenches itself from the pit of his stomach. Comes all over one of those rosy nipples, has to stop himself from bending down and licking them clean. They aren’t there. Not yet.

He pants, “Jesus Christ,” and beneath him Stede laughs, soft and sweet. Lets his legs fall wide, giving room for Ed to squirm down, biceps burning and back giving intermittent twinges while he adjusts.

“That about sums it up,” says Stede once Ed is settled back on his haunches. Staggering up to his elbows, he tips his head down, frowns at the streaks of white across his torso, the thinner spots already caking into his chest hair.

“Always sounds better in the moment, doesn’t it?” Ed asks. He twists, reaching for the damp flannel Stede had had the foresight to put on the nightstand. It’s cold by now, but with how warm the room is and how warm they both are, Ed doesn’t mind.

“You’d think I would know by now,” Stede replies, one side of his mouth curved up. He reaches out to take the flannel, but Ed clicks his tongue, shakes his head and says, “Uh-uh. Let me clean you up. It’s the least I could do after you let me jizz all over you.”

“Oh,” says Stede, and he leans back. Blinks up, a little doe-eyed, and Ed swallows, crawling out from between Stede’s legs to kneel by his hip. Tries not to focus on how Stede looks, loose-limbed and flushed and covered in semen.

It’s just normal aftercare; Ed would do it for any of his lovers. Sure Stede will, too, once he gets around to having sex with other people. Because he will. Have sex with other people. Ed spreads the flannel in his palm, starts at the sweat and come on Stede’s chest and gently wipes it off, making sure to get the drying streaks that slid down his sides. Down over the gentle rise of his belly, through the thatch of reddish-gold pubic hair. Then, over the soft shape of his cock, nestled against his thigh, sticky with both come and lube, and over his balls to get the lube that had dripped there when Ed had slicked them both up.

It’s done in silence, and Ed isn’t surprised to find that it’s comfortable, because their silences usually are, and this extra addition to their friendship hasn’t changed anything. Stede’s watching him, he notices when he looks up once finished. All flushed and sweaty, blond hair flopped damp and wild over his forehead. “That’s nice,” he says when he sees Ed looking. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, mate,” Ed replies, folding the flannel up, clean side facing out. The simple praise sings just beneath his skin. “Don’t wanna have to be gross longer than you need to.”

“Could be worse. Not like I didn’t like it.”

Quicksilver lust shoots straight through Ed’s veins. A part of him had expected Stede, fastidious as he is, to be the type of person to shy away from mess. Never would he have expected Stede to be the one to ask for it.

They haven’t really talked about things since setting their boundaries and rules after that first time. Well, besides making sure they’re both okay with it, of course, but it hasn’t been anything more than a cursory check-in.

“Okay, wait, last time was a bit of a rush, all things considered. We should take this a tad slower, don’t you think? I don’t want to go too fast and mess anything up.”

“We can do it however you want, Stede, just let me see your cock, Christ. It felt so fucking big against me.”

And it isn’t like Stede hasn’t been enthusiastic about it: he’s usually been the one to initiate things, turning to Ed while they’re on the couch or sending him suggestive text messages in the middle of the day asking things like Is giving a handjob much different from jerking yourself off? and I’ve been thinking about what it would feel like to have you fuck my thighs. Would you like to practise some more tonight, if you’re free?

Practise. Christ. Ed’s about to have a complex with that word.

Stede’s looking at him, one brow slightly raised, and Ed says, “What?”

“You’re thinking rather loudly, Edward,” says Stede. He rolls onto his side, cock and balls shifting to rest on his thigh. He has no idea, does he? How good that position makes him look. All those long, bold lines of his body, the hard-won softness of middle age counterbalanced with a steady workout routine.

Stretching out next to him so he can give his knee a break, Ed props his head up on his hand. “Just thinking about how much you surprise me.”

At that Stede’s cheeks colour, and he ducks his head, looking down at the sheets. It cascades his hair down across his forehead, the curls messy and tangled from the pillows and Ed’s fingers. “I hope that’s a good thing.”

“It’s a very good thing. Nothing about you could ever be a bad thing.”

Stede chuckles, which Ed knows by now means that he’s holding himself back from saying something self-deprecating. If hecould personally fight all of Stede’s demons, he would. Hold them down, swing punch after punch until they’re telling him they won’t do it again. Maybe old habits do die hard. Or at least they do when it comes to Stede.

“I’m serious,” he says, reaching across the bed to squeeze Stede’s hand. Though it catches like a burr in his throat at the reminder, he adds, “Any guy is gonna be lucky as hell to have you, man.”

Stede scoots closer, and Ed matches him, pulled by his gravity alone. Reaching out, Stede brushes his fingers along the lines of the snake tattoo winding its way down Ed’s wrist, the way he did the first night they got naked together.

“I never realised how big your snake tattoo actually is,” says Stede, tracing his fingers down over Ed’s thigh. Ed watches the procession of Stede’s pale fingers, gooseflesh springing up in their wake along the shaded scales of the snake. Hidden, but Ed can feel them, a secret just for him.

“Took me two sessions to get it done,” Ed says as Stede is tracing along the curl of the snake’s body over his side and across his hip. “One just for the outline, one to finish the outline and shade it.”

“Did it hurt?”

“A bit,” Ed lies, reaching down to briefly run the tips of his fingers over the back of Stede’s hand before retreating. In fact, it had hurt quite a lot in some places, and he had dreaded getting the shading done. Didn’t help that it had been one of his firsts, either, and he had no idea what to expect for a tattoo of that size.

“It looks very cool,” says Stede. “I like all of your tattoos, but this one is my favourite.”

“You deserve somebody, too, you know,” Stede replies, wrenching Ed back to the present. He’s looking over with those wide eyes, open and far too honest for the direction Ed’s thoughts are headed.

Some days, he’s not so sure about that. Not with his past, and especially not with his track record of relationships; there’s a reason he’s been single more often than he’s ever had a lover. He isn’t good at these types of things, no matter how hard he tries: he’s always too much, or too little. Too in his own head to give a partner the emotional intimacy they deserve, but still aching to be known. The last guy he’d tried with, really tried, had been Jack, and Ed still bears the scars of that relationship. It’s not something he’s eager to revisit, no matter how lonely he gets.

He doesn’t want Stede to make the same mistakes that he did, settling for somebody just because they gave him the time of day. He wants Stede to find someone who has his same interests, who will be selfless enough to put him first, not shuffle him to the back until it’s convenient. He doesn’t want Stede to lie awake at night wondering who he’d be, if only he’d done things differently. It’s a lonely life.

Instead of responding, Ed smiles, and says, “I’m starved. You wanna order in?”

——

When they were brainstorming the list, Stede had expected that Get experience would involve a lot more of Grindr; that it would take longer, too, while he searched through the available men around him, picky as he is and always quick to find something wrong with every person he sees.

What he hadn't expected was Ed. Right in front of him this whole time and apparently eager to do more. He’s amazed that he could miss it, honestly, but being observant has never been one of his strong suits, especially to things that involve him.

It’s been wonderful so far. Ed’s attentive, and selfless, and even with his own inexperience Stede knows that Ed’s good at this. Patient as anything, which he appreciates, since he’s got decades to catch up on and wants to make sure that he does it right, that he doesn't miss a single thing.

He also appreciates that they’ve started small and slow since that first time on his couch. Sometimes, just the memory of it makes Stede squirm; he can’t believe how bold he’d been, reaching out to grab what he wanted without overthinking it or convincing himself that he didn’t deserve it.

The sun is setting by the time he makes it back to his apartment. It’s quiet, something which Stede is still trying to adjust to. There are days where it grates on him, all that empty space left in the absence of a partner, the quietness left where Alma and Louis would fill it with the sounds of fighting and playing and their endless streams of chatter.

Stede doesn’t regret it. Could never, with how it’s helped him bloom since he began embracing who he is rather than hiding from it. It just gets difficult, sometimes, coexisting with the silence of a new life. Wears on him heavily, sagging his shoulders and back against its weight. 

He opens the entryway closet and hangs up his coat, then toes off his shoes and lines them neatly up against the wall, just shy of the thick cream-coloured runner that spans the length of the hallway. As he walks into the living area, he switches on the lamp on the end table against the couch, followed by the kitchen light. Switched out to a warmer bulb, a replacement for that hideous bright white that was there when he moved in. 

Stede loves his new place. Loves the exposed brick, and the way the sun slides its way into the living room in the afternoons. He’s able to decorate how he wants for the first time in his life, and there are bookcases stuffed to the brim with books and tchotchkes, paintings and prints on the walls framed in heavy, ornate gold frames. Velvet couches and chairs, heavy shag rugs, all in jewel tones and brighter colours.

It’s the kind of cosiness he’s always wanted. The kind that makes him feel safe, because it’s him at his core, who he is expressed beyond his wardrobe. No longer hiding his more eclectic tastes, or limiting them to patterned blazers and silk shirts and the occasional frothy ruffle or scalloped edge.

He just…he wishes he had somebody to share it with. A boyfriend, preferably. Somebody who could appreciate his sense of personal style while still maintaining their own. Who wouldn’t get angry when he’d come home with a new painting, or want to change the drapes even though they’d just bought them less than a month ago.

Maybe he’s projecting, making up for the two-decade marriage that was less than idyllic. And if he is, who cares? It doesn't hurt anybody to fantasise. It’s how he’s made it this far in life.

Heading into the kitchen, Stede begins to take the kettle off the stove to fill it, then pauses. Looks over towards the fridge at the list, where a new magnetic pen is stuck next to it, and reads it over once, twice. Looks at the next bullet point and wonders if he should just cross it off now. He’s been getting experience, hasn’t he? Knows his way around a dick that isn’t his, and what it’s like to be with a man. That’s experience.

But…

It hasn’t been everything yet. He hasn’t attempted a blowjob, or gotten one, and he hasn’t fucked anybody yet—or been fucked; he doesn’t know which he prefers, and he wants to find out before he can feel successful enough to check it off.

Maybe he should have stayed at Ed’s overnight. Wouldn't be the first time, and nowhere near the last. Before he’d left he could tell that something was up; nothing bad, because he knows Ed well enough by now, but like there had been something Ed wanted to say.

The sex had been great, like it always is, so it wasn’t that. Though Ed did seem a bit out of it, after the fact. Had that look on his face that said he was physically present, yes, but that his mind was actually miles and miles away somewhere else, somewhere Stede couldn’t reach him.

Should he have asked? Stayed? Reminded Ed that he didn’t need to hide away, that Stede was there for him whenever he needed, no matter what it was?

Curse these short days, Stede thinks with a grumble as he fills the kettle. They never do any good for his more melancholy moods, and do even worse for the melancholic speculative moods. Of course he could just text Ed, or phone him if he wants to fill the silence. But they’d just spent the day together, and a long one at that; Ed probably needs the time alone to recharge.

Kettle filled, Stede reaches up into the cabinet, grabbing a mug. It doesn’t escape his notice that it’s one Ed got him for his birthday this past year, a colourful floral mug with a thick handle. As he waits for the water to boil, he turns the mug over in his hands, tracing the pad of his index finger over the pale pink curl of an oleander petal. Thinks, setting it down on the counter, how funny it is, that bits and pieces of people can creep into your life, nestled there amongst your things like they’ve always belonged.

——

Ed makes time to hang with Izzy off away from the restaurant now, because he’s trying to be a good friend and make time for others, or whatever the fuck his therapist tells him to do when he starts to turn in on himself. It isn’t always easy, not with their schedules, but they make it work, mostly.

It’s a nice afternoon so they’re outside in the sun, watching the midday foot traffic while they catch up on things not related to the day-to-day bureaucracy of running a restaurant. A warm early November day, the kind that lulls you into a false sense of security. Makes you put back your winter coat only to need it the following day when the clouds and the wind return.

“I’m sleeping with Stede,” Ed admits halfway through lunch.

Izzy nearly chokes on his sandwich. “What did you just fuckin’ say?”

“We have a friends with benefits arrangement going on,” says Ed, knowing full well that Izzy heard what he said, he’s just a dick. He slides his sunglasses back onto his nose, knowing Izzy’s about to glare at him; he’ll need to hide his inevitable eye roll. “He wants to start dating, so I said I’d help him figure some things out.”

Right on cue, Izzy pushes up his own sunglasses and gives Ed a glare that hardly worked on them when they were doing questionably legal shit in their twenties, so it affects him even less now that they’ve both seen each other at their absolute rock bottoms. “And this completely sound and not at all fuckin’ idiotic logic was thought up by you?”

“Aw, don’t be jealous, Iz. I’m not gonna love you any less.”

“I’m not—” Izzy makes a few indignant noises before putting his sandwich down. Ed hides his smile in the rim of his water glass. “I could never be jealous of Stede Bonnet.”

Really, it’s kind of impressive at how much disdain Izzy can shove into a simple name. Ed’s never been quite sure what Stede did to garner every ounce of ill will that Izzy is capable of, and at this point he’s too afraid to ask. It’s entertaining as hell, though, so he’ll take it.

“It’s just,” Izzy continues, and sighs. “Do you think that’s the best idea? With him being newly out.”

“He’s the one who asked about it,” clarifies Ed. “I told him I’d help him set up dating apps and shit and give him advice, and it was his idea to begin the whole friends with benefits thing.”

“And you didn’t try to talk him out of it?”

“I told him the risks, but Stede is relentless when he wants something, man. Plus, I mean, you’ve seen him, he’s pretty fucking hot—”

“—To you—”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m hooking up with him, not you. Your taste in partners is questionable sometimes, Iz.”

Izzy doesn’t answer right away, which makes Ed’s belly knot itself all up. Prolonged silence with Izzy is never anything good. Picking his fork back up, Ed spears a healthy forkful of salad and shoves it in his mouth. Maybe if he chews slowly enough he won’t have to answer.

“I just don’t want you to get your heart broken again, Edward,” Izzy finally says. His eyes, when Ed meets them, are far too kind, and it makes him as angry as it does sad. Sometimes it really fucking sucks having a friend who knows everything about you.

“Jack didn’t ‘break my heart,’” he snaps, even though Jack did break something. The tiny bit of trust Ed had left for people, most likely. “He’s a fucking asshole who cheated on me the entire time we were together. Besides, it’s not like that with Stede. He's just…stress relief. And I’m getting too old for random hookups. There’s no fuckin’ life in them anymore.

“Stress relief,” Izzy repeats, more than a bit of disbelief in his voice. It makes Ed bristle, sit up straighter in his seat.

“What, you don’t believe me?”

“He’s your best friend,” Izzy replies. “Is that all he is?”

“I have no fuckin’ idea what you mean,” Ed says, though there’s something in his heart that says he does. He quiets it, pushes it down.

“I’m just saying that sometimes these…arrangements can go south pretty fuckin’ quickly. I’ve seen enough friendships ruined over them when nobody is honest about their feelings.”

“Don’t try to pull the elder queer card on me when I’ve been out nearly as long as you have. Me and Stede are friends,” Ed replies, as if it bears repeating once more. “We were both pretty fucking upfront about that when we started. Were you there and we just didn’t know about it?”

“Jesus Christ, Edward, calm down. I didn’t say that you weren’t.”

Right. Ed takes a deep breath, turns to watch the people walking by. Izzy knows just how to burrow under his skin, and even if he isn’t doing it maliciously it still sticks Ed like a thorn. Partially because he’s voicing everything Ed’s been worried about since he and Stede started fooling around.

If things do end up going south, he doesn’t know if he can handle potentially losing Stede. He’s never had a friendship like this before, where it feels like it’s everything he’s been missing. And a part of him has been worried about it since they first started talking, that eventually Stede would find somebody better, or he’d decide that he actually couldn’t handle Ed and needed to find somebody better.

“Sorry, man,” says Ed, reaching up to brush his hair back, glad that he’d decided to leave it down today. Helps to give him the space for a nervous tic. “It’s just—you know how close me and Stede are. I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t think our relationship couldn't handle it.”

Lie. You’re just selfish enough to attempt it anyway, his brain tells him.

Fuck off, he says back.

“I know,” says Izzy. He looks like he’s going to say something else, maybe continue the thread of conversation, but then he just adds, “I think you could do better, is all.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Ed replies with a laugh. He leans back in his seat, picks up his fork to point it Izzy’s way. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you’d fucked him, too.

“Thank god I won’t,” Izzy says dryly.

——

“Oh, fuck. Oh fuck,” Stede gasps.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ed grunts, “little bit tighter, there, fuck. Keep going—”

“Is it good?”

“So fuckin’ good, Stede. Twist your wrist, like that, oh fuck . You’ve got the perfect fucking grip, seriously. Shit, that feels good.”

“Tell me when you’re close, Ed.”

“I’m fuckin’ close, mate. Real fucking close.”

“Oh, that’s—okay.”

“Are you close?”

“I—yes, I am. Oh my god, Ed, can you— fuck —”

“Yeah?”

“Y-yes, oh god, I’m gonna come.”

Scooting closer, Ed tangles his legs with Stede’s, grunts when Stede’s hand tightens on the upstroke and tugs the foreskin over the head of his cock. It makes his rhythm on Stede’s cock falter, even as a sticky string of pre-come drools down onto the bed.

They're pressed close, foreheads touching when they look down between their bodies. Stede watches the snake on Ed’s hand, the flex of the tendons in his forearm; his balls draw up, and he arches forward, gasping out a low, shocked sound, and is that the brush of Ed’s lips against his temple, and—

“…Stede? Stede.”

Stede jolts in his seat. Going by how Lucius is looking at him, he’s been trying to get his attention for a while. The tips of his ears burn, and he knows he’s flushed. “Hmm? Oh—god, I’m sorry. Must’ve zoned out a bit.”

“I’ll say,” Lucius replies dryly. “Long night?”

Stede flushes even hotter, sputtering out an approximation of some sort of noise. For a moment he thinks Lucius has been able to read his thoughts, and then realises how absurd that is. Then he worries about what expression may have been on his face, because he’s never been too good at schooling those into something unreadable and passive.

Lucius had been the one to ask him out for coffee to catch up, and Stede feels a tiny twinge of guilt that he hasn’t been able to give him his full attention. Last night had just been amazing, easy and fun, everything he knows he’s been missing. Addictive, too, being able to have this new side of Ed all to himself. He wants to keep it that way, at least for a little while longer.

“It was a perfectly average night,” he finally says. Picks up his tea, goes to take a sip, stops. Feels his heart race a bit, because that man walking by the window, dodging a group of tourists stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, looks like Ed. As the man passes Stede can see that it isn’t, but the rush still lingers. Finally takes that sip, sliding his focus back to what’s supposed to be a little chat, since they’ve both been busy, and with Stede still on indefinite leave he doesn’t get to see Lucius as much as he used to.

The corners of Lucius’s lips curl up deviously. “Is that why you’ve got a nice little hickey on your neck?”

Stede slaps a hand over the curve of his neck, just above where he thought his collar was hiding it. He hadn’t thought to tell Ed not to leave any marks because, well, he’s never had to. Never had to be concerned about the marks someone could potentially leave on his body. “You know that Ed helped me download Grindr recently and showed me how to use it.”

“I sure did. You’re moving fast, huh?”

“No time like the present!” squeaks Stede. “You know how it is. Making up for lost time and all that.”

“Sure do,” drawls Lucius, looking like he doesn’t believe Stede and sounding even less convinced. “So it’s going well?”

Ed moans, and it’s beautiful, how he throws his head back and lets the room bear witness to his unselfconscious pleasure. He seeks out Stede’s other hand, grabs it; Stede squeezes back and moves faster, thumbing over the slick that leaks out.

“Fairly well, I’d say,” says Stede, sighing dreamily. Ed had come so hard that night, almost all the way up to his chin. Told Stede it was one of the best orgasms he’d ever had, and wasn’t that something? To be told that when your experience is so limited you’ve only ever had sex with precisely two people.

“What was his name?” Lucius asks. “The guy who gave you that impressive little bit of artwork.”

Stede’s whimpering. Ed’s got him back-to-front, legs spread over his own. Almost too much, the stretch, but the kind that aches in just the right way. Hard, wet cock leaking against the small of Stede’s back, breath hot against his neck as Ed whispers, pinching a nipple, “Fuck up into my fist, I’ve got you. I want you to come like this, all right?”

“Oh,” says Stede in a bit of panic, trying desperately to think of a name. “His name was…Ned.”

“Hold on. Pause. Wasn’t that guy that Ed hates, that culinary school rival, named Ned?”

Shit. There was a reason that name had been in the back of his mind. “No relation at all! Certainly not him, I can assure you. Lots of Neds out in the world.”

“Mhmm. So let me see that profile of yours, since you’re obviously killing it there.”

With only a slight hesitation, Stede opens the app and hands his phone over to Lucius, who moves his half-finished iced coffee out of the way and leans forward to take the phone. While he reads, swiping through the photos, Stede tangles his fingers together on the table, feeling oddly nervous, as if he’s seeking a sort of approval. Maybe, in some way, he is: Lucius is part of the reason he was even able to come out in the first place, and Stede doesn’t want to let him down. Whatever that means in this context.

“Recently out,” reads Lucius, “divorced, a smiley face? Ed wrote this for you, didn’t he?”

He had, in fact. Stede  relayed it all to him, but he’d written it after stating that Stede was taking too long. “Well, I added the bit about having kids. It felt dishonest to omit that. But Ed did type everything else out.”

“Cute,” says Lucius, and the way he smiles at Stede shows that he means it. “You know, Stede, I’m impressed. I didn’t think you’d take to this as quickly as you have, no offense. I know it was a lot at first, with the divorce coming out and everything, but you’ve really thrown yourself feet-first into it.”

A near-echo of Ed’s words, spoken in the twilight of his bedroom. Sheets down, crumpled into little mountain ranges at the foot of the bed. Wet spot between them, cold by then, but Stede wouldn’t have minded if he had to lay in it. The curtains still open, the city blinking its sleepy weekday nightlife into action around them, as if rousing itself was hard enough.

“You’ve really thrown yourself into this,” he’d said, first to the ceiling, then to Stede, rolling over and resting his face in his upturned palm. A smile on his lips, when just moments ago they’d been stretched around the vowels of Stede’s name as he’d come on the bed between them, both of them too caught up to think about the consequences. “I’m proud of you, Stede. You’re a fuckin’ amazing person. Don’t think I tell you that enough.”

And Stede had looked at Ed, silhouetted in all those purples and blues, hair a loose silvered curtain across his shoulder and down over his neck, where it hid the marks Stede hadn’t realised he was leaving at the time. And he’d felt—something. A knock, someplace inside him. 

Whether to get out or be let in, he couldn’t parse.

——

Another Friday evening finds them back at Revenge. Lucius’s idea this time, since, in his words, he doesn’t think everybody gets together as much as they should to reconnect and talk about life. Which, Ed knows, is just Lucius’s way of catching up on the gossip, and that’s more than fine with him.

Because Ed’s coming from the restaurant, he and Stede don’t get ready together this time. And thanks to a delay with the F train, Ed arrives long before Stede does; by the time Stede walks through the door Ed’s already a whiskey sour deep with the tips of his fingers beginning to tingle thanks to Archie behind the bar. Pretty sure his drink was more whiskey than sour, to be honest. Not like he’s going to complain about it.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Stede says, squeezing Ed’s shoulder before fitting himself into the booth next to him. He’s got his own glass of beer that he’s already set carefully down on the table; in his other hand is a tumbler that he offers to Ed. The ice inside clinks together as he hands it over. “I asked Archie what you were having and got you a top-up.”

“Oh, cheers, mate. A man after my own heart,” says Ed, taking the tumbler. Their fingers brush. He holds his breath, releases it quickly, wonders if static electricity can be a thing when you're sitting still. He budges over to give Stede more room and tries not to think about the warm press of his body along his entire side. Man’s a fucking furnace; Ed has no idea how he handles it.

“So what are we talking about?” asks Stede, taking a drink.

“Oh,” says Lucius from across the table, slinging an arm over Pete’s shoulder. “Reminiscing on the good old days and seeing who’s hooked up in more bathrooms. Currently I’m winning, of course.”

“By a technicality,” Ed says. Looking over at Stede, he adds, “By bathrooms he means only the ones here at Revenge, which is cheating since one of his boyfriends literally works here.”

Lucius blows him a kiss. “Don’t be a sore loser, babe.”

“Lucius is kind of hard to beat,” says Jim as they rest against Oluwande.

“Oh,” says Stede, his eyes grown a little wide. He takes another drink, a longer one this time, and doesn’t say anything else. Ed doesn’t think much of it, or tries not to. Stede’s still getting used to things, and though he’s hardly a prude, sometimes he does get a bit flustered, especially when their friends are open about their past trysts. There’s a bit of curiosity Ed has about it, but it’s something he’ll let Stede open up about on his own time.

“Do people do it often, hooking up?” asks Stede a few minutes later. It’s hushed under the din of the bar, the music and the various conversations that float around them, and the rest of their group are focused on a story Jim is telling.

“What, you mean here?” asks Ed, wrapping his hand around his glass. He’s half-listening to Jim now, attention shifting over to Stede, the eager, almost anxious way he’s leaning in like Ed isn’t seated next to him.

