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In the past four weeks that Karl and Livvy Coffee Shop has been open, Ed has visited nearly every day. In the morning on weekdays for his normal double shot latte with seven pumps of vanilla and whip. And chocolate drizzle. And chocolate nibs. And then every Saturday because the blonde owner/operator, Stede, with the devastating hazel eyes and squared-off shoulders and newly divorced smell keeps inviting him to Charity Game Night and Charity Open Mic Night and Charity Arts and Crafts Night.
Ed’s come late to Stede’s Charity Car Wash today. Doesn’t want to come off too desperate with the guy. Ed can never quite tell if he’s interested anyway, even with all the touching and with the incisive, sparkly way he looks at Ed whenever Ed is talking, like each word he’s saying is fucking dipped in gold. And the one time he brought him a cutting of his tradescantia because Ed said he doesn’t have much green at his place. And the free pastry whenever they’re trying out new ones. And, yeah, okay, Stede is absolutely interested.
On this hot Saturday in June, the shop has a decidedly different vibe.
For one, they're all outside. Ed’s sitting in the shaded stone alleyway near the coffeeshop in his (already clean) powder blue electric Porsche behind one other car, windows down, caught in the exhausted revelry of a tired group in tiny and/or see-through clothing sitting around with Doja Cat blasting over the speakers, and Stede is—well, he’s trying to rally the troops, bless him, in unreasonably short denim cutoffs that show off long fucking shapely legs, and knee-high white tube socks, and a crisp white polo that fits him like a second skin, looking very much like the nougat in a DILF-y Way Bar that Ed wants to chew on.
And Ed is—
“A bit obvious, aren’t we?”
He missed his—and he’ll never fucking admit it out loud—favorite barista, Lucius approach his car like a stealthy cat. Eyes too stuck on Stede, and the weird fucking dancing that he’s doing to bring energy to his crew.
“Hello to you, too,” Ed says, rolling his eyes up to the boy, who’s now leaned in his window on folded forearms. Ed can glare all he wants at him, but it doesn’t scare Lucius away, doesn’t knock the smart fucking look off his face.
“He likes you, you know. He’s been asking about you all day, asking if you said anything on Friday, asking if we knew whether or not you would be making an appearance.”
“Well, here I am,” Ed smiles, giving as good as he’s getting.
“Only thing is…” He scrunches up his face into an annoying fucking expression. “We already said the car in front of you would be the last car. I guess I could ask him if we could squeeze one more in.” He tilts his head, doesn’t take his eyes off of Ed while calling out, “Oh, Stede!” with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Paging Stede Bonnet."
Stede turns and dances over with high knees and shifting shoulders and finger-snaps that shouldn’t work, but he’s…he’s doing it.
“You can thank me later for the shorts,” Lucius adds.
“Edward!” Stede chirps, a warm buttery smile spread across his face that releases a thousand frogs into Ed’s stomach. Jesus.
“Hey,” Ed throws back, hopes it’s as nonchalant as he thinks.
“We were just about to close up shop,” Stede tells him.
Lucius smiles sharply, then turns with a wink and saunters away.
“I’m glad you came. I was convinced that you’d miss it. And then, I’d have to give you a secondhand account of the whole thing, and you’d have to listen to me rattle on and prattle about."
“I don’t think I’d mind that, your rattling and prattling,” Ed smiles. He lives for Stede going off on his fucking tangents about, fuck, old fucking pirates and Chinese opera and fabric history. Gives him a chance to practice his active listening skills, and not his ‘getting lost in the dulcet tones of Stede’s voice and the mouth it’s coming from’ skills. “So, I’ll bet you’re rolling in dough wearing these.” With a nod of his head, Ed gestures toward Stede’s shorts.
“Too short, you think? Lucius cut them like this and nearly coerced me into putting them on. He seems to think my legs’ll do the trick,” Stede beams, turning in just the right way for Ed to have a better look and giving some cheeky poses.
Ed shoots his eyes down Stede’s stalks, and yeah, he’s going to have to agree with Stede’s barista. Tries not to imagine those legs slung over his shoulders or ankles wrapped around his neck, but then he gives up trying because he would very much like this man on him, under him, and turned inside out as soon as possible.
“I’m sure they’re doing the trick,” Ed returns.
Stede gives him a look that Ed would almost describe as salacious, eyes tracing over his face, down to his lips. He smiles, and he blushes, and he looks away suddenly. “Yes, well, let’s get you all cleaned up, then.”
