Chapter Text
Stede Bonnet has spent the better part of his life practicing the art of being small.
In fact, he reckons he's a certified expert by now. An unwitting virtuoso at bracing for impact; of his father's disapproval, his family’s stifling expectations, and the serrated claws of a world that never seemed to have a place for a man of his particular... frequency.
For decades he’s tamped down his passions, filed away his interests, and muffled the "too much-ness" that simultaneously characterized his spirit and made him feel ashamed. To be Stede was to be a secret kept from himself.
But no more.
He’s determined to change that. He has been changing that. After all, here on the cobblestone streets of Edinburgh, he can acknowledge that things are very different now, and while he doesn’t have much experience "letting loose", he’s going to carpe the goddamn diem if it kills him.
Which admittedly, is saying a lot for a man who up until five months ago wouldn't have dared take a spontaneous vacation. For Stede, vacations had historically been joyless obligations that were filed under "business" or "family".
But since joining the architecture firm in Southern England called Anchor & Co., his life has changed quite a bit. After three decades of putting up with corporate bollocks, it took one divorce and a series of very expensive therapy sessions for Stede to realize that he didn't have to stay at a job he despised.
So he found a fresh start in Anchor. It was there that he took up a position as senior project manager, and there that he finally felt able to express himself without treading the minefield of stifling formalities, useless meetings, and the pompous, sneering faces of his ex-colleagues.
What he wasn't expecting was to feel, perhaps for the first time in his life, that he belonged. He was collaborating, and people were actually soliciting his ideas, and even his penchant for colourful suits was flourishing. Anchor encouraged its employees to embrace their personal style, so he proudly wore his vibrant blazers and fancy cravats, bespoke wingtip oxfords and cashmeres and whatever else his heart desired, taking additional pleasure in the fact that his father would be apoplectic about it, were the man still alive.
Another delightful perk about Anchor was that most of its employees were queer. This wasn't why he took the job, but it was a welcome aspect while navigating the recency of his own coming out. In fact, he had become quite close with his coworkers: despite their vastly different personalities, Stede felt an instant connection with them, and they too embraced him wholeheartedly.
Stede considers himself immensely lucky. So when the idea of a bank holiday trip in Edinburgh came up, he said yes.
Lucius Spriggs was the mastermind behind it. He was Anchor's architectural draftsman and he’d convinced most of their little group to join. There were a few opt-outs: their junior project manager, Jim, and sustainability consultant Oluwande, were attending a concert in London (a group called "Archie & The Pirate Queen", whom Stede hadn’t heard of before, but of course his taste in music was not what the younger generation would dub "with it"), and their client relations liaison Nathaniel Buttons had declared a pressing need to dedicate the weekend to moonbathing and ornithology (a series of statements Stede knew better than to question).
Their site surveyor, John, and BD manager, Lars – who went by the nickname “Swede” when they weren’t at work – had initially said they couldn’t come, but at the last minute decided to join Stede, Lucius, Pete (Anchor’s construction manager and Lucius’ boyfriend), their interior designer Joel “Frenchie” Lefevre, and their building inspector Rowan "Roach" Issack.
So now, here they are - and Edinburgh is an easy city to love. Stede’s only visited once before, but it’s been so long that everything feels fresh to him. Their accommodations are in Old Town and while he would normally itch at the fact that they don't have the next few days planned out, he reminds himself of his commitment to spontaneity.
They begin their day with a hike up Arthur’s Seat, and afterwards stop at a restaurant that only serves charcuterie boards and wine. They walk around some more and as late afternoon descends, they're drawn to a modest pub, where they order cask ale and enough food to feed a small village.
They’re tipsy and cheery when John eventually asks, "What's our plan for tonight, then?"
Lucius, ever-ready, chimes in. "Right, okay, so,” he starts, gesturing in his usual Lucius way, “I'm thinking we stop off at home after this, get ourselves looking cute, and hit up the Pink Triangle."
A few of them hum in agreement. Stede is happy he’s not the only one who isn’t in the know, because Swede and Frenchie look clueless as well.
