Archive of Our Own

Currently, at 10:33 in the PM—a good half-hour past closing time at The Gentleman Blackbeard’s Bar & Grill & Gift Shop—there’s a man sitting all by himself in one of the many booths that line the room’s far wall.

He’s been there for a couple of minutes now, waiting on a menu. Jeff’s the one who’s got that menu. He hasn’t dropped it off yet, though, because at the moment, he’s stalled by the bar, thinking about the fact that if this had been a normal dude, he would’ve turned him away immediately. After all, he can’t hang out here all night—he’s got a life! And by this point in said life, he usually would’ve been well on his way to getting out of the restaurant and going home to park himself on the couch so he can eat some ice cream and watch TV until it’s time for bed. But no. Here he is, 10:33 PM and still at the restaurant, because…

Jeff sighs. Because he’s a man with eyes, unfortunately. And those eyes can clearly see that this guy is not a normal dude. As a matter of fact, he’s a dude who happens to be the hottest thing Jeff’s seen in… Fuck, he doesn’t even know how long. First off, the man has romance hero hair, for crying out loud. A whole damn head of wavy golden locks that would make Prince Charming jealous. On top of that, he’s tall and fucking fit, with broad shoulders that fill out his jacket almost too well, and thighs that look like they could crush several watermelons at the same time. And the way he’d smiled at the sight of Jeff still in the restaurant while he’d stood outside the front door? Made something in Jeff’s chest wobble like jelly.

Listen, he’s only human, alright? Can’t much be blamed for thinking with his dick instead of his brain. Who cares if the man apparently couldn’t read the sign out front that’d so clearly been flipped to “CLOSED”? He’d been so thrilled when Jeff had opened up! And his voice had been so cute and chirpy and oblivious when he’d said, “Oh, are you still open?” and then again when he’d added (without waiting for an answer), “Wonderful! I could use a bite.” In the end, Jeff had really had no choice but to just step back, let the guy in and sit him down, and tell him he’d be back in a flash with a menu.

Speaking of which, Jeff knows he’s gone without delivering that menu for too long now, but he can’t help it. He’ll admit it: He’s taking his chance to stare unobserved. Human man with eyes, remember, and completely dick-for-brains, and as has been established, this guy is hot. Capital-H, capital-O, capital-T HOT. Maybe even with an exclamation mark at the end too, like: He’s HOT!

Fuck’s sake. Further proof that Jeff really should’ve been home by now—the work day has clearly rotted his brain. His inner monologue is being punctuated like some kind of fizzy pop song.

Honestly, though? It’s fun. Today was a long, busy day at the restaurant, so it’s an extremely pleasant surprise to get to end it with someone so drool-worthy. Makes it all feel worth it. Jeff’s even starting to think he might flirt with this guy. Would be fun, and easy too—he’s a flirt master. And this guy looks like he’d be a good time. Jeff can already tell he’s a character just by his clothes: He’s got on a jacket and slacks made of a matching fabric that’s all lush tropical leaves and brightly colored parrots, paired with a startlingly fuschia button-down. Yeah, he’s a wild one, that’s for sure. And no wedding ring, Jeff absolutely notices. Nope, his nicely manicured hands are wedding-ring-free. Not necessarily a hole in one, of course, but that gets him partway there, at least.

Fuck—they sure are nice hands, though, aren’t they? Broad and sturdy, and even from this distance they look soft. Shit. Hands like those would probably feel so good in his own. Or against his cheek. Or in his hair. Or in his mouth. Or on his co—

Jeff clears his throat. Alright there—maybe slow down a smidge, huh? No use getting too excited too fast. Much as he’d like to, he can’t just jam the guy’s hand (that beautiful, broad hand) down his pants. Nope, gotta work up to it. That’s part of the fun anyway, the back and forth. Like, yeah—Jeff sure as hell loves getting to that pot of sweet, sweet gold. But that doesn’t mean the rainbow that leads to it is any less entertaining.

Jesus. Now he’s thinking in ridiculous metaphors too. His brain really is rotted. Time to get this show on the road.

After a little more ogling, Jeff takes a breath and heads back to the booth. The guy looks up as he approaches and gives him another one of those absurdly lovely smiles, and Jeff has to remind himself how to put one foot in front of the other.

“Sorry about the wait—your menu, as promised,” Jeff says. He hands it over and pulls out the notepad he’d tucked into his back pocket. “I’m Jeff, and I’ll be your server tonight. Anything I can get you started with, Mr…?”

The guy takes out a pair of glasses and perches them on the end of his nose, and it’s distressing how sexy that single move is. Eyeware should not have the capacity to do that.

“It’s Philip,” the man says. “Philip Quinn von Wildingham Porter Fitzgerald. The Third.”

“Is that so?” Jeff raises a brow. “Impressive name.”

“Thank you!” Philip Quinn von Wildingham Porter Fitzgerald the Third says. “It is, isn’t it? You can just call me Philip, though. Now, let’s see… Should start with a drink, I think. How about…” Philip peers at their drink list. “Hmm. Do you have any favorites?”

Jeff considers. “We’ve got a couple of really nice moscatos and rosés if you’re looking for something sweet, or some yummy reds if you want something sturdier. Got a cab sav that’s to die for.”

“To die for, you say? What a way to go. I’ll take a glass of that, please.”

Jeff gives a bow and heads back to the bar. As he gets Philip his wine, he tries to come up with a decent opening line; he really wants to nail it, really wants to draw this guy in. It takes him a few rough drafts, but just as he’s stepping away from the bar again, he comes up with one that he thinks will suffice. When he returns to the booth he does so with a saunter, feeling confident and pretty damn pleased with himself.

“Here we go,” he says as he sets the glass down on the table. “Your cabernet sauvignon.” He goes real French on that, really rolls the vowels around.

Philip swirls his glass before he takes a sip. For a few seconds, he holds the wine in his mouth, a thoughtful expression on his face. After he swallows (a movement that Jeff absolutely does not watch like a hawk, his eyes glued to the bob of the man’s throat), he sighs a sigh of absolute satisfaction. (Which, again, Jeff totally doesn’t care about; he’s sure as hell not imagining that sound being accompanied by a flushed chest and sweaty temples. Nope, no sir.)

“Oh, that’s good,” Philip says. “Very good.”

Even though he’d been certain he’d picked a winner, Jeff’s still pleased by the stamp of approval. “Right?” he says. “Probably my favorite one we have.” Then he smirks to himself. Alright, this is it—time for the first maneuver. “Got a firm taste, doesn’t it?” he adds. “Real rich and fruity, and nice and full-bodied… Just like I like my men.”

It’s a great line, and Jeff knows it. Flirty and funny, suggestive but light, and easy enough to brush it off as a joke if Philip’s not into it. If he just laughs and takes another sip of his wine, rolls right past it, Jeff’ll move on, let it lay there. He doubts that’ll happen, because usually it takes even less than that to get someone to fall right at his feet, but technically there’s a first time for everything. If Philip picks up on it, though, and he is into it…

Jeff’s heart flutters at the prospect. If he’s into it? Let the games begin.

There’s the slightest of pauses. Philip looks frozen in time, the wine glass still at his lips. Jeff’s not even sure if he’s breathing.

Finally, Philip turns to look at Jeff. When he does, there’s a spark of interest in his eyes.

“Is that so?” he says, his voice warm and amused.

Bingo.

Jeff nods, and he lets his eyes travel pointedly along Philip’s body, from his stupid-perfect curls to his leather loafers that look like butter even from here and back up again. “Mm-hm,” he says to punctuate the look. Okay, maybe that move was ballsy. But he has this inkling that he’s not alone here, and there’s only one way to find out, right?

Pink colors Philip’s cheeks, and although he looks away again, Jeff catches a flash of teeth before he manages to cover it with a sip of wine. Hah! He knew it. What did he say? Flirt master, thanks very much. A line and a look and he’s already got the guy flustered. It’s adorable, and he’s a genius.

“So,” Jeff goes on, trying very hard not to preen like a peacock, “now that we’ve got drinks settled—anything I can get you to eat?”

Philip’s eyes brighten and he sits up straighter, immediately distracted, which Jeff finds very endearing. He loves a man who lives for food. (Obviously—he runs a bloody restaurant, after all.)

“Ooh, that sounds lovely. See, I was at this conference all day, and the boys invited me out to dinner afterward, but everything at that place was…” Philip scans the room with comically exaggerated furtiveness, like every chair but his isn’t empty. He leans in toward Jeff. “It was awful, honestly,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper. “Could barely finish what I’d ordered. But this place!” he says as he sits back up, his voice returning to its regular volume. “Lots of good reviews when I found it online.”

Jeff shrugs, attempting nonchalance, but he can’t keep the pride out of his voice when he says, “Made a solid choice there, man. We’re only the most popular restaurant in town. Won the paper’s Silver Spoon award for Best Local Restaurant three years in a row. Probably gonna destroy the competition again this year.”

“Really!”

“Mmhm. We’re basically the best.”

He’s not exaggerating—they really are. People come from all over just to eat here, from hours and cities away. It’s taken a lot of blood, sweat, and tears to get to this point, but he’s really fucking proud of this place. He and the rest of his crew have worked their asses off to make it what it is today.

Philip looks thoroughly impressed. “Now I’m extra excited to try something! Happy to be finishing off the day with something tastier than what I had earlier.” He takes another sip of his wine. “Might already have that standing next to me, though.”

A zap of electricity shoots down Jeff’s spine. Fuck yes! Now that’s what you call flirting! He knew it wasn’t just him. God, he loves being right. Phew, okay—off to a great start. Just gotta keep it up now. Just gotta keep cool, keep it gradual, and he’ll undoubtedly get a phone number out of this. Maybe even a cheeky make-out in the booth. Or they could put the back office to good use? Options, options… The world’s his oyster. As long as he plays it right, that is. But that’ll be easy, because again: flirt master. He was born for this.

So Jeff schools his expression into something neutral and acts casual when he says, “Anything in particular sound appealing?”

With a hum, Philip rests his chin in his hand. “Let’s see… Wow—quite the dessert menu you have here.”

“Oh, yeah. Our head chef’s also an amazing baker. Not a bad thing on there.”

“Mmm. Well, something sweet sounds excellent.” Philip looks at Jeff, and he gives him a wink as he says, “Besides just you, that is.” When he turns back to his menu, he doesn’t hide his smile this time—it’s broad on his face, so much so that it puts dimples in his cheeks and crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “Care to make another recommendation?” he asks.

Oh, it is on. To be clear, it was already on, but now it’s on. This just keeps getting better and better! Jeff wants to do a fist pump or maybe even a little dance, but since he can’t give himself away, he limits himself to tossing his hair sensually over his shoulder and putting a hand on his hip.

“A few,” he says. “The strawberry cheesecake is unreal, and the brown butter pecan pie melts in your mouth. The triple chocolate cake’s probably the best, though. Chocolate cake, chocolate buttercream, chocolate ganache drizzled over top. Four layers.” He drops his voice low as he adds, “Tall, dark, sin-fully sweet,” really hitting that first “s” hard. “Better than sex, honestly. How’s that sound?”

Philip makes a sound that might be a cough, and Jeff has to stifle a giggle. Not that his effort really matters in the end, though, because the sound would’ve died anyway when Philip looks at him again—his expression is all desire, his eyes peering over the top of his glasses and his lower lip caught between his teeth. His gaze roves over Jeff again, but much more slowly now, the look raking through him. Jeff feels it like a burst of fire in his blood.

“Sounds delicious,” the man murmurs.

This time it’s a whine that Jeff has to tamp down. As if he knows exactly what Jeff’s holding back, Philip smirks and sets his menu down decisively.

“Chocolate cake it is,” he says. “And two forks, if you please. You wouldn’t get in trouble if you joined me, would you? I’ve really been enjoying your company. Wouldn’t mind hanging onto it for a bit longer, if I can. Think your boss might let you…” He runs the tip of his finger around the rim of his wine glass. “Indulge me?”

Jeff swallows. “Sure. Think that’d be fine,” he says, his voice wavering only a little. Then he turns tail and makes for the kitchen.

As soon as Jeff’s past the swinging door, he slouches against the nearest counter and lets out a huge breath. Well, shit. Things have certainly gone from good to great. He’s still got that inferno blazing through his veins, and his skinny jeans are starting to feel too skinny. If he’s not careful, Philip will soon be getting an eyeful of exactly how much he’s enjoying his presence. He might also, like, completely jump this guy’s bones. Although, to be fair, Jeff’s pretty sure the guy would be into it, and fuck, if that doesn’t make him dizzy. He’s certainly gonna be getting more than a phone number out of this as long as he sticks the landing. Just gotta keep rollin’.

Before he grabs dessert, he makes a detour to the walk-in in the hope that the cold air and the decidedly unsexy sight of various foodstuffs might help kill his boner. He does have to turn his back on the trays full of zucchinis and cucumbers, but after a minute or so of staring at a bunch of broccoli, he feels a smidge less turned on. With that taken care of, he grabs the cake and extra fork and heads back out to the dining room.

As he returns to that lone occupied booth, he’s met with a look so warm that it banishes the lingering chill of the walk-in from his skin. He takes a seat when Philip gestures for him to do so and sets the cake between them. It looks just as mouthwatering as he’d promised it was: The cake’s so moist that it shines, the frosting’s piled on thick, and the ganache drips down the sides all slick and decadent. He pushes it toward Philip first.

“Here we are,” he says. “Your ca—”

And that’s when Jeff’s voice stops, because as he looks up at Philip, he sees something he can’t believe he didn’t notice as soon as he sat down.

Philip has— He’s—

This bastard. The man has gone and undone the next two buttons of his shirt. And not just that: It also looks like he’s purposefully pulled the shirt wide so that Jeff gets a good look at freckled skin, a sprinkling of fine chest hair, and the slightest hint of tits that he suddenly and desperately super fucking needs to get his mouth on now. Like, immediately. Expeditiously, even.

What if he just dove across the table? That’d be fine, right? The opened shirt just double-triple confirms Jeff’s already-possessed knowledge that the guy’s flirting back with him, so it seems highly unlikely that he wouldn’t be down. Sure, Jeff’ll get cake all over his shirt in the process—no way he’s taking the time to move the plate out of the way—but that’s what washing machines are for. It’s fine! Yeah, he’s gonna do it. He’s gonna launch himself over the lacquered wood, grab Philip by the collar, and get that man’s honeyed tongue down his throat for a few before he redirects and gets real nice and acquainted with those—

“Alright there?”

It’s not until Jeff closes his mouth that he realizes it was hanging open. He blinks and reluctantly drags his eyes away from the sanity hazard in front of him. When he finds Philip’s face, the back of his neck practically ignites: The man is poorly—very poorly—concealing an absolute shit-eating grin. Clearly, this guy knows what he’s doing, and he also knows that he’s had exactly the effect he was aiming for.

Minx.

It’s fine, though. Jeff can get this back on track. He can be cool. Okay, he can attempt to be cool. And he’s gonna attempt so fucking hard because he’s made it this far, and bad as he wants to get to the natural conclusion of this situation, he’s not gonna be the one to crack first. He’s feeling extra competitive about it now, and he’s gonna win.

So he clears his throat and sits up straight. “Oh, I’m fine,” he says, nudging at the plate again. “After you.”

Philip narrows his eyes slightly as he sits there for a beat and stares at Jeff. Then he nods once and picks up his fork, carefully carving himself off a bite. He pops it into his mouth and chews thoughtfully, eyes slipping shut.

Silence. More silence. A silence so silent that Jeff swears he can hear the tick of the wall clock that’s all the way in the back office. He’s starting to think that time has maybe frozen somehow when Philip completely shatters this most silent of silences with a moan so pornographic that it startles Jeff into dropping his fork on the table.

“Oh, wow,” Philip says. He’s still got his eyes closed, apparently blissfully unaware of the Great Fork Disaster. “You were right—that really is to die for.”

