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After their third date, Stede stays the night at Ed’s flat.
With anyone else, Ed— well, no. He wouldn’t get this far with anyone else. It’s been upwards of three years since he’s even gone on one date with a guy, let alone three, and he’s never liked any of them so much that he’d let them fucking sleep over.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ed remembers those 90s chick flicks filled with reminders that a man only wants one thing, and any self-respecting young lady shouldn’t even kiss until the third date, let alone bring the guy she’s seeing inside. He quickly dismisses it: he doubts any of those warnings apply when you’re certain by the end of date two that you’ve met your soulmate and have already started sneaking glances at his hands to gauge what style of wedding ring he’d like.
No amount of romcom education could’ve prepared him for Stede Bonnet.
Because Stede is just… fuck. Fuck, man. He’s. Shit.
First of all, he’s the most beautiful man Ed has ever seen, and it isn’t even close. He’s got this golden hair that sits in a way that can only be achieved by consistently spending his evenings in rollers, and he’s built like a fucking brick, and he’s so kind, and funny, and so fucking weird, and he’s a bit of a fucking bitch and it makes Ed’s stomach fizz. Ed doesn’t fuck any more, and has never on the first date, but if anything could make him launch himself over the table with desperation it’s the sight of this barrel-chested Adonis giving another restaurant patron the politest dressing-down of his life for being a prick to a waiter who looked like he’d just come out through the other side puberty that same morning before turning back to Ed with a fond smile and apologising for directing my attention to someone so unworthy when I’m rather supposed to be wooing you, aren’t I? I’m so sorry, Edward.
(Stede did get quite a lot of kisses for that in an alleyway once they’d left the restaurant, and more in Stede’s car, and more on Ed’s doorstep, but there’s no way Ed could have been expected to let such an impressive level of bitchery go unrewarded.)
Today, Stede has spent most of the afternoon at Ed’s place, playing board games and watching movies, and honestly Ed showed incredible self-restraint by not pouncing on him to kiss the pout off his face the first time he lost a chess game to Ed. They should be giving him some kind of award for making it until the third match. Or make him a saint, or something.
And with such incredible restraint during the rest of the afternoon, and with everything Stede is, how could Ed have been expected to resist once the films started? How could he be expected to pay attention to fictional people when the best person was so cosy and solid and kissable, and right by Ed’s side?
And no amount of gentle kissing has ever felt this fucking good, and it’s driving Ed a little bit insane.
He wants to be closer, is the thing. They’re side by side on the couch, the length of their thighs pressing firmly together, and Stede’s arm is around Ed’s shoulder and Ed’s hand is on Stede’s face because they can’t part, not yet, not quite, he has to keep him close, and there’s no hunger in Stede’s kisses, no sign he wants anything more, just the soft smiles he presses against Ed’s lips and the occasional pleased hum whenever they come together particularly well.
And Ed wants to sit on his lap so fucking badly he can feel the need gnawing away at his insides, just clamber onto those magnificent thighs and set up camp there for the foreseeable future, but that manoeuvre would put their dicks in pretty close proximity to each other, and that might give Stede some mixed messages.
Before they started making out on Ed’s sofa like teenagers, Ed had shyly informed Stede that he didn’t really, like, sleep with anyone, mate. I like it sometimes, feels good, but not as much as other things. And like… I really like you, but I don’t think even you’ll be an exception to that, so if that’s gonna be a problem, you gotta tell me now.
When it comes to reacting to information in a reasonable way, Ed is learning that Stede seems to have a few wires crossed. It was the end of the world when the Chinese restaurant he wanted to order dinner from the other night was closed, a real sulk-worthy affair that Ed had the pleasure of witnessing in its entirety over video call, but the news of his ex-wife’s elopement barely earned itself a mention. Stede had easily ranted about an eBay seller declining his ‘very generous offer’ for an antique bureau for the better part of twenty minutes, but Ed divulging his criminal past was met with an unbothered shrug and a “Well, who hasn’t broken the law these days?”
This particular piece of information had clearly registered in Stede’s mind as a Big Deal, because it garnered very little reaction from him at all. If there was even a flicker of disappointment in Stede’s eyes when Ed gathered the courage to look at his face, it cleared just as quickly as it came, and Stede only paused for a short moment before answering with a soft smile, “No, Ed. That’s not a problem at all.”
