Archive of Our Own

Edward Teach retired from his long, storied career as a bandit and settled down two years ago. Granted, it isn’t too far from his old life, literally settled at a crossroads of trading routes where he sees many old friends and former marks. The latter don’t recognize him without the long black (well, charcoal) beard, and the former pretend like they don’t know him either because Ed’s inn is a welcome respite after a hard day’s travel. Blackbeard’s Inn and Tavern has a reputation for soft beds, hot meals, and good fucking ale. The only barrier to entry is a bit of silver and the handing over of one’s weapons to Fang at the door. Fang’s a nice man, a softie really, unless someone doesn’t listen to Ed’s rules.

Those people get turned out on their arses, missing a knife or three.

Ed doesn’t actually turn away the downtrodden folks; he’s been there, without a penny to his name, the rags covering his skin his only possessions. Success in banditry certainly improved his means, but coin is not the only currency he values these days.

Ed is a connoisseur of rumors; most tavern-keepers are, and as a man who used to survive by staying at least one step ahead of the king’s men, he’s particularly adept at keeping his eyes and ears perked.

Recently, something’s been stirring in the woods near Ed’s inn. Business is down, knights and traders all equally on edge, horses and cattle spooked. By the time Izzy arrives home from an errand and tells him that there’s a strange animal running around in the forest and a crew of idiots chasing the strange animal, Ed’s already been hearing similar reports for days from tavern-goers.

“It’s enormous!”

“It’s covered in feathers!”

“It will call out a man’s name and then devour him when he comes close!”

“It’s smaller than a mouse!”

“It has a tongue covered in teeth and a long grasping tentacle!”

“It shoots flames out of its ass!”

“It has flesh-rending horns!”

Ed’s not particularly fussed about whatever this animal is; in fact, he’s fairly certain it’s something mundane like a stag that ran through a clothesline or a dog missing its tail. He is, however, intrigued by Izzy’s description of people who are actually looking for the creature—a bold choice given most folks seem to think it’s a minotaur crossed with a basilisk crossed with a hedgehog.

Whatever the animal is, it’s interrupting the calm life he’s managed to cultivate and scaring his regulars from the tavern.

So Ed puts out a call—a tidy little reward to the people who can catch the damn thing.

#

When a messenger traveling from the midlands brings word of monsters, Stede’s ears prick up. The excitement that hurtles through him is something he hasn’t felt in a long while, and it’s what pushes him to call Lucius to pack a wardrobe of monster-hunting clothes along with his usual attire. He’s long past his prime in the courts, happily established on his sprawling lands with friends gathered from near and far, studying natural philosophy and herbalism, but he still keeps up with the latest fashions, of course. Lucius grumbles about not needing a fully embroidered tunic and surcoat if they’re about to go jaunting into the woods seeking out monsters—“which is terrifying and unnecessary, I’ll be honest”—but Stede ignores him.

Stede has always been called a softer sort of man, and it’s taken him many years to accept that about himself—and that being soft is not a bad thing at all! He loves beauty, and fine things, and caring for people and creatures who need help. It’s how he gathered his loyal retinue—he offered employment and a home to talented people who certainly could have had successful careers elsewhere but who like his people-positive management style! It occurs to him, as he directs his companions to ready for their quest, that the king may send men to kill the monster—and that just won’t do at all.

If he’s honest, he’s been waiting for another adventure. He may be a lord, but he’s never quite fit the station. He will leave his lands in the capable hands of his distant cousin Mary and her husband, Sir Doug.

“Just don’t do anything reckless, Stede,” Mary says at dinner the night before he departs.

“But where’s the fun in that?” Stede pouts.

“Are we going to die?” asks John.

“I’ll consult my crystals,” says Frenchie.

“The possibility of mental and physical devastation should not stop us from having fun!” Stede chides.

His most trusted advisors and knights will attend him in the monster chase, of course. Oluwande and Jim advised him that walking headlong into the jaws of a leviathan is incredibly stupid, but Stede just thinks they lack imagination! Still, he appreciates that they pack extra weapons—just in case.

(He does take a few out to make sure they have room for the proper ingredients for a celebratory feast when they find the creature.)

They load a small caravan of wagons and their finest horses, and they set off toward the lands where reports of the fearsome creature originate. Stede has always loved tales of monsters, ever since he was a boy, and has oft searched for signs of mystical fauna. He thinks he’s found evidence of some over the years—fairy rings of course, disturbances in the woods obviously made by dragons, giants’ teeth—but never the creatures themselves. How marvelous it would be to encounter a true beast!

Stede has thought extensively about what that day will look like—not just the delicious food they’ll eat, or what he’ll wear for the drawings he’ll have Lucius do if they capture the beast—but also how they’ll get it back to his lands and ensure no one can even try to kill such a miraculous creature. He’s been kept up nights worrying that someone will find it first and not appreciate its uniqueness; although he’s an optimist, sometimes he sees an impulse towards violence in others when they’re confronted with the unknown.

He thinks that the search won’t take long, not when he has his trusty natural philosophy tomes and his strange but loyal retinue at his side. He’s insisted on coordinating their outfits, of course, so no one mistakes their purpose—they’re hunting a great monster, and no one could fault Stede for wanting to do that with style!