Jeff knows he should say something. He knows he should be like, “Told you so, didn’t I?” Something a bit smarmy but ultimately charming, something to show that he’s bold, confident, sure of himself, that he’s proud of his restaurant and for damn good reason. At the moment, though, his ears are ringing like they’ve been soundly boxed, that moan bouncing around his skull like it’s the only thought he’s ever had. Fuck. He swears he can feel it in his bones. He’d known he was wound up, but shit. This is ridiculous.

But what’s he supposed to do instead? Not get all hot and bothered over it? It was an excellent moan! Long and low, completely gratified. The kind that comes from a good fuck, not good food. God, what he wouldn’t do to hear that right in his ear. Preferably while he’s clutching at bedsheets, hard and sheathed in heat, someone’s legs clamped around his waist while their arms are tight around his back.

Oh, great—skinny jeans are definitely feeling way too skinny again. So much for freezing his nuts into submission in the walk-in. Load of good that did him. On that note, though: Cool, he reminds himself. Be cool. Just gotta get him back.

Jeff takes as silent a steadying breath as he can, and when Philip pushes the plate to the middle of the table, he reaches for it with his fork.

“I wasn’t lying, man,” he says. “Won some awards for our desserts too.”

Feeling devilish and determined, he takes his own bite of cake, and as he does, he makes it as much of a production as possible: He lets the fork linger in his mouth, pulls it out slow from between his lips, sucks at the little bit of frosting that’s left on the tines. He keeps eye contact with Philip the whole time, looking at him from beneath his lashes. To his great delight, it definitely does Philip in—that poorly disguised grin he’d had on mere seconds ago is wiped away as he goes slack-jawed, and his eyes seem to glaze over too, that glint in them going from mischievous to very, very horny. Jeff licks his fork once more for good measure, and he swears he hears the guy’s breath catch.

“So!” Jeff says, moving right the fuck on and putting as much oblivious brightness into his voice as he can. “You said something about a conference? What’s your deal?”

Philip blinks, and the film over his eyes doesn’t disappear. It’s not until Jeff gets himself another bite of cake and he lets his fork tap against the plate a little louder than necessary as he does that the man seems to find his way out of the fog. He shakes his head just the littlest bit.

“Uh, yes!” Philip replies, his voice wobbly. He clears his throat. “I work in miniatures. Little houses, little buildings, y’know, things like that. Little pieces of furniture to go in the houses and buildings, little rugs, little couches. All the most important accouterments to make your tiny space comfy!”

The glee that’s suddenly fizzing through Jeff is almost too much to bear. Of course. Of course. Fucking perfect. He should’ve known.

“Miniatures,” he says. “Wow. You make ’em all yourself?”

Philip nods, and he looks very proud, his shoulders set and his chest puffed out (which is a blow to Jeff’s concentration, but he manages to stay mostly focused). “As a matter of fact, I do! I carve the furniture and everything.”

Jeff catches the times of his fork between his teeth, biting coyly at them while he looks down at Philip’s hands (which are—horrifyingly—even broader and more beautiful up close). “No offense, but those don’t exactly look like they carve furniture.”

“I do take very good care of them.” Philip sniffs, and somehow he manages to make even that little sound rather high and mighty. Fuck, that’s cute. Jeff very nearly swoons. “Critical to moisturize, of course,” he says. “And I’ve got gloves too, to keep out the splinters and such while I’m working.”

Okay, that’s very cute. Jeff can appreciate a man who has both a solid skincare routine and the necessary accessories for his hobbies.

“I see,” Jeff says. “My apologies. Sounds like you really know what you’re doing.” He scrapes a stray glob of frosting off the plate and makes a show again of licking it off his fork. The chocolate’s dark and luscious on his tongue, and it’s not much of an act to pretend like he’s savoring it. Damn, this really is some good cake. But he can’t let himself get waylaid by dessert—he’s on a mission. “What’s the last thing you made?” he asks. Okay, maybe he can let himself be waylaid by one thing: He’s hoping there’s some pictures of these miniatures. He’s kinda sorta dying to see them.

Philip claps at that, which, again—cute. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out his phone. “I actually just finished this very nice little cottage. It’s got a working door and everything! I’ve got some pictures, if you’ll gimme a sec—” He taps and swipes at the screen and then holds it out for Jeff to see. “Here! Look at this.”

Sure enough, the photo that’s presented to him is indeed of a very nice little cottage: It’s got a tiled roof and a cobblestone exterior in browns and oranges, and there’s even a yard in front blooming with artificial flowers. Not that it’s easy to tell it’s artificial—it looks stunningly real, so much so that Jeff’s almost convinced that if he reached out to touch the screen of Philip’s phone, his fingertips would be met not with glass, but with the delicate velvet of pansy petals and the soft scratch of grass.

Jeff whistles appreciatively. “Wow. That’s gorgeous, man. How long did that take you?”

“A couple of months,” Philip says. He flips to another picture, this one a different angle of the exterior where you can see that one of the little side windows is swung open. “That’s including doing the house and the furniture and the landscaping and everything. Furniture’s the longest part. Almost impossible to stop myself from making more and more. I can build a house in a weekend, but everything that goes in it? Days. Days upon days upon days. It’s just too fun! And look at how this one turned out.”

Philip shows off another few pictures, each of different rooms. Jeff loves them all—he loves the sweetly cluttered living room with its overstuffed sofa that’s simply smothered in tiny throw blankets; he loves the cozy bedroom with its dozens of abstract paintings lining the walls; he loves the little kitchen with its brick stove and magnet-covered fridge. It’s all just so terribly endearing. This is a man who clearly loves his hobby, and Jeff loves that, loves a passion for anything. Very admirable, that.

“That’s amazing,” Jeff says, and he means it. “You really made all this?”

Philip nods. “Mmhm. Did the little paintings, crocheted the little blankets, everything. Even made the light fixtures! I’ve been working on getting better at those. Oh, and the carving I mentioned! See the kitchen table and chairs? All mine.”

He zooms in on the kitchen picture to highlight both. They’re done in a dark, polished wood that gleams under the light, so stunning and rich that if they were full-sized, Jeff wouldn’t hesitate to buy them for his own home.

“Fuck, that’s unreal. You really did that? Even got those little—what are they called—the little spokes or whatever in the back of the chair? And carved the stuff on the table legs?” It’s hard to see in the picture, but the legs look some kind of textured.

“I did,” Philip confirms. “They’re supposed to look like tree trunks. As it began, so it ends, hmm? The circle of life. Plant life, that is.”

Jeff shakes his head. If he wasn’t ass over tits for this man already, he certainly is now—not only does he want to put him in his goddamn pocket, but he also wants Philip to rail him until he can’t see straight. Or maybe he’ll rail Philip until he can’t see straight. He’s not picky.

“God, that’s cool,” Jeff says. “You’re cool, y’know that? I love this. That’s so clever.”

Philip shifts in his seat, the corner of his mouth twitching as he flips back and forth between a few more pictures. “You really think so?”

“I know so. This shit rules.”

Philip’s smile finally wins out, hitching up high into his cheeks. “That’s very kind. I do really love making them. It’s—”

That’s when Philip looks back up, and abruptly, as his eyes meet Jeff’s, his voice dies. His expression changes, but he doesn’t go slack-jawed and dreamy again—that desire is back, crystal clear. His arm also falters, the phone attached to it dropping half an inch or so.

Jeff’s confused. He remembers he’s still got his fork at his mouth, the ends of the tines pricking at his lower lip, but he’d truly completely forgotten about trying to be sexy—the pictures had preoccupied him. “What?” he asks, genuinely.

The phone and its pictures are abandoned to the table without even a glance spared toward them. “You’ve— You’ve got something,” Philip says. He gestures to his own face to try to communicate where, and then he reaches out, reaches for Jeff, and he—

He hesitates. “May I?”

Silence again. Jeff can’t even hear the tick of the office clock this time. His lungs go tight. His heart thumps in his chest.

He nods.

And Philip cups Jeff’s face in his hand.

As it turns out, Jeff’s earlier assumption was correct: The guy’s hand is soft. Totally broad and sturdy too—it holds him perfectly still, cradling his jaw to keep him in place while a thumb brushes over the corner of his lips. That tiny touch wounds Jeff right to his core.

But just as quick as it came, the touch slips away, although it lingers as it goes—Philip’s palm trails the length of Jeff’s jaw to his chin, fingertips drifting along his cheek. Jeff can’t help stretching forward across the table to chase it, and he nearly grabs that heartbreaking hand to bring it right back to his face so he can press into its lines and fingerprints. Instead, he just watches as Philip brings that hand to his own face, looks at the smudge of frosting on his thumb, locks eyes with him, and then pops his thumb into his mouth to lick it clean.

Oh. That’s— Huh. Jeff didn’t mean to moan like that. He also didn’t mean to let his mouth hang open again the way it’s currently totally doing so, like he’s the one with a thumb on his tongue, and oh, he really, really fucking needs that, right fucking now. He’d be more embarrassed about the way he’s so clearly squirming in his seat if it wasn’t for the way Philip is still staring him down, because that stupid-hot look makes it hard to think about much of anything.

Philip’s thumb slips from between his lips and he lets out a small sigh. “So good,” he says, and the words are so quiet that it’s almost like he’s saying them only to himself.

Once again, Jeff’s definitely not imagining those words in a different context. Super not imagining fingers in his hair and his mouth full, his own hands grasping desperately at a pair of thighs that are no longer hidden by well-tailored pants, his mind blissfully blank. Proud kisses over his now-empty throat and candied murmurs of so good, angel, you did just perfect are the furthest thing from his mind.

Oh, great. He is so fucked.

In a blink, Jeff decides that this is it—he can’t do this anymore. He can’t keep up the back-and-forth. It’s now or never. Gotta take the plunge, seize the day, strike while the iron is hot or whatever. And the iron is hot, man. Hot and hard. It’s a miracle his briefs haven’t burst into flames. Alright—time for the big show. Go big or go home, baby.

Jeff takes a deep breath. Distantly, he registers that he’s standing up from the table, and he’s pretty sure he mumbles something about how he’ll be right back. It’s on automatic feet that he walks back toward the kitchen, navigating between counters and cook stations with the ease of someone who loves this place almost as much as he loves his own home. When he’s close enough, he grabs the handle of a familiar door and swings it wide.

The mere sight of the back office and all its minutiae—the neat piles of papers on the desk, the hand-knit scarves hanging on the coat rack, the collection of seashells arranged on top of the filing cabinet—downshifts Jeff’s heart rate a few notches. He stands there for a minute trying to settle himself. No sense going in for the kill while he’s rattled; he’s gotta be at the top of his game for this. And he will be, because he can do this. He can fucking do this. This is the Flirt Master, reporting for duty. Time to take the shot.

Jeff crosses to the full-length mirror that stands against the far wall of the office and looks himself over. Unsurprisingly, he’s hot: In addition to the skinny jeans, which make it very clear just how long his legs are (and are also doing nothing to disguise the rock that’s between them again), he’d put on a silk button-down today, one that’s about a size and a half too big so that the collar shows off some shoulder and the fabric billows around his middle. It’s black and iridescent, and he’s got the sleeves rolled up to his elbows so that you can see his cool tattoos and his tasty forearms. To finish it off, he’d opted for some of his favorite silver jewelry: A miniature dagger dangling from his left ear and two small hoops winking from his right, as well as an assortment of rings. All together, it’s an excellent look.

But he also knows it can be even better. To start, he doesn’t hesitate to undo his shirt buttons all the way down to the top of his jeans, because two can play at that game. He grabs a scrunchie from one of the desk drawers too and puts his hair in an artfully sloppy bun, making sure to pull a few strands down to float around his face.

He pauses then to turn his head this way and that, admiring his now-fully-bared neck. It’s been years since he cut his beard and made the choice to keep it trimmed close to his face, and he’s grateful for it for different reasons on different days. Most days he’s grateful because it’s less maintenance like this and doesn’t get caught in zippers anymore, and it’s also kinda symbolic of the fact that he’s, y’know, no longer hiding himself or whatever. Today, though, he’s grateful because having his neck naked makes him look so very pretty and biteable. Hopefully a certain miniature-builder sitting out in the dining room will think the same.

As a finishing touch, he leans in close to the mirror and smudges the black liner he’d penciled along his lashes that morning. When he pulls back, his eyes look dreamy, even dreamier than they usually do. There was no question that he’d already been irresistible earlier, but now? Downright delectable. He’d fuck him. Oh, wait, one last thing: He tugs at both sides of his shirt, making sure it gapes as wide as possible. If he twists the right way, you can catch a glimpse of at least one nip, or two if you’re lucky.

There—all set. He’s ready.

When Jeff makes his way back to the dining room, he doesn’t walk—he struts, tits forward and hips swaying and head held high. As soon as the kitchen’s swinging door swishes open, Philip looks up, those hazel eyes going dinner-plate wide. The guy even takes off his glasses to wipe at the lenses before shoving them back on and all the way up to the top of his nose, which has Jeff trying to disguise a laugh as a sneeze. Once he’s a few steps away from the booth, he stops.

“So,” he says. “Here’s the thing. I’ve got something else for you.”

Philip’s eyes are absolutely nowhere near Jeff’s when he says, “Oh?”

“Uh-huh,” Jeff says. He can practically feel the touch of an overwhelmingly lustful gaze slipping over his half-bare chest and the bulge in his jeans. “It’s real one-of-a-kind. Off-menu, super special. Very exclusive.”

A flick of a glance toward Jeff’s face. “I’m listening.”

Jeff takes a chair from the nearest table and pulls it out so it’s facing the booth. “It’s another dessert,” he starts. He stands behind the chair, resting his forearms on the back and leaning in like he’s sharing a secret. “Another sweet one, but with a bit of a kick. Expensive, but I think your taste is rich enough for it. Kind of an older recipe, but a classic. A word of warning, though: Once you try it, you’ll probably never stop thinking about it.”

There’s another few seconds of ocular feel-up before Philip meets Jeff’s gaze again. When he opens his mouth and says, “Alright—I’m in,” his voice is hoarse.

“Good choice,” Jeff says, coming around to sit down in the chair. “Now, just one question.” He sits back in his sexiest slouch, feet planted on the floor and his knees falling to either side so his legs are spread wide. One arm’s propped on the back of the chair again while the other rests on his thigh. “Do you want me for here? Or to go?”

They hold each other’s gaze. Not a single sound is uttered, and no one moves.

Until Stede snorts loudly, and immediately claps his hand over his mouth. Ed lets his own mouth fall open in exaggerated shock.

“Uh, excuse me? Are you laughing?” he asks at the same time that he’s still trying not to crack up himself.

Stede shakes his head and waves his hand while he continues not-laughing. It takes several seconds of this before he can break through it enough to say, “Sorry, didn’t mean it. Was not funny—”

“Fuck no it wasn’t!” Ed yelps. “That was sexy as hell!”

Stede just not-laughs harder at that. He’s wiping at his goddamn eyes now, and with both hands, apparently no longer giving a shit about trying to hide his amusement. “It was, darling, I promise it was,” Stede says. “Just— Sorry, I—” He takes a deep breath and subsequently loses it to a fresh fit of wheezing. “It’s been quite a night! Feeling dopey, I guess, after keeping up the act.”

“Stede! Oh my god! This was your idea! And it’s been, like—” Ed checks his watch. “It’s been half an hour! Quite a bloody night indeed.” He actually agrees that it’s been quite a night—the effort of trying to keep his thirst in check honestly has him minorly exhausted—but he’s been having so much fun getting Stede riled up that he wants to keep going.

Now it’s Stede who gapes at him. Success.

“Oh, I’m sorry—I must’ve been mistaken in thinking that I was not the only affected party here,” Stede says, suddenly seven shades of haughty. “I must’ve just imagined that there was someone who’d moaned after I got that frosting off his face—”

“Uh, hello? Are you joking? You started it! You were the one who ate that piece of cake like you were eating ass! And then you expect me to be all whatever about it. Like, ‘Nah, it’s cool, I’m fine, that’s totally not the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard—’”

“The sexiest thing you’ve ever heard?”

The remaining words in Ed’s throat are withered and ashed by the heat in Stede’s voice—it curls low around his words, smoldering, making Ed’s spine tingle from the base of his skull to his tailbone. When he manages a “y-yeah,” it comes out as a croak. To his surprise, Stede gives him a pitying look in return.

“Oh, dear,” Stede tuts. “That’s a bummer, because it really wasn’t my best work. Hmm. Tragic.” He rests his head in his hand as he smirks. “Maybe you should let me give you an encore.”

Ed’s been so in the mode of holding himself back that it’s instinctual to try to grab the bolt of desire that shoots through him at those words and crumple it up and dunk it into the trash like it’s a spare sheet of paper. But then his brain reboots and it computes that Stede’s coming on to him, and that since they’ve ended their little charade now, Ed can wreck this man’s shop exactly the way he’s been wanting to all night. So he gives in: He exhales, murmurs a “fuck, yes please,” and reaches out to grab Stede by his lapels, yanking him out of the booth and hauling him in for a kiss.

Not a second is wasted—as soon as they’re touching it’s tongues in mouths, hands on faces and waists, thighs slotting together. The force of it bumps Stede back against the table and Ed uses that as leverage, bending him back so he can tower over him a little. Stede responds the same way he always does when Ed gets up and over him like this: There’s a sound of delighted surprise, followed by a full-throated moan that makes the back of Ed’s neck prickle with goosebumps, goosebumps that go on to drip down and pool in his lower back when Stede gets one hand grasping at his ass and the other tangled in his hair, fingers scrabbling for his scrunchie to undo his bun. Stede was right—the sound he’d made earlier (while still undeniably spectacular) was nothing compared to this. This is top-shelf whiskey, noon at the equator, burning him up both inside and out and getting his pulse tripping. Immediately, he bends Stede back further and clutches him to his body, kissing him as good and sloppy as he can in the hope that Stede might again be reduced to that moan and that moan alone.

When Ed pulls away to suck in a quick breath, Stede takes the opportunity to divert to his neck, and the slip of his lips and the sting of his teeth have Ed hissing and grinding into him. Fuck yes, this is what he was after. He’s never, ever gonna grow out his beard again, not even under threat of death, because this? This is so good it’s got his toes curling in his shoes and his nipples peaking beneath his shirt. He could spend a blissful, sweaty eternity in this moment, and he hopes he looks like a bruised banana come tomorrow morning, black and purple pearls scattered over his skin, worked in so deep that he’s gotta wear turtlenecks for a week. Which’ll only get Stede like this again, actually, because for whatever reason, Stede goes completely batshit whenever he puts one on. Especially when he knots his hair on top of his head and nicks a pair of Stede’s reading glasses too—

That train of thought is completely derailed and a yelp jumps from Ed’s throat as that hand on his ass squeezes and Stede nips at his pulse. Everything feels technicolor right now, about a zillion times more overwhelming than it would under normal circumstances on account of the way he’s got all this pent-up sex in his veins from a whole goddamn half-hour of having to endure his beloved’s flirtations without being able to act on them. Briefly, he wonders if maybe he really will spend eternity here, because this’ll be the place where he dies. Seems plausible—Stede hasn’t even gotten a hand under his clothes and Ed already feels like he’s gonna go off like a firework show. He pulls back to look at Stede.

“If you keep up like that,” he says, low and serious, “I’m gonna come right here, right now. And that won’t be fun for either of us.”

A mischievous twinkle glimmers in Stede’s eyes. “Dunno,” he says, all cheek. “Might be fun for me. I love it when you get wound up like this.”

Stede runs his thumb over Ed’s lower lip then, and Ed can’t stop himself, not with the way he’s been dreaming about this ever since Stede had wiped the frosting from his mouth: He automatically opens up and takes Stede’s thumb in to the first knuckle.

Stede’s breath hitches. There’s barely any color left in his eyes—they’re mostly pupil now, all wide and wanting. Tentatively, his thumb presses down on Ed’s tongue, and Ed swears he can hear his own brain go snap-crackle-pop.

For a beat, Ed just keeps Stede’s thumb there. Watches from beneath his lashes as Stede’s shoulders slump just a fraction. Listens as Stede’s breathing grows audible. Waits as the air between them grows thicker and thicker with expectation. Holds Stede inside him until his mouth starts to water, until Stede says “oh, darling” in a voice so wrecked it rubs him raw. Only then does he let his lips close, his next exhale coming out as a moan as he sucks on Stede’s thumb.

Stede curses, posture slumping. The sound fizzles along Ed’s skin, and he doesn’t hesitate now as he takes Stede’s thumb to his second knuckle, lips meeting his palm. His tongue strokes along Stede’s skin, and he even gives a few shallow bobs of his head. At that, Stede’s hips jerk against his, one quick and involuntary thrust as he lets out an ah! of surprise.

“Fuck, Ed,” Stede croons. “Oh, angel, you’re—” His eyes flit over Ed’s face, as if they’re desperate to take in every single inch of him at once. A hand comes up to stroke Ed’s hair, and when Ed sucks hard enough on Stede’s thumb that his cheeks hollow, Stede’s expression shifts into one of infinite wonder. “Just the prettiest thing,” Stede finally whispers, and he sounds completely undone by it.

And that knocks Ed right the fuck out, because few things hit harder than Stede calling him pretty. As he’s laid out on the metaphorical mat, ears ringing with the sound of the K.O. bell, every stifled desire he’s had over the last half-hour comes rushing back to him all at once, strung together to make an extremely graphic highlight reel of every single thing he wants—no, needs—to do to Stede. It’s the sheer force of that need that has him figuratively picking himself up off the canvas and literally giving Stede’s thumb one last suck before he pulls off of it.

“Hey, you never answered my question,” he says as he gulps down a few breaths. “You want me for here or to go? Whatever it is, I’m gonna need an answer, like, ASAP, ’cause if I don’t get my mouth on your tits in the next twenty minutes or so—”

“Car,” Stede gasps, and then he’s pushing the both of them away from the table and herding them toward the front door with a level of strength and a sense of single-minded determination that are both so insanely sexy that Ed swears he can hear the straw-suck sound of what little blood was left in his brain zipping straight to his dick.

Now that the night’s sped up, Ed’s feeling dippy—he can’t stop giggling as he presses Stede against the car for another kiss, or while he keeps a hand on Stede’s thigh as Stede drives, fingers dangerously close to (but not touching) the tent in Stede’s trousers. He keeps sing-songing too that they “better hurry up and get home soon before the dessert gets cold.” Stede tries to tell him off, aiming for bossy when he says, “Edward, cut that out—if you’re not careful, I’ll crash the car,” but he can’t stop giggling either. Both of them are slaphappy when they pull into the driveway, and they stumble up the walk together with their arms linked, all huddled close and shushing each other like they’re sloshed from a night out, which only makes them giggle harder.

The front door’s barely closed behind them when Ed pounces on Stede again, getting him pressed to the wall; he hears Stede’s keys glance off the shallow dish they keep on the entryway table and clatter to the tile instead. They’re still laughing too much to be able to get at each other with any real sense of accuracy, but Ed loves it—it’s lighthearted and silly in a way that makes him dizzy, gets tiny bursts of glitter going off in his heart whenever Stede’s lips meet his teeth or when his meet Stede’s. God, they just have so much fun together, don’t they? Kissing every way but proper, teasing each other to the point of near-madness, playing pretend with a level of goopy over-drama that’s usually reserved for charmingly low-budget local theater productions. The thought makes Ed so full-up with joy that his skin feels too tight on his body. It also gives him this abrupt need to have Stede all the way down in his lungs, so he drags his mouth away and buries his face in the crook of Stede’s neck, taking deep, hungry lungfuls of that morning’s cologne and aftershave. Cedar and orange and bergamot slide through him, mellow and clean all along his insides, and it’s so satisfying that the roots of his hair tingle.

Hands come to Ed’s back, broad and warm. “Alright there, sweetheart? How are we doing?” Stede’s voice is thin in that way it gets when he’s turned on, but there’s a thread of concern in it too, strong and bright and true.

Ed tucks his face into Stede’s shirt. “Good,” he answers, truthfully. Then he bites at Stede’s collar, because that “good” is so strong that he needs something between his teeth about it. “You just make me really happy, y’know?”

Stede chuckles. “That so?”

“Uh-huh,” Ed says. “You’re—” He releases the fabric from between his teeth so that he can pull himself up enough to rest his forehead against Stede’s. Gently, he digs his brow in, like he’s trying to get his very skull against Stede’s own, and his heart goes belly-up when Stede nudges right back, nose pressing into his cheek. “You’re the most fun I’ve ever had, man. Playing pretend and doing goofy shit. And you’re so cute it’s actually annoying, and you’re funny, and you’re—”

It’s then that, in an attempt to sate his constant craving for the feel of Stede’s body all along his own, Ed slings an arm around Stede’s waist and tugs him closer. As he does, their hips meet, and Ed feels something hard against the top of his thigh that he can’t believe he ever let himself get distracted from.

“Fuck,” he says. “Sorry—rest of the mushy stuff’s gonna have to wait ’til later. I needed you naked, like, five minutes ago.”

Stede moans, the sound faltering when Ed reaches down to cup him through his slacks. “That’s, ah— Won’t say no to that,” he says. “Should we—mmm, fuck—”

“Yeah, I’d say we should,” Ed interjects.

Stede reaches up to tug on Ed’s earlobe. “You didn’t let me finish.”

“Oh, don’t worry—you’ll be finishing very soon.”

“Are you always this smart?”

The way Stede’s squinting at Ed is rendered almost entirely ineffective by the way his mouth’s wobbling with the effort of trying not to smile. Ed just grins back.

“Dunno,” he says, “you tell me,” and he fondles Stede a little more just to be saucy.

Stede hips hitch into his hand. “Mm, far too smart,” he says. “And you’d better be careful—legs won’t last much longer if you keep that up.” As if to prove Stede’s point, those legs buckle, sending him slipping down the wall an inch.

Ed tightens his arm around Stede’s waist to hold him in place. “Yeah, alright,” he mumbles. “Bedroom.” But his feet stay where they are because he decides he needs another dose of cologne first. He presses his face against Stede’s neck again, and his blood hums in his veins as he takes a fresh pull. And this is only the beginning, he reminds himself. There’s so much awaiting him: Stede’s tits, Stede’s legs, Stede just generally being de-clothed. He’s so ready—he needs to have his husband all over every inch of him.

Husband—that’s right. Ed’s thoughts snag on that as he remembers something he’s honestly surprised he’d forgotten about until now. Too horned up, apparently. He (tragically) releases Stede’s hard-on so that he can root around in the pocket of his pants.

“Hey, do me a favor,” he says as he digs. “Can you—” His fingertips meet metal, and he pulls out his prize and holds it up to Stede’s face. “Can you put this back on? I’d like it to be my husband that I go to town on tonight.”

When Stede finally smiles, it’s so broad that it goes more than a little bit lopsided. He holds up his hand and lets Ed slip his ring onto his finger, and when Ed presses a kiss to the knuckle just below the band, Stede gets him back with a kiss to his hairline.

“Aren’t you the romantic,” Stede says, the words soft in a way that would be enough to tell Ed he’s blushing even if he hadn’t been able to see his pink cheeks. “Here—you need yours too.”

Stede reaches into the inside of his jacket and produces Ed’s ring as well. He keeps hold of Ed’s hand after he puts the ring on, though. Seems to be admiring it—Stede’s gaze roams over his palm before he flips his hand and kisses his faded spider tattoo. A thumb bumps slowly over his knuckles, back and forth and back and forth.

“Pretty,” Stede murmurs.

He flips Ed’s hand again and presses a kiss to the inside of his wrist. Then his lips are dragging up, up, up, over the heel of Ed’s hand, up the length of his palm, along his ring finger, and when he gets to the tip, he sucks it into his mouth, and now it’s Ed’s legs that are threatening to call it a day. First there was the “pretty” again, and now Stede’s mouthing at him.

“Shit, babe, you can’t—” Ed loses his words to a whimper when Stede moves down to his first knuckle. The way he sucks makes Ed’s cock twitch in sympathy.

Stede releases his finger. “Can’t what? If you’ll remember, you were the one who started this earlier. I’m just returning the favor, dear.” He’s got this doe-eyed, sparkly-cartoon-lashes look on and his voice is all prim and proper too, and it’s bananas, honestly, how sexy that is. Completely unfair.

Ed huffs. “You’re just— You’re so fucking—”

Ed decides he’s not even going to finish that sentence—he just grabs Stede’s hand and yanks him down the hall, practically running to their room. As soon as they’re past the threshold, Ed’s all over Stede again, peeling off his jacket and trying to simultaneously kiss him and fumble at the buttons of the shirt, followed by the rest of his clothes. It takes a minute or so of both his work and Stede’s help, but eventually he’s got Stede down to his unmentionables, and then, hungry as he is, Ed lets himself take a moment to step back and look at him. Good god, does Stede look incredible: His eyes are dark and desperate, his chest heaves with deep, thirsty breaths, and his hair’s a mess, golden waves pulled every which way. His legs look as long and delicious as ever too, and Ed can just sense the strength in those arms of his. Stars above. He really nabbed the hottest man on not just this planet but all the rest. It’s unbelievable how lucky he is, and it’s a miracle he ever lets Stede out of bed.

As Ed’s staring, Stede breaks into a smolder and strikes a pose, hands on his hips and one shoulder popped up. “See anything you like?” he asks, his voice comically deep.

Ed bites his lip, partly to be dramatic and partly because he’s, like, horrendously turned on. “Yeah,” he says. “Reckon I do.” He looks Stede up and down again, and when he does, his eyes catch on something they’d previously missed—there’s a damp spot on Stede’s briefs, small but definitely there. He smirks. “You spill something down your pants earlier or are you just happy to see me?”

Stede looks down at himself and then back up at Ed, still smoldering. “What can I say? You get me so hot and flustered,” he says, winking big and really hitting that hot and that flustered hard. Again with the local theater energy—Ed has a sudden vision of Stede in a glossy red lip and black eyeshadow up to his brows, belting it all the way to the folks in the cheap seats as he struts across the stage wearing thigh-high fishnets and platform heels that further accentuate those aforementioned delicious legs of his.

Okay, that’s something they’ll need to explore. Holy shit.

Not now, though, because now, as Ed’s standing there trying not to break, Stede’s hands come to rest on his hips, thumbs dipping just inside the waistband of his jeans. Ed’s mouth goes dry.

“Something tells me you’re probably in a…” Stede’s thumbs dip down deeper. “Bit of a similar state?” His voice is practically a purr, all dark velvet and that night’s rich wine. “Mind if I…”

Silence settles between them, stretching out for one second, five, ten. Ed’s heart races. The air between them has a goddamn electric charge to it, and Ed can feel himself shivering with antici—

Slowly, Stede leans in and gets close to Ed’s ear. He waits for another few seconds, and then he whispers: “Mind if I find out?”

—pation. Lord have mercy. This man is going to drive him absolutely insane. Ed staggers on a half-whimper, half-giggle, and he seizes at Stede’s shoulders to keep himself upright.

“Yeah, yeah, fuckin’ do it, man,” he babbles, wildly desperate, because he’s so hard it hurts and he loves Stede something awful, and if they don’t start picking things up again soon, he’s probably gonna explode.

Thankfully, Stede finally gets to work, although he doesn’t move fast—he takes his sweet time undoing Ed’s belt and popping the button on his jeans, and when he unzips them he goes tooth by tooth until every single one is undone. The act of pulling the jeans off is a painfully slow process as well, and because Stede’s the devil, he has to keep teasing him further while he does it: He gropes at Ed’s ass as he gets the denim past it and feels up his thighs once those are naked too. And once the jeans are all the way off, Stede sits back on his heels and stares keenly at his underwear. They’re powder pink, low-cut and lace-trimmed, and both the color and the thinness of the fabric make the wet spot at the tip of his own cock all too visible.

Stede’s ensuing hmph reeks of victory. He traces a finger over the outline of Ed’s hardness, chuckling when it jumps at his touch. “Well, well, well,” he says. “Not just me after all, is it?” Stede noses at him first, then parts his lips and mouths at him through his underwear, wetting the fabric even further until it’s almost translucent.

Okay, that is it—Ed needs to get Stede off, and he needs to get Stede off now.

He drops to the floor and plunges his hands into Stede’s hair so that he can pull him in for a kiss. Stede squeaks before he quickly settles in, kissing back with fervor, and by the time Ed pulls away, Stede’s lips are slick.

“Alright, listen,” Ed pants. “Here’s how this is gonna go: You’re gonna get up and sit on the end of the bed, and I’m gonna stay right here and suck you off. Alright?”

To Ed’s surprise, Stede frowns. “Oh, I don’t want you on the floor, darling—you’ll muck up your knee—”

“Fuck my knee.”

Stede hums and tips his head to the side. “Huh. Guess that’s possible,” he murmurs. “Logistics might be tricky, but… I think we could make it work.”

It takes him a second, but when Ed realizes what Stede’s talking about, he snorts. “Not what I meant, man. You’re a clown.” And I love it, he adds in his head.

Stede taps a fingertip to the end of his nose. “You love it.”

Of course. Leave it to Stede to read his mind.

“Unfortunately,” he says, “I do.” Then he pauses. “And y’know what else I love?” He grabs at Stede’s cock. “This. Now—can you get on the bed? I need something in my mouth.”

Stede gapes at him, eyes half-lidded and brain seemingly crashed. It’s not until Ed clears his throat that Stede visibly recalibrates—he blinks vigorously and shakes his head, and then Ed’s being pulled up and onto the bed, handled this way and that until he’s lying on top of Stede. As he looks down at Stede—who’s still blushing—Ed smirks.

“Little eager, are we?” he teases.

“If that mouth you mentioned wasn’t so filthy— C’mere, c’mere,” Stede says, and he pulls Ed down for another fervent kiss.

They stay like that until Stede gives a few rolls of his hips, at which point Ed’s mouth starts to water and he immediately begins making his way downtown. Eager as he is, though, he doesn’t stop himself from lingering: He teethes at Stede’s jaw, works a few bruises into his neck, licks at his collarbones. And once he gets to Stede’s chest, he allows himself a generous detour, of course, just like he’d been dreaming about all night. It lives up to every expectation he’d had—as always, Stede’s nothing but warmth and warmth and soft, soft, soft, and Ed’s actually briefly tempted to just spend the rest of the night there. Was there something else he’d been planning on doing? Nah, that’s impossible. How could he want anything other than this? When he’s here, he can feel Stede’s heart pounding beneath his tongue and the way Stede’s chest stutters through choppy breaths. And god, Stede really does have the perfect rack—ripe as fresh peaches and just as sweet, and with those nipples that fit so good between his teeth—

A throat clears. Ed looks up and finds that Stede’s face is all pinched.

“Something I can do for you?” Ed asks, and he tacks on a low, smoky “sir” for good measure, because he knows exactly what effect that’ll have. Sure enough, Stede groans.

“You—monster,” Stede pants.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

Stede shakes his head. “Such a tease,” he says, although he’s smiling now and he sounds approximately one hundred percent adoring. “As for what you can do—I thought you needed something in your mouth?”

Ed’s brow furrows. “Did I not just have a mouthful of your boobs?”

“You did. But we’re, ah, once more in danger of not lasting much longer if you keep that up. Already feeling close, I’m afraid.”

That stops Ed in his tracks. It’s all fun and games to subject your husband to tits-based torture until he inadvertently comes and it’s not down your throat.

“Okay, okay,” he says. “I’ll move on.” Before he does, though, he looks down at Stede’s chest and sniffles. “Fuck, I’m—I’m really gonna miss you,” he says, voice breaking. “Ugh, goddammit. I told myself I was gonna keep it together. But I just—” He presses his face to Stede’s sternum and sucks in a breath. “You two just mean so much to me, and—” He stops, like he’s simply too overcome to continue, and he lets out a single whimper.

Stede’s hand pats between Ed’s shoulder blades. “There, there,” he coos. “I know, I know—it’s awful. You’re so brave, y’know that?”

“I am,” Ed says, and with his face safely hidden in Stede’s chest, he smiles through his sobs as Stede rubs his back and says, “Alright, that’s it, just get it out,” his voice wavering with barely repressed laughter.

One good fake crying sesh later, Ed finally looks back up at Stede. When he does, he finds that his expression is now an absolute train wreck of profound affection.

“Feeling better?” Stede asks him. Stede reaches up to cradle Ed’s face, swiping his thumbs beneath his eyes like he’s wiping away real tears.

Ed puts on his best pout. “Yeah. Guess I’ll get over it.” He sighs, indulging himself in a moment of disappointment that’s both for show and entirely genuine. Once he feels like he’s mourned sufficiently, he says, “So—you still about to go off?”

Somehow, Stede manages to roll his eyes without making that loving expression on his face fade even a little bit. “Such an elegant way to put it,” he says dryly. “But yes, I’d say that, erm… orgasm is rather imminent.”

A laugh bursts from Ed. “Oh my god. ‘Orgasm is rather imminent’? You’re such a nerd!”

“Says the man who just cried over not getting to have his mouth all over my chest!”

“Which is totally fair, I think!” Ed protests. “It’s the eighth wonder of the world! Completely tragic to tear me away from it.”

Stede rolls his eyes again and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “drama queen.”

Ed glares. “I’m sorry—what was that?”

“Nothing,” Stede says.

Ed’s retort is totally mature: He sticks his tongue out at Stede. Stede follows this up by poking at the tip of said tongue with a finger, and of course Ed has to pretend to bite at that. This ends up turning into a bit of wrestling—Stede tries to clamp a hand over Ed’s lips, and Ed simultaneously nips at the side of Stede’s palm and tries to smother Stede’s own mouth, and then they’ve both just got their hands flailing at each other’s faces while they fall into giggles once more. When they stop, they’re both winded and beaming, and their hands are just on each other’s cheeks now, holding so, so gently.

Ed turns and kisses the inside of Stede’s wrist. “For your information,” he says, “I like that you’re a nerd. Part of why I married you. And don’t tell me you don’t like my mouth all over your chest too.”

“Well…” Stede sniffs. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

“Nope. You fucking can’t.” Ed flips a lock of hair off Stede’s forehead. “Now, as promised—can I suck you off?”

That faux attitude disappears, Stede’s breath snagging on an inhale. “I wish you would,” he murmurs.

That’s all Ed needs—after he gives Stede one last kiss on the lips, he starts moving down his body again, and this time, he doesn’t stop until he reaches the waistband of Stede’s briefs. When he gets there he pulls them right down, gets them past Stede’s feet and flings them behind him to land who knows where. Then his heart skips, stops, and skips again, because the sight in front of him is just… It’s unreal.

Given the number of dicks Ed’s seen over the course of his life, he feels more than qualified to assert the following claim: Stede Teach-Bonnet has—undoubtedly!—the most flawless dick ever created. Seriously. Whatever god(s) may or may not be responsible for creation were on some truly next-level shit when they were putting his future betrothed together. Not only is Stede’s dick handsome somehow, all flushed and curved strong toward his stomach, it’s the ideal size too—big enough to make him feel perfectly full every time Stede fucks him, always fits just right in his fist or his mouth. As far as he’s concerned, it was made specifically for him. He’s never gotten a better gift in his whole life.

Ed shifts so he’s got his cheek to the crease of Stede’s thigh, and he ghosts a finger up the length of Stede’s cock, letting the tip slip over the head of it and catch a smear of the pre-cum beaded there. “Still excited, huh?” he says. When he pops his finger into his mouth and sucks, he moans at the taste of salt on his tongue. “Mmm. So good, man.” He looks up at Stede through his lashes and bats them prettily when he says, “Hey, don’t come ’til you’re down my throat, okay?” because he knows it’ll send Stede straight up the wall and he loves being evil.

Sure enough, Stede lets out a hah, his hips jumping. “Oh, that’s— Are you sure? I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

As if that’s something Ed would ever have to worry about. He could go down like the best of them even before he knew Stede, so once he met the man of his dreams? Who just so happened to have the most divine and devourable cock in both the known and unknown universes? Yeah—he’s gotten a lot of practice and he knows his shit. Still, Stede says the same thing every time Ed offers, because even as he’s lost almost all of his learned inhibitions re: intercourse through their time together, he’s never lost any of his desire to make sure that Ed’s safe and cared for. It’s almost hard to look at directly sometimes; it’s so wildly tender, more tender than Ed could’ve ever imagined he might deserve. More often than not, Ed’s past experiences were a “get hard, get fucked, get out” situation. No one ever worried if Blackbeard got hurt, much less Ed.

Stede worries about Ed, though. Constantly and vibrantly. And if Ed thinks too hard about that, he might just tear up. But he manages to keep a hold on himself, and when he whispers, “Promise I won’t,” he means it with his whole heart.

The sincerity must register, because Stede hums in assent. “Good,” he says. Then he gathers Ed’s hair back from his face and nods. “Alright—go on.”

So Ed moves in, running the flat of his tongue up Stede’s cock and sucking at the head for a bit until he starts taking the length of it into his mouth. Stede moans once at that, and again when Ed bobs his head a few times, one hand coming up to stroke over the couple of inches that haven’t passed his lips.

“Oh, that’s—” The deep, pleased mmm that follows sounds just like the one Stede had let out when he had his first sip of wine that evening. “That’s wonderful.”

The praise slithers through Ed’s body, slipping between his joints and pooling in his veins, making him feel lightheaded. He wants more of that and quickly, so he relaxes his jaw and gets both hands on Stede’s thighs instead. After he takes a deep breath through his nose, he starts moving down, down, slowly, slowly, Stede’s cock sliding heavy and heavenly along his tongue until it hits the back of his throat. He takes it a smidge further, and as his eyes slip shut, he sighs gratefully.

And then he swallows.

Stede’s hands tighten in his hair and his thighs tense beneath Ed’s hands, which Ed thinks is sort of adorable, given that it’s a trick he pulls on Stede, like, all the time. You’d think he might be a little more used to it by now. Stede Teach-Bonnet is nothing if not reactive, though, especially during sex, so it’s basically always like the first time all over again with him (and that’s definitely adorable).

“Oh, Christ,” Stede gasps above him, “that’s—Christ—”

Despite the way that he’s feeling floaty, brain starting to go empty, Ed can’t stop himself from saying, “Nope—just Ed.” The words come out pretty garbled, though, considering the way that he only pulls off of Stede’s cock enough to get it out of his throat but not out of his mouth. So sue him! He’s been waiting on this all night* (*for approximately one (1) hour (but it was a long hour, to be fair!!)), and now that he’s got Stede like this, he super doesn’t want to let him go. Can’t be blamed for that, can he?

Stede huffs. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he says, knocking his knee against Ed’s temple.

It’s a stupid line, but it’s enough to get Ed to actually pull off of Stede so that he can snicker into the crease of his thigh. Then Stede starts snickering too, and soon they’re caught in a loop, feeding off of each other—just when one of them starts to taper off, the other will start up again, and then they’re both going once more, until Ed’s got tears in his eyes and his cheeks hurt. To his surprise, he finds that it doesn’t take away from that floaty feeling. On the contrary, it adds to it. It just makes him so featherbrained that, like… This is his life. This is the shit he gets to do whenever he wants to. He gets to live and love and make love with this man who makes him laugh during sex just as much as he makes him horny out of his skull. He’s still not entirely sure what he did to earn it, but goddamn, he’s gonna hold tight with both hands and refuse to let go anyway.

And speaking of holding tight with both hands: Once they’ve both calmed down, Ed nestles into Stede’s thigh as he digs his fingers in, dimpling Stede’s skin. He kisses up, up, up along the inside of Stede’s thigh, over his hip, across to his navel. Then he rests his forehead against Stede’s belly and pauses. Not because he necessarily needs it, not because anything’s wrong—just because he wants to. Because it’s nice, feeling Stede breathing like this. Reminds him that Stede’s here, that Stede’s alive, that he’s alive too. Sometimes that’s just a nice thing to remember.

As Ed’s resting there, fingertips start massaging the back of his head, and oh, that’s good. That’s real good. Ed sighs, face pressing heavier into Stede’s stomach.

“Okay there?” Stede asks.

Ed nods. “Mmhm.”

“Mmm. I’m glad.” Stede pauses. “Thinking about something?”

Love spreads through Ed. Again with the mind-reading. “Yeah. Was,” he says. He looks up and finds Stede’s already watching him.

“Hello, pretty,” Stede says.

Ed shimmies his shoulders and puts on the most kittenish look he can muster at that.

Stede chuckles, and the hand that’s still in Ed’s hair massages a little harder. “Sweetie. Would you like to share your thoughts with the class?”

It’ll never not make Ed’s insides feel wobbly, the way Stede always wants to hear what’s in his brain. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of that vanilla lotion Stede’s always using.

“Yeah,” he says. “You’re just… I feel lucky to be here. Crazy that we can do this whenever we want. That this is what life looks like. That we’re both… Alive, I guess. And here at the same time. Y’know?”

Even though the last thing Ed would expect right now is for Stede to make fun of him, he’s still relieved when he cracks one eye open and sees that Stede looks smitten. Stede gestures for him to come closer, so he does, shifting up the bed so they’re face to face. Once he’s there, Stede kisses the corner of his mouth.

“Aw, angel. I do know,” Stede says. “I feel lucky too. You’re…” He sighs, and it’s a sound of total happiness. “You’re a miracle. Can’t believe you ever found me. Seems too good to be true sometimes.”

The words are so sweet that they make Ed’s mouth water. “You’re gonna give me a cavity, man,” he murmurs. “Good thing we’ve got good dental.”

“Mmm. Indeed. Can’t let anything happen to that pretty smile of yours.”

Fourth time Stede’s called him that tonight and it still hits just as hard. Ed nuzzles his face against the side of Stede’s. “You really think I’m pretty?” he asks. He already knows the answer, but that doesn’t mean he’s opposed to hearing it again. He’s not ashamed to fish.

“Of course I do,” Stede says, and he almost sounds offended that Ed would even think it necessary to ask. “The prettiest man who’s ever lived. Or will ever live, for that matter, with those gorgeous eyes and your lovely nose and your beautiful hair. It looks like moonlight, y’know. Your hair, that is. All the whites and grays. Sometimes I swear it glows, especially at night. You’re like a… Like a prince of the stars who’s come to Earth. Us mortals are so privileged to have you walking among us.”

Oh. Ed had just been hoping for a nice rainbow trout or something. This is more like a mermaid popped up over the side of his boat and offered him a plate of caviar and fresh-cut sashimi. When he sniffles this time, it’s not an affectation.

“Well, shit,” he says. “I really gotta get you off now.”

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” Stede says, and he gives a cheeky nudge of his hips, his still-hard cock rubbing against Ed’s thigh.

Even as Ed sniffles again, he laughs; the sound’s sort of waterlogged, but that doesn’t make it any less genuine. Now it’s not just his head that’s feeling fluffy and light, but his heart too—it’s a veritable disco ball shining half a dozen different emotions onto his rib cage. He feels so impossibly lucky, and fond, and endeared, and horny too. And, of course, terribly in love. So in love that he doesn’t always feel like he can fully fit it into his heart sometimes. Stede is wonderful and a fool, and Ed gets to have that every day for the rest of his life. Unreal.

Still, he has to give the man a bit of a hard time, so he kisses Stede’s cheek and murmurs, “So impatient,” and when he pulls back to look at him again, he aims for an expression that’s deadly serious. “Alright then—on with the show. Orgasm still imminent?”

Most of the mirth in Stede’s expression disappears as his lips press into a line. “You’re not gonna let me live that one down, are you,” he says.

“Nope,” Ed confirms. “Not a chance in hell. I’m gonna be hanging onto that for the next… oh, several months at least.”

Stede eyes roll heavenward. “Why do I say anything at all?” He sounds like he’s trying for long-suffering, but Ed can hear the brightness at the edges of his words, all sunny yellows and sky blues.

“Because I love the funny shit you say. And isn’t that the sincerest form of flattery? Constantly repeating the funny shit your husband says?”

