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Ed goes out whenever his friends invite him, because he still has hope. He doesn’t want to make changes in his life, for the better, but then get so mired in his new routines that he can’t take a chance if—when?—it comes. So he volunteers with Fang at the animal shelter. He goes to the archery range with Izzy. He never says no when Archie needs an extra hand picking up a snake she’s rehoming. And when Pete invites him to his destination wedding, he doesn’t groan at having to play games for a week, or moan about sand in his bathing trunks. He claps Pete on the shoulder, says, “Congratulations, mate, I’d love to.” And gets rewarded for it by being asked to be best man. He’s not really complaining, though. He gets to visit historical sites and tourist traps in Greece and Türkiye, and dress up in fancy clothes, and he loves hot weather. He’s maybe only complaining a little bit as he helps Fang lug a bunch of fishing gear onto the ferry from the mainland. He helps another man with his bags, too, but can’t do much more than swing one of the stranger’s suitcases aboard, sneak a good look at him, and soak in the man’s excited voice when he says thank you. Then he’s pulled away to deal with Fang’s stuff, with Izzy’s sports bags, and with all the supplies Pete’s lugging for the group activities that he and Lucius have planned. From across the deck, above the heads of the crowd, he spots the stranger’s blond waves. He waits as long as he can, before Frenchie arrives with the teas from the snack bar, but the man never once turns around. Keeps looking out over the water from under his intriguing explorer’s hat, the pale skin on his neck and arms turning redder and redder. Ed misses the man in the hustle of disembarking, and almost invents an excuse to turn around and head back to the dock, on the off chance that he might be able to spot him. But then he’s there! In the hotel lobby! Looking faint from sunstroke! Ed is about to faint himself when he realises what Lucius has done: arranged a One Bed scenario for him and the adorably flustered man currently making faces at his bottle of water, having just tossed a fizzy sugary paracetamol tablet into it. Ed likes sugar. Ed wants to lick— Nope. Focus. No one needs him cracking open the door to his innermost desires and letting his wishes come flooding out. All those needs he’s boxed up and buttoned over and put away for years now. He’s fine. Everything’s fine. Pete and Lucius’ relationship has been the U-Haul kind, and Ed’s only met Lucius a handful of times. They’ve been friendly enough, but now, as Ed rides up in the lift with Stede—he’s even got a fascinating, original name!—he decides he’ll rewrite his best man speech, to praise Lucius as much as he can. Unbelievably, even as he cracks his personal door open a little wider, Stede doesn’t recoil. Even better, he draws closer as they talk, then invites Ed to dinner. All uncertain, as if Ed’s not the one flinging open his door and chatting about the rest of their lives—if Lucius and Pete had the U-Haul, what does this make Ed? Soft. Pathetic. That’s how his thoughts go. But then— They’re kissing. Stede’s hesitant here, too, until Ed lets out a little moan, overwhelmed in an instant by Stede’s little meep! of confusion, and suddenly Stede’s kissing him harder, threading his hands into Ed’s hair, holding him closer. Ed kisses and nibbles his way down to Stede’s throat. Stede’s skin tastes like all the soaps and lotions he’s just used during his shower. His mouth tastes even better, like strawberries and cream. Ed doesn’t want to leave this room— This is exactly what he shouldn’t do, what he shouldn’t begin. His life has its defined rhythms and if he messes up even one, all the rest of his careful structures will come tumbling down. He’ll let his self-care slip, he’ll drink more, he’ll grow complacent. And, soon enough, Stede will leave him, and he’ll have to rebuild his fortress all over again. He sets a hand to Stede’s chest. “Can we...maybe we should take it slow. Dinner first.” Stede agrees right away. Then he lets slip, “I’ve been hungry for a long time.” “So have I,” Ed tells him and kisses him again. He can’t help but keep that mental door ajar, hopeful. They kiss now and again as they dress and head to dinner. It’s obvious to everyone that they’re arriving together. At first, he’s gleeful about it. Stede is Lucius’ friend, and Olu’s friend, and already knows most of the people around the table. This isn’t like bringing Jack around, constantly keyed up about what rude comment he’ll make next. This isn’t like Charlie, or Sam, and Sam was already five years ago. No one at the table—besides Ed—is even thinking of the time Sam berated Ed for being too loud, and thought he was doing it under his breath, but the music failed just at that moment and everyone at the pub heard him go I think that’s enough, Ed, no one’s interested, you know. And even if Fang or Izzy does recall that incident, they’re not going to remember the way Ed cowered down. And they’re not going to compare Jack or Charlie or Sam with Stede. But Ed is. He’s not comparing Stede with them, he’s comparing his own behaviour back then with his behaviour now. And constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, too, for Stede to act rude or uncaring or indifferent. It doesn’t happen, so then Ed feels guilty for playing this game in his mind. And that makes him lose the threads of conversations. Now he seems rude or scattered, and there they go, all the thoughts like butterflies flitting about, or moths, or whatever, heavy things with fuzzy wings, all piling up and slamming that mental door shut, all flitting about the—no, they’re bees, brain bees, buzzing about the queen and the queen is Unloveable. Then something new happens. As the dessert menus are passed around, Stede stands and says, to the table at large, “I’m not feeling very well. Still a touch of heatstroke, I think. I might just head back to the room.” Everyone commiserates with him, tells him to rest up before the island-hopping boat tour thingy tomorrow. Ed was right, the butterflies were right, he’ll just shove all his stupid yearning back down to the cellar where it belongs— “Ed?” Stede says, bending at the waist a little, right beside Ed’s chair. “Hey, um, can you come with? It’s getting a bit dark, and I— I can’t, actually... I can’t find my way back to the hotel.” “Oh, yeah.” He scrambles to his feet. Looks around at everyone as a kind of farewell. “Yeah, coming.” And then they’re outside, and the night is warm and, away from the beachside row of restaurants, there aren’t any streetlights. The cicadas have gone quiet, the turtledoves and seagulls are asleep. There are only stars above and, off to one side, wave after wave curling onto the shore with a quiet ripple. Stede catches Ed’s hand. “Ed? If we’re taking it slow... What about this? Is this all right?” “This?” He looks down, but doesn’t really see Stede’s hand in his. He feels it, instead, warm palm against his, fingers gripping tight. “Perfect.” It’s only as they enter the brightly lit lobby, and he catches sight of Stede’s neck in the giant mirror on one wall, that he realises Stede isn’t simply warm. “Have you got anything?” he asks, as they enter the lift. “After-sun, or some— Whatever it is you’re supposed to put on a sunburn?” Stede lifts his free hand to his neck and tugs down the collar of his button-up shirt, peering at himself in the mirror. “That obvious, eh?” he says ruefully. “I should’ve paid more attention, but I was so excited to be on the boat...” They get off on their floor and head down the hall. Ed wonders if Stede realises they’re still holding hands. He must do, because he fumbles in his opposite pocket with his other hand for the key card, doesn’t make a move to let go. Ed doesn’t either. “The boat tour tomorrow should be fun,” he offers. “We’ll be prepared this time.” Stede will wear that funny hat, and the breeze will ruffle their hair until blond tangles with black— Well, grey. Forget it. Back behind the door you go, stray thoughts! “It’s really bad, isn’t it?” Stede mutters as they enter the room. He slips off his shoes and starts twisting and turning before the mirror, tugging at his shirt.
Taking his shirt off.
“Not that bad,” Ed croaks, belying the evidence of his own eyes. Sort of, given that he’s focused not on the burn higher up, but on the pretty freckles dotting Stede’s skin, and the increasing paleness of that skin as Ed’s gaze travels down, down, to the waistband of— “So! Aloe?” Stede’s gaze is locked on him in the mirror. “Yes. I’ve got some lotion.” He clutches his shirt to his front and sidles towards the bathroom. “I’ll just, um, wash up first—” The door shuts with a click. Ed huffs out his frustration, kicks off his boots, bang, against the wall, and washes his hands at the tiny sink next to the tea and coffee area. Twists his hair up into a bun, and flops onto the sofa before the TV. “Way to make this awkward, bruh,” his brain berates him in Archie’s voice. He’s the one that asked to take it slow, so why’s he leering at Stede in the doorway of the hotel room? Like some hookup that barely says hello or even removes all clothing before smashing their bodies together. He hasn’t had one of those in years, either, and doesn’t miss it. Everything’s fine, he thinks firmly, at both brain and dick. He flicks the TV on and goes through the channels one by one. But it’s not fine, is it? From the moment he caught a glimpse of Stede on the ferry that afternoon, he’s wanted. And the wanting’s getting worse the more time he spends with Stede. “Take it slow” is the one thing Ed’s done right today. He’s got to figure out what Stede wants, before he opens his doors any wider. Stede comes out, face shiny from being scrubbed, hair a little damp. He’s got a soft t-shirt on, and has kept his shorts but lost the socks. Even his feet are cute. And his legs— Ed wonders why his brain and his dick don’t listen to him around this man. “Ed?” Stede sits primly on the other end of the sofa, hands clasped on his lap. He’s toying with a tube of after-sun lotion. Ed flips past three news channels, lands on a farm show. Piglets. Yes, that’ll be soothing as Stede tells him he’s found another room. In another hotel. In another country. “I want to apologise,” Stede says. Ed flips the remote aside and sits up. “What for?” “Well, I...” Stede’s talking to the lotion in his hands. His back looks dry; he hasn’t applied it yet. “Do you want some help with that?” Ed’s dick makes him ask. Ed is going to need to learn to meditate or something. He can’t keep letting his body take over like this. “With—? Oh.” Stede holds out the tube. “Please? It’s rather painful, actually.” “Aw, sorry to hear that, mate.” He gets a glob on his hand and palms Stede’s back, between his shoulder blades. His skin is hot to the touch, and the red goes all the way up to his hairline. Ed brushes his thumb at Stede’s nape. “Don’t distract me,” Stede says in a bossy tone. Ed experiences some sort of mind meld between Stede’s voice in his ear, Stede’s skin beneath his fingers, and all the blood in his body that shoots straight to his cock. He adds more lotion and rubs over one shoulder, then the other, chasing the line of red on Stede’s body, resolutely not looking at freckles, and thinking as hard as he can of the absolute most boring bits of his job as an editor. Time-tracking spreadsheets. Filling in those fiddly cells, trying to remember after the fact which task he did when, because he can’t be arsed to fill in the sheet until a week or more has gone by, can’t stand being distracted from the actual work of editing to make time for bureaucratic busywork. “I’m sorry we left before dessert,” Stede says, quiet again. “I thought you seemed...like you could use a break.” “Oh. But if you wanted dessert—” “No, it’s all right. I don’t have much of a sweet tooth. Plus—” Stede twists to look at him over his shoulder. “I noticed you’ve got some good chocolate in your snack collection there.” He cocks his head at the pile of stuff Ed dumped out of his backpack when they first arrived that afternoon. Snacks, books, a couple of souvenirs. “Take whatever you like,” Ed offers, lifting his hands from Stede’s shoulders. He’s lotioned up what he can, and has no other excuse to keep touching Stede. “And, yeah, I was feeling a bit...jumpy. But you didn’t have to cut your evening short for me.” “To tell you the truth, I was glad to come back here.” Stede wriggles his upper body. “I’m really uncomfortable,” he says, under his breath, as if he wants to hide the fact that he’s admitting something that might be considered weak. “But the lotion helps a bit. Thank you, Ed.” “No trouble. How d’you feel otherwise?” “I should’ve taken a nap. I’m an old man, Ed.” He elbows Stede in the side. “News flash: So’m I.” The lines of Stede’s face ease back into a sunny expression. Ed’s body at least agrees with him on that; he’d like to do all he can to keep that sunshine glowing. “Do you take naps, Ed?” That simple question has doors slamming all up and down inside him. What do they know of each other, really? How can this mean so much, when he hardly knows Stede at all? “Sometimes,” he says, slowly, to not leave Stede hanging. Stede tilts his head, looking at him as if he’s reading Ed’s mind. “Can you tell me why you were jumpy, Ed? Is there anything I can help you with?” “Be right back,” he gets out, and leaps up and runs to the ensuite. Shuts the door, leans on the counter, arms splayed, palms on the cool marble, facing the mirror, and watches himself cry. Can he do this? He can’t do this. The butterflies flutter, the doors are swinging back and forth on their hinges. He can try. He’s already asked to take it slow, and Stede’s agreed. Stede paid attention to him at dinner, sussed that he was uncomfortable. Now Stede’s offering to help—apologising. He digs the heels of his hands into the corners of his eyes. Then he washes his face with cool water, and heads back out. Now Stede’s the one staring with unseeing eyes at the TV, flicking through the channels. “Anything good?” he asks, and his voice only wobbles a little. “No. Your piglets are the best option. A new episode just started.” Stede stands and meets him in the middle of the room. “Ed, look, if you’re afraid inside, it’s okay. But I’m not. That’s a first for me. I’ve spent my entire life being afraid. And I know it’s only been a few hours and there’s so much we don’t know about each other. And I’d hate to rely on Lucius’ matchmaking...” He laughs. Stede’s been making him laugh all day. Maybe this can be easy. “Hey.” He reaches for Stede’s hand. “Want to do something weird?” Stede’s eyes light up. A few minutes later, they’re tucked up in bed, snacks on a tray over both their laps, phones in hand. Ed’s got a page of Never Have I Ever questions open, and Stede has a list of Ask Me Anything questions. There’s only one rule: if they answer a question the same, they get to have a bite. Ed’s stopped dwelling on butterflies and doors. Stede’s laughter fills the room, fills his heart, fills his mind. That sunshine is all he knows at the moment, and that’s enough. He has more hope than ever.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It occurs to Stede the next day, as he stands beside Ed at the stern, under an awning, watching the land fall away behind them, that he ought to reveal his lack of experience. They’re the only ones at this end of the boat, in the shade; everyone else is sprawled about on the deck at the bow. It wouldn’t usually be a comfortable conversation, but many scenes in his life have been embarrassing and he’s gotten through them all without Ed’s fun, comforting presence. And he wants to be honest with Ed. “Can you keep a secret?” he asks. Somehow, this didn’t come up at all among the fifty or so questions they got through yesterday, before they both grew too sleepy to continue. They sort of slunk lower and lower into the pillows, and then they were kissing softly as they fell asleep. This morning, they woke up kissing, morning breath taken care of with a decadent bite each from one of the mint chocolates left in Ed’s stash. It was the best morning by far of Stede’s life. But Lucius’ schedule didn’t leave room for lazy wakeups or sleeping in, so they rose and dressed and made it to breakfast and the boat. Ed holds his hand a lot, which puts this day on track to being the best day by far of Stede’s life. (He’s not counting his children in these equations; that’s a different kind of love.) “Something you didn’t tell me last night?” Ed asks, briefly letting go of Stede’s hand to tie up his hair. Stede nods, watching Ed’s elegant neck emerge from beneath his tresses. He bites his lip. There’s brave, and then there’s looking a fool in front of Ed. “You don’t have to tell me,” Ed adds, lacing his fingers back through Stede’s. Stede knows he means it, too. If Stede suddenly decides to clam up, Ed won’t pester him or make him feel badly. Being sure of that, being able to be sure of Ed’s kindness, tips him over to the other side. “I want to tell you,” he says. He closes the gap between their bodies, speaks into Ed’s ear. “You’re the first man I’ve ever kissed.” Ed’s grip tightens against his palm. “Is that— So when I asked if we could take it slow—” “I’m ready to go at whatever pace you need, Ed. This is already more than I’ve ever had.” Ed gets a funny look on his face, the same sort of skittery expression he wore at the dinner party. As if he wants to say something but keeps cutting his phrases short. “And is that...a good thing?” “The best.” Stede can’t help being earnest about it. “For me. But if it’s not what you want—” “It is,” Ed says swiftly, looking up at him through his lashes. “It’s just...this is already more than I’ve ever had, too. Ever been given.” “But I thought you—” He stops. Among all the questions last night, Ed implied a few long-term relationships, at a time when he’d been young and edgy. In Stede’s life, that meant chewing the odd tobacco leaf. Nothing like the sorts of substances Ed might have imbibed, or the parties he must’ve attended. “I never really thought about it before,” Ed says. “Not completely. I mean, I broke up my last relationship when I realised I was getting too old to keep letting myself be treated like shit. But that was years ago.” His voice drops lower and lower as he talks, so that Stede has to strain to hear him over the chop of the boat over the waves. “I didn’t really think anything different was out there. Anything more. Until yesterday.” “Ed. How could anyone— I get that I’m not worth— But you—” His words jumble together and get lodged in his throat. “Why’re you bringing yourself down?” Ed asks. He reaches for Stede’s other hand. “That’s all I know,” he says plainly. “It’s easier to look at you and know that you don’t deserve to be treated like shit.” “Nah. Good old unloveable Ed. You’re the one that deserves all the good things.” “No one’s ever thought that about me before. How about we promise each other to never speak like that again about ourselves? I don’t want to ever hear you call yourself unloveable.” Then he actually listens to the words coming out of his mouth, all of which sound like he’s implying that he’s going to love Ed forever, and his fingers jerk in Ed’s hold. His body’s instinctively trying to run away before Ed reacts to his too-muchness, before he begins speaking the words that let Stede down, that push him away. But Ed’s not moving at all, whether to let go, or back off, or begin saying I think we should take it even slower, maybe stop all together. Ed’s simply looking at him, eyes wide, sparkling in the bright sunshine. His lips are parted, chest heaving. It’s not the same as last night, when Ed seemed distracted, full of thoughts, not present at the dinner table. This is an intensely focused Ed—and he’s focused on Stede. Stede squeezes Ed’s fingers, Ed shimmies a shoulder towards him. Stede lets go with one hand, then both, and draws Ed into a hug. Ed’s hands are trapped between their bodies. He pushes in, as if asking for more, and Stede wraps his arms securely about him. But he’s the one that tucks his head beneath Ed’s chin, and Ed gets his arms free and encircles his waist. The breeze smells of salt, and Ed smells of eucalyptus, fresh and inviting, and Stede has never before been held and felt that, if he wanted to stay here forever, he would be welcome the entire time. They hug, and they hug, warmth between them where they’re joined, even as the cool breeze blows past their cheeks. Stede’s fingers are chilled, too, and at first he curls them into his palm. Then, greatly daring, he slips one hand beneath the hem of Ed’s shirt, over the waistband of his shorts at first, then, once his hand has warmed, sliding up over the small of Ed’s back. He can feel Ed’s smile on the crown of his head, and then Ed does the same to him, fingers gliding up under Stede’s shirt, splayed on his skin. They’ve been standing under the awning all this time, but now Ed shuffles them sideways, out under the sun. “Are you cold?” Stede murmurs. “A little. Sorry, I’ll