Archive of Our Own

1: Jolene

Lucius has brought a friend to Friday karaoke.

A hot friend.

A hot friend who, by the immediate looks of him, is so obviously Ed’s type that he’d be surprised to learn it wasn’t a direct set up. A blind date he had no idea he was turning up for.

Bit buttoned up for a dive bar on a friday, but it’s kind of working for him. Especially when he leans over the bar to give what’s apparently an incredibly confusing order, by the looks of the Swede’s face, chinos stretching over his arse and thighs as he rises up onto his tiptoes.

He’s buttoned up and built like a fucking brick shithouse, and Ed has to have him. Even if he’s a fancy rich boy, maybe especially if he’s a fancy rich boy. Fuck, even if he’s an asshole, Ed can suffer it long enough to fuck the guy’s pretty face and shut him up.

Probably not an asshole though, if he actually thinks about it. Lucius is a lot of things, but a sufferer of fools he isn’t. Nor a sufferer of assholes. Got a bit of a thing for rich boys though, and a really good track record of getting whatever he wants out of them.

Ed watches fancy boy hand over a card to start a tab, and take a tray laden with drinks in exchange, letting Lucius take his pick before following him over to the booth their group has already dibsed for the evening. Fancy boy takes a seat, offers drinks, then falls into what looks like easy and familiar conversation with Oluwande. Which means he probably works with them. And Olu doesn’t look like he’s desperate to escape the conversation, so Mr Fancy definitely isn’t an asshole.

Not an asshole: first hurdle cleared.

Only one more to get past before Ed gives himself permission to engage in the hunt. And let's be honest, he's almost definitely queer, if Lucius is bringing him here.

And really, there's only one real way to find that one out.

The most attractive man Stede has ever seen in his entire life is standing on the makeshift stage at Jackie’z, doing an absolutely absurd rendition of Jolene, and it’s probably a very good thing that Stede’s over the whole “crisis” part of his midlife sexuality crisis-slash-awakening, because if he’d been at any of the significant number of far more panicky stages of this rollercoaster of a journey, this may have been the event to trip him into a full blown breakdown over the whole thing.

Come to karaoke, Lucius had said. It’s a good crew of regulars, he’d said. It’s not officially a queer bar but it’s definitely a queer bar, he’d said.

One of my friends is one of the most beautiful men on the planet was definitely not one of the phrases he’d used to try and convince Stede to come. Might have achieved his desired outcome a little faster if that had been part of his proposal.

Then again, Lucius has no idea what Stede’s type is. What his taste in men is. Up until now, Stede himself probably couldn’t have given anyone a confident answer to that. He’s hypothesised, he’s experimented, he’s tried a variety of different flavours. He hasn't come to any kind of concrete conclusion.

Other than men. He’s now very sure, absolutely sure that his type is, at least, men.

But right here, right now, vodka cranberry in hand and getting emptier by the second, Stede is suddenly, acutely aware of his actual, specific type. His taste. The preferred aesthetic of his hypothetically desired romantic or sexual partner. And it's Lucius’s very attractive friend. Lucius's very attractive, long haired, tattooed, Dolly Parton singing friend.

“Lucius,” he hisses, reaching out to grab at his arm as he passes. “Lucius, please.”

“You good?” Lucius asks, backtracking and standing next to Stede, looking down at him with what Stede can only describe as some kind of sweet pity. “Because I’m gonna be honest, Stedey, you’re not looking good. How many of those have you had?”

“Two,” Stede snaps, straightening himself up. “And I’m fine. I just have a question.”

“Mmm?” Lucius asks, already looking off in the other direction and gesturing at someone over at the bar. “Shoot.”

“Who,” Stede says slowly. Calmly. “Is that? Up on the stage?”

Lucius turns around slowly, then looks back down at Stede with an absolutely terrifying smile on his face.

“Why’d you ask?” he says, with an air of nonchalance even Stede can see right through.

“That’s not important, I’m just curious.”

“You’re never just curious. Babe, let’s be honest, if it doesn’t directly impact you, you don’t care about it. If you’re not deeply, desperately interested in something, you couldn’t care less about the details.”

He pats Stede on the shoulder. “So let’s try that again. Why are you asking about my good friend Edward on this fine evening?”

“Edward,” Stede murmurs.

“That’s his name.”

“He’s quite a good singer, isn’t he?”

“Oh, he’s a man of many, multidisciplinary talents. Am I to assume you’re interested in learning more about them?”

Stede drains the rest of his drink, placing the glass with the increasing number of empties sitting perilously close to the edge of the table.

“No, thank you. His name will suffice. And perhaps how you know him?”

“Friend of Fang’s, babe.” He leans down to whisper conspiratorially in Stede’s ear. “He’s single. Very single. And he’s been looking at you ever since you walked in. Like, if I wasn’t really disgustingly happy with my own relationships right now, I’d be absolutely green with jealousy.”

“Thank you, Lucius.”

“Bear it in mind, yeah?”

Stede might bear it in mind.

Stede does bear it in mind. For the entire night. Through another drink and Lucius and Pete’s very popular performance of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart and the entire multi-stop cab ride home. He bears it in mind during breakfast on Saturday and only part of Sunday, to his credit.

Edward.

He’s bearing Edward in mind.

Edward and his very convincing rendition of Jolene, as if anyone who looks like that would ever have to worry about a rival for their partner’s affections, good lord. Edward and his tattoos and his beautifully wild mane of hair, draped over his shoulders and down his back. Nobody is going to be successfully stolen away from a man like that. Absolutely nothing for him to fear.

But lord, if Stede wouldn’t mind an opportunity to be his man. Just one opportunity.

That’s all he asks.

2: Born to Run

A short list of things Ed loves about Karaoke Friday nights:

• Dark rum and coke, especially when Jim’s running the bar and pouring generously.
• Cheesy chips in a pitta when he’s walking home at the grand hour of midnight like the old man he apparently now is. Bit of garlic sauce. Just for fun.
• Flirting with strangers. No intent behind it, just nice to get the up and down once in a while. Sue him, he likes his ego getting a little stroke. He’s only human.
• Seventies rock.

Loves a bit of sex appeal with his karaoke choices. Loves being a bit slutty to a bit of Springsteen.

And Lucius’s friend is back, a little less buttoned up this time, just as hot though. Hair brushed back from his face, shirtsleeves all rolled to his elbows. Good fucking forearms. Nice fucking hands. Drinking through a straw and fishing the maraschino cherries out of the bottom of his glass when he’s done.

Almost definitely sitting on an Ed-favourable end of the Kinsey scale, if the way he’s been not particularly subtly staring for the past thirty minutes is anything to go by.

And Edward is walking up onto the little makeshift stage again, drink in one hand, mic in the other, and Stede desperately wishes he was more familiar with this kind of music, because Edward is so distracting when he sings. When he performs, because it might be karaoke, but it’s still one hell of a performance. The song could be his own for all Stede cares. And the entire room is looking at him, of course they are, he’s so overwhelmingly captivating, but Stede could swear that Edward has eyes almost entirely for him. Save the moments he’s closing them to feel the music better, or winking at someone sitting closer to him, it feels like all of his eye contact is focused on Stede himself.

And it’s ridiculous to assume that, it’s ridiculous to believe it, it’s absolutely ridiculous to be replaying Lucius’s claims from the previous week about Edward’s interest in him.

It feels ridiculous the entire time that Edward is singing, while he’s finishing his song, placing the microphone back into its stand, and jumping down off the stage to meld back into the crowd. Seems silly to think about it when Edward does not, in fact, beeline for where Stede is tucked into the corner of the booth Lucius’s crew seem to have a permanent set of dibs over, but to the bar, speaking with a variety of hand gestures and facial expressions until he’s handed two glasses and a dismissing wave of a hand by the bartender.

It feels ridiculous to just approach the guy like this, but Ed’s internal gauge of people’s attraction has very rarely steered him wrong, and the way Lucius’s friend’s eyes widen when he slides in next to him feels like one hell of a bullseye. Nailed it. Home run. One hundred and ten percent.

“I’m Ed,” he says, offering the guy one of his drinks. “Friend of Lucius’s, and doubled up on rum and coke.”

“Ed,” the guy whispers, taking the glass and staring at it for a few seconds, before searching for a beer mat he can place it on. Fucking hell, Ed’s barely introduced himself to the guy and he’s about ready to get down on at least one knee, right here, smack bang in the middle of Jackie’z. “Thank you. Um. Stede. I’m Stede. Also a friend of Lucius’s. Well. Work colleague.”

Ed laughs. “If he’s bringing you here, he considers you a friend, mate. Nobody’s subjecting work colleagues to Jackie’z on a Friday.”

“Well,” Stede says softly. Far too softly for the volume of the room. “I’m not sure I’d consider it subjecting. I don’t feel like I’m being subjected to anything. I’m having quite a good time so far.”

“Ah you wait,” Ed says, taking a chance and shuffling a little closer. Just so Stede can hear him better. “Stay long enough and eventually Buttons will get up there. I’ve seen hell, mate, and it’s a slow striptease to Enya.”

“Good lord,” Stede whispers.

“Mmmhm.”

“You’ll have to warn me if you think that’s going to happen. I’ll need a moment to prepare myself, I think.”

“Deal,” Ed says. “You need the warning for the nudity? The Enya?”

“Both, I’d say. I think the last time I heard Enya in a non-ironic fashion was at a godawful performance art piece I happened upon in the marina. Thinking about it, the nudity might be an improvement.”

Two knees, maybe. Right here in the booth. Let him talk all snippy and bitchy while Ed sucks him off and makes his toes curl.