And something in Ed’s stomach knows Stede means it, knows he won’t take Ed on his lap as unspoken consent or a change of mind, but this thing between them is still fresh, a baby bird resting on Ed’s palm, delicate and mindlessly trusting. So he stays right where he is, with Stede’s other hand sliding tentatively to his waist and Ed’s fingertips brushing the soft hair at the base of Stede’s scalp, his heart fluttering delightedly in his chest.
The mood shifts as the sun goes down, and suddenly their little arrangement feels considerably more intimate as the evening settles in around them. They break apart eventually, kiss-drunk and unable to hide their smiles, to make dinner, before returning to the couch to rewatch the sizeable chunk of movie that they had missed.
A kind of tension always tends to creep in when two people who are clearly a bit fucking gone on each other are hanging out after dark, and this evening is no exception. It’s always made Ed feel a bit sick, the weight of expectation churning his stomach.
And it isn’t like that with Stede, he knows it isn’t, but it’s there all the same, and Ed should probably talk about it (they’ve been really good at that so far, actually), but then Stede’s hand comes to rest gently on Ed’s own and he murmurs something about how it’s getting late and they ought to get some sleep, and it’s so honest it soothes Ed’s anxieties like aloe over a burn.
Stede brought pyjamas with him. For all his usual flamboyance, he’s got pretty standard sleepwear; where Ed had expected a silky set of something, Stede joins Ed in the bathroom wearing the softest-looking t-shirt Ed has ever seen, the fabric clinging to his broad shoulders, and a washed-out pair of plaid bottoms that come up just a little too short on him, exposing the delicate bones of his ankles. Ed suddenly understands why the Victorians were so mad about seeing a glimpse of leg. It’s fucking obscene.
They brush their teeth together at Ed’s sink, catching each other’s eye in the reflection of the mirror and offering foamy smiles, and it’s all just really fucking nice. A bit too nice, Ed would think suspiciously, if Stede were anyone else. It’s domestic as shit, like they built this routine years ago and fully expect to have decades more of it in the future.
Stede even gives Ed a sweet, minty kiss at Ed’s bedroom door, like he’s walking Ed home after prom or something, and this is gonna be fucking amazing, Ed thinks, better than he ever could’ve imagined it, because Stede gets it, and Stede still wants him, and Ed’s gonna get to melt into those incredible fucking arms and drift blissfully into sleep without wondering whether he’s leaving Stede wanting—
And then Stede parts from him with a soft smile, gently squeezes Ed’s hand before releasing it and turning towards the corridor.
“Woah, woah,” Ed frowns, launching forwards to catch Stede’s hand again, turning him back to face him. “Where’re you going?”
Stede blinks at him. “I thought I’d be taking the sofa tonight.”
“And why the fuck would you think that?”
A pause. And then slowly, as if it’s glaringly obvious, “Ed… you said…”
He trails off, then, and Ed’s never had a headache threaten him so quickly in his life, his mind straining as he flicks through his memories of the day, eager to identify whatever it is he said that made Stede think he wouldn’t want to snuggle the fuck out of him so he can eradicate it from his vocabulary for the rest of time.
He tugs at Stede’s hand. Stede gets the message and steps in closer, threading his warm fingers between Ed’s own. The contact seems to jolt the rest of the words from his mouth.
“You told me you don’t like sleeping with people.”
Ed stares at him.
Because there’s no way. He couldn’t possibly have thought. Surely he didn’t fucking think.
“Stede, I meant sleep with people. I don’t have sex any more.”
Ed watches in real time as the cloud of confusion lifts, realisation flooding over Stede’s face. His eyes light up; this is unexpectedly thrilling information.
“Oh!” Stede exclaims, and then seems to run out of words entirely. He wiggles Ed’s hand a bit, swaying their clasped hands in the gap between them. “That— yeah. That makes more sense.”
Ed grins. “Yeah?”
Stede nods. “Yeah. Yes. That’s… that’s nice. That’s good news.” There’s a short pause as Stede stares at their joined hands, squeezing gently at Ed’s palm. “So did you want—”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. Ed tugs him decisively towards his bedroom, and Stede follows happily, closing the door behind them.