get your hat—” “Not yet.” “You sure?” “In a bit.” “This is how you got heatstroke yesterday, lingering by the rail.” That makes him look up. “You noticed me?” Ed’s mouth lifts up in a one-sided smile. “I noticed you. I noticed all of you. Kinda watched you for a bit.” “I might have noticed you, too,” he admits. “I wanted to paint your profile.” All of this came out last night, during their AMA. He didn’t want to relive his past entirely, but told Ed enough, about his family grinding down every artistic dream he had, and how he’s been rediscovering himself in the past year. Mary never discouraged him, but for so long, art was her form of expression. His parents demeaned it, and Stede acquiesced, went along with the notion that it wasn’t a pursuit for him. He read art history, and collected art, and let Mary paint. Only now is he finally giving free reign to his own fingers’ itch to sketch and sculpt. “Do you mind if I sketch you?” he asks, and Ed’s intrigued, and willing, so when the boat docks at a small island and everyone heads out to the nearest ruins, all marble columns and stone paths under the blazing sun, Stede plays up his need for shade, and he and Ed go off on their own. They follow a pine tree-lined trail towards a distant cove, cicadas loud on either side. He thought it might be overkill, packing three bottles of water, but even beneath the trees, there’s no breeze, and by the time they emerge from the canopy, he and Ed have finished a bottle each. Ed’s been using his empty bottle to whack aside leaves and branches in their way. Stede’s about to apologise—it’s clear Ed’s not a fan of tramping through nature, not half as inclined as Stede to inspect flowers and insects along the way—when they step out from the shade and both gasp at the same time. The view’s opened up before them. The sky is a cloudless blue, the rocks all about a pale gold, falling down to turquoise waters far below. Further out, the sea shifts to darker blue towards where the sea meets the horizon. All about them lies the maquis, the faintly resin-scented Aegean scrub with dark green leaves and tiny, pretty flowers of red and pink, yellow and white. He looks out again to where, far in the distance, a three-masted ship is sailing. “Oh, Ed.” He whips out his sketchbook and pencils, drops his bag to the ground. “Where do you suppose that’s come from?” “Don’t know. Maybe they heard a famous artist was visiting and arranged it especially.” It takes him a moment, between furiously trying to capture all he can before he settles down to more slowly fill in the details, to understand that Ed’s referring to him. “Ed, hardly. I’ve only had one gallery showing in my life and that was last month.” “Whoa, your first exhibit. I’m sorry I missed it.” He glances up at that, watching Ed nestle himself onto a rock, leaning back against another outcropping, one leg up, arm on his knee. If he didn’t know better, he’d imagine that Ed’s posing for him already. He flips to a new page and begins trying to capture Ed’s fluid grace. “How would you have known about it?” “I should have,” Ed says suddenly, and sits up straight again. “Pete mentioned something about an art exhibit— I thought he was talking about Lucius.” Then Stede remembers. “Lucius said he was bringing a friend one night, if I wanted to be there— but Louis had a fever and Mary had a class she couldn’t miss—” “I didn’t go.” Ed hangs his head, and strands of hair that have come loose from his bun fall over his cheeks. “I figured it’d be a fancy event and I... I’m just not those kinds of people.” “It wasn’t like that at all.” He takes the liberty of sitting on the rock, close to Ed. The sun beats down on the back of his neck, between his collar and his hatbrim. He sets aside his sketchbook and pulls out sunscreen from his bag. “A lowkey affair. I’m surprised anyone came at all. But if it had been the poshest event of the season, you would have fit right in.” “Pfft. And what do you mean you’re surprised anyone came? Your stuff is brilliant.” “What?” He stops slapping sunscreen onto his neck and forearms and looks up. Ed’s got his sketchbook. “Oh, Ed, those are just preliminary—” Ed holds up the book to a page of moths that Stede drew last weekend. “These are great! I’m not a fan of bugs, but these are pretty interesting, for insects.” “Well, if you had come, you’d have been the only one that lingered before the wall of moths.” “Wish I had, if they all look like this.” Ed flips to the back and starts again from there—and the sketch he comes upon is the one Stede’s just begun. Ed’s elegant neck, his hair up, loose curls against his cheek. “You did this in just a couple minutes?” He shrugs. He’d usually say something self-deprecating, but with Ed, maybe he doesn’t have to. And they’ve promised to not bring themselves down. “I’ve always had a talent, but... Like I hinted last night, art wasn’t encouraged by my family. It was part of why I thought things with Mary might work out, when our marriage was arranged. But besides the obvious—” He points at his t-shirt, which reads “Blackbeard gets my bones a-kraken— “We couldn’t even see eye-to-eye on art. I put aside my own creations for years, thinking I was only good for providing for my family. And that made me resent her growing success. And then when I finally began to expand my own talents I... Well, I reached a certain level quite quickly, and Mary resented that. It took us too long to realise we weren’t competing with each other; we were simply frustrated at having to work together in life. Things are so much smoother now.” He stops, gathers his pencils together. “But, oh, Ed, never mind all that. What I’m really trying to say is that sketching you is easy, because you’re beautiful. I wish you had come to my showing; you would have drawn every eye in the room, I just know it.” He takes another liberty, leaning back to look Ed up and down, from the surprised expression on his face, down past his shirt and shorts, to his long legs, various tattoos peeking out here and there. “Your hair as it is now. Maybe something in red— No, purple. A deep plum. Like the t-shirt you wore last night, but in a dress shirt. Here.” He eases the sketchbook out from Ed’s hold. Ed’s watching him, still with that startled look, lips parted. Stede senses that it’s maybe not because Stede won’t stop rambling, but because Stede is praising him. It’s easy to set aside his own self-doubts when he’s aware of Ed’s own, and wants to eradicate them. A reversal that’s never happened with anyone else before. He flips to the next blank page and, with a few lines, captures the scenery behind Ed. The old-fashioned ship, fading into the distance. The sparkle of the sun on the sea. A tumble of rocks, a few scraggly herbs. Then he sketches Ed as he appeared when he first sat down, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee, casual elegance. He dresses Ed’s figure in the long trousers he envisioned, adds a shirt with a ruffled collar and, overall, a long-tailed coat of purple. He softens the lines here, hints at velvet. Adds a few accents of golden embroidery. He’s embellishing Ed’s hair when he realises that what was meant to be a quick example has turned into a detailed drawing. And the background has nothing to do with an art gallery; he’s simply sketching a fantasy. “I’m sorry, Ed. This one got away from me.” “What’re you apologising for?” Ed’s voice is quiet—and so near. “This is lovely.” Stede turns his head, and there’s Ed, snuggled in, peering over his arm. “I’ve never been able to sketch with someone watching before,” he says, startled mostly by the fact that he didn’t notice, as if his body is already entirely comfortable with Ed’s proximity—and his self-conscious creative mind is, too. “I’ve never looked at myself this way before,” Ed tells him, still staring at the work in progress. “Not even in photos.” He scrubs his hand over his short beard. “Especially not since I shaved off my long beard.” “Feels like there’s a story there.” They move under the shade of a eucalyptus and break out their picnic lunch—mostly made up of items they snagged from the hotel breakfast, plus a few pastries bought on the boat—and Ed tells him all about his decision a few years ago to make a sweeping change. He’d quit his well-paying corporate job to establish his own freelance editing company, and shifted as much of the non-editing work onto Izzy and the others as he could. “Now I can focus entirely on manuscripts—finally spend most of my work day doing what I really want to do, mostly.” Their last bottle of water is all gone, and it’s time to return to the boat. As they pack up, Ed points at his sketchbook and asks, “Did you get all you wanted?” Stede’s been holding back all this time, doesn’t know how to take it slow without keeping his hands to himself entirely, because he’s never before felt the sorts of urges he feels around Ed. The need to touch, to explore—and not only Ed’s beautiful body. Stede feels like an insect himself, ready to cocoon on Ed’s lap, listen to him talk for days. And he can’t figure out what to do with all that bubbling inside him without hugging Ed about it, at the very least. Now this— Mary paints in oils; Stede in watercolours. She’s been as supportive since their divorce and his rediscoveries as he’s tried to be with her work. But no one has ever checked in about his art before. Asked about his methods, his process. Made sure that he’s happy with a session before moving on. What else can he do? He tackles Ed about the waist, sweeps him into his hold and plants a firm kiss on his mouth. “Yes,” he says simply, and lets go, and zips up his pack. Ed stands there, dazed. “What was that for?” “For caring,” he says, and swings his bag onto his back instead of crying. “I get it,” Ed says quietly, and takes his hand as they set off down the trail. The next trip is shorter, the next island more touristy. The crew stick together, shop for souvenirs, stop for a drink or two. Then a few hours on the boat back to their original island, with time to rest before another dinner party. More of the wedding guests have arrived, and tonight’s affair will be even more lively than last night’s. Everyone scatters about the boat. Lucius doesn’t even make fun of Stede and Ed for lingering in the cabin, because half the crew are sleeping off sun exposure and cocktails, sprawled on benches and towels. Ed’s stretched out on a cushioned seat, sleeping in, his head in Stede lap. Stede feels drowsy, too, but he’s got his sketchbook open on a table to the side, wants to get a few ideas down before he loses them. He’s made that mistake before, assuming he’ll still recall them when he wakes, and it never happens. He fills page after page with Ed’s profile, the orange curls of a trumpet vine, the slope of Ed’s neck, billowing sails on that ship, Ed’s deep, warm eyes— He lets his pencil drop, thunks his head on the wall behind him. I think I’m in love. The realisation sinks deeper and deeper as the day goes on. He and Ed dress for the party; he lends Ed a jacket and Ed lends him a shirt, and they take photos before the mirror. Hand-in-hand again, they pile into a car with Olu and Jim, Archie and Zheng, and Ed doesn’t let go once they reach the restaurant. Later, there’s a club, and dancing on the beach, fairy lights all around. A cushioned lounge area off to the side, and his fingers threaded through Ed’s hair. Every once in a while, a song fades out before the next one starts, and he can hear the waves curling onto the sand a few feet away. If they stood and walked out of the circle of lights, they could look at the stars. And maybe they will, later. A lot later, when Ed’s mouth isn’t seeking his, when Ed’s hand isn’t travelling up inside his shirt, thumbing a nipple. Ed tastes sweet. Ed’s faintly scented of eucalyptus. Ed’s breaths are coming in pants. Stede kisses him back, fervent. Whispers, beneath the night breeze, beneath the waves, beneath the music and laughter, “You’re the best man I’ve ever kissed.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Ed wakes up entangled with Stede, alert enough to grab his phone and shut off his alarm before it starts up. He glances at Stede’s face in the half-light through the curtains, and feels and thinks and smells all at once. He feels love, which ought to be impossible, given that they haven’t spent 48 hours together yet. He thinks that Stede and his fluttering eyelashes are beautiful. And he smells Stede’s lotion and after-sun and shampoo and the remnants of his cologne from the dinner party, and he knows he has to fulfil the needs of his last two senses, to touch and taste. He palms Stede’s bare chest as he snuggles back in, kisses him between his collarbones, tastes—of all flavours—fig. Senses satiated, he drifts back to sleep. Sleeping together, and waking together, an hour or so later, makes him wonder why he ever decided to take it slow. Still, he doesn’t say anything out loud yet. They’re in vacation mode, and wedding mode, and anything goes mode. They’ll return home and Stede will— Well, no. The way Stede’s gazing at him as they dress for the day, and the glances Stede’s sneaking at him that Ed can see just fine because of all the angles on all the hotel room mirrors, is enough to let himself hang onto hope. And to let Stede see some of the same fondness on his face. There aren’t any set events today, just a list of activities around town that Lucius and Pete have arranged discounts and reservations for. The core crew all happen to descend on the breakfast buffet at the same time, and sit together, going back and forth about all the possibilities. Jackie and Swede are headed to a mixology class, and Auntie decides to join them. Roach says he’ll look in, but there’s a local cooking class he’s eager not to miss. Olu and Zheng are into that, so Jim and Archie decide they’ll join in for dessert, but they’re off to a historical weaponry lesson first. Fang and Izzy are interested in the swords, but Izzy’s off to compete in various water sports, and Fang wants to spend most of his time at the local rescue-animal centre, especially to see the goats. Buttons says he’ll join him, to visit the birds, but he’s also intrigued by the armoury, and Wee John is, too. Frenchie says he’ll tag along to that if John comes with him to the local folklore and mythology centre. Lucius and Pete will be all over the place, making sure everyone’s having a good time. Ed keeps quiet about this, too, as he works his way through a plate of pastries and a bottomless cup of coffee. The coffee station has all sorts of add-ons, so with each cup, he tries something new. Milk foam and chocolate sprinkles. Honey. Whipped cream and caramel syrup. He could spend the day here, snacking, listening to Stede’s opinions about each outing. They all sound good to Ed, though he’d probably cut short the goats and the water sports and the armoury. It’s fun to watch Stede make a list of the pros and cons of each one—and to notice that his cons never bring the event down for anyone else. “I’ve been to a whisky tasting before, so if I miss the mixology, I won’t feel too badly,” he’ll say, then go on, self-deprecating, “and no one wants to see me cliff diving!” Then he winks at Ed and whispers, “I’m not bringing myself down, it’s only that I’ll scream the whole way.” Ed’s going to tap his spoon on his cup, stand up, and announce their engagement. The only reason he doesn’t is because he’ll never hear the end of it if he steals any of Lucius’ thunder. The other option is to ask Stede if he wants to hold a private event up in their room, to celebrate their upcoming marriage. Or maybe it’s time to call it quits on the sugary coffees. He fills a water glass with crushed ice and some water, nabs another square of honey cake, and returns to his seat, only to find that half the crew have dispersed already. Stede’s alone at their end of the table. “Ah, Ed,” he says, as Ed sits down and, still overwhelmed by Stede, pulls out a fig from the fruit bowl in the centre of the table. “I think I know what I want to do. But I won’t say until you’ve made your choice.” “Mm?” He looks up, fig skin splayed about his mouth as he sucks on the innards. Stede’s even better than the real thing. Or the bits of him that taste like fig, anyway. At least, the bits Ed’s explored so far. “Sorry, mate. Still waking up, I reckon. What did you—?” Stede, far from acting annoyed, just says, “You’ve got a bit in your beard,” and kisses the spot. Then, as if he’s not totally short-circuiting Ed’s nervous system, he holds up the sheet for Ed to look at. Ed wipes his hands and, because it’s Stede asking, gives the whole thing a once over, to narrow down his choices. He’s surprised there’s no lounge on a beach chair beside the cocktail bar option, but then he realises Lucius put this list together based on what he knows his friends are likely to want—he’s already got the cocktail and rest option covered himself. Ed could ask Stede if he wants to get in on that, but Stede’s dressed for adventure, khaki shorts and oversized sunhat and all, and Ed can’t wait any longer to find out which activity he’s chosen. “The last one sounds good,” he says, pointing, and chugs some water. He’s got to get his thoughts in order. Marriage, no. Declaration of love, maybe. Ask to not take it slow anymore...yes. “We chose the same thing!” He catches Stede’s eye, then. “Really? Do you already have a tattoo?” “I do! It’s silly. I have a rose on my ankle that I got during a momentary rebellion as a teen. It’s faded a lot.” That at least explains why Ed hasn’t noticed it, even given how much he’s been studying Stede’s body. But he’s apparently not been studying him closely enough. “I’ve always wanted to add to it,” Stede goes on. “Maybe a rose each for the kids, and what better time than now?” He scans Ed’s arms. “I’ve love to hear more about your tattoos, Ed. What they mean to you. Will you get a new one or add to one you have?” They head out, and he takes Stede’s hand in his as they walk down the winding streets to the tattoo parlour. Holding hands in public is a novelty he can’t get enough of. Maybe keeping it slow isn’t such a bad idea. He loves kissing Stede. He can tell, because it’s the first time he’s ever kissed someone without its leading to more within two minutes flat. Like last night, stumbling back to their hotel room, still kissing. Washing up, still kissing, crawling into bed in barely more than their underwear (Stede had a lavender scented sleep shirt), still kissing, kissing, kissing. Bruised lips, aching cheeks, dropping toward sleep with Stede’s hums and squeaks and sweet murmurs against his mouth. He didn’t decide then not to take it slow anymore. He loves kissing Stede. Hasn’t ever kissed someone with such total abandon before, content to pant into his mouth, scrape his lips over Stede’s, grasp and gasp on end, slowing only to share a breath or two. No, he’s decided today, stone cold sober, with barely a peck here and there as they head to breakfast, that Stede is it. If Ed tells him “I love you” and Stede... Turns away. Says “friends only”. Makes a little frowny face and backs off... Ed might not deal with it in the healthiest of ways, but he’ll deal with it if he has to. Because the alternative—of not speaking, of bottling it up, of closing all his doors—will hurt even more. He hasn’t done all this work on himself to not hope for love. Change of plan: Keep taking it slow...but confess his love. Ed’s been answering Stede’s questions as they walk, and it’s come easier than he might’ve expected. Most of his tattoos are just stick and poke, after all, done so long ago that the memories don’t bear a sting, even if he knows that the hangman was after one of his dad’s rages, and the stars were a burst of defiance against a teacher that swore he’d never amount to anything. It seems stupid that time passing should make those events innocuous, especially since he can easily dredge up the feelings he had back then, and slip right back down to the size of that scared boy. Only now he’s got Stede’s hand to grip, sunshine bright over their heads, and pretty flowers hanging off balconies and brushing their shoulders as they walk down the last cobblestone street and arrive at the tattoo parlour. The young boy is better protected now than he’s ever been. There’s a rainbow flag in one window, and a skull and crossbones stencil in the other, eerily like the one on his back. Stede saw that one last night. They climbed into bed face to face, still kissing, but the darn mirrors all around showed up everything, and Stede had seen it as Ed came out of the bathroom, wearing only his boxer-briefs. All Stede said was, “What kind of snake is it?” “Viper,” Ed told him. “They’re the ones with triangular heads.” And Stede gathered him into his arms, and told him he was beautiful, and he didn’t ask about the “Trust No One” beneath the skull and the snake, and Ed shoved down those feelings as far as they would go. Now here they are, bubbling up from the depths, the second he clocks his own tattoo in the display window of this parlour. Then Stede leans in and, low-voiced, says, “Yours is much