It’ll be worth the two week ban and unknown number of Jackie Penalty Points. More than worth it.

“Haven’t seen you sing yet,” Ed murmurs, taking a sip of his drink. “You got something waiting up your sleeve? Gonna wow us all?”

“Ah, I’m not much of a performer,” Stede says, pulling his glass towards him. “And I certainly wouldn’t want to follow you. You give quite the performance.”

Ed raises an eyebrow over his glass. “Glad you think so.”

“I look forward to seeing what you come up with next week.”

“Oh?”

Ed looks at him, really properly looks at him, watches Stede’s gaze flick down to his mouth and back up again, and God, it’s so fucking tempting to just go for it, to just lean in and kiss him, because there’s clear fucking interest there, and Ed’s fucking fascinated by him, interest well and truly piqued by a five fucking minute conversation, and Stede’s biting his lip, and he’s taking a sip of his drink, and he’s not actually making a move, and this might be fun actually. This could be really fucking fun.

“Next week,” Ed says, leaning in unnecessarily close, right up in Stede’s personal space. “I’ll choose a song just for you.”

And this isn’t Stede’s first rodeo. This isn’t the first time he’s flirted, or had the urge to kiss a man, or touch him. But it is the first time he’s wanted it so intensely, the first time his entire body has felt like it’s surging with the need to be closer and to touch, and to feel.

But before he can act on it, before he can organise his thoughts into a coherent decision, Ed—not Edward, Ed—is slipping back out from the booth with a wink and a bite of his lip, and it feels like the furthest thing from a rejection Stede can imagine. He’s been rejected. He’s been let down gently, and not so gently.

This feels like a chase. A game. If you want me, come and get me.

And this, with long haired, tattooed, two glasses of rum and coke Ed, is the first time Stede has felt confident enough to play.

Because he wants.

And he’s already decided that yes, he is going to get.

3: American Girl

Stede is neither American, nor is he a girl. But the last thing Ed had said to him before leaving him with half a drink and an incredibly inconvenient erection last Friday was that his next song was going to be one he chose just for Stede.

So Tom Petty it is, apparently.

And Stede isn’t going to think too much about something that is so close, and still so far out of reach, nor is he going to overthink the way Ed has once again spent almost the entire performance singing directly to Stede, leaning on the mic stand and letting his hair fall around his face.

He does however, run his thumb through the condensation forming on the outside of the glass he’s placed on the table next to his own, rum and coke to accompany Stede’s gin and tonic, ice and a slice. Presumptuous, maybe, but Stede’s feeling a little daring, a little bold. Like maybe it’s his turn to hold the cards, play his hand, see how Ed reacts.

The outro to Ed’s song fades into nothing, and he hands off the microphone to a tall chap with a partially shaved head that Stede’s seen in previous weeks, and it takes a few minutes for him to traverse the crowd, waylaid by at least one shot of something very neon looking, two hugs, and a collection of unoccupied chairs between a pair of tables, but finally, eventually, there he is.

Sliding in next to Stede, right up close, leaning in to let Stede murmur in his ear.

“Double rum and coke, easy on the coke, apparently.”

“For me?”

“Mmm,” Stede hums. “A reward for a song well performed.”

Ed raises an eyebrow at him, then picks up the glass, tapping it gently against the edge of Stede’s before taking a sip. It’s a heavy fucking pour for sure, and something about it triggers the release of the shots and drinks he’d managed before Stede even arrived for the evening, flooding his body with a rush of warmth and completely diluting any inhibitions he might have had lurking around.

“What did you think?”

“You know, Tom Petty was always very vocal about people he had a distaste for using his songs. Very strong willed. Admirable, especially when you think about how much money could have changed hands with some of the use.”

“What you getting at?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Stede says, grinning softly. “I liked your version though.”

“Yeah?”

“Very much so.”

Ed shuffles a little closer on the bench, close enough that he can feel the warmth of Stede’s body at every single point they’re touching: the length of his thigh from knee to hip, his bicep pressed against Ed’s, his shoulder, hot underneath Ed’s chin when he takes the gamble of his life and rests it there.

“You remember what I said last week?” he murmurs, pitching his voice as low as he dares.

“Mmmhm,” Stede hums.

“Yes or no.”

“I remember,” Stede says, turning his head ever so slightly, his mouth so temptingly close yet so devastatingly far away from Ed’s reach. “You were going to pick a song for me.”

“So you do remember.”

“You’re very hard to forget.”

Ed laughs softly. “That so?”

“I think you’re very aware of your presence in the world, Edward.”

And fuck, if that name out of Stede’s mouth, in that tone, doesn’t sound like anything Ed’s ever been called before. It sounds like both a threat and a promise.

“Might be. So what did you think?”

“Slight flaw in your choice.”

“Fuck off was there.”

“I am,” Stede says, holding out a hand and raising one finger. “Neither American.” Another finger. “Nor a girl.”

“Not many songs about hot kiwi guys, went for the next best thing.”

“American girls, huh?”

“I’m an equal opportunist.”

“Is that what I am to you?” he asks. And Ed’s eyes are closed, but he can feel the smirk that curls around Stede’s next words. “An opportunity?”

The cotton of Stede’s shirt is thin, thinner than is probably appropriate for late autumn, but there are benefits to it, primarily the way the heat of Ed’s breath soaks easily through it when he laughs against Stede’s shoulder.

“You’re the opportunity, mate.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“A series of opportunities. Bunch of potential.”

Stede likes potential. Feels like a slightly safer option than promise, somehow. Potential feels like the delicious space in which he can keep all this gentle touch and smouldering eye contact, and conversation that feels more loaded than it has any right to be.

“I like the sound of potential,” Stede manages, and he’s apparently rewarded by another point of contact, Ed’s hand resting on his knee, his fingertips squeezing ever so gently.

“Me too,” Ed murmurs. His hand crawls a little higher, and Stede bites down on his lip, wills his cock to stay at the perpetual state of half mast he’s beginning to associate with Ed’s presence.

It’s pointless, because Stede’s never felt so delicately and devastatingly aroused as he does in Ed’s presence. Almost like it’s not something happening to his own body. Decades of needing almost aggressive levels of stimulation to achieve something resembling a useful erection, and now he’s here, in an objectively grimy karaoke bar, feeling as though the right combination of words could bring him directly to orgasm, completely untouched in the places that count.

Ready to reach climax from the feeling of another man’s breath on his shoulder, and his hand on Stede’s thigh, and the mix of sweat and whatever scent Ed wears on his neck, and the phrasing of something being so close, and yet so far out of reach.

And yet, he doesn’t want more. Not yet. He feels drunk on this liminal space of whatever their connection ends up being, a whole body feeling like the split second before a kiss. Crackling potential that Stede isn’t quite yet ready to harness and channel into something more purposeful.

“You’ll be here next week?” Ed asks, face even closer to Stede’s neck than before, fingertips digging into the inside seam of Stede’s trousers.

“Absolutely,” Stede breathes, and it would be so easy to just lean in. To turn his head and let his mouth brush against Ed’s warm skin, to lift his chin and goad Ed into pressing a kiss against his throat. But before he can act, before he can push past the point of no return, Ed’s pulling away, the absence of his body a sudden and dramatic loss, winking at Stede and dragging his bottom lip through his teeth as he leaves, glass in hand.

And the next week, Stede already knows, is going to be the most excruciating of his life.

4: You Can Call Me Al

You Can Call Me Al is possibly the least sexy song in the entire laminated book of karaoke options that sits on the bar of Jackie’z, week after week. Not an ounce of sex appeal contained within that song.

Unless Ed is singing it, apparently.

And Stede’s in trouble, because it’s one thing to feel seduced by a man singing Parton or Springsteen, or Tom Petty and his band of heartbreakers, and it’s entirely another to feel overwhelming affection and arousal for a man performing an absolutely ridiculous brass section solo with a group of friends, five of them somehow crammed onto the tiny stage in the corner of the bar.

Trouble. Stede is in deep, dramatic, Paul Simon-prompted trouble.

He and his right hand have become well acquainted over the last few weeks, his left occasionally getting a look in, all efforts prompted and inspired by the memory of Ed’s touch and his smell and the signs of his teeth pressing down into his own lip. There’s no question of Stede’s physical attraction to the man, absolutely no doubt over the effect he has on Stede’s body, week after week after week now. But between the teasing and the flirting, Stede has an increasing desire to learn more about Ed the person. Ed who mimes a trumpet solo and bear hugs his friends and sticks his tongue out when he’s sending a text.

And Ed’s little group must have a monopoly on the sign up sheet this evening, because Paul Simon is followed immediately by Ed’s friend Ivan taking the mic and leading his little crew in a rousing rendition of Don’t Look Back In Anger that Ed very enthusiastically joins in on the choruses of, pulling a lighter from his jeans to wave above his head.

And there must be some kind of history there, because as soon as he manages to get the flame to catch, a tall black woman is marching out from behind the bar, parting the crowd as effortlessly as Moses with the Red Sea, and yanking Ed off the stage by his bicep as he dissolves into a fit of giggles and apologies.

“One week, Teach! One fucking week!”

Stede leans out of the booth as they pass, unable to stop himself laughing as Ed holds up an apologetic heart shaped hand gesture and mouths I’m sorry as he’s forcibly removed from the bar.

And he’d say it was worth it, it’s always worth seeing just how far his charm can push Jackie and her absolute rock bottom tolerance for his shenanigans, but it’s especially worth it when Stede appears out of the door of Jackie’z, barely ninety seconds after Ed’s been kicked out, immediately rolling his eyes and tutting when he spots Ed lurking under an awning on the other side of the road.