“Yes. Lucius got me thinking about it now.”

“Well, not always,” says Ed. Jim is gesticulating, and everybody is laughing, but Ed isn’t quite sure what they said. Shifting in his seat, he turns towards Stede and raises his brow. “ Revenge isn’t really that type of bar, but it can be, as you’ve heard. Nobody’s ever gonna say anything against it as long as it’s safe and consensual.”

Stede’s eyes narrow and darken. Ed’s belly swoops in free fall. He knows that look by now, knows precisely what it means and what’s going to follow. “Fuck, you want to do it, don’t you?”

“I’ve never done it,” confirms Stede, looking over toward the bathrooms, “and I’ve always wondered what it’s like.”

Fuck. Hooking up in their own apartments is one thing. A public bathroom fuck is something else entirely. Here they’ll run the risk of their friends finding out, and though Ed isn’t fully opposed to them knowing, he isn’t sure that this is how he wants it to happen. There needs to be an explanation of some sort, maybe a build-up to it.

“We don’t have to, of course,” Stede says. “I can wait to do this with somebody else, if I find someone who would want to do it.”

If? Ed nearly says in disbelief. He’s clocked at least two other people who have done double-takes in Stede’s direction since he arrived. Three, maybe, if that bloke across the room looks back their way again so Ed can make sure. The last thing Stede is going to do is have issues finding people in bars to hook up with in the bathroom.

What Ed also doesn’t say is that he wants to be the first person Stede hooks up in a bar with; he wants to show Stede how fun it is, how freeing and exhilarating it can be with the right partner. That little possessive thing inside him that sometimes snarls at the mention of Stede’s name begins a low, warning growl. It’s been awhile since he’s hooked up in a bathroom, and he wants it with such a single-minded focus that he knows he won’t be able to do anything else.

“No,” says Ed, draining his glass, swallowing back a gasp at the burning rush of whiskey. Stede follows suit, finishing off his IPA and setting the glass down. “C’mon, follow me.”

They excuse themselves under the pretence of getting more drinks, and Ed resolutely avoids Lucius’s stare from his seat as he stands and trails after Stede. They’re silent as they make their way through the bar, a club mix that Ed doesn’t know playing over the speakers, towards the bathrooms down the corridor.

Back here the lights are dimmed, deep purples and blues that keep the corners in shadows. Because Revenge is a smaller bar, the bathrooms are four singles, and the two on the right are open. Ed chooses the first, twisting the knob and letting Stede in before following him. His skin tingles in a way it hasn’t since his first bathroom hookup two decades ago. It hits him, abruptly and without remorse: he wants this possibly more than he ever has for any other hookup before.

“Want you to fuck me in here,” Ed says once the door is closed, edging Stede against the cool lip of the sink. When Stede’s lower back hits it he bends back slightly, giving Ed more of a height advantage. He cages him in, breath quickening at the shift of their bodies together.

“I didn’t bring a condom, or lube,” Stede says, sounding panicked as he looks up at Ed. Out at his sides his hands flutter uselessly before settling on Ed’s hips, just under the hem of his jumper.

“Not that—” Ed pauses and chuckles. “Not like, ‘stick your dick in me’ fuck me. I wanna suck your cock. A good old-fashioned gay bar hookup. Is that okay?”

Stede freezes, lips parted in a little ‘O.’ Surprised, like he can’t believe Ed’s asking him to do this. Like he wasn’t the one who brought it up in the first place. God, Ed really does adore him.

While he waits for Stede to catch up, Ed makes a show of stepping away and turning the lock on the door. In his chest his heart hammers, desperate to make itself known. Already he’s imagining the weight of Stede’s cock on his tongue, the salt and sex and heat of him.

Stede stares at him, his cheeks beginning to flush, and he finally says, “That’s okay.” Ed’s shoulders loosen, and he crosses the tiny bathroom, crowds Stede back against the sink and cups his cheek with one hand, using the other to adjust Stede where he needs him. Their shoes bump as he does, and it catches his breath in his throat. They’re going to do this. He’s finally going to suck Stede’s dick. Fuck yeah.

“You look really good tonight, by the way,” Ed says, running his fingers over Stede’s lapel. The silk is smooth against his fingertips, catches slightly on the calluses there from years of kitchen knives. “Didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier.”

Stede’s cheeks colour; they’re too close for him to hide his smile when he ducks his head, and it pulls at something soft and loose within Ed. “Thank you, Ed. So do you.”

“Psh,” Ed dismisses. Still soaks up the praise anyway, even if he doesn't say anything outright. “I came straight from the bar. didn’t even get a chance to try.”

“Precisely,” Stede replies, looking up. Ed doesn’t know how to respond to that. Doesn’t know what to do about the tha-thump of his heart. It isn’t like Ed’s any sort of stranger to being told he looks good, but there’s something about the genuine way Stede compliments that catches Ed off-guard, leaves him on unsteady footing.

Rather than answer, Ed pushes their hips together, delighting in the feeling of Stede already half-hard in his trousers. “Seems you’re eager tonight,” he says, letting the fingers still on Stede’s lapel sneak beneath to the warm, bare skin beneath. If he slips a button or two, well. Stede simply has a very nice chest, very nice amount of hair, lots of really cute freckles.

Gripping Ed’s hips, Stede pulls him in closer, grinding against him. At Ed’s gasp he says, “I could say the same about you. Have you been thinking about this?”

Ed swallows hard. The way Stede’s voice has slipped, low in a way Ed had never heard before they started this. Makes him shiver, head to toe, sometimes makes him feel like he doesn’t know which way is up. “You know how much I love sucking cock, man. ‘Course I have.”

“I think I recall a certain shot taken a month ago,” says Stede, one corner of his mouth curling up. He traces fingers along the edge of Ed’s belt, letting his knuckles skim the soft skin of Ed’s belly just above his waistband. It makes him flinch, makes his muscles contract, but not in a bad way.

“A month? Fuck me, I can’t believe it’s been that long.” Ed runs his fingers along the edge of Stede’s own belt, then down between his legs to cup him through his trousers. Breath catches, caught up in his throat or his lungs or somewhere else, way it always gets when he touches Stede like this, that implication kind of touch, the we’re definitely gonna be fucking kind of touch. “Certainly doesn’t feel like it.”

“No-oh, it doesn’t.” Stede sucks in a sharp breath when Ed rubs him briefly, then lets go to unbuckle his belt and tug open the button of his trousers. 

Pulling the zipper down, loud in the tiled expanse of this single-stall bathroom, Ed slides his hand inside and curls his fingers around the thickening girth of Stede’s cock. “Yeah, there you are,” he murmurs. “God, can’t wait to get my mouth on you, Stede. You have no fucking idea.”

Carefully, he lowers himself to his knees, making sure to rest his weight on his right one first. He really is getting too fucking old to do this on any hard surface anymore, which is a fucking shame. Once he’s settled he winces, tries to hide it.

“Ed, dar—wait,” Stede says, gently urging Ed back. When there’s space between them he shrugs off his blazer and turns it inside out, and Ed watches, curious, confused, until Stede gestures to the floor with the inside-out lump of his blazer. “Let me set this down. For your knees.”

“Oh,” Ed replies. He stares at the blazer. Dumbstruck, tethered not to this moment but somewhere else. Feels—fuckin’ something. Nobody’s ever done this before. Nobody’s ever cared enough. “Sure. go ahead.”

He shuffles back, giving Stede room to stoop and see the blazer down; then he moves forward, settles on it, and lets out an involuntary sigh of relief. It’s no pillow, but it’s certainly a hell of a lot better than the tile. And certainly the first man he’s ever brought into this bathroom who’s even thought of his comfort.

“Good?” asks Stede.

Ed blinks up, feeling fondness stretch out, sun-warmed, inside him. It’s a horrible angle, it should be, but all he can think is how handsome Stede looks when he’s concerned. “Perfect, thank you.”

“Please, continue.”

Ed breathes out a laugh. “All right. Now if—when—you actually hook up with somebody, you should use protection, even for blowjobs. Don’t trust anybody who just says they’re on PrEP or that they’re clean.”

“Edward, I’m hardly a virgin,” Stede snipes, bristling in a way that shouldn’t be funny but kind of is. “I think I can handle myself in that aspect.”

Ed chuckles, tipping his head back so he can look up the long line of Stede’s body.“Mate, you asked for my help and you’re gonna get all of it, even the shit you think you already know.”

“Oh, well,” Stede says, shifting on his feet. “Continue then.”

Ed rolls his eyes fondly. “As I was saying, you really should use condoms for everything. Lotta diseases out there, and you don’t want any of ‘em. Trust me. But since we’re both clean and I haven’t been with anybody else in awhile.” He shrugs. “We can go without them tonight.”

Stede doesn’t need to know how much Ed’s been dying to taste him this way. How much he’s thought about it, fantasised.

Tugging the zipper down the rest of the way, tugging down Stede’s trousers so they’re just at the swell of his arse, Ed pushes his underwear along with them, letting his cock bob free in front of him. Gently he eases Stede’s balls out as well, letting their weight rest in his palm.

“Christ,” he says, surprised, mouth already watering at the phantom taste of it, “you’re really fuckin’ hard.”

Stede colours that pretty little rose flush. Tucks his shirt up and out of the way, though Ed knows it’s going to fall anyway. Ed stares at his cock, the closest he’s been to it yet, eye-level like he is. God, Stede’s really got a nice dick. Fat head, thick at the top. Ed’s gotta get fucked by him.

Wrapping his fingers just beneath the headwhere he’s already leaking pre-come in a thin, glimmering little bead, Ed gives him a squeeze, a dry half-pump. Just to feel the flex of him, the steel firming up beneath the soft skin.

“Where do you want me to come?” asks Stede, reaching down to curl his fingers around Ed’s chin. The slight possessiveness of it makes Ed’s body grow hot, has the dormant submissive beast inside him whining out. Maybe he should try to draw this side fully out of Stede, because it seems to come naturally to him. So considerate, too, always asking even when Ed is willing for anything.

“In my mouth,” he replies, feeling the way Stede’s cock jerks between his fingers as he says it. “I’ll swallow it.”

Trailing his fingers across Ed’s cheek, Stede then anchors them in his hair, grasping Ed’s topknot in a loose, easy fist. Adjusts himself, spreads his legs. The soles of his shoes shush against the floor. 

Ed leans forward and angles Stede’s cock up, licks over the crown, hums at the musk of it on his tongue, and pulls back to drool a line of saliva over the head. It glistens in the soft light, sliding down over the slope, down to the circle of Ed’s fist. He spreads it, pumping Stede’s cock easily, and sinks down as far as he can go.

The fingers in his hair suddenly aren’t so gentle anymore. Stede’s body shudders, and he grits out a swear or two that would have Ed smiling if he wasn’t otherwise occupied.

It echoes in the bathroom, the sloppy wet sound of his mouth, the garbled clench and gag of his throat. Tears spring to the corners of his eyes; he’s pushing himself more than he normally would, but he wants it to be good. Wants Stede to see how good he is at this. 

There’s a clink; Ed looks up from where he’s bobbing his head, meeting his fist halfway, to see that the hand in his hair is now clenched tightly to the lip of the sink, that the noise was Stede’s rings hitting the porcelain. A shudder runs through Stede’s thighs, where Ed’s other hand is still clenched. Ed moans.

“Ed,” Stede breathes, “oh, god. Fuck. You’re so good at this.”

Arrow right to Ed’s cock, that praise. Has him pulling back, has him angling Stede’s heavy cock up to lick along the underside, then down to suck his balls into his mouth. Normally he’d like to really draw this out, make Stede feel everything he’s capable of, but they can’t be gone too long, and his bum fucking knee still isn’t appreciating the floor even with the blazer.

“Next time,” he says, pulls off with a gasp and a trail of saliva. Says, curling heat and desire, “I’m gonna spread you out on your bed and suck you until you’re begging me to let you come.”

Stede moans, Ed’s name a thin, strangled thing that stretches through the air, and tugs Ed’s hair harder. Spreads his legs, hips flexing forward, and his rings clink against the porcelain of the sink once more as he adjusts his grip.

Ed rocks up into nothing for the friction of his jeans on his own cock, and swirls his tongue over the head, over the slit, down the ridge. Above him Stede moans, thrusts forward so his cock glides along the exposed point of Ed’s eye tooth, and it’s too loud, Ed knows it is, but he doesn’t care. Let somebody else hear. Let them know that it’s him making Stede feel this good; that it’s him making his thighs tremble, his chest heave.

“Fuck, I’m close, Ed,” Stede warns, raking his fingers through Ed’s hair, down the curve of his skull. Ed moans, hollows his cheeks, pulls off enough to say, “In my mouth, c’mon,” and sinks back down, bobs his head, makes it sloppy. Doesn’t realise right away that he’s rocking up into his hand, but once he does he sinks into it. Embraces the desperation, how it takes over, that instinct that makes a person forget that they’re more than just their pleasure.

“Wait,” Stede gasps. Puts his other hand on Ed’s cheek now, fingers brushing the wet, stretched corner of his mouth. Ed blinks open tear-clumped lashes, slides down, up, gags on it because he sees how it makes Stede tremble. “Don’t—don’t swallow it all. Let me see first.”

Jesus fucking Christ. He’s created a monster, and he hasn’t even shown Stede the better pleasures in life, like fingering and rimming and fucking, the good, hard kind with a cock in your arse. He groans, tilting his head back so the head of Stede’s cock rests just inside his mouth. Feels the slick of pre-come leak onto his tongue, has to slide his hand into his pants to press the heel of his palm over his own cock.

Looking up, making sure Stede is watching, making sure there’s an audience for the lust that burns through him, he closes his lips around the head and suckles. Hollows his cheeks as he slowly rubs over himself, arches up into it with a muffled, cock-stoppered whine.

Stede barely chokes out a warning before he’s tossing his head back; then his cock is jerking hard on Ed’s tongue, hips pushing forward. He has to swallow at first, reflexive, and the ends of Stede’s shirt flutter around him, cocooning him in the familiar scents of the laundry detergent Stede uses, the fruity spice of his body wash, the musk of sex.

Ed catches what else he can on his tongue, and once Stede is pulling back, carefully slipping his cock free, he opens his mouth, lets his tongue curl enough for Stede to see it, enough to see the flare of his nostrils, the way his eyes widen, before swallowing it all. His skin is buzzing. His cock flexes desperately against his palm, leaking pre-come into the love line, the life line, all that fortune bullshit he pretends he doesn’t want to believe.

“Christ,” pants Stede, sagging back against the sink. Says nothing else for a long moment as he tucks himself back in with trembling fingers. The zwp of the zipper, the clink of his belt. The dull, faint pulse of music outside the bathroom.

“So. How d'you feel about your first bathroom hookup?” Ed asks. It rasps between them, rough and thick. He carefully gets to his feet, hissing out at the complaint from his left knee. They’re both numb, the kind of stabbing pain that spikes deep. Picks up the blazer, a little wrinkled by now but still presentable.

“That was amazing, Ed,” says Stede. Still sounds a little dazed as he takes his blazer back and shrugs it on, which has Ed preening. Nothing better than a job well done. “Do you want me to do anything for you?”

Does he. There isn’t enough time for Ed to list everything he wants Stede to do to him. Later. He can will his dick down before they go out there. “Nah, mate. This was all about you. Appreciate it, though.”

“Are you sure?” Stede looks between them, concerned. His eyebrows crinkle together in that expressive way of theirs. “You appear to still be, um, hard.”

“I can take care of it when I get home later.” Wish you could just bend me over that fucking sink right now, make me watch as you fuck me. “We really should get back out there before anybody suspects anything.”

It still takes them another five minutes to leave. First Stede needs to fix his hair, and then Ed needs to wipe his mouth and make sure there’s no jizz on the corners of his lips or in his beard. Fishes a mint from his pocket as well, glad he usually has one or two on him because they help settle his stomach. Jesus, he’s fucking old.

Before they head back they do end up getting drinks from Swede. Probably won’t matter, but oh well. Swede mixes a great fucking cocktail, and even though Ed didn’t understand what he called this one, what he can understand is that it’s really fucking good.

Every head at their table is turned towards them both as they round the corner with their drinks in hand, a spread of curious eyes that pierce deep. Immediately they pause, and Ed just barely stops himself from reaching out and grabbing Stede’s hand out of reflex.

Well. The privacy was nice while it lasted.

“I knew it!” Lucius crows, slapping his hands down on the table.

“Knew what?” Stede asks. Confused, clearly, turning to Ed for clarification. In return, Ed just shakes his head.

“That you two were fucking. You’re many things, Stede, but you have a truly awful poker face. Also, both Swede and Archie are behind the bar right now, and it does not take either of them nearly a half-hour to get drinks ready.”

“Don’t tell me this was all a ploy to get everybody here so you could see if Ed and I were sleeping together,” Stede asks, aghast.

“I had my suspicions, babes, sorry.” He turns to Oluwande, holding out his hand. “Pay up.”

“Et tu, Olu?” Stede gasps. Ed snorts.

“Eh,” says Olu, fishing out his wallet and slapping a ten-dollar bill into Lucius’s palm, “to be fair, you both have been kinda obvious about it.”

“Yeah, like total heart eyes,” Jim says. They, Ed notes, do not pay Lucius. “It’s been pretty fucking hard to miss, honestly.”

“They’re right,” adds Pete. “I clocked it months ago.”

Ed doesn’t bother to tell him that they’ve only been sleeping together for a few weeks.

“Would it really have been so difficult to just ask us?” Stede asks, reaching over to see his glass down to put both his hands on his hips. The dad stance, out in full force. Really showcases how broad his shoulders are, Ed realises. He takes a sip of his drink. God, really fucking good stuff.

“Would you have said yes?” Lucius deadpans.

“Well,” says Stede. Pauses. Ed waits patiently for him to say, “No, probably not.”

“Exactly.” Lucius’s face softens. “Look, it’s okay that you’re dating. We really thought that—”

A prickly rush of sweat rushes up Ed’s underarms. Is that all he is? the echo of Izzy’s voice says.

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Ed cuts in, while Stede splutters. “We’re not dating.”

“You’re not?” Pete asks. The rest of the table makes similar murmurings, all of them nearly lost over the music of the bar. Just enough for Ed to get the gist of it, that apparently everybody has expected them to start dating, which is…something.

“It’s more of a friends with benefits situation,” says Stede, finally sliding into the edge of the booth’s cushion. Ed follows suit. Not like Revenge is very crowded tonight, but his knee really isn’t too happy with him, and the four-top behind them were getting too invested for Ed’s liking.

“I said I’d help Stede get ready to jump into the dating pool,” says Ed.

“And we’re both single,” adds Stede. “Obviously.”

“So it just made sense. You know?”

“ So much sense,” Lucius says. He leans in. Has that hungry flint in his eye that Ed knows means gossip. Means they’re going to be here awhile longer, and maybe he should have gotten something stronger to drink. “So go on, then. Tell us. All of it.”

Ed looks at Stede. Stede looks at Ed. They could say no; their decision would be respected, if not fully let go. For a moment, Ed contemplates it.

Then Stede smiles at him, a small smile, almost able to be missed if Ed wasn’t already looking for it. His fingers brush Ed’s on the table. Underneath the table, he slides his foot against Ed’s. Just a touch. Just a reminder. And Ed knows him well enough by now to know what that means.

“Fuck it, fine,” he says, hooking his ankle around Stede’s. A secret they can both keep.

Chapter Text

There’s something to be said about waking up when you want, not because you’re on a schedule, or you have children to feed, or you have work. The moment Stede thinks about going back to work, he shudders.

He hadn’t realised the full extent of it until now, how much of a toll it was really taking on him, through the stress and the commute and the long, back-aching days spent hunched over his desk reading emails and signing reports he didn’t care about. He’d never even wanted the bloody job in the first place! And now his father is dead, and Stede is still at that company, and he doesn’t know why.

Let his horrid excuse of a father rot. He’d never intended Stede to take over, anyway; it had just unfortunately fallen that way with no other heirs to the fortune and the old-money desire to keep it in the family rather than sell to somebody actually interested in keeping the company running.

He should just quit. There’s no point in staying. Not even money-wise or for child support: both he and Mary are relatively well-off, and the break-out of the finances in the divorce had been amicable for both of them. Mary had gotten the majority of their shared accounts, but Stede still has his current paycheck and mostly-intact trust fund.

When he was a boy, during those awful years of bullying and intense loneliness, he’d dreamed of what his life could be like once he was an adult. Even then he’d known, of course, the path he was going to be forced to take, but he still liked to dream. Dreams were safe. They were comforting, stories he could revisit when sleep wouldn't come and the worries of the world had knotted his belly up.

Stede had always dreamed of having a bookstore. Or a cafe. Or a cafe-slash-bookstore. Someplace warm and cosy, where others could feel warm and cosy. A way to give back that escape he’d always sought himself in the pages between heavy spines, because you never knew who else needed that escape as bad as you once did.

It would be called the Lighthouse Cafe, like a sort of beacon in the dark. Never mind that lighthouses are supposed to help you avoid the rocks; he likes the metaphor, and he’s always found some comfort in the existence of lighthouses, all alone on their solitary hills, flashing eternally out into the darkness of the sea.

He doesn’t know what’s stopping him now. He could do it. Sell his father’s company, look for the perfect storefront in lower Manhattan—or maybe even Brooklyn!—and finally do what he wants to do. Mary would probably even support him. Ed definitely would.

While his kettle heats up and the toast sits in the toaster, Stede looks back at the list. It’s strange to think of how far he’s come in just a month. Though he’s still a long way away from feeling fully confident in himself as an out gay man, he knows he’s getting there, and that’s what’s important.

That, and that he really does feel himself for possibly the first time in his life. It’s there in fits and starts, but Stede can tell that there’s a confidence to the set of his shoulders now that wasn’t there when he was still married. The clothes he wears are a little brighter, a little more fitted, and incorporate things like ruffles or lace where possible. He isn’t afraid anymore to admit that he likes flowers, that he likes soft, fine things. He isn’t sure if any Pride parades will be in his future just yet, but there’s still time.

Then he thinks of Ed, and of going with Ed, and a shivery little thrill runs through him. Imagine! Ed knows so many people in the community, and he’s helped countless more. And he’d be right by Stede’s side, offering encouragement and guiding him, just like he always does. Never judging, never being anything but supportive.

Before Stede can think about it, he picks his phone up off the counter and texts Mary.

To Mary
I’m thinking about going to Pride next summer, if you and Doug and the kids would like to come down.

Once sent, he immediately puts the phone back down, feeling a little weak at the knees while his blood rushes in his ears. There. He’s put it out there. Somebody else will be able to hold him accountable should he decide to try and back out. And, if he’s being honest—which he’s been doing more lately—he wants his children to see him in his element. Wants them to, hopefully, be as proud as he is for living his truth.

That’s been one of the hardest parts about coming out so far, sharing this new side of himself and letting the people he loves in. He’s spent too long closing himself off, building up walls that grew higher and higher until even he couldn't see where they ended.

He never should have gotten married; it’s something he recognises now. It was selfish, and Mary didn’t deserve it, the misery, the fumbling in the rote motions of a marriage that just never seemed to manifest right in Stede.

He’d spent his whole adolescence and the first part of his adulthood feeling like he was broken for not wanting a family, or a marriage, and he’d ultimately given in to the pressure from his parents. So he’d dated, and he’d met Mary, a daughter of a family friend, and she was nice, and she never said anything negative about Stede’s eccentricities. Stede thought maybe he could see himself falling in love with her. And he did—just not the way a husband is supposed to love his wife.

His phone chimes.

To Stede
Stede! Of course we would!
That’s a big step. I’m proud of you.

Stede exhales. He sags against the counter, and he laughs, quietly, shocked to find his vision blurring with tears, smearing away Mary’s response. Though there’s been no shortage of Mary letting Stede know this, it never quite stops feeling like that first time.

Loving himself is a different journey from accepting himself. They converge often, it's true, but any other time they run parallel to each other. They’re both something that Stede’s been working on since coming out, and he likes to think he’s made at least a bit of progress on loving himself for who he is.

But letting others love him?

He doesn’t know. Sometimes the idea of it feels too enormous to fathom. Sometimes it scares him. Keeps him up at night. Makes him wonder, walking down the street alone, The Menzingers in his headphones, if he’s just too far past finding his own happy ending. If he should just give it all up, because sometimes things just aren’t meant to be.

The toast pops up, jerking Stede from his thoughts. Shaking his head, he slips his phone into his robe pocket and reaches up into the cupboard for a plate, then into the drawer for a butter knife.

Maybe somebody eventually will; maybe Grindr will actually be what helps him find love. Or, at the very least, some sort of companionship. Something like what he and Ed have, the sex without anything more serious. It’s been working so far. Hasn’t it?

Though, he thinks with a sigh as he settles at the table, tea and toast in his hands—it would be nice, wouldn’t it, to share these morning rituals with somebody again? Have somebody else’s tea to make, too many sugars and too much milk. To share the liminal space of morning, with its soft golden light that politely creeps in through the window. To know that, unconditionally, there is love here.

Is he lonely? Stede can’t say. But he does feel a negative space at his side, and he aches to fill it in.

——

Ed doesn’t think he’s had this much fun in…years. Maybe ever, now that he thinks about it.

Being with Stede is so easy. They understand each other, and they always seem to be on the same page, or at least very close to it. Most importantly, they make sex fun. They laugh sometimes, and when something doesn’t work, there isn’t any embarrassment. They talk it through, and they move on.

Stede’s a really fucking good student, too. Eager as hell, always ready to try something new. Kills Ed a little, every time he does something sexy without even realising it. Like earlier today, when he’d been grinding against Ed’s thigh and had said, breathless and deep with that bit of an aroused rasp, “I’ve been wondering what your fingers would feel like inside me,” all while dragging his slick cock up and down along the coarse hairs of Ed’s thigh.

Which—yeah. Yeah. Neither of them had lasted long after that.

“Have you used any of the toys you bought at the shop?” asks Ed, once they’re both cleaned up and the window is cracked to air out the room. A cool breeze rushes in, brings with it the scent of the city in autumn. They’re both sprawled on their backs, heads turned towards each other.

Stede flushes and looks away. “Maybe.”

“Stede, mate,” says Ed as he props himself up on his elbow. Stede follows. “We just fucked. Literally just wiped your jizz off my ball hairs. You’ve still got a semi.”

“That doesn’t really make it any easier, you know!”

“Want me to look away while you tell me all about what you’ve been sticking in your arse?”

Stede laughs and shoves his shoulder, but it does the trick in diffusing the tension. He visibly relaxes, and though his words are still stilted, he speaks easier than he would have before. “The dildo was a bit intimidating at first, but it—oh, Ed, it was amazing! I’ve never felt anything like it. I’ve also used, um—the vibrator on my cock, but I haven't tried any of the plugs yet. I think those are next.”

Heat rushes through Ed, hot and familiar. He pictures Stede spread out on his bed, arm hooked under his thigh to give him room to work the dildo in and out of himself. Maybe Ed needs to ask about it next time they’re at Stede’s place. Get a demonstration. “Yeah? Think you’re gonna like getting fucked?”

“Mm,” Stede says, rolling onto his back to look up at the ceiling, at the light thrown there from the open window next to them. An ensuing silence, comfortable as ever, and Ed uses it to look at the picture Stede paints, hands folded over his belly, the shadows from the curves and valleys of his body in the dim light. “But also I think I’d still like to fuck sometimes,” Stede continues, “like you said you do? Though that could be just because it’s what I’m used to.”

That catches the attention of Ed’s cock, which up to this point was only lazily getting interested again at the change of course. “Plenty normal, man. Best of both worlds, I’ve always said.”

“You think so?”

“Fuck yeah,” says Ed. “Some days I just really want to be held down, but then there are days where I want to be the one doing the holding down bit. Just really depends on my mood and the mood of my partner. The important part is being flexible and listening to them and making sure you’re doing what’s best for both of you.”

Stede draws his lower lip into his mouth. Drums his fingers on his belly. “What if you both want to do the same thing?”

“One of you changes their mind or you make good use of that dildo.”

“Edward!”

“You talk,p” replies Ed with a smile, inching closer. It’s fun to tease Stede, but they’ve been friends long enough that Ed knows when he’s at his limit. “Communication, yeah? Incredibly important. Like we’re doing now.” Reaching out, he rubs his palm down Stede’s bare thigh, stopping just above his knee. “You ask if there’s anything else they want to do. Let them know what you’re okay with as an alternative.”

Stede turns his head, brows raised. Looks down, at the spread of Ed’s hand on his leg, then back up. “Why do I get the feeling that this is now less about my hypothetical hookup and more about why your hand is on my leg?”

“Me, have an ulterior motive?” Ed gasps. “Never.” He drags his hand up higher, giving the thick muscle of Stede’s thigh a squeeze. Jesus, he’d love to wear them as a fucking necklace. Never was much into choking before, but he thinks he could make an exception for these thighs.

“Oh, bugger off,” says Stede fondly. “What do you want?”

“Well,” Ed replies, dragging it out. His cock is fully interested now, grown heavy and full against his thigh. The quick zip of arousal that races through him leaves it twitching sharply. “You know I’ve got a nice collection of toys myself. Was wondering if maybe you’d like to use one of ‘em on me.”

Stese makes an assessing sort of noise. “Like that purple dildo under the bathroom sink?”

“Fuck off, you’ve seen that?”

“I was looking for toilet paper!”

“Stede Bonnet, you know damn well that I keep the toilet paper in the closet across from my bathroom!” Ed laughs.

“Okay, fine, maybe I was being a bit nosy,” Stede admits. “I didn’t think I’d find a giant dildo, though.”

“Ignoring the fact that you thought you’d find anything, you’re a little sneak.”

“Hush, you still like me,” replies Stede, rolling over and straddling Ed’s hips in one smooth, devastatingly sexy movement. Gravity has their cocks brushing, Stede nearly as hard as Ed is. They both inhale sharply at the pressure.

Ed’s heart does a funny little flip at Stede’s words. His hands go to Stede’s hips, and he rubs his thumbs at the cut of muscle there. “I guess I do. Might like you more if you reach into the bottom drawer of the nightstand and pull out the other purple dildo in there.”

Leaning over causes Stede to rest his full weight on Ed, which Ed is not complaining about. There’s some rummaging while he’s stroking over Stede’s back, a shocked little grunt when Ed flexes up and grinds their cocks together and squeezes the curve of Stede’s arse. Stede pokes his head up, disgruntled and red-faced from the angle, and says, “Do you mind? I’m trying to rummage through your veritable treasure chest down here.”

“You can never have too many toys,” says Ed sagely. “It’s towards the back, by the way. Big silicone thing, can’t miss it.”

“Christ, this thing?” Stede finally pops back up, fake cock in hand, and Ed nods. Stede’s eyes grow wide, and he looks back down at the dildo as he straightens and settles his weight back on Ed’s lap. “Are you sure it fits?”

Ed laughs, taking the dildo from Stede’s hand and setting it on the sheets next to the bottle of lube they’d left there. “The arsehole is very flexible with the proper prep, as I’m sure you’ve realised by now. Besides, mate, have you seen your cock? It’s really not that much smaller.”

That leaves Stede making a few noises Ed can only describe as cute. The flush already spreading its way down to his chest spreads faster. Truly a shame that nobody else has ever complimented Stede’s dick, because Ed’s been dreaming of getting it in his arse since the first time he’d felt it.

“Well, that’s, um,” says Stede, looking bashful as fuck. “Thank you?”

“Absolutely a fucking compliment,” Ed replies, then takes a hand and wraps it around Stede’s cock, gives it a squeeze, a stroke. On top of him Stede shudders, braces his weight with his own hand on Ed’s chest and lets his head fall back. Ed says, “Hey, I’ll let you in on a secret. Yeah? I was a huge fuckin’ size queen when I was younger. Massive. Like, I’ve seen a lot of big dicks, and yours is by far one of the best.”

Just as he’d predicted, Stede’s cock throbs in his fist, the slit growing shiny with pre-come. When Ed glances up, Stede looks gobsmacked, and Ed didn’t even think people actually looked gobsmacked until this moment. Was sure it was some shit made up to describe shock in a different way, but shock isn’t so much what’s on Stede’s face.

It’s the look of somebody unused to compliments, a shy, hopeful hesitation. If it’s the last thing Ed does, he’s going to make Stede used to these kinds of observations. He deserves adoration. He deserves absolute fucking happiness.

“Really?” Stede asks, in that surprised-bewildered way he has that always manages to sound earnest. Like he hasn’t been packing this fucking hog his whole life—surely he must have some idea.

“Would I lie to you?” Ed says, sliding his fist up and down Stede’s cock, feeling the pulse under his touch.

Stede moans quietly, rocking into the easy movement of Ed’s fist, quick hush of skin-on-skin. “No, but you might put me down gently, if the situation calls for it.”

“Oh my god, Stede,” says Ed, fondly exasperated. He releases Stede’s cock, forces himself not to suck on the thin stretch of skin between thumb and forefinger where it shines with Stede’s pre-come. “You have a great fucking dick, man. Hand to god. Might even be my favourite one.” Dickfuck, did he really just say that out loud?

Luckily Stede just makes a pleased humming sound, like he does when he tastes something particularly delicious, and slides his way down Ed’s body, Ed’s legs parting easily for him to settle between. Ed exhales, surprised to find it comes out uneven.

There have been lots of people between his legs. Lots of different sets of eyes seeing him at his most intimate. Sure, he’d been a semi-blushing virgin once. He’d felt the throbbing pulse of nerves in the artery of his neck, that overwhelmed but excited rush of is this happening; of course he had. Those feelings had faded with time and with experience, though, and they’ve long since been reduced to memories.

With Stede, it all comes rushing back. Suddenly, he wants to pull his knees together. Wants to turn onto his belly, so he can’t see the dark intensity in Stede’s eyes. Afraid of being too much. Too little.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t, because then Stede’s hands are on the insides of his thighs, urging them wider, and he’s staring, but not in a way that makes Ed want to get away. If anything, it makes him want to get closer, wrap his legs around Stede’s waist like a particularly tactile and needy octopus and never let go.

Stede’s definitely been practising, because the way that his fingers circle the pucker of Ed’s hole, the inquisitive but confident pressure of them dipping in, out, then back in, makes every part of Ed shudder and try to arch towards it. Seems like Stede is similarly affected: his forehead begins to shine with sweat, and he’s breathing hard like he’s about to come, which clicks in a way Ed didn’t quite expect it to, that he knows Stede’s tells by now. They’ve fucked enough that these are things he can catalogue. He isn’t prepared for the bolt of lust that runs through him at the realisation, singes him head to toe.

“‘m good,” Ed pants, cock throbbing wetly against his belly; he looks down just in time to see it leak a blurt of pre-come, glistening and slick. Arousal rushes through him, bringing with it the urgent need to get something inside of him. “Fuck, Stede, your goddamn fingers. C’mon. Where’s the fuckin’ dildo?”

Stede finds it on the bed rolled against Ed’s thigh and grabs it, drizzling an obscene amount of lube on the shaft and really taking his fucking time giving it a handjob when there’s a dick right in front of him absolutely fucking begging for attention. Not to mention his own thick erection bobbing between his spread thighs and leaking in slick, gossamer strands onto the sheets.

“Just get it in me,” Ed demands, taking his dick in hand to give it a few good strokes, then moaning when the slick silicone head presses right up against his rim. It stays there, Stede rubbing it in slow, tight little circles. Ed’s stretched enough thanks to those thick fingers, and he can feel the way his hole gives around the head when Stede presses harder against it. A tease, every time, one that makes him whine a little and shift restlessly against the sheets.

“Shh,” Stede says, as his voice dips lower. He adjusts on the bed, shifting closer to Ed’s hips, gently guiding one leg up until Ed gets the hint to take it under the knee. A shiver runs through him, his hole clenching with anticipation. Stede inhales long, luxurious, says in that silk-smooth voice, “There you go. So good for me. Ready?”

Reeling from the unexpected way the praise hits him, Ed barely manages a nod before Stede’s easing the head inside, his hole giving way as he gasps at the stretch, the fullness settling itself inside him. Though this dildo isn’t as thick as the other one, it still takes his body a moment to accommodate, even if he’s never quite as gentle with himself as Stede currently is.

“Fuck,” Ed gasps, pushing his hips up. “Little more, little more.” Stede obeys, and Ed groans, grasping the sheets in a tight fist. 

“Are you okay?” asks Stede, sounding far too concerned for where Ed needs him to be right now. As much as he lo—likes the tender side of Stede, all that soft-voiced care and gentle hands, he’s really looking to get fucked so hard he can’t sit properly for at least the rest of the day.

“It feels so fuckin’ good, Stede, promise,” he says. “You don’t have to treat me like I’m—pgod—breakable, mate.”

“I didn’t think I was.” Pushing the last inch of the dildo in, Stede doesn’t give Ed a moment to adjust before he slides it halfway out and back in, then again, with a little snap and twist of his wrist. Ed chokes out a sound, one he isn’t sure he recognises. “There,” says Stede, “is that better?”

“Jesus,” Ed laughs on the back of a moan, dropping his leg as wide as his hips will allow. “Should’ve figured you’d be bitchy in bed, too.”

“Why do I feel like I should take offence to that?” asks Stede, with a little uptick to the corner of his mouth. He reaches between his own legs and strokes his cock, and Ed watches, wide-eyed, swallows back a rush of saliva as he remembers how that cock had felt in his mouth, how it had tasted. Stede’s big hand around it holding it steady, his goddamn fingers. Ed knows he'll never be over them now that he’s felt them in his arse.

“Please,” he suddenly gasps, shocking himself. He doesn’t beg. Hasn’t begged in years. But it’s too fucking good, all of it, knowing that it’s Stede he’s trusting with this, and Ed needs more with an intensity that borders on insanity, or a desperate single-minded focus.

“Oh,” says Stede in surprise. Then he lets go of his cock and uses that slick hand to push Ed’s thigh open, palm spread on the twine of the snake’s body. Fucks him in-out-in- in, pushes hard and manages to nail Ed’s prostate in a way that makes Ed shout.

God, it really is good. Hasn’t even touched himself and already his balls are drawing up kind of good. Ed moans, and he twists against the sheets, and he says, halfway to breathless with a nasal sort of keen, “Yeah, yeah, like that, oh fuck.”

Then Stede suddenly, abruptly, unfairly pauses, and Ed whines sharply, cock throbbing against his belly, and he says, “Don’t stop, Stede,” to the ceiling while his heart races and the heat in his belly recedes. Fuck.

“Well, I was wondering if I could, um…” Stede starts.

With a bit of an effort Ed props himself up on his elbows and doesn’t pay attention to how his arms shake as he does. “What is it?”

“Well, I wanted to know if—can I—would it be okay if I sucked your cock?” Stede asks, the words racing out and cracking up on each other against the final syllable of cock.

“Fuck.” Ed shudders, knees falling wider, lets it rock him down to his core. He thought he’d be prepared to hear Stede say those words, but that was a fucking lie; actually hearing them feels like being electrocuted, but in a really good way. “Yeah? You’re sure?”

“I’ve been thinking about it since Friday, how you looked in the bathroom on your knees, and I wanted to…” He trails off, stops, and heaves out a sigh. “Oh, fuck it. Do you remember the day my divorce went through, when we did those shots?”

The blowjob shots? Oh, Ed remembers those very well. Recalls, also, his own words back in the bathroom at Revenge. “Really? Since then?”

Stede flushes. “Since then. Friday did also help, to be honest. Seeing it in action. But I have been curious about partaking in it myself for some time now.”

Partaking. It makes Ed smile, makes his entire body want to shimmy with unrestrained delight for this man currently in his bed between his legs. Stede is so unpredictable, so posh and yet crass enough that it still surprises him. “You’re a fuckin’ lunatic.”

“Yeah?” Stede’s dimple makes a reappearance, and Ed fantasises about kissing it.

“Yeah. You know I like it. You gonna be able to multitask?”

“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent multitasker.”

“That so?” asks Ed. Play it cool, while he’s got Stede nibbling on the little hooked end of his line. “Why don’t you go ahead and prove it to me, then?”

Stede’s eyes glint with the challenge— bullseye. Or, well, he’s got a bite. Mixed metaphors, he can’t hardly be blamed when someone of Stede’s level of hotness is asking to take his dick in his mouth. “I just think I might.”

There’s a moment to get situated, Stede scooting down the bed, Ed spreading his legs and holding onto the dildo and trying not to stare too hard at the curves of Stede’s arse as he shimmies to get comfortable.

“There we go,” says Stede, once they’re settled. “I’ll take that back, thank you.” Gently bats Ed’s hand away, beams up at him and works the dildo in and out a few times until Ed’s moaning and breathing hard and rolling his hips up into it.

At the first careful, exploratory slide of Stede’s lips up his stiff cock, Ed has to clamp a hand over his mouth. Though it isn’t the first time somebody’s gone down on him while fucking him with a toy, it feels better than any of those times. It feels like that first time all over again, when it was almost too much.

And Stede is taking his time. He’s lipping over the veins, sliding his tongue up the length, curling it just under the head until Ed’s thighs are shaking and he’s whimpering, humid, into his palm. Stede hasn’t even put him into his mouth and already Ed is one good lick away from falling apart.

And then.

Then Stede moves the dildo, and he sucks the head of Ed’s cock into his mouth, and Ed gasps, grabs the sheet and grabs a fistful of Stede’s hair. Looks down his body, open-mouthed, panting, finds the dark glaze of Stede’s eyes peering up while his bicep flexes with the in-out motion of the dildo.

“Oh, god,” Ed whines, at both the wet heat on his cock and the fullness in his arse. “Oh, fuck.”

Stede sinks lower, and there’s a slight catch of teeth, which makes Ed jolt in a not-entirely-unpleasant way. Sliding off with a little gasp, Stede says, “Sorry,” and Ed just groans, “It’s fucking fine, ” and tries very hard not to guide Stede back down onto his cock with the hand still in his hair.

Luckily, Stede seems just as eager as Ed is and takes him back into his mouth, teeth carefully covered now. It isn’t expert by any means, but it’s enthusiastic, and Christ if Stede doesn’t look fucking hot with a dick between his lips. Half the magic of it is getting to experience what minute expressions can pass over his face, preoccupied as he is. That little concentrated furrow while he starts to bob his head, a quiet, choked noise when he wraps his fist around Ed’s cock and strokes him counterpoint to the pull of his mouth.

“You’re doing so good,” Ed says, back giving a little arch when Stede sucks hard, a curl of hair escaping to fall across his furrowed forehead. He lets go of Stede’s hair to cradle the back of his skull, pulls his legs up so he can make room for Stede’s shoulders. “God, yeah, like that. Use your tongue—fuck. Knew you’d be a natural, Stede.”

That seems to press some sort of button in Stede, some hidden lever, because it makes him whine around the cock in his mouth, makes him shudder violently enough that it travels right through to Ed, both in his dick and in his arse. His eyes dart up, meet Ed’s again, and Ed doesn’t know what to do with the sudden swoop that tosses his belly somewhere far south.

Stede pulls off, a string of saliva following before gravity takes hold. Ed groans, something cracked and loud, when his cock drops wetly to his belly, jerks off it, and drops again.

“Jesus,” Ed says, head lolling back just before he collapses onto the mattress. “If I didn’t know this was your first time sucking cock I wouldn’t fuckin’ believe you.”

“I liked coming in your mouth,” Stede says, gone bashful with it again, “but I don’t know if I’m ready for that myself.”

“That’s fine,” says Ed, possibly a bit too eager and quick against the throb of his cock. He isn’t sure he could survive the sight of Stede swallowing. Just the thought makes his breath catch in his throat. “Totally fine. Yeah. Yep. Lots of other ways we can do this.”

Stede ends up bringing him off with the dildo pressing against his prostate and his wonderfully slick hand milking the head of his cock in tight, twisting pulls. Ed comes so hard he wonders, briefly, if he’s transcended into another plane of being entirely, his body a floating, warm fuzz of static as he chases after his breath; and, once caught, Ed uses it to beg for Stede to come on him, which Stede happily does, a laugh in his throat and a shine to his eyes.

——

They spend most of the week together when Ed isn’t at Blackbeard’s, which isn’t unusual by any means. Ed is still his best friend, and they still tell each other everything, and they still complain about the same things. He knows that every Tuesday, Ed will still bring him the pastries Roach has deemed not good enough to be sold, and that Stede will still insist that he buy Ed’s coffee at Caffè Aronne in repayment, and they’ll still go back to Ed’s place and forget how long they talk, just that it’s suddenly nearly evening and maybe they should just make dinner together, shouldn’t they?

Except now, during all this, he can slide his foot over Ed’s under their table on the sidewalk. Or take his hand, or slide his own hand up the strong length of Ed’s thigh in the kitchen while he plays the role of Ed’s sous chef. Now, if he asks, Ed will take his clothes off, and he’ll help Stede discover things about his own body he never knew he could feel. It’s been like adding another layer to their already-multifaceted relationship, and as long as it was settled into place properly, things would work out, because things always work out between them. It’s just how they are.

On Thursday, as they’ve got MasterChef on in the background, Stede tells Ed about the positively lewd messages some man named Ted is sending him, and Ed asks to see them. Once he’s done laughing, he tells Stede how much Ted is absolutely exaggerating, but he could show him, if he’d like.

(Of course he’d like. And of course Ed does.)

On Friday, they wake up pressed together, the sun coming in through the open window, framed by curtains that Stede hadn’t deemed important enough to close when they’d finally stumbled into the bedroom sometime between rounds two and three. As Ed drools onto his shoulder he wonders about protocols for all of this, then promptly decides he doesn’t care when Ed stirs, groans hotly against his neck, and slides his hand down Stede’s bare belly to where his cock has already begun to tent the front of his boxer briefs. He breathes Wanna fool around again? and it’s smoky and liquid and diffuses itself through Stede in a way that melts him against the warm shape of Ed behind him when he responds Yes, god, let me feel you.

They come together in a gentle swell, the sun shining through Ed’s silver hair, Ed’s name left to hang in its light alongside the speckling motes of dust. For a moment, it almost feels like something different. As if Stede could close his eyes while he pulls Ed close and they catch their breath, and the world would shift to mean something else entirely.

They’re friends. Best friends. Stede’s never had one of those before, never had this kind of intimacy. That’s what it is. Has to be. But he could get used to it, the idea of all of this. Makes him think of the future. Waking up in the arms of somebody he loves, and who loves him in return. Knowing that where there was once emptiness there’s now a garden, meticulously tended to with two sets of careful hands.

The kids are staying that weekend, but as Ed’s leaving, leather jacket halfway on, Stede says, “You can stop by, if you want, before Mary picks them up on Sunday. They miss you.”

“That so?” asks Ed, shrugging his jacket the rest of the way on. He’s aiming for a cool indifference, though Stede can easily pick out the sparkle in Ed’s eyes, underlined with the kind of vulnerability that he doesn’t think anybody else has ever been privileged enough to see.

Even if Ed has never wanted kids of his own he loves them, Stede’s especially. And he’s good with them in ways Stede still hasn’t been able to master, even though he’s been trying and it seems like it is, maybe, working. However, it could also just be the distance and the distinct lack of general misery.

“You’re always welcome,” says Stede, leaning against the doorframe, watching as Ed twists his hair up into a quick bun. “We could get dinner after, if you’d like. Mary should get here around six or so.”

“I’d love to,” Ed says, smiling softly. He grabs the now-empty tote the pastries were brought over in from where it’s draped over one of Stede’s kitchen chairs. When he turns his head, the curve of his neck exposes a dark bruise just above his collar that Stede doesn’t remember putting there. His knees shake a little at it, and he has to swallow hard against the rush of heat that pools in his gut.

Ed turns back around, sees him looking. He doesn’t say anything, but the slant of his mouth going from soft to sly says it all. Before he goes, he moves to take a step forward, and Stede moves to take a step forward, before they’re both stepping back at nearly the same time. Stede’s heart is pounding. He isn’t sure why.

“Yup,” says Ed.

“Yeah,” says Stede.

“Sunday, then.”

“Sunday.”

“Have a good day, Stede.”

Then he’s gone, and Stede feels the emptiness of the apartment acutely, all the way up into the crown moulding.

Sunday, right before Mary is scheduled to pick up the kids. Ed shows up at ten past six after Stede buzzes him up and is immediately cornered by Alma, who wants to ask him about CSI, because she’s just started it and Stede can’t stomach it, but Ed’s always been into true crime.

They chat away about something called a Dollhouse Killer—honestly, what kind of name is that for a killer anyway?—while Stede helps Louis gather his things he’s had scattered about the apartment since Friday evening.

“So your sister tells me you have a big art project due this week,” he says, while he’s carefully helping Louis pack one of his stuffies, the new one they’d gotten at the Natural History Museum, into his bag. He’s been going through a sea mammal phase, and the large whale is the newest addition to the family. Stede may be overcompensating a bit for things.

Louis nods, lips pouted in concentration. The whale really is too big, but if Louis has inherited anything from Stede it’s his stubbornness. “Dad—uh, Doug—has been helping me a lot with it.”

“Is that so?” asks Stede, even as he feels like the apartment floor has been violently yanked around from under his feet. He half-expects to look up and see everything in messy piles on the ground, unsteady as he feels. It’s been hardly a year, and already Doug has graduated to Dad?

It’s an overreaction, he’s aware, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Doesn’t make the rationalisation suddenly manifest and take root. He wasn’t the best father when he and Mary were together. He knows that. That guilt has lingered with him since Alma was born, and it’s only begun to fester over the years, growing blacker and more necrotic around the edges.

“It was a little weird at first,” Louis continues, oblivious to the rushing of Stede’s thoughts, the numbness in his fingers. “He was just mum’s painting instructor, and then he was there at home with us all the time, but he’s pretty cool, actually. Did you know—”

Louis’s voice fades to the background. Do they even need me? The thought barges in, slams its fists against the locked-tight doors of Stede’s mind. That quiet fear, suddenly not so quiet anymore. Mary’s already moved on. The kids have already accepted it. They’ve got Doug. Does he matter? God, will he just be forgotten in the end, just another memory, another oh, how sad, but not surprising book club gossip up in White Plains?

Across the room, where Ed’s helping Alma pack up her weekend bag, he looks up and over, catches the corner of Stede’s eye and must take note of Stede’s panic, or the increasingly frazzled twist of his hands. He’s quickly crossing over to them, steering Louis into a conversation while Stede tries to quiet his mind through scrubbing the dishes left in the sink from lunch.

It works, or it doesn’t work, he doesn’t know. He scrubs, and he scrubs, even though the coloured plastic cups don’t have anything on them and the matching plastic plates have long passed spotless.

——

Later, once the kids have gone home. Once the apartment is quiet and tidied once more, and Ed is sitting down next to Stede on the couch. There’s an energy between them that he can’t put his finger on; it isn’t anything he’s ever felt around Stede before, and it leaves him feeling like he’s just set his foot down wrong and can’t find his balance.

He hadn’t heard what Louis said that must have set Stede off. Not sure what it could be, figures if it was anything serious Stede would have told him by now. So it must be something that’s wiggled its way into Stede’s brain, and the only thing that can coax those things back out is time and a distraction.

“What do you need?” he asks quietly. He strokes his knuckles across the arch of Stede’s cheekbone. Wishes he could smooth out the wrinkles there, the ones made deeper by whatever is going on inside Stede’s head. Wishes he could hop in there and tell it to shut up himself. “I’m here. Tell me what you need from me.”

He can do this. If there’s anything that Ed can do, it’s simply be present.

Stede catches Ed’s wrist before he can pull away. Tight grip, gentle fingers. Ed looks down, watches Stede let go, then thread their fingers together. Holds his breath, doesn’t let it out until Stede asks, “Can I fuck you?”

The words strike deep, light him up, twist through him to leave scorch patterns in their wake. Ed exhales. Nods. “Of course you can.”

You don’t have to ask, he doesn't say, because he knows Stede will need to ask. To make sure. Because he cares. And Ed doesn’t—he still doesn’t know what to do with that, afraid that he’ll make one mistake and send Stede off for good.

It’s quiet as they make their way to the bedroom. Stede shuts the door, despite them being the only ones left in the apartment. Lingers there a moment or two, back to the room, shoulders moving with his breathing. Ed takes a seat on the bed, and when Stede finally turns around, he tugs off his shirt and drops it to the floor. He doesn’t miss how Stede’s eyes follow it, or how the rise and fall of his chest quickens.

“Come over here?” It isn’t meant to be a question, but it comes out that way, mirroring the hesitation in the movements of Ed’s hands when he sets them on his thighs.

Stede does. No hesitation. He sits, and their thighs touch; then he turns, and he runs his palm across Ed’s shoulder, across the eternal swoop of the hawk in flight at his throat. In its wake gooseflesh scatters. Makes him feel all turned inside-out, a sensitive mess, nerve endings hissing at the cool air. Ed doesn’t know if he’s ever been touched like this. Not during any of their other times fooling around. Maybe, truly, not ever.

Stede’s head tips down. His hand slides up the inseam of Ed’s jeans. He’s hard in his own jeans; Ed can see its shape, how it pushes against the denim. Thinks about how much he loves this part of sex, before the clothes are off, when he can see a man’s arousal through them. When he can touch it, feel the desperation under his palm, and know that it’s for him, because of him.

“Take your pants off for me?” Stede asks.

Ed’s cock throbs, swells. Stede’s hand slides higher, stopping just short of the shape of it. Ed pushes his hips up into it, catching a grunt at the back of his throat, and goes for his belt. The clink of the buckle, loud, same with the whisper of the belt as he pulls it through his belt loops, drops it to the floor.

Once he pops the button and pulls the zipper down, Stede finally moves his hand from Ed’s thigh, slips it into the open flaps of his jeans and curves his palm around Ed’s cock. God. Ed spreads his legs and lets his head fall back. Watches the profile of Stede’s face, the flex of his exposed forearm when he rubs over Ed’s through his briefs.

Thinks, Fuck, he really is beautiful.

Then, suddenly, Stede stops. He pulls back, puts space between them, and as the haze of arousal recedes, Ed finally shakes himself from it enough to ask, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Stede isn’t crying, but he isn’t looking up, and Ed knows his body language well enough by now. He’s known something was wrong since right before Mary came to pick the kids up, but Stede hadn’t said anything, and he hadn’t wanted to pry.

“I didn’t—” Stede cuts himself off, and Ed waits patiently. “It’s stupid,” Stede says. Ed’s chest constricts with the way Stede says it, the concrete surety of it that means he believes what he’s saying.

“Nothing you ever feel is stupid,” he says fiercely. “Everything has value, Stede. No emotion is ever too much or too little. You know you can tell me anything.”

Stede sighs, scrubbing the heels of his palms across his eyes. “I don’t know if you heard it, but—Louis called Doug ‘Dad’ and I just…”

Ed gets it. He may not be a father, but he understands. Stede has sacrificed so much to get where he is, and he loves his kids dearly. And Ed knows that he’s been feeling absent lately with the move to the city and the adjustment to life alone for the first time in his life.

“Hey. Look at me. That doesn’t change that you’re also still their father. Okay? You’re so amazing, Stede Bonnet, and those kids love you so much.”

“Fuck,” Stede sighs, turning to rest his head against Ed’s shoulder. “I knew it would happen, I’m not an idiot. I just didn’t expect it to feel like…this.”

Ed curves his hand over Stede’s skull, threads his fingers through his hair. In response Stede shifts closer, wrapping an arm around Ed’s side; then there’s the heat of his breath, the damp warmth of his mouth, pressing against the ridge of his collarbone. Ed exhales, and Stede exhales in turn. Slides his hand down, stopping at the loose waistband of his jeans. Lower, then, slipping beneath his briefs.

“C’mon,” Ed murmurs, tightening his fingers in Stede’s hair to hear him whine. “Help me take my pants off and I’ll be so good for you.”

Stede pulls back, puts space between them. His eyes are dark, damp at the corners. Ed searches them, finds nothing but the want he knows has to be mirrored in his own eyes. Reaches out, slips his hand under Stede’s polo, pushes up, up, until Stede gets the hint and tugs it up and off.

“You’re always good for me,” says Stede, just before tipping forward and taking the waistband of both Ed’s jeans and underwear. It’s a scramble, then, and Ed shudders at Stede’s words, at the weight of his eyes on his body when he sprawls out and holds himself up on his elbows.

Ed opens his mouth, but the words stick, so he does what he does best and asks with the spread of his body, the half-lid of his eyes. Stede needs this, but so does he. Didn’t realise how much until this moment, almost shocked at the desperate want that pulses through him.

“Get your fingers in me,” he says, in lieu of anything else, and holds the groan Stede lets out tightly to his chest. “Fuck me on ‘em good and hard, mate.”

“Christ, Ed,” Stede replies, flushed already down to his chest. He’s dripping onto the sheets between his legs, and Ed’s dripping onto his belly, and he isn’t sure he’s ever wanted somebody like this.

Stede, his heart beats. Clear as ever, as anything Ed’s heard before. Stede slides one finger in, two, crooks them and fucks Ed just how Ed likes, until he’s whimpering and pulling his leg up too far, far enough he knows he’ll ache tomorrow.

Stede. Stede. A reverberating chime, right there in his chest, as if it’s always belonged there, curled up and snoozing and just waiting for the right moment.

Stede slicks up his cock, tosses the lube towards the foot of the bed, and Ed parts his legs around him, urging him in. They’re so close, nearly kissing distance. Heat and hot breath, the tang of sex and the beginnings of sweat. Ed’s eyes flick down to Stede’s mouth, then back up to his eyes. Finds Stede already looking at him, a dumbstruck look on his face, like he’s shocked to find who’s below him.

Hesitantly, Ed lifts his arms, hooks them behind Stede’s neck and drags him in. In response Stede shuffles closer, the sheets whispering under his knees as they bunch up around the curves of Ed’s arse.

“Ed,” Stede says, soft.

“I’m here,” Ed says, nodding. “I’m ready.”

Stede lines up. Slides inside, and they both gasp, Ed arching up off the bed. It’s been some time since he’s gotten fucked, but he doesn’t remember it feeling like this. Before, it had always just felt like sex. Good, because of course it’s good, but still just sex in the end.

He doesn’t know what this is. Doesn’t know how to explain how everything feels like it’s turned up to eleven, how he can’t seem to get close enough, get Stede deep enough. How, even though they’re here, how Stede’s carved a place inside Ed, Ed is still waiting for it all to fall apart. To wake up, and find out none of it ever happened, and none of it ever will.

Because there’s this thing, and the thing is that he’s afraid. Not of heartbreak; he’s had plenty of that. What he’s afraid of, most of all, is loss. And, for the first time in years, he has something to be afraid of losing. For the first time in years, he believes he could love somebody again. And maybe, for the first time in his life, he believes that he’s capable of getting loved in return.

Stede’s above him, breathing hard and moving in a steady rhythm that falters occasionally, when his chest hitches. He’s looking down at Ed, and his eyes keep darting from Ed’s eyes to his mouth.

And Ed is—

He knows. He’s felt it for weeks now, and he’s tried to ignore it the best he can. Tried pushing it away and smothering it and flat-out ignoring it. Because he can’t be. Because he ruins everything he touches, and Stede doesn’t deserve that, and Stede’s looking at him like he’s never seen anything better, and that can’t be true, and—

Fuck.

Stede smiles down at him, huffs out a laugh when he slides his fingers through Ed’s hair and leans in closer and says, hushed-secret, “God, Edward, you feel so good. I’ve never felt anything like this.” Like it isn’t upending Ed’s entire world. Like it isn’t making his heart want to leap out of his chest. Like it isn’t two steps down from a declaration.

Ed’s eyes grow damp and wide and his lips part. His chest cracks open, but nothing spills out, because there’s nothing left to spill out.

It’s all already here, and it’s been here for quite some time.

Fuck.

He’s in love with Stede.

Chapter Text

Ed goes home that night. Stede had offered to let him stay, since by the time they’d cleaned up and forced themselves out of bed for food it was close to nine, and once they’d gotten dinner delivered and eaten the clock was perilously close to half-past midnight, but Ed insisted. Headed to the station despite the F and G not working properly that weekend, out Stede’s door and down the front steps with hardly more than a See you later, mate without looking back, a retreating cloud of precariously-piled grey-black topknot and the fading traces of Tom Ford cologne.

That leaves Stede still in the living room at five to one, feeling anxiety begin a slow circular slither in his belly. It was an exit so unlike Ed, so completely different from their dynamic, that he had no choice but to begin to speculate about what brought it on.

He hadn’t hurt Ed, had he? No, surely Ed would have said something. And he seemed to be enjoying it, right? Casting back through every second of their evening, flipping through a snapshot of each moment as it happened, Stede looks for anything he might have missed, anything that would tell him if Ed had just been too polite to actually say something.

He comes up empty-handed. He wonders what he did wrong.

When he recalls how Ed had looked under him, those wide, dark eyes and the trust in their endless depths, Stede feels a bit unsteady on his feet. Maybe he had misread things. Maybe he meant to comfort him in some other way, but once it started he went along with it. That thought sends him into another spiral completely.

God, needing to be comforted like that over something so trivial as Louis calling Doug what he is. Doug is a lovely man; if anybody is going to be the stepfather to his children, Stede’s glad it’s him. In the moment, though, it had just felt—bruised. Like a thumb pressing on it wrong, a little too hard, grinding it in, reminding him of an old ache that went down to the bone.

It’s been natural to turn to Ed, to fall in to Ed. It’s what he’s been doing for the past year, even if it’s taken him until now to notice it. Stede doesn’t have a great frame of reference for what a true home is, but sometimes that’s how Ed feels. Open doors, open windows to let a sweet-smelling cross breeze in. Warmth and comfort and everything you’d expect from a place you call your own.

When he was a kid, Stede often wondered what having a best friend was like. Someone to bare your soul to, confess things to in the middle of the night. Know that they’re there, on the other line or across the city or, as he picks up his phone, just a text away on a chilled Brooklyn street.

Did I do something? he types, then deletes.

Are you okay? No.

Did I hurt you? Absolutely not.

I’m sorry if I did something. If there’s anything I can do, please tell me. This one Stede hesitates on for a while, thumb hovering over the send button. He finally sits down on the couch, deletes the message, and types another. This one he sends.

To Ed
Let me know when you get home.

The apartment is silent. A clock ticks, grows louder when Stede tunes in to it. He’s been living by himself for a while, but he’s never felt as alone as he does now. Never felt how it presses in on all sides, reminding him of everything he is, and everything he isn’t.

Then, when five minutes pass:

To Ed
I had a good time tonight.

——

On the subway, between stations as the train rattles through, showing sparse blurred peeks of people waiting on the distant platforms, Ed’s phone lights up. He’s got Movements playing through his earbuds, and he’s got the whiplash bond with the song of feeling like everything is falling apart, and now he’s got Stede’s text coming through just under the album artwork for No Good Left to Give.

Let me know when you get home.

Ed rubs his hand over his mouth. Breathes in deep. He hadn’t meant to rush out like he did. There is some guilt for that, and it throbs within him now like the stab of a gut-ache. Hunched over in the seat, he stares down at his phone, at Stede’s words. Watches the service bars drop, switch over to SOS. Thinks back to Stede’s bed, and how everything had clicked then, shifted, like it was just out of place and simply needed to be knocked back into its groove.

I love him. He’d thought it when Stede had taken his wrists in one large hand and pinned them above his head. When he’d whimpered, hitching his legs up around Stede’s waist, letting him in deeper, letting him fuck harder. When he’d wondered, not for the first time, not at all, but for the first time consciously aware, of what Stede’s lips would feel like against his own, and what he’d taste like, and how it would feel to swallow down his moans.

He doesn’t know what to do with the enormity of these feelings. It’s almost like a natural conclusion, to fall in love with Stede, in the end. Like it was where he should have been all along. Maybe he was there already before all of this. Maybe he just really is that fuckin’ clueless. Platonic and romantic love look the same from a distance, don’t they? Only until you get up close and can see between the lines that you know what’s what.

Fuck. He rests an elbow on his knee and knows he has to look a mess to the handful of people in the car with him. There’s another hickey on his neck, and his hair is up, and he’s slouched on the seat in a way that’s obvious enough to anybody who can put two and two together.

Still, a proud little thrill runs electric through him. He’d been the one to comfort Stede when he needed it. It had been because of him that Stede had smiled, laughed, and Ed had no idea how it had escaped his attention, the way he sought out those things, leaning in like a plant seeking the golden bar of sunlight as it moves across the floor.

He should tell Stede. Shouldn’t he? But not make it that he’d, like, have to reciprocate his feelings. It would be wrong to lie to his best friend, is all. 

That’s what Ed tells himself. It’s what sits better on his conscience. It’s what he wants to believe is true. Just like when he was a kid, trying to ignore his father's yells, the crash of dinnerware against a distant wall, his mom’s quiet, strained voice. Pretend it isn’t happening. Pretend you’re anywhere else.

The train rattles to a slowing stop at his station, and Ed stands, lurches forward with a wince. He stares down at the text from Stede until the words tangle themselves up. Types out, shaking fingers, tight throat: I’m in love with you.

For a moment, Ed imagines sending it. For a moment, he pretends. For a moment, he’s a different Ed, one who confesses to his best friend, who has a happy ending, even though in his experience happy endings have only ever lived in the pages of books.

Right before the train doors open, Ed deletes the message.

——

By the time Stede passes out just after two, his phone a soft blue glow on the mattress next to him, Ed still hasn’t texted back.

——

The next morning still dawns, even though it feels like the world should have stopped, frozen in that sticky revelation, stuck in a mire and doomed to pull him down. Ed wakes with that dawn, just a few hours of sleep under his belt and a heavy knot in his belly.

He comes up with a bullshit excuse about why he left in a rush, why he didn’t reply to Stede’s texts until the next morning when he rarely goes more than a few hours without responding to him. Stede should be able to see through it. He doesn’t. Just accepts it at face value and they move on. Ed makes himself move on.

So he’s in love with his best friend. So what? He’s lived through worse. He’ll survive.

Time limps on after that. The holidays approach, and Ed throws himself back into work. Not like he hasn’t been there, but he’s definitely been distracted the past month, and it’s been pretty obvious from the front of house all the way back to the dishwashers. Gossip’s been running amuck, that’s for sure. Ed’s heard the whispers.

When he gets in on Tuesday for prep he makes sure he’s extra gruff, shuts anything down the second he gets wind of it. They don’t need to know the reason that he’s gruff is that he spent all of Monday wanting to cry until he finally did. Smoked too fucking much, too, alternating between blaring his Metal Mix playlist and watching rom-coms and wishing his life could be like that.

He sulked. That’s the best way to put it, juvenile as it sounds, but adults are allowed to fucking sulk every once in awhile too, alright. His employees don’t need to know that, either—they just need to see the thin set of his mouth, the straightness to his shoulders and back where he’s normally loose, liquid, sauntering his way through the restaurant like nothing has ever bothered him before in his life. This is an Ed of ten, twenty years ago, chip on his shoulder, teeth bared and hungry to prove himself, to snap his jaws at the world the second it tries to turn on him again.

Ed’s old man was a piece of shit, but if Ed learned anything from him it’s that intimidation is the best offence. Intimidate people, and they'll leave you alone.

Ed doesn’t like being alone, but it’s better than having to fake it around people who know you better than you’d care to admit.

——

Sometime in the middle of the divorce, when being alone would often be too much, Stede had gotten hooked on card-making videos as a way to de-stress after the endless lawyer meetings. He tells himself that if he isn’t going back to work at his father’s company then he should find a hobby, if not another job. Except, he doesn’t know what he’d want to do for work, and just the thought makes his palms clammy. A hobby is low-stakes, a way to keep his hands, and his mind, busy.

He buys cardstock. Stamps. Those little squares of puffy tape. He gets everything he sees recommended on the Facebook Groups and then some. The markers, those expensive ones every faceless set of hands swears by. Buys storage for them all, files everything away neatly on the new desk he’s got set up in his bedroom.

It feels good pouring his energy into something creative. He’d spent so much of his life toiling away, hunched under the weight of corporate fluorescents, endless spreadsheets, horrid smalltalk with coworkers he could barely stand, and Monday morning all-hands meetings. Even then he’d known it had all been a waste. With space between him and the company now, he can see that it’s even more than that. Not just a waste, but a leech, leaving him lean and tired.

Life is supposed to be all about a grand, wonderful adventure, isn’t it? No use sitting inside, watching it go on without you. Or waiting, hoping that it will come to you. It involves work, and sometimes that work is hard, and it’s scary, but worth it in the end.

Occasionally, Stede thinks back to that night in Ed’s bar, right after the divorce was finalised. How he’d admitted out loud, for the first time, his fear of inadequacy at the end of all of it. The one thing in his life he’d done to try and make things better, and what if it all wasn’t enough anyway? What if, when he finally hit that finish line, it still didn’t matter?

If it wasn’t for Ed, Stede would probably still be sitting on that chair, head in his hands. At least some part of him would. Like an imprint left behind, scorched there for eternity. A reminder of that inadequacy.

He doesn’t know how he deserves somebody like Ed. Still feels a bit like a lost duckling, if he's honest, hiding out under the safety and shade of Ed’s wing.

The card he’s working on is for Alma’s birthday. He hopes he’s getting it right; he isn’t quite sure if she’s still into cats or not, but he couldn’t pass up the stamp set he’d seen online.

It’s a piss-poor attempt at righting the wrongs of the last decade, but Stede has to try, has to start somewhere. He’s learned, over the past year and even the past month, that trying is better than sitting back and doing nothing at all.

In all the grey of his life, he needs to latch onto the one bit of colour peeking out through a break in the clouds before it fades away.

——

A do-nothing Monday, restaurant closed. Ed hasn’t had a do-nothing day in awhile now, and he leans into it impressively, not rising from bed until noon and then, after a shower and dressing in the cosiest sweatshirt and sweatpants set he’s got, immediately parking himself on the sofa to play Stardew Valley while his coffee grows cold on the end table.

Though his mind is always going a hundred miles an hour in a million different directions, there’s something to be said about these lazy sort of days. The world is narrowed down to your home, and your life seems to be the only thing that exists.

A little after five, a text from Stede comes through. Putting his book down, Ed swipes to open the text message without looking first, and—

Oh. That’s…that is Stede’s dick, and it’s hard, and Stede’s thick fingers are curled around it, thumb just barely tucked over his forefinger with the slick head peeking out. It’s sent with a text, just a few simple words that tuck themselves right into Ed’s chest like they’ve already got a home there.

Miss you.

Fuck. Ed shouldn’t. He tries to tell himself that it’s a bad idea. Tries to reason that Stede’s had more than enough experience by now, that he’s ready to be set free to have whoever’s dick it is that he wants.

But Ed is fucking selfish. He wants this. And right now, it seems, Stede wants him. So why wouldn’t he ask? If you’ve already got one foot in the fire with no intention of getting away, it’s pointless to try to hop out.

To Stede
were you thinking of me?

To Ed
Who else would I think about?

To Stede
fuck, stede. can’t just say shit like that man
i make you that hard?

To Ed
You have no idea, Ed.

You have no idea, Ed thinks wildly. He has to reach down and grip himself through his sweats, breathe until the shock of lust finally passes and he can type again.

To Stede
fuck
what were you thinking about? specifically
this’ll be good practice for your future dates. yknow

To Ed
I was thinking about when you let me fuck you. How it felt to be inside you. The way you clenched around me when you came.
And I started to wonder what it would be like to be fucked.

To Stede
christ stede
really?

To Ed
Yes. God, Ed. I don’t think I’ve ever needed something this badly before.
Are you home?

Oh, goddamn it. Goddamn it all to hell.

Ed lifts his arse to tug his sweats down to his thighs, pulls his hard cock free and wraps his hand around it. Gives himself a moment to feel, to run the web of his hand up the underside and give in to the warm pull of simple pleasure. Then takes a picture; sends it, no text. None needed, not this time. Thinks maybe never, if Stede’s involved. It’s always going to be yes. It’s always going to be I’m here for you.

His cock aches. His heart echoes it. His phone buzzes.

To Ed
There you are.
I’ll be there shortly.

——

“Your neighbour gave me a weird look before you answered the door,” says Stede, tugging his shirt up and over his head. It ruffles his hair, makes it stick up in twenty different ways, and he’s so goddamn cute that Ed thinks he could choke on it.

They’d hardly said hello, just went right into stripping on their way to Ed’s room, leaving a trail of clothes behind them. Fuck, he hasn’t been this eager since his twenties. Maybe. Maybe never, really, because there had never been a Stede before to make him feel like he’s riding his old motorcycle handsfree down the highway. And now Stede’s broad back, with its countless tawny constellations, is turned to him, and he’s sliding his briefs off to give Ed a nice show of the gentle curves of his arse, and Ed wants him. Wants him so badly it’s like it sticks to his teeth, like it’s a bit of sugar left there to chew its way right through the enamel.

“What?” he asks, teasing. “Am I not allowed to have visitors?” He’d put on sweatpants the moment Stede said he was coming over, and he shucks them easily now, tossing them somewhere that may be his closet, doesn’t matter anyway.

“I think she thought I was just a booty call.”

Ed pauses in stepping out of his underwear. Feels his heart pick up, slow back down, drop someplace towards his feet. Is that what this is? Suppose it is, since all they’d done was send each other dick pics and now here they are, dicks out and already bobbing hard between their legs. But it doesn’t sit right when it’s in the context of Stede. He could never be just anything.

The truth of it, though, verges a bit too closely to those three words he can’t say. So instead he does what he does best, deflects and says, “She’s not exactly wrong.”

“Is that all I am to you?” Stede laments, smiling, backing towards the bed. “Just a booty call for when you get lonely?”

No. “I mean, if the dick pic fits…”

“Oh, fuck you,” Stede replies with a laugh. He reclines back on the bed, scooting to get himself comfortable, and his legs fall open, and—

“Fuck off,” Ed breathes. The little hint of black between Stede’s cheeks can’t possibly be what he thinks it is. “Did you—?”

Stede blushes. “I wanted to be ready.”

Jesus motherfucking Christ. Ed’s amazed he’s still got a heartbeat or any other motor function with how much blood rushes down to his cock. Had Stede done that before he sent the photo? Or was that why he’d told Ed it would be a bit before he could come over?

“Do you like it?” Stede asks, spreading his legs wider, tilting his hips up. Ed bites back a whimper at the way it exposes more of the plug, how it shines on the dim light of his bedroom. “You don’t think it would be too presumptuous if I were to do this with a date?”

A rollercoaster feeling, a sharp turn upward and a sharp race downward. Of course Stede still thinks it’s practise—Ed hasn’t said otherwise, and he doesn’t think he will. He could stop it, tell Stede he’s ready, and Stede would probably listen.