“Didn’t come out all this way to not get my car washed,” Ed teases.
Stede huffs a laugh. “Yes. Of course.”
It’s immediately clear that Stede hasn’t lifted one of those pretty fingers for any kind of physical labor a day in his life. Great at managing—at least, his crew likes him, even if they roll their eyes at his umpteenth “‘Hey’ is for horses” crack.
Ed watches him from every angle: the sideview mirrors when he’s crouched at the tires and stretched to reach the roof, the rearview mirror when he’s folded himself over the trunk to clean the back window. Ed tightens his grip on the steering wheel to keep from doing anything else. He wasn’t prepared for this. Wasn’t prepared for the curve of those calves as they lift Stede up to tiptoes, the studied brow and lip bitten in concentration, the thick, rich middle of him a fucking mascarpone filling of Ed’s new favorite late afternoon snack.
By the time he makes it to Ed again, the front of him is soaked, the white polo nearly transparent over that broad chest. He tries not to stare at the muffled view of pink nipple behind that polo, tries to keep his eyes on Stede’s face, which isn’t much better, with a lewd stream of sweat trickling from his hairline and his face flushed all pretty. And Ed can feel a response where he doesn’t need one right now—not right now—so he thinks about integration testing.
He fucking thinks about coupling modules together to make the fucking complete software system instead of some kind of fucking hierarchical testing system that people had been using for years until Ed came along, or worse, testing step-by-step in some exacting order, or some combination of the two that took for-fucking-ever, and Ed thinks about that right now instead of the scrap of denim caressing Stede’s ass or that nipple pressed into the glass as he drags his squeegee across the entirety of the windshield.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Ed mutters.
And then, Stede is knocking at his window. Ed rolls it down.
“Hi! Just finished up on the old wagon, so you are free to go after payment. Which is not required, but is very strongly suggested. You’d be surprised at the amount of times I’ve had to say that today and been quite let down.”
“Oh—yeah, ‘course.”
Ed hands off a bill a couple values higher than suggested.
“I’ll get your change,” Stede says.
“No, no, keep it. It’s for a good cause,” Ed replies.
Stede beams, and Ed feels real fucking proud about that. “Thank you, Edward.”
“Hey, I can, if you want, I can drop you off at your place, or wherever you need to be. Since you’re closing up.”
“Oh, no, I’m close—I walk, actually. But, my lovely employees and I are going out for a drink afterward so that we can count our earnings, so, um, I’ll see you on Monday, yes?”
Well, fuck.
“Yeah, sure, mate. Yeah, I’ll—yeah.”
“Double shot latte with seven pumps vanilla syrup, whip and a chocolate drizzle. And nibs.”
“Yep.”
Stede walks away, and Ed hates to see him go and hates to watch him leave. He presses the button to turn on the ignition, takes one last look over to Stede, who he notices is now being noisily shoved away by his crew back in Ed’s direction. And Stede waves at him, so Ed rolls down his window.
“Hi again,” he greets, jogging back to the car with a bucket of tools in hand.
“Hi.”
“Apparently, I was…wrong earlier, when I said I didn’t need a ride. Apparently, according to Lucius, I really do need a ride quite badly, in fact, which isn’t sensible logistics-wise, but, um…I suppose I understand their sentiment.”
“Yeah, okay,” Ed snickers. “Get in.”
Stede brings in the smell of outside with him, the soap and gravel smell that sits over something a bit sweeter underneath. “Thank you for this,” he says as he puts his bucket in the back.
“No bother. Where do you live?”
“End of the block,” Stede tells him.
The gang waves good-bye, throws out teasing kisses and patronizing farewells as they depart.
“The crew seems to think that I’ve…developed some kind of…preference for you,” Stede says. “They tease me about it whenever you come in—it’s getting quite out of hand.”
“Are they right?” Ed asks, feels his pulse pick up in fingers gripping the gear shift.
Stede looks at him with gently parted lips and eyes that seem to be searching Ed’s face for the answer. “Well,” he says. “There’s no denying that you’re very handsome and very charming.”
“And funny. I’m funny.”
“Too shy, I think, for my tastes,” Stede jokes, smiles. A single dimple pops up, drives Ed insane with how cute it is.
“Feeling’s mutual, mate. With…you. I think you’re fucking gorgeous. And smart, and um, yeah, there’s a reason I come to your coffee shop every day. Coffee's good, but...”
Stede’s eyebrows raise, his Adam’s apple bounces around a tight swallow. “Well. I hope to keep you coming. Over and over again.”
Ed slaps a hand over his face to contain the fucking giggles from Stede’s unintentional innuendo. “Fuck, mate,” he laughs. “You gotta watch how you say things.”
“I know exactly what I was saying,” Stede replies.
Ed stares at him, at the smug little smirk on Stede’s fucking lips, and he cocks an eyebrow at him. “Kiss me,” Ed says—been waiting to say it for fucking weeks.
“And then what?”
Shit.
“Fuck me into oblivion in the backseat.”
Stede’s face turns the kind of pink that gets spread on top of cakes or picked out of gardens, and Ed’s chest hitches from the sight of it. He reaches toward Stede, glides a thumb softly across his cheek. Stede jolts forward and jams a kiss to Ed’s lips, unsubtle and awkward until he eases into it, steadies the drag of his lips against Ed’s, the sweep of tongue against Ed’s. Ed sucks his bottom lip, gets a sweet little surprised sound that only drives him in deeper, bracing Stede’s head with steady fingers lodged deep in damp blonde curls.
Their position isn’t made for this kind of contact. This car isn’t made for this kind of contact. Separated by a middle console that contains two drinks from two different coffee runs ago. Somehow, Ed manages, sliding a hand up Stede’s still damp polo, over wet skin and chest hair. He thumbs at an already pebbled nipple while Stede pants into his mouth.
“Fuck,” Stede whispers, and it’s unexpected from a guy whose curse word vocabulary thus far seems to consist of “For Pete’s sake!”
“Backseat,” Ed breathes out.
“Yes, please.”
It’s cumbersome and maybe lofty at this age to climb back there and think that his bones and joints are going to come out of this with no aches or pulls. But, Ed can’t think about that, not when Stede is behind him somehow, licking the start of his spine at the back of his neck, gripping Ed’s hair up to the crown of his head to get it out of the way.
“That’s good,” Ed murmurs.
“Mm,” Stede returns, kissing his way down Ed’s back. “Your pants.”
“Yeah.” Ed unbuttons his jeans, regrets wearing the tightest ones he could find. Stede seems to have no problem getting them down, and—fuck—immediately sliding his tongue in-between his cheeks, and—Christ—it’s not a move Ed would make (not super into it), but he’s not going to turn down Stede’s skilled fucking tongue lapping through his hair to find his hole, and then diving the fuck in.
Ed’s head is crammed into the armrest on the door, and all he can do for leverage is bracket his arms at the window sill. “Shit. Fuck.” His bad knee is starting to twinge a little, but he’s down for whatever consequences he’ll have to deal with later if—shit—if Stede’s tongue keeps doing that fucking thing it’s doing right now.
His arms are pulled back, pretzeled behind him and pushed up and Ed hisses at the discomfort. Stede relents only slightly, with a, “Sorry,” and goes back to driving his tongue into Ed’s hole and moaning and humming, and all Ed can do is fucking giggle and moan back, because this guy? Not this guy—not fucking sugar and lollipops and watercolors. Not Ed’s fucking single-dimple dumpling who answers, “I don’t know, can you?” whenever one of his employees asks him for permission to do something.
Ed pushes back the best he can, trying to participate, trying to be an active partner, but Stede seems set to break him. A finger nudges at his entrance. “Is this okay?” Stede asks him, fucking just holding his finger there.
“Fuckin’ put that inside me, Stede. Fuck,” Ed demands.
He does. Glides it in with little resistance to the second knuckle, and it’s not even close to what Ed’s used to, but goddamnit if he isn’t going to pass out from the slow, delicate way Stede is handling his asshole. The way Stede just barely grazes against his prostate, with his mouth and lips and tongue still active, causing Ed to clench and Stede to rub his hip with his other hand to settle him.
“Good?” Stede asks, his breath skimming over Ed’s most intimate of hairs.
“Yeah,” Ed manages to reply.
“You’d tell me if it wasn’t?” His finger lightly circles inside him, making Ed shudder and hiccup until—shit—fucking tears are clouding his eyes, and draining down his cheeks, and he wails with the pleasure of it and the release of something tight inside of him that Stede’s managed to discover and unwind with a simple stroke of his finger.
“Ed?” He hears from behind him with concern, because this isn’t a pretty cry. It’s ugly and deep, and Ed doesn’t even know where it’s coming from, only that the leather in his Porsche is now wet with his own tears, and Stede’s finger in his ass is sliding out, and he needs it in him deeper, plunging and diving and dislodging whatever the fuck this is.
A dull thump at the ceiling of the car, followed by, “Ow—shit. Ed, are you okay?”
“Are you?” Ed chuckles, voice cracked and weepy. He turns back to see Stede rubbing the top of his head.
“Maybe the car wasn’t the best idea,” he grins sympathetically.
Ed agrees, all waterlogged, that, “No, it fucking wasn’t.”
Stede crowds him with his body, kisses his shoulders and his neck, and dips that finger in him deeper when Ed asks for it, and Stede gives him two, then three, when Ed asks for more. And Ed can’t stop crying. Cries until the embarrassment of him crying in front of his crush has washed away with his tears, and his breathing is heavy, and his head is light and empty, and Ed whispers, “Fuck,” into humid, muggy air that fogs up the windows.
He lunges to open the glove compartment and take out a box of condoms, hands them off to Stede before returning to his position.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Stede asks him.
He smiles and nods back at Stede, who is nothing but soft eyes and sunshine and lovely, soapy smell.
He hears the foil tear open, hears and feels Stede preparing them both. Then, Stede is thick and blunt at his entrance, and he moves slowly, the slight burn of it pushing a whine from deep in Ed’s throat. His legs wobble with the stretch, the air suspended from his lungs.
“You’re so warm, Ed,” Stede purrs. “So warm and tight around me.”
Stede waits, lets Ed adjust to him, and then Ed is driving back into him, urging Stede to fucking move. And he does, but only after Ed’s danced on that pole for a good amount of time. It's a bit tighter than if they had some lube, takes a bit more time to get going. Stede gently thrusts in him, scratches nails down the meat of his ass as he pumps into him—slowly, and then finally, with fucking power, filling the car with the sounds of their skin slapping and the rustle of their clothes. Ed thinks his head might go through the fucking window. He holds his arms in place as a buffer and lets his body succumb to Stede’s zealous movements. Maybe the car was the best idea.
Ed doesn’t even think to touch himself. This is just enough, he thinks, the swell of Stede inside him fucking him until his brains slosh around in his skull like a fucking pinot noir. He can tell when Stede’s close, dribbling out, “You have the most incredible asshole, Edward. Fuck. I never want to leave—this is my home now, deep—inside—your fucking—perfect asshole.”
“Fuck me,” Ed laughs at this guy losing his sweet daisy garden of a fucking mind inside of him.
“That’s what I’m—fucking—doing. Oh, God,” Stede moans.
He’s so fucking close.
“Come on me,” Ed pleads. “I want to feel you on me.”
“Fuck, Edward. Where?”
“I don’t care. Come on my back.”
A choked-out whimper and then Stede pulls out quickly, leaving Ed fucking empty and fucking deprived of that sweet biting fullness. Stede pushes his shirt up, and then the warm spill of Stede shoots over his skin. Now, he touches himself. Closes his eyes and pulls his dick in steady strokes.
“Fuck,” Stede mutters. “Um—”
Ed hears something rattle around, feels Stede move behind him, and then there’s something else on his back—the long, thin edge of cold rubber. It slides up toward his spine and stops. “Do you have a napkin?” Stede asks.
Ed looks behind him to get a glimpse of what Stede is up to and gets back a hurried, “Don’t-move-don’t-move-don’t-move...”
Stede is holding his cum in place with his fucking squeegee, and Ed bellows a laugh so hard that more tears come, and fuck, this is absolutely the silliest fucking thing that’s happened to him during sex, and he wants to kiss this man about it.
“Well, I don’t want to mess up your leather seats,” Stede protests, all sweaty-faced and hair matted to his forehead.
Ed carefully (and swiftly) removes his shirt and throws it back to Stede for clean-up duty. Stede balks at first, but wipes him with care, and Ed turns and takes Stede’s face in his hand and fucking kisses him. Tastes himself on his tongue—doesn’t care.
Stede reaches down and works Ed’s dick, brings him to a quiet orgasm, with Ed moaning softly into Stede’s neck. “Fuck,” he says, pulling away and looking down at where his mess has landed—squarely on Stede’s white polo. “Sorry.”
“Fair’s fair,” Stede says, pulling the shirt over his head and capping it with a kiss.
They sit there in the backseat, staring at each other’s bare torsos and giggling, and Stede wipes away salty dry trails of tears on Ed’s cheeks, and Ed smiles thinking how Stede just cleaned the outside of his car and immediately got everything inside twice as messy—mostly just in Ed’s heart.