“I have a feeling that may have been a situation for which you should have known better,” he calls across the road, darting through the rain to join Ed under his little shelter.

“Ah, she loves me,” Ed says, pulling the offending lighter back out of his pocket and using it to light a cig, cupping his hands around the flame until it catches. “Sorry, you mind?”

“Not at all,” Stede says, voice low. “As long as you share.”

Ed raises an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t have had you pegged as a smoker.”

“Ah, only socially. After a few drinks. It’s not a habitual thing.”

“Filthy habit,” Ed says, taking a drag and passing the cigarette to Stede’s waiting fingers, letting the touch linger a second or two longer than he needs to.

“Speak for yourself.”

And Ed’s willing to place at least sixty percent of the blame for his lightning fast semi on the multiple weeks of flirt edging he’s been engaging in, but the remaining forty is entirely the sight of Stede’s mouth around the filter, and the way his eyes roll back slightly in his head when he inhales. And Ed has never wanted to kiss a human being more in his entire fucking life than he does right now, under the awning of a tiny coffee shop in the middle of the night, rain dripping down the back of his neck, but at the exact same time, he wants to see how far he can push this before Stede breaks and kisses him.

He takes the cigarette from Stede’s offering fingers, watches him turn his head to exhale out into the rain, the muscles and tendons in his neck tensing, and fuck kissing him, Ed wants to bite. Bite and suck and mark him up something awful. All feral and claiming and territory marking.

“You don’t have to stand out here with me,” he says instead. “Jackie didn’t kick you out.”

“What was that all about? Seems rather dramatic for a lighter in the air.”

“Ah, yeah,” Ed says, taking another drag and taking immense pleasure from the laser focus of Stede’s gaze on his mouth. Hands it over to him. “Set the bar on fire once. Personal ban on open flames.”

“You set her bar on fire?” Stede repeats, eyes wide.

“Just a little. It was new years, there was a lot of spilled liquor, y’know.”

“I…and you thought she’d forgotten?”

“Nah,” Ed laughs. “Just wanted to see if she’d follow through.”

“You forgot you were banned, didn’t you?”

Ed stares at him. Takes his cigarette back.

“May have done,” he mutters.

“And your ban is how long?”

“Week.”

“Including or up to next Friday?”

“Oh, she’ll let me back in next Friday. It’s my fucking card on the tab every week.”

“Well,” Stede says, leaning back against the brick wall. “At least you’ll have a week to think about your behaviour, figure out if you want to make better choices next week.”

“I always make good choices.”

“Is that so?” He pushes himself back off the wall, turns on the spot, steps backwards off the kerb and out of Ed’s reach. “Well. Have a safe journey home, and I look forward to hearing about your good choices next week, Edward.”

Ed blinks, drops the butt of his cigarette into the gutter, pulls another one out of the slightly mangled packet for his walk home.

Oh, he’s gonna make good choices.

He’s gonna make fucking excellent choices.

And Stede’s not going to know what fucking hit him.

5: Take Me To Church

“You gonna sing?” Ed murmurs, breath hot against the shell of Stede’s ear.

Stede shakes his head, lets his fingernails bite through the threadbare denim on the inside of Ed’s thigh, bites his lip when he hears Ed’s breath hitch.

No, he’s not going to sing. Not tonight. Not when he’s been nursing three-quarters of an erection for the last forty-five minutes, his skin hot and tight under his clothes, electricity zipping along the paths of his nervous system, little bolts of lightning originating from each and every point that Ed’s bare skin makes contact with his.

And, if he ignores Ed’s unceremonious removal the week before, this is the third week in a row that he’s been like this, pressed close to Stede’s body in their booth, lips brushing against his skin but never lingering long enough for it to count as any kind of kiss, his hands wandering up from their gentle grip on Stede’s knee but never reaching high enough for his cock to get any kind of relief. Three weeks of his hand low on Stede’s back when they’re pressed up against the bar, leaning in close to hear Stede’s order before leaning across to recite it to the bartender. Three weeks of direct, soul melting eye contact as Ed's meandering on stage and singing whichever ridiculous song’s been stuck in his head all week.

Three weeks of delicious, excruciating flirting that feels like a wonderful cat and mouse type game, except for the first time in his life, Stede feels like he's on equal footing with his opponent.

Ed has already performed his one single song of the night, an unnecessarily sensual rendition of Take Me To Church that had half of the bar turning on their bedroom eyes. Stede’s not sure what his face must have looked like as Ed sauntered off stage to a room of whooping and cheering, the last note of the song still reverberating around the room, but he’s already committed Ed’s face to memory, the way he raised an eyebrow and chewed on his lip as he walked first over to the bar, then back to slide in next to Stede, two new drinks in hand and smelling so good that Stede wants to do something ridiculous like pull aside the collar of his tshirt and lap at the sweat that’s forming a sheen on his neck.

“You never sing,” Ed says, nose pressed to Stede’s temple, and Stede can hear the pout. Wants to kiss his silly little pout.

“I think you sing enough for the both of us.”

“I sang one song.”

“And it brought the entire bar to its knees,” Stede laughs, turning his head slightly.

“The entire bar, huh?”

“You know it did, you arse.”

“How’re your knees coping with that, huh?”

Ed squeezes Stede’s left knee as he asks, his voice so low he’s barely audible over the backing track of the next performance, and Stede’s been putting this off for four entire weeks now, he’s been denying himself this exact thing for more than four weeks, because the chase and the game has been so deliciously arousing that he’s almost been scared to take it further just in case the embers of attraction he’s been stoking in his belly accidentally get doused out.

But Ed smells like sex incarnate, and he sings like sex incarnate, and every nerve in Stede’s body feels like it’s already ablaze, so the risk he’s taking doesn’t feel like a risk at all.

So he leans in.

And before their lips made any kind of contact, Ed knew what Stede was going to taste like. Sweet passionfruit and orange and the sharp bite of vodka. Sour from the lemon wedges he’s been stealing from other people’s abandoned tequila shots, a little spicy from the basket of cajun-dusted fries that accidentally got delivered to their table.

He knew what Stede was going to taste like, but fuck if he had no idea what kissing him was going to feel like. The absolutely fucking delicious brush of his lips as Stede finally turned his head enough to make contact. The entire hour that managed to hang in the air in the handful of seconds before Stede surged forward the final two millimetres and pulled every cubic inch of air out of Ed’s lungs.

And Ed genuinely feels like he’s lost the ability to breathe, because he’s heard filthy fucking rumours about Stede’s reputation as an affectionate drunk, and the anticipation of this has been killing him, in the best fucking way. Because Ed knows about his own reputation as a relentless flirt. He knows how hot he is, sue him. And he knows what people look like when they want to fuck him. He knows that Stede wants to fuck him. He’s acutely fucking aware that he wants to fuck Stede.

What he didn’t anticipate was Stede matching him, tit for fucking tat, when it came to the chase. The game. The refusal to be the person who breaks. The refusal to be the first person to admit exactly what it is that they want.

What he absolutely didn’t anticipate was Stede breaking first. Stede turning his head and pulling Ed into a kiss that makes his head spin and his dick throb and his stomach do somersaults. Stede kissing him so fucking slowly and carefully, gentle tongue and slow breaths, his hand still resting dangerously high on Ed’s thigh.

The sound of the room around him turns to white noise in Ed’s ears, and he genuinely couldn’t tell you how long he stays all but frozen in place, letting Stede pull his bottom lip through his teeth and chasing his mouth every time he pulls back too far for Ed to continue kissing him. And he must be getting some fucking horrific beard burn, the way he’s kept his face so close, his mouth so soft and supple.

“Fuck,” Ed manages to breathe, removing his hand from Stede’s knee so he can cup the back of Stede’s head, thumb rubbing along the curve of his ear.

His hair is as soft as his mouth, and god, Ed wants to pull it, wants to see what kind of fucking noises he can wrench out of Stede when he’s got enough privacy. Because Stede never sings. Five weeks of karaoke and he’s never sung. He sings along to other people’s songs, and he buys rounds, but he never sings.

Ed wants to make him fucking sing.

He leans back in, kisses Stede again, drags his bottom lip through his teeth, biting down a little harder than before.

And the moan that Stede lets out surprises even him. It’s soft, and it’s hardly there, but it’s definitely a moan, and Ed definitely kisses a little harder after he does it, and God, this was worth the wait. Worth the multiple weeks of flirting and teasing. Because Stede’s riled up enough for this to feel like the best kiss of his life, and he’s well aware that they’re very much in public, and his hand is still very high on Ed’s thigh, grip so strong Stede swears he can feel Ed’s pulse thundering down the arteries of his leg, and he’s never been more turned on in his entire life.

He pulls back a little, nips at Ed’s lip, immediately kisses it better. Ed moans against his mouth, slips him a little tongue, and Stede never kissed like this as a teenager, but the surge of hormones and arousal feels better suited to someone thirty years his junior. He wants to touch Ed. Everywhere. Wants to pull the back of his tshirt up and run his fingertips along his spine, wants to slip his hand down the back of Ed’s obnoxiously tight jeans, down the front of his jeans, wants to rub his thumb across the bars he knows thread behind each of Ed’s nipples, wants to let Ed grind against him, bring himself to orgasm right up against Stede’s leg.

He wants, and he wants, and he wants.

But he’s not going to take. Not yet.

“You should probably know,” Ed murmurs, dragging his mouth away from Stede’s to kiss along his jaw. “That I don’t put out—” He catches Stede’s earlobe between his teeth. “—on the first date.”

“Admirable,” Stede manages, kissing him again, just to feel the slide of Ed’s tongue against his, the soft rumble of Ed’s moan, the slightly tighter grip of his fingers. “Me either.”

“Good to know.”

“Would we call this a first date?”

“I’m not putting out, Stede,” Ed murmurs, and Stede giggles against his mouth, he can’t help it.

“Coulda fooled me.”

“Patience,” Ed says, pressing a collection of short, sharp kisses against Stede’s pursed lips.

“I think I’ve been very patient,” Stede whines, moving with Ed as he pulls back, his hand still cupping the back of Stede’s neck.

“It’s a virtue.”

“I can wait,” Stede says. He can. He’s survived this far. He’s amazed that he has survived this far. He’s a little scared that if Ed were to take him to bed, his heart might give out entirely. “As long as I get to do this.”

He kisses Ed again, with slow, lazy tongue, laughter bubbling in his chest, and he can’t get over just how much fun he’s having. How much fun he’s been consistently having with Ed, week after week after week.

“Reckon I can get on board with that,” Ed says, but just like every week before now, he’s pulling away from Stede’s embrace, laughing softly as Stede steals one last kiss before he leaves, then another, and another.

“I’ll see you next week?” Stede asks.

“Absolutely,” Ed murmurs, straightening himself up as he climbs out of the booth before leaning back down for another kiss.

And then he’s gone. And Stede’s brushing his thumb across his lips and wondering what the entire fuck just happened.

He knows Lucius is staring at him, and he knows he’s going to be completely unable to get up for at least the next five minutes while he wills all the blood in his body back to its correct and designated areas, and his brain is just a screaming cycle of oh my god what the fuck just happened.

And it’s like electricity zipping around Ed’s veins as he leaves the building, the delicious buzz of adrenaline from not only finally kissing Stede, but just upping and fucking leaving like that. Walking away from the most attractive person he’s ever had the pleasure of seducing, purely to play with him. To tease him, to continue their insane little cat and mouse game.

Ed likes him so fucking much. So fucking much.

And he kisses like Ed dreamed, and his body reacts to Ed’s like he couldn’t even begin to dream, and every part of this thing that’s not even a relationship has been so much fun Ed can hardly believe it’s happening. That he’s found someone that just seems to work with him.

He giggles to himself the entire walk home, tries to light a cig three times with shaky hands before giving up entirely, and has to stop to rub his hands over his face twice, a minute to just stand and grin maniacally to himself and think about the sound of Stede’s sharp intake of breath every time he’s kissed, and his soft little moans when Ed slipped him a bit of tongue, and Ed’s capable of being the most patient person in the world when he wants to be, but God, he can’t wait to see how Stede’s entire thing translates in bed, whether he’s as responsive and sweet and teasing as he is when the stakes are so much lower.

But the most important thing is how much fun he’s having now, with only a handful of kisses under his belt.

Just a handful.

Fuck, it’s only been a handful.

6: Lovefool

“Who’s the fool?” Stede asks with a soft giggle, squirming when Ed reaches up to tuck his hair behind his ear and leans so close Stede can feel his breath against his neck.

“Me,” Ed murmurs. “Always the goddamn fool.”

“Anyone would think you were pining terribly.”

“Who’d I be pining after,” Ed murmurs, kissing his throat. “Got everything I need right here.”

“That so?”

“Just about, yeah.”

“Just about?”

“Just about.”

And really, honestly, Stede has no comeback to that.

But he can kiss Ed now. He’s allowed to do that. He’s encouraged to do that. He can kiss him, and he can kiss him, and he can kiss him. Until the lights go back on, and Jackie is marching around ringing an honest to god handbell in everyone’s faces, and Ed’s being dragged back home by Ivan, and Lucius is rolling his eyes as he waits outside for his taxi.

“I’m going to be happy you’re happy, and try my absolute best to not regret being the person who inadvertently introduced the two of you. Honestly, I thought Pete and I were disgusting. You’re taking it to new heights, Stedey.”

“Inadvertently, hm?”

“Could never have known this would be the result,” Lucius says breezily. “Would not have subjected myself to this voluntarily.”

“But you’re happy I’m happy?”

“Delighted for you, Stede. But please, please, for the sake of everyone else, take the man home with you next week. Keep him waiting any longer and he’ll end up with a permanent ban.”

“I make no promises,” Stede says, biting his lip to stop himself grinning.

“Because much as I love this for the pair of you, he is very nice to watch, and he is very generous with his bar rounds, and I would hate for him to lose the opportunity to eye fuck the entire room once a week, boyfriend or not.”

“I can make no promises,” Stede repeats.

After all, he’s just about.

Just about.

Just about everything Ed needs.

Just about. Not quite everything.

Just about.

7: Common People

Stede has very nice shoulders. Broad. Nice amount of muscle when Ed rubs his hands over them, when he digs his fingertips into them for a little purchase.

He’s got a nice everything, actually. Nice solid body, nice legs, nice hair. Nice eyes, and mouth.

And for the first time, Ed’s really feeling the benefits of now nice every part of Stede is, because he’d barely finished the last few lines of his even by regular karaoke standards, completely unhinged group performance of Common People before Stede was intercepting him en route to the bar and dragging him to a by no means secluded but significantly quieter corner of the bar and all but shoving him up against the wall.

Stede, it turns out, is deceptively fucking strong. Ed, it turns out, is really fucking into it.

“I don’t think,” Stede says between kisses that Ed would almost describe as mauling. “You realise—” Another kiss, teeth crashing against Ed’s bottom lip. “Just how attractive you are—” And well, actually, Ed reckons he does know— “—when you’re messing around with your friends up there.”

“Shenanigans do it for you, huh?” Ed grins, sliding his hand up the back of Stede’s neck and threading his fingers through his hair. “Would never have known.”

“God, you do it for me. Even if I do suspect that song may have been aimed at me.”

Ed preens, then laughs, a sound punched right from the depths of his belly when Stede knocks his knees apart with one of his own, stepping even closer than before and pressing his hips to Ed’s.

“Maybe,” he murmurs. “It would have been, couple months ago.”

“Knew it,” Stede mutters.

“You’re one of us now though.”

“Glad to hear it,” Stede mumbles.

And Ed means it. Stede’s one of them now, drunk and handsy and free, at least on a Friday. He’s one of them, and Ed’s so into him at this point that it’s embarrassing.

His fancy fuck style of bitchiness, and his easy peasy wind-upable ness, and most recently the absolute magic he manages to work with his tongue, but he’s absolutely fucking delighted to finally get acquainted with the shape of Stede’s cock through his trousers. Chinos this week. Pinstripe. Already doing very little to disguise the fact that Stede very obviously dresses to the left, and hugging his arse so well Ed’s spent the best part of the evening wanting to fucking bite him, right at the crease of thigh and cheek.

Good fucking trousers, and a really good fucking cock, especially where it’s pressed to Ed’s hip, warm and solid even though multiple layers of fabric.

And this is the first time that Ed’s really getting to appreciate the height difference between him and Stede, the small handful of inches that place Ed’s neck at a really convenient level for Stede’s mouth. And these days, he keeps his beard cropped relatively short, and Stede is really using that to his advantage, the hair that’s still there not acting in any way as a deterrent to stop him mouthing his way up Ed’s jaw, rolling his hips against his leg, teeth catching on the series of rings Ed has running through his earlobe.

“Fucking hell, Stede.”

Stede hums in response, nipping at the soft patch of skin behind Ed’s ear, sucking softly before kissing back down to Ed’s mouth.

“You’re gonna get us kicked out this time.”

“Interesting use of us,” Stede laughs, hand resting on Ed’s hip, thumb rubbing along the patch of skin that sits just above the waistband of his jeans. “I haven’t been kicked out at all.”

“First time for everything,” Ed says, dipping his chin and pulling Stede into another kiss, feeling around so he can tuck his fingertips through one of Stede’s belt loops. “First time getting kicked out of Jackie’z, first set of public indecency Jackie Penalty Points. We could really rack up some firsts here.”

Stede giggles against Ed’s lips, kisses him again, sweet and slow. “Think I’d like to keep my record clean.”

“Suit yourself.”

“How far do you think we can go before we get penalised?”

“You’re a fucking lunatic,” Ed moans, shifting his body so he can press against Stede’s thigh, let him feel just how into it is. “I fucking love it.”

The thing is, Ed knows exactly how far they can go without Stede getting any kind of penalties. The rules are pretty simple: no public nudity, no public orgasms, no getting in other people’s way. No fire, no broken glass, and no bodily fluids outside of the bathrooms.

So as long as they stay dressed, they’re fine.

As long as nobody comes, they’re fine.

As long as Ed doesn’t spontaneously combust from arousal, they’re absolutely fine.

And Stede has already tucked them into a corner, so they’re not going to get in anyone else’s way. They’re probably not going to break any glasses. They’re unlikely to cause a fire.

No guarantees however, on the public orgasms, because Ed’s well past the point of a semi, and Stede’s either got the biggest dick on the planet, or he’s also sailing along at full mast, and there’s something about dry humping in what is still a mostly public space that really gets Ed going. No desire to get his cock out in front of God and everyone, but something kind of hot about people seeing him get a little nasty with someone else. Show off the effect he can have on other people, let people have a bit of a crisis about whether they want to do him or be him. Because he knows he looks good when he’s in the process of building pleasure. He’s recorded himself, been drunk enough to watch it back, watch his own body move like it’s not his, watched the way his jaw drops and his eyelashes sit on his cheeks. He’s well aware how good he looks in the act, and he’s not averse to an audience, sue him.