better.” He laughs. He’s light again, doors open. “Not a good sign, is it, if we’re about to go in?” “Oh, I’m sure they’re good. Lucius wouldn’t pick a bad place, and he said Pete had a tattoo done here the last time they visited. Besides,” he adds as they walk in, bell jangling above their heads, “we don’t have time for an intricate piece, do we?” “Nah, it’ll have to be something small. Roses, you said, for you?” “Maybe,” Stede says slowly, gaze riveted on the flash sheets tacked up on the wall to their right. The sun shines in through the lines of the skull on the window, casting stripes of shadow over the place. Stede takes off his hat and moves closer to the images. Over by the desk on their left, an employee, or maybe the owner, calls out a greeting. “Need any help, gentlemen?” “Please,” he says, and leaves Stede to look as he goes over to the counter. “Can you do a small freehand design?” “Sure, we’ll try. I’ve got my best artist with a customer, but they’re almost done. What’d you have in mind?” He glances over at Stede, who’s up on his tiptoes, peering at a pirate ship design. “My, uh— My boyfriend,” he says, raising his voice. Stede whips around and beams at him. “Boyfriend,” he mouths silently, eyes wide. Ed grins back. “Yep. My boyfriend is an artist. And he drew these flowers yesterday...” “Ed.” Stede scurries over. “Wait, you want to get my art on you?” “Yes.” “Really?” “Show them your sketchbook.” Of course Stede has it on him. He pulls it out of his bag, and Ed finds the trumpet vines he admired. They’re pretty, softly curling, and Stede told him they were toxic, but that he loved the way their petals curved, inviting, and any time they’ve come across one in the past couple of days, Stede’s caressed it. The vines are Ed, obviously. “Maybe I should get the same,” Stede says. And, yeah. The vines are also Stede, aren’t they. Maybe the poison everyone else feels neutralizes when they get together. Like they’re made for each other. Ed has space on his ankle, so they agree on the matching vines. Stede will also get two roses added to his bouquet, for his kids. They’re seated next to each other, and Stede’s telling him about his kids as the artists begin their work. Ed’s only experience with kids is with his slew of cousins and second cousins; he wonders if Stede’s kids’ll be fancier, more formal, then realises that’s a thought borne of his fear that they won’t like him. Stede might come from fancy stock, but there’s no way he raised his kids to act like those types of people. He’s in the middle of a story about one of his cousins, that time he was gouging an eyeball out of— Stede slumps in his chair. “Hey, whoa—” He stretches out a hand across the space between them, and that makes both artists look up, and stop right away. “I’ll get some water,” Stede’s artist says, as Ed stands up and hovers over Stede. He’s all right, mostly, meeting Ed’s gaze, and wringing his hands, not passed out or anything. Already apologising. “I’m sorry— I just—” He sets both hands on Stede’s shoulders and bends to face height. “Don’t. It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay. Yeah?” “Maybe.” He shifts his hold to Stede’s hands, grips them tight, then pries them apart as the artist returns with a bottle of water. “We shouldn’t take up your time,” Stede starts, even as he accepts the water, but both artists shake their heads. “We’ve already been paid for today, as part of your friend’s wedding. Take your time. Or if you wish to return later—” “No.” Stede sits up straight. “No, I want to finish.” Under his breath, he mutters, “I am adequate.” He squeezes Ed’s hand. Ed glances behind him, gauging spaces. “Can we move the chairs closer together?” he asks the owner. “If it doesn’t get in your way?” It only takes a few minutes to rearrange them all, and then they start again. He’s got Stede’s arm entwined with his, Stede’s fingers interlaced with his, resting where the arms of both chairs meet. The artists talk among themselves as they work, maybe to give Stede and Ed space. He waits, not wanting to pry, but Stede’s staring at their joined limbs and still breathing heavily, lips parted, or sucked into a thin line. Ed leans in and kisses him at his temple. “I’m here. You’re safe.” “Thank you,” Stede whispers. His gaze strays to their ankles. “Nearly done, I hope.” “Does it hurt?” Ed can feel the needle, but they’ll apply a numbing spray if he asks for it, and knowing that helps him sit through the jabs. The exact spot is higher than their ankle bones, anyway, on the inner leg, and not near any joints or tendons. “Not too bad,” Stede says. “It was the blood that got to me. I know it’s not a lot,” he adds, because he must see the confusion on Ed’s face. “It was the shape of the splatter...” That he can understand; he knows the look of someone recalling a childhood memory and having an old scar re-open. “You don’t have to tell me.” “It’s all right. I want today to layer over that time,” Stede says quietly, but his voice is less shaky now. “It wasn’t anything— It was—” He slips his fingers out of Ed’s and sets their palms together instead, holds hard. “My father butchered a goose. Objectively, what does that mean? Animals are killed for meat all the time. But he— He must have already guessed— About me. And he decided to spend the day with me, a rarity, believe me.” Stede looks rueful and annoyed at the same time. “He took me around the estate and showed me all about what a man’s work entailed. And in between, I had to be told all the ways in which I fell short. Didn’t measure up. Wasn’t enough.” Now he looks simply resigned. Ed glances down and his artist gives him a thumbs up; they’re nearly done. “I know what you mean,” Ed tells Stede. “Heard a lot of that shit myself, growing up.” “It doesn’t seem fair that being out with you, doing something fun, should bring it all back.” “No, it’s not. But we can keep doing fun things.” He’s coaxed a smile back onto Stede’s face. Then, Stede looks away, and down, at his tattoo. His artist pulls away at that moment, having wiped Stede’s ankle one last time, and lets Stede get a good look. Ed waits until his is done, too, and then they hook their ankles over their knees at the same time. It’s the right leg for both of them, so he has to lean over a bit to see Stede’s. Yes, they’re both the same, only Stede’s has an added wee leaf that connects his trumpet flower to his roses. The colouring is subtle, a wash of peachy orange and, for Stede’s roses, shades of gold and pink. Stede’s smile is back to wobbling, but his eyes are shining. “It’s perfect,” he says to his artist, and drops his leg. He gets right into Ed’s space and peers at Ed’s tattoo. “I can’t believe it’s my design.” “Only bit of colour I’ve got,” Ed says, but he’s talking towards Stede’s bright curls, and the blush in his cheek. This time it’s Stede who kisses his face. “I love all your lines,” he whispers. The artists layer the protective wrap over the tattoos, and go over the care instructions, and Stede thanks them again for their patience with him. They tip generously, and then they’re back out in the bright sunshine, Stede clapping his extravagant hat back on his head. Ed can’t wait anymore. He tugs Stede up against the nearest wall, tips up his hat, and kisses him. “I love you,” he says, and it comes out breathless, so he says it again. “I love you.” “Ed.” Stede’s fingers thread through his hair, hold him steady, just when he feels his legs shaking. “I love you.” He kisses Ed, then pulls back. “Is it too soon? Too quick? Too much fodder for Lucius?” He laughs. Laughter comes easily with Stede. “We’d better not tell him yet, how deep we’ve gotten. Or whatever. He’ll twist any word to mean something salacious. But also, we shouldn’t take away from his wedding week.” “I can be stealthy,” Stede says, a gleam in his eye. “For two more nights.” “And after that?” He means after the wedding day, but even as he says it, realises it sounds as though he’s asking about the future. Stede’s talked about Ed meeting his kids when they return to Aotearoa. That has to imply a future— But what kind? How close? “Is there a reason we need to keep it secret after that?” Stede asks. “Nope.” Ed kisses him to wipe away the wariness in his expression. “Not for me.” Only now that he’s brought it into the open, he needs to go on, to ease his own doubts. “But we live on opposite sides of the city...” “Mine’s a rental,” Stede tells him. “Not that I’m inviting myself to—” “Nah, mate, I don’t care if you are. If you want it, I want it.” “And what exactly is ‘it’?” Stede asks, with that head tilt Ed adores. They link hands and set off back in the direction of the hotel. “Us. I guess. Maybe. I think?” “And we’re...boyfriends?” “Yeah. As close as we want to be.” Stede’s talking about moving in with him, and it feels— “Boyfriends,” Stede repeats, louder, as if he’s telling the whole street, the tourists they pass by, the locals up on their balconies, even Izzy and Fang and Lucius and Pete, headed in a group down the hill towards them. “I’ve never had... I’ve never said that out loud before.” “Feels all right?” “Better than that,” Stede says. “It feels...” “Perfect.” “Yeah.” They’re still grinning at each other, not doing a very good job of hiding it after all, as they swing into step with their friends and head down to the beach to help set up the bonfire for that night. They’re definitely not as subtle as they could be. Lucius makes them straight away, once he notices their bandaged tattoos and finds out that they match. Later, at dinner, Izzy and Roach are seated at their table, and Roach is gleeful at the same antics that have Izzy rolling his eyes. Ed’s not going to apologise for kissing Stede’s cheek any chance he gets—or for making chances as often as he can. Besides, Izzy rolling his eyes is a step up from Izzy scowling or, worse, that disappointed look he used to wear whenever Ed showed up any place with Charles. Stede gives back as good as he gets when Izzy baits him and, for once, Ed doesn’t feel caught between two halves of his life. Izzy’s not trying to trap Stede with words, the way he used to do with Sam, and he’s not actively sneering at every word out of Stede’s mouth, the way he did with Jack. Stede’s not taking offence at Izzy’s attitude either, but seems to be enjoying their sparring. And all the time, he’s got a hand at Ed’s elbow, or a finger twining idly round a lock of Ed’s hair, or a thumb brushing over Ed’s knuckles. On the table, where anyone can see. Ed’s feeling pretty loose, in the warmth of the night, after a long meal of good food. He makes sure Stede gets two desserts, after his intense day, one before they remove the cling film and one after they’ve shown off their tattoos. Here’s Stede, licking up ice cream off a cone with the tip of his tongue, and Ed’s eaten hundreds of cones in his life, and so has everyone else, so there’s no reason why the tip of Stede’s tongue should make him feel like he’s belly flopping into a volcano or racing away from a tiger, but when Stede extends his tongue and licks up a dribble from the side of his cone, Ed figures he’s going to burn in the lava or be eaten by that tiger, and he’ll be maimed beyond recognition, yet be the happiest he’s ever been. And Ed’s not caught, and he’s not being pulled apart, and he doesn’t have to hide any bits of his Stede-self from his friends or his friend-self from Stede. He’s whole, and he’s just Ed. The bonfire blazes that night on the beach. The crowd is even bigger than last night; not only have all the rest of the wedding guests arrived, but Lucius seems to have made friends with half the village, and they’re all invited, too. Ed and Stede share a drink with their tattoo artists. They dance with his and Izzy’s old friends Anne and Mary, fresh off the last ferry. He hadn’t realised they were invited, but it turns out Lucius met them through Izzy and invited them at the last minute. Lucius and Anne are soon gossiping away at the bar, while Mary teases Pete. Stede and Ed gravitate towards the same comfy seats they were in last night. It doesn’t take long for them to become ensconced in the cushions, in a shadowy corner away from prying eyes. He’s squeezed between Stede and the side of the beanbag-style lounger, Stede’s legs across his lap. Armful of Stede, he thinks, and after a couple of drinks, this strikes him as funny. Or maybe he’s just happy, and he needs to learn to recognise this feeling, because it might bubble up more and more often. Stede sighs and sort of melts into him, and he’s trailing aimless kisses behind Ed’s ear and down his neck. His fingers tug at the collar of Ed’s dress shirt, and he presses kisses into each patch of skin as he exposes it. They’ve been kissing all day, since the moment they woke up. Kisses after breakfast, kisses before and after their tattoo session, kisses as they changed for dinner. Ed’s not sure now how they even made it out of their hotel room for dinner, given how heated they got in between Stede finding a shirt to lend him and Ed giving Stede one of his necklaces to wear. They’ve said I love you and he’s decided he doesn’t need to go slow anymore. He can’t wait to find out if Stede wants the same. He ducks, nudging Stede’s mouth off his nape and catching it with his instead. Stede melts even further, plastered against him, lips moving softly, deliciously over his own. He slips his tongue into Stede’s mouth, captures the moan Stede gives him in return. Stede’s ice cream was pistachio, one of those flavours Ed never bothered to try because pistachio plus ice cream sounded wrong. Turns out he’s the one in the wrong, or maybe there’s something about Stede that turns every flavour good; fig, pistachio, whatever tasty new thing Stede’ll try tomorrow. He can imagine a lifetime of sweet discoveries, day after day of being excited by Stede and his whimsy, his effervescence. He opens for him, lets Stede guide their kisses, starts making small frantic noises at him. All the while, he skims his hands over Stede’s body, arms and chest and waist. He can’t settle on one, he has to palm them all. Stede’s so warm, so sturdy, pushing so eagerly into his touch. He deepens their kisses, sliding his tongue against Stede’s, and sets one hand on Stede’s knee. Stede’s leg clenches, then relaxes. His kisses don’t falter at all, so Ed keeps going. He slides his other hand up under Stede’s shirt, palm firm on the muscles of Stede’s back. He grazes his hand higher up Stede’s leg, and he keeps chasing that sweetness, those flavours from Stede’s mouth, teeth scraping now and then in his urgency. Stede’s tightened a bit, under his palms, but then he relaxes once more. His hands are tangled in Ed’s hair, and he’s kissing back, just as loose and anguished, his noises almost sweeter than his taste. Ed goes further, buries his hand between Stede’s thighs, high up. Stede stiffens again. “Stede,” he says into their kisses. “You keep clenching.” He gentles their kiss, draws back a teensy bit. Stede opens his eyes. “I’m not doing it on purpose.” “Okay.” He dives in for more, kissing over Stede’s jaw, down into the hollow beneath, suckling a little at Stede’s tender skin. Has anyone ever— Ah. He’s so riled up that he forgot that when Stede said this was all new to him, he really does mean every single aspect of it. He’s promised himself he’ll pay more attention to Stede. No need to wonder whether anyone’s kissed him anywhere. If Mary did, that was decades ago, and that’s all Stede has ever known. He slows down completely, turns his frenzied kisses into delicate ones. The music and the chatter of the crowd comes roaring back into his ears. He tries to shut it all out, keep the sense of the two of them isolated in their cocoon like two of Stede’s moths, only the shush of the waves down by the shore a soundtrack to their interlude. He takes the time to talk Stede through it a little. Though he keeps his hands where they were. A hint, a suggestion, of what’s available. Squeezes the hand on Stede’s leg, and, yep, there he goes, drawing up tight again. “Stede,” he says, low as he can. “We can do whatever you like, yeah? Take it slow, or keep going.” “I— This is good. Keep going,” Stede says, fingers tightening in Ed’s hair. He bites back the moan that draws from him and, instead, says, “I mean it, whatever you want.” “I don’t...have an idea.” Stede, eyes closed, scrunches up his eyelids. “I don’t know.” “We can stop, then, if you’re not sure—” Stede’s eyes fly open. “I am!” “That’s good. Can you tell me—” “I don’t know what to do!” “Hey.” He kisses Stede’s cheek, kisses the tip of his nose. Still doesn’t take his hands away, because as wide-eyed as Stede is, his whole body is still surging into Ed, his hands are still at Ed’s crown, keeping him close. “Stede. Babe. We can take this as slow as you need.” “Maybe I don’t want to go slow.” Stede kisses him back, in the space between his brows. “Babe.” “Okay. Right.” He nuzzles his face to Stede’s, starts kissing him again. Brushes his thumb, back and forth, over Stede’s thigh, the denim warm now beneath his hand. Focuses on every hitch of Stede’s breath, keeps stroking through each clench of Stede’s muscles. I need him. “Do you want me to just...do stuff, then?” “Yeah.” Stede’s kisses are soft but demanding. His eyes are bright in the glow from the party lights beyond the dunes. “Show me what you like.” He eases his hands out of Ed’s hair and down to his shoulders. “And I can learn what I like.” “What do you imagine?” His turn to incline towards Stede, to push his chest into Stede’s. How can he want to hold and be held at the same time? The feeling is wholly new. “When you’re alone, and you touch yourself, what do you think of?” “Oh, Ed.” Stede exhales, his breath at Ed’s neck as warm as the night air all about them. His eyes are closed again, and his body stiffens again, so Ed kisses him again and again, temple and cheek and dip behind his ear. “I think of this,” Ed offers, between kisses. “Someone who wants...soft.” “I think of that, too... Well, I imagine... This.” He sets his hand over Ed’s, between his legs. “Someone kind of...coming at me.” He nearly rolls Stede over that instant, might rut against him and come in a flash if Stede says anything more. “Yeah,” he says, voice garbled. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He slips his hand out from under Stede’s and, no more preambles, palms his cock. A second after Stede’s gasped breath, he starts thumbing open Stede’s jeans. But Stede’s hand returns over his. “Wait, Ed— Anyone can see—” There’s no one in the vicinity and they’re on the dark side of the beach, but if they’re here doing this, anyone could. “Yeah, you’re right.” He lowers Stede’s zipper. “Could take your shirt off, cover your lap?” Stede giggles. “That’s your solution? Get me more naked?” “Yep.” “Maybe I want to see you naked.” “Could do.” He smirks. “But that’d look more suspicious, if we’re both half-naked.” “Hm.” Stede pouts, then scans the sky and looks towards the darker dark of the sea. “We could go up to our room, I suppose, but...” He meets Ed’s gaze. “I’ve never had this before. A starlit night, the heaving sea, and thou.” Ed’s about to say something about his quoting the Rubaiyat, as if they’ve suddenly travelled back in time to when Lord Byron or someone visited these islands. Then Stede whips his shirt off. And rises just far enough to shimmy his jeans and underwear down. Layers his shirt over his lap and settles back down, swings his legs up over Ed’s lap again. “You’re a lunatic,” Ed tells him, drawing him close with an arm about his shoulders. “And I like it.” There’s not enough light to see Stede clearly, only the outline of his body in the glow from the party down the way. He knows Stede has freckles, but can’t see them. He wants to see Stede’s cock— He could always hide his face under the shirt, too. Maybe next time. Tonight he’s got Stede’s scent, lavender and jasmine, or maybe some other flower all together that smells sweet and spicy all at the same spot where Ed’s lavishing kisses down the curve of his neck. He’s got sound, the Stede noises he’s coaxing with kiss after kiss, discovering all the different bits he can lick and nibble at to make Stede moan, and pant, and whine. And he’s got touch, the velvet smoothness of Stede’s cock in his palm as he burrows his hand under the shirt and begins to stroke him. Or maybe it’s silk, or another fancy fabric he’s never heard of. Stede fabric, Stede skin, Stede— Stede thrusting up into his hold, throwing his head back and coming on a strangled groan. “Ah— Ed— I’m sor—” “No, don’t. You don’t have to say that to me.” He slides his clean hand over to cup Stede’s cheek. Winks, and brings up his other hand and sucks in his forefinger. He might be imagining it, but it feels like even this part of Stede tastes like a sweet flower. Stede goes wide-eyed, then just as suddenly turns speculative. He shimmies a hand between them and grazes the length of Ed’s cock over his jeans. He’s been hard all this time, aching, but wanting to put Stede first. If he comes in two seconds flat from a simple stroke, he’ll at least show Stede that there’s nothing to apologise for, not when they’re needy together. “Can you—” He doesn’t know how to ask, though. It’s a new thing, to be with someone who makes space for his desires. “Hm?” Stede’s nosing into the line of his jaw, finding secret spots beneath his beard. “Whatever you want, Ed.” “Sit on my lap?” Stede makes a face at himself as he wipes off on his shirt, then tucks himself back into his jeans. He’s about to clamber onto Ed’s lap when he falters. “Is this— Or did you mean—” He tugs Stede down, moaning silently at the instant friction on his cock. “Like this, yeah. Next time— Another time, we could be naked.” He palms the curve of Stede’s arse with both hands. “But out here— This. This is good.” He ruts up against Stede just like he was desperate for earlier, like they’re teens at a beach party rather than grown-ass adults with a perfectly good, shared, hotel bed a five-minute walk away. But Stede’s grinding down on him, Stede’s bare chest is right before his face, Stede’s still making delicious noises, like he could go again right away. Stede’s hands are back in his hair, tugging at his scalp, and Ed wants, and he wants, and he wants, and Stede gives himself to him, and he’s got touch and taste and smell, but it’s Stede’s words, all the unexpected sweetness—that’s it, love, feels good, go on, good man, there you go, ah, babe—that tips Ed over the side. Now he’s the one clenching, shoulders tight, balls drawing up, coming with a shout. Stede stills, no longer squirming or pulling at his hair, but his words continue. “So beautiful, Ed.” He gentles a hand over Ed’s cheek. “My boyfriend, Ed.” Eyes closed, floating in bliss, he goes to kiss Stede, but Stede draws back. “Wait,” he says, and Ed opens his eyes at the feeling of Stede fumbling at his waist band again. Stede slips two fingers in, swirls them along Ed’s cock, and draws them out, sticks them right in his mouth. Hums around them. “Stede—” He doesn’t know whether to laugh, or squeeze the breath out of Stede in a long hug, or act like a refractory period doesn’t exist, and start right up again. “What’s the verdict?” he asks, as if Stede’s sampling crime scene evidence, not tasting another man’s spend. “Bitter. Is it always like that?” At that, he does snort a laugh. “Mostly. You never tasted yourself?” “Never occurred to me. I was, erm, usually in a hurry to hide the evidence. I like bitter,” he adds quickly, as if eager to dismiss the past. “I’m keen to try, um...you know. With my mouth.” “Yeah. Me too,” he says simply, and then they’re kissing again, as soft as the curl of each wave on the shore, and somewhere in the distance a slow song is playing at the party. The night breeze picks up, ruffling his hair, and Stede shivers, and it’s time to go. Stede gets his shirt back on, grimacing, and the light colour doesn’t show up the stain, while Ed’s dark shirt hides the wet patch on his jeans just fine, even under the bright lights of the lobby. Thankfully, the only person they run into is Archie, who rides up in the lift with them. She’s loaded down with boxes of pizza and fries and other goodies and not only does she not give Ed any flack for skipping out early on the dancing, since she and her crew are apparently doing the same, but she hands over one of the containers of fries. She dumps a handful of condiment packets into Stede’s hands, and then they’ve reached her floor and she’s off, calling a cheerful, “Get it, sluts!” as she goes. Ed blows her a kiss. He and Stede wash up, inspect their tattoos, devour their unexpected but very welcome snack, and then comes his new favourite part of the day, getting comfy in bed with Stede. Lights out, talking softly, Stede saying things like, “You know, Ed, I don’t know if I agree that we can’t be like this forever. Who says our passion’ll cool as the years go by? Even if my lips do hurt a bit from your beard.” He gets to laugh, and rub his beard on Stede’s cheek, push him down into the pillows and kiss him senseless, have Stede retaliate, throw him down, kiss him into oblivion, and imagine if Stede’s right? That what they’ve found could last forever? He falls asleep in Stede’s arms to that thought, that hope, doors blown wide, the far off strains of a sweet song floating up from the beach.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The next day, they wake to rain. Stede’s in Ed’s arms, warm and comforted, and at first he thinks the sound is simply the ever-present background of the waves curling onto the strand. Then he opens his eyes, and sees the raindrops rolling steadily down the window, and realises the sound he’s hearing is the wind. His first thought is a hope that the weather clears before the wedding tomorrow. His next thought is for all the beachside and seaside events Lucius and Pete had planned for today, right down to kitesurfing for anyone who wanted to try it. He doesn’t think either of them will be content to while away the hours with tabletop games in the hotel lobby; they might’ve played cards, but certainly not all day. He drags his phone towards him without dislodging Ed from his big spoon position, and looks up the weather. Expected to clear for the rest of the week, but not before the evening. He’s searching for rainy day wedding party activities, as part of his best man duties, when Ed stirs behind him. A kiss lands on his bare shoulder. He shoves the phone away and oozes into Ed’s hold. “Mm. Morning.” “It’s raining?” Ed says. He rises half-up, glances at the window, then sinks back down, draping himself over Stede from behind. “Brilliant. I’m taking a nap.” Stede chuckles. “Don’t you mean, going back to sleep?” “I don’t.” Ed grazes his fingertips up and down Stede’s arm. “I woke up around five and caught up on a bunch of stuff. Ideas and— Work emails and so on.” “Did you really?” He shuffles about, until they’re lying face to face. “I didn’t...” Ed shrugs. “I’ve done it before. Sometimes even at three or four—unless I’ve stayed up all night.” “Oh, I do that, too. No, what surprised me was that I didn’t wake up.” He used to have trouble falling asleep. After the kids came along, he began to wake at the slightest sound from their rooms. And in the year or so he’s been on his own, his habits have become completely bachelor-like, just as Ed’s apparently are. He never imagined he could be with someone, and be so comfortable that he would sleep through their movements. “Yeah, you were sleeping pretty deeply.” “Oh no, was I snoring?” “Nah. Just...” Ed scans his face, mouth shifting into a soft smile. “Cosy. Content.” He can’t keep from imagining himself drooling into his pillow, but Ed’s expression is an easy one, beguiling, and Stede’s forced to believe that someone—Ed—could find him attractive in oblivion. He sets his palm to Ed’s cheek, draws in for a kiss. “I think I’d like to watch you sleep, too.” Ed’s skin is soft, and his scent is familiar already, eucalyptus and tea tree oil, as if they’re waking today after a hundred days, or ten years, or longer. Ed doesn’t even taste of morning breath, but— “You even made tea? And I slept through all that?” Ed’s turn to chuckle. “I plugged the kettle in in the bathroom. Told you, you looked peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you.” “I wouldn’t have minded,” he says, and the trickle of the rain on the window blends in with the sighs of the breaths they share between kisses, and he can’t even miss the early morning they might have shared, or feel self-conscious at Ed having observed him in sleep, not when Ed is right here with him, kissing him back, kissing him over and over, and his hands are sliding around to palm Stede between his shoulder blades, at the small of his back, holding him close, holding him firmly. He’s never been simply held like this before. Both their phones go off at the same time. His is the ringtone he’s set for Lucius—“Papa Was A Rodeo”—and Ed’s must be Pete calling because his phone is belting out Franz Ferdinand. Interlude broken, they start their day. Lucius would be inclined to wallow, still moping hours after breakfast, but Pete doesn’t stop tossing out suggestions, and Izzy and Fang are also full of ideas and, eventually, the day takes shape. Starting with photos of the wedding party in the rain. Lucius and Pete’s photographer is a local, and has turned them on to a cave system at the far end of the island, full of “atmosphere and romance”. The rain is steady, but the air is warm, and the sky is light, as if the clouds might break up at any moment. They all gather in the wedding suite to fix hair or makeup or clothing or all three—plus accessories—and John has a Getting Ready playlist and, later, when they’ve piled into three cars and driven through the mist down to the cave, a Rained Out Wedding playlist, half-soft, half-lively. In between shots, when the photographer’s busy with others, Stede steals away and sketches. He fills half a sketchpad with the rain, falling in a slanting drizzle over the sea. With the sun, long rays angling down through a dove-grey cloud, touching a line of rocks jutting out to sea. A huddle of seabirds on the rocks, and now and again a bird taking flight and soaring over the stretch of sand being pelted with raindrops. The rest is given over to his friends, strung out along the sand, some of them barefoot, wading along the shore, others huddled together, sharing one umbrella. Then the entire group directly beneath the entrance of the cave—he captures then with quick lines and no shading, just at the moment when they’re all waving their arms, calling him to hurry up and take his position for the next photo. And, here, there, and everywhere, Ed. Ed among the barefoot crowd, striding with Jim and Archie through the rainwashed waves. Ed at the cave’s entrance, one hand up, resting on the rock, as he gazes out over the long stretch of beach. Ed, hair swept up into a messy bun, in the act of slipping out of his suit jacket, glancing down, exposing the long line of his neck. Ed catching Pete in a hug, high-fiving Frenchie, chatting amiably with Zheng. At one point, when half the crew are posing for some complicated action shot around Pete, Lucius comes by and they sketch together, the pad spread across both their laps where they’re seated in the shelter of the cave’s entrance. Five minutes, without looking at each other’s work. Once their time’s up, pencils down, they glance at the other sketch. Lucius laughs. “You put Ed in the middle!” “Well, he is!” “Ah, no. No, he isn’t, babe.” Lucius sighs, as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’ll sketch your wedding fun and games, and I’ll put Pete in the centre of every frame.” He stops in the act of stowing away his sketchpad. “My wedding?” “Not engaged yet?” Lucius gives his knee a friendly rub. “You will be soon enough. I’ve seen those googly eyes across the table at every meal.” “I’m not sure what that has to do with the price of fish, but I suppose...” “Just don’t forget to thank me, often, with lavish gifts.” “Thank you?” Lucius smirks. “Who d’you think got you into that One Room, One Bed situation?” “Do you mean—” “Plenty of free rooms, babe. But you don’t want to move out of yours, do you?” “I—” His gaze strays down to the beach, where Ed’s got a palm leaf in each hand, waving them as part of some game that Roach and Olu are herding everyone into, and he’s laughing, eyes shut, and Stede loves him— “No. No, I don’t want to move. Thank you.” “Well, I am fantastic at match-ups.” Lucius gets to his feet and tugs at his sleeves. He glances up at the sky. “Hey— There’s a rainbow.” Games abandoned, the crew poses as one, the photographer’s assistant shifting them about, quick, before the rainbow fades. Stede stands beside Lucius, and Ed’s on the other side, with Pete, and then the session wraps up, and they’re all carrying their paraphernalia back to the cars, and he’s not sure how it happens, but he and Ed end up in separate cars. It’s only a twenty-minute drive, it’s fine, but they arrive at the hotel and it turns out Ed was with the group that went off to a restaurant to pick up lunch for everyone. Another twenty minutes or so, then; Stede can deal with that. He doesn’t need to be joined at the hip with Ed. He wends his way to the conservatory at the side of the hotel, and has just settled in with a different sketchbook, the wee one he keeps for sketching plants and flowers, when he hears a voice. “Ah, look, it’s Bonnet the Flower Picker! Antoinette, come see who I’ve discovered lurking out here!” Moving deliberately slowly, to lengthen the time between having heard Gabriel’s voice and being forced to muster a polite greeting, Stede packs his sketchpad and pencil case back into his bag, straightens the hem of his shirt—as if it’s a collared button-down and not the Mr and Mr Crab t-shirt he lifted from Ed’s suitcase when he changed out of his photo-shoot outfit—and, snail-like, gets to his feet, tucking his hands deep into the pockets of his shorts. “Gabriel. Antoinette. Haven’t seen you in ages.” Not since graduate school in France, his final effort to delay his arranged marriage, and soak up, in secret, as much art and art history as he could. “Stede! Where have you been hiding yourself?” How appropriate. He was always in hiding back then. “Oh, here and there.” He exchanges airy cheek kisses with both of them. “We’ve been coming here for years. Since the day we met at that picnic—” “—ball. Is this your first visit?” “Yes. I’m here for—” “Well, don’t worry, it’s not always like this.” He swings his bag onto his back, and tugs at his shirt again, on purpose. The two chatty crabs on the front seem to grin up at him. “Like what?” “You know.” Gabriel rolls his eyes and Antoinette, always over familiar, digs an elbow into Stede’s ribs. “So pedestrian.” “Very rainbow connection,” Antoinette adds with a titter. “I suppose they have to keep up with the times,” Gabriel says in a long-suffering voice. Stede wore a lot of masks throughout his school years. He wore different masks throughout his marriage. But he never held back from speaking to his children with empathy and understanding whenever they questioned him about the ways of the world. And this year, this week, today, as Lucius’ best man and as Stede-who-has-met-Ed, he has no inclination or desire to ever wear a mask again. “You never know,” he says in a jaunty voice. He claps Gabriel on the shoulder and gives Antoinette a patronising pat on the cheek. Then he swings in between them and strides off, calling, “Maybe sibling marriages will become fashionable!” Cries of “what!” and “that is inane!” follow him out the door. He goes outside and around to one of the verandas facing the sea, and collapses into a lounge chair. “You all right, my lover?” “Frenchie!” He makes an effort to sit up. “Didn’t see you there. I just ran into a couple I knew back at university.” Frenchie’s utterly relaxed, arms behind his head. “Ah, that’s always a bit of a party pooper, isn’t it?” He eases back into his seat, comforted by the sight of Frenchie’s casual demeanour. “You can say that again. I don’t like being reminded of how I was back then.” “Yeah, from my experience, running into old acquaintances always makes you feel like a bit of a jackass.” He sits up again, rummages in his bag. “I don’t like the way it makes me feel about my art.” He tosses his sketchpad and pencils onto the nearest table. At that moment, Jackie and Swede appear, Swede carrying a tray of cocktails and fruit juices. Stede accepts a fruit juice with extra ice. Can’t help but check his phone for a message from Ed—and there is one, a photo of the dessert menu and a “which one should we get?” He chooses the tartufo, because it’s the only one that’s new to him. “What was that about jackasses?” Jackie asks, as she and Swede settle in across the table. Stede gives a quick rundown of the couple to keep an eye out for. He didn’t even linger long enough to find out why Gabriel and Antoinette are here; a holiday or some sort of anniversary, probably. “Honestly? They were horrible, even as university students. We always ended up at the same parties, and they...they seemed nice at first. But they’re fickle.” “But what do they have to do with your drawings?” Swede asks. “I made the mistake of showing them some sketches once. A nature study, and a still life. I still remember the words...” Lily-livered. Weak. Not the modern— “I know what that feels like,” Jackie broke in. “But you can’t live like that. Ya got to get over it! You can’t end up like me.” “Why, what’re you—” “I went after anyone who’d doubted me. Built up my business from nothing, took down everyone who questioned me or got in my way.” Jackie heaves a deep sigh. Swede sets down his drink, angles sideways, starts to massage her shoulders. Jackie sighs again, a more contented sound. “All the revenge, and rage, and...anger, it, it ages you. Makes you borin’. And it’s even worse, dwelling on hurt from people that aren’t worth—” “The teeth in your head,” Swede interjects. “Or the fingernails on your hands. Or—” “Yes, thank you, boocakes,” Jackie interrupts. “Forget about those losers. Tell Stede and Frenchie about your signature cocktail.” “Oh, yes!” Swede sits up and rotates the tray on the table, showing off the three glasses still available. “I call it the Sot och Saftig, or the Sweet and Spicy, just like my wife.” He bumps shoulders with Jackie and she mumbles something in his ear that sounds like, “mucho caliente!” Stede, at a university party, would’ve drifted away from them, unnerved by their sweet closeness. In his married years, he would have run away from his feelings of jealousy. Now, he simply feels...content. Fighting the urge to check his phone for another message from Ed only because it would be rude to stick his face into a screen in the midst of Frenchie and Jackie speaking to him so candidly. But if it weren’t for that... He doesn’t think Ed would mind at all if Stede sent him message after message. Might even respond to them with excitement. Magnanimous in his love, Stede doesn’t reveal any of the suspicion surrounding Gabriel and Antoinette’s connection. He takes Jackie’s advice and puts them out of his mind entirely. Instead, he focuses on his friends. He draws his sketchpad towards himself and tries to capture the scene in a few quick lines. Jackie and Swede, eyes only for each other; Frenchie lighting up as John appears on the veranda. What do Gabriel and Antoinette know anyway? Nothing of art—or friendship. He sends Ed a quick message, asking him to get tartufo for everyone. He forgot that Ed didn’t have a chance to change. When he and Jim and Archie burst onto the veranda, overloaded with boxes and bags, and the crew begin piling in, rearranging tables and chairs, Lucius and Pete in pride of place at the head of the table, everyone passing around the food and drinks, already talking about the desserts, Stede only has eyes for Ed. The wedding’s colour scheme is a rainbow, and Stede and Lucius selected outfits and shades based on how they’ll look when they’re standing before everyone—Stede in peach and gold at one end, through Lucius, Frenchie and Wee John as officiants in the centre, then Pete in indigo and Ed, at the other end, in violet. The suits were only completed a couple of days before they all boarded their various flights, and Stede never even saw so much as a photo of Ed in the full outfit. This morning, they dressed for the photo shoot as a group, and Ed was stunning, and he told Stede he looked fantastic, but everyone was kitted out and made up and the effect was fabulous. Now, Archie and Jim have run up to their room to change, and Ed lingers in the doorway—alone. He’s breathtaking. His velvet tailcoat swishes about his hips in the breeze from a fan somewhere in the room. A few tendrils have escaped his high bun, and swirl against his cheeks in the same current of air. Stede rises and goes to him, crab husbands t-shirt and all, pulled like a magnet, like a comet caught by an orbit, like a ship swept into a current, like every inevitable attraction of forces. Reunited with Ed. “That’s my shirt,” Ed says, looking Stede over with a pouty lower lip, in a way that’s all Ed, shy and endearing and seeming ready to pounce all at once. “It’s very comfortable. Did you maybe want to...change? Before lunch?” He skims his fingers up the velvet of Ed’s sleeve, ruffles the lace at his throat. “Probably should, yeah. Can’t go staining it with yogurt or honey or...anything.” “And do you...” He’s got both hands on Ed now, slipping down his arms, cupping his elbows. “...need some help disrobing?” “Well, when you put it that way...” Ed grins. A second later, very sly and secretive about it—Lucius surely isn’t snickering at them—they skip out the door and over to the elevator bank. Two endless minutes crowded in with other wedding guests—small talk with them is pleasant, not at all like with Gabriel and Antoinette—polite nods down the corridor at another guest emerging from their room, and then they’re inside, the door’s shut and locked, the rain’s still soft and misty outside, and the afternoon is all theirs. So, true to form, as is his wont and all that, Stede overthinks the whole thing. He dithers by the dresser, wishing he were the one still wearing his layers, rather than standing there barefoot, in shorts and a jokey t-shirt, with nothing more than a couple of rings to take off. Ed hangs up his tailcoat, then layers his ruffled shirt over the back of a chair. Bare-chested, also barefoot, still wearing his tailored trousers, he approaches Stede side-on. “Hey. Having a bit of trouble with your sea legs?” “Oh, Ed!” He turns towards Ed right away, turns into Ed, because Ed’s arms are already embracing him about the shoulders. He’d spewed such nonsense in the first hour of their meeting, all about finding both his land legs and sea legs, figuring out his life. “You remembered.” “‘Yeah, babe. You and me, on a boat, having adventures. Why wouldn’t I remember?” “It was a stupid idea. You’ve got your work, I’ve got my art—” “Are you saying you don’t want to sail away with me?” He glances up from where he’s been gazing unseeing through Ed’s hawk tattoo. Yesterday they talked about moving in together, and this feels like an extension of that. “Where would we go?” Ed shrugs. “I don’t know. We’ll go to China!” “China? It’s...quite far away.” “That’s the point. Think of all we’d see just on the way, before we even get there. Why, where do you want to go?” “I hadn’t thought that far. I’m new to escaping. I don’t really have a plan.” “We could just hire a boat and stick around here. Island hop for months.” Ed trails a fingertip along Stede’s collar. “Why’d you take my shirt?” He could overthink this, too, but he shoots out his answer before his brain can start up. “I wanted to be close to you while you were out.” Then he glances down. “Why d’you have a shirt from a kids’ show, anyway?” “Couple of my cousins watch it. You, uh, look good in it.” Stede squirms under Ed’s praise. Starts to speak without any clear idea of what he’s about to say—and Ed cuts him off with a kiss. A sweet press of the lips—but everything Stede was dwelling on and fretting over leaks away on the instant. The world spins about him, but he hangs onto Ed, hands diving into Ed’s locks, and all he knows is the small sounds spilling from Ed’s throat, and the greedy way Ed kisses him and kisses him. A doubtful feeling—how could Ed want me?—threatens to rise up, but he drives it right down by kissing Ed back, by licking at his sweet mouth, by opening for him as Ed pushes right on in, tongue, and hands at his chest, and a leg between his. “Ed— I want—” “Yeah? What do you want?” “Well, you.” Ed chuckles. “Yeah, babe, want you right back. Tell me, though.” He nuzzles kisses beneath Stede’s jaw, and Stede’s knees buckle. “Tell me for real.” “I want...” He barrels right over the overwhelm. Thinks of what he wished for last night. “I want to see you.” He plucks at Ed’s waistband. “All of you.” “Okay. You, too?” “Yeah. Yes. Okay.” They keep their eyes on each other as they strip, and the second they’re naked, Stede surges up and kisses the crinkles at the corners of Ed’s eyes, both sides, ignoring, for the moment, everything further below. “Hey.” Ed cups his cheeks and draws back. “You okay?” “I’ve never, um... This is my first time...” He glances around at all the lamps, bright, when the sky is still overcast. “D’you want to turn off some of the lights?” He nods, not quite trusting his voice. Everything is a lot, right now. Ed doesn’t let go of him but reaches for the nearest switch. He fiddles with it until he’s got both bedside lamps on and no other lights, then tugs at the curtains. “You good?” He nods again. With the curtains drawn, the dimness helps him focus, helps him keep to the mental image of himself and Ed at the centre of the world, no one else and nothing to bother them. “Ed...” He steps back. “Could you... Just stand there for a sec? I’ve never been fully naked with anyone before. I want to look at you.” “When you say ‘anyone’...” He shrugs, self-deprecating. “Mary and I just didn’t... Anyway.” “It’s okay, I get it.” Ed skims his hands down Stede’s arms and takes his hands. “I’ve been naked loads. But I’ve never...taken time like this.” He lets go and steps back again, strikes a pose, legs spread and hands splayed. “This is me.” “Ed.” He leaps over his own self-consciousness and rakes his gaze down Ed’s form. “You’re so beautiful.” He doesn’t know where to look first, tattoos or soft belly, or legs—or Ed’s cock, straining to one side, as if, possibly, aching for Stede to— He raises his hand and reaches for Ed, not even certain where to land first. The star-glimmer of Ed’s hair, where it falls over his shoulders. Or his shoulder, dropping soft, leading down to his waist. Or the dip at Ed’s waist, or— Ed takes his hand, draws them close again, no gap between them at all. Stede’s hard cock bumps Ed’s thigh and he lets out a gasp. “What next?” Ed asks, low-voiced. “I don’t— No, I know.” He rocks on his heels, pushing them into each other once more. “I want— Can I taste you?” “Yeah. ’Course, yeah. Do you— Have you ever, um, practiced, in any way?” “No,” he whispers. “Do you want me to go first?” “No. I just want to—do it.” “Not slow?” Ed asks, as if he knows, as if he understands that if Stede pauses for even one more thought, he’ll lose the momentum that’s carried him this far. “And, like this?” “Oh. I, um— I don’t know. I’ve pictured it this way. Is that okay?” “Can I sit down?” “Oh, Ed, I’m sorry—” “No. You haven’t done anything wrong.” Ed shuffles them over to the bed and drops to sitting, Stede between his legs. “Look. I’ve never...talked this through before, yeah? But we can... Ask me for whatever you need. And I’ll do the same.” “So this can be...whatever we want it to be?” “Yep.” He’s going to drown in the way Ed’s looking at him, all big eyes beneath his lashes, and his voice so small, as if he’s speaking these words for the first time. And by his admission, he is— Ed might have more experience physically, but the intensity of these emotions is new for both of them. Stede’s never had an ally before, never had someone who guided him through anything as carefully as Ed is coaxing him now. “Thank you, Ed.” He folds himself into Ed’s arms, presses into him, chest to chest, and angles for a kiss. Gets lost in it, in all of Ed’s scents and flavours, florals and fruits and all, in the firm grasp Ed has on his arse, the way their cocks are lined up, rubbing against each other, whiting out all thoughts in his mind. “For what?” Ed asks after a while. “For giving me space,” Stede manages to respond, between kisses, between lips meeting and tongues glancing. “For being yourself, for wanting me.” “It’s more than just that,” Ed says. “I love you the way you are, yourself.” “I love you, Ed.” Their kisses are frantic, panting, wet—and he realises they’re wet below, too, leaking at each other. “Ed— I’m going to—” “Yeah. Go ahead. Do you—” Ed cups his cheeks again, kisses him, hard. “D’you want me to say anything? Hold you a certain way?” “No— I mean, tell me if I get something badly wrong—” “You won’t.” He kisses Ed for that, then keeps going, trailing open-mouth kisses down past Ed’s chin, along his throat, right over his hawk tattoo, between his collarbones. Wants to linger at his chest but doesn’t want to lose his nerve, so he drops to his knees. And oh, there’s a lot to explore here. His eyes are closed by instinct, but they don’t have to be, do they? This isn’t getting through, relying on imagination and fantasy to finish. This is Ed. He’s with Ed. And he can look— Taste— Touch— All he wants. He opens his eyes. Licks at the head of Ed’s cock. Same salt-bitter-sweet as last night. Wraps his hand about the base. Ed moans, above him, and his hands hover for a moment, then land on Stede’s shoulders. Stede closes his eyes again, this time because he’s nosing right into Ed’s crotch, exploring scent and taste at once. His breaths are heavy over Ed’s balls, and that seems to fire Ed up even more, has him thrusting a couple of times before he firms his grip on Stede’s shoulders, clenches the muscles in his thighs. Stede can feel it all. He still doesn’t know which way to go first, what to try, he wants all of it so badly. He licks at Ed’s balls, keeps going, gives one long lick up Ed’s length. “Stede— You feel good—” Humming, he wraps his lips about the head of Ed’s cock. Instinct has him begin to suck right away. He knows, vaguely, the sort of touch that feels good on himself, the speed or the clutch of his own hand, and he picks up that rhythm. It’s tricky, at first, to line up his hand and his mouth, form a seal. But if he doesn’t think, if he unclenches his jaw, purses his lips, and just lets his body take over, it seems to work. He bobs his head, speeding up the second he gets his hand aligned with his mouth, inhaling a deeper breath now and again, lost in Ed’s musky scent and sweet-salt taste, until suddenly Ed’s crying out, letting loose a strangled moan, scrabbling at his shoulders. Stede doesn’t pull off, only draws back to hold Ed at the tip, and swallow all Ed gives him. He didn’t even get a chance to use his tongue, he didn’t take Ed all the way down, to his throat, or— Ed tugs him up by the arms, and they fall onto the bed, face to face. Ed kisses him, a slow, parted-lip kiss, and Stede melts into his side. “So good,” Ed murmurs against his mouth. “You were so good, Stede— Love— Incredible—” Stede’s cock hasn’t flagged one bit, and only grows more desperate at Ed’s praise, as he ruts against Ed’s thigh. “Let me,’” Ed says, and Stede’s nodding for a third time, moaning with it, thoughts once more winging away and leaving him with nothing but instinct. It hasn’t failed him so far with Ed. “Can I—” “Told you, love, whatever you want, however you want.” “Can I lie back, like this?” He doesn’t think he has any strength in his limbs, and he reckons that Ed ministering to him is going to wipe him out completely. But as Ed nips and nibbles his way down Stede’s body, he remembers again that this isn’t like any time before. He can look if he wants to. He can wallow in the sensations. There’s no hurry to reach a goal. He rises up on his elbows and looks down, just at the moment when Ed sits up on his knees and gathers up his hair, tying it all back into a bun. That means he’s laid out before Ed, his entire body on display. Suddenly, his legs feel goofy. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He sucks in his lips, shuts his eyes. Ed’s there. Ed, leaning over him, kissing the corner of his mouth, his hand ghosting over Stede’s cock. “I got you, love. You’re so hot, I can’t believe I get to see you like this.” “Ed—” He strains upward for a kiss, eyes still firmly closed. “I got you,” Ed says again, kisses him, long and deep. His grip tightens about Stede’s cock. “Ed— I’m already—” He squirms, twitching in Ed’s hold, seeking both more and less. Ed dives down and takes him into his mouth. Is it right to watch this, to watch Ed? His inner artist overcomes all the thoughts crowding the doorways of his mind, trying to force him into overthinking. The need to look is stronger than all of the doubts combined. Gasping for air, Stede opens his eyes. He has to look at Ed, has to see, to sear this moment into his mind’s eye. Ed, with his eyes open, seemingly untroubled by gazing straight down into Stede’s crotch. Mouth stretched wide, swallowing down Stede’s cock— His tongue swirling beneath the head, his cheeks hollowing— He’s a vision, his mouth is ecstasy, Stede is— Stede’s coming, harder and quicker than he ever has before, groaning, clenching all over, at thighs, at fingers, at jaw. Then, wrung out, he falls back on the bed, shuddering, breaths short. Ed lies down beside him, tows him in with a hand at Stede’s waist, their bodies flush. He murmurs soft words in his ear as Stede comes down. “Good man. You did so well. Never felt this good before. Love you.” “Love you,” he whispers back, and opens his eyes. “That was incredible, Ed.” He smiles at Ed’s warm expression. “I keep saying ‘never’, but I’ve never had that. Is it always like this?” “Yeah, nah. I’ve never had it like this before either. Reckon it’s you and me, babe.” “Oh, what a lovely thought.” He spins about and kisses Ed, startles at the way their tastes mingle. There are a lot of first times involved in a first time, it seems. Nevers becoming firsts—and an always. Still kissing, they slowly come to themselves and sit back up, reaching for the nearest t-shirts. Ed finds a pair of shorts and tugs them on, goes to draw the curtains once Stede’s dressed. Bright light filters in; the rain is letting up. They wash and head back down, both of them slightly sheepish at how obvious their actions are. But only Lucius and Izzy give them knowing looks; everyone else is too absorbed by dessert. There’s a tartufo each for Stede and Ed, too, and before the past hour, Stede might have said it’s the best thing he’d ever put in his mouth. Now he’s got to come up with an adjective that’s slightly less extravagant than soul-changing. “Cosmic,” he declares. “The perfect rainbow connection.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Wedding day is upon them. Truth be told, it started last night, at the dinner every wedding guest was invited to. Ed’s not sure if everyone else managed it, but the wedding party somehow kept their heads, didn’t go too crazy, actually got a solid sleep. Right up until the last moment, Lucius was dithering about spending the night apart from Pete. “It’s stupid, I know,” he kept saying. “But isn’t ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ a thing? I’ve never had that before.” “We’ve never spent a night apart, babe,” Pete says. “Not the whole night, anyway,” he adds, and they exchange smirks. “You know,” Fang says, musing. “Frenchie and John have the suite next to yours...” And that’s how they all end up in the same space, doors flung open, sitting up late and sharing stories. Couples flitted away here and there as the night wore away, until the only ones left were himself and Stede, and Lucius and Pete, sprawled in robes on two separate beds, still chatting quietly. They might’ve traded battle scars, or advice, or even teased each other. Instead, they simply shared a toast, fizzing with anticipation for today. He got to fall asleep holding Stede’s hand, and though they woke with what felt like a hundred alarms blaring at once from each person’s phone, he felt well rested and came to more easily than he had in ages, snuggled into Stede’s side. Speaking of absence, he didn’t see Stede at all for a few hours after that. Following breakfast, long before the ceremony, everyone split into two groom sides for the final preparations. Lunch was finger foods snatched in between dressing up, checking on the decorations, and hiding away to finalise his speech. Then he’s standing under the arbour with Pete, and Stede comes down the gardens and stands at his mark. He gives Pete an encouraging smile, before he meets Ed’s gaze. His eyes widen, and he doesn’t hide his up and down glance over Ed’s form. Ed does the same to him, from golden curls to endless legs in their peachy trousers, and he remembers the moment he first spotted Stede, less than a week ago. The way he homed right in at the sight, amid the swirling crowds on the pier, the sounds and smells all around, like Stede was something freshly blown in by the gentlest sea breeze, for his eyes alone. Or something. Because Ed’s always lived near the water, always been aware, in the background, of tides and sands, and the way they change with the seasons. But Stede is different. Fascinating. Ed recognises his insecurities; he has his own, and his own ways of covering them up or shoving them behind so many doors that he hopes they’ll never rise from the deeps. Stede, for all he’s talked of hiding, back in his past, still seems closer to the surface than Ed. As if he’s so true to himself that he can only mask so much, even if it’s led him to get hurt. Ed found out about Gabriel and Antoinette, both from Jackie and, late last night, haltingly, from Stede, who said he didn’t want to keep secrets from him but was used to not discussing incidents like that, because “talking makes them more real, Ed. Sometimes I just pretend they didn’t happen, and if I keep trying to pretend, it sort of works. Sometimes.” Ed wants to carve a space where Stede never has to pretend like that again. His first thought is that he should’ve been there, shouldn’t’ve separated from Stede. Maybe that’s a slippery slope; he’s got his own pretensions, and one of them involves burying the pain of past relationships in which he’s been told he’s too clingy. His next thought is, as usual, that he shouldn’t be that way, that he should learn from Lucius and Pete, who are committed to each other in every way, and yet move through the world so easily, whether together or apart. It’s not easy to stick to that when Stede is standing across from him on the dais, whether in mind or body—or heart. Stede glows, and Ed feels like that moth Stede said was his favourite—he’s fallen in love with a guy who has a favourite moth. He’d never have imagined this, but now it simply makes him believe that even on days when he feels as small as that moth, that Stede won’t think of him as insignificant, but as something precious, to be treasured. That, maybe, clingy doesn’t have to be a bad word. There’s no sign anywhere of yesterday’s rain; the sky is free of clouds, the sun down at just the right angle to form a perfect backdrop, as Pete begins to walk down the aisle between all the guests’ chairs. He meets Lucius at the other end, and they walk back up together, arm in arm, to stand before Frenchie and Wee John. It’s all a happy blur after that, questions and responses, vows and rings, a resounding kiss. Then cocktails and photographs. Lots of milling about, lots of chatter, lots of poses. Dinner comes as a respite, especially after he and Stede have both given their speeches, surreptitiously high-fiving each other after they each make the guests laugh and cry. He’s got warmth by Stede’s side, sunset casting the beachside celebration into the sort of light found inside a shell, and good food before him. Roach supervised all the catering, and each course is tastier than the last, from soup at the start, all the way to the cheese platter. Then three kinds of dessert; fruits, and chocolates, and syrupy baklava. Ed’s about ready to take off his tailcoat and sink in to Stede’s side. They’ve already got their arms linked, spooning up one-handed the last of the cream from their fruit bowls. Why pretend he’s getting up any time soon? Then, as John raises the volume and changes up the background music to Lucius and Pete’s choice for their first dance, Stede sets down his spoon and turns to him. “We haven’t danced yet,” he says quietly. “Are you a dancer, Ed?” He sheds his tailcoat after all, and undoes some of the ruffles at his throat, lets them drag. He’s not overheated; the evening is balmy, with a gentle breeze, and this is a Pete and Lucius event, not some sort of stuffy, swanky corporate affair where he’s putting on a performance. He’s been as relaxed as he can be with a hundred different best man duties to perform. But dancing? “Now? You don’t want to wait for a faster song?” He can act dancing. Pretend to strut to something like “I’m Too Sexy”, or shimmy along with Archie and Jim on a night out. But he hasn’t held someone in his arms before—his mum and aunties don’t count. Except Stede looks confused by his answer. “Oh. Yes, if you want to.” He looks down at his dish, fiddles with his napkin. “How come?” he asks in a low voice. “I mean, we’ve already been rather close in front of everyone—” “Oh, mate, it’s nothing like that. I just...” His turn to stare at his dish, pluck out the last bite of peach, savour the brief burst of flavour. He mutters, “Don’t really know how.” “Okay. Um, we don’t have to do anything formal. I could just hold you. If you like.” “So...you do dance?” Stede shrugs off his own jacket. “Deportment was very important in my family’s circles. Part of that involved dance classes before our wedding, so that Mary and I could open the dancing in style. A very staid, very decorous waltz.” He snorts, then bursts into laughter. Catches Stede’s eye, confirms the smirk hiding there, and keeps laughing. “Nothing against a waltz. Love a good waltz. But—” “I know. If it had been our choice, sure. But it wasn’t and I— I haven’t danced with anyone since. Unless it was part of a game with the kids.” “Same. Last time was years ago, at a family wedding, with my mum. Suppose what I’m saying is... I’d love to dance with you.” “Well that’s—” Stede cuts himself off as the song changes. They’ve spent the entire slow song discussing dancing, and now the beat’s picked up and guests are surging onto the dance floor. Little coloured lights and decorative lanterns are switched on, and the servers begin to change up the layout, leaving a few small tables scattered about beyond the perimeter of the dance floor, removing all others, setting up a coffee and drinks bar to one side. They gather up their jackets, and check in with Frenchie and Roach; everything’s going swimmingly. Stede settles at a table with Fang and Izzy, and Ed brings over a tray of teas and wee glasses of the local liquor. The crew come and go, and laughter echoes all around. Ed waits. At the next slow song, he stands and holds his hand out to Stede, who’s gorgeous with the blush that sweeps over his cheeks. Slowly, he gets his feet under him, takes Ed’s hand. He doesn’t recognise the song, catches a few lines here and there that speak of eagles soaring, of dreams, of love. He doesn’t wonder where to put his hands; Stede sets a hand at his waist and another on his shoulder, so Ed matches him, and there they are, two puzzle pieces slotted together, two wings on a moth, whatever you want to call it when he’s holding someone lit by the glow of lanterns, who holds him tighter than tight, sways him gently, and whispers words of love in his ear. That’s all Ed is, the one held by Stede, and that’s all he needs to focus on, soaking up Stede’s love. “Ed.” Cheek to cheek, they rock together, spin about now and again in a slow shuffle, lost in the crowd of dancers. Zheng, Olu, Jim, and Archie dance in a joyful huddle nearby. “Stede.” “You feel so perfect in my arms.” “This is lovely.” “Yeah.” Stede lets out a happy sigh. Ed realises he’s never actually heard a sound like that in all his life. He used to think it was the sort of thing you’d hear in the kinds of films he hardly ever admitted watching. But he no longer hangs out with the old crowd, the ones he had to hide those preferences from. And now he’s heard a happy sigh in real life, from the man who looks at him with eyes filled with affection, adoration. He grips Stede even more tightly, and lets out a pleased, content sigh of his own. The song floats over their heads for a minute or two more, then fades right into an ’80s hit. They stay on the dance floor, join their friends, keep dancing. Whenever a slow song comes on, they come together, mothwings once more, and breathe the same air, trading happy sighs. Later, much later, he and Stede end up back in Lucius and Pete’s suite. The crew have melted away, and once again they’re the final four. They’ve got a bottle of champers to share, and Lucius has somehow found out about how they played AMA and Never Have I Ever on the first night. “Brilliant,” he says, lounging between Pete’s legs, leaning back on Pete’s chest. “We can play truth or dare!” “Great idea, babe,” Pete tells him. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” Lucius twists about and looks at him. “Is there?” “Well, no. But you could dare me to...” “Wait!” Stede says. “We have to spin a bottle first, don’t we?” He reaches across for an empty champagne bottle and sets it on the coffee table between their couches. “Shall I spin?” “Go ahead.” He lands on Pete, and they discuss the options as a group, then dare him to sneak into John and Frenchie’s next door, steal a towel, and return. Pete nearly blows it when, halfway back through the door, he cries, “I can’t believe how well this is going!” Then he spins and lands on Lucius, who unexpectedly also chooses dare. Stede comes up with a good one— Go downstairs, find a remaining wedding guest, and ask them if they’ve ever been sketched. It sort of works, except that the only guest still on his feet is Izzy, nursing a quiet whisky at the bar before bed. He follows them back to the suite, where Lucius, after Izzy flat out refuses his original idea, sketches Izzy as he spins the bottle. The bottle lands on Stede. “Truth,” Stede says. Izzy considers him, taking what seems like a deliberately slow sip of his whisky. Lucius is still sketching. Stede stares right back at Izzy. This time, rather than all debating together, they wait for Izzy to come up with a suggestion on his own. “What is the most humiliating thing you’re into that you’d never admit out loud?” Izzy asks. Lucius glances up from his sketchpad. “Ooh, strong question, love that.” “Well, I don’t know yet, do I?” Stede retorts, somewhat bitchily. “I mean, I’ve hardly experienced the full— Oh. It doesn’t have to be about sex, does it?” Lucius and Pete laugh with gusto, Izzy rolls his eyes—and Ed feels horribly cheated. He wants to hear Stede’s bedroom answer, damn it. He catches Stede’s eye, gives him an encouraging pat and rub on the shoulder. “You’ve got this, babe.” “Humiliating for who?” Stede says, still arguing. “I like building model ships, but that’s not—” “That’ll do fine,” Izzy interjects. “Come on, spin again.” Lucius gets dared to go ask at the front desk for lube, and swaggers his way through it. Izzy gets dared to wake up a random guest with an inane question, and decides to call Roach. A bleary Roach picks up and, when Izzy says, “Have you got all your knives?” he goes, “Oh no, not this dream again!” and hangs up. They fall about laughing. Then Pete gets dared to serenade Lucius from the garden, and they’re laughing again on the balcony as three people yell at Pete from their windows and Pete comes running gleefully back inside. Pete spins and, this time, the bottle lands on Ed. He’s too comfortable, in sleep shorts and robe, back on the sofa, curling up to warm his chilled feet after the balcony sojourn, so—maybe unwisely—he says, “Truth.” “What is the coolest thing you’ve ever done?” Pete asks right away. Lucius digs an elbow into his ribs and he adds, “And the scariest thing you’ve ever seen?” He should maybe feel gratified that none of them calls foul on the double-question, since they all seem to want to hear his answer. But it’s not that simple, is it, because Izzy and Pete know that the answer to both questions is the same, and Lucius must’ve heard it from Pete or he wouldn’t have goaded him for the second half. The only one who doesn’t know is Stede. Cosied up next to him, holding Ed’s hand on his lap, Stede. Bright-eyed, not yet showing any sign of sleepiness, Stede. They’ve already got matching tattoos; he shouldn’t have any secrets from Stede. “Not exactly a light-hearted story, mate,” he tells Stede. “Not like, I don’t know, skydiving into a volcano or facing down a tiger or something.” “You’ve done those things?” Stede asks, breathless. “The volcano, yeah.” He sighs, and this is nothing like those happy sighs from before. “The tigers was my dad.” He gets into it, then. The Carmody Estate his mum used to work at, for people so rich they thought they were above the law. If the trust fund kid wanted a pet tiger, the trust fund kid got a pet tiger. And Ed’s dad showed up there one day, drunk, trying to cage some cash from Ed’s mum, and the tiger was loose on the grounds. “I don’t think they fed him properly or regularly. I guess the three of us in a huddle looked good, or maybe I did, smaller than my parents, just a young waif... He bounded towards us, and the sight of all that desperate hunger coming at us is the scariest thing I’ve ever seen. No force you can plead at, or reason with. And I guess the coolest thing I’ve ever done is stand in front of my mum, even though she fought me to stand before me. “I think that’s what saved us— We were tussling, and moving, and my dad was just standing there. Guess he looked like easier prey.” “Whoa.” Stede squeezes his fingers. “I’m sorry, Ed.” “Good news is, my dad was a dick.” Now the hard part is over, the rest is easy to tell. Past the terrors of witnessing his dad’s gruesome demise firsthand, his and Mum’s life had gotten infinitely better after that. “Bit of a media circus for a while, but after it all died down, and the tiger was sent to a rescued animal centre, we did all right, Mum and I. She got a better job, I had a wild story to tell at school, and that was that.” He leans forward and spins the bottle, maybe with a touch more force than necessary. There’s the relief of having gotten the story out, but even more of an emotional wave is the way Stede’s looking at him. Not with pity or awe or any of the other kinds of stares he got back then. No, Stede’s still wearing the same affection, the same adoration, he’s held since the hour they met. The bottle slows, lands on Stede. Stede stares at it for a moment. Lucius flips a page and is obviously now sketching them. Stede looks up, meets Ed’s eyes and, dimple appearing as he smiles, says, “Dare.” Right away, the others start shooting out ideas. Climb up onto the roof, Pete says. Write a message in the sand for someone to find tomorrow, Izzy says. Sing and dance the YMCA in the lobby, Lucius says. Stede cringes harder at each one. “Want to do something weird?” Ed asks quietly. Just like last time, Stede’s gaze brightens and he gives Ed a raised brow. “Skinny dipping,” Ed tells him. “Right now. Nightswimming.” And Stede doesn’t back down. Izzy bows out, but Lucius and Pete are in. They race downstairs and out the door, sprint down to the beach—and there’s a barrier up. A great big sign proclaims that the beach is closed from two till six. Muttering, they trudge back up to the suite. Lucius offers them a nightcap, and they dole out the last of the champagne, clink glasses and sip. Hugs all around, and back to their room. “Hey, Ed,” Stede says slowly, as they brush their teeth. “I didn’t get to do my dare. D’you want to ask me for another one?” It strikes him that now he has a chance to hear the answer he missed out on earlier. “I dare you to answer Izzy’s first question the way you thought he asked it. What do you think would be the most humiliating thing you’d be into in the bedroom?” Stede pauses in the act of pulling off his robe. “Why would it be humiliating?” he asks. “Is it something gross?” “You tell me.” “I’m not really into gross things.” He makes a face, half-confused, half-considering. “I suppose it might seem humiliating if I wanted you to call me names or something, but if I liked it, it wouldn’t actually be humiliating.” “Semantics, babe.” He throws off his own robe and peels back the covers. “Give me something weird you think you might like.” “Well, skinny dipping sounded fun,” Stede says with a grin. That seems to remind him to check whether the curtains are shut, and twitches them even more tightly closed. “I’ve never done that.” “It’s not really weird, though.” He holds out his hand and Stede takes it right away, climbs into bed beside him. They’re both in sleep shorts and t-shirts. It’s late, and besides sips of champagne in the past few hours, they’ve barely touched a drop; they’re not even tipsy, but it’s obvious they’re both a little wired from the long day. “I’m not sure I’m into weird.” Stede faces away from him, fiddling with the nearest light switch. He dims every lamp except the nightlight sort of glow in the entranceway. “Are you into weird?” he asks. It’s like the dancing question all over again, but even more personal. He still hasn’t got an idea of the sorts of things Stede might like. His own preferences seem more complicated to explain because, if he’s going to be honest, it’s going to get very personal indeed. “I’ve never done weird,” he admits. “Been in public a few times, sort of. Pub bathrooms and that.” “Well, what would you like that’s humiliating?” “Don’t know. I’d try stuff with you I’ve never tried with anyone else. Having my hands tied to the bed or something, maybe.” He layers his free hand over their clasped fingers, talks towards their hand sandwich. “Let you have your way with me.” “Maybe,” Stede says, matter of fact about it, like he doesn’t realise Ed’s just revealed a true, deep desire. Then he adds, “In future when I know what I’m doing. When I know your body better.” Maybe Stede does realise. “Ah,” Ed says, throat closing up. Stede ducks, catching his eye, smiling sweetly at him. “Does that sound good?” “Yeah. Yep.” He’s still choked up, by Stede seeing him, by Stede talking of the future—their future, by Stede not mocking in the least the way he framed his want. Stede adds his hand on top of Ed’s. “I’ve never... I never imagined I’d be comfortable enough with anyone that I would wish for them to know me that well. The way you think you might be with me, to, um, offer yourself like that. But I can picture it with you, Ed. I can picture feeling safe enough to offer you myself.” “Ah,” he says again, and this time it’s because he’s bowled over by the thought of—Stede. Exploring with him, learning his body, his reactions, all the unhinged sounds he could coax from him, the pleasure he could offer Stede— Maybe they can start tonight. He copies Stede’s head tilt, gives him a quick kiss on the cheek, then a longer kiss on the mouth. “All right.” He stops them from melting into kisses and forgetting his goals. One, get an answer. Two, start showing Stede his options. “Here’s your replacement one then, truth instead of dare. What’s your favourite thing about me?” “After five days?” He smirks. Stede’s obviously stalling. “Yeah. I’ll tell you mine.” “You go first, please.” “Okay, love.” He gets it; they’ve both gone a long time, hiding their wants from others. Stede is a fun mix of confident and insecure and Ed figures shoring up the places Stede’s hesitant about could help him too. “My favourite is how much you want to play with me. Not in bed, I don’t mean that. Or, not only that. I mean, in five days of being together nearly nonstop, you’ve never once rolled your eyes at me or ignored a question or just talked past something I’ve said. You’ve taken every ball I’ve tossed and run with it.” “Oh, Ed.” Stede unhooks their hands and reaches for him, fingers carding through his hair, dislodging his bun, pulling him in for a long kiss. “Ed, I love this. This openness. The way I can kiss you if I want to. Kiss your cheek whenever I want. Ask to play with your hair, or give you a massage or... Or the opposite. That first day, when you offered to rub the after-sun on my shoulders—” “Not exactly altruism on my part.” “I know,” Stede says, smiling. “That’s my point. The absolute freedom of touch. I’ve longed for that, you know. I...” He turns his face aside again, straightens the covers over their laps. “I know what I think I’d be into. It’s not humiliating or weird.” He tugs the blankets out of Stede’s hands, leads him to stop fidgeting. “Hey. You know I’m already into it, if it’s with you.” “I can’t stop thinking about being inside you.” Ed could melt into the mattress. He could tackle Stede down to the mattress. He could take this slow or dive on him and smother him with kisses. He could— He should say something, before Stede panics. “That sounds good,” he says, and it comes out garbled, because in middle age, he’s suddenly forgotten how to align his breath and his words. “Really good.” “But I want you to show me first.” “Now?” “Yes.” Stede grabs the hem of his shirt and flicks it off. Goes for his shorts. Ed stops him with a hand over his. “Slow, yeah?” “If we have to.” Stede reaches for Ed’s shirt instead, and Ed raises his hands, lets him pull it up and over his head. “I already know you’ll make me feel good, Ed. I want to learn how to make you feel good.” Melting into the mattress is still on the cards. He gathers up a remaining brain cell and asks, “Have you ever been tested?” Stede nods, reaching for Ed’s waistband. “Both Lucius and Olu said I should. That was over a year ago, and I haven’t...” “Yeah, same. I mean, not since my last relationship ended. Five years ago.” “So can I—” Stede pulls at his shorts. “Impatient, are you?” But he raises his hips and lets Stede draw down his shorts, watches Stede’s body emerge as he sheds his own clothes. Next time, another time, Ed’ll count all those freckles. “I’ve known for a long time that I wanted this, Ed.” Stede’s voice wobbles. “I didn’t think I’d ever have a chance.” Then his lip curls. “Lucius did keep suggesting I ought to enjoy a ‘slut era’. But I didn’t want to fumble my way through speed-run physical encounters. I wanted...” He’s on his knees beside Ed, and now he gets his arms about him, sets his head on Ed’s shoulder. “I wanted what we have. This connection. I suppose it seems quick or sudden or—” “Yeah, nah. It’s good. That’s all. Okay, next question.” He grazes a hand up Stede’s thigh, stops short of his hardening cock. “Do you know how you want to try it?” He nuzzles their noses together, keeps kissing the corner of Stede’s mouth as he goes on. “D’you want to lie on your back? Side? Sit on my lap?” “I don’t know,” Stede says, even as he swings a leg over and straddles Ed, just that bit too far to have their cocks brush. “I want to experience it in all ways. This sounds very...young, but, um, will it hurt?” “Maybe,” he says honestly. “Don’t bring yourself down, yeah? There’re no wrong questions. I’m excited to be sharing this with you. Ask me anything. And hey—” He pulls back far enough to look Stede in the eye. “Don’t hesitate to tell me to stop. Anytime, no matter what.” “Yes. Of course. Same for you.” He pauses for a moment, then. Cups Stede’s face in his hands and brushes his thumbs over his cheeks. His eyes seem darker in the low light, more brown than green, but there are golden flecks in there, and, yep, there’s that adoration again. He’s been on the receiving end of more affection in the last five days than in the last five—try twenty-five—years. And it sounds like Stede’s craved the same, for just as long. Kissing him, firm and deep, he nudges Stede to lie on his front. “Give me a sec,” he says quietly, and leaps off the bed to rummage in his suitcase for lube. Bounds back onto the bed, jostling Stede, before he gives in to his want and collapses right on top of him like a thrown blanket. “Sorry,” he says, and waits. He’ll move if Stede— “I like it.” “Oh, good.” He stays still a moment longer, then gives in again, and squirms. A little, side to side. Up a bit, lodging his own greedy cock into Stede’s cleft. Humming tunelessly into Stede’s neck, he keeps at it, grinding without any definite rhythm. “Ed?” “Mm?” “Remember last night? When I said I was already close?” “Ah. Yep. Got it.” He slides halfway off, keeps one leg thrown over Stede’s. Slips his hand over to Stede’s arse, where his cock was, then down to Stede’s thigh, coaxing him to lift his leg. Back to his cleft, not doing anything, just resting two fingers at his entrance. Stede clenches, then relaxes. Same as he did that night on the beach. “I swear, it’s not on purpose,” he says, self-aware. “I—” “It’s fine, love, really. I’ll keep going unless you say stop.” “Don’t stop.” Stede shunts backward, into his hand, and Ed’s fingers graze his entrance. “Ah!” “Wait, wait, this is nothing.” Laughing, kissing him again at his nape, Ed quickly gets his fingers slicked up and returns them to position. He might’ve worried about not taking his time even more, lingered and kissed Stede all over his gorgeous body, but if Stede really is close, then he’s only got a narrow window in which to show him the good shit. He starts sliding up and down, drawing circles, listening out for the kind of touch that drags out the loudest groans. Firm, not ticklish, and hinting, hinting, hinting at more, Stede pushing out one uninterrupted ah ah ah into where his face is shoved into a pillow as Ed draws closer and closer to nudging inside and— “There you are. It’s okay,” he says again, as Stede clenches about his finger. Another beat, and he loosens once more. “Feels good, Ed,” he says, somewhat slurred. “I’m not close anymore, either.” “Yeah, it changes. You might be, never know.” He grazes his mouth idly over Stede’s earlobe, along his jaw, slides his lips across Stede’s stubble. Stede smells like the entire day, matelotage and party and late-night games, rolled into one. Like a hint of how he might be on their own wedding night— Focus, Ed. He slips his finger in a little further. “Doing so well,” he murmurs. Ruts against Stede’s leg a bit, maybe to distract himself enough to go slowly with Stede, maybe to ease his own need, maybe both. “So well for me.” He draws out, inches back in, facing the other way. Finds what he’s seeking, and crooks his finger. Stede’s entire body clenches, and he throws his head back, nearly clocking Ed on the nose. With a long-drawn moan, he relaxes all over again, melting under Ed. “Again,” he says, slurring worse than ever. “Please, Ed, Ed, again.” Even garbled, his name in Stede’s mouth when he’s spread out over Stede, and inside Stede, is the hottest thing he’s heard in ages. Years. Maybe ever. He does it again and again and, when Stede stops involuntarily clenching each time, and stays loose-limbed, he keeps going for a bit longer. He’s got to add more lube, and his other arm is going numb from supporting all his weight, his elbow digging uncomfortably into the mattress. He could ask Stede to rise up on all fours, or stay where he is, but that’ll keep Stede’s cock trapped against the bed. “Can you move for me?” he asks, slowing down the push and drag of his finger, until he’s stopped completely, and pulled out. “Slide off the edge of the bed, feet on the floor.” Stede hums and starts shifting, opening his eyes as he goes. “Should I be doing something?” He plunks his feet on the floor, upright on his elbows on the bed, aligned with the t-shirt Ed scoops up from the floor and drapes over to protect the sheet, and looks up at Ed through his lashes. Ed scrambles to get off the bed and right in beside him, kissing him with all the panting desperation he’s been holding back. “You’re doing great,” he assures him between kisses. “D’you need anything?” He lines himself up behind Stede, snakes his dry hand around and palms his chest. “Any other kind of touch?” He thumbs over a nipple, then skates his hand down to Stede’s belly. “Everything feels good,” Stede says, falling forward onto the bed. “All of it. But I... I feel empty.” Ed can’t get the lube on his cock fast enough. The first touch of his hand has him thrusting at air, already eager, and Stede’s widening his stance, drawing up his leg, opening for him, all pale and golden in the low light. Whispering his name. But he’s got to take it slow, can’t just slide on in, can’t just push— “Yes, Ed! There, that’s what I want, now, please, now—” And he’s in, to the hilt. Draped right over Stede, who hasn’t clenched once, but is still moaning and muttering about being full and wanting it and how he never knew and oh, Ed, until Ed’s ears are ringing. He scrabbles his hands into position, one at Stede’s hip, the other reaching for his cock, which is rock hard and leaking. Stede sounds just fine, better than fine, but Ed draws out halfway and checks in one last time. “You okay? Can I—” “Yes. Yes, go, move, but ah, I wanted to last—” He sweeps his hand over Stede’s broad back, down to his waist, like a hug or a promise. “We’ll have more. So much— Love you.” “Love you,” Stede says, eyes shut, hips shunting back. He moans again, mouth hanging open. Ed can’t hold out anymore. He surges in, firms his grip on Stede’s cock as his body remembers how to set this sort of rhythm, remembers how good it can feel, and none of those times had anything on how Stede feels, especially when one hand snakes down, flaps at him in demand, asking for Ed’s hand. And their fingers are intertwined, their legs are practically intertwined, Stede’s hot and tight about his cock, and Stede’s cock is nothing short of a demand against his palm and fingers, and now it’s Ed babbling, having given up all control to his want, his need, his plain desire. “So good, so good, did so well, good man, I wanted— Show you— But you’re already so perfect—” “Ed—” He shifts the angle as best he can, until Stede’s writhing and calling for him, and then he’s swamped, washed away on a wave that takes his sight, his hearing, every sense but pleasure, and the heat of Stede spilling over his fingers at the same time. He pulls out as soon as he can, before Stede has to ask, and slumps over his back, burying his face in Stede’s silky sweaty hair. His heartbeat is the first sound to return, thudding in his ears. Then there’s something new— Oh, it’s Stede, mumbling. All in between soft moans, no breaks. “Ed, ah, Ed. That was... I want more. How’s that for weird? I don’t want it to be over.” “It’s not,” Ed tells him, heaving himself up by main force. “We still get to cuddle.” “Oh, lovely. Yes, please. Though I think I need—” He grimaces, twisting to make faces at his legs. Ed grins. “I’ll get you a towel. Unless you want to shower—” “No. No I don’t. I’m sore in places I didn’t know existed. I want to keep feeling them.” “Lunatic,” Ed calls him once more. “I love it.” “Oh! Was that something humiliating?” “Could be, I suppose.” He swoops in and kisses Stede’s cheek. “Ed? Did you say a towel—” The words escape him. “I don’t want to move. Want you.” Now Stede’ll grimace at him, make a face at his clinginess, tell him— “That’s good, I don’t want you to leave me,” Stede says. His heart’s pounding again. “Not even to fetch a washcloth?” “Not even for that. I’ll go myself, in a bit. But I don’t want to feel you leaving me.” “I’d come back.” “Better if you never left.” “Sounds perfect.” After a while, just as he’s getting drowsy, Stede stirs. He brings a dampened towel, and a glass of water. Each minute seems to drag, until Stede’s back in bed, back in his arms, and they’re both ready to sleep after a long day. Ed doesn’t have to change who he is; his being clingy isn’t an issue at all for Stede. Even better, Stede clings right back. And loves him about it.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The crew stagger down to the wedding brunch, miraculously appearing all at the same time, no stragglers still sleeping off the night before. Though some of their faces are definitely bleary. Stede is on his second cup of tea, but he knows that’s not why he’s decidedly perky. Only an hour ago, he and Ed woke together, and he realised that he’s been sleeping in an unusual spot all week—curled up on Ed’s chest. The combination of suddenly having Ed in his life, the wedding excitement and holiday destination, plus his blooming hopes for the future, all fizz inside him, effervescent. He bounces about from table to table, has a mimosa with Lucius, then another at Olu’s table. Then he gets pulled over to another group of guests when Steak Knife and Maggie, two friends he hasn’t seen in months, congratulate him on his best man speech. A third mimosa, and then he’s tucking into a tasty omelette, laughing at a joke Roach is telling. Ed would love this joke— Where is Ed? He forks up his final bite, returns to the buffet for a bowl of cut-up fruit to bring to Ed, wherever he is. Izzy’s at the coffee machine. “What’re you up to?” “Good morning to you, too,” Stede says, adding more peach slices to the bowl. “Yes, fine, good morning.” “Have you seen Ed?” “He went down to the beach. Why aren’t you with him?” “I was.” He looks around the room, half-expecting to spot Ed at one of the tables despite Izzy’s words. But this isn’t like yesterday morning, when they each had best man tasks to perform, and he was buzzing with activity, and the anticipation of meeting up with Ed at the ceremony. They haven’t got any further duties, and there are no plans until tomorrow, when the main crew will return to the city together. “I didn’t see him leave,” he adds, and it feels like a failing. “Guess you don’t have to be joined at the hip.” “We don’t have to—” Stede thought they both liked to be. But maybe he got too comfortable, too quickly. Forgot to remind himself to be aware, to stay in the moment. Not get overwhelmed, or distracted. “Why, did Ed say something?” Izzy glances towards the windows. “Typical Ed stuff. Something about opening his doors wide, but maybe he should’ve kept one shut. You know the way he talks, always expecting the other person to keep up.” Stede hasn’t had any trouble keeping up. Ed even told him last night that he could take the ball and run with it, and now he’s letting Ed down. “You’ll see,” Izzy adds. “He’s obviously found some way to catastrophize. He’s a complicated man.” Stede would’ve said the opposite, but Izzy’s known Ed a lot longer. Though Ed did tell him, among all their questions the first night, about how they’ve become more distant over the years, and how he’s closer to Fang now. He glances at Fang’s table, but he’s huddled with Lucius and Pete, chuckling and telling a story. Izzy sweeps up a tray with four coffees, and nods in their direction. “Come sit, if you want. While you wait.” “Oh. Thanks.” He has no intention of waiting, he’d rather run out after Ed—but it’s a novel feeling, to be included. He walks with Izzy to the table, and is about to make his excuses when Roach starts grouping everyone together for a photo. “Where’s Ed?” Pete asks. Stede takes his chance. “I’ll get him!” He skips out the nearest door, down the steps of the veranda, then has to circle around the main building before he reaches the stone steps leading to the sand. Once on the beach, he realises he’s without hat and sunscreen again, and he can’t see Ed anywhere. He heads off in the direction of the lounge area from the first night, beyond a rocky outcropping. Ed’s there, seated on a sort of ledge formed by the rocks, only a foot or so above the waves. He’s got his hair piled up high on his head, and he’s barefoot. The sun—the sparkle off the sea, the reflection off the rocks behind him—shines down as if on him alone. “Ed? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He fixates on a bead of sweat tracking down Ed’s neck, to the collar of his t-shirt. He’s still holding the dish of fruit, and now it feels heavy in his hand. “Hey.” Ed toys with a frond of dry seaweed in his hands, doesn’t look up. “I’m just getting some air.” “I was about to head out, after Izzy told me you were here, but then— Oh, and Roach is trying to get us all together for a group photo—” “Right, yeah. Go ahead, then.” “Eh? No, you too. Obviously.” “Is it obvious?” Ed flicks the seaweed on the rocks, and a part of it breaks off. “Yes?” He slides closer, one foot, then another. “Ed? Everything all right?” “Just trying to keep out of your way.” Ed shrugs. “Okay.” He doesn’t know what else to say. Ed obviously got tired of his antics and stepped out, because why would anyone linger with Stede and— “You were having a fine time at brunch. Didn’t need me, so.” Ed balls up the seaweed and pitches it towards the water. One wave, and it’s gone, floating away. “Don’t want to, you know, be too clingy.” “Okay,” he says again, and takes another step and erases the space between them. Ed’s hands are empty, hanging between his knees where he’s got them drawn up nearly to his chin. “May I?” He sets a hand to Ed’s knee, nudges him to straighten his leg so that Stede can get even closer, right up against his side. Ed lets him. He holds out the fruit bowl. Ed mumbles his thanks and accepts it, sets it beside him on the rock. With his other hand free, Stede reaches down, slides his palm against Ed’s hand, curls his fingers. Ed lets him. Then wraps his own fingers about Stede’s and grips tightly. He leans in, even closer, and whispers in Ed’s ear, barely louder than the rush and ripple of the waves. “I always need you.” “Five days, Stede. Today’s the sixth day we’ve known each other.” “So you can already know you want to cling, but I can’t know that I need you?” “It’s all fine now, on holiday.” Ed’s talking to their linked hands. “We’ll get back home, and you’ll be busy with your kids, and at work—” “I’m going to quit.” Ed finally looks up. “You too?” “Wait, what?” “That’s why I thought— If I was too much— It’ll get worse if—” “Ed, we’ve got to go in, they’ll all be waiting. Tell me as we walk?” Ed looks at him as if for the first time. “You’re not wearing your hat.” He hops down to the sand, grabbing the bowl as he goes, and Stede scurries with him off the hot sand and up to the tree-lined path that’ll be cooler on Ed’s feed. “Stay on the shady side.” Their shoulders bump now and again as they walk. “I don’t want to quit,” Ed tells him, nibbling at slices of peach. “I want to take a sabbatical.” Stede wants to lick at a drop of juice off Ed’s chin, even if now’s not the right time. “For school, or—” “To write.” “Oh!” He stops at the bottom of the veranda steps, peach juice forgotten, and Ed stops with him, his body warm against Stede’s. “That sounds wonderful! You didn’t mention anything about writing, the first night, when we talked about hobbies.” “I guess because it’s always there; I don’t really think about it as something I don’t do. Like you with your art, but it’s... Well, harder to share. You see something—Lucius, too—and you sketch it, and we can all admire it. But if I, uh, tried to write a poem, it’d have to be later, after the moment has passed. I know you do the same, if you’re painting with oils or watercolours or digitally, but that first sketch is right there. And mine comes later. So I’ve gotten used to just not sharing.” Ed stops abruptly, as if he feels he’s said too much, glancing up at Stede through his lashes, rotating the now empty bowl in his hands. “What would you use your sabbatical for?” Stede asks, instead of asking the question he really wants to, would you share your stories with me? “I’ve got a couple of novels that I’ve finished—” “Wow!” “Yeah. And I really want to find a publisher for them. So I need to write a synopsis, a query letter, I need to research agents and small presses, all that sort of thing. And there never seems to be any time. Or motivation, honestly. After a full day of work, I just can’t keep sitting in front of a computer to do more stuff that feels like work.” Mindful of the sounds from above, the laughter of their friends, he gets them moving again. “That’s brilliant, Ed. I think it’s a great idea to take time off for that.” “What about you? If you quit, what will you do?” “Oh, all I have are pipe dreams. I mostly manage the family holdings and, since my father’s death, I’ve diverted or divested a lot of it. There isn’t anything really left for me to do. I’d like to leave it all to my advisers—Zheng’s their leader—and— Well, it’s a stupid idea. I’ve only got stupid ideas.” “Oh shut up,” Ed tells him as they enter the restaurant. “I want to hear all about it, as soon as this is done.” “Finally!” Roach calls. “Where have you been?” There’s a lot of jostling and wrangling, cameras and phones passed around until, eventually, they capture one perfect candid shot, all of them grouped around Lucius and Pete, the afternoon light slanting through the tall windows, everyone’s face wreathed in smiles. The grooms have arranged more activities in town for anyone who wants to try something new, and the crew soon scatter, some for water sports, others for shopping, others to simply lie on the beach. Stede follows Ed out to the veranda again, and they settle on a bench under an awning, perusing Lucius’ updated list. “What did you mean,” Stede asks, picking up their conversation from earlier. “What is it that you think a sabbatical would make worse, between us?” “Because if we... We sort of talked about, um, moving in together. And if we did, and I was at home all the time, and...” “Ed, I’m never going to accuse you of being clingy.” “You might.” “I won’t. I might tell you if I need space, to finish something I’m working on, maybe, or if I’m painting—” “I wouldn’t bother you while you painted.” “You wouldn’t bother me at all.” “You say that now.” “Well, the only thing I can say to that is, let’s not borrow trouble. I want you. I want you all over me. I’m not going to push you away.” He looks straight into Ed’s eyes as he speaks, and he catches the moment when Ed’s gaze shifts from a wondering sort of expression, to one of surety, and affection. “Tell me your pipe dreams then,” Ed says softly. For a moment, Stede stays silent, and his mind is silent, too, because above all else, this is what Ed has been giving him since the day they met, a safe space in which to take all the time he needs to sort out his thoughts. “There’s an estate that belongs to my family,” he begins, weighing each word before he speaks, because he’s bringing this idea out into the open for the first time. “It’s mostly in disrepair at the moment, because Mary and I don’t want to live on it, and even my parents didn’t in their final years. There’s a caretaker and a groundskeeper and I go out there once in a while to— Well. I walk around and I dream my dreams.” Ed sidles even closer, until they’re practically in each other’s lap. He kisses Stede on the cheek. “What’s the dream?” “An artist space, workshop, centre, foundation, community thing.” Ed laughs. “And the kitchen sink?” Stede laughs with him. “Yes! Well, a kind of emergency space, if anyone needs a bed or a shower. It all started with the greenhouses,” he says, and sighs. “Feels like there’s a story there.” Haltingly, he tells Ed about how, before Gabriel and Antoinette, there were the Badminton twins, sons of his father’s business colleague. How their perpetual bullying and torment drove Stede further and further out into the gardens, seeking new places to hide. How, eventually, he’d ended up at the greenhouses, among the flowers and the fruits, the tall trees with broad shady leaves that easily hid a young boy even as he grew up into a young man. “Later on, too. We’d have to bring the kids to stay for a weekend, especially if my father was hosting colleagues and my mother had arranged garden parties, and I... If it became too much, I’d take Alma or Louis—never both together,” he adds with a grin, “—because they might bicker and attract attention—and I’d bring them down to the greenhouses. They’re all derelict now, haven’t been tended for years. But I’d love to give them a second chance, and bring in new flowers—or art.” “Or both?” “Oh! Could be. I hadn’t thought of that. And hey—” He tilts his head, looks up, as invitingly as he can, doesn’t want Ed to think he’s overstepping. “You could choose a spot for your writing desk.” “In a greenhouse?” “If you wanted. But, no, I meant on the estate. Anywhere. Because I might need to be there often, to oversee renovations and after, to keep the community going. If you wanted to move into a cottage together, we could. Especially if you wanted to, um...cling.” “I think I might like that.” “I would love that.” Ed nuzzles into him, dropping kisses to his neck, up behind his ear, tickling the shell with his tongue. “Ed?” He doesn’t want to drag them apart, but it’s their last day on the island, and he wants to appreciate the sand and the sea one last time. “Hm?” “Are we going to do anything on this list?” Ed slows his kisses to a stop and glances down at the sheet. “Is there anything you want to do?” “I won’t feel like I’m missing out, if we skip them all. But since it’s our last day...” What he really wants to do is return to last night’s agenda. But there’ll be time enough for that—tonight and for so many nights to come. “I think we should hit the beach.” “Skinny dipping?” “In daytime?” Ed shrugs. “We could. But maybe not today.” “There’s a pond on the estate,” Stede tells him. “And I’ve got some bad memories associated with it that need replacing.” “I can do that for you.” Ed wraps his arms about him and tugs him into a long kiss. They make it yp to their room, then get distracted in a different way, by packing, both of them suddenly wishing to get it out of the way in order to have a lazy morning tomorrow. Stopping every few minutes to admire a shirt or ask about a book in the other’s suitcase doesn’t hurry the process. Neither does kissing. Neither do their wandering hands, when they do eventually manage to get their swim trunks on. Stede’s about to call off the whole idea and fall back onto the bed when both their phones ring out, Lucius and Pete’s ringtones once more having a dance off. Lucius hangs up and sends a message. —Beach party! The party turns into dinner, at yet another seaside restaurant, then after-dinner cocktails at a club on the water, on a moored boat. Everyone’s swaying, toasting with every sip. To Lucius and Pete! To the island! To summer’s end! To an anniversary part next year! They toast each couple or polycule in turn, going around the deck, landing on Stede and Ed. “Bring on the U-Haul!” is Lucius’ toast and Stede’s not entirely sure he gets it, and everyone’s laughing—but it feels kind. And Ed’s arm is about him. So when the cheers fade out and the crew are all chatting or dancing again, he tells Lucius about his artsy safe space, too. And Lucius’ instant excitement, the way he’s obviously got many more ideas beyond the few he instantly shares, has Stede feeling more confident about making his dream a reality than he’s ever felt before. It’s not only about sharing hopes with Ed. This, between them, is real and—together—they can also start bringing their hopes to life. As Pete and Fang drag Lucius back to the dancefloor, Ed whispers in Stede’s ear, “You’re brilliant, babe.” “Thank you for listening to me, earlier,” Stede whispers back, curbing the desire to lick at the curl of Ed’s ear. Soon. “I’d never told anyone about my idea before, and now it feels easier to talk about it. I— I’m glad you want to share it with me. You make me happy, Ed.” “You make me happy, Stede.” They look each other in the eye, and it’s evident they could fall into kisses right here, right now. Lights and music all around their bubble amid the dark night, the boat swaying gently beneath them. Or— “Tell you what,” Ed says. “Why don’t we go and get a drink back at the hotel, eh? We can toast our future plans.” “Maybe just one,” Stede agrees, and they begin making the rounds. “I haven’t forgotten about tonight’s possibilities,” he adds under his breath. Ed’s breath catches in the midst of wishing Frenchie and John a good night. He recovers quickly but the momentary glitch awakens something in Stede. As they hug Jim and the others, he leans in and says in Ed’s ear, as low and throaty as he can make it, “I want to do everything you’ve ever dreamed of, Ed.” Ed stumbles, and Olu catches him. “You all right, mate?” “Peachy,” Ed says, and it comes out in a croak. “Slowing down, old man,” Mary remarks. She and Anne are the final couple near the steps down to the dock. They wave goodnight and, as soon as their feet hit the boards, Stede goes in again. “We can slow it down if you want,” he tells Ed, dragging the words out. “See how long I can make you squirm before—” “Stede.” Ed’s voice is ragged. He grips Stede’s hand and tugs him up the pier and all the way over the sand to the hotel path. “What’re you trying to do to me?” “Um. Play? If you don’t—” “No, I want it. I want it. No