#

“So they’re led by a fancy man dressed in finery?” says Ed, unable to keep the smile off his face at the image Izzy weaves for him.

It’s absurd, it’s amazing really, to think of a nobleman coming down out of his ivory tower to go monster hunting, especially dressed like a courtier.

Ed believes the rumors, but it’s another thing to see it—him—with his own eyes.

“Where were they last seen?” he asks Izzy. “Do you think they know about Blackbeard’s Tavern?” Ed frowns. “Did you put up a sign advertising us at the crossroads like I told you to?”

“Oh, Edward, can’t I get one of the boys to do it?” Izzy asks, waving towards Fang and Ivan by the door.

“No, no,” Ed says. “I want this done right. Someone’s going to have to paint it and you know they’re no good with that kind of thing.”

While Izzy’s out working on the Blackbeard marketing campaign, another traveler, a scribe from a distant monastery, enters the tavern full of terrifying stories about the mysterious beast—and he’s brought a drawing.

Ed squints at it. “So you were very far away?” he asks.

“Well, I’m just learning to draw,” the scribe says.

“Like… learning where limbs go on bodies?” Ed clarifies, turning the parchment this way and that. “Because this looks like a blob.”

“Well, it sort of did look like a blob.” The man shivers. “A horrible blob.”

“And could it move on its own?” Ed asks.

“Oh, yes, it was running very fast.”

“But—this doesn’t have legs.”

The scribe frowns at Ed and snatches his drawing back. “You’re very skeptical.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Ed says, holding up his hands. “More ale?”

#

“To death we go, to certain death we go,” sings Frenchie from his own mount just behind Stede’s horse, plucking a lovely tune from his lute. “Our one hope being that our certain death ain’t slow! We sheath our swords and sharpen up our knives, and head full tilt toward the ending of our lives—”

“We’re not going to die, Frenchie!” Stede interrupts, turning fully in his saddle. “And we’re not going to hurt the poor thing, we’re going to catch it and give it a real home!”

“The monster isn’t a puppy,” Roach, Stede’s physician and personal chef, says.

“Could be,” Oluwande muses. “Like a giant three-headed cute slobbery puppy that wants to eat you.”

“Aww,” says John.

Mr. Buttons smacks his lips (rather loudly, Stede thinks). “I taste somethin’ strange on the wind, sir!” the falconer calls from the back of the caravan, followed by a familiar shriek from above. “Aye, Livi agrees.”

Some terrified travelers hurrying in the opposite direction earlier that morning had warned them of foul things afoot, which is so exciting! They must be getting close! It’s been a couple days since they left Stede’s lands and they’ve spoken to many people during their monster quest, including a remarkably grumpy silver-haired man who rudely called Stede a “fucking saddle-goose” when they explained their mission to him. He had galloped off toward the midlands in an equally rude fashion, not even bothering to say whether he’d heard of the creature!

Following Mr. Buttons’s and Olivia the falcon’s clue, Stede and his companions dismount near a bridge to water the horses. John and Frenchie guard the wagons while Stede—after insisting on a lovely picnic lunch—leads the rest of them into a nearby copse of trees.

It's a perfect normal walk in the woods, if one ignores the sudden ominous gloom. Stede keeps up a lively commentary about the local fauna and flora, along with what possible terrifying monsters they might encounter, reciting right from the illustrated pages of Herodotus.

This is obviously most invigorating to his comrades. Oluwande makes sure Stede stays upright as they walk and Jim has their sword out already. Swede, Roach, and Buttons flank them. Lucius is muttering frantically from somewhere behind Stede, with Pete trying to assure him; Stede makes a mental note to ask Roach to examine the poor boy, who oft complains of tummy troubles whilst attending Stede.

“I don’t like this,” says Jim.

“Same,” Lucius moans.

Stede snaps the large tome closed on a page depicting a grotesquely large snail with a boar’s head, which seems like a reasonable suspect though perhaps too slow for the monster currently plaguing this area. Oluwande takes the book from him before he can drop it on his foot (not an uncommon occurrence).

Stede stops and puts his hands on his hips. “I am sensing a lack of enthusiasm!”

“You kind of made us come with you,” says Pete, “so, yeah.”

Stede is vaguely aware of some rustling nearby from an especially dark thicket of woods, but he’s too busy arguing with Pete, Lucius, and Roach to pay it any mind. Even when Jim starts cursing colorfully and Oluwande tugs on his surcoat, Stede’s attention doesn’t waver from his Clearly Correct Opinion until there's a mighty crash from behind. Swede lets out a high-pitched scream.

The entire group scatters in a whirl of chaos.

Afterwards, Stede feels embarrassed, especially about the way he ran back to the caravan screeching with the others. He might have cried a bit? But that was just the excitement of such a big scare—no, a surprise! The monster was underfoot! They were so close to identifying the beast!

Swede is the only person who claims to have actually caught a glimpse of the monster. Lucius sketches his description—almost twice the height of a grown man, leathery skin the color of knight’s armor, four massive legs the size of tree trunks, flaps for ears, long spiked horns, and a long snakelike tongue. It’s a grotesque image to hear described, much less behold when Lucius takes artistic license and colors in the beