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On a typical day, Ed fishes while Stede works on the Inn, although progress happens very slowly. Neither one of them know entirely what they’re doing, but they know there's nothing else they want. One night, Ed comes home with their dinner and is surprised by Stede’s hands covering his eyes.
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"I don't know how," he whispered, not intending to sound so nervous. "I mean, I do, I just–I–I want to, Ed. But I fear I won't be any good."
"Are you kidding me? Stede I wouldn't care if you had never even seen another person naked. I want you, okay? That's how I know it'll be good. Cause it's you."
This was unfamiliar territory. To Stede, sex was sex and love was love. The two had never crossed in his mind. But Ed was confusing him. They obviously can't procreate, so the only other motivation would be pleasure. At least it should be. Ed not only proposed they have sex, he proposed something much more profound– that he loves him, and he will continue to love him even if Stede didn't get him off. That he'd take terrible sex with Stede over mind–bending sex with anyone else.
Stede would have said something, if he was able to. Instead he pressed his lips to Ed, and hoped that answered him.
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Edward realized he had been suffocating, and Stede had all the oxygen in the world inside his mouth. Stede was starving, and Ed's lips nourished him down to the bone.
Or, Stede and Ed kiss for the first time, and they can’t seem to stop.
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What he didn't tell Stede was that every flower he brought to him, whether an expensive bouquet, or a daisy plucked from the sidewalk, cut through to the deepest and blackest part of his heart. Caressed it and held it gently despite its thrashing, and kicking, and screaming, told it that it was worth pretty things. It welled something up in his throat that threatened to break loose and destroy him. Something about this time, though, triggered its escape. Edward realized later that night, it was the lavender.