Ed’s always loved his bed. He’s got one of those expensive mattresses the ASMR YouTubers he watches always get sponsored by, and an equally fancy duvet, and sheets with a frankly obscene thread count, and an electric blanket tucked neatly under his side table for those nights he wants to be extra snuggly, but it’s never felt as cosy as it does now, with Stede’s broad chest as his pillow and his hands creating stamps off warmth against Ed’s back through his t-shirt.
Stede’s lips brush his forehead as he whispers, “Ed?”
Ed grins. “Yeah?” He whispers back.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
God, please. Always. Forever. “Yeah. ‘Course.”
Stede swallows. “I was a bit upset earlier,” he admits. “Just a little bit. When you said you don’t sleep with people. Before I knew what you meant.” Before Ed’s panic can set in, Stede continues, “I would’ve been alright with it in the end, of course— well, there’s no alternative, really— but I…” He trails off as his hand gently burrows into Ed’s hair, clearly distracted, stroking reverently through the loose waves. Ed bites back a grin. “I think I would’ve missed this. Getting to hold you while you sleep. Or wake up beside you in the morning.”
Ed’s heart thunders in his chest, as though it could beat through his rib cage and into Stede’s if it only fought hard enough. He glances up at Stede’s face and finds Stede already gazing down at him, looking pretty desperately fond.
“Yeah?” He murmurs.
“Mhm.”
“But you don’t… you don’t mind about, like…”
Ed makes a vaguely explicit gesture with his hand before it returns to trace patterns onto Stede’s shirt.
“Oh, not at all!” Stede says earnestly, far too chirpy for someone so snuggly and relaxed. “No, Ed.” He pauses for just long enough for Ed to start to get properly drowsy, before he adds, “Between you and me, I’ve always preferred a nice cuddle to the, er… horizontal tango, as it were.”
And that would be worth getting some elaboration on, both the awful phrasing and the admission, but Ed is already slipping into sleep, the way eased by Stede’s hand rubbing slow, steady circles into his back.
“When you said you prefer cuddles…”
They’re sitting at the breakfast bar in Ed’s kitchen, feet swinging where the high chairs don’t quite allow them to touch the floor. Stede’s eyebrows shoot up, and he quickly swallows his mouthful of toast before replying, “Yours were more than satisfactory, darling, if that’s what you’re asking. Truly excellent snuggles. Even if you do snore like a freight train.”
“‘S the beard,” Ed dismisses, biting his cheek to hide his smile and hoping said beard obscures the blush rising to his cheeks at the compliment. He continues, “But I was gonna ask, like… Has that always been a thing for you? Like, not liking sex?”
“It’s not that I don’t like it,” Stede clarifies, almost instinctively, and then seems to backtrack, his brow furrowing as he apparently cycles through a folder of memories in his head as he munches. “At least, I don’t think I don’t like it. It’s always been fairly… y’know…”
He makes a vague hand-wavy gesture that Ed understands deeply.
“Standard stuff. Nice sometimes. But it’s just never been my preferred method of showing affection. A hug is much nicer. Cosy. Less…”
“Cum?” Ed supplies helpfully.
Stede’s nose scrunches. “I was going to say ‘performance’.”
After a particularly colourful comment from Ed about how the former does usually feature quite prominently in the latter, Stede flicks a balled-up napkin across the table at him, causing Ed to splutter a laugh through his mouthful of coffee.
If Ed was a bit braver, or perhaps a little less selfish, he might use this to encourage a soul-searching conversation with Stede. A lot of what Stede is saying reminds Ed of his own attitudes to sex, before he even knew there were words for such a thing, let alone entire communities of people who felt the same. If Ed was any less reluctant to disturb this bubble of domestic bliss he’s found himself in this morning, he might ask Stede if he has the same feelings of shame that Ed used to have, the relentless instinct that something about him must be fundamentally wrong to so happily reject one of the basest desires a human being can have.
But right now, Stede is leaning in for a kiss as he gathers up their plates to load into the dishwasher, and he’s flitting around Ed’s kitchen like he’s eaten and cleared up after a thousand breakfasts in this flat, and Ed decides that all words other than “I love you” can fucking well wait their turn.
“Bloody hell, Edward, you could warn a man!”
Ed always makes an effort for date night, but he’s truly outdone himself tonight, even if he says so himself.
It’s been a little harder to surprise Stede since he moved in, purely because Stede has now seen every item in Ed’s closet whether he’s had the chance to wear it or not, but this particular combination has Ed’s eyes raking approvingly down the length of his own reflection and his stomach swooping with anticipation of Stede’s reaction.
He’s wearing a black velvet suit jacket he’d forgotten he owned, purchased a couple of years ago and likely only worn once. He’s somewhat outgrown it since then, but the sleeves cling to Ed’s biceps flatteringly and the body of it hangs artfully open unbuttoned. He’s paired it with some black denim jeans and a sheer purple shirt that highlights the array of tattoos on his chest, and thrown on his favourite silver chains. His hair hangs in loose waves around his shoulders.
At the last minute, Ed decided to line his eyes with a faint swoop of black pencil and give his curls one final ruffle. Both were clearly correct moves to make; Stede’s gaze can’t seem to decide where to land, but he does linger on Ed’s face, darting minutely across his features to take in every detail he can.
Ed grins at him. “Good, then?”
Stede lets out a long breath. “Perfect.”
Frankly, Ed is used to having eyes on him. He’s fully aware of his attractiveness and the effect he has on people, and he can’t remember a time before he had heads turning wherever he went. It was flattering at first, when Ed was younger and less than secure and hungry for whatever approval came his way, but it quickly became stale when he realised the vast majority of those people only thought about one thing when they saw him, that their lingering eyes were less doing so in aesthetic appreciation and more with the sort of lust that makes Ed want to rip himself out of his own skin.
It doesn’t feel that way with Stede.
With previous boyfriends, even with the ones who insisted they ‘got’ it, Ed got the sense that they were undressing him with their eyes, staring purposefully past the care and effort Ed put into looking his best and thinking of what they might be able to get from him later, if they played their cards right. With Stede, Ed feels the genuine appreciation, the understanding for his love for fashion. With Stede, Ed feels the love and respect he has always deserved.
Stede lets out another longing sigh, stepping into the bedroom and reaching for Ed’s hand. “Come here, please. I need you closer.”
Suddenly bashful, Ed ignores Stede’s hand completely, instead stepping straight into Stede’s open arms and holding him tightly around his shoulders. After a split second of hesitation, Stede’s hands come to Ed’s back, squeezing him in turn just as securely.
“You alright?” Stede asks, soft and earnest.
“Can I ask you something?” Ed blurts instead of a satisfactory answer, because his brain heard ‘need’ and constructed a theory, because something in him has decided that now is the time to ask and he’ll go a bit mad without an immediate answer.
Though he’s still tucked into Stede’s shoulder, Ed can practically hear Stede’s confused frown as he replies, “Of course, sweetheart.”
Ed takes a deep breath.
“What does physical attraction feel like for you?”
Stede draws back a little, and it becomes clear that the confusion Ed had heard moments ago is quickly transforming into concern, and Ed shakes his head before Stede can get a word in.
“I mean, like… when you find someone hot—”
“And by ‘someone’, you mean you.”
“Correct answer but that wasn’t the question.” Ed grins. His shoulders relax as he settles into the conversation. “When you find me particularly hot— hotter than normal, that is— what does that feel like for you?”
After a brief moment of silence, Stede hums thoughtfully.
“I don’t really know.” His brow furrows, and he draws back a little further, though he links his fingers together behind Ed’s back as he does to keep him close. “I haven’t really thought about it. I just feel it.”
“But you don’t look at me all dressed up and think like… ‘oh shit, I’ve gotta fuck him’? Or ‘I can’t wait to get him out of that tonight’?”
Stede pauses. “The latter to an extent, maybe. Mostly I think I just want to be close to you. Hold you, clothed or otherwise. Kiss you,” he murmurs lowly, before pressing in to do just that. Ed hums happily against his lips, his heart fluttering with joy. “It’s like a kind of… pull, I suppose. I see you looking lovely, and I… I want to be near you. Make you feel good. That’s all.”