Stede skims a thumb over Ed’s cheekbone. “Hm. Haven’t heard that variation on the saying, but I like it.”

“’Course you do. And it’s true.”

“Mm. If you say so.”

“I do say so. And now I’m gonna suck you off, because I’ve been waiting for it all night.”

Stede looks shocked. “Ed!” he says, his voice suddenly a few notes deeper, the chirp of it softened and the vowels less nasal. “Oh my god! It’s been, like—” He holds up his arm and checks an imaginary watch. “It’s been half an hour—”

But Ed doesn’t let him finish, opting instead to muffle the rest of his words with a kiss. Smart-ass. Stede’s lucky he’s cute.

“Quit making fun of me, man,” Ed says when they part.

“Isn’t that the sincerest form of flattery?”

Ed should’ve expected that. “No comment. Listen, do you want me to get you off or not? If you’re not interested in my award-winning blowjob skills, the door’s that-a-way—”

“‘Award-winning’?” Stede gasps. “Really?”

“Yeah, man! Blue-ribbon champion three years in a row! Check my resume. But if you’re not into it, that’s fine, I don’t have to—”

“No, no,” Stede says. “I’m very into it, believe me.”

“Uh-huh. You mean it?”

“Absolutely.” Stede nods vehemently. “One award-winning blowjob, please.”

Ed relents and kisses the end of Stede’s nose. “Just because you asked so nicely.” Then he clears his throat and says, “Alright. Time to blow… you…”

Ed leaves a generous pause there. Stede cocks an eyebrow, one dimple wavering in and out of sight.

“Away,” Ed finally says.

Stede snorts and rolls his eyes. “You. Completely re-dic—”

The words pitch forward and topple into a moan as Ed’s hand finds Stede’s cock once again. This touch is firmer than he had been earlier—Ed circles his fingers around Stede more fully and pulls up in one sure stroke from the root to the tip. The back of his neck flushes as he watches Stede’s eyes squeeze shut, mouth going slack.

“What was that about dick?” he says.

“Imagine how tired I am,” Stede replies, but there’s no fire to it at all, the words all sheer and flimsy. It’s also followed by Stede’s hands in Ed’s hair again, guiding him back down this time, and Ed carries that gesture through more than happily.

When Ed’s back at Stede’s hips, he bites lightly at his thigh before looking up at him; Stede’s eyes are pleading, his expression one of utter starvation. Ed lays a hand on Stede’s other thigh, thumb sweeping slowly back and forth over a cluster of freckles. It almost feels weird to actually be here after a night’s worth of pining, but he’s thrilled all the way down to the tips of his toes.

“You ready, hot stuff?” he asks.

Stede scowls. “Edward,” he says. “If you start teasing me again after you just asked me if I still wanted you to get me off, I swear on my life I will—”

But whatever it is that Stede was going to swear on his life that he’d do is lost to the ether, because that’s when Ed gets his mouth on his cock again.

Stede’s words sink into a groan as Ed starts out just as he had earlier, sucking on the head while he works the rest with his hand. The sound gets Ed’s scalp tingling. Through his lashes, he can see the way Stede’s head presses back into the pillow. He gets Stede to arch his back too when he takes him in a little further, the tip of his cock brushing the roof of his mouth.

“Oh, honey,” Stede says, words slurring now, “that’s— Fuck. Mm.” Stede’s hands come to the back of his head and pull forward, although the gesture’s barely more than a twitch, not actually pushing him any further onto his cock but simply making the suggestion. “Little—mmm—little more, darling? Bit further, please, and—ah—little faster?”

The breathless question and light beg in Stede’s voice are a kick in the head. Ed absolutely would not have protested if Stede had indeed started fucking his face, and he actually has half a mind to make him do it anyway because woof, is it ever a winner when Stede takes the lead like that. But there’s something Ed loves so much about the times where Stede’s words tilt up like this, more request than demand; his voice gets sugared and pleading, words constantly interrupted by whines and gasps. It’s almost shy and definitely needy, and that makes his heart wobble. Stede’s just so adorable when he’s flustered! And Ed loves being wanted, of course. All together, it’s one of those times where Ed gets almost totally bowled over by how certain he is that he’d do whatever Stede asked of him, forever and ever. Like, that’s his fucking husband right there, and if he needs something, then by god, Ed’s gonna give it to him.

So Ed does do exactly as Stede asks: He takes him deeper, almost to the back of his throat but not quite swallowing him down yet. If he did that, he couldn’t keep the pace he knows Stede needs right now, and at the moment, that’s the more important thing. Stede’s hands flex in his hair and his knees clamp around his shoulders, and that spurs Ed on further, gets him working at Stede’s cock hotter and faster until there’s spit pooling at the corners of his mouth and a pleasant ache in his jaw.

It’s not until Stede starts letting out these hiccup-y oh, oh, ohs and meeting Ed’s mouth with the tiniest of thrusts that Ed looks back up at him (and realizes that he’d even looked away in the first place; jeez, he really got in the zone there). Stede frees one hand from his hair to cup his cheek, and his thumb wipes at a string of saliva that’s drooling down to Ed’s chin. Ed slows down just enough to savor the touch.

“Oh, Ed,” Stede says, with a look on his face like he’s got the whole world between his thighs. It’s enough to give a guy a complex. “Aren’t you a vision?”

The words are cotton candy around Ed’s ears, muffling the rest of the world. That floaty, lightheaded feeling is coming back, and Ed lets himself sink further into it. He whimpers around Stede and grips at his waist.

“Mmm. You’re—ah!” Stede gasps as Ed dips lower. “So good. Oh, baby, I’m—hmm—sweetheart, I’m clo-ose—”

At that, Ed snaps to attention. He needs no further instruction: After a few more quick bobs of his head, he starts sinking down Stede’s cock again, until his nose presses into his belly. Now Stede’s thick in his throat and warm against his face, and if Ed could just stay here for the rest of his life, he absolutely would. Tragic, really, that he can’t. The absolute worst of injustices.

There’s no time to pout about that, though, because he has a husband with an imminent orgasm, and as much as he lives for the foreplay and goofing around, he also really, really likes the bit where Stede finishes. So after he takes a deep breath, he swallows around Stede once more, and—

And that’s when Stede yelps and his hips jump and he comes right down Ed’s throat.

It takes Ed a little by surprise, but only a little—he’s not too shocked to be able to pull off until Stede’s just in his mouth, because as much as he’d like to keep him in his throat for as long as he stays hard, he knows his man is easily overstimulated. So he just lets him rest on his tongue, swallows him down until he’s done, and when he finally pulls off, all he does is turn his head so he can kiss over Stede’s thighs.

Above him, Stede starts babbling: “Fuck, that was— Sorry,” he says. “Didn’t mean to come so quick. You just— Wow. Wow.”

Ed smiles into Stede’s skin. “Really takes that little to get you off, huh?”

Stede exhales, and when Ed looks up, he sees he’s got his hands over his face. Whether it’s from embarrassment or overwhelm, Ed’s not totally sure. More likely the latter, but just in case it’s not, he kisses his way up Stede’s body until they’re laying fully side by side. He reaches up to tug at one of Stede’s wrists.

“Hey,” he says, “I’m just joking. I love it when you get that excited. Also, we’ve been edging each other all night, so it was sort of inevitable, don’t you think?”

When Stede’s hands drop from his face, he’s beaming, which is a major relief to Ed. Stede grabs him and gives him a kiss before pushing him to lay on his back so he can pepper more kisses over his throat.

“You were perfect, angel,” Stede murmurs. “You’re so good, y’know? So good.”

Ed tips his head so Stede’s got even better access to his neck. There they are, those exact words he’d been dreaming of earlier; between that and the way he can already feel a soreness creeping into his throat, he’s like a cat in the sun, all stretched out and liquid. “Mm. Just trying my best.”

“You are the best.” Stede’s kisses slow down then, less peppering and more purposeful. “And if you’re interested, I’d really like to return the favor.”

Want stirs in Ed’s hips. He’d been totally distracted by Stede, but now that the offer’s been made, he realizes that yep, he’s definitely still hard.

“Wouldn’t say no to that,” he says.

“Mmm. Didn’t think so. What would you like?”

Ed considers as Stede keeps mouthing at him. When Stede licks at his Adam’s apple, he moans like he had at the restaurant, and Ed’s thrown back to that moment, remembers that vivid want to be sheathed in heat with legs and arms around him. He gasps and flips them around again and says, “Can I fuck you?”

Stede blinks, possibly from the sudden change in position, possibly from Ed’s request. “You sure?” he asks. “I wanted to just take care of you, if you wanted that too. You don’t want me to go down on you, or—”

“Nope,” Ed says quickly, because if he lets Stede talk like that much longer, he will shoot off. “Just wanna fuck you. If you want it too, that is.”

Stede blinks again. “Do I look like a guy who would say no to that? Yes please, husband of mine. Fuck me into oblivion.”

Ed laughs even as he has to reach south and give a down, boy press to his cock. “Jesus, Stede.” Back to the mouthiness again, apparently. The man’s an absolute menace.

“What? Are you already close? Might you even say that your orgasm is—”

“Imminent, yeah!” Ed interrupts. “It’s imminent! Has been basically all night, especially after the little display you just put on. But you knew that already.”

“Yeah,” Stede says, entirely smug. “But I like hearing you say it.”

“’Course you do. Proud bastard.”

Stede lights up. “That’s me!”

“I know it is.” Ed kisses Stede’s forehead, and when Stede presses into that touch, Ed automatically tries to get in closer. Unfortunately, that also gets his dick closer to Stede—bumps it against Stede’s delectably solid thigh, to be precise—and that extra contact gets him hissing.

“Hmm,” Stede says. “Seems like you better do something about that down there.”

Ed huffs. “I’m working on it, man. Trying to be romantic and shit, yeah?”

“Oh, trust me,” Stede says, “the romance is lovely. I’m just wondering if you could maybe, um… you know. Get on with the fucking? It just sounds so nice, is the thing,” he hastens to add, “and I really want you to feel good too.”

Ed rolls his eyes with loving exasperation. “Yeah,” he says, “you got it. I’ll get on with the fucking.”

“Excellent,” Stede says, and he plants a wet, smacking kiss on Ed’s cheek that Ed returns with one of his own.

Ed fumbles around on the bedside table and manages to find the lube that they hardly ever put back in the drawer anymore. Once he’s got his fingers slicked up, he lets them drift down to where Stede’s legs automatically part for him. Stede plants his feet on the bed so he can tip his hips up, and once he’s settled, Ed’s fingers drift over his hole. He traces the circle of it with a feather-light finger and watches as Stede’s face scrunches up.

“Alright?” Ed murmurs.

Stede nods. “Mm. Ju-ust—” He twitches when Ed’s touch grows firmer. “Just wonderful.”

“Good,” Ed says.” One to start?”

“Mmm. One to start.”

So Ed does one to start: He goes slow, teasing Stede with just the tip of his finger past the rim until Stede starts squirming and a reedy more falls from his lips. Then he eases in up to his first knuckle, followed by the second, and after Stede’s had a chance to adjust, he starts a steady in-and-out, patient and slick.

“Still good?” he asks. He’s still watching Stede’s face, vigilant for any sign at all of discomfort. Thankfully, Stede looks nowhere near anything like that—his jaw’s slack and his eyes are shut, the picture of pleasure. He’s also got a hand clutching at Ed’s forearm to keep him right in place, and his hips keep rocking, trying to meet Ed’s touch.

“So good,” Stede says, the words blurred and mushed together. “’N fact, y’can do another, dear. I’m—”

Stede’s words fade into a groan when Ed goes into his next thrust with two fingers instead. It makes Ed dizzy, the way that Stede’s body welcomes him in; sometimes he still can’t believe that he gets to be the one to touch him like this.

Or maybe the dizziness comes courtesy of Stede’s current monologue. He’s got quite the bedroom mouth on him as it is (obviously), but it gets particularly colorful when he’s being fingered. There’s none of the sweet question from earlier, none of the shy tilt to his words—instead it’s all “oh, Ed, that’s— fuck, yes, harder,” and “fuck, that’s so good,” and “ah, yes, a little mo-oh-ohhh shit, Ed, yes, that’s perfect— Don’t stop, don’t stop, fuck, fuck, you’re so perfect, darling, shit.” It’s devastating to listen to, and with the way most of his sanity is currently being torn to shreds by how hot and slick Stede is around him, Ed has to focus really hard on not letting Stede’s sailor talk carry him to the finish line too early.

He manages to last, though, so he’s still (miraculously) achingly hard against Stede’s thigh when Stede says, “You—mmm—still going to fuck me, dearest?”

Ed winks. “You know it, babe. You ready?”

“Mmm, mmhm. Definitely ready. If you are, that is?”

“Uh, yup. Definitely ready.”

There’s a hand on Ed’s hip then, followed by his thigh, and Ed watches with amusement as Stede gropes along his body with his eyes still closed and his brows adorably furrowed, like he’s concentrating really hard. After a few more false finds, Stede’s hand lands on his cock. He gives it a quick stroke that has Ed jumping and letting out a sound of surprise.

“Oh, yeah—‘definitely ready’ indeed,” Stede murmurs. He gives it another appreciative stroke, and then he fucking pats the side of it. “Mm. Nice work there.”

The next sound that comes out of Ed is an undignified one—kind of choke-y and harsh, a bit like a cat with a hairball. Not super attractive.

“Sorry,” he says, “are you telling me I did a good job with my—”

“Your erection, yes! It’s a very nice one.”

Now Ed’s pretty sure he sounds like a hyena. “Thanks, man,” he says between howls. “Glad you like it so much. Think I could put it in you, then?”

Stede does a pleased wiggle. “Mmm. Yes, please.”

Yes, please. God, he loves this man. And in about ten seconds, he’s gonna give him the best lay of his life because of it.

Ed grabs the lube again, gets on his knees and slicks himself up, and then he gets his hands on either side of Stede’s shoulders. Stede’s legs come to fold around his waist, and the way he pulls Ed in makes the tip of his cock brush over Stede’s hole. They both let out a breath at that.

“Ready?” Ed asks one more time.

Stede nods. “Rock n’ roll,” he says, which is so corny of him, and it only makes Ed love him even more.

Ed takes one deep breath, then two, and then finally, finally he pushes into Stede, gritting out a long, low fuuuuck as he does. Stede moans at the same time, and it’s even better than the one in the restaurant was after they’d ended their little scene. It doesn’t burn the same, but that’s what Ed likes about it: If that was whiskey at high noon, this is peach soju and mid-mornings mid-June, smooth and sunny and easy. Ed’s face scrunches up, sweat and goosebumps beading at the back of his neck because Stede is even softer and warmer like this than he was around his fingers. When he bottoms out, he groans.

“Feel good?” Stede asks, petting along his spine.

There’s a real question in his words, but he also sounds more than a pinch smug again, so first Ed huffs and says, “Shut up.” But he also smiles and says, “Yeah. Feels—mm—feels real good,” and happily kisses the smirk off Stede’s mouth.

When he starts moving, he goes slow, just barely pulling out of Stede before he pushes back in, more of a grind than anything else. It’s meant to give the both of them a chance to adjust, but in the end, Ed likes it. He finds that that desperation from a night spent dancing around each other has been burned out of him (a nice messy blowjob is pretty good for that), and now it just feels really… right, keeping himself this close to Stede. They’re nearly entirely pressed together, stomachs and chests touching, his face tucked into Stede’s neck while Stede has his arms around his middle, and it feels so safe. He likes keeping himself almost wholly inside Stede too—he gives himself just enough stimulation to get sparks skittering through his mostly empty brain, but otherwise, he lets himself bask in Stede’s warmth, and the sensation of being this close—this intimate—with someone he loves this much.

He also wants to make sure Stede’s okay with basking in it, though—they don’t ever get that rough together, but after the night’s spice and banter, maybe he wants something more. So after a moment, he murmurs, “Hey—this okay?”

“Is what okay?” Stede asks.

“This,” Ed says. “Slow. This alright? You want something different?”