“That’s the part of town where all the gay bars are,” Lucius explains before they can ask.
Roach is already pulling up his phone map, and turns it to Stede. “Do you want to pick the place?”
“Oh, no, that’s too much pressure on me,” Stede chuckles and shakes his head, raising his hands in surrender. “I trust whatever you lot have lined up!”
When he glances at Lucius, the man has a mischievous glint in his eye. "Stede's gonna try and find a hot guy for himself tonight. Isn't that right, Stede?" he says with a cheeky grin, because Lucius is far too comfortable putting Stede on the spot.
If it were anyone else, Stede might be upset about that. But he’s had a soft spot for Lucius ever since he met him. Lucius had no reason to go out of his way to welcome Stede into the group, but he did, and besides; it was nice to have people that he could share his personal life with. He's never had that before, and they never passed a shred of judgment on him. And Lucius' teasing does hold Stede accountable to an intention that Stede himself brought up some drunken conversation ago, of wanting to get out of his head and start dating more.
“I mean, that's the whole reason we’re here, isn't it?” Frenchie says bluntly.
“I thought we were here to celebrate the Hammersmith Redevelopment,” Swede says, words thick with the dramatic accent that earned him his nickname.
“Not the whole reason,” John corrects Frenchie. “Fuck knows it's been ages since we've let off some steam.”
"Right," Pete agrees, slinging an arm around Lucius and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Speaking of which, one more round, guys?" and turns to get the waiter’s attention.
"But just to clarify, we're also here for Stede to get some," Roach reiterates, a little too matter-of-factly for Stede not to hide his blushing face behind his pint, which is what he does.
"Yes!" Lucius makes matters worse by reaching over to push at Stede's arm. "Seriously, you've gotta have some fun, babe. I think it might literally kill me if you don’t get some action soon."
Ever the dramatic, that Lucius. Still, he has a point.
"I mean... I wouldn’t say no to a little tasteful fun with a handsome stranger," Stede admits over a sigh. "Rather, I suppose Vacation Stede wouldn't say no."
“Music to my ears,” Lucius looks pleased. “Except for the fact that hot vacation sex with a random stranger is definitely not about being tasteful." Stede makes a face at this, but Lucius addresses the others, "Eyes sharp tonight, guys! We’re on wingman duty!" Then, turning back at Stede, he says, "Don’t worry your curly blonde head. Edinburgh's full of fit men.”
Stede outwardly balks. Though secretly, the idea thrills him.
They go back to the flat to freshen up, which for Stede means a tailored dress shirt and a series of tasteful rings, with slim-fit dark grey trousers and suede loafers. He decides at the last minute to throw on a loosely tied black cravat and a satin flight jacket, which gets an enthusiastic seal of approval from the gang. Finally, they set out toward the aforementioned Pink Triangle.
They land at a club called Rendezvous. Stede’s initial impression is that the place is tolerable. He's not usually fond of clubs, but he’s committed to his plan of - well, not planning.
Unfortunately, he regrets this plan rather quickly. The music is extremely loud, and so bass-heavy that his eardrums feel like they’re popping out. The floor is very sticky, and perhaps most regrettably, the majority of clubgoers seem to be in their twenties. He and the crew are certainly the oldest bunch, but even amongst them Stede is the eldest, and to say he feels out of place is an understatement.
He's hesitant to express his disapproval, though, because everyone else seems to be having a good time. Lucius and Pete are getting drinks, Swede's managed to find a table to dance on, John’s already found someone to kiss (seemingly the only other age-appropriate person here), and Frenchie and Roach are likely off causing mischief somewhere.
So, Stede wanders around for a while. He roams up to the second level of the bar, where it's minimally quieter and equally less sticky, but still not very pleasant. He stands at a spot that overlooks the DJ's stage and steeps in self-pity.
Eventually he downs his drink and makes his way back downstairs, and spots Lucius and Pete on the dance floor. They have their arms wrapped sweetly around each other. Lucius perks up at the sight of Stede and yells, “Heeey! Where've you been?” and Stede's tongue has been loosened by the rye.
“Lucius!" he frowns. "I want… I want--”
“You want a hot guy, Stede, I know," Lucius' face crumples into one of apology, then mild panic, "But babe, these people are way too young for you!”
"Seriously," Pete concurs rather unhelpfully. "You're decades older than most of them."
Another flare of annoyance goes off in Stede.
“You think I don’t know that?!” he shouts over a headache-inducing beat. He could swear they've been playing the same electronic song for the past half hour.
Pete just shrugs apologetically, and Lucius repeats, “I’m sorry! I didn’t know it was gonna be like this!”
At this point Frenchie, Roach, and John have spotted them and are making their way over. When Stede glances to check where Swede is, he spots him dancing at the tables, still, though now missing a shirt.
“Isn't there anywhere else we can go?" Stede asks the rest a bit desperately.
“Place around the corner looks alright,” John offers. "We passed it on the way here."
Stede stares back at him. “Don't you... er, have someone, here?” he asks. It comes out sulkily. He feels slightly ashamed.
But John doesn’t seem affected, merely shrugging as a look of mild guilt passes over his face. “Eh. Bit clingy, that one." Then he glances at Frenchie and Roach, "You guys up for a venue change?"
The two of them nod.
"'Kay, we're gonna hang back for a bit," Lucius tells them, nodding toward Pete. Stede can't blame them for wanting some alone time. “We’ll meet you there later. Text me the address, John?"
"I think we should also pull Swede away from his adoring fans," Roach points to the now undulating, half-naked blonde man. There are others who have joined him on the table, all trying for their turns to dance with him. "I can see his head exploding from here.”
“Yeah, you should probably go deal with that," Lucius advises. He scrunches his nose, "Though, holy shit, Swede's got abs? Did any of us know he was hot?"
Pete, who doesn’t usually seem to be the jealous type, pulls Lucius fractionally closer to him. "See you guys in a bit!" he yells out.
Stede nods. It’s a dire need, at this point, to get out of this sea of twenty-somethings. They’re closer to his kids’ age than they are to his, and god does he feel gross about that.
Once they collect Swede, John leads them out, and the fresh air is lovely on Stede's face. He’s had enough alcohol to feel pleasantly buzzed.
It turns out that the next establishment really is just around the corner, a spot called The Queen Anne. A few of them have lit up cigarettes and Stede waits for them to finish before they enter.
And immediately, he feels more at ease here than the last place. It's considerably less flashy, more rustic, though still plenty lively. There are interesting clippings adorning the walls of the foyer, and the lighting is warmer and brighter and he can actually see, thank the stars. Stede even hears music he can vaguely recognize, from a dance floor that's partially hidden by a dividing wall ahead.
They pass by a cloakroom and Stede points to it. "You guys go ahead," he tells his friends. “I’ll catch up.”
They nod and do so, which gives Stede a little time to gather his bearings. He stands in a short line and removes his jacket, admiring it in his hands. He's bedecked it with a few pins, and while some may say it's gauche, Stede is utterly enamoured with it. His daughter Alma had taught him all about the latest fashion in pin-based self-expression, and had even gifted him with a few. He touches the one sporting a pride flag over the breast pocket, and the one of a beautiful sloop ship just beneath it. The kids used to love when he played pirates with them.
When it’s his turn at the coat check, he hands it and the money to the clerk, who gives him a kind smile when they notice the pins. Stede grins back and drops a few more pounds into the tip jar. Then he does a quick check of his outfit, making sure everything is tucked in and his belt is fastened correctly, no stains on his pants or gum stuck to his shoes. He’s only just finished adjusting his bits and bobs when he notices a man closeby.
A man who manages to take all the breath out of Stede's lungs.
He's… stunning. He’s alone and standing outside an alcove where the loos are. He has a drink in one hand and his phone in the other, looking down at the latter with wan amusement.
Stede's only a few feet away from him. And somehow he finds himself completely immobilized. When he does get his body to move - walk, you idiot, he scolds himself - his gaze remains glued to the man. He doesn't even realize he's let out a sound of awe until said man is glancing up from his phone and looking directly at Stede.
Oh. Shit.
Stede isn’t usually one to be so brazen, but he genuinely can't stop staring. And the man has the most gorgeous brown eyes; they're striking and warm, but there’s also something slightly sorrowful about them.
His chest tightens, and for a moment, it feels as though the world shrinks to just the space between them. But a quiet voice of reason tells him to keep walking, so he does with forced casualness. He doesn't dare look back once he’s passed the stranger. After all, he's so out of Stede's league it's ridiculous. Nothing would come of it.
Yet... Stede could swear he feels someone following him. His heart flutters with the staticky, preposterous possibility, and suddenly feeling brave, he stops at the wall - the dance floor glowing on the other side - and turns.
The man is there. He slows to a stop right in front of him, eyes decidedly locked on Stede’s. Then he downs his drink and sets it on the ledge next to them.
Stede's nerves flare up. But... the man doesn't look angry, and he isn't telling Stede to fuck off. Those are good signs, right?
Still, his own pulse goes fast as a hummingbird's when the man smiles. He looks exceedingly cool with his hands tucked into his pockets, as he opens his mouth and says,
“Hey."
Good grief, his appearance is even more arresting up close. Stede's eyes are drawn to his long silver hair, half-tied in a messy bun with its strays falling around his face. A dangling, shiny earring hangs from one ear, and he sports a short, slightly unkempt beard that's grown to his neck, though he pulls it off with the grace of a prince who’s just returned from some windswept adventure.
He's wearing eyeliner, and has on leather trousers and a purple jumper, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The hem is slightly cropped so that his abdomen is peeking out. The parts of his arms that Stede can see are covered in tattoos, his hands and knuckles as well. He has eclectic rings on most of his fingers, which Stede catches a better glimpse of when he reaches up to tuck some hair behind his ear, as well as a better look at the large, inky snake slithering down his arm.
It’s after these careful observations that Stede can say with irrevocable certainty that this man is the most attractive human he's ever laid eyes on.
“Oh, I - hi," Stede finally says. Okay, so maybe he’s more than a little buzzed, because how can this be real?
It briefly makes Stede wonder if maybe this is a joke. Perhaps someone dared the guy. No matter if that makes no sense, or that nobody else was standing with him back there...
“How’s it going?” the silver-haired hunk continues. His voice is dulcet and magnetic. He seems quite at ease.
Stede, on the other hand, can feel his neck burning up.
“Good, I’m good - sorry, hi, I’m Stede.”
He puts out his hand. The guy shakes it and lingers. His skin is warm and slightly calloused.
“Ed,” he responds. Eventually, Ed drops Stede's hand and they smile at each other some more, and the thought of this being some sort of prank or joke starts to dissipate from Stede’s mind.
Still, he has absolutely no idea how to conduct himself. Gratefully, Ed continues to lead.
“So what brings you to Edinburgh, Stede?”
“I’m, uh, just here with some friends,” he manages to say. “Visiting for the weekend." Then, cocking his head slightly, he asks, "How did you know I don't live here?”
Ed smirks. “Lucky guess. You're right, though, shouldn’t’ve assumed.”
“Oh, no, none taken," Stede replies. He feels himself relaxing, some. "I suppose I carry myself like a tourist. I live in England!”
"Ah, just across the way, then. What do you do in England?"
Stede offers a modest smile. "I'm an architect."
“Right on," Ed says, seeming awed. "Always admired architects."
In truth, Stede's never thought of it as much of an impressive vocation, but Ed's curiosity makes him feel otherwise.
“And you?” Stede asks, equally curious.
"Oh, me? I’m an artist,” Ed replies with a small shrug.
“Wow!” Stede responds excitedly. “Incredible. What genre?"
To this, Ed furrows his brows before realization crosses his face. "Ah,” he says, “Visual artist, mate, not - er, musical.” Then with a wry smile, adds, “Though I’ve been told I'm not a total travesty on the keys."
Stede’s face burns in embarrassment. "Oh god," he responds uneasily. "Now I'm the one making assumptions!"
But the other man just chuckles warmly. His hand reaches out to give Stede’s arm a light, comforting tap - Stede revels in the brief touch. "Nah, s’alright,” he assures. “You wouldn't be the first. Something about the tattoos and long hair seem to make people think I'm the lead singer of a death metal band."
Stede nods an apology, determined to rectify his mistake. “Well in that case, I would love to see some of your work... if you have any photos?”
Ed looks a little caught off-guard by the request, though before Stede has the chance to walk it back, he's pulling out his phone.
"Yeah,” Ed says. “Yeah, man, I’ve got some."
He thumbs around on it and hands it to him.
Stede takes it, a little gingerly at first, but then his eyes go wide when he sees the screen. It's a picture of a canvas doused in deep colours and evocative strokes. It's the kind of art that makes him feel.
"Ed. This is gorgeous,” he breathes. He looks up at the other man and requests to see more, to which Ed nods his permission.
“Fantastic," Stede continues as he scrolls through the image gallery. "Oh, I absolutely love the line work in this one. And your palette is so vivid! Do you use oils?”
“That's acrylic, actually," he points at the one Stede's on, then leans in to take over swiping. Stede gets a waft of something sweet-smelling from Ed’s hair. "That one’s oil. Next one's gouache, been trying my hand at that. Oh and that one, yeah, dabbling in sculptures, too.” Ed huffs a small laugh, “Guess it’s kind of whatever I’m feeling on the day.”
He sounds self-effacing about it. But Ed is clearly amazing at his craft, and Stede is nothing if not in awe.
“A man of a great many talents, then," he remarks, handing the phone back to him. "Thank you for sharing these with me.”
Ed's sparkly eyes flit up to Stede's. “Right. Yeah, thanks mate.” He straightens, his head moving fractionally as he regains the cool charm from earlier. “What about you. Got any projects you’re willing to show off?”
Stede feels a flicker of excitement at this. He briefly wonders if Ed is just being polite, but the sincerity on his face tells him otherwise.
"Yes, I do, actually. One moment."
As he gets his own phone out, reality finally hits. Stede had ogled a complete stranger, who had caught him in the act, and now they’re having an actual conversation, and Ed is absolutely lovely so far.
It’s the type of thing that only seemed to happen in movies, where the charming protagonist would lock eyes with their captivating counterpart. They would get a drink and fall into bed together, and fall in love, and live happily ever after and...
He's brought back to the present when Ed asks him to stop scrolling so he can examine a few images. One of them is a cantilevered home with floor-to-ceiling windows, another a community project with green roofs and solar panels. Coincidentally, they're good representations of Stede's style.
"Really like this one," Ed remarks, studying the screen with keen interest. “It's got that vibe, you know?"
Stede looks at him curiously.
"Peaceful," Ed explains. "And not in that bullshitty, I'm-a-minimalist-so-I-only-use-weird-brutalist-shit sort of way. S'functional. And," He taps once on the screen. "Some neat stuff with lighting in these fixtures. That was you too, right?”
Stede nods. He feels breathless.
“Figured,” Ed continues. “It’s inspired."
"Oh, gosh, Ed." Stede must be blushing hard now, but he tries to pass it off with a humble hand wave. "You’re too kind, really."
"Nah, mate,” Ed responds warmly, his mouth quirked up at the corner. “I don't lie just to make people feel good." Then he shrugs, "It's one of my best and worst qualities. And I can honestly say it's fuckin' hard to find someone doing something new these days. Granted, this’ coming from someone who knows shit-all about architecture, but still. I've got eyes."
He clearly knows more about architecture than he’s willing to admit, but Stede simply lets the words sink in.
He's been told his whole life that his visions were too ostentatious. Even at Anchor, where he was treated with respect and responsibility, people still struggled to understand him at times. There were still questions about his methods, which in fairness was to be expected at work, but even still, Stede has rarely experienced this kind of praise.
“That’s–” he blinks the stars out of his eyes. "Thank you, Ed. Coming from someone like you, with so much talent... honestly, it means a lot.”
Ed's staring right at him again. “Just the truth,” he says, and Stede feels like he could melt into a puddle.
There’s a long moment of pause. There's still music playing loudly on the other side of the barrier, but it's somehow faded into the periphery. Even without saying anything, Ed commands all his attention.
Stede is adamant not to scare him off with these starry-eyed silences, so he proceeds to ask, "Do you live here in the city, Ed? I couldn’t help but notice your accent... that is, am I correct in assuming you’re not from Scotland, originally?”
“Yeah, nah," Ed confirms. "Been living here a decade, and all around the U.K. before then. Actually moving to London in a few days,” he adds, as if it’s an afterthought, then says, “But yeah, 'm Māori. Grew up in Wellington. You from Aoteoroa too?”
“Yes, yeah!” Stede responds excitedly.
The lines around Ed's eyes crinkle when he smiles. His teeth are perfect. His smile is perfect.
“Always nice to meet a fellow Kiwi out in the wild. Ironic though ay, ending up in the bloody birthplace of colonization,” Ed shakes his head, letting out a low huff. “I mean, Scotland's a bit better for it, but it’s still the same old machine."
Stede nods. “It does feel a bit like being at the scene of a crime.”
Ed snorts. "Putting it lightly there, mate, but yeah. You get it," he says as he tucks his phone into his back pocket.
"Can I…” Stede starts, but cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “Sorry.”
Ed’s eyes meet his again. "Yeah?" he implores.
"Well, if it's not an imposition to ask… what made you decide on the U.K.?"
The other man gives him a small shrug. "Weren't too many opportunities back home. Not when I was a young person there, at least, doing what I wanted to do. Maybe it's better now. I hope it is.”
Stede nods. "Too true. It seems like all the big opportunities were elsewhere, rather unfairly."
“Yeah.” Ed looks a little sad about it, but he quickly perks up. “Guess we try and change the tide though, ay? I mean, just us being here is a 'fuck you' to those Brexit-supporting royalist dickfucks, isn't it?”
And now, Stede chuckles, relishing the effortless way Ed delivers the truth. "Yeah," he replies. "I suppose it’s our own brand of revenge.”
Ed seems like he’s about to ask Stede something else, but a noise interrupts - familiar voices that grow louder by the second.
Sure enough, he soon hears Frenchie hollering, "Where the fuck did he get off to?"
"Maybe he's just having a wee!" Roach offers.
"For fifteen minutes?"
"...A very long wee. Or maybe a sh – oh."
Stede glances over his shoulder and catches a glimpse of the two peeking from behind the partition. He sees their eyes going wide, and he must be doing something imperious with his facial expression, because they disappear just as quickly.
Ed goes on his tiptoes to examine the commotion. "Those your friends?" he asks.
"Some of them, yeah," Stede chuckles weakly. He thinks of them and the others, then remembers that Lucius and Pete are still at the other club, and a slightly irrational thought hits him. “Ed,” he faces the man fully again, “Please tell me you’re not secretly in your twenties.”
He gets an incredulous laugh in return. “Uhh,” Ed points at his own tresses. “This isn’t a trendy dye job, mate. All au naturel,” and gives Stede an exaggerated hair flip.
“Plenty of twenty-year olds go grey!" Stede argues over a smile. "I mean, I don't know any of them personally, but my great-uncle Dave went completely bald at twenty-six.”
Ed gives him a playfully skeptical look. “Well, I’m forty-six.”
“Ah,” Stede says with a relieved sigh. It’s not like he was actually expecting any different, but hearing it puts him at ease. “Wonderful. Forty-seven,” he points to himself.
“Damn," Ed raises a coy brow. "All this time I thought you were the hot young twink out've the two of us. Turns out you're the puma.”
Stede feels his face light up at Ed calling him hot. Then, curiously, asks, "Puma?"
"Yeah," the other man’s got a smug smile on now. "Y'know, like a 'cougar'. But a man. Not to be confused with 'manther', though, those guys are completely predatory.”