Something about the phrasing of it rips the air from Ed’s lungs. Or maybe it’s the earnestness of Stede’s words, the amount of times he’s proved himself correct. Or maybe it’s the way that Stede is the first man Ed has ever met who sees pleasure as a gift to be given and received instead of a transaction to be owed and earned, and the way that Stede’s care for him drives Ed a little insane with want.
Stupified, all Ed can do is blink at him, a whirlpool of emotions shaking up his stomach.
Stede, who has been watching this effect unfold on Ed’s face in real time and is clearly feeling rather proud of himself for causing such a reaction, smiles innocently at him as he slips his hand into Ed’s, tugging him gently towards the bedroom door in a silent reminder that they do, in fact, have places to be.
“Shall we?”
Stede is on Ed’s lap on the sofa, hands in his hair, kissing him like he might find the meaning of life in Ed’s lips.
Ed’s into it. Ed’s really fucking into it. He’d happily kiss Stede until the world ends— it’s how he’d like to die if he were given the choice, drinking all the pretty little sounds from Stede’s mouth and letting his hands wander, shifting to clutch him closer and closer as though physics would even allow such a thing.
His dick is also into it.
And that’s a bit fucking inconvenient.
Because why can’t a man make out with his boyfriend in peace without fucking biology trying to rear its ugly head? Why can’t he be allowed to enjoy this and this alone without his cock— or Stede’s, for that matter, because that bastard’s stirring too, Ed can feel it— trying to interfere? He may not want to fuck, but his body clearly hasn’t got the message.
Stede shifts in Ed’s lap, instinctively seeking friction, and the sound that tears from him rumbles through Ed’s chest and settles behind his rib cage, and shit, Stede might— Ed could get into that, he decides there and then. If Stede wanted to. He could let the tide sweep them away, get lost in Stede for a little while. Because it’s Stede.
“Hey.” Ed lips brush Stede’s with every word, loathe to part from him any further than necessary. He swallows hard. “Hey, uh… did you want—” And then tilts his hips up, just a little, to indicate the elephant in the room.
Stede gasps at the motion; not a gasp of pleasure like the ones Ed has had the privilege to grow so familiar with over the last few months, but a gasp of surprise, as though he hadn’t even noticed that the two of them were well on their way to rock hard.
He pulls back a little. He looks like a man who’s been thoroughly seen-to; his lips are slick and reddened, his hair is sticking up in ridiculous directions, and his eyes are unfocused, dazed. A rush of pride surges through Ed’s veins.
Stede clears his throat, looking rather sheepish.
“I, um… I don’t, actually. If that’s alright.” His voice is tinged with guilt. He worries at his swollen lip. “I’d be quite happy just continue how we were. I was rather enjoying it.”
Ed smirks. “I can tell.”
It earns him a shy laugh. Stede is making no effort to leave his lap, though his hands relax in Ed’s hair, falling to rest warmly on his shoulders.
“But if you wanted to, I could certainly be persuaded—”
Ed shakes his head.
Once again— as he so often is, these days— Ed is struck by the intense feeling that Stede is the only person in the world who’s ever been on Ed’s wavelength.
One of Ed’s favourite fucking things in the world is just being close to someone like this, being close to Stede, holding him and sharing intimacy that doesn’t involve getting his kit off (though a naked Stede is a wonderful sight to behold, and one he’s lucky enough to see a lot of these days), and the fact that the most incredible man in the world proves time and time again that he feels the same as Ed does is—
Ed shakes his head again, his fingers slipping into Stede’s soft curls as he pulls him closer again.
“No,” he murmurs, smiling against Stede’s lips. Stede lets out a breathless whimper, tilting into the contact to coax Ed’s lips back onto his. “This is perfect.”
Four months after their first night together, Stede cooks them both a delicious dinner, pops open a particularly fine bottle of wine, and asks Ed a very important question.
“How did you know you were asexual?”
They’ve had similar conversations before, but they’ve never felt so significant before now. Inquisitive as he is, Stede has never sounded hesitant to ask about Ed’s sexuality, and so the hint of trepidation in his voice tells Ed that there is a deeper question lingering beneath this one, waiting for its time to breach the surface.