one’s...” They leave the dark and the scattered lamps for the bright lights of the lobby, waving to the receptionist before heading towards the lifts. Ed’s trailed off, and doesn’t seem inclined to continue, and Stede’s lost the brief flare of confidence, now that they’re beneath the glare of the hotel lights, away from the boat and the music. He’s not tried to seduce someone with his words before, and doesn’t even know where it came from, some urge to transfer to Ed a flame from the fire that builds up inside him each time he looks at Ed, touches Ed, hears the way Ed speaks to him. The lift doors close and they’re alone. He pushes the button for their floor, then moulds himself to Ed’s side. “Tell me what you want,” he murmurs against Ed’s cheek. “I want to give it to you.” “You—” The doors open and Ed tugs him along again, down the corridor, in through their door, and then they barrel to a stop. Ed rips the band from his hair, and his locks tumble about his shoulders. Stede slips his hands up into Ed’s curls and teases out the pins and clips he’d also hidden in there. Collects them in his palm, then transfers them to the counter in the ensuite. Ed’s followed him, and they wash up together, sliding out of shirts, brushing their teeth. He’s dabbing his face with a towel when Ed drapes himself over him from behind. With the door open, he can see them reflected three times, front and back, in the bathroom mirror, the cupboard mirror, and the extra mirror by the door to the room. He looks at Ed first, his silvery hair, his molten caramel eyes, the loops and whorls of his tattoos—each time Stede begins following one line, he becomes distracted and wants to trace another line. He could lose himself in Ed for hours. But then he looks at himself, or aims to. Instead, he focuses on Ed’s arms about his waist, Ed’s chin hooked over his shoulder. Ed’s eyes falling shut as he noses in under Stede’s jaw, kisses him and kisses him. “Do you want to tell me a bit of it now, Ed?” he asks softly, shutting his own eyes for a moment, the better to feel Ed’s touch, breathe in his fresh, herbal scents. “Everyone always figures they know what I want.” Ed steps aside, hauls in a breath. They step out of the bathroom and Ed fiddles with the lights, leaving only one bedside lamp on. “You haven’t really seen me, the way I am in town. I, uh, wear a lot of leather. And I... Well, with my dad and all, I ended up...hiding parts of myself that were soft. You know?” “Yes. I have... I very much have felt that way...” “Suppose what I’m saying is... I’ve only ever had things one way. I mean— I’ve done what we’re about to...” He gives the confirmation Ed’s hinting at. “Yes. I want to.” “I’ve done it before. Not recently. Not in a long time. But it wasn’t ever... It...” “Ed, we don’t have to talk it through if—” “No, I don’t mind, really. I’ve never done this before either, the talking it through thing. But if you’re asking—” “I want to know everything about you. I love everything about you that I’ve learned over the past six days. I want to know more, if you’d like to share.” Ed tied up his hair again while he washed his face. Now he fiddles with the loose strands, runs a palm aimlessly over his chest. Stede takes his hand and manoeuvres him closer to the bed. They shuck their trousers and underwear, spread out one of the bathrobes, and fall onto it. He’s about to glance over, gauge how Ed wants to position them, maybe lying face to face, when Ed clambers into his lap. Straddles him, tucks his face into Stede’s neck, and keeps talking. “The times I did it this way, if someone actually wanted to. If they didn’t just see me and my height and all the leather, and want me to take over, it wasn’t... I mean, it feels good, yeah? Can’t go wrong if you hit the right spot, I suppose, though it might’ve been too fast, or painful, or they just did whatever and I got myself off, and—” “What’re you saying, Ed?” He glides his hands up and down Ed’s back, from the dip of his waist up to the round of his shoulder, the curve where shoulder meets neck. “Do you mean—” “I compartmentalize too well. I’m in the middle of it and I just start thinking of... I don’t know. An errand to run. The last book I was editing. Getting into a hot shower after. And lately it’s just my own hand and I— Well, it’s whatever imagery I need to get there and then it’s done. I just can’t get out of my own head, can’t just feel, and no one’s ever been interested in trying. Not even me.” “Mm, sounds like you’re challenging me to a duel.” “Maybe I am. Take your sword, run me through.” “I don’t think I want to do that.” He huffs. “Not a duel, then. I don’t want to hurt you, or have it over quickly. I want to...devote myself to you. To your pleasure.” Ed lets out a cracked sigh. “Your words’ll probably be enough.” “I can try. I’m not used to speaking so freely.” He tips Ed’s face up with a hand at his chin and kisses him, because he can’t resist anymore. Overwhelmed after a few moments, he slides along Ed’s jaw, scratching his cheek on Ed’s short beard, but then goes right back to Ed’s mouth. In those brief seconds, he already missed Ed’s softness, Ed’s sweetness, the tip of Ed’s tongue questing into his mouth. “Tell me, Ed. Tell me what to do. Do we lie down, like you did with me?” “No, this way. I’ve never done it this way. I want it,” Ed echoes. “You holding me, during.” He draws aside and reaches over to the chair by the bed, finds the lube in his backpack and comes back, resettles on Stede’s lap. They’re both half-hard now, and the sudden friction sends a jolt, a new flame, up Stede’s spine. He slips the lube from Ed’s fingers, sets it aside, before he wraps his arms about Ed and draws him in for another kiss. Ed is pliant in his hold, and he palms at Stede’s chest like he’s shoring himself up, finding a way to hold on, as their kisses grow needy. They both call out the other’s name as they nip and nibble, suckle and bruise. He palms Ed in turn, right over his nipples, but Ed is so lovely, so warm to his touch, and still languid in his hold— Stede slides his hands everywhere. Over Ed’s shoulders, down his muscled arms, across to his back, then down along his thighs where they bracket Stede’s legs. Ed, he thinks, then, “Ed,” he says again into their kiss. “Ed.” “Stede.” Ed raises his hips, just enough to deliciously rub against him when he lands again. Stede slips his hands right around, kneads at Ed’s arse. “Ed, you’re so beautiful.” He keeps stroking, hands roaming over Ed’s legs, threading through the springy hairs, coming back to the swell of his arse and grabbing. “I meant all of it,” he goes on, in and around a groan as Ed smears kisses all along his jawline, buries a sucking kiss into a sensitive spot at his throat. “Tell me how you like to be touched.” “I don’t know,” Ed mumbles into his nape, hands clutching at his shoulders. “But I know I want it from you. You can just...try, yeah? Explore whatever you want.” He eases his grip as Ed speaks. Then, tentative in terms of exploration, but firm in the press of his fingers, he slides his middle finger into Ed’s cleft. Ed gasps, and widens his stance, and their cocks brush together again—and Stede clenches. “I mean it, too,” Ed whispers in his ear. “You can’t do anything wrong. Figure it out all you like.” “I’m sure there’s some things I could do wrong,” he says with a huff, but his body relaxes at Ed’s reassurance. “I don’t want to hurt you.” “I promise, I’ll tell you, babe. Just— You don’t need to stop.” “Okay.” He cups Ed’s jaw, tilts up his face, kisses his ever-sweet mouth. Strokes Ed’s cheek with his thumb, scratches lightly at his beard, even as he feels for the lube with his other hand. Squirts a good dollop on his fingers, and goes back to where he was. Ed widens his stance, lets him in. Stede keeps it slow, like he might’ve had a treasure map, but it caught fire, and now he has nothing to go on but a scrappy bit of paper showing a road or a river. Only Ed’s soft whimpers to guide him, the roll of Ed’s hips as he seeks more, to let him know he’s touching him in ways that feel good. Almost inadvertently as he circles and rubs, the tip of a finger slips inside. Ed bears down, and he’s in up to the second knuckle, hot and smooth. Instinct tells him to move, to glide up and down, but he overrides that, remembers last night, how he savoured being filled. He presses in that bit further, bends his finger slightly. Hasn’t got a treasure map either, but doesn’t need one— Discovering Ed here is no different than discovering the dip behind his ear or the divot at his hips. It’s all Ed. “Beautiful,” he murmurs again, nuzzling his cheek to Ed’s. “Such a gorgeous man, you are, Ed. Listen to yourself.” Ed makes another broken sound, drops his hand between them, grasping for their cocks. “Don’t, Ed, please.” He withdraws his finger at the same time that Ed jerks his hand away. “I want to last for you, that’s all.” “Oh. Yeah. Okay.” Ed’s hands return to his shoulders, graze up his neck and fondle at his nape. “Thought you were...” “What, love?” “Taking a break.” “Not at all.” Mindful of what Ed asked for, he doesn’t check whether Ed wants to take a breather, or move even slower. He coats his fingers again and brings them back to Ed’s heat, now nudging with two. “I’m not done exploring,” he adds. “Learning how I can make it good for you.” He pushes both fingers in past Ed’s tight ring. Instinct tells him again to move, and this time, he does. Unbidden, his mouth starts up. “Is this good, beautiful? Is this how you wanted it? How you’ll take me when it’s not my fingers, but my—” He bites off the last word, startled to hear himself speaking this way. But Ed’s groaning in his ear, writhing on his fingers, reaching again for their cocks, as if he can’t help himself. “I want—” “Me too.” Ed snickers, kisses his cheek, his mouth. “I meant, I know what I want now.” “Okay.” He keeps his movements as even as he can, not slackening, grazing past Ed’s rim as he pushes in and out. “Tell me.” “You lie down, and I’ll get on you. And you— Can you maybe keep talking?” “I don’t know how.” “Could’ve fooled me.” He falters at that, then eases his fingers away. Lies back as Ed said, but realises he’s forgotten the lube. Then Ed’s there, hand slick, gliding over Stede’s cock. He keeps it short, mercifully, then lets go and repositions himself. “Should I—” Stede begins. Still overthinking how to speak, wondering if he ought to do more than simply keep his hands on Ed’s thighs. But Ed’s already lined up, and he shakes his head, eyes shut tight. More strands have escaped his bun, framing his face in silver. Stede watches his concentration ease off, the lines of his face go slack, his lips part, as he sinks down. He doesn’t need to think it through; looking upon Ed’s beauty and vulnerability is enough for Stede’s body to take over, and the words simply flow, self-consciousness be damned. “That’s it, Ed. I knew you’d feel so good on my cock. I knew you’d look good, too, but you look even better than I imagined. You’re an absolute gem. I could watch you flow over me for hours, I could—” It’s too good, too much, the way Ed’s rising and falling above him, grinding down, that river or road or snake off the map is threading down his spine, he’s going to come too soon— He closes his eyes and wraps his hand about Ed’s cock. Strokes him at the same rhythm as Ed’s playing, riding him, filling himself up over and over, surrounding Stede’s cock with his heat— Ed breaks, quivers, and falls apart, legs trembling. Stede snaps his eyes open, takes his fill of the sight. Ed with his head thrown back on a soundless cry, Ed’s hips stuttering, Ed spilling over Stede’s fingers, onto his belly. Ed tips forward, and Stede gets both arms about him, face buried in Ed’s hair. He feels the thump of Ed’s heart as it beats fast, then slows, and he holds him, and holds him. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. “Gorgeous. My love, my gem.” Ed squirms, whining a little. Stede’s about to pull out, but Ed stills, and says, “No, keep going.” “I thought you might be getting uncomfortable.” “No. No, it’s... Your words, though... They sound so good, but they make me want more, even if I can’t.” Ed shifts, captures his mouth in a fervent kiss. “Keep going.” “Will it hurt?” “It aches a bit already, but that’s you, because of you, how good you feel.” Ed keeps kissing him, swivels his hips. Stede gasps into his mouth. He doesn’t want to hurt Ed, but he really won’t take much longer, not with the way Ed’s rising up over him once more, not with the lightning or flames or every other calamity zinging its way through him. He thrusts upward, deep into Ed’s welcoming heat, and again, and then it all crashes over him at once. Ed carries him through the wave, hands at his chest, as Stede clenches all over all at the same time, spends all he has. Then, one by one, his limbs ease and he melts into the bed, unhearing, unseeing. Floating blissfully off the edge of the map. Vaguely, he’s aware of Ed pulling off him, lying atop him. The stickiness they’ll have to deal with soon enough is nothing compared with the welcome weighted blanket of Ed. As his breaths even out, he opens his eyes, and the first thing he sees is Ed looking down at him, soft and fond. He doesn’t need to start dwelling on his words, fretting about his actions— Ed was right, he hasn’t messed up anything at all. “I love you,” Ed tells him. “I love you,” Stede says back. He curls a damp strand of hair behind Ed’s ear. “Shower?” “Definitely.” Under the hot spray, together, his mind whirs over all the words and phrases they’ve exchanged since the evening. “Ed?” He rinses out his hair and blinks the water away from his eyes. “What kinds of stories do you write?” “It’s not literature,” Ed says. He’s kept his hair tied up and away from the spray, and he’s already done, stepping out of the cubicle. “It’s not thrillers or slice of life or— Well, maybe it has a bit of all of that.” Stede hears loud and clear the genre Ed’s not naming. He doesn’t let himself get distracted by the sight of Ed in a low-slung towel, but shuts off the water and reaches for a bathrobe. “What about romance, Ed?” Ed, turned to the door, tosses him a look from over his shoulder. “Maybe.” “Yeah?” He follows Ed out, flicking off the light as they go. “I’d love to hear more. Babe.” He sorts out the bed while Ed dries off. Then he sorts out the bare minimum he needs to do for his hair, and hurries back to Ed. All lights off, curtains shut, they come together by feel, face to face, heads on the same pillow. Ed’s hand finds his, holding on tightly between them, and Ed noses in, gives him a tender kiss. Stede kisses him back. “Ed?” They settle back onto the pillow. “My gem. Tell me a story?”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Ed wakes out of a dream with the sun in his face. He scrunches up his eyes against the brightness and tries to remember his dream, but already only fragments remain. Something about being on holiday, back on the island, with Stede. He swipes his hand down his face and opens his eyes, and there’s Stede, blanket fallen to his waist, chest rising and falling with his slow breaths. The sun glints here and there on his hairs, on his freckles. Ed slips his hand into Stede’s where it rests on the sheet and, even in sleep, Stede firms his grip on him. Ed cocks an ear to the sounds outside. Saturdays are the quietest mornings on the estate. Going into their second year now, living in the renovated carriage house that’s hidden away from the rest of the buildings and grounds inside its own grove of trees. As the weeks have turned into months, and all the renovations have been completed, they’ve grown into a regular routine, of writing time for Ed and Captain of Revenge Community duties for Stede. Every other morning is louder, busier, filled with the comings and goings of the crew, the barks of Fang’s dogs. Saturdays start slow. Friday nights are party nights, and everyone sleeps in on Saturdays. He wriggles into a more comfortable position and tugs the blankets up a bit against the morning chill. They left the window open a crack last night, the first night they’ve been able to do that, as winter fades away. In place of the cicadas and turtledoves back on the island, here there are bellbirds and kiwis. He can hear the dogs, too, yapping and barking; Fang’s always up and about before anyone else. Low voices talking; Pete’s with him, then, and they’re probably headed to the kitchens to bring back breakfast to share with Lucius. Every Saturday it’s the same, half the crew descending on Roach before he’s even got his oven turned on. They live like a crew on a ship, only instead of a ship, they’re scattered about the houses and cottages all around the estate. Ed pulls the blankets up higher, draping himself over Stede, and can’t keep the smug smile off his face. Stede squirrels away extra pastries on Fridays and saves a slice of Friday night’s cake, so on Saturday mornings, all Ed has to do is roll off the bed into his robe, and wait for the kettle to boil. He loves Stede, he loves kissing Stede as they wait for their tea to steep, he’s going to marry— Soon. He’ll pop the question soon. As soon as the jewellery makers in their artist community—the ones he’s sworn to silence with the promise of the best table at the next trade fair—have perfected the ring he’s designed. He lies there for a bit longer, cheek pillowed on Stede’s chest, daydreaming about where he’ll ask. At dinner, at home, so they can have the whole night to themselves after? On a Friday, in front of everyone, so they can dance about it? Or in Stede’s favourite greenhouse, maybe. All quiet, Stede in a sunbeam, puttering about with his pretty flowers, keeping a lookout for a butterfly or moth. He’ll go up, and Stede’ll chirp, “Oh! Didn’t see you there, my gem” and the rest of his breath’ll be cut off when Ed catches him about the waist and plants a hearty kiss on him. And Stede’ll ramble, “What was that for? Not that I’m complaining, let’s do it again, but was there something in particular about me that—” And this time, Ed’ll cut him off by pulling the ring box out of a pocket. He’ll drop to his knees and... Well, he’s going to say something witty and heartfelt; he just doesn’t know what. It’ll come. Heh. “Ed?” Non-daydream Stede stirs beneath him. “You’re awake already?” Ed gives him a noncommittal hum and reaches up for kisses. “Morning, my gem.” Stede kisses him back, and shifts about, so they’re facing each other, hands still clasped. “Is this all right?” Ed thinks about the day ahead. A lazy slide out of bed, followed by an equally lazy breakfast, with two cups of sweet tea. Kisses whenever he leans in. Later, once they’ve dressed, they’ll take a turn about the grounds, chat with the crew. Putter about in the craft room at the main house; he’s learning pottery, and finds it really helps him work through any plot issues he might be having. Then, lunchtime, but he usually just grabs a sandwich and takes it to his desk, because if he lingered in the kitchen, hanging out with Stede and the crew, he’d never get any writing done. A few hours of uninterrupted writing, his one scheduled session each day, after which he always feels a sense of accomplishment, even if the words don’t come easily every time. He still takes on editing jobs here and there, but now that he’s landed an agent and has two books coming out in a few months, he’s less and less inclined to even consider returning to editing full time. Plus, he doesn’t want to miss out on being part of Stede’s community. Once he’s reached a natural stopping point with his writing, and has questions to get to tomorrow, or an arc or beat issue to mull over, he’ll go out to look for Stede. He never knows where he’ll find him— The other day, Stede had everyone gathered round a table in the attic, designing flags for the Revenge. He’d leapt in, and added a few hearts to Stede’s design. They usually take a walk before dinner or, in summer, head down to the beach. If Alma and Louis are staying, they might join the crew for dinner, or stay in, just the four of them. The same, after dinner. At times the full crew hang out, especially during the Friday parties. Other times, they all scatter, do their own thing. Saturday nights generally involve a movie on the big screen in the theatre room at the manor house. What used to be Stede’s father’s office, apparently. Stede’s been very gleeful, all these months, in upending the “proper” usage of each room in the place. Many of the estate walls have come down, too, and the doors have been removed. Kind of like in Ed’s life. Whatever doors he may have left are wide open. No shadows, no dark corners, no need for a place to hide. And at the end of each day, in the quiet nights, the world disappears, and he gets Stede all to himself. All his hopes have been fulfilled, with Stede by his side, and he can keep making Stede happy. He comes out of his thoughts, turns his face into the sunshine, and towards his sunshine. He squeezes Stede’s hand in his, looks around at their comfy bed in its bowl of happy light. Dips in for another kiss. “This? Perfect.”