“I think they’d find it really fuckin’ hot, mate,” he says. Best not let that thought grow wings. Focus on how Stede looks spread out like he is, powerful thighs and a hard, wet cock leaning against his belly. “God, yeah, look at you. Spread your legs a little bit more for me—there you go. What is this, the biggest one?”

Stede nods. When he breathes out, it’s tremulous. Stede makes losing his composure look good, Ed thinks; Ed’s always liked the slow play of it, always starting with Stede’s breath, then the pinking of his skin. He lets himself fall gradually, taking each new step as it comes. 

“Took me a little bit of time to work up to it.”

“Yeah?” Ed reaches between his legs, gently squeezes his cock. He doesn’t miss the way Stede’s eyes flick down, or the way his tongue swipes across his lower lip.

“Yes,” says Stede, getting pinker by the second. “But it felt so good. None of them were right until this last one.”

Then he reaches down as well and takes himself in hand, strokes once, root to tip. Ed’s next breath is just as shuddery as Stede’s. For a few moments they both stay like that, pulling at each other while they watch. Ed gives himself over to it, the raw intimacy of it, the slick sounds of their fists on their cocks.

“The other night,” he begins, “when you fucked me—”

“I don’t want to use a condom,” Stede replies quickly. “I should have asked then, but…”

“I would have told you if I wanted to.” Ed knows he should have wanted it. Knows the lines have blurred, and maybe a little bit too much. Wonders if they’ve stopped existing at all.

“Communication is important.” Stede smiles, a little in-joke, and Ed tries to smile back. Like a heat mirage on a highway, the lines wobble back in place.

He climbs off the bed to head into the bathroom to grab a hand towel, and once he’s back he urges Stede’s hips up to position it under him. Then he eases the plug out, and it falls onto the towel, which he deposits onto the bedside table. Stede’s hole winks at him, a little red, a little puffy. Slick still with lube. Ed thinks about putting his fingers in there. His cock. Thinks about licking deep into Stede, showing him the type of pleasure that can come from the inside out. Where nobody else has ever been.

“Have you ever thought about rimming?” Ed asks, popping open the lube.

“Sometimes,” Stede admits, letting out a little moan when two of Ed’s slick fingers circle over his hole. They press in, clutched tight in that pink muscle. Stede breathes out a groan when Ed keeps sinking in. “Do a lot of people like it?”

“Definitely something you ask about beforehand. Still good?” He’s two knuckles deep now, Stede’s hole stretched wide around them. Ed burns with arousal, but he can wait, wants to make it so good for Stede.

Stede’s fingers grip hard into the sheets beside his hip. Pleasure, not pain, and Ed’s lips part while he watches, fucks his fingers in deep and pulses them up, searching for that spot. Knows he’s found it when Stede squeaks out a moan, and that hand flies up to grab Ed’s elbow.

“Okay,” Stede pants, breathless, and Ed says, “Okay?” and before he can do anything more than pull his fingers out Stede’s surging up, gripping his shoulders and twisting so that Ed lands where Stede had been laying with an oomph.

“Oh,” Ed says. “That kind of okay.”

Stede grins, settling himself over Ed’s hips. “Good man.”

Ed doesn’t want to dwell on what those two simple words do to him. So he doesn’t.

Stede takes hold of Ed’s cock and lines it up, bearing down with an inhale and a groan, head lolling back on his shoulders. His thighs tremble on either side of Ed’s hips as he takes each inch slowly, gasping out when he sinks past the widest part of Ed’s cock. Ed feels his heart is lodged someplace high up in his throat while he watches the way his cock slowly disappears into Stede’s body.

“Oh god,” whispers Stede when he’s halfway. He clenches, and Ed doesn’t think Stede’s aware of what he’s doing or how much it saws at his self-control like a knife. “It’s so much.”

“Do you need to stop?” He strokes over the fronts of Stede’s thighs, up against the grain of the hair that grows thinner and softer there and then back down. Stede’s still mostly hard; between his legs, backlit by the low light of the room, is the widest part of Ed’s slick cock. “We can switch positions, if that’ll help.”

Stede shakes his head, and his lips are doing that determined set thing that they do. Tipping his chin down, he meets Ed’s eyes. “No, I want to do it this way. Let me just—give me a second.”

“Bear down,” Ed reminds him. “Go slowly. Relax, mate. You’re doing so well for me.”

“You’re a bit—hah—bigger than the dildo,” says Stede, sinking further down, down, until his arse finally meets Ed’s hips. They both moan.

“Yeah,” Ed manages tightly, “an actual cock can be a very different experience.”

“Fuck.” Stede’s voice has gone high and tight, throat bobbing as his head tips back.

“How are you feeling? Need a tug to get you back up?”

“N-no, I’m, hold on—”

Stede experiments with circling his hips, and Ed chokes out something, toes curling into the sheets. As he watches, Stede’s cock begins stiffening back up, swaying with a twitch. His chest swells with a groan. “Oh, yes, that’s—I think I get it, now.”

“Clearly,” Ed groans, sliding his hands up the broad lines of Stede’s torso, back down to his hips. The muscle there undulates smoothly, save for a few stutters while Stede finds his stride. “You’re a fuckin’ natural. Don’t know how you do it, Stede, Christ.”

“You make it easy,” Stede replies, like that’s a normal fucking thing to say to your best buddy, like people who are absolutely and totally just fucking friends just say these things in the middle of sex. Then his hands go to Ed’s chest, twin points of pressure right there while Stede arches up, down, dragging Ed’s cock in and out of the warm-slick-tight of him. “Is it good?”

“Good? Fuck, Stede. Fuckin’ amazing, is what it is.” It is—Stede is unselfconscious, letting his body move, taking what he wants with a confidence that didn’t exist a month ago. Seated on Ed’s lap with Ed’s cock in his arse is a man who knows his body and what he wants, and will take it when he wants it.

It’s really fucking hot.

And it’s so easy to pretend that it’s more than what it is. That the shape of them fills out to more than an arrangement. That this is all Ed’s, all Stede’s. That after they’ll kiss, and cuddle, and say I love you.

Maybe this will be the closest Ed will ever get to it, and maybe that’s okay. Because he has it, right now, before anybody else does. He’ll always have the memories of these moments, carefully filed away in a shoebox in his mind, ready to be pulled out and reminisced upon at will.

Ed knows he’s selfish. He wants Stede’s body. His mind. His heart. He wants the brilliance that he sees within him, that shines bright as the sun through the cracks of the armour he’s carefully crafted around himself. He wants all of Stede, down to the molecules and atoms that make up his very being, and he wants the world to know. He wants to crack open his chest and carve his name into his ribs. He wants to possess, and be possessed.

Stede rides him. He moans Ed’s name. Ed moans Stede’s right back, and he tells him how good he is, how hot he looks. What Ed doesn’t say is how perfect he thinks Stede is. How much he wants him every second of every day. The way I love you feels on his tongue, beating against the backs of his teeth, desperate to make itself known. More right than anything ever's ever known before. Sweet as sugar, soft as silk, dangerous as fire.

The evening solidifies itself into snapshots, and Ed stores them away, and he knows that, sooner rather than later, they’ll be worn at the edges from being handled too much.

——

Afterwards, panting, head on Ed’s chest and Ed’s arm around Stede’s shoulder, Stede strokes his fingers along the sweat beaded on Ed’s collar bone, caught golden in the low lamplight. He doesn’t know it yet, but this exact moment will be filed away inside his own mind, handled over and over. He’ll think about it, and he’ll wonder what was different.

——

To Ed
Ed! Are you home right now?

To Stede
yeah i am, you alright?

To Ed
Perfectly so! Mind if I call you?

To Stede
course, mate. never gonna say no to that

To Ed
Excellent, give me a few minutes.

“What’s all this, then?” asks Ed once he’s answered Stede’s call. Does a quick pass of his living room, shaking out some of his nervous energy, and looks out his open window to the empty street below. Then wonders why he even has nervous energy, because this is just Stede, and he’s never been nervous around Stede. But something about this call, about the energy and abruptness of Stede’s texts, feels different, and he doesn’t like the way it presses itself against him.

“I’ve got a date!” Stede announces.

Ed’s heart drops straight to the floor beneath his feet. Ice floods down his spine, spreads over his arms to chill his fingers. He gets the urge to sink to the ground right alongside where his heart is, where it beats with the dying gasp of a breached fish.

“His name is Ricky,” says Stede, continuing on like Ed’s life isn’t imploding around him, reduced to rubble that piles up around his ankles and traps him in place. His ears ring. “We’ve been chatting for a week or so now, so when he asked if I wanted to get together, I thought, why not? I think I’m ready for that, thanks to you.”

Ed sinks down onto his couch.

You knew this would happen. That was the whole point of it. Stede was never yours to begin with. How could he ever choose somebody like you? All you’ve ever been good for has been sex, not a relationship. You ruin those, remember?

Wonders if he’s dying.

“It doesn’t seem anything serious yet, but he’s an interior designer, and we really hit it off discussing how horrid our families are, which is quite funny if you think about it—”

Maybe that would be better. Curl up into a ball and die.

Hear that? That’s the person Stede should be with. Someone more like him. Someone who can discuss design and fashion, who comes from a world you’ve never been able to reach, no matter how much money you make. You don’t belong in that world.

Stupid. He’s so fucking stupid, isn’t he? Let himself get all tangled up in this when he said he wouldn't. Let himself ruin the one good thing he’s got, just like he feared. Can’t have anything good with his rough hands. They don’t know how to be gentle.

He thought he had more time with this. More moments to squirrel away, pretend it’s more than what it is. What they are.

“I think it’s just going to be drinks this time, to see how it goes. But, oh, Ed, I’m so excited!”

“Yeah?” Ed cracks out. The words come out like broken glass, like they’re being plucked out by over large tweezers, jarring against the backs of his teeth on the way out. It’s like he’s above himself, watching himself. “That’s great, man. Seriously.”

You could tell him, but what would it matter?

Ed doesn’t remember the last time he felt this close to throwing up. He’d barely been able to stomach the rest of the phone call where Stede had been telling him all about Ricky and their date, and the moment he hangs up Ed stumbles into the bathroom and pushes the toilet lid up and heaves until he hopes something will come up. Until it was his heart, hopefully, plopped all neat and bloody in the bowl for him to stare at. Fuckin’ useless thing anyway.

Fuck. Ed exhales harshly. He should have said something. Shouldn’t have been such a fucking coward about it all. I think I’m in love with you. That was all he needed to say. Ed sobs, and it echoes in the bathroom. He pulls away from the toilet and curls in on himself with his back to the chilled tile wall. Gooseflesh rises along his arms.

God, what an idiot he’s been. He knew he shouldn’t have agreed to it, the whole fuckin’ friends-with-benefits situation. 

Izzy was right. Of course he was right. There’s a reason these things never end well. There’s a reason somebody almost always gets their heart broken in the end.

You’ll fall in love with anybody who gets between your legs and calls you pretty, won’t you?

Only…

Only, no. Because Ed has never felt like this. Never felt like somebody’s reached into his chest, into his belly, all that dark space, and took hold of his guts. Started violently pulling, lassoing his heart on the way up to yank it out, too. Never felt hollow like this, never felt so fucking numb that it scares him, not even when he was at his lowest.

And he wants to be mad at Stede. Wants to fucking hate him good and proper, wants it to be all his fault. But it isn’t, because this was the plan from the beginning, and no amount of wanting is going to change that. Things just are.

“Everything okay, boss?”

Fang’s voice cuts straight through Ed’s thoughts, makes him jump from where he’s been leaning against the wall just outside his office and staring off into nothing, trying to pretend he gives a shit about anything happening around him.

“Jesus Christ, man,” he hisses, hand to his chest. “Fuckin’ warn a guy. How is it you sneak around so well?”

“Sorry,” says Fang, not sounding sorry at all. “Just wanted to check up on you. You seemed a bit off today.”

Ed is horrified to feel the first sting of tears. Jesus Christ, get it fucking together, man. “‘M fine.”

“You yelled at Roach.”

“Maybe he deserved it.”

“Ed.”

Ed groans, then sighs. He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes. The din of the bar makes itself known, all those layered voices, the clink of glassware, the pulse of the music. It makes Ed feel too exposed, even though nobody comes down here unless they’re looking for him, and with the side-glances he’s been receiving from his staff he doubts anybody will anytime soon. Still. “Not out here.” He opens the door to his office and ushers Fang inside.

“Something personal?” asks Fang, once the door is shut, the sounds of the kitchen muffled.

“Naw, just…” Ed walks over to his desk and collapses into the chair with a sigh. Immediately he folds himself up, knees to chest and boot heels on the edge of the desk, trying to close himself off as much as he can from the direction this conversation is going in. Saying it out loud makes it too fucking real. “Stede has a date tomorrow.”

“Does he? That’s good for him!”

“Yeah. Suppose it is.”

A beat, then Fang takes a seat in the comfortably broken-down armchair across from Ed’s desk. Ed stares resolutely at the thighs of his jeans. Not up, can’t look up, can’t see the sympathy he knows will be in Fang’s eyes, because that might just be the thing that breaks him.

Ed likes to think he’s strong. He’s been through enough, faced enough bullshit to be able to withstand its force. That’s something he’s prided himself on. Knock Ed Teach down, he’s just going to get back up stronger than ever, lips shaped in a snarl and fists clenched for the next hit.

This is something new, though, something that rends him in ways that nothing else ever has, makes him hurt in ways he never knew possible.

“You don’t sound very happy for him,” Fang eventually says. And, fuck . Ed’s throat grows tight, and he squeezes his eyes shut, clenches his jaw. A landslide of memories, all tangled up with emotions, come roaring down at him, and he can’t find shelter in time.

That first time, on Stede’s couch. Ed knew it would be ruinous, but he didn’t want to stop, or couldn’t. The second time, the third time. Watching as Stede quickly grew comfortable with himself and knowing that he was the reason for it. Knowing that his mark would be on Stede, indelible. How Stede feels like a homecoming, or a perfect late-spring day, that kind that feels rare and impossible. That’s Stede: rare and impossible.

“I just…I like him, Fang. As more than a friend.” Ed finally looks at him. His voice has gone thin and wobbly, barely able to hold the weight of itself up. “And I know I shouldn’t, and I know it was a bad fuckin’ idea to start sleeping with him in the first place, but…”

He knew better than to fall in love with a fuckbuddy, but that doesn’t matter to your heart. Logic has no place in its ventricles.

The world is a cruel place. Sometimes you have to fight to move forward in it, and sometimes you have to fight to keep what you’ve got. More often than anything else, you have to grab what makes you happy, hold onto it tightly.

“You can’t help what the heart wants,” Fang replies. The sad smile on his face makes Ed want to seethe. It makes him want to sob. “Take it from me. Took me months to realise that what I had with Lucius and Pete was more than just sex.”

Envy is a ruthless monster, the way it claws forward. Would Stede ever have the same realisation? Or, worse, would he even want to? He knows things Ed’s never told anybody else. Not Izzy. Especially not Jack. Things that would turn most people away, and have in the past.

He thinks of his father. Being told he wouldn’t ever amount to anything, that no one would ever love him. His mind drifts, and he’s back in the small closet of his even smaller bedroom, broken slat in the door twisted enough to bring in a thin rectangle of light. His father is yelling at his ma, and he’s telling her how worthless she is, and Ed is all caught up in the middle, palms over his ears unable to block out the shouting and the breaking glass.

It boils over, the uncertainty, that envy. Anger is something he knows. He can wield it easily. Knows how to work it. Hide behind it. It’s what’s always protected him in the past, and it pops brightly now like a burst bubble.

“That’s fuckin’ easy for you to say,” he snaps.

“It wasn’t,” Fang replies gently. “I was the same way, thinking it was just sex. Just a bit of fun. Thought, nah, they’d never want me, so I didn’t bother to try. You know how I realised?”

Back staring at his jeans. Ed’s eyes well up, over, one tear streaking down to his cheek to be followed by another. The room blurs around him.

“No,” he replies quietly, wetly.

“I realised they made me happy. In ways I never was before. Like there was a place inside me waiting for them and the ways that they made it feel. It just felt right once I let it in.”

——

Ricky is nice. The perfect gentleman, really, if not a little more enthusiastic than Stede normally goes for. Pulls out Stede’s chair for him and everything, which makes him pleasantly blush high up around the collar. Nobody has ever done that before. Nobody has looked at him like Ricky does: An edge of hunger in his eyes, thinly veiled with genuine interest.

Ricky had been the one to message him first, and Stede nearly texted Ed in a panic, unsure how to properly respond to a Hey there gorgeous from a stranger. That wasn’t him. Nobody said those kinds of things to him.

Then Ricky had sent another message, this time complimenting Stede’s Cucinelli polo sweater, and conversation had flowed easily then. They hit the same marks, hated the same trends and styles. Ricky talked about how pretentious clients could be, and how much it all bored him sometimes. When Stede told him about coming out and how he thought he might quit his own job, Ricky was sympathetic and supportive, telling him life was all about finding your happiness in whatever pockets you could.

They’d sexted, briefly. Stede didn’t feel comfortable sending photos and Ricky understood. Meeting up for an actual date was quite all right with him.

On this first date Stede thinks he can, maybe, see some sort of future in it. A fuzzy shape of it, at least. How long that future will last remains to be seen. He doesn’t know how to do this—dating, getting to know somebody romantically, any of it. He wants to learn it. He wants to be good at it, because he hasn’t been good at many things in life.

The bar that they’d ended up agreeing on is dim and quiet, the kind of bar with a lush, dark interior from Stede’s past life. It almost feels strange being back in an environment like this, but he settles back into it too easily, like his body remembers the motions before his brain does.

Ricky is both everything Stede hated from his old life and everything that he liked. It’s an unfortunate familiarity, and it’s a bit like pulling an old blanket from a cedar chest and remembering how comfortable it was, or finding an old favourite shirt you thought you’d lost. It’s easy to backslide when the opportunity is presented just right.

“How long have you been divorced?” Ricky asks, after the drinks come.

Stede looks into the depths of his martini. Why had he ordered one? He’s never even liked martinis. “Officially? A month now.”

He can’t help but compare this bar to the Revenge. All the things it isn’t, how it’s too quiet, too subdued. All the ways that he doesn’t fit here anymore, and how his edges spill past the rigid confines of this type of place, too big to be contained.

“I could never get married myself,” Ricky says, taking a drink. The ice in his tumbler clinks together. The conversation around them is a low hum. Stede is too aware of his body, the space it takes up in the world. Takes a sip of his own drink, fingers clenched tight around the thin, delicate stem of the glass.

“There are perks to it,” he says. “Being attracted to your spouse is probably one of them, though I wouldn’t know!” A little chuckle to seal it off, even though it’s more true than it is humorous.

“Mm.” Ricky sets his drink down and leans in. Rests his hand on Stede’s knee. The touch buzzes, sharp and hot. Stede swallows against the rush, imagines he can feel each individual prickle of his nerves. “Can’t imagine anybody not being attracted to you.”

“Oh,” says Stede, then he doesn’t say anything else, because Ricky kisses him.

——

Ed knows he shouldn’t. But he can’t be by himself, wearing tracks onto the floor of his apartment, chain smoking and wondering what Stede and Ricky are doing, if they’ve kissed, if Ricky’s got his hand on Stede’s knee under the table. If Stede is smiling that smile that Ed’s come to think of as his, pushing aside every memory of Ed to make room.

He unlocks his phone again, opens his contacts before closing them. Debates if he should get a cigarette.

Stede’s last text is still unread, the push notification still in his notification centre. Wish me luck!

Ed should. Should text his best friend and tell him how happy he is. How he can’t wait to hear all about it over coffee from Caffe Arrone. But the wrongness of it pushes aside his rationale and urges him back into the arms of the person he’s tried to leave behind.

If Stede can have fun, why can’t he? After all, Ed’s no stranger to hookups with strangers, a little fun at dive-y bars or in the damp, piss-smelling alleyways between. Acid melted on his tongue, or molly kickstarting his limping libido. A cigarette shared afterwards, lighter sparking bright in the dim. A momentary flare, brief as the satisfaction of those hookups.

Jack is the pinnacle of all of that. Every bad decision Ed’s made, or will make, or thinks about making. His voice is what’s in the back of Ed’s mind on nights like these, reminding him that there are a hell of a lot more fun ways to forget than alcohol or weed, and that all of that is just a phone call away.

Fuck. Fuck. A greasy film slides its way up the back of his throat. He swallows back against it and the vice grip of anxiety, and presses call. Predictably, it’s answered in a few rings, and Ed speaks first before he can lose his nerve.

“Hey, Jack.”

“Eddie! What the fuck, man. What’s it been, two years?”

Already Ed’s stomach twists violently at Jack’s familiar twang. Already he wants to hang up. He shouldn’t have called. Christ, Jack’s listed in his phone as DO NOT ANSWER!! for a fucking reason. He scrubs his hand over his face, leans back against the couch. Stares at the wall and bites back all the things he could say, taking a breath so they don’t slip out.

Two years since you broke my heart? Since you fucked me over and left me? Yeah, it’s been two fuckin’ years. And I hate that I have to come crawling back to you because I have nobody else who understands.

“Yeah,” says Ed, a little flatly. “‘Round about that.”

It’s a bit like reopening those old scars. Dragging across them, creating something new on top of them, hissing at the pain but knowing that the pain means you’re alive. That, in this moment, you can feel something.

“I didn’t think you were ever gonna call me again.”

“I probably shouldn’t have,” Ed replies. Tries for lighthearted, but knows it falls short of that. Jack probably does, too, but he’s either smart enough not to say anything or may actually be too stupid to notice. “I just—I needed a night out. The way we used to do ‘em. You still here in the city?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m out here in Huntington now. Got no plans tomorrow night if you’re free. What were you thinking?”

The great thing about owning a restaurant is being able to leave your GM in charge while you fuck off to a piece of shit dive way the hell out in Brooklyn, and he can’t say dick about it.

Ed hasn’t been to Canarsie in a minute, has to re-familiarise himself when he steps out of the station. His old routes used to take him way out here, close enough to the ocean sometimes to smell the salt. The bar is a few blocks from the station, and when Ed turns the corner he can see the lean, relaxed shape of Jack against the wall. Decked out in dark denim, tan fringe, unchanged since the last time Ed saw him. The cherry of his cigarette is a bright red pinprick against the sodium streetlights, the single dingy bulb above the doorframe of the bar that shines its cone of light against Jack’s tawny hair.

Jack looks up, over, and his outdated moustache lifts with his grin. He waves, drops the cigarette to the street and crushes it under the heel of his boot. For a moment, Ed lets his aching heart believe that Jack is genuinely happy to see him. That it isn’t about partying, reliving a time in Ed’s life he thought he’d left behind long ago.

His body feels heavy, as if it’s filled with wet sand. It still moves, but on autopilot. One foot, then the other. The nearly-empty street seems to warp and curve around him, and Jack is still there at the end of it, hand still raised in greeting.

Ed waves back, and he pretends.

Ed has never liked how Jack kisses. Too open, too wet, too forceful. Ed likes to work up to tongue, take his time until his skin really starts singing; Jack goes for it right away, fuck what his partner wants. And sometimes it’s good: when they’re drunk, or high, when Ed’s so horny he can hardly see straight. Those times he’s moaning eagerly into Jack’s mouth, grabbing his wrist to bring it down between his legs.

Ed doesn’t know what he wants right now. His head is swimming, zipping this way and that like a pinball, crash crash crash against the echoing walls of his mind. Jack tastes like cheap whiskey, like cigarettes, and Ed’s suddenly twenty-seven again, so deep in self-hatred that he doesn’t care as long as he gets laid.

“You like that, baby?” asks Jack, moustache brushing against Ed’s cheek when he pulls back to talk. The music from the bar throbs in through the walls with a dull bass and incomprehensible words. The fluorescent light above the sink hums, winks in and out of existence while the faucet below it echoes a drip that grates against some part of his brain that Ed’s trying to smother.

That’s how this dance goes. Jack asks, Ed says yes, even though he means no. No, he doesn’t like this. Yes, he wants it. Wants to forget. Wants to have something else, anything else, to focus on.

To self-destruct is to burn spectacularly, and Ed wants to light up the New York skyline.

“Yeah,” he answers; breathy, a show, the Ed he used to be when these kinds of bars carried the consistent echo of his footsteps. What he knows Jack likes. He pushes his fingers through Jack’s hair, kisses him deep and grinds against him. Feels his cock against his hip, and it isn’t right. All he can think about, as he slides to his knees— no blazer, nothing to support his knees, nothing but Jack’s fist in his hair like a fucking leash —is Stede.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” says Jack, and his drawl shatters the Stede illusion, lets it rain down around Ed in sharp, dangerous shards that glitter enticingly against the tiles. “Finally using your mouth for something good tonight, Eddie.”

The words run straight through Ed like a lance, spearing his insides on the way out. The sharp point of the T, the scooped curl of the U, dripping blood on the floor.

“Fuck you,” Ed replies, but he’s undoing Jack’s jeans already, and the fucker isn’t wearing underwear, of course he isn’t. There’s his cock, the long, thin length of it, ruddy and leaking against the insides of his jeans. Ed remembers it well. He doesn’t miss it.

It hasn’t felt right between him and Jack in a long time, but with Stede in the back of his mind it feels even less right. Like Ed’s got one foot in two different worlds, and they’re both fighting to pull him in.

As he sinks down, it doesn’t escape his attention that he’s doing everything he told Stede he shouldn't do. No condom, no communication. Jack pulls his hair, a sharp yank upward, and Ed wonders if Stede would pull his hair like this, if he asked. The thought makes him moan, helps him settle a bit better. Maybe Stede would spank him, too. Hold him down, just the way Ed likes to be held sometimes, like a small helpless thing beneath the weight of a man on top of him.

There’s an itch, and his nails are just finally breaking skin as they drag, blossoming up little specks of red. He leans into the pain, sighs out when the head of Jack’s cock hits the back of his throat. The pressure quiets that little part of his brain, leaves him floating someplace nice, where he can focus on the weight of a cock in his mouth, the slowly-blooming ache in his jaw.

——

Back at Stede’s place, clock ticked half-past nine. Ricky’s pressed against Stede’s couch, and Stede’s on his lap. They’ve been making out, taking it slow, and though it’s been nice, Stede’s now starting to get antsy. The hand cupping the slope of his skull is too gentle; he can’t help but think that if this were Ed, they’d be halfway to naked already, and that Ed’s fist would be tight in his hair.

It had been his idea to go back to his place. There had been no expectation for sex—Ricky had told him as much once Stede had offered. But it felt like the logical next step, like it was what he should do. They’d stayed at the bar for a half-hour longer, enough time for one more round of drinks, one more kiss while Ricky’s hand slid up higher on Stede’s thigh. And that had been thrilling, enough to heat his blood. He was being touched in public! By his date!

His first thought had been how excited he was to tell Ed about it. And then his focus shifted: to the Uber, where Ricky kissed up his neck and whispered how much he couldn’t wait to take him apart; to the idea that this would be his first hookup, and perhaps he was capable of this after all. All of it was everything he’d wanted, so he didn’t understand why there was still an emptiness inside him, a yearning that poisoned the edges of the evening.

“This is—this is nice,” says Stede, pulling back. Catches his breath, looks down, wonders why he isn’t feeling more. Is he just not doing it right? Should he be initiating more than he is? Does Ricky like that? Stede had expected a certain amount of insecurity on his first date, but he hadn't expected it to be like this, where he feels like everything he does is a misstep.

“It is, isn’t it?” Ricky smiles. He runs his fingers through Stede’s hair, gently pushing it back, using his thumb to trail across Stede’s cheekbone. His eyes are honed, sharp, darkened with arousal. They make Stede’s insides squirm. “You’re very handsome, Stede. Has anyone told you that before?”

Now that he thinks of it, the only person who’s ever said as much was Ed, and Stede really shouldn't be thinking about his best friend while he’s in the lap of his date. Even though his mind keeps slipping there, even though every touch is an Ed would do this—

So he says, “No,” and watches the way Ricky’s face lights up. And it does make some little vain part of Stede preen. An insecure part, too. Ed is one thing. He wouldn’t say something negative. A man he’s met on Grindr, who’s interested in him in, first and foremost, a purely aesthetic sense? There has to be something in that. A truth, that somebody else wants him, when he’s been told all his life that he’s too much or too little or not quite right.

“What a pity,” Ricky says. “A treasure like you?”

“You can’t mean that,” Stede replies quietly. There it is, that old insecurity, bursting from its bars. It feels like lonely nights alone in his bedroom as a teen. It feels like a loveless marriage built on a foundation of contention and barely-concealed disdain all wrapped up in a lie he desperately wanted to believe.

“Of course I do. Would I lie about that?”

The thing is, Stede doesn’t know if Ricky would or not. All he knows about this man is what’s been offered to him on Grindr and what else they’ve divulged to each other throughout the course of this evening. There are still gaps, deep chasms that could conceal any number of things.

But Stede wants to believe him. That somebody like Ricky, a product of the very same class that didn’t seem to want much of anything to do with Stede, could want him.

It could be counterproductive. After all, Stede left his wife to be his whole, true self, not some empty outline of who he felt he was supposed to be. And, yet, here he is, sitting across from the embodiment of all of those old wounds just because it’s what he knows.

He’d been a mess when he’d given it all up, and Ed had taken him in anyway, guided him even though he had as much obligation to Stede as he did any other person who wandered into his group. Despite all of Stede’s idiosyncrasies, his constant questions and general cluelessness, he’d been willing to help Stede build something new of himself, and from that grew a friendship, the first true one of Stede’s life.

And now he’s left all that behind, taking the offer of the first man who understood his past because it was comfortable. It was easy. There wasn’t much to second-guess, not like if he’d taken up some of the others who had messaged him.

“Kiss me again,” says Stede, because this he knows how to do.

——

“Christ, Eddie, baby,” Jack says, lighting up a cigarette, “that was fuckin’ great. Forgot how good you are at that.” His pants are still undone, riding low on his hips and exposing the dark brown thatch of pubic hair. His belt jingles every time he moves. He’s watching Ed. Ed pretends he can’t see it out of the corner of his eye. Jack takes a drag, exhales, and the smoke wreaths its way into Ed’s lungs, grabs tight in that way addiction does.

“Got some coke, too,” Jack adds, "if you wanna do a bump before we go back out there.”

Bent over the sink, Ed runs the tap, cups his hand under the stream and takes a mouthful, swishing it around before spitting it out. Doesn’t bother with a paper towel after; just wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, reaching out for Jack’s cigarette and wishing he’d thought to bring a mint.

He doesn’t think of Stede. Doesn’t let his thoughts take off, because he knows that if he does he’ll be barreling straight towards a wall.

“Yeah, sure,” he says. “You still got the same guy?”

——

“Oh, fuck,” Stede gasps, grinding against Ricky’s hand, the one Ricky had slipped into his pants the moment he’d gotten them unbuttoned.  One of Stede’s own hands is bracing his weight on the back of the couch, the other tight in Ricky’s hair. Their shirts are unbuttoned, shoes discarded, belts off and pants open. Heads tipped down to watch, Ricky’s hand tucked into the waistband of Stede’s black briefs, the mountain ridges of his knuckles moving, shifting, beneath the silky fabric.

“That’s it, oh, yes, look how lovely you are,” Ricky murmurs. Stede breathes out in a sharp exhale. “Absolutely gorgeous, aren’t you?”

He whines, rocks down. A knot of pleasure rises in his pelvis, leaves him breathing out Ricky’s name. The room grows hot, or maybe it’s Stede. Just like the beat of his heart it’s nearly unbearable, the way it commands focus. Doesn’t allow him much room to focus on anything else besides the pressure on his cock, the rapid rise of arousal that’s coming on too fast, but that Stede doesn’t know how to stop, or if he even wants to.

“Beg me, darling,” Ricky says. “Tell me how much you want it.”

A fishhook snaring in his belly, yanking upward with a deft hand. Then a moan, high and desperate. “Please,” Stede says, “I want it,” and he bends down, pulls Ricky in for a kiss. Rocks forward, back, hips moving on instinct just as he parts his lips.

Just like when Ed was inside you—

He moans again against Ricky’s mouth. His cock leaks at the thought. The memory has been persistent since that night, slinking its way back to the forefront of Stede’s mind every chance it gets.

He told you how pretty you were—

“Such a good boy,” Ricky coos. “Are you close?”

Stede nods, panting, and his grip in Ricky’s hair grows tighter as he pulls. Ricky pulls back, says, “Ah, not too tight now,” and takes Stede’s wrist from its anchor at the back of his head. He offers Stede a smile, but it’s less gentle and more on the fringe of being annoyed.

Stede can’t help but think of Ed, who likes his hair pulled, who asks for it any chance he can get. Ed, who would be more gentle about a correction and tell Stede it’s no big deal, and who would have been upfront about preferences before anything started. He starts to say, “Sorry,” but Ricky kisses him, squeezing Stede’s hand. Then he guides it down between them, flattens it over the curve of his cock in his underwear. Says, “Let me feel your hand around my cock.”

“Oh, god,” Stede says, and he works his fingers under the waistband of Ricky’s briefs, brushes against coarse, trimmed hair before he can wrap his hand around his cock. Ricky’s thick, short, different from Stede’s own or Ed’s. It makes him shiver, knowing he’s got his hand around a new cock. Like he’s finally doing something right. “Does that feel good?”

“Perfect,” Ricky says, and his mouth splits into a grin that is at once both sharp and soft. “That’s it, come on.”

There’s a handkerchief, an expensive silk blend in a cream-colour and monogrammed in the corner with a neat, red-thread R.B. Ricky uses it to clean them both up, swiping away the come over their knuckles with neat efficiency. Stede watches its progress, still trembling down to his toes, feeling a bit like he’s above himself watching it all happen on his very nice velvet couch.

“I have one just like that,” he says.

Ricky hums noncommittally, folding the handkerchief up to put it back into his pocket. He lifts his hips to pull his pants back up, the jingle of his belt buckle loud in the absence of their moans and ragged breaths. “When will I see you again? It’s so rare to find somebody who understands you.”

Stede goes to answer, only to find himself not sure what to say. On one hand, it was fun. Hiccups aside, as far as a first partner outside of Ed goes, it went well. But it’s just—sex with Ed is more fun than this hookup had been. Ricky had just been…perfectly adequate.

“Maybe,” he says, sitting back and buttoning his shirt up. The near-smirk on Ricky’s face flattens. Stede doesn’t think much of it, instead too busy pulling at a thorn of a thought edged under his skin.

He’d wanted to hook up, and he did. He’d had fun.

So why didn’t it feel like he did?

Chapter Text

Ed wakes up. Immediately, he wishes he hadn’t.

The moment he cracks his eyes open his head begins pounding, an angry, discordant drumbeat echoing across an empty battlefield. He closes them immediately. There’s nothing but cotton stuffed into his mouth, which tastes like several somethings died in it long ago and were left to decompose.

He groans, doesn’t dare to try to roll over just yet. He’s at his place, he knows that much from that quick, slitted-eye gaze. How he got here, though, he doesn’t quite remember. Usually he’s pretty good at not forgetting what he does whilehe’s drunk, but throwing other substances into the mix completely fucks that up. He groans again when he remembers doing that bump. Mother fuck, he’d done coke. He’d said he was done with that.

After stewing in those realisations, the next things he notices are that he’s naked, that his body—and his arse—are sore, and that he isn’t alone.

Jack—not sure how he fucking missed that in the first place—is snoring loudly on his stomach next to him. Ed risks opening his eyes again and carefully lifts his head up to look so that the world doesn’t swirl around him.

The sheets are twisted around Jack’s upper thighs, baring his arse, and he’s got one arm under the pillow, one flung out. Taking up too much fucking room even in his sleep.

Ed’s memory may be spotty, but he unfortunately remembers letting Jack lay him down on his belly and fuck him until he came against the sheets. He thinks Jack wore a condom, but if he didn’t, he at least didn’t come in his arse. 

Christ . Ed could laugh if his goddamn head didn’t feel like it was about to burst open like an overripe watermelon. What a low fucking bar.

The self-loathing is an aftertaste against the back of his teeth, bitter and metallic. Familiar, too, like an unwelcome family member back for a visit.

He could talk to Stede. He knows that, thanks. But if Stede were to reject him he thinks he’d have to do a swan dive off the Brooklyn Bridge. And he’s only slightly exaggerating.

Fuckity fuck, he’s a stupid, miserable bastard.

——

Stede wakes with a heavy knot in his belly. He isn’t sure why, either; he practises the deep breathing techniques he’d learned, in for five, hold, out for five, and it helps, but only marginally.

Rolling onto his back, he casts back through the memories of last night, trying to pinpoint anything specific that could have been fermenting all night. Was it the way Ricky’s face fell when he’d told him he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see him again? Stede lingers on the feeling, but it doesn’t cause the distress that’s chewing at his belly. And that is…well, it certainly makes him pause and frown.

When Ed had fucked him, Stede couldn’t believe that a body was capable of that kind of absolute pleasure. That wasn’t to discount what he and Ed had already been doing, either—until then, he’d thought that was the pinnacle of pleasure.

Having somebody inside him, though? Nothing else has compared so far.

He wonders if maybe that’s why what he and Ricky did felt so…average. He hadn’t wanted to fuck on the first date, at least not like that, but if he had, would he be looking forward to a second date? Would that have been the thing he needed?

You keep pushing people away, he can hear Mary say. You’ll always find a reason to say no, and you deserve to live, don’t you think?

Running away from things. Hardly a surprise. The Stede Bonnet special, an inability to face one’s fears.

He sighs at the ceiling like it will understand. A quick glance at the clock shows it’s early still, the rest of the world slumbering around him. His body tells him the same. He’s grown to like rising early, helped in no small part by having children, but some mornings he misses the sleep cycle of his youth, where he’d stay up into the long, quiet hours of the morning. There is nobody here but him. And that, sometimes, hurts most of all.

Did you know, Stede had told Ed once, back when their friendship was new and they were still learning things about each other’s lives, their pasts and memories, that I’ve never actually had a friend before?

It was, in all likelihood, the most honest Stede had been with anybody else about it, aside from therapists. He’d always kept the ragged, aching scar of his childhood hidden, unwilling to burden people in his life with the truth: that he was always the boy on the playground picked last; the one who stayed inside during recess and who ate his lunch alone.

You will never have to work for anything , his father was fond of saying, and that has made you weak. An easy target.

Children’s minds are very malleable. Say something enough times and it will carve itself permanently into that grey matter, and you’ll never be able to fully scrub it away.

Ed, to his credit, had simply said, They were all fuckin’ losers, then, mate. Stede had never told him what that glibness had meant to him then. 

He isn’t sure if he ever will. 

——

“How was your date with Ricky?” Ed asks.

It’s Monday. They’re at the Garden Bar in South Street Seaport, the warm late-fall weather making it nice enough to still sit outside even with the holiday decorations around them. Ed watches the tall masts of the ships at the harbour bob and sway with the tide, running the tips of his fingers through the condensation on his glass. The overcast weather matches the gloom in his heart; he hopes for rain.

“Oh,” says Stede, looking as if he’s surprised to be asked, which leaves Ed mentally tilting his head like a dog. Stede purses his lips, flicks his eyes out to the street and back. “It was…fine. He was fine.”

“Just fine? He didn’t woo you?” Ed teases.

“Well, I mean, we did have sex.”

Ed’s stomach dips and roils, but if there’s anything useful his shit childhood gave  him, it’s a great fucking ability to mask, so even though the back of his throat tastes sour he says, “Stede, you dog! On the first date and everything?”

A rosy little blush crawls its way up from the collar of Stede’s corduroy coat and stains his cheeks. A breeze wraps around them both and rustles Stede’s hair, sending a golden curl sweeping across his forehead. In another life, Ed would reach across and brush it back into place.

No, stop spiralling.

“We didn’t, ahem, penetrate anything,” Stede replies, pitching his voice low as two college-age girls walk past. “Just a little grinding and exchanging handjobs. Hardly anything spectacular.”

“Not what you expected?” God, Ed feels like such an arse for having a spark of hope.

“It’s not that. That part was fine. Good, even. He’s got nice hands. I just thought—you know, that it would be better. That I’d feel something afterward.”

Meaningless sex, Ed thinks. Not a stranger to him, always just a step or two behind in his shadow, but something wholly new to Stede. He doesn’t know yet how to sneak out of a room, shoes in hand so you don’t make a sound on the cold floorboards, once the other person has fallen asleep; he doesn’t know the solitude of a hungover navy morning spent walking in the limbo before the rest of the world wakes up.

Stede doesn’t belong in the navy, or in the twilight purple. He’s always belonged in the soft red-golds of morning, or in the bright blue heat of midafternoon. Someplace sunny and warm, just like him.

“You can hardly strike gold on the first try, yeah?” says Ed, going for soothing. In reality, he thinks he’s maybe stopped a few feet short of it with a jagged sort of slide.

“That’s the thing,” says Stede, mouth in a tight moue of disappointment. “Ricky is—well, he’s familiar, you know? Similar backgrounds and all that. And it seemed like we could possibly make something work, if we tried…”

Ed knows exactly the type of path that Stede is trying to take himself down. He knows how winding it is, how easily Stede can get lost without a guiding hand. “Stede. Don’t go fuckin’ twisting yourself all up trying to be something you’re not. You already did that and it fucking sucked, yeah? The sex can be good, but the connection can be absolute shit. It happens more often than you think.”

“I don’t…” Stede inhales sharply, pauses. Twists his fingers around the stem of his coupe glass like he’s going to lift it before deciding not to. The breeze blows again, and the masts keep shifting in the harbour. “I don’t—want there to be something wrong with me.”

“ Fuck that,” Ed replies. “There isn’t a single thing wrong with you.”

“That’s very kind of you to say.”

It’s flippant and dismissive, how Stede gets when he’s upset and overwhelmed, underscored by the ghost of a smile that briefly pops the dimples in his cheeks. And that won’t do, not at all. Stede is a ray of bloody sunshine, every day of Ed’s life. It’s not fair when a cloud covers him and hides his radiance from the rest of the world.

Reaching across the table, Ed takes Stede’s hand in his, feels the softness of his skin, and gently squeezes. Ducks his head, then, until he can catch the toffee of Stede’s eyes, all that sweetness with a bit of a bite that he knows is just under there. 

“Hey. I mean it, mate. I know all this is new, and fuckin’ scary, and trust me when I say I was there once, too. But it doesn’t mean anything is wrong with you.”

Stede does not have a poker face. Got a negative zero poker face, really—sometimes things show on there before Stede even knows he’s feeling it, Ed’s almost certain. And now his lip is doing that twitchy wobbly thing it does when he’s feeling emotional but is trying not to.

“Oh, Ed—” Stede starts to say.

“Nuh-uh,” says Ed. “No saying anything negative. Got it? ‘Cause I say so and I’m always fuckin’ right. Rightest goddamn person you’ll ever meet, in fact.”

A corner of Stede’s mouth turns up hesitantly. He squeezes back. “Well, how could I possibly argue with the rightest person I’ll ever meet?”

“You can’t. Obviously. ”

“Obviously,” Stede says.

“Right as rain, me.”

“But what about when the rain isn’t right? When it says it’s going to rain but it’s still sunny outside?”

“Maybe the rain is just late,” says Ed, “but still very much on its way.”

It’s a silly little sentence in one of those  silly little yes, and moments he and Stede fall into well and often, but to Ed it’s weighted. It’s as close to a confession as he dares, out on this little table with the cool air growing colder as heavy clouds roll in off the river.

Maybe Stede gets it. Maybe he doesn’t. He says, “I think I like that very much,” and gives Ed’s hand another squeeze, and that’s all Ed needs.

——

Over the course of the past month, Stede and Ed have been using various things to cross off the list still pinned to Stede’s fridge. There are Ed’s comments in his messy scrawl, a few uneven red and purple hearts and stars. A rainbow drawn next to go to a gay bar. Stede’s bold line right through go on a date, because that had felt like one that needed to be properly crossed off.

Now, draped in a sleepy morning in a breezy terracotta robe and with a steaming mug in hand, he reads over the final task, again and again. When they’d created the list that hungover morning all those weeks ago, it had seemed like the natural conclusion. Maybe not right away—he certainly hadn’t expected that. But eventually, because he did want it. Wanted to do it right this time.

He’s never been in love. He doesn’t know what that’s like. But he does know that he’s wanted it for so long, possibly even longer than he’s let himself realise. He didn’t get marriage right the first time, but maybe this time, maybe if he finds the right person, he could. Mary certainly did, and she’s the happiest Stede’s seen her since before they got married.

Creature comforts are something Stede is very familiar with. After all, everybody needs a little bit of comfort, and life is too short to deprive yourself of them. Even when he was married he made sure to have them, much to the chagrin of Mary and, sometimes, his children. A good jar of marmalade always in the fridge. A new stack of books every few weeks carefully filed onto his office shelves. Clothes, bright and supple and decadent, bought in secret and stashed in the guest room closet. Hardly worn and oftentimes not worn at all but there, waiting like little sentries on their hangers, for a day that Stede was sure would never come.

He stands now in the open space of his closet, looking at the neatly-organised rows of clothes, the shelves of folded cashmere sweaters, the orderly lines of shoes. The safe space for this extension of himself who is still wobbling around a bit on only slightly-steadier legs. It feels like months since Ed was in here helping him pick out an outfit, assuaging his misplaced fears while unknowingly being just the thing Stede needed. A comfort, like he’s been since he stepped foot into Stede’s life.

He tries to imagine Ricky, or anybody else, being in here. He can’t.

Of course, he’s tried broadening his horizons and letting people get closer to him, especially now that he’s out and has a new community to get to know. Over the years he’d curled up so tightly in on himself that he became stuck, and loosening that tight coil has been harder than he anticipated. He’s too used to hiding away his interests, scarred from decades of scorn or disdain.

What would it have been like to have somebody in his corner? A person he could turn to and lean on? Nurturing, he thinks, lifting up the sleeve of a striped button-down he isn’t sure he’s worn since his pre-divorce days. It’s the drab kind, the office-appropriate kind, and just the thought of that place makes him set his teeth on edge.

Maybe he should just quit. Mary got her half in the divorce, and it isn’t like Stede doesn’t have enough to last him for the rest of his life and possibly then some. A strange thing to think about, really, especially put into perspective. He’s gone his whole life not worrying about money; everyone he’s ever known has done the same. It wasn’t until he met Mary’s art friends, met his own, that he truly realised his privilege. A real wakeup call, being pushed out of your own little world, silver spoon yanked from your mouth.

His phone pings. Stede’s mouth twists when he sees who it is.

To Stede
Given it any more thought on that second date? Can’t stop thinking about you.
xx Ricky

Ugh, and signing it with kisses. Even Stede knows that’s overkill for a person you’ve only gone on a single date with. He puts his phone back in his pocket and tries very hard not to think about Ricky again.

…Easier said than done, of course, especially when he continues to turn the text over in his mind and begins to feel a small amount of guilt for the way he’d ended their date. So what if the sex hadn’t been perfect—that was what future dates were for, right? He of all people should know about second chances.

He goes to pull his phone from his pocket, then stops. Then, after a few moments of staring at a colour-coordinated row of jumpers, pulls it out again.

——

Ed holds the results in his hands and feels the clean rush of relief sweep through him.

He’d gone and gotten tested because he’s a fucking self-destructive idiot, because he’d sucked Jack’s dick, first off, and also because there wasn’t a condom to be found anywhere in the bin at his apartment, and the results had come back negative. Thank fuck . He hadn’t realised until now how tightly-wound he’d been about that; his shoulders drop, and his next breath comes out as a soft chuckle.

He folds the paper back up and shoves it in a drawer so he doesn’t have to think about it again. Fucking Jack. God knows where he and his dick have been the last few years.

It makes him sick to his stomach, just a little bit, how easy it was to just fall right back into it, like he was still that twenty-something who danced early into the morning and let strangers take him home like it was no big deal. And it hadn’t been, then; he’d been invincible. Nothing could touch him. Nothing could hurt him.

He knows that’s not true, and he knows that it doesn’t help. This is proof of that. Living dangerously had held its appeal then, when every night was a new adventure. Now it’s more than just his bum knee, or the heartburn he gets after too many drinks. Mortality has a way of sneaking up on you, and once it’s there you can’t shake it.

He’s old enough to have known enough people grieving the premature loss of loved ones. He’s seen the scar it’s left in the community firsthand, heard the stories told again and again, all the same framework with differences here and there. Swore to himself to be careful, Jesus, always was careful. There’s a reason he’d harped on it so hard with Stede. 

Not again. Never again. Jack is blocked, and Ed is done. Capitol D fucking done. No matter what happens with Stede, if it means he’ll be sidelined or whatever when the right person comes along, it’s not worth going down that path again. Jack is a black hole, and he’s tired of being sucked into it. At some point the cycle has to stop, and he’s got to be the one who stops it.

With the weight of the results off his shoulders, Ed goes about his morning. Wonders what Stede is doing as he measures coffee into the French press, if he’s making his own fussy little tea right now with his steeper. Then, realising he’s thinking too much about Stede, tries to think about something else and nearly burns his hand pouring the hot water. He glares down at the press as it begins to steep.

“What’s this I heard about you seeing Jack?” Izzy says an hour later when Ed answers the phone, plant mister in hand as he tends to his small collection.

Ed groans and runs a hand over his mouth, setting the mister down on the TV stand. “Aw, fuck. He’s running his mouth again?”

“Only to anybody who will fuckin’ listen.”

Of course he bloody is. “Christ. I kicked him out the second I’d realised what I’d done. Blocked his arse, too. Long time fuckin’ coming.” Ed pretzels himself on the couch and closes his eyes.

“Good,” Izzy replies gruffly. “Not dealing with that shit again.”

Ed laughs humourlessly. You and me both, he thinks. 

Fuck, he needs a cigarette. His skin is practically buzzing. 

He stands up, paces the length of his couch once, twice, listens to Izzy complain about the shit he always complains about. Gives in, finally, and reaches for the pack on the table just inside the window.