Ed has been waiting for it to arrive.
He takes a deep breath.
“I think I’ve always known that I didn’t feel the way other people do about sex,” he starts. “Like, it’s fine, and it’s fun if you do it right, but I never understood the thought that like… sex is the best thing to ever happen to anyone and you’ve gotta be raring to fuck 24/7 or you’re fucking weird, and it should be your life’s mission to fuck as much as you can.”
Stede nods along eagerly; none of the information Ed’s giving him is new, but it’s clearly what he needs to hear again. Ed is happy to oblige.
“And like you said,” he continues, hoping to guide Stede in the direction he so clearly itches to go, “I’ve always preferred a good cuddle to sex, no matter how in love with them I am. Like, I’m fucking nuts about you and I still don’t really want your dick in me most of the time. Just being held feels nicer to me. I could happily go for months— or years, ‘ve done that before— without sex, but I’d fucking die if I didn’t get cuddles.” After a short pause, Ed adds, “And I don’t think that’s how most people feel.”
For a long while after Ed completes his sentence, Stede doesn’t say another word about it. He finishes the remainder of his meal while idly chatting with Ed about various topics, all how was work and would you like some more rice, darling, and Ed doesn’t push. It’s only when they’ve retired to the living room together, curled into couch with the TV playing a movie they’ve both seen a hundred times before, that Stede speaks.
“I think that’s me.”
Pride wells up in Ed’s chest so quickly he’s half convinced it’ll give him a nosebleed.
He reaches for the hand resting on his knee, linking his pinky finger around Stede’s.
“Yeah?” Ed says softly.
Stede nods. There’s no fear in his eyes, no anxiety, just a hint of the kind of excitement Ed imagines scientists must have after making a discovery they’ve spent decades trying to decode. It’s the same expression Stede wore when Ed kissed him for the first time, as though Stede has just felt doors open that he hadn’t realised were closed.
“Yeah,” Stede murmurs back. “I think I might be asexual, too.” His finger squeezes Ed’s. Like a tiny hug. “Is that okay?”
“Aww, mate, ‘course it’s okay. This isn’t like a ‘there can be only one’ kinda thing.” It makes Stede laugh quietly, and after a moment of carefully selecting his words, Ed slowly adds, “If it means anything, I think that might be you, too.”
Stede gasps. “Really?”
Ed grins. “Mhm. Reminds me of me when I was trying to figure stuff out.”
“Wow. Well, that’s… I’m not quite sure yet,” Stede adds suddenly, his eyes wide as though he’s confessing something terrible. “I might decide it doesn’t fit.”
This panic is familiar to Ed, too. It makes his heart twist in on itself.
“You don’t have to put a label on yourself, mate. But if you want to, you can just… try it out. See if it works. If it doesn’t, no biggie, no harm done. Plus,” he adds, “it’s all a spectrum, isn’t it? There’s no right or wrong way to be. ‘Ace’ can fit loads of people.”
“Even if I might want to have sex at some point?”
“Even if,” Ed reassures. “Don’t worry about the what-ifs, babe. We can figure all that out together if the time comes. Just focus on what feels right now.”
Stede has been playing with Ed’s fingers distractedly, tracing the wrinkles on his knuckles as he listens. Once Ed finishes, Stede lets out a thoughtful hum before holding Ed’s hand properly, linking their fingers together, his grip all warm and strong.
“I think I’d like that. Trying it out.”
Ed squeezes Stede’s hand. “Yeah?”
Stede nods, biting his lip. His forehead crinkles, and Ed wants to kiss each and every line so he does, earning a flurry of giggles from beneath him.
“Yeah,” Stede confirms once Ed is done, breathless with laughter and relief. “I’m going to try it out.”
Ecstatic pride lingers in Ed’s chest, and he tries to pour it all into his kiss, pressing it into Stede’s lips while the words don’t quite seem to want to leave Ed’s mouth. Stede understands perfectly, humming happily into Ed’s mouth and winding his free hand into Ed’s hair to hold him close.
On the far less important side of the room, the TV shuts off automatically, the lack of activity sending it to standby. Neither of them care very much.
They already know what happens next in this particular story. It’s about time they began exploring something new.