Maybe the lady doth protest too much, because immediately after declaring his intent to keep a clean record, Stede’s starting to wonder what would be so bad about being a little more reckless for once. If it would really be so bad to break some rules, get a few penalty points, probably receive a short ban from karaoke Fridays. Because while it took an unimaginable amount of courage to manhandle Ed into a relatively quiet corner and all but slam him up against the wall, he’s beginning to think that that courage is something he could absolutely build on, perhaps exponentially. Because Ed has always looked good, whether up on stage or tucked close to Stede in a bar booth, or pressed between a wall and Stede’s body, or a table and Stede’s body, or the bar itself and Stede’s body.

Ed when his body is moving rhythmically with Stede’s, however, is an entirely different ball game. Ed’s stunning when he’s letting his body move instinctually, when he has Stede’s leg to grind against, when his mouth drops open between kisses. He’s absolutely stunning, and Stede wants to throw all public decency to the wind and see exactly what Ed looks like when he’s on the precipice of orgasm, and more specifically, what he looks like when all bets are off and he’s coming undone under Stede’s touch.

It should be easy, because Stede knows his own body intimately at this point. He knows exactly how close he can pull himself before he reaches the point of climax no return. He knows when he needs to stop himself, and he’s pretty sure he can keep himself decent and intact while taking Ed utterly apart.

Stede’s plan works, to an extent. He’s beginning to learn tips and tricks to make Ed literally weak at the knees, like kissing a particular spot on his neck and pressing his thumb into a particular spot on his hip, and pulling back right as Ed is getting into a kiss, forcing him to chase Stede’s mouth to continue, laughing every time he does. And it’s easy, when he combines them all, to bring Ed to a point where the movement of his lower half gets erratic, when his breaths come a little faster, and his kisses become significantly less refined. And it’s not exactly how Stede imagined his first time with Ed would go, dry humping to completion—at least on Ed’s part—in the dingy corner of a karaoke bar, but it feels so good, and Ed looks so good in the throes of it, that he doesn’t even care about the location.

“Stede, fuck,” Ed whines, his head thunking against the wall. “God, you’re too fucking good, fuck.”

“What do you need?” Stede murmurs, shifting to relieve some of the pressure on his groin.

“I need you to stop, love,” Ed laughs. “Fucking hell.”

“Do you actually want me to stop?”

“Penalty points, Stede.”

“What if I don’t care about those?”

Ed pauses then, places a hand on Stede’s chest, and in the split second Stede is distracted enough to look down at it, flat against his breastbone, he manages to get their positions completely reversed, one hand flat above Stede’s head.

And Stede has never felt so small in stature as he does with Ed standing above him like this, using his extra couple of inches in height to his advantage.

“You’re playing a losing game, Stede.” he smirks, eyes dipping back and forth between Stede’s eyes and mouth. He tilts his chin up, tries to goad Ed into another kiss, but it’s fruitless. “I’m not getting kicked out, so I can’t come. And neither can you. Rules apply to both of us. Either of us gets there, we both get banned.”

“What if I don’t care about that anymore?”

“Then I think you’re a filthy fucking liar.”

Ed kisses him again, lazy like he has all the time in the world, like Stede’s cock isn’t threatening to go freelance if he doesn’t start fairly compensating it for its work.

“And you’re gonna have to work harder than that to get me to break.”

He winks at Stede, bloody winks at him, cheeky rather than sexy, then steps back, adjusting himself in his jeans.

“Clean record still intact,” he grins, stepping back forward for one last kiss, fingertips tucked under Stede’s chin.

And Stede obviously, definitely, needs to up his game.

8: Love Shack

Stede doesn’t sing.

He can, to an extent, but he doesn’t. Not in public. And he’s made it something of a Thing that he doesn’t sing at karaoke, regardless of how many filthy favours Ed offers him in exchange for a song.

He doesn’t sing, and everyone knows he doesn’t sing, which makes it so utterly baffling when Lucius makes a beeline for him where he’s actually very busy making eyes at Edward where he’s propping up the bar, thank you very much.

“We need an extra body,” Lucius says, hand on his hip like he thinks sass and a lack of information is the way to get Stede to do anything.

“How unfortunate for you,” Stede says, draining the last of his third drink in the space of less than an hour and raising the glass over to Ed, who in turn sticks a little okay hand signal into the air and nods.

“If you sing, he’ll probably fuck you.”

Which, quite frankly, is a rather rude assumption.

“I can get Edward to fuck me without making a fool of myself.”

“Mmmyeah. You sure about that? Because as far as I can tell, you haven’t yet, and it’s either that you’re not trying hard enough, or that you’re playing some kind of chicken game to see who will break first. And as entertaining as it is to watch the two most enthusiastic competitors in the foreplay olympics every week, I’m starting to get blue balls watching you.”

“Delightful,” Stede mutters, watching Ed lean over the bar to give Jim his order. There's a rip in his jeans, along the inner thigh, and Stede’s overwhelmed by the need to work his fingers under the frayed denim, rub at the soft skin underneath.

“You’re vile,” Lucius mutters. “Come on, you owe me this, just for that face you had the audacity to pull in public. Fucking hell.”

“What, exactly, are you performing?” Stede asks, giving in to Lucius’s staring. It’s one song, and apparently a group performance that he can more than likely hide in the back of.

“Oh, you’ll see,” Lucius grins, pulling him through the crowd and up onto the stage.

He hands Stede two shots of something unbearably neon, and equally unbearably sweet, and Stede downs them both as a dose of liquid courage before shuffling around the small crowd populating the stage, looking for somewhere to drop his shot glass and get into position.

Ed’s face is an entire picture when he returns from the bar and realises exactly where Stede has disappeared to, even more so when he manages to find a seat a little closer to the stage, and he looks like he’s about to achieve all but spontaneous orgasm when the backing track kicks in and he realises, at almost the exact same moment as Stede, exactly what song Lucius has involved him in.

“Absolutely not,” he says, directly into Lucius’s ear.

“Absolutely yes,” Lucius grins.

And Stede has to admit, as a group, karaoke isn’t so bad, and he understands a little better Ed’s impulse to behave like a drunk toddler when he performs with his friends as opposed to solo. Because the lights on the stage are bright enough to block out the view of most of the bar, and dancing in a small crowd is rather intoxicating, even without the shots, and there’s something so delightfully camaraderie feeling about songs like these, with multiple solo parts and big group choruses.

And Ed's only human. As far as humans go, he's an alright one, but restraint has never been a particularly strong point of his. In fact, competition is one of the only things guaranteed to do a decent job of overriding his impulsivity.

But fucking hell, if Stede isn't doing a bang up job of breaking him down, bit by bit, reducing his restraint down to something paper fucking thin.

Because it's one thing that Lucius managed to get him up on fucking stage for the first time in two fucking straight months of karaoke attendance. It's another that Stede seems to be actively enjoying himself once the first thirty seconds of awkwardness has passed.

It's an entirely new thing altogether when Stede drops to his knees and does a very drunk but surprisingly on point Tin RoOOOF, RUSTED, all shreds of self-consciousness well and truly evaporated.

And the thing is, Ed saw Stede getting dragged up on stage by Lucius, and all along he’s believed Stede’s very vehement insistence that he doesn’t sing at karaoke, so he knows this wasn’t something pre-planned by Stede to try and get him to break. He knows this was as spontaneous as it appears on the surface.

He knows that Stede really is that insane, and he really is that attractive. And he really does the remaining thirty seconds of the song on his knees, a mic all to his own, while the rest of the crew dance around him, sharing the second mic between them until they all collapse to the ground with him, showering Stede in kisses and gentle smacks of encouragement.

Ed takes his opportunity to head back to their booth, sliding into the corner and waiting for Stede to make his way sheepishly back to the table. It takes him a couple of minutes, waylaid by half the bar congratulating him on finally getting the fuck up there and bringing the house down in the process, and by the time he gets to Ed, crawling over the bench seat so he can immediately plant a kiss on him, he’s flushed red and giggling the entire way through, missing his mark multiple times before he hits the bullseye.

Might well be game over here, because Ed is entirely ready to take this guy home and put on a performance of his own, in the privacy of his own bedroom, wearing as little as possible.

“You’re fucking insane,” he mutters, shaking his head, laughing, and narrowly avoiding the sudden impulse to tack on I love you.

“I was taken up there,” Stede whines between kisses. “Entirely against my will.”

“Dunno mate, you looked pretty into it.”

“I’m pretty into you.”

“Also I’m very, very drunk.”

And that, Ed could have probably guessed.

“No more for you tonight, then?”

“Nuh-uh,” Stede mumbles, sitting back on his heels. “I’m really drunk.”

Ed looks up, focusing on him properly, and he actually looks a little queasy, sweating in a way that Ed’s pretty sure has only a limited amount to do with the exertion of his performance.

“Ooookay,” Ed says, straightening himself up and placing a hand on Stede’s knee to steady him. “Reckon it might be time to get you home, hm?”

“You’re coming home with me?”

Well. “Absolutely not, babe. Lucius is going to take you home, when I can find him, and you are going to sleep this off in the privacy and dignity of your own bed.”

“That seems like a shame.”

“I doubt you’ll think so in the morning. Reckon you’ll be very glad to be alone come morning.”

“I don’t think I’m going to come in the morning. Maybe. We’ll see.”

Ed really has to find Lucius.

He manages to get out past Stede, making sure he’s sitting up properly before he leaves to search the crowd, eventually tripping over Lucius where he’s sitting inexplicably on the floor, getting his hair petted by Fang.

“You gotta take Stede home.”

Lucius looks up at him. “I don’t think I have to do anything. You take him home. He’d love that.”

“He’s shitfaced, Luce. And horny. I’m not taking him home.”

“Oh my God,” Lucius moans, rolling his head and climbing to his feet. “You lot are too old for me to be cleaning up your messes—no offence babe.”

“None taken!” Fang chirps, taking a sip of his drink.

“Okay. Okay. Where is he?”

Ed points over at the booth, where Stede is waving far too enthusiastically over at them.

“Oh Jesus,” Lucius mutters. “You owe me for this.”

“Absolutely,” Ed agrees. “Name your price.”

“I’ll sit on that one, let you know in due course.”

“Mmhm,” Ed mumbles. “Cheers.”

“Okay Stedey,” Lucius starts, in a voice that seems far better suited to a primary school classroom than a dive bar. “Hometime?”

“I think so,” Stede says solemnly, and his face sobers so dramatically that Ed has to stifle a laugh. “Ed says it’s time.”

“Ed says, does he?”

“Ed’s very wise.”

“That he is, babe. You got everything?”

“I think so,” Stede says, patting all his pockets. “Wallet, watch, keys, phone.”

“Sounds good to me. You got any goodbyes to say?”

“Just Ed,” Stede says. “Kiss goodnight?”

Ed looks at Lucius, who just rolls his eyes and gestures as if to say You heard the man. Helpful, always so fucking helpful.

“Okay,” Ed says. “One.”

Stede pouts, sticking his bottom lip right out, and it’s easy to pull him into a kiss, to to bite his lip a little, prompting him to let out one hell of a soft moan, and he’s just getting over the awkwardness of knowing Lucius is right there and getting right into the feeling of Stede flush against his body, when Stede is tugged away from him, looking as bereft as Ed feels.

“That’ll do,” Lucius says. “My God that’ll really fucking do.”

He starts to drag Stede towards the front door, but he doesn’t manage to get him far enough away before Ed hears Stede scold him thoroughly.

“I believe they call this cockblocking, Lucius. You’re cockblocking me right now.”

And Ed is done.

He’s gone.

He’s absolutely besotted by the man.

And there’s only one real solution to that.

+1: I’m On Fire

It’s Friday, and it’s absolutely freezing out, snow drifts banked up against every building, but inside the bar it’s wonderful. Between the alcohol and the crowds and the beer jacket, Stede’s feeling pleasantly warm under the collar, and he has a feeling he’s about to feel even hotter. Because it’s Friday, and it’s almost ten, so of course, like clockwork, two rum and cokes and three shots of tequila down, Ed’s leaning over the bar to gesture at the Swede, scribbling his name in the little sign up book and sauntering up on stage, winking and blowing a kiss at Stede as he passes.

Stede settles back into his seat, swirls the ice around in his drink, and giggles softly to himself as Ed tangles, detangles, then somehow re-tangles himself in the mic lead, shaking his leg out and doing a weird kind of hop-dance across the makeshift stage as he tries to figure out what the hell he’s done.

Eventually. he frees himself and waves a hand over to the guy behind the bar who’s controlling the sound system. The backing track to Ed’s song du jour kicks in, and the beat is familiar, it’s really familiar, but in the haze of a surprisingly strong pornstar martini, Stede can’t quite place the damn thing. Ed’s obviously feeling it though, if the gentle sway of his hips and tapping of his foot is anything to go by.

Then he starts singing, and Stede doesn’t need Lucius’s desperate sounding “Oh my fucking God,” to know that he’s deeply, royally, absolutely fucked.

Ed’s draped over the mic stand, tshirt riding up over his belly, singing about a knife being run through his skull in a register Stede had no idea his voice was capable of, and the sound is running through him like nothing he’s ever felt before.

And then he’s on his knees, and the whole fucking bar could be on fire for all Stede’s aware, for all that Ed’s gaze is burning a path right through him. And Ed’s sung karaoke every single week since he and Stede started this thing, and it’s always been incredibly transparent flirting at best, damn near foreplay at the other end of the spectrum, but somehow, it’s never felt like this.

Ed’s sung Springsteen before. Ed has sung Springsteen multiple times, in fact. Solo and otherwise. And every single time he’s managed to make the room feel at least a few degrees warmer with his voice, and his lounging over the mic stand, and the constant running of his hands through his hair, but this really is something else. Stede knows it’s already a song about sex, but Ed looks like he’s absolutely drowning in want, and desire, and need. And Stede doesn’t really care if this becomes the moment he loses the game they’re still inexplicably playing here. He doesn’t care what percentage of this is pure performance over Ed’s actual feelings. He just knows that this is the night that, all parties willing, he takes Edward to bed.

This is the night he takes Ed apart. This is the night he lets every single milligram of pent up arousal and affection loose on Ed’s hopefully willing body.

Ed closes out the song gently humming along as the backing vocals fade out, and Stede braces himself, because every single week, for months now, Ed has beelined for him in their booth as soon as he finished whichever song he’d chosen as his mating ritual for the evening. Every single week. And Stede has drinks ready, sweating condensation onto their respective beer mats, and his cock is already thick against his thigh, and he knows there’s sweat curling the hair at the back of his neck, and he’s half tempted to see if he can book a cab in the next sixty seconds before Ed reaches him, but he can’t take his eyes off him long enough to even try.

Because Ed’s finally, finally stepping off the stage, brushing his hair back from his face, and tying it up into a messy bun, and Stede edges slightly closer to the corner of the booth, closes the distance Ed will have to cross before he can kiss him, wets his bottom lip in preparation. And he can see Ed moving through the crowd, can see him biting down on his lip, can see the smirk curling at the corner of his mouth, and Ed walks up to the table, brushes his fingers along the edge of the wood, gives Stede a swift up and down, and walks directly past him.

And Ed just hopes that Stede picks up what he’s putting down, prays to whatever deity is listening that Stede understands the song, that he can read Ed’s body language, that he follows him out rather than waiting inside for him.

Because the song was for Stede. It was to goad Stede, but it was for Stede. And Ed managed to get himself so lost in the goddamn thing that staying inside, surrounded by people, felt like an impossible feat. He’s wound himself up, in the best fucking way, and he needs a minute before he can even think about riding the absolute tsunami wave of feeling he’s unleashed inside himself. It’s fucking cold out when he finally makes it past the lone security guy and out onto the street, but the cold is good, the cold is sobering, the cold gives him a minute or two to check in and make sure that he really does want to follow through on the chain of events he’s inevitably kicked off.

He pulls a cigarette from his pocket, raises it to his mouth with fingers that are shaking more than he realised, and somehow, after a couple of attempts, gets the damn thing lit enough to take a long fucking drag.

Stede’s hot, and he’s bitchy, and he’s smart, and he’s fucking weird, and Ed’s been putting off actually seducing him for weeks now, purely because it’s been so much fucking fun to play with him, and get to know him, and tease him. And the whole game of it, the dragging out of the time with him has allowed his actual feelings to bury their way right down to his bone marrow. Ed likes him so fucking much. So fucking much. And for all the teasing and playing, he desperately hopes Stede wants a little more than the explosion of pent up sex they’re inevitably barrelling towards. He hopes, and he hopes and he hopes.

He hopes and wants so much that he almost misses Stede leaving Jackie’z himself, standing under the little awning and searching the street for a sight of Ed. And Ed feels like he’s been standing outside for hours, but his cig has barely burnt down at all, and apparently it’s the little glow of Ed’s next drag of it that grabs Stede’s attention, prompts him to stalk across the road with his jacket pulled tight around him, and immediately crowd into Ed’s space.

Ed’s cigarette is hanging from his mouth, and there’s new snow starting to drift down from the sky in wet clumps, and Stede’s looking at him. Not even looking at him, Stede’s staring at him. And his eyes are dark, and his bottom lip is wet, and Ed really truly wants to live in this moment for the rest of his life, because he’s never felt as wanted as he does right now.

Stede reaches up, takes the cig from Ed’s mouth, and Ed’s expecting him to take a drag, like he has done every single time he’s followed him out for a smoke, but he just holds it down to one side, pinched carefully between his first two fingers, and his other hand is warm when it reaches up to cup Ed’s face, and Ed’s so ready to be kissed. Reckons he’s never been more ready to be kissed.

And Stede fucking devours him. Kisses him soft, and wet, and with just the right amount of tongue. And it’s the same as every other kiss he’s shared with Stede, except it’s not. There’s something else there, something fierce and desperate and urgent underneath the gentle care Stede’s awarding him. There’s no laughter, no giggling. No teeth clashing because they’re smiling too hard to kiss properly. This is different. This is serious. Ed wraps his arm around Stede’s waist, pulls him close, tucks his knee between Stede’s so he can feel the press of his cock through his jeans, and Stede pulls back with a soft moan, drags his bottom lip through his teeth, then reaches up to place Ed’s cigarette back in his mouth.

“I don’t wanna play anymore,” Stede murmurs, leaning up to speak directly into Ed’s ear. “You win. Game over. I don’t want to play anymore.”

“Fucking hell,” Ed breathes, dropping his cigarette to the floor and stomping it out with his toes. “C’mere.”

He pulls Stede close again, leans down and kisses him, licking into his mouth and rolling his hips gently to the rhythm of Stede’s sweet little moans.

“You sure?” he whispers, nose crushed against Stede’s cheekbone.

“Take me home, Ed,” Stede murmurs. “Or I can take you home, I don’t really care. Game well and truly over.”

“Reckon it’s far from over,” Ed laughs. “I’m walking distance.”

“I’m not.”

“Fancy a walk?”

“God,” Stede says. “I think I’d do just about anything with you, Ed.”

“Ah, you can’t be going and saying shit like that, love.”

“It’s true,” Stede says, kissing him again. “I’ve had so much fucking fun with you so far. This has been so much fun. You’re so much fun.”