“You’re better than that dick,” Izzy says when Ed doesn’t respond, focusing instead on lighting the cigarette at the corner of his mouth.

“ That’s the only dick I’m going to get,” Ed finally says, blowing smoke towards his ceiling.

“Oh my god. This is about Bonnet, isn’t it?”

Ed knows he can't lie. Izzy can see right fucking through him, and he's a shit liar at best with these kinds of things. Hell, Izzy's already seen it enough with Jack; he'd figure it out sooner or later, and Ed would prefer to be the one to say it. “How perceptive of you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. I knew it.”

He doesn’t say I told you so, which is huge for Izzy, who never misses an opportunity to gloat. Fuck if Ed is going to say it, though. 

He stares at the cherry of the cigarette, tracks the buildup of ash as it burns down. A siren screams down the street. “He went on a date, Iz. Fucked some rich arsehole named Ricky.”

“Wasn’t that the point of your whole…thing?”

Yeah, it was at one time. And then Ed understood what it was like to be happy, to love not just the idea of a person but everything about them. There had been a moment, brief as it was, where he wondered if he actually wasn’t meant to live alone and die alone. Not that he was entertaining anything like marriage, just…something that would make all of life mean more than just making it through another day.

Now, it’s all a tangled mess of guilt and self-loathing and so much other bullshit that Ed can’t even parse it out, gave up trying to pick it apart halfway through. He’s got two ends in his hands and doesn’t know how to make it meet in the middle. He’s just tired, and lately it’s beginning to feel like more than just lack of sleep.

“Yeah,” he says. Takes a drag, lets the smoke fill his lungs; keeps it there, hazy, until the burn of it forces out an exhale. “It was. Told you I’d be a good teacher, eh?”

On the other line, a whole borough away, Izzy sighs. “Does he know?”

Ed laughs. It hurts. “What, so I can ruin the one good thing in my fuckin’ miserable life? No, and I’m not gonna tell him.”

“Maybe he—”

“Drop it, Iz,” Ed says sharply. He stubs out his cigarette and reaches for another. “If he was interested he would have said something by now. He hasn’t, so he’s not. End of fucking story.”

His eyes sting; he squeezes them shut, swallows hard. Can hear the ghost echo of his father reminding him that he’s soft and sensitive, telling him that he needs to grow up. Men don’t cry, Edward. Fucking get it together, for Christ’s sake.

Stede doesn’t want him. Of course he wouldn’t—Ed is there to be somebody’s leather daddy bad boy . He’s the man you hook up with in the bathroom, the alleyway, not the man that you cuddle. And Stede had wanted to try those things, but only because he never had before. It wasn’t  meant to be anything permanent.

It never was.

Izzy grumbles something, and Ed hangs up. The apartment is too quiet. His head is too loud. He feels like his body is trying to go two different ways. He wants to light another cigarette, but stops himself. Two is already too many, and he’d promised himself he’d cut back.

He picks the plant mister up. The brass is chilled under his fingertips, and it brings him back down to his body. He breathes, and his chest loosens with it, ribs expanding with the stretch of his lungs. Good sometimes to remember that he’s alive, that he’s corporeal and taking up space in the world.

Placing his phone on the coffee table, Ed opens up Spotify and selects a daily mix. Citizen is singing about the night they drove alone. Ed is wondering how far he can run before everything finally catches up to him.

——

“So what you’re telling me,” Lucius says slowly, “is that you went on the date, had ‘okay’ sex, and aren’t sure if you should text him back?”

The coffee shop buzzes with mid-afternoon activity. They’re tucked away in a corner, at a two-top nestled behind a bookshelf filled with well-used board games. Stede sips at his London Fog and taps his foot against the pedestal of the table. There’s a frustration that’s simmering just under his skin, made worse by the simple fact that Stede doesn’t know what it is.

“Yes, Lucius, I’ve made that very plain,” he replies sharply, regretting it as soon as it leaves his mouth. 

Lucius sits up in his seat and points a finger at Stede. “ You called me, remember?”

Stede sighs. Forces himself to relax: neck first, then shoulders, thighs; lets the tension slip-slide off him. He knows it’s not fair to his friend to take his misplaced frustration out on him. If there’s anybody who can help him make sense of this jumbled mess in his head, it’s Lucius, and it won’t do him any good to push him away. “Yes. I did. Sorry.”

Lucius’s expression softens until it resembles something that Stede would maybe call fond. “You get a pass because you’re having a crisis moment, but I won’t make it a habit.”

Mouth twisting as he fights a smile, Stede says, “How gracious of you.”

“Why not ask Ed, by the way?” asks Lucius, taking a sip of his own drink, some overly-sweet iced concoction even though they’re both in heavy sweaters today.

“I did,” Stede sighs, looking down at the milky depths of his mug. Normally Ed’s advice is all that he needs, but something kept nagging at him after. Like there was a piece of it missing that he hadn’t been able to gather just yet.

“What, did he just ignore you or something? Since when do you listen to anybody’s opinion who isn’t Ed?”

When I’m not sure why I’m worried , Stede wants to say, watching the tea swirl. When it eats at me like a moth to a sweater. When I don’t know if it’s Ed that is the reason.

“Ed doesn’t exactly have dating experience,” is what he does say.

“He doesn’t have monogamous experience, you mean.”

Stede knows the face he makes is a lemon face. “Besides Jack. And…the advice he gave me is good. It is. I just—I still don’t know what to do, and Ricky keeps texting me.”

“And you don’t want that?”

“I don’t know, Lucius! That’s why I’ve asked you.”

“Well…” Lucius says slowly, “did you have fun?”

Did he? It could certainly be considered that—they both got off, and for the most part it had been a pleasant experience, though Ricky’s warm personality had cooled a bit once Stede had rebuffed his idea of a second date. “Yes, I think so.”

“So you’d go see him again?”

Stede tilts his head back and stares directly into one of the vintage-inspired light fixtures. “Ugh! I don’t know. It isn’t as easy for most of us as it is for you.” 

It’s too resigned to be bitchy. Too truthful. It’s something that he thinks about more often than he’d like, if it all would have been easier when he was Lucius’s age. Maybe more people would have looked twice at him. Maybe, without all the baggage, Stede would have been able to thrive in ways that being in his forties hasn’t afforded him. God, the what if s. He’s been trying not to dwell on them.

Stede tilts his head back down to find Lucius looking at him sympathetically. “Babe, I know you’re new to all this, and you have an awful heteronormative frame of reference to begin with, but it isn’t easy for any of us. Sex and relationships are always messy, kind of comes with the territory.”

He’s right, but it doesn't feel right, and perhaps that’s why Stede is desperately searching for another answer. He knew that coming out wouldn’t be a magical cure for a lifetime of internalised resentment, but he’d hoped that it would at least be a bit easier, searching for somebody that he’s actually attracted to. It’s why he’d wanted to try casual sex in the first place.

“I was hoping it would be,” Stede admits. “With Ed, you know, everything was so easy when we started our agreement. Though I suppose being friends beforehand has something to do with it.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is?”

“What do you mean?”

The look Lucius gives Stede is pointed. “Are you searching for something new, or are you searching for that feeling you get with Ed?”

Is he? What he and Ed have is fun, certainly; they understand each other in ways only they can, finding those edges nobody else has ever been able to brush up against without getting scraped and realising that they fit together. But a specific feeling? Stede only associates Ed with happiness, and perhaps freedom, since he wouldn’t be where he is now without Ed’s help. Those aren’t wholly unique experiences, but he also doesn’t have a lot to base them off of.

“I don’t know,” Stede admits. “I’m not sure.”

“Babe,” Lucius says, placing a hand on Stede’s forearm. He looks almost pitying, which may be more worrying than anything else. “Just think about it, all right? Personally, and take it from me—if I’m ever that unsure about a guy after a hookup, I already know it’s a one and done deal. Maybe Ricky isn’t your Prince Charming, but somebody else is, and you have to go out and find him.”

——

“I think I wanna marry him, Ma,” Ed whispers to the ceiling. The light slants through his open bedroom window, casts itself on the far wall. Night is quiet, gives the monsters and regrets space to yawn and extend their claws. He doesn’t want them here. “I’ve never felt like this before.”

It should scare him more than it does, he thinks. He’s nearing fifty, and he’s had one relationship that could be considered the closest thing to serious. So far his life has been spent chasing an idea and assuming that he wouldn’t get it. It’s just how it is—he loves too fast, and too hard, and too much. 

He always wishes that his mum was still here, but right now he wishes it more than he has since the first year following her passing. She would know what to say; she’d know what to do. She’d know just how to bundle him up, all six-foot of him like she did when he was still the tiny boy she used to tuck against her breast following echoes of shattered glass and a slammed door.

Ed sniffles, throat tight and eyes stinging, and rubs the heel of his palm over his eye. The monsters fix their glowing eyes on him. He feels low as fuck, possibly lower than he has in awhile. Maybe lower since the first real rift with Jack when he told him he thought he might love him.

“Love?” Jack had scoffed, standing to get dressed, leaving as quickly as he came, something becoming more common those days. Drink, drugs, fuck, leave. Ed was getting old and the world sure as fuck wasn’t stopping for him. “ Fuck that shit, Eddie. Life is about having a good time. No fuckin’ place for love.”

A few years removed from that, and now Ed’s maybe thinking Jack was right after all. The only thing that love does is mess up your insides and make you wonder if you’re even good enough, and he’s already spent too much of his life wondering if he is, always trying to be somebody he’s not to see if the next suit will be the one that magically fixed everything. Edward, Eddie, Blackbeard, Ed —sometimes he isn’t sure who’s the person he looks at in the mirror.

It feels like he’s stumbled back into that tar pit of self-loathing depression, all that goopy, sucking mess clinging to his arms and legs and pulling him down with no handholds around him as leverage to get out. All his focus on Stede, and missing his window of opportunity while simultaneously feeling undeserving of somebody like him, Ed’s snared deep and only sinking deeper.

When he first began his culinary career his mum had been his biggest supporter, even through the sleepless nights and the constant setbacks that come with trying to get your own restaurant off the ground. She’d never made him feel like a bad son when he’d have to text her and cancel their weekly call for the fourth or fifth week in a row, and she was there when he needed somebody that wasn’t Izzy to vent to.

It’s a void in his life he hasn’t been able to fill since. God knows he’s tried. Doesn’t matter how many awards he wins, or how many articles he appears in, or how exclusive his restaurant becomes. Those don’t mean anything besides a mark of success, and Ed never wanted that. All he wanted was to do something that made him happy. It’s difficult to hold onto that once you’ve got it.

What he needs to do, Ed knows, is quiet his mind. Get his hands busy, his thoughts focused. Idle time , his mum had said, always room for the devil in there . Ed doesn’t believe in any of that, hasn’t for a long time, but the devil can mean more than one thing.

He shuffles into the kitchen and opens his fridge, surveys its contents. The problem—or, really, one of many—is that, as the owner of a restaurant who still likes to take the time to cook alongside his chefs, he’s at work more often than he’s home. And since Stede, more time has been spent out with him, or at his place, which has more soul in it in less than a year than Ed’s apartment has in the five that he’s lived here.

There’s a head of broccoli, possibly hours away from wilting. One single chicken breast he’d defrosted last night. In the cabinet, a half-full bag of rice. Not much, but Ed’s a James Beard-award-winning chef for a reason, and if he can’t make a few simple ingredients sing then he might as well throw his whites away now. Maybe it’ll do him good to do a little meal prep, because god knows he isn’t going to be eating at one in the morning.

When he was a kid, when they were living off his mum’s meagre paychecks after his dad had fucked off, most of their meals were like this. Cheap, and simple, with whatever they could afford at the time, though his mum always made sure to keep it as balanced as she could. His childhood was shit in a lot of ways, but the memories Ed has of cooking with her outshine the bad, and he leans on those when the bad times like to float back up to the surface.

It’s better than chain-smoking, or going through a third of his scotch, or pushing himself between sweaty, anonymous bodies on a crowded dance floor. The rhythmic thump of his knife against the cutting board, the steady, familiar motions of seasoning, cooking, plating. Night continues on outside his little kitchen window, and Ed wonders what anybody would see, if they were to look in right now. What stories would they come up with about what they think his life is, or would they simply see him and not think twice?

Life goes on, and Ed goes with it.

——

A week shy of Thanksgiving, Mary invites Stede to her installation. Invites Ed, too, but he’d said he wouldn’t be able to get away from the restaurant for the evening, so just Stede it is, alone as ever but surprisingly not feeling bad about it. He’s grown more accustomed to solitude the past few weeks, and doesn’t always view it as a bad thing.

The installation is in the Bowery. He takes the subway all the way up to Delancey, then stops at a market for a lush bouquet of dahlias and roses that catches his eye when he rounds the corner, all lit up and shining in their deep oranges and reds beneath the fluorescent lighting of the awning. The plastic sleeve crinkles against his suit as he walks the three remaining blocks to the gallery, which is more than enough time to wonder if flowers were maybe not a great idea after all and if he was, in fact, being too much once again.

Turns out he shouldn’t have worried—Mary loves them.

“Oh, Stede, you shouldn’t have!” she exclaims when Stede holds the bouquet out. She takes them and admires them, inhaling deeply over the roses before handing them off to Doug, who promptly disappears, presumably in search of a vase and some water.

“I figured congratulations wouldn’t be enough,” replies Stede, looking around the bright, stark-white of the gallery, the people milling about as glossy as the paintings they’re admiring with their hushed museum voices, thin flutes of champagne pinched between manicured fingers. This world never loses its shine for him—it’s the same stuffed-shirt wealthy he’s used to, but it veers in a different direction. “You’ve really outdone yourself with this one, Mary. They’re all lovely.”

“You’ve got Doug to thank for that,” she replies, smiling.

It’s a radiant, soft smile, as radiant as the form-fitting emerald gown she has on. Stede hasn’t seen Mary shine this brightly in decades, and he’s almost surprised at the near-absence of guilt that he feels when he thinks about why that is. Maybe therapy really does help without you knowing.

“How is Doug?” he asks conversationally, holding out the crook of his arm for Mary to slip hers through, as if no time at all has passed from when they’d do this to put on a front for their families. Much better weight now without all of the malice and disdain, though.

“Just lovely,” Mary says, guiding Stede through her works. She points to one about ten feet up with her half-empty glass. The tennis bracelet at her delicate wrist twinkles like captured starlight. “He inspired that one, in fact.”

Stede follows the extension of her arm, eyes landing on a smaller canvas. The bold, brash brushstrokes remind him of Mary’s first works, the ones that were filled with what he now recognises as frustration. But there’s something about this one that seems to contradict all of that, and he can’t quite figure it out.

“So what does it mean?” he asks. Mary’s work can often mean nothing at all besides her wanting to paint it, but there’s something about this one, the size and the composition and the fact that she pointed it out to Stede when it appears that most people are focused on the paintings suspended around it.

“It’s how Doug makes me feel,” she replies, matter-of-fact. She tips her glass towards the far left of the painting. “See the gradient, how it’s harsh at the beginning before gradually fading into those brighter, softer colours?”

Stede does. And he gets it—it hits him straight in the chest, in fact, the power of it, the meaning. The greys and blacks were their marriage, and the fade into softer pinks and purples and blues must have been when she met Doug. To the average person, it’s simple. Well-done, of course, because all of her work is. But simple.

Stede turns his head to look at her. She still manages to surprise him, even after all these years. It’s amazing what you can see when you actually take the time to look.

“You two really are good together,” he says, means it. Sometimes there is a little niggle of jealousy when he sees how easily the kids take to Doug, but he’s getting better at pushing it down. He isn’t entitled to that jealousy, not when Doug is present for them in ways Stede never was when he was still married. Besides, he’s got his chance now, and he likes to think he’s doing an okay job so far.

“You deserve that, too,” Mary replies, soft-voiced to match her soft smile. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” says Stede, only half-lying. Always one step back from the truth, too scared of the spotlight of its honesty. There’s still a lot he’s trying to untangle. He’s only just started to shed the loneliness that’s been a part of him since childhood, and pieces of it still linger, stubborn. Doesn’t matter if he’s twenty-five or forty-five.

Mary looks at him. Looks at him. Eagle-eyed and precise in the way that knowing somebody for a very long time can make you. Stede looks back, and he doesn’t know what she sees, even when she says, “Then you should take it, Stede. Don’t let it slip through your fingers.”

——

Things even out soon enough, which Ed is grateful for, because in love or not, Stede is still his best friend, and pulling back from him feels all sorts of wrong. Especially with the holidays coming up, even though Ed couldn’t give two fucks about Thanksgiving. He always gives the holiday off for his staff, otherwise he’d been elbows-deep in the kitchen himself.

The problem is, he’s spent so long self-destructing that he’s forgotten what anything else had ever felt like. It’s so easy to lose yourself in the bad and forget about the good when the bad feels like all you’re ever going to get. You get sucked into a cycle, and getting out requires outside help.

When he was a boy, Ed would dream of a storybook romance. At school, he’d read fairy tales where his dad couldn’t see them. He’d pretend he was the one who needed saving. In a lot of ways, he did, but that’s what those books were for.

That’s the thing with storybooks and movies: there’s an ending. A neat ending, a final sentence on a page or tied up in a swell of orchestral music for the audience to leave and think, They’re going to be together forever. Isn’t that lovely.

The story doesn’t end when you get the guy, or the girl, or whomever—life simply begins again, fitted around the shape of you both. New obstacles to overcome, new things to learn and new ways to grow. There’s nothing neat about it, though; life will always be messy. That’s what they don’t show you. The happily ever after won’t always be happy, but the person you’re with will make things easier.

In the end, that’s all that Ed really wants. Somebody to make the world just a little bit easier. Happiness, since he’s been told nearly all his life he would never get it. Love, because what’s the point of living if you don’t have things to love?

——

Once Stede moved out on his own to Brooklyn, he’d finally understood the difference between a house and a home. Now, as he pulls into the driveway of what used to be his house, he’s struck by how it’s also started to feel like a home, albeit a distant one. Without the overhanging cloud of resentment, the boxed-in feeling of being stuck someplace he never wanted to be in a life he never wanted to have, Stede can appreciate what he and Mary created here. Truthfully, he can’t wait to see what she and Doug do with it now, how they can fix what Stede razed to the ground.

He grips tightly onto the steering wheel. No, that’s his father speaking, his father’s voice and the self-loathing drilled into him. He’s being too harsh on himself; he knows that now.

Alma answers when he rings the doorbell, and Stede gets his one allotted hug while standing in the doorway, the November chill pressing against his back. Even though he sees the kids regularly, it still feels like they grow more each time, and as proud as he is of everything they’ve done so far, the knowledge that time will pass anyway can sometimes feel like a kick in the gut.

He’s already wasted so much of his life living as somebody he wasn’t. That’s a fact that will never escape him. It’s getting easier, slowly, but it’s still inescapable knowledge.

The house smells wonderful, and the winding staircase is wrapped in a lush fall leaf garland. Votive candles flicker on the marble entryway table, smelling faintly of cinnamon and apple. Mary’s done a bit of redecorating since Stede’s last visit, but little else has changed.

Just before dinner, after wine has been poured into the cut crystal glasses that Mary kept in the divorce, Stede announces, “I’m officially going to resign from my father’s company.”

“But then what will you do ?” Louis asks, confused.

Mary chuckles into her palm, and Alma rolls her eyes and says, turning to look at her brother, “He doesn’t have to decide that now, do you, Dad?”

“Ah, well, you should always plan before you make big decisions like this,” says Stede, hypocrite that he is, but he at least had planned this one out. “But, yes. I’m not sure what I’ll do yet, though I’ve got some ideas in mind.”

Louis scrunches his forehead up in thought. “As long as we can still come visit you,” he finally says.

Stede exhales. His shoulders relax. “Of course. Any time. Mom and Doug, too. There’s always room for everybody.”

“Even Ed?” Alma asks.

“I like Ed,” Louis adds with a nod. “He’s funny. Is he gonna be there next weekend?”

“Oh,” says Stede, surprised to find his eyes stinging. Is he crying? With the way Mary is looking at him, he must be, and when he wipes the back of his hand surreptitiously underneath his eye it comes away wet. “I didn’t know that.”

“He makes you laugh,” Alma says. “You always seem happier when he’s around.”

“She’s right,” Doug adds. “He’s a good friend for you, Stede.”

He is; that’s hardly news. He was the shoulder Stede needed during the divorce, and the one he needed even more when he wasn’t sure what he’d do afterwards. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that he’s only known Ed for a year when it’s felt like he’s known him for much longer than that.

“Yes,” says Stede, with a little smile and the beginnings of a tug in his chest, “he is.”

Later, after dinner, Doug takes the kids into the living room while Stede stays behind with Mary to finish doing the dishes. Back when they were married, this was the kind of chore they both hated. To Stede, it always felt like playing house. Just another facet of the role he was never meant for, just another reminder that he would never live up to the expectations set for him.

Like many things after their divorce, even this feels easier. More comforting. Perhaps if they'd felt like this when they were married, Stede thinks as he dries another one of their heavy ceramic not-dishwasher-safe dishes, he might have at least enjoyed more of it.

“You’re quiet,” Mary observes, submerging her hands in the soapy water to scrub at a wine glass.

“Sorry,” Stede replies automatically. He twists the dish towel in his hands and looks out the window into the inky darkness beyond. “I was just thinking. Remember how much we hated doing this when we were married?”

Mary laughs and turns to look at him. Happiness is a good look on her, Stede notices. “There were a lot of things we hated, Stede.”

Another apology is on the tip of his tongue, but Stede bites it back. This isn’t something he needs to apologise for—neither of them do. They did what was expected of them, with little choice. It wasn’t fair to either of them. “Does Doug do the dishes with you?”

“We switch off,” says Mary, rinsing the wine glass before handing it to Stede. “It depends on our work schedules. But…it is nice to do it alongside him. Comforting.”

Comforting. Stede had never thought of this kind of domestic chore as comforting before. He rubs at the stem of the wine glass with his towel. Recalls, the kitchen light catching in the gold trim on the rim of the glass, the times he and Ed have done the dishes together. He hadn’t paid much attention to it then, simply because everything with Ed was always easy, but standing side-by-side with him had felt right. Like Stede would do a million and one dishes just to be the one whose elbows brushed against Ed’s, whose soapy fingers touched his as the clean dishes were handed to him one by one.

That kind of domesticity, simple in its nature, made bright and shining just because of Ed.

“Mary?” Stede asks hesitantly, bracing his palms against the counter. “Do you—what does it feel like, to be in love?”

“Oh, Stede,” Mary says softly, smiling. She dries her hands off and leans against the counter. “It’s lovely. He loves my idiosyncrasies. Finds them charming, even. He loves all of it, just like I love all of him. We pass the time so well that it often feels like it’s never passed at all. I think—” Here she pauses, tapping her fingers on her wine glass. “I think that the most important thing, for Doug, is that he understands me. You don’t realise how important that is until you have it.

Another phrase from another time echoes in Stede’s mind. It rings with startling clarity, louder than it did before.

You should take it.

And it is—it’s love. He knows that, now, and he doesn’t understand how he never noticed it before. How it grew and blossomed and settled down deep roots, spreading inside him until it twined with his veins and nerves and all the little delicate inner-workings of his body. Until it became him.

Ed, laughing full-bellied, head tossed back, reaching forward on the scraping tail end of a guffaw to curve his hand around Stede’s forearm. Eyes glittering, scrunched up in their deep ravines of crow’s feet, and him wheezing too much to get Stede’s name out. Stede laughing right along with him, forgotten about what now, belly flipping at the warm point of Ed’s hand.

Ed, a hand on Stede’s shoulder, stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk, the warm summer breeze rustling the leaves of the tree above them. Faded sodium glow of the streetlight, the warm porch light settling itself into the aged lines of Ed’s face. The thought, he’s beautiful, and the quieter one, he makes me feel safe. An admission, heavy but in a good way. Comforting.

Ed, beneath him, above him. Inside him, the steady piston of his cock a filling weight Stede never knew he needed. Leading without ever letting Stede feel guilt, or embarrassment. The enormity of it all, what should just be simple acts of pleasure, but what always felt like something bigger than that; even if, at the time, Stede didn’t know what that meant. 

Countless nights spent on each other’s couches doing a fat lot of nothing, but all the better for the company. The way a bad day instantly turns around when his phone pings and it’s Ed. The friend he’d never had, the one he’d dream up as a boy, huddled alone in his room with ruddy, tear-stained cheeks and a vast cavern of acute, painful loneliness opened wide in his chest, little walkways and safety railings for the constant traffic through it.

The simple fact of being seen, and wanting to be known. It’s those little things that also mean love, he’s learning, not just the declaration itself; they often start so small and grow so naturally you don’t notice it right away, but they’re there all the same.

God—it is. He is.

It’s Thanksgiving, and Stede is in love.

——

The knock on the door while Ed is in his comfiest purple velour sweatsuit bingeing The Sopranos is unexpected. The person behind the knock is even more unexpected.