At this, Stede puts a hand over his chest in mock injury. “Oh, come on, you’re only a year younger than me!” he laughs. "Christ, 'puma'. Making me sound ancient!”
Ed's gaze flits up to Stede's temples. He pouts comically. “And yet you’re the one with the youthful hair!”
“Ah, but I'm afraid it's all a farce. This is a dye job,” Stede admits. “Likely to be fully white if I didn’t.”
“I get you,” Ed drops the pout, chuckling now. “I’m more salt than pepper these days. Hair, face... even my goddamn pubes, man.”
He’s completely casual when he says it, not lewd in the least. So the fact that it still causes a treacherous heat to flare inside Stede...
“Well,” he follows the flicker of daring in his chest. It travels up his throat and curls around his words before he can stop them. “I’m sure it's just as stunning in all the places I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing.”
And as soon as he says it, Stede's neck grows hot with mortification.
Ed’s easy confidence had momentarily led him to think he could play along.
But Stede's not cool or confident. He's an idiot. He's ready to launch into a full apology, expecting Ed to look furious or offended, except…
Ed is smirking, actually. And he's leaning closer to Stede. Stede is stunned and confused until...
“Can I buy you a drink, Stede?”
Ed's voice is low and honeyed. Stede’s mouth goes bone dry. He's confronted with the insane, incredible notion that this attraction truly isn't one-sided.
He swallows hard. “Actually,” he begins, “Do you mind if we skip the drink?”
When Ed’s eyebrows shoot all the way up, it makes Stede realize how that sounded, so he quickly clarifies, “That is, I've had my fair share of drinks tonight! But I’d love to, er–” He blinks, shaking his head and clearing his throat. Feeling brave again, he puffs up his chest. “Would you like to join me on the dance floor, Ed?”
Ed lets out a small exhale, the corners of his lips twitching as if he's trying not to let his smile get too wide. Then his gaze locks onto Stede’s, and Stede feels… seen.
“Yeah,” he says confidently. “I would.”
He wastes no time taking Stede's hand and leading him around the corner, Stede going giddy at Ed’s strong palm against his own. The music and volume of the crowd makes him realize they won’t be able to get much more talking done here, but that’s fine, because he could use a small break from his brain.
Right now, he just wants to dance with Ed. Ed, who is all radiant smiles as he takes Stede to the middle of the floor, where he circles an arm around Stede's waist, Stede blushing as he wraps his own around Ed’s shoulders. They fall into comfortable step, moving side to side as the bass rumbles through their feet.
Ed has excellent natural rhythm. Stede can keep up, but certainly doesn't move as well as Ed, though Ed doesn't seem to mind. Pretty soon they’re twirling each other around and smiling and giggling, trying not to collide into the people around them. The patrons here are closer to their age, some even visibly older, and it makes Stede feel extremely at ease.
Ed spins him again. Stede is breathless with laughter and buries his face into Ed’s neck when he returns to him.
He pulls back after a few comfortable moments, but Ed stays close. His nose bumps softly to Stede's; and Stede gazes at him in wonder. Ed stares back, his hand settling into the back pocket of Stede’s trousers, which pulls a gasp-like noise from Stede's throat. He closes his eyes in anticipation for what’s to come...
And the impact of Ed's mouth on his makes Stede go weak in the knees.
Both of Ed's arms make their way around his waist again, tighter this time, and Stede feels safe, which sounds ridiculous because he’s only just met the man. It’s reckless, all of it, but... it feels amazing. He feels amazing. Like he's on top of the world.
It's a few seconds into the kiss that Stede hears the unmistakeable whoops of John, Frenchie, Roach, and Swede somewhere nearby.
He's not embarrassed, though. He actually can't help but grin into Ed, and Ed seems just as happy, settling a hand on Stede's face now. Stede is dying to bury his fingers in Ed’s gorgeous hair, so he does, and thinks he can feel Ed whimper against him.
“Christ, Ed,” Stede breathes, briefly opening his eyes to take in Ed’s face. Ed peers back from beneath heavy lids.