And Ed laughs into the next kiss, giggles against Stede’s mouth, lets it devolve into a messy press of lips and teeth and tongue, and Stede’s right, he’s so fucking right. Everything about this is so much fucking fun, the chase and the back and forth and the teasing and the constan gaming of each other’s limits. It’s been the most fun Ed’s ever had in any kind of relationship, romantic or otherwise.

“We should probably go before this gets worse,” he says, gesturing out into the street where the snowfall is starting to look a lot less like sleet and definitely more flake-like.

“How far is the walk?”

“Ten minutes or so. You got everything?”

“I’m good,” Stede says, patting down his pockets. “Your jacket, though?”

“Fuck,” Ed says. “If I go back in we’ll never leave.”

“I’ll grab it,” Stede says, turning out of Ed’s embrace. “I should probably say goodbye to Lucius, make sure he doesn’t think I’ve been kidnapped or murdered or some other equally dramatic outcome.”

“He’s gonna know exactly where you went.”

“Maybe,” Stede says with a smile. “Good to be sure, though.”

Ed lights another cigarette as Stede disappears into the building, something to keep his hands busy over any real craving for it. Stede takes a little while longer than anticipated to say his goodbyes, and the slightest hint of worry starts to brew in Ed’s belly with every drag off his cig, but when he’s less than a centimetre away from the filter, Stede reappears, coat in hand, and a face like a man on an entire mission.

Ed tosses the butt, shoves his arms through the sleeves of his coat, and pulls Stede into a snowy kiss, sweet and slow, tongue heavy, full of promise.

“Ten minutes?” Stede murmurs.

“Easy,” Ed says, taking him by the hand and pulling him down the pavement.

The snow is pleasantly crunchy underfoot, and the flakes are beautiful as they drift through the beams shining down from each street light, and Stede’s quiet beside him as they walk, but it’s comfortable. It’s always comfortable with him.

It’s stupid, and it’s fun, and it’s ridiculous, and it’s always fucking comfortable. Always.

Stede swings their hands in the limited space between them like a schoolboy, and the snow is catching in his hair, and his scarf, and his collar, and Ed’s gone far too many minutes without kissing him. They’re less than three minutes from his house, but he can’t wait any longer, he needs something to tide him over before they get home.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, stopping under the amber light of a streetlamp yet to be upgraded to one of the brighter LED ones, pulling Stede close and grinning softly at him before leaning in to kiss him.

Stede’s hand flies up to cup Ed’s face, and it’s cold. It’s the hand Ed hasn’t been holding, and it’s cold, but Stede’s mouth is oh-so warm, and fuck, if it hasn’t started to feel like home. Stede kisses him without any urgency, and Ed knows that’s likely to follow, when they’re safe behind a closed door and every bitten lip and abandoned semi and pent up erection and drunken shower wank gets unleashed, but this is something Ed’s going to hold on to, just for a little bit.

“How far are we from home?” Stede mumbles against his lips.

“Two minutes, if we’re quick.”

Stede huffs a soft laugh, his breath visible in the air between them. “Luckily, I have a burst of speed brewing.”

“What are we waiting for?” Ed asks, giving him one last peck. “Let’s fucking go.”

And it’s far too slippery underfoot to be running, but Ed manages to keep them both upright enough for a jog, skidding to an unwieldy stop at his front steps, Stede crashing in beside him.

“Mind the ice,” he says, stepping through the salted patches he’d had the foresight to throw down before he left. He stands at the door, fumbling for his keys when he feels Stede press up behind him, chin hooked over Ed’s shoulder.

“Bad time for a piggyback, mate.”

“Narrow step,” Stede mumbles.

“Likely story.”

He gets the door open with only slightly shaky fingers, and clicks the hallway light on, bathing the space in a soft glow. Takes off his coat and boots, holds a hand out for Stede’s jacket, waits patiently while he removes his own shoes.

“So, you want the grand tour, or?”

“Ed,” Stede breathes, and it’s like the moment snaps, and all the sweet, tentativeness of the walk home vaporises as Stede crowds Ed up against the door of his cloak cupboard and kisses him with all the intensity of the booth at Jackie’z, or the secluded corners of Jackie’z, or the front windows of the cafe opposite Jackie’z.

“No tour then?” Ed laughs, tucking his fingertips into Stede’s back pocket.

“I’d rather see it in daylight,” Stede murmurs.

“Fuck,” Ed murmurs. “C’mon.”

He takes Stede by the hand, leads him upstairs in the dark, allows himself to be kissed on the tiny landing when the stairs make a turn, up against his bathroom door, and kinda perilously against the bannister rail overlooking the stairs, pauses when they reach his bedroom, door cracked ajar.

“Let me get rid of the cat,” he says, and Stede’s face brightens. “She’ll terrorise us if I don’t put her to bed.”

“A cat?” he smiles.

“Don’t get too excited, she’s a right dickhead,” Ed says over his shoulder, stepping into his room and scooping her up from her place by his pillow.

“Sorry babe,” he murmurs into her fur. “Bedtime.”

She mewls pitifully, but he’s got bigger fish to fry. He steps past Stede, stopping briefly to allow him to give her a scratch under her chin, then deposits her into her bed in his office.

“Gonna need you to give me a lie-in tomorrow, girl. Ya hear? No early wakeups.”

He tosses a couple of treats down next to her water bowl and pulls the door to behind him, leaving a gap for her to leave when she’s ready.

“Where were we?” he asks, interrupting Stede where he’s investigating some of Ed’s framed art.

“Cat relocation,” Stede says with a soft smile.

“All done.”

“Then I think,” Stede murmurs, stepping into Ed’s space and brushing his hair from his face. “Bedroom.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He steps through the threshold of the bedroom, closes the door behind Stede, and looks at him. Really fucking looks at him.

And he’s been waiting for this for fucking ever, he’s been playing around this inevitability for weeks now, and he barely knows where to start.

“Stede,” he tries, voice soft, and Stede springs into action, walking Ed backwards until his calves hit his bedframe.

“Kiss me,” Ed says. “Please, Stede—”

Stede blinks, then reaches up to hold Ed’s chin, turn his head slightly, and pulls him into a kiss unlike he’s ever experienced before. It’s impossibly slow, and impossibly sensual, and Ed’s entire body comes alive, a flush running through him, his fingers clenching involuntarily in Stede’s jumper, his toes curling in his socks. Stede coaxes his mouth open with his tongue, deepens the kiss, and Ed needs something to change. He needs to be laying down, or he needs to be wearing less clothes, Stede needs to be wearing less clothes. He needs to be closer to him, needs to be given the opportunity to start learning his body in an entirely new way. He pulls Stede’s shirt from his trousers, runs his hands up his back and down again to cup under his arse and pull him forward. Closer.

“Less clothes,” he manages, whining when Stede chases his mouth for another kiss. “I need—closer, Stede.”

He pulls away enough to tug his sweatshirt and tshirt over his head in one go, pausing to watch Stede struggle with his shirt buttons before giving up and pulling the entire thing over his head, revealing a body even better than Ed’s imagination even dared conjure up. Broad, dusted with hair, soft with fat but solid under Ed’s tentative touch.

“Fuck me, Ed,” Stede moans.

“Definitely on the cards, love.”

“May I?” he asks, reaching a hand out. Ed nods, whining high in his throat when Stede rubs his thumb over each of the bars threaded through Ed’s nipples, bringing them both to peaks in the cool air of his bedroom. “God, you’re absolutely stunning. Look at you.”

“Look at you,” Ed moans. “Jesus Christ, Stede. The fuck you been hiding all this under the shirts and sweaters.”

He sinks down onto the edge of the mattress, buries his face in the trail of hair under Stede’s navel, takes a deep breath.

“Can we take these off?” he asks, tucking his fingers under Stede’s waistband. Stede nods, undoes his belt, buttons, and fly with practised ease, allows Ed to pull them down over his hips, revealing a pair of obscenely tight, snowflake patterned boxer briefs.

“Fun,” Ed grins.

“I thought so,” Stede murmurs, looking down at him with dark eyes.

Ed traces the line of Stede’s erection with his thumb, biting his lip at the low moan Stede lets sit at the back of his throat.

“Can I suck you?”

“Oh God,” Stede moans. “Please, shit.”

“Bare?”

“All clear,” Stede whispers.

“Fucking brilliant. Same, for the record.”

“Really good to know,” he bites out. “Please, Ed.”

He eases Stede’s underwear down, presses his nose immediately to the crease of his thigh and takes a deep breath. Stede’s cock is fucking stunning, for lack of a better word. Short, and thick, a slight curve to it where it’s standing proud from his body. He licks a stripe up the underside, pulls Stede’s foreskin clear of the crown, and flattens his tongue, taking him entirely in one hit. Stede’s hands fly to the back of his head, and Ed moans around his cock, breathing slowly through his nose and swallowing carefully.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Stede moans, pulling back to thrust shallowly into Ed’s waiting mouth. “Your mouth, Ed.”

Your cock, Ed thinks. It’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. It’s a perfect weight on his tongue, a perfect length to swallow against the tip without activating his gag reflex. It was made for Ed’s mouth, it’s the only way to explain it. Stede’s cock was crafted to be sucked by Ed, and Ed only. He bobs his head, lets his teeth graze gently along the underside, sucks on the tip and curls his tongue around the crown.

He’s almost painfully hard in his own jeans, but he’s been waiting to do this for fucking ever, and he’s going to make the absolute most of it. He’s never going to suck Stede off for the first time again, this is his one and only chance to make the best fucking impression he can.

“Ed,” Stede moans, devolving quickly into pure babbling. “Ed, Ed, Ed—”

He’s not ready to come. Not like this, regardless of how beautifully debauched Ed looks with his mouth stretched around Stede’s cock, his eyelashes fanning against his cheeks, eyes watering every time he swallows.