“Stede?” Ed says, surprised, standing in his fuzzy socked feet in the entryway, the smell of Thanksgiving dinners from multiple apartments warm in the hallway. Behind Stede, Ms. Cardellini’s Christmas wreath twinkles on her door. The world around him is celebrating, even if he isn’t, and being confronted with it echoes in some hollow place in him he doesn’t want to name. “Aren’t you—why aren’t you upstate with the kids?”

“I was,” Stede says. He looks a little frazzled, hair out of place and cheeks slightly pink. His corduroy blazer is unbuttoned to expose the rumpled tuck of his shirt. “Actually, I think I broke several speeding laws to get here. I honked at pedestrians, if you can believe it.”

Ed can’t, because Stede does not do that. Inexplicably, for all his bitchiness as a pedestrian, he’s surprisingly polite as a driver.

“Is everything okay?” Ed asks, heart picking up in his chest. Worst-case scenarios immediately begin rolling film-reel style behind his eyes. Stede would call, Ed knows he would, but sometimes the heat of the moment can change the priority of things. “Mary, the kids, are they—?”

“They’re fine, everyone’s fine,” says Stede, a little too fast, a little too casual. He peeks over Ed’s shoulder into his apartment, looks back at him. “May I come in?”

“Oh, fuck, yeah, sorry, mate. Let me just…” Ed steps back, lets Stede pass him before shutting the door. The TV is paused and the apartment is silent, and it’s not doing anything to dissuade the knot that’s taken residence in Ed’s belly. There is never silence when Stede comes over—he always has some story to tell about his journey to Ed’s place, or about something he saw that day. Stede is full of little eccentricities that Ed collects like trinkets to store away on a sturdily-made shelf in the most important part of his mind.

“The nice bloke from down the hall let me in before I could buzz,” says Stede. He’s still standing there, doesn’t make any move to take off his blazer or his shoes like he normally does. “Sorry about that.”

Ed furrows his brows. The knot tightens, rises, threatens to surface in his throat if he doesn’t figure out what the fuck is going on. “I don’t—Stede, man, you know I appreciate you over-explaining everything all the time, but I’m worried because you’re supposed to be having Thanksgiving with your family, and instead you’re here. ”

Stede blinks at him. Says, “Oh,” like he’s just now catching up to it all. Christ, Ed really does love him, and it aches deep in his chest. For a long few moments, Stede doesn’t say anything, just looks from Ed’s face to the floor and back. For a moment, Ed wonders if he did something wrong.

And then—

Then Stede is stepping forward, and Ed is leaning back in surprise, and Stede catches his wrist. It makes Ed pause. They’re close, hardly a foot separating them now, and Stede is looking at Ed in a way that makes him freeze. Something is simmering between them, and it feels like it’s about to boil over.

“Stede?” he asks quietly.

——

Stede’s heart is pounding.

Ed looks at him, and Stede is wondering how he even missed it at all. It seems so obvious in hindsight, like it should have been screaming at him this entire time. Maybe it was; maybe he missed it, tuned it out, throughout all that fear and uncertainty. And Stede is tired of being afraid, of living cautiously, of never quite toeing the edge in fear that the subsequent fall will be too fast.

He has somebody who will catch him now. So he jumps.

“I love you,” he says. Ed’s jaw drops. Stede continues: “I think I’ve loved you this entire time, and I’ve been a fool for refusing to see it until now. I’ve never lived a life worth anything, Ed, but you make me feel like it’s not too late to find meaning.”

It’s so much, what feels like a year’s worth of admissions spilling out, but it also feels like not enough, not at all. There aren’t enough words to describe how Ed makes him feel, Stede thinks, so it makes sense. Ed is bigger than that. He’s so much bigger than that, and Stede can’t believe it took him this long.

“Stede,” Ed breathes. His voice trembles. The light from the hallway shines off the tears in his eyes, and Stede’s heart clenches. Ed truly is something wonderful to behold, always, even now. “Do you—?”

“Yes,” Stede says. He feels like he’s flying. Yes, yes, all of it, all of me, whatever you need. “I mean it, darling.”

Ed’s lashes flutter, and his throat bobs as he swallows. He exhales, a breathy little oh sound, like he can’t believe it. It makes Stede want to go back in time, to find everybody who wanted Ed just for his body, not his beautiful, brilliant mind. Because Ed deserves more than what he’s been given his whole life— they both do. They’ve both been searching for so long; Stede can only hope that Ed’s conclusion is the same as his.

So he leaps again, closes the gap between them. Thinks Ed must meet him halfway, the joining of their mouths is so jarring. Or maybe it's just the world shaking, breaking apart, rebuilding itself and fitting in new ways around them. They’ve always been like fault lines, brushing just shy of each other without realising what the friction of finally coming together would cause.

Ed’s beard is scratchy against Stede’s chin, and he shivers realising that this is the first time he’s kissed somebody with a beard, and that it’s Ed. Ed moans, sags against him with his hands fisted in the lapels of Stede’s blazer. Stede backs him into the wall, slips his tongue against the seam of his lips, then into his mouth. Ed slides his hands to Stede’s hips, clutches him closer, chases Stede’s tongue with his own. It’s sloppy and it’s perfect, and Stede is so in love.

Love . Fuck, he’d kissed Ed before Ed even had a chance to respond. He breaks the kiss now, watches the sweet way Ed’s eyelids flutter, how his lips are still parted, like his brain hasn’t quite caught up yet that they aren’t kissing anymore. He recognises now the great crescendo in his chest, knows to call it what it is. “You don’t have to say it back.”

“Wha—?” Ed blinks owlishly at him, and there’s a flush across the bridge of his nose, his cheeks. He’s never flushed like this before. It makes all that condensed, white-hot love in Stede’s chest burn even more brightly.

“I don’t expect you to,” says Stede, stroking his thumb across the arch of Ed’s cheek. He can wait. Forever, if he has to, though that would certainly not be ideal, but, well. Ed’s worth whatever it takes. Stede’s already spent his whole life reaching this moment—what would a little longer be?

Ed looks at him incredulously. “Oh my god, you can’t—Stede, you idiot, of course I love you. I fucking love you, ” he says, and pulls Stede back in. He kisses down over Stede’s jaw, the soft spot just below his ear, stops to breathe heavily there. “Fuck. I’ve been so fucking in love with you for so long.”

Stede’s heart skips rapidly in his chest. He clutches desperately at Ed’s bicep, knees trembling like they can’t hold him up for much longer. “Do you mean that?”

“Of course I do. I mean, fuck, look at you, babe,” says Ed, running a hand down the small of Stede’s back, where it ultimately anchors. His eyes have gone all soft and adoring as they search over Stede’s face.

“Ed,” Stede says, blushing, and he gets to watch the grin bloom across Ed’s face. It’s a beautiful thing, Ed’s joy; it always has been, but now it’s as if there’s a new light there highlighting things Stede missed before. “Is it crazy to say I think I’ve been in love with you since we met?”

A laugh, gusty and relieved, and then Ed is kissing him again in response, sliding his fingers through Stede’s hair as he pulls him against his body. Lets Stede lead, once he gathers his bearings and stops being all topsy-turvy over the press of Ed’s lips and the taste of his tongue in his mouth.

“I can think of a dozen crazier things than that, mate,” Ed says, shaping the words against the line of Stede’s jaw. He curls his fingers in Stede’s hair, scratching along his scalp, skittering gooseflesh along Stede’s arms. Stede feels like he’s being turned inside out. 

“I think, for a while, I was pretending to be fine with something I wasn’t,” he says. “But then at some point I stopped.” He says this as he leans in, meets Ed’s tongue before he meets his lips, and the shiver that runs through him now is tinged white-hot with desire. It isn’t anything like how Ed made him feel before. It’s like a riptide, catching him by the ankles to pull him off-kilter; it’s the culmination of something he never knew he needed before, but now that it’s in front of him, boldly stating its intent, he doesn’t know how he ever went without it. He starts to shrug off his blazer and Ed finishes it for him, letting it drop to the floor where Stede kicks blindly at it until he manages to make contact.

“A part of me always knew,” Ed says, gripping Stede’s shirt where it’s tucked into his trousers. He pulls it out, slides his bare hands under and up Stede’s belly. They meet on his sternum and fan out, pressing against Stede’s ribs. He could reach right in, Stede thinks, cupping Ed’s jaw and tilting his head. He belongs there, inside among all those important things. “Fuck,” says Ed, “how couldn’t I? You’re fucking amazing, Stede.”

Stede gets his hands under the unzipped part of Ed’s hoodie, curving his palms over the swell of Ed’s pecs until his nipples peak and he’s breathing hard and moaning, reaching up between them to grab the zipper of his hoodie and yank it down. Stede chuckles against his mouth when it catches and reaches down to slide it the rest of the way, pushing the hoodie off Ed’s arms.

“I need you,” he says, rucking up Ed’s tee, kissing along the column of his slim neck up to where his stubble grows in coarse. “Can I fuck you?”

“Yes, fuck, please,” gasps Ed, cupping Stede through his trousers. Stede’s hips twitch, his cock flexing into Ed’s palm. “Been thinking about it since that night.”

“I am sorry about that, not asking you about protection first,” says Stede as he begins to back them both towards the bedroom, past the still-paused TV where it’s frozen on an establishing shot of the Bada Bing, down the short, dim hall, the sound of their lips slick and loud in the silence.

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ apologize,” Ed says off a groan, nipping on Stede’s lower lip when they pause so that Stede can toe off his shoes. “Did you know— oh, yes — that that was the night I knew I was in love with you?”

“Oh my god—is that why you left?” Stede pulls back. It’s so obvious now, in hindsight.

“Let’s not talk about that right now, yeah?” Ed flips them, backs Stede into his bedroom with his hands fisted into his shirt. His hair, mussed from Stede’s hands, falls across his forehead. “Later, definitely, but not now. Naked. That’s what I want.”

They stumble in against the bed, there’s no other way to put it. They giggle between kisses, between Stede flipping them again so that it’s Ed who falls onto the bed, Ed who drapes his arms over Stede’s shoulders and lets himself be pushed up the mattress, moaning out Stede’s name when their cocks brush together. They stay like that, grinding and kissing, and it’s everything and nothing like all the other times they’ve joined together this way.

“Fuck, okay, okay,” gasps Ed eventually, kissing the soft underside of Stede’s jaw, groping along the gentle curve of his arse. “Let me up, babe.” Babe. Stede inhales sharply. God, but he loves this man. “Too many clothes.”

He has a very good point, Stede thinks as he looks down at Ed below him, pink-cheeked above the near-white grey of his beard, lips slick and swollen. He pushes himself upright and Ed gets his legs over the edge of the bed, scoots in closer. Quick work is made of getting his hands under Stede’s shirt, though less quick work is made of sliding it off; Ed takes his time, runs his hands over every bit of Stede’s chest, slowly pushes his shirt down his shoulders until it gets caught at the crook of Stede’s elbows and Stede, trembling and overwhelmed, whines out Ed’s name.

Then, reverently, Ed’s hands to Stede’s chest, skimming and touching where he can before sliding one down to work on the buckle of Stede’s belt. Mouth hot and wet at his sternum when the other hand joins, the vibration of a quiet moan alongside the slip-slide of his tongue. He gets Stede’s trousers open, pushes them down his hips. Looks up and curves his palm around the heavy shape of Stede’s cock through his briefs, squeezes and rubs while he leans forward and sucks wet kisses on Stede’s belly. His hair cascades around him, falling loose to brush against Stede’s skin with each drag of his tongue.

“Fuck,” gasps Stede, “ Ed .” Ed pulls back, and Stede’s hand trembles as he reaches down and grabs hold of the back of Ed’s hand and watches, open-mouthed, at the sight of them both working over the hard line of him through his briefs. Stede lets go when Ed curls his fingers around his waistband, never breaking eye contact as he tugs his briefs and trousers down so that he can step out of them.

“Yeah, that’s it, c’mere,” Ed says, tugging at Stede’s hips until Stede is climbing onto his lap. “Like that, gorgeous. Fuck, you look so good.” He takes Stede’s cock in his fist and Stede shudders, tips his head down to watch pre-come leak from the slit and shine in the dim light. Ed leans in, rests their foreheads together. Their breath intermingles. “All this, just for me.”

Stede shudders, and oh, how could he ever have misconstrued this feeling for anything other than what it was? This great tidal wave in his chest, the way his belly feels like the bubbles in that glass of champagne they shared the night the divorce went through. 

“Let’s get your socks off now, hmm?” Ed rumbles, and Stede blushes, sliding off Ed’s lap to the bed and reaching down to help Ed peel his socks off. Despite everything they’ve already done together, this is what feels the most intimate. It’s the sort of thing lovers do, and— god, that is what they are now, aren’t they? No longer just friends, or friends-with-benefits.

The enormity hits him, and Stede staggers up to his elbows. “I love you,” he blurts out, because if he doesn’t say it again he fears he may implode. And he knows he has so much time, a lifetime, to say it, but there’s already so much of it that was wasted.

Ed, who’s in the middle of stripping his shirt off, quickly finishes and looks at Stede with impossibly soft eyes. The shirt is discarded to the wayside, and then, still in his sweats, he straddles Stede’s hips and bends down to kiss him deeply.

“I love you, too,” he says, framing each word with another kiss to someplace on Stede’s face. His beard scratches, and Stede giggles with each kiss, and he loves it. Loves him. “So fuckin’ much.”

It feels silly and hyperbolic, but Stede asks anyway, “Forever?”

“Beyond that,” replies Ed, always falling right in step with Stede. “‘Til the heavens roll away.”

“Oh, Ed, my darling,” says Stede, tears in his eyes and in his voice. How could he possibly have gotten so lucky? To have somebody who understands him so completely, who loves as deeply as he does?

He doesn’t know how else to express it, at least not now when everything is so new that his head is still spinning. So he does what he’s learned best over this past month: he reaches under the waistband of Ed’s sweats and takes his cock in hand, giving it a pulsing squeeze. The tremble that works its way through Ed shudders itself into Stede as it goes, and his own cock jerks against his belly, drooling sluggishly.

It’s inelegant, the way he pushes desperately at the waistband of Ed’s sweats and briefs, surging up at the same time to kiss him and suckle on his lower lip, because it makes Ed whimper, and Ed whimpering has quickly become one of Stede’s favourite sounds. He loves the desperation between them; after decades of occasional sex with Mary that was more obligation than pleasure, it’s still a novelty to be driven by lust, to fall so easily into that animal desire that really is everything everybody hypes it up to be.

Ed’s cock is heavy and slick at the tip when Stede finally bares him, and it bounces between his legs while he shakes his sweats off. Stede watches and thinks of it in his mouth, his arse, and remembers that this is something he has now, too, something that he can have whenever he wants.

They get the lube from the nightstand, and Ed sprawls across the sheets with the bottle tucked under his hip to warm it up. When situated, he looks up at Stede, beckons him between his legs; Stede goes as if he’s on a tether, as if he’s a planet drawn to the gravity of Ed’s sun. Those long legs drape over his hips once he’s between them, pushing him down until Stede gets the hint and presses their cocks flush together.

“Yeah, fuck,” Ed groans. “S’real fuckin’ nice, that.”

Pressing his lips against Ed’s neck, Stede chuckles, then kisses him again. The hot-slick length of Ed’s cock bumps his belly and smears its wetness there. It’s going to dry tacky, he thinks. The thought makes his balls throb.

“Yeah?” he asks, rolling his hips down again to see how Ed’s lids flutter, how his mouth falls open. Love sparks brightly in his chest. “Should we just do this tonight, then?”

“Stede Bonnet, don’t you fuckin’ dare, ” growls Ed. “If I don’t get that huge dick of yours inside me tonight I’ll die, and then you’ll have to have that on your conscience for the rest of your life.”

The bright spark of love turns into a roaring flame, a rushing wildfire. He is consumed with it, alive with it. He never knew loving somebody could feel this good. How it makes you want to hold tightly onto every little thing about them, even the things that frustrate you, because they make up this incredible person you want to spend the rest of your life loving, however long that is.

“Well,” says Stede, far more evenly than he feels, “we can’t have that, hmm?”

Bottle sufficiently warmed, Ed pulls it out from under his hip and hands it to Stede, who promptly drops it. Ed bursts out laughing and Stede says, trying for indignant but leaning towards fond, “That was a terrible handoff!”

“It’s okay to be nervous, babe. I know I’m hot,” Ed replies, grinning, stretching his arms over his head and arching his upper back off the bed. Immediately Stede’s eyes are drawn to the dark hair under Ed’s arms, beginning to go just as grey as the rest of his body hair; he’s hit violently with the reminder of their age, and how lucky they’ve been to find each other at all this late in their lives.

Quietly, he admits, “I am nervous.” And because Ed makes him feel brave, makes him feel like he can do anything, adds, “I’ve never made love to anybody before.”

“Made,” Ed starts, and his throat clicks as he swallows and closes his mouth. Sitting up, he takes Stede by the crook of his arm and tugs him in closer, and the way he kisses him then makes all of Stede want to arch toward him. It curls his toes, hitches his breath. It consumes him, top to bottom, and Stede understands for the first time what it means to want to drown in somebody.

“Stede,” says Ed in the humid space between them, the shared taste of each other on their lips, “I love you. I love you. ”

“I know,” Stede replies, and it feels so good to say that his cheeks  ache from his smile. He strokes across Ed’s cheek, traces from freckle to sunspot to wrinkle, nudges their noses together. “I know that.”

Kissing him one final time, Stede slides back down Ed’s body, gently urges his thighs wider as he picks the lube back up and pops the cap. He starts with what he knows Ed likes: a gentle fingertip, rubbing around and petting over the tight muscle of his hole, slowly urging Ed to relax and open up. With a sigh, he soon does, heels whispering against the sheets as he spreads his legs. It’s easier than it was the time before, but Ed is still tense when Stede tries the first finger, still needs a little more gentle urging before Ed finally fully relaxes. 

“Oh, god, yeah, ” whispers Ed when Stede is able to ease his finger in. He reaches down and fists his cock, giving himself a few slow strokes. It’s mesmerising. Stede watches, rapt, as the slick flushed-purple head slides in and out of the circle of Ed’s fingers. It quickly grows wet at the tip, shining in the light as pre-come pearls up before being swiped away.

When he looks up, Ed’s already looking down at him with one side of his mouth slanted up in a knowing smile.

“Like what you see?” he rasps, lowering his voice.

“Very much,” says Stede, shocked by how strained his voice sounds. This is new, this—it has to be flirting, right? Before, there had always been a sort of disconnect, where the sex felt good and they acknowledged how the other looked, but now there’s a new depth there. Space to ask and want more. To feel comfortable enough in your body with a partner to know they’re just as attracted to you. He wets his lips and asks, “Can you take another finger?”

A groan, and Ed’s eyes slide closed. Around his cock, his fist clenches. “It’s so fucking hot when you say shit like that. Jesus. Yeah, ‘m ready.”

More lube, and two of Stede’s fingers slide in easy and deep. It earns him a throaty moan and the clench of Ed around him. Dizzying, that, Stede thinks, as he watches the plunge of his fingers. His own cock gives an acute throb between his legs, and it startles him; he’d nearly forgotten about his own pleasure.

A scene folds out in front of him suddenly, then: an indeterminate day, an indeterminate time from now; both of them able to take their time, stretching the moments between orgasms out as the sun slides his way through the sky. Their shadows contracting and slanting and disappearing while their bellies grow hollow, and they start thinking about food, and what they’ll do, and what time they’ll go to bed together.

Stede’s heart pangs and overflows, dripping messily into his ribcage. All the boring, mundane things. All the tedious little bits of life, and already Stede knows that Ed will make every one of the moments better.

“You look beautiful,” he whispers, in a reverent voice, a museum voice. Hushed and awed at the beauty in front of him, and at all the good luck that has led to this moment. The knowledge that this isn’t temporary—that it could be forever, if done correctly.

“Now,” begs Ed, cradling Stede’s face. Stede looks down at him. Ed looks back. Brows furrowed, eyes wide and blown darker. Like night, like fathomless depths. He’s desperate, trembling with it. “Now, please, Stede.”

Stede is sure he’s never been as turned-on in his life as he is now, with Ed’s thin, desperate voice echoing in his ears. He slides in, inch by slow inch; Ed’s mouth falls open, brow creasing in pleasure. His thighs tremble around Stede’s hips. His breath comes out ragged, and when he opens his eyes Stede is nearly bowled over by the depth there. Ed has a way of making you feel like the most important person in the room, but it’s never looked like this before.

“You feel that, too?” Ed asks quietly, cupping the curve of Stede’s skull with his hands, swiping his thumbs through the tumble of Stede’s hair.

“Yes,” Stede whispers, blinking quickly. It’s like their kiss, this rearranging of the world around them once again to fit the shape of them together. How many other people feel this? How many others experience the world shifting when they slide into their lover, trusted in that secret place inside?

“Fuck,” breathes Ed. He shifts his hips, locks his ankles together above the small of Stede’s back. It brings them closer, sinks Stede in that final bit to make them both moan quietly into the humid space between them. “ Ohh. You feel so fucking good.”

Overwhelm. That’s what it is, this feeling. A good kind, the love kind. Strong enough to shake your foundation. A little scary, because love is scary, Stede’s come to learn, but still sweet enough that you keep coming back.

“Oh, Ed,” Stede whispers. He rolls his hips, gentle out and back in, letting Ed adjust. Sparks skitter up his spine. His next inhale catches in his chest. “My darling,” he says, because he can, they can call each other these things now. “Look at you.”

Ed drags his lower lip into his mouth, lets it go when his jaw drops slightly at the change in angle on Stede’s next slide in and he arches his back up off the bed. Already breathless, he says, “I’m so fuckin’ lucky to have you.”

It doesn’t last long. Stede doesn’t see how it could. Not with Ed a vision beneath him, hands clenched into the sheets and hair splayed like a waterfall of dusky winter twilight across the pillows. It’ll be tangled, and Stede will remember that he did that, and Ed will look at him and smile and Stede will fall in love all over again.

He comes, and Ed comes, and they don’t say anything, because they don’t need to.

“It’s okay if you never want to get married again,” Ed says, after. There’s a forced casualness to his voice that belies the vulnerability that trembles ever so lightly beneath it. “Not that I’m, like, fuck, thinking about it or anything already. Just. Y’know.”

They’re still on the bed. Cleaned up, a damp washcloth folded on the nightstand. Stede rolls over to face him. The low lamplight highlights and shadows Ed’s body, and Stede lingers over every bit in turn, from his strong profile to the elegant line of his neck, down his slim torso and the bit of softness padded low on his belly. To the soft shape of his cock against his thigh and down the long length of his powerful legs.

This is a moment they’ve had dozens of times over the past month, the quiet after. It’s different now; heavier. In a good way, not in a bad way. Stede still relishes it, this comfortable intimacy between them. He and Mary had always gotten clothed immediately after.

“Meeting you was what made me realise that maybe I did need a divorce,” Stede says. Normally, this kind of honesty makes his palms sweat. Like everything with Ed, it’s easier. “The past month has opened my eyes to that. It’s not to say that I don’t have…reservations about a second marriage.”

“Yeah, no,” Ed says quickly, staring at the ceiling, “that’s fair, mate—”

Stede shushes him. “Ed. Darling. I didn’t get to finish.”

Ed’s eyes dart to his, then back up. The rise-and-fall of his chest hitches, just for a moment. “Oh. Sorry. Continue.”

You wonderful, imperfect man. A mess of contradictions and flaws, just like Stede. A near-perfect inversion of himself. Stede could believe that that’s why they fell in love, but he really thinks that he did the second Ed’s eyes met his.

“I was going to say,” he replies with a smile, “that I have reservations about a second marriage, yes, but that with you, I think, I’d be willing to give it a go again.”

And the truth is, he would. Never had truly considered it until this moment, but it feels right, a lot more right than his marriage to Mary ever did. A part of him—a bigger part than he’d apparently noticed—still wants that quiet, happily-married life. It’s easier to picture when it’s Ed, and it should cause him to pause, but, like so much else between them, it doesn’t. If anything, it makes him want to run faster headfirst into it.

“Oh,” Ed says, eyes wide, lower lip wobbling. He turns his head on the pillow, looking as if he hardly dares to believe it. More than anything, Stede wants to hold him—then, he remembers he can.

“In the future, of course.”

“Yeah.” Ed swallows hard, eyes shrink-wrapped in tears. “‘Course.”

“Hey,” Stede says quietly, scooting in closer. He rests his palm on Ed’s chest, over his heart. He slings a leg over Ed’s. Their bodies slot together like they’ve been waiting for this moment. “You all right?”

Ed takes a breath. Nods. Beneath his palm, Ed’s heart rabbits away. Stede can feel his own doing the same.

It’s a little frightening, what lies ahead of them. Neither of them have ever had stable, loving relationships. They’re both sharp with jagged edges. Ed has a temper, and Stede has a mercurial streak, at best.

“Yeah,” says Ed, and when he grins a tear finally spills over. Stede tracks its progress, reaching up to swipe it away with his thumb. “Yeah, love. I’m good. I promise.”

They’re imperfect, sure. 

But that’s what Stede loves the most.