Stede’s arms disappear from around him, and Ed’s just about to complain when Stede’s hands come to cup his face instead. He gets them so they’re looking at each other, and Ed finds there’s nothing in his face but sincerity.

“This is exactly what I want, sweetpea. I love it slow. Feels so—aah—so nice and gentle.” He tucks a strand of hair behind Ed’s ear. “Is it what you want?”

Ed nods. “Yeah. Just wanna keep it easy now. Just…” He rests his forehead against Stede’s. “Just wanna be close to you.”

Stede makes a pleased sound at that. “Aren’t you a love,” he murmurs. “Well, I think that sounds lovely. I just wanna be close to you too.”

If Ed could purr, he would. He gives Stede another kiss and tries to breathe through the prickling at the corners of his eyes. “I love you,” he whispers, and he hopes Stede can hear the way his heart thunders through every syllable. If the way Stede immediately strokes a thumb over his cheekbone is any indication, he does.

“I love you,” Stede whispers back. Then his embrace is back, and he hitches his hips up to meet Ed’s. “All yours, darling.”

They’re both quiet after that. Stede’s mouthiness from earlier has completely disappeared, his vocabulary apparently reduced to nothing more than the occasional ah, yes or oh, sweetheart. All Ed can do himself is sigh and hum. The near-silence is pleasant, though—lets his brain start floating again. He ends up hovering in that layer of clouds for he doesn’t even know how long. All he does know is that Stede is warm, and Stede is soft, and Stede is holding him, and as long as those three things are true, there’s not a whole lot else in the world that matters all that much.

The clouds only start to clear when a new sensation begins building in Ed’s body, one that’s too strong not to cut through everything else—there’s a growing sense of overwhelm as an ache hollows out his pelvis and pressure begins to build at the base of his cock. He digs his face harder into Stede’s neck and whines, and as he does, one of Stede’s hands comes up to the curve of his shoulder, his fingertips gently combing out the muscles that Ed can feel are suddenly tense.

“Are you close?” Stede asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ed pants.

God, he is close. Shit. The clouds aren’t just drifting apart now, they’re flying as his orgasm starts hurtling toward him. A “ha-aah” escapes him when one thrust hits especially right, sending a minor shock through the length of him. He gets that feeling again like he needs something between his teeth, so he bites lightly at the meat of Stede’s shoulder, and that’s when he gets another shock to his cock because Stede clenches at that, ass going vice-tight around him.

“Fuck, Ed,” Stede moans. Those fingertips are pressing hard into Ed’s shoulder now, no longer massaging. “You’re so good, sweetheart. So good. Oh, honey, you’re— Mm. Yes, that’s perfect. Are you gonna come?”

Ed whines. It’s always a knockout when Stede gets so syrupy and admiring like that; it’ll never not get him, no matter how many times he does it. He shifts to bury his face in Stede’s throat again, his heart skipping when he feels the way it bobs at his touch, and the way Stede’s skin is slippery with sweat.

“Yeah,” he croaks. “Keep—keep talking?”

“Oh, of course,” Stede says. “I know you’re close, aren’t you? You’re doing so good, angel. Just a little more, c’mon, I know you can do it. You’re so good, that’s—” Stede groans when Ed adjusts his angle. “Oh, baby, that’s it. Fuck, that’s good. C’mon, angel, I want you to come. You can come, please, please, I need you to—” Stede gasps as Ed thrusts harder, hips rolling ceaselessly against the backs of his thighs. “Oh, I need you to come, princess,” Stede whines, “I need you to feel so good, please, please, c’mon, for me, princess, please—”

Literally any bit of that little speech would be enough to get Ed off, but when you put it all together like one huge horny puzzle? One that’s got not just one “princess” but two, and is cherry-on-top’d by that last particularly raw and desperate “please”? He simply has no choice but to do as Stede says. His orgasm barrels into him, forcing a cry from his throat as his cock fucking throbs, that feeling of release so good that it very nearly hurts. Every inch of him trembles with the force of it, hard enough that he actually wobbles over top of Stede and has to frantically try to keep himself from collapsing. But Stede actually encourages him—his hands press down on him, accompanied by a murmured “you’re alright, just relax.” And, again, Ed obeys: He lets himself sag over Stede, a few last “ha-aah-aah”s escaping him as he keeps grinding into Stede until it’s too overstimulating to take and he has to stop, entirely spent.

For several moments, Ed just lays there and breathes. Fuck—that was the good shit. His whole body feels like static, all fuzzy and buzzing, every inch of him tingling; when one of Stede’s hands starts rubbing his back, the touch over his frizzy skin makes Ed shiver.

“Hmm. That was good, wasn’t it?” Stede murmurs.

Ed scoffs. “‘Good’? Try ‘fucking spectacular.’ You really know how to send a guy off the edge, huh?”

“Mm. It certainly was a fucking spectacular. And yes—I’ve had a fair bit of practice, y’know. I’m well aware of how much a certain someone likes to have a few compliments to help him finish.”

Ed snorts, and he shifts his hips, trying to wiggle into a slightly more comfortable position. That immediately has him sucking in a breath—even that tiny bit of movement sends a zap from the head of his cock all the way to his taint. Still sensitive, then.

Stede makes a sound of concern. “Alright there, dear?”

“Mmph. Yeah. Just— Oof,” Ed says as he accidentally shifts again, an involuntary move to try to accommodate the first threads of pain in his dodgy knee. “Feeling kinda raw down there.”

“I’ll say.”

Another snort. “You’re so dumb.”

“I know I am,” Stede says. “Here, c’mere—little kiss? Let’s just give it a second.”

Making every effort to move only his head and nothing else, Ed readjusts so he’s looking at Stede again. Stede’s gazing at him with so much adoration that it makes his chest twinge.

“Hi,” Ed says.

“Hi,” Stede says back. Then he takes Ed’s face in his hands and pulls him close.

As soon as their lips touch, that staticky feeling smooths out and Ed’s skin stops tingling; he feels like he’s just sunk into a steaming bath, limbs automatically going loose and pliant. This is always the first thing they do after sex, and man, is it ever a relief. Ed just needs some touchin’ afterward, y’know? A nice make out to smooth the jagged edges. And Stede always does it so right: Enough tongue for it to feel deep but not so much that it gets him going again, and one hand firm on the small of his back while the other tangles in his hair, fingertips massaging at the roots. It’s slow and attentive and gets him all gooey inside, just the way he likes and just the way he needs. There’s basically never a chance that he won’t feel like he’s been put to rights by the time they finish.

And indeed, when Ed eventually pulls away, he feels settled—an experimental shift of his hips has him finding that his dick no longer feels like it’s gonna jolt right off him at the slightest hint of stimulation. He’s still got that steamy-bath feeling seeping through him too, and his thoughts are clear, but they’re muted. There’s a temptation to go back to the kissing and linger in all that, but unfortunately, his jaw is starting to cramp. A blue-ribbon blowjob and a thorough tonguing by your one and only all in the same night will do that to you. It’s honest work, though, and if that’s the price he has to pay, then so be it. Still, Ed makes a show of his reluctance: He heaves a great sigh and puts as much regret into his voice as he can when he says, “Hey—would love to keep going, babe, but my jaw’s— Oh.” He cuts himself off when he looks at Stede again. “Hello there. What’s this?”

Stede looks… Well. Pleased as punch is what he looks like: He’s got another one of those grins that’s completely askew, higher on the right than the left, and his eyes are glazed over. He’d looked happy pre-kiss, but now he looks downright bubbly.

“Hello,” Ed says again.

Stede giggles. “Hiiiiii.” His voice is bright pink. “That was nice, wasn’t it?”

“Mmm,” Ed hums, amused. “Think you said that already. But it was. Wait—the sex or the kissing?”

“Both. All. Of the above. All of the above, all good. Very good, very nice. Right?” Stede giggles again. “Very nice. Very nice.”

God, he’s really in it, huh? It’s almost too much to bear. Ed wants to zap Stede into a little doll and keep him in one of his miniature houses.

“You sound drunk,” Ed says fondly.

Stede’s grin tips even further sideways. “Maybe I am. I’m happy! And possibly a little sozzled.”

“‘Sozzled’?” Ed repeats. “Who the hell says that?”

“I do! When I’ve been kissed to the heavens, and also when I’ve been— What do the kids say these days? ‘Dicked down’?”

Ed’s a little embarrassed by how precious he thinks Stede is when he tries to sound hip, but only a little. And just because he thinks it’s precious, that doesn’t mean he won’t still rib him about it, so he sucks in a scandalized breath and says, “And just where did you learn a phrase like that?” When Stede opens his mouth he’s quick to add, “If you mention anyone from the restaurant, I’ll be very upset. I do not want to think about any of our friends while I’m still inside you.”

That bubbliness disappears as Stede shuts his mouth and gives him a prissy little look. “Well. Never mind.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

There’s a beat of silence where they just stare at each other. Ed thinks maybe Stede will actually listen when the corners of Stede’s pursed lips start twitching minutely. Nope—he’s gonna say something smart. Ed starts to preemptively warn Stede to knock it off, but all he can get out is the “Stede, you—” before Stede says, “It was Lucius, though,” and even though he bites down on his lower lip after the reveal, it does little to tamp down his expression of absolute delight.

“Goddammit, Stede!” Ed says. He dives in to bite at Stede’s shoulder, but it’s a puppyish thing, no real intent behind it other than to brighten even further the peals of laughter that are now coming from Stede, which ends up being a success. Stede wriggles around as Ed’s hands find his ribs too.

“Okay, okay!” Stede gasps. “I’m sorry! That’s— Oh, Edward,” he says, slapping half-heartedly at Ed’s ass, “you cut that out—”

Ed gives Stede a few more light nips before he obeys, his hands drifting away from Stede’s sides and back up to his hair and the scrape of his teeth on Stede’s skin fading to tender kisses that get Stede’s breath stuttering. Ed zigzags up the length of Stede’s throat until he gets to his jaw, and then he tucks himself in there, sighing and searching for those last notes of citrus and spice at Stede’s pulse point.

“I can’t stand you,” he lies. “Make me think of the kid while I’m balls-deep… You’re sleeping in the guest room tonight.”

Stede—complete prick that he is—cackles. “You’ll have to change the sheets here if you don’t want to sleep on the couch. Think we got things a bit sweaty and slippery. How’s that sound? Fun?”

Ed wrinkles his nose. “No,” he admits. He grumbles for a bit, but ultimately, he says, “Fine. We can both be in the guest room. But you only get thirty percent of the blankets, and you also have to rub my back until I fall asleep.”

“Thirty percent?” Stede says. He sounds amazed. “Wow. So generous of you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not a complete dickhead. Unlike some people.”

Stede grunts and grabs Ed’s ass. “Oh, Edward,” he says, voice low and sultry, “I love it when you talk dirty.”

Ed chokes on a giggle as he props himself up on his elbows to look at Stede. “You’re a nut,” he says, and he’s not surprised to hear the wave of affection in his words. He reaches up to comb his fingers through Stede’s bangs, pushing them further off his forehead, and he kisses the wonderful lines worn in there.

“I know,” Stede replies. “And you are too. And that’s why we’re married. And speaking of nuts—”

“Stede, oh my god, don’t you dare—”

“—what do we think about a shower? Quite the mess you made down there. Can feel it dripping out past your co—”

“Alright!” Ed interrupts. “Yes, we can shower. Jesus, you’re disgusting.”

“And you love me,” Stede says.

Ed rolls his eyes, but he plants a big ol’ kiss on Stede’s cheek just to make it clear how little he means it. “I do,” he says. “And also, to answer your question from earlier—yes, it was very nice. Both the sex and the kissing. Maybe we could even do it again sometime.”

Stede’s eyes flutter shut. “Mmmm. Sounds like a plan.”

“You’re damn skippy it does. Shower first, though?” He really could use one. Stede was right—Ed can feel some drippage happening. Ooh, but then maybe they can still do that TV and ice cream he’d been thinking about earlier? He could use a sit-down, and a snack. He’ll have to ask after. Fingers crossed.

“Aye-aye, captain,” Stede says. “Shower first.”

“Good.” Ed starts to reach for the tissues on the bedside table and then pauses. “Hey, wait—you need anything first? Can I take care of you?” He knows this is merely the beginning of the cleanup and such, and he’s definitely still got time to return the favor for the soothing kisses, but he’d love to get as early a start on it as he can. There’s few things he loves more than helping Stede wind down after— Well, after anything, really, but especially after sex. This kind of intimacy is always a big thing to Stede, even if they’ve been here a million and one times, and it’s important to Ed that he sees to his husband.

At his words, Stede goes bashful—his eyes remain shut, but he still turns to tuck his face into his shoulder like he’s trying to hide his gaze. “That’s sweet,” he murmurs. “I… Hm. Think I’m alright for now. Maybe later? I really would like to wash up. Tipping over into feeling yucky, I’m afraid. Lots of fluids happening here. When it comes to feeling all sticky and such, I’m… I’m jizzt about at my limit.”

Ah, fuck. Shower’s gotta go on hold for a few now—there’s a man who needs another hickey for his awful(ly hilarious) jokes.

Once Stede’s been successfully marked, they do just enough cleanup to be able to get safely to the bathroom without making any more mess. Ed sits up and swings his feet out from beneath the blankets and prepares to stand, but his feet only meet the floor for about a half-second before he’s being caught and swept up by quick, strong arms. He smiles to himself and lets his head fall to rest on Stede’s shoulder.

“Hey, how’d you get around the bed so quick?” he asks.

“Mm, that’s a secret, I’m afraid,” Stede says.

“Oh? That so? What, you trade your soul to a witch for superspeed or something?”

Stede makes a sound of disappointment, and when Ed looks up, he sees that Stede’s expression is the visual equivalent of that sound.

“I guess it’s not a secret anymore,” Stede mutters.

“Really? Got it in one?” Ed whistles. “Damn, I’m good. But it better be worth it, man,” he says as he nestles his head onto Stede’s shoulder again. “I liked your soul.”

They’ve made it to the bathroom now, and Ed’s grateful when Stede doesn’t flip the lights on full-force—he uses his elbow to nudge the dimmer switch almost all the way to the bottom, so that when the room’s illuminated it’s not lit but glowing.

“Don’t you worry—I’ve got a plan to get it back,” Stede says as he walks toward the shower. “Got a few magic spells I’ve been practicing. That witch won’t know what hit her. But I’ll need to execute a minor jewel heist first.”

“‘Minor jewel heist’? What the fuck’s that about?”

“Need the jewels for one of the spells. I’ve been… Less than successful, we’ll say, with the rhinestones I got at the craft store.”

Ed can’t help but crack up. This man is the funniest person he knows. Bar none!

“Sorry, babe, but I think you should’ve known better with that one. Gotta work with the pure stuff only. That’s, like, Spells 101.”

“Yes, I know that now,” Stede says with a huff. “But I had no idea how everything would turn out at first! ’Scuse me for not wanting to sacrifice my finest jewelry for practice.” He sets Ed down then, gentle as can be. “Sorry, angel—need my hands now.”

While Stede gets the water running and warmed up, Ed hangs off his back, arms wrapped around his waist and face tucked into his hair as he listens to the fall of the water on the shower’s tile floor.

“I’ve always wanted to plan a heist, y’know,” Ed muses. “Watched a shit ton of action movies when I was a teenager. Always wanted to be the guy limboing through the lasers. Or the one rearranging the security cameras. Could help out if you need it.”

A hand comes to Ed’s hip, stroking over his skin. “Oh, that’d be great. I’d definitely been planning on asking you. Figured your brilliant brain might have some clever things to add.” The hand on Ed’s hip drops to pat his thigh now, and Stede’s head rests against Ed’s own. “Later, though. Scrub-down first. And then maybe some ice cream afterward? And a show? Feeling snacky, and like sitting for a bit.”

It’s funny sometimes, how already being married to someone doesn’t stop you from constantly wanting to marry them all over again. Or it doesn’t stop Ed, at least. At minimum, he usually has five or so discrete experiences a week where Stede will do or say something that makes him want to get down on one knee and re-pledge his eternal devotion to the guy. This moment is one such one.

“God, you get it,” Ed says. “Did the witch make you a mind reader too? How’d you know that was exactly what I wanted?”

“Because you’re always hungry post-sex and you have a sweet tooth the size of the country, and you also like to have some wind down time afterward.”

Huh. Speaking of getting it in one.

“Yeah, alright,” Ed admits. “Got me.”

“There are many parts of you that are wondrously complex, my dear,” Stede says, “but that’s not one of them. Now let’s get a move on, hm? The sooner we’re done here, the sooner we can have that ice cream.”

There’s no argument to be made about that, really, so Ed does indeed get a move on. Their shower doesn’t actually end up going that fast, though—when Stede takes Ed’s offer to wash and condition his hair for him, Ed lingers, working his fingertips into Stede’s scalp long and deep enough that Stede’s head lolls back, his eyes closing and a pleased sound rumbling in his chest. And when Stede returns the favor by washing Ed’s back, he’s slow and thorough, slipping the soapy washcloth over Ed’s waist and the sides of his ribs and tracing his spine and the curves of his shoulder blades with the patience of a painter filling in the last bare corners of his current work. In fact, between the repetitive motion of that, the humid air of the shower, and the remnants of his orgasm still soaking through his body and easing both his muscles and the very passage of his blood through his veins, Ed finds himself in a trance. It pulls him just far enough under that he actually startles a smidge when he feels Stede’s arms come around his middle.

“Alright?” Stede asks, lifting Ed’s hair off the back of his neck so he can leave a kiss there. “Wasn’t trying to scare you.”

Ed nods. “Mmhm. M’good. Just… Whew,” he says, letting out a healthy breath. “Got me zenned out there. Feels good.”

“Mm, I’m glad,” Stede says. “Got me zenned out too. Does feel good. Shower too. But mostly you.” Stede doodles a few curlicues over Ed’s stomach. “Feels good to touch you,” he murmurs, the words softened by Ed’s skin as Stede presses his lips to his shoulder. “Is that silly? Just spent the last however long touching you, didn’t I?”

Technically, that’s true, but Ed knows what Stede means. It’s like with the kissing—there’s something particularly special about a moment like this, one that’s intimate without being thirsty, where they’re close just for the sake of being close. Touching not to rile each other up, but simply to touch. Sometimes Ed wonders if this might actually be the part he likes best. The sweat and the need are great, but there’s something that really gets him about the after. He’d never had it before, not until Stede. Again with the whole get hard, get fucked, get out thing. No one much cared after everyone came.

But also again—and forever and always, Ed’s still sometimes amazed to realize—Stede cares. Takes it beautifully seriously, even, the matter of bridging the gap between the coming and the comedown. Never seems to be able to stop touching him, always has patient hands on his hips or his back or his face, soothing him slowly back into the rest of the world. That’s maybe the most powerful part of it all—the slowness, the way Stede never rushes either of them out of this tender space they get themselves into. He just keeps things easy and keeps them safe, and keeps a hand on Ed all the while, like he doesn’t want Ed to feel alone for even a second. Ed’s never felt so held and tended to in his life.

Ed takes Stede’s hand, skimming it up over his belly and his chest until it’s at his mouth. “No,” he says, and if his voice is a little thick, that’s probably just from the shower steam clogging his throat. “Not silly at all.” He kisses Stede’s palm and then presses it just below the meeting of his collarbones. “It’s perfect.”

“Good,” Stede says, and he turns Ed around and pulls him into a hug. “That’s very good.”

They linger there and hold each other until the water starts to lose its heat, at which point Stede says, “Alright, out we go—can’t let you get cold.” One could argue, though, that he ends up getting cold anyway because of the way that makes him press Stede against the tile and kiss him senseless for being so goddamn thoughtful. But with Stede all hot and wet against him, Ed barely even feels the pitter-patter on his skin.

(Okay, that’s a lie. Seeing as he’s no spring chicken and his bones like to get cranky when they’re not sufficiently warm, Ed absolutely does feel the pitter-patter. But he also doesn’t give a damn, because Stede looks really pretty when his hair’s sopping and pushed off his forehead, and also when there’s little droplets of water clinging to his lashes and his cheeks (all of which Ed has to chase away with his lips, because how dare they be all over Stede when he’s right there?). Listen, he’s allowed to spew some romantic bullshit, alright? He’s earned it, as far as he’s concerned, so he’ll do just as he wants, thanks for asking.)

When they finally make it out of the shower, they carefully dry each other off before they race to the closet (Stede wins) and get dressed. Then it’s onto the kitchen, where Ed immediately heads for the freezer as Stede grabs bowls and spoons.

The ice cream is a new thing for them—Ed’s been going through a frozen desserts phase, and one day as he’d frowned at the shop’s freezer section and commented once again that no one was making the exact flavors he wanted with every single mix-in he craved, Stede had said, “Why not make your own?” It was so simple that Ed was amazed he hadn’t thought of it already, and after he’d kissed Stede so thoroughly that a dad walking by with his kid had pointedly cleared his throat, Ed had whipped out his phone and started shopping. The ice cream maker had been ordered before they even made it through the checkout line.

Over the last few months, Ed’s made a dozen different flavors, and that’s barely even put a dent in the note he’s got on his phone titled “ICE CREAM TIME!!!” Most of them are of his own invention, but there’s also a chunk that are courtesy of Roach and Jim and Fang, all of whom have become his own personal focus group. It’s basically all they talk about anymore on their breaks at the restaurant. The only times they’re not brainstorming new flavors are when they’re taste-testing Ed’s newest creation, and those are sacred days—they lock themselves in the back office and even stuff a few rags into the crack beneath the door in an attempt to create their own sampling sensory deprivation chamber, the sounds and smells of the kitchen as blocked-out as they can be. If the recipe gets a unanimous thumbs up, Ed makes a double batch later that week, and the rest of the crew gets an ice cream social. Goes without saying that it’s been a big hit.

Tonight’s selection is leftover from the last social: The base is flavored with Nutella and little bit of sea salt, and he’s mixed in brownie chunks (homemade), tiny balls of chocolate chip cookie dough (also homemade), a bourbon caramel (homemade x3), and M&Ms (store-bought, unfortch, but he’s in talks with Roach about reverse-engineering them so he can DIY those too). They usually leave any leftovers at the restaurant for people to snack on as they please, but this is Ed’s most favorite flavor he’s made in a while, so he’d shamelessly brought the rest home. When he pops the lid off the carton, he sees there’s just enough left for two bowls. Sad. He’ll have to make some more soon.

“For you, my love,” Ed says as he hands Stede a bowl.

“Why, thank you.” Stede takes a bite of ice cream and promptly groans, eyes rolling back in his head. “Fuck. You really did outdo yourself with this one.”

Ed shrugs one shoulder. “Turned out alright, I guess. I might be an ice cream genius or something. Who’s to say.”

“Mm, I’m to say. You are most definitely an ice cream genius. It’s such a gift, being married to you.”

“Too right,” Ed says. “Really won the lotto here.”

“Don’t joke, dear. I was being serious.”

When Ed looks at Stede, there’s a pout on his face. Fuck. That’s way cuter than any man their age has the right to be. Ed takes Stede’s ice cream and sets it aside so he can pull Stede into his arms.

“I know,” he says. “I was too. You think I don’t know I’m a total fucking catch? Please. Once in a lifetime find here. Best thing that could ever happen to you.”

Stede laughs. “Good,” he says. “Glad you know. Because you’re right. You really are the best thing that could ever happen to me.”

Stede squeezes Ed back, arms strong and sure, and Ed buries his face in Stede’s shoulder and lets himself bask in the fact that he gets to live a life where he can hold his soulmate in their kitchen in the wee hours of the night. And that’s on top of having a great orgasm! And he’s also gonna get some sweet cuddles after this! Fuck’s sake. The whole world should be jealous of him. He is truly living the greatest life anyone could live.

One of Ed’s hands rubs over Stede’s back. “You’re the best thing that could ever happen to me,” he says. “Best thing that could ever happen to anyone, actually. Really glad I’m the one you happened to, though.”

This time, Stede doesn’t laugh—he just sucks in a breath, like something’s caught him off guard, and in between kisses dotted over Ed’s cheek, Stede whispers, “Me too, darling. Me too.”

As soon as they retire to the living room, Ed parks himself with his legs in Stede’s lap while Stede clicks around on the TV for something to watch, ultimately landing on the last bit of Monday night wrestling that they hadn’t had a chance to finish earlier in the week. They’ve gotten really sucked into it lately, and the funny thing is, Stede had actually been the one to bring it up—he’d “heard Wee John and Pete discussing it at lunch, and they’d made it sound very exciting!” Ed had been surprised for all of about ten seconds before he realized that professional wrestling is a dream sport for Stede—between the simultaneously beautiful and violent choreography, the colorful characters, and the delightfully bitchy banter between fights, it’s basically one big theater performance. Literally has Stede’s name all over it.

Sure enough, when they sat down to watch some, Ed found himself proven completely right—it took less than two full matches for Stede to get fully invested. He didn’t even know anyone’s names or backstories and he was already picking sides. Kept talking at the TV like he was an extra referee too, despite knowing absolutely zero of the rules. It was really fucking charming, honestly. Another one of those “here I am on bended knee once more” moments. Now it’s a routine for them, watching each week’s new episode in bits and pieces while they’re folding laundry or having a rest after dinner or whatever, and Ed’s been having a blast. Obviously he also enjoys the fights and the stars and the banter, but the best part is definitely still admiring Stede as he cheers and jeers and flips the bird at the TV when someone makes a bad call. Which is what he’s doing right now, as a matter of fact—his bowl of ice cream has been abandoned on the coffee table to melt into soup while he complains about the current match.

“Oh, c’mon, ref!” he cries. “That was clearly a foul—don’t you have eyes? Fuck’s sake.” The hand that Stede had raised to point out the aforementioned foul falls to slap dejectedly against his thigh. “Unbelievable. They’ve got it out for this man! They’re being so unfair to him.”

“’Fraid that’s the point, pickle,” Ed says. “He has been on a hot streak lately. Figured they might start writing in a few losses for him. Can’t let him win forever, can they?”

Stede heaves a great sigh. “I suppose not. But just look at him! He looks so upset.”

The wrestler in question actually does look pretty upset. As close to a sad, soggy kitten as a completely jacked six-foot-four mountain of a man who wears full creepy clown makeup and a bloodied ruffle collar and goes by BumBum—so named for the menacing BUM, BUM, BUM, BUM that he chants as he stalks into the ring—can. The camera’s currently lingering on a close-up of his face, and it looks like there’s genuine sorrow in his eyes. Damn. He’s really selling it. Ed can actually feel an ache in his heart as he looks at the guy.

“Really does look upset, doesn’t he? Shit.” Ed digs a brownie chunk out of his ice cream. “I’m sure he’ll be on the ups again soon, though. Everyone loves him. If they let him fall into disgrace or something, there’ll be riots.”

Right on cue, as if they’re responding to his words, the audience for the match starts booing even louder than they already were. BumBum’s opponent, Johnny “Quicksilver” Jones, tries to yell something about his hit being a fair one, but the crowd just keeps booing. They’ve been eating out of the palm of BumBum’s hand for the last few weeks, and they don’t show any signs of letting up any time soon. Ed’s not surprised—the guy’s just weird enough to win you over, and he’s really worked his way up through the ranks this season and proved himself to be a strong, consistent fighter, which is always a good look. Quicksilver’s a long-time champ, though, and Ed knew it’d be a pretty fat chance that BumBum would get to beat him first try. Would be more satisfying for him to lose initially and then win a rematch later. Still sucks to see it, though.

Stede huffs from the other end of the couch. “Riots indeed,” he mutters. “And I’ll be at the front of the line for them.”

As Ed pops his last bite into his mouth, he looks up in time to see that Stede’s picked up his own bowl again and is currently glaring at it. He scoops up a spoonful of ice cream soup and takes an angry slurp, and it’s so adorable that Ed can’t help laughing. Stede looks over at him immediately.

“And just what is so funny?” Stede snaps. The indignance is totally piss-poor, though, because Ed can tell Stede’s trying really hard not to fall apart too.

“Nothing,” Ed says. “You’re just really cute.”

“I am not cute! I’m annoyed!”

“Okay, but those things aren’t mutually exclusive. I get it, babe,” Ed says, trying to sound soothing. “I really do. I feel bad for the guy too. But you just looked so, like… cute when you—” Ed lets out another helpless laugh when Stede takes another angry slurp, this one even angrier and slurpier than the first one. “Hey, that was on purpose! You totally know what you’re doing—”

In what feels like less than a second, Ed’s bowl is being whisked out of his hands and he’s being pushed onto his back. He lands with an oof and looks up at Stede, who’s now propped up and over him, hands planted in the couch cushions on either side of his head. Stede’s straddling him too, and oh, that’s really nice. Much as he’d enjoyed how the night ended up going earlier, he did end up suffering from a distinct lack of vitamin Stede’s Ass On His Hips, which is tragic. He mmms at it now, arching his back and wiggling said hips like he’s getting himself comfortable.

“Jeez,” Ed says, and he can’t be fucked to care about the eager wheeze in his voice that somehow manages to drown that single word out almost entirely. “At least kiss me first, yeah?”

“You’re such a clown,” Stede says, but he does lean down and kiss Ed. It’s chaste, just lips, but Ed doesn’t mind; he’s a little exhausted from the night. A good kind of exhausted, but still. Not in the mood to make another mess and have to clean up again. So he kisses Stede back equally as chastely, with a hand on Stede’s waist that’s just happy to be there, not looking for anything else. It’s sweet, and when they part, Stede ends up laying on the couch beside him and looking at him. Ed fans himself under the attention.

“Gettin’ your fill, huh?” he asks. “How am I?”

“So pretty,” Stede answers without missing a beat. “Just as pretty as ever.”

Yeowch. Fifth and sixth times tonight that Stede’s called him that now (not that he’s counting). Is he trying to kill him? He’s certainly not complaining, but he might also expire on the spot if Stede keeps it up.

Ed hums and kisses the end of Stede’s nose. “Aww. I could say the same about you.” He really could—Stede’s hair is fluffy from the shower, a cloud of gold around his face, and he looks all fresh and comfy with his jimjams on. Plus, even though Stede hasn’t asked for it (not yet, at least—Ed’s sure it’ll come at some point, as it almost always does), he knows this is the thing Stede likes after sex: Where he likes a bit of a handle, some tasty kisses and a grounding touch, Stede likes his words—he likes to know he’s loved and he’s good and he’s done well. And Ed’s more than happy to give that to him. C’mon—letting Stede know he did well? Ed could do (and has done) that in his sleep.

So Ed does say it: “You look pretty pretty yourself. Pretty as a picture, isn’t that what they say? That’s what you are. Prettier than, actually. There’s not a picture in the world that’s as pretty as you. In fact, they should say ‘pretty as a Stede,’ as far as I’m concerned. ‘Beautiful as a Stede,’ more like. Or maybe ‘as gorgeous, breathtaking, and dazzling as a Stede.’ I think that gets closer to it.”

Pink bleeds into Stede’s cheeks. “Ah. Hmm. If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Mmm. You’re too kind.”

Stede kisses his nose back and settles into the couch again, pillowing his head on that spot of chest just beneath Ed’s shoulder and rubbing his cheek into the fabric of Ed’s shirt. It’s an old favorite he’d decided to put on—the colors have faded from probably a million or so washes, and some tiny holes have started blooming at the seams, but you can still read the text clearly: WYLD STALLYNS 1991 WORLD TOUR. Ed watches as Stede traces over the letters with his fingers. He’s steady for the first half, but when he gets to the 1991, he stalls for some reason—he draws the top circle of that second 9 once, and then he draws it again, and again, and again, over and over and over in an endless loop. Ed’s just about to ask him if he’s alright when Stede clears his throat.

“Ed,” Stede says.

“Stede,” Ed replies.

Even from the angle he’s at, Ed can see the way Stede’s blush deepens.

“That’s me,” Stede says. He keeps tracing the top of that 9. “Can I… Can I ask you something?”