It's so hot that Stede is the one to lunge forward now, capturing Ed’s lips so hungrily it brings out a sharp breath from them both. He's delighted to discover that Ed tastes like malt, salt, and smoke. The hair on his upper lip and chin are pleasantly scratchy on Stede’s skin.
Stede presses closer. He doesn't want to get too frisky in such a public place, but the warmth of Ed's body sets his own alight. So he runs his fingers down Ed's sides, settling on his backside for a few moments before pulling back for air.
“Jesus," Ed murmurs softly, crossing his hands at the back of Stede’s neck. "Helluva kisser, man."
Stede’s eyebrows jump up. He’s never thought of himself as such. He didn’t engage in much kissing during his marriage, and when he did neither he nor Mary found much enjoyment in it. Since the separation he's only kissed a few men, and after the divorce he's only properly fooled around with one. And while those encounters were enjoyable - pleasurable, even - they were nothing like this. No one quite like this. Nobody who felt this comfortable, nor comforting, for Stede.
"Happy to be of service," he says shyly.
The song You Spin Me Round is starting to play, and Stede can't think of a more fitting track. Ed smiles and suddenly they're kissing in full force, the heat growing so intensely it feels liquefying, the exhilaration from this perfect moment coursing through Stede's veins...
But it’s interrupted far too soon.
The lights begin to flicker on, and Stede, disoriented, pulls back and murmurs, “Oh. Closing time already?"
“Ugh. Yeah,” Ed mutters, his arm slipping from Stede’s waist as he shimmies it upward to check his wristwatch. A beautiful man who wears a watch - Stede’s heart flutters. “Two on the dot. They’re always so fuckin’ prompt.” Then, with a sudden burst, he shouts into the void, "Can’t ease up every once in a while, ay? Stop trying to put a time limit on fun!”
Stede lets out a weak chuckle. A few bouncers materialize, cutting through the lingering music and ushering the masses toward the exit.
“This way!” one of them bellows. He’s a mountain of a man with a white beard and a leather vest, arms planted wide to corral the bottlenecked crowd. "Follow the exit signs! Mind your step!"
But Ed doesn’t move toward the exit. He strides right up to the man, and Stede isn’t sure why.
"Hey," Ed says. "My jacket’s in that other room." He points toward an adjoining section of the club, rather unbothered despite the chaos.
"Exit this way only," the bouncer grunts, barely sparing Ed a glance. "Move it along, folks! No turning back."
“Mate, c’mon." Ed’s voice takes on an agitated edge that makes Stede’s pulse quicken. "It’s vintage. Just let me through."
The bouncer finally looks at Ed, his expression flat and unimpressed. “I said no. Out the door, man.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, just let him get his jacket!” Stede chimes in, his voice pitching high and frantic.
But the man doesn’t even blink at Stede, his focus remaining locked on Ed. They stare each other down until the bouncer lets out a sigh of annoyance.
“Fine,” the man growls, grabbing Ed’s upper arm with a grip that looks bruising. “You want the jacket so bad? Come with me.”
“Hey, don’t be so rough with him—” Stede tries to protest, but his voice is swallowed by the thrum of the crowd. Ed is saying something back to the bouncer, his mouth moving close to the man's ear, but Stede can’t catch a single word over the din. He reaches desperately for Ed’s sleeve, but his path is immediately blocked by another usher.
"Ivan, take it from here," the one with Ed bellows. "Keep the line moving!"
“Ed!” Stede cries out, but the crowd has become a rising tide. He tries to fight against the current, feeling like a frantic salmon leaping against a waterfall, but the sheer volume of bodies is too much.
Full-blown panic starts to set in. Ed’s being steered away in a completely different direction, swallowed by the shadows of the club’s interior, and Stede tries to crane his neck to cling to the flash of silver hair, but the throng surges, and Ed is gone.
He’s dazed as he shuffles and dodges drunken patrons to collect his own coat, and suddenly he’s outside. Stede frantically scans the streets - but Ed is nowhere to be seen.
A crushing realization sinks into his chest: it’s over. This perfect, impossible interaction has been cut short.