“Ed,” he repeats, pulling his hips back and letting his cock slip from Ed’s mouth. It drags across his bottom lip as it falls, and Ed’s jaw drops so beautifully as he blinks up at Stede.

“Not like this,” he says, leaning down to kiss him, licking the taste of his own bitter fluid from Ed’s tongue.

Ed nods and arches up, hand tight on Stede’s thigh.

“How far do you want to go?” Stede murmurs, kissing along the line of Ed’s beard until he can press his temple against Ed’s, feel his breath against his ear.

“All of it, fuck, Stede. Everything. All of it.”

His fingers creep around to bite into the cheeks of Stede’s backside, and he was sure tonight was going to end with him buried as deep as he could inside of Ed’s body, but now, he has no idea what he wants at all.

“What’s your preference?” He asks, stepping out of his trousers and kicking off his underwear. “Ideal scenario, how would this go?”

“Fuck me,” Ed breathes. “Inside. Fuck me, please. Stede, I need this so fucking badly. I need you so fucking badly.”

“Yeah,” Stede manages, cock jumping where it was resting half hard against his thigh. “Yeah, okay. God, okay, Ed.”

Ed shimmies up the bed, undoing his jeans and shoving them down so he can kick them over the edge of the bed. And Stede was aware that he was heavily tattooed, had an inkling that he had piercings he was being coy about, but Edward Teach, spread out on his duvet, knee bent and cock hard against his belly, is a wonder the ancient gods themselves couldn’t have envisioned.

“You’re stunning,” Stede murmurs, crawling onto the bed between Ed’s knees. “God. All for me?”

“All for you,” Ed whines. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this.”

“Oh, I have some idea,” Stede laughs. “This has been a two-player game all along. I’ve been all in about this as long as I think you have.”

He takes Ed’s cock in hand, begins a series of slow strokes that send visible shivers through Ed’s body.

“You sang Jolene, the first night I came. You were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen in my life, and all I could think is that any man would be an idiot to be drawn away from you.”

Ed’s breath hitches, and his toes curl. Stede presses a kiss to his bent knee, continues his slow pulls.

“I still suspect Lucius was attempting to set us up, but until I saw you, I couldn’t have told you a single detail about a hypothetical partner I could be set up with. But you tick all the boxes, Ed. I’ve never felt more attuned to a person in my life. The absolutely ridiculous sexual chemistry we seem to have just felt like a bonus. Playing this game with you has been the greatest pleasure of my life. And I’m really, really looking forward to taking you completely apart.”

Ed moans and rolls his hips. “You can’t just say shit like that, who even are you? Jesus fucking christ.”

“Too much?”

“Fuck no,” Ed growls, and then he’s leaning up to pull Stede into a kiss, fierce and wet and completely lacking any kind of finesse. Stede follows him down until he’s bracketing Ed’s body with his own, balls brushing over Ed’s raised thigh, thumb rubbing one of his nipples, kissing him fast and messy, rolling his hips to relieve some of the pressure building in his groin.

“Lubricant, something, Ed.”

“Side table,” Ed slurs, mouthing down Stede’s throat and sinking his teeth into a particularly sensitive patch just south-west of his adam’s apple. Stede rummages around in a drawer, retrieving a half empty bottle that he uncaps with his thumb.

“How many?”

“Two,” Ed moans. “Start with two. I’ll let you know.”

He spreads his legs as Stede resituates himself between them, pulling his balls up and out of the way to give Stede access, and Stede has to bite his lip to stop himself making a completely undignified noise of deep, unfiltered arousal at the sight of Ed, so openly wanting for him.

He slicks up his middle and ring fingers, presses flat against Ed’s hole, waits for a nod before pushing in. And Ed’s body takes him like it’s nothing, like he’s been waiting for this, like there’s nothing it wants more than Stede inside it, however it can manage it. Stede works him carefully but efficiently, leaning down to swallow Ed’s moans and murmur praise against his lips.

“So good,” Stede whispers. “Not gonna need more than two, are you? So open for me. So ready for me.”

“Stede, you gotta put it in. I’m ready. I swear, I’m so fucking ready.”

And god, if he isn’t a picture when he’s desperate.

He withdraws his fingers, hisses through his teeth as he adds a liberal amount of what is apparently sour apple lube to the head of his cock, wipes his fingers clean on the inside of Ed’s thigh, then shifts into place, pressing the tip against the slick resistance of Ed’s hole and moaning when he slips neatly inside, enveloped by the warmth and grip of his body.

“God, you’re everything,” he moans, burying his face in Ed’s neck and snapping his hips forward. Ed lets out a strangled moan of his own, ankles locking at the small of Stede’s back, and Stede trusts him to say if anything isn’t working, if he wants to go slower, or easier. Boundaries have been the one thing they’ve built this entire relationship on, and the trust feels bone deep, woven right down into the foundations of it all.

And he’s not going to last particularly long, that he knows with certainty. Ed’s body is like a furnace, hot and tight, and he’s babbling his praises and swears and soft little grunts every time Stede manages to push completely flush with his body, Ed’s sac pressed up against his pubic bone, all tight and full between his legs.

“I want to see you come,” Stede murmurs, pushing up onto his hands so he can stare down at Ed. His hair has unravelled almost entirely from the messy bun he’d thrown it up into, his mouth is slack with pleasure, his eyes dark and heavy, nipples tight and proud. “Do you want to go first?”

“Fuck yeah,” Ed slurs, reaching down to pull at his cock. Stede watches the head push through the tight ring of his fist, studies the flick of Ed’s wrist, the focus on the crown, the press of his thumb against the frenulum. He watches Ed pinch his left nipple, feels him bear down on Stede inside of him, watches his eyes roll back in his head as his body tenses, he mutters a series of swears, and comes all over his stomach and chest, semen splattering right up over the hawk tattooed so delicately between his collarbones.

It’s enough to pull Stede right to his own climax, and he barely manages another three thrusts before Ed’s muttering “In me, do it in me, c’mon,” and he’s spilling with a low moan, Ed’s heels still digging into the small of his back.

“Holy shit,” Ed breathes after a minute of quiet, shared breathing, breaking into a soft giggle. “Holy fucking shit.”

And it’s lovely, it’s so fucking lovely to be able to join him in laughing, safe in the knowledge that it’s shared joy rather than anything more sinister.

“My sentiments exactly. Bloody hell, Ed.”

Ed rubs his clean hand over his face, and breaks into a yawn so sudden it causes Stede to shift where he’s still tucked inside him, prompting a flash of disgust across Ed’s face.

“You ready?” Stede chuckles. “This is gonna be gross.”

“Fuck,” Ed murmurs. “Shoulda put down a towel.”

“Hindsight,” Stede nods, pulling his hips back and sitting back on his heels. “God, you’re incredible.”

“Speak for your fucking self, mate. You’ve fucked me out. I’m done. No good. Useless.”

Stede crawls up beside him, cock wet against his thigh, and pulls him into a kiss, slow and sweet.

“That was so worth the wait,” he whispers, biting his lip against a smile. “So worth it.”

“Yeah,” Ed says, not bothering to tamper his own smile. “Really fucking was.”

“We lasted what, eight? Nine weeks?”

“Worth every awkward boner,” Ed grins, his face scrunching up, eyes crinkling.

“I’ve never been more sexually frustrated in my life.”

“You loved it.”

“Hated every moment,” Stede laughs.

“Good payoff though.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Stede whispers. “Best payoff, I think.”

Ed manages another five minutes before the come on his chest starts to coagulate into something resembling a failed slime experiment and he forces himself off of the bed, shuffling awkwardly to his ensuite to clean up, piss, and brush his teeth. He swaps with Stede, exchanging a giggly kiss in the doorway and stripping the now completely disgusting duvet cover from his bed and replacing it with the one from the guest room. Score one for preparation, Teach. Big score there.

Eventually, after a spare toothbrush has been delivered and a tshirt to sleep in has been borrowed by Stede, Ed gets him curled up in bed, window cracked for a breeze and some fresh air.

“They’re going to be insufferable next week,” Stede murmurs against Ed’s shoulder. “Lucius especially.”

“Good luck to ‘em,” Ed chuckles. “I won’t be there.”

“No?”

“Nah,” Ed whispers. “Got other plans.”

“Oh yeah?” Stede asks softly.

“Been trying to get this guy to go out with me, for months now. Thinking of taking him out next Friday, all romance ‘n shit. Really pull out the big guns.”

“Lucky guy,” Stede says, and Ed can feel his smile against his skin.

“Reckon he’ll say yes if I ask?”

“Can’t imagine anyone turning you down, Edward.”

“Not asking anyone though. Just want this guy. Really want this guy.”

“I think he’ll say yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

“Fuck yeah,” Ed breathes.

“Think you should bring it forward though.”

“Mm?”

“Friday seems like a long time to wait. If you want to take them out that badly. Doesn’t sound like there’s any good reason to drag it out.”

Ed laughs softly. “Wonder if he’s free tomorrow.”

“He’s free, He’ll make sure he’s free.”

“Sounds like I got myself a date all lined up.”

Stede lifts his head, shuffles up the pillow so he can kiss Ed, all soft and closed mouth. Ed blinks at him when he pulls back, his hair curling around his temples, eyes bright in the strange snow light coming through the window.

“Sounds like you might,” Stede says, smile crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

And maybe Stede was right, maybe the game is well and truly over. The cat and mouse, the back and forth, the delicious push and pull between them.

Or maybe, just maybe.

It’s only just beginning.