“Sure thing. Want me to pause the wrestling?”

Stede looks up at the TV with mild surprise, like he’s just now registering the fact that there’s still men grunting and a cheering crowd in the background.

“Oh, yeah. Probably should. Don’t want to miss anything. Sorry—got distracted.”

“Whatever by?” Ed asks as he grabs the remote and freezes BumBum and Quicksilver in place.

“Like you don’t know.”

“Nope. I really don’t.”

“Mm-hm,” Stede says, and he pinches one of Ed’s nipples, which Ed thinks is rather uncalled for.

“Hey! I think that’s rather uncalled for,” Ed says. “On second thought, maybe you don’t get to ask anything, not if you’re gonna go around pinching people. That’s pretty rude, y’know. That shit hurts. People don’t like that.”

“Oh, really?” Stede asks.

“Really.”

“People like you?”

“Yup. People like me.”

“Hmm. Interesting. So you don’t actually want those nipple clamps we bought last week? Gosh, I wish you would’ve told me sooner!” Stede tuts, shaking his head. “I would never, ever want to hurt you, dear. Y’know what? I’m just gonna go toss those right now,” Stede declares, and he makes like he’s about to get up. “I hate the thought of having something in the house that could upset you so much—”

Stede doesn’t even get himself wriggled out from between Ed and the couch cushions because Ed’s too busy locking his arms around him, holding him in place.

Stede blinks at Ed a few times. “Changed your mind?” he quips.

“I can’t believe you’d say that,” Ed says by way of answer. “We were having fun, Stede. We were bantering, we were having a laugh, and then—” Ed sniffles. “And then you made a threat like that. In our home. In front of BumBum and everyone,” he adds, gesturing at the TV where the sad, bloodied clown man is currently facedown on the mat, Quicksilver’s elbow in his spine. “The man’s already down, Stede. Do you think that’s funny? Is that funny to you? Huh? For him to hear something that heartbreaking when he’s already suffering. God,” he scoffs. “It’s like I don’t even know you.”

Stede just looks at him. Ed stares him right down.

Stede sighs.

“If I buy you the other set you wanted too—the pink ones with the little heart pendants—will you forgive me?”

Ooh. Now that’s a promising development. Obviously, Ed wasn’t being serious about everything he just said, and he knows Stede knows that, but Stede also seems serious about this offer nonetheless… So after Ed pretends like he’s thinking it over, he shrugs and says, “Yeah, alright. You’re forgiven.”

Stede brightens to an almost comic degree. “Oh, good! I’ll order them before bed.”

“Fuck yeah,” Ed says as Stede rests his head on his chest again. “Sounds good to me.” As he starts floofing his fingers through Stede’s hair, he feels compelled to say, “I was kidding, y’know. You weren’t actually in trouble.”

“Oh, I know,” Stede says. “Just wanted an excuse to get those other ones for you. Not that I need one, I suppose. Would’ve bought them anyway just because I knew you wanted them, and because I know you’ll look so pretty in them. But the opportunity presented itself, so here we are.”

Ed’s heart tippy-taps at that. Another thing he’d never had before he met Stede: Someone who’ll take any and every opportunity to get him presents, anything that’ll put a sparkle in his day. Used to be that he only ever got things on his birthday, maybe the occasional holiday outside of that. Certainly never anything “just because.” But now he’s got someone who wants to buy him a second set of nipple clamps for that very reason. And because he thinks he’ll look pretty in them! (Seventh, by the way! Seven times tonight!!) Which he’s right about, of course—he’s gonna look pretty as hell. He can’t wait.

In the meantime, though, Ed gives Stede a smooch to the top of his head and says, “Anyone ever told you you’re the best person in existence?”

Stede’s feet flipper shyly against his own. “Oh, go on.”

“You are. And you’re not just gorgeous and breathtaking and dazzling—you’re kind, and you’re thoughtful, and you’re— Wait, hang on,” Ed interrupts himself. “Before I get going too much—you were gonna ask me something, yeah?”

“Ah, yes,” Stede says. “Well, it’s along the same lines—earlier, just after we got home, you said the mushy stuff would have to wait until later? So I was just wondering, is there, um—” Stede goes back to tracing that 9. “Is there still some mushy stuff, maybe?”

Aha. There it is. Exactly what Ed had been hoping for. And Stede’s brought it up so very cutely too—both his question and the way his voice goes soft and rosy around it make Ed’s ribs melt. It’s adorable, the way that he still gets shy about this kind of stuff; it feels like they’re high school sweethearts hiding under the covers, timidly trying to tip each other into some more fluttery flirtation. Not much tipping needed, though—again, Ed’s more than happy to give it to him. In his head, he rolls his neck side to side and cracks his knuckles. Showtime.

“’Course there’s more,” he says, giving Stede a reassuring squeeze. Although, one minor thing—just after they got home, he’d been pretty overwhelmingly, y’know… rocked by the cock, if you’ll pardon his French, and as such he’s struggling a bit to remember exactly what he’d told Stede. So he does a demure heh-hem and says, “Now, this isn’t to say that I didn’t mean anything I said, because I million percent did. But. If you could just remi—”

“Were you too dick-for-brains earlier?” Stede interrupts.

Ed sucks in a gasp and pulls on a lock of Stede’s hair. “Like you weren’t! But… yes,” he says. “Maybe. I really did mean what I said, though. Promise.”

“I know,” Stede says. “I know you did. I’m just teasing. You were, um…” Stede taps on Ed’s sternum. “You were saying nice things,” he clarifies. “About me. And you were talking about how it’s fun to play pretend together. And I was just… y’know. Wondering if there was anything else about that.”

Yes, yes—he remembers now. Ed smiles. “Ah, cheers. For sure there is. Hmm, let’s see…” He starts tickling slow circles over Stede’s back with his nails, the whole length of it from Stede’s shoulders to just above his ass, just the way he knows Stede likes. Sure enough, Stede sighs a happy mmh and goes heavier against him in response. Ed’s smile grows.

“Well, for starters,” he begins, “we can pick up where I left off: You are gorgeous and breathtaking and dazzling, and kind and thoughtful, and you’re really funny. And you’re smart, and you’re stubborn, and I think that’s hot. And you make me really happy. You make me feel like it’s okay to goof around. Never got to goof around before.” He pauses to trace along Stede’s side for a few breaths. “I don’t think there’s anyone else I’ve ever known who would’ve done what we did tonight. Not the way we did it, at least. Might’ve done the flirting and the fucking, but the thing with the pictures probably wouldn’t have happened. Or the fancy name.”

Stede chuckles. “No, maybe not. Sorry—might’ve gotten a bit carried away with the character-building.”

“Hell no!” Ed says. “I loved it! I love that we sat and looked at your miniature pictures in the middle of our sexy role play. Pictures that are, by the way, extremely amazing.”

“Aww. It’s not like you haven’t seen them already.”

“Don’t care! I love seeing them,” Ed says. “You know that. Can’t get enough of all your tiny shit. Knocks me out every time, man. So fucking good. So fucking adorable. Just like you,” he adds, rattling Stede gently for emphasis. “But anyway, the point is: No one else would get distracted by pictures of fairy furniture while they’re trying to flirt. No one but you. No one but us. And I love that, y’know? Everything’s just…” Ed exhales. “It’s so much fun when it’s with you. It’s so much fun when you’re the one doing things with me. We get serious about playing and we don’t care about being ridiculous and we get all wrapped up in stuff, and it’s just, like… It’s the best, babe. It’s like we’re in our own little world that’s wacky and fun and nothing else matters because we’ve got each other. And it makes me really, really happy.”

As he says those last words, Ed finds himself suddenly speechless, because that, he supposes, is really the whole of it: The two of them having fun together in their wacky little world makes him happy. At the end of the day, there’s not much else he needs. So long as he’s got Stede, he’s set; everything else is just gravy.

Stede finally looks up at him then, chin propped on his chest. He looks like a kid who just got handed a treasure chest full of candy they don’t care cost lest than dirt apiece and a horde of plastic toys that’ll be best friends and adventuring buddies for weeks to come—his eyes are shining, his grin floppy and unguardedly giddy.

“You really mean all that?” Stede asks.

Ed cradles Stede’s face in his hands, thumbs pressing gently into the corners of his mouth, bookending his smile. “Fuck yeah I do, man.”

Stede’s gaze skitters down and he laughs quietly. Then he scoots up to nuzzle right into Ed’s neck.

“Thank you,” Stede says. “That was… Mmm.” He wiggles in closer. “That was lovely.”

Ed slips his hand beneath Stede’s shirt this time so he can press it to the broad heat of Stede’s back. “Yeah?” he says. “Make you feel good?”

“Mmmmm. Very, very good. Very…” Stede digs his face deeper into Ed’s neck. “Very loved.”

Pride swells in Ed’s chest at that, filling in all the spaces between his ribs and getting his lungs all squashed together. He knows he knows how to make Stede feel good (he’s had years and years of practice, after all), but that never makes him feel any less accomplished when he finds out he’s done it; it’s a gold star on his heart every time. There’s no one in the world who deserves goodness and love more than Stede, and if Ed can be someone to bring him that? Can’t ask for much more, can he?

With his insides aching, Ed grips at Stede’s back before he squeezes him tight once more, just because he can. “Glad to hear it,” Ed murmurs, because he is. “Very glad.”

For a few moments, they just lay there, Stede breathing softly against Ed’s throat. Ed’s starting to wonder if maybe Stede’s fallen asleep when he hears something that sounds like “sh’w fnsh th’wrsg?”

Ed clears his throat. “Sorry, what was that?”

Stede chuckles and peels himself away from Ed’s neck. When he props himself up on his elbows and their eyes meet, Ed just barely manages to stop himself from taking his husband’s precious, sleepy face in his hands and covering it with kisses. Actually, y’know what? Screw it—Ed does take his husband’s precious, sleepy face in his hands and cover it with kisses because it’s just too damn wonderful not to, so many and so fast that Stede dissolves into giggles and weak protests of “Ed, Ed, Ed!” It’s not until Stede’s breathless that Ed pulls away.

“Did you try to say something a second ago?” he says. “Sounded like gibberish to me.”

Stede rolls his eyes. “I said, should we finish the wrestling?”

Ed hums. “Dunno. Thought maybe you’d fallen asleep there. You sure you’re not too tired, old man? We have had a rather… vigorous night.”

Stede swats at his shoulder. “I’m plenty awake. Don’t you mind me. Are you sure you’re not too tired, ‘old man’?” The air quotes around those words are both audible and visible as Stede curls his fingers into claws mid-air.

“’Course not,” Ed says. “I’m awake. Awake as fuck, one might even say. I’m so awake it would blow your mind.”

“Uh-huh,” Stede says, heavy on that huh. “I think we’re both sorted then. So should we finish?”

“Thought we both finished earlier, but if you want to go again—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, where’s that damn remote… You and your filthy jokes tonight. If you crack another one I will drag you back to bed about it. Oh, Edward Teach-Bonnet, don’t you dare— You hand that over—!”

A good twenty seconds of tussling later, Stede’s holding that damn remote way, way out with his right hand while his left is covering Ed’s face. His thumb’s poised over the play button, and when he looks at Ed, he’s got one eyebrow cocked.

“Are we ready to settle down now?” he asks.

Ed blows a raspberry against Stede’s palm. “You’re such an asshole.”

Stede makes a “you’re not wrong” sort of face. “Maybe. But if I’m remembering correctly, you rather like my asshole.”

“Oh, hello? And who’s making filthy jokes now? And let’s be clear, that’s on top of the, oh, half-dozen you already made earlier tonight.”

“What can I say? You’re a horrible influence.” He presses play, and as the fight starts up again, he snuggles back down into Ed’s side. For a few beats, he watches BumBum try to thrash out from beneath Quicksilver’s elbow. Then he says, “I’m just kidding, y’know. I love your filthy jokes.”

Ed pats Stede on the back. “I know you do. And I love yours. Just as much as I love your asshole.”

“Good,” Stede says. “Same jokes tomorrow, then?”

“Mmhm. And the next day, and the next day, and the next.”

“Forever and ever?”

The words make Ed’s stomach do a few pirouettes. It’s another one of those funny things he’s found about being married—the excitement at the thought of spending the rest of your days with your best friend never really fades. It’s a thrill every time.

Ed slips his hand back beneath Stede’s shirt and lets it come to rest on the softness of his hip. “Yeah,” he says. “Forever and ever.”

Stede sighs. “Good. That sounds perfect.” He sighs again, and then, in practically the same breath, he’s scoffing and saying, “Oh, come on! That should’ve been another foul! Ed, did you see that? That was an illegal move! How are they letting him get away with this? That should be an automatic disqualification whether you’re a senior wrestler or not. They’re cutting him way too much slack…”

Stede’s complaints continue for the rest of the fight while Ed mms and yeahs at all the right times. Don’t get him wrong—he’s listening. He really is. It’s just that he’s also, y’know… Drinking it in. Committing it to memory. Because he and Stede have a lot of great nights, but this was a really, really great one. A good flirt, some good food, a good fuck, some more good food. And now he’s got his beloved on his chest bitching at the sweaty men in short-shorts on the TV.

Oops, just kidding, not on his chest anymore—Stede’s sitting up now, still bitching, and ah, yeah, there we go, there’s the bird-flipping. Oh, both fingers! Wow. He is pissed.

“This is unbelievable!” Stede crows. “Absolutely horrifying. Completely unprecedented. I just don’t know how they’re going to explain this one awa— Ed? Are you laughing at me again?”

Despite the way he’s 100% started doing that, Ed shakes his head. “Nope. Not at all.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Stede says, waving a hand in his direction.

They’re both laughing now, though, and Ed knows which three words are really hiding beneath the ones Stede had said. So he catches Stede’s hand mid-wave and brings it close, pressing his lips to that skin-warmed band of gold that he’s still so very glad to see back on Stede’s hand.

“I love you too,” he murmurs.

Stede blinks, and then he pulls on Ed’s hand, levering him up. When they’re close enough, he guides their hands out of the way and kisses Ed sweet and soft, and Ed clings in return.

They’re both panting softly when Stede pulls away. Ed opens his eyes to find Stede already looking at him, and when Stede tucks a lock of hair behind his ear, Ed shivers.

“Okay?” Stede asks quietly. Their hands are still clasped, and Stede gives Ed’s fingers a squeeze.

Ed nods and squeezes back. “Mmm. I just… I do,” he says. “I love you.”

Stede’s expression melts—and subsequently soaks into Ed’s heart—like butter on hot toast. He brushes their noses together, and after one more kiss to the corner of Ed’s mouth he says, “I know. I love you too. Now—can we finish watching the rest of this god-awful fight?”

Ed snorts, and this time he’s the one pushing Stede down onto the couch. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s finish this god-awful fight.”

“Good,” Stede says as they both lay down. “Although I’ll have to go back, y’know. You distracted me a second time.”

“With my declaration of love? Oh, heaven forbid.”

“I know. Just terrible.” Stede grabs the remote and hits that rewind button a few times before pausing. “Good?” he says.

“Golden,” Ed replies.

Stede hits play and abandons the remote on the coffee table in favor of getting both arms around Ed. He winds their legs together too, getting their calves and thighs pleasantly sandwiched. For a few seconds, he goes back to watching the fight.

“Actually, I was just playing again,” Stede says, his voice a hammy stage-whisper. “It was a wonderful distraction.”

For what must be the hundredth time tonight, Ed grins. “I know you were,” he stage-whispers back. “I thought it was funny. Still the same thing tomorrow?”

Stede rubs the back of his neck. “Of course. And the next day, and the next day, and the next. Forever and ever, right?”

Ed sighs and closes his eyes, and he sends a quick thank you up to the highest reaches of the universe for… Everything, really. For orgasms; for homemade ice cream; for professional wrestling. For a silly husband and infinite play dates. For a chance to have all the fun he always wanted and was never sure he might get.

Ed presses his cheek right to Stede’s chest, feeling for the thump-thump of his heart. When it finds him, his whole body unspools in relief.

“Yeah,” he says. “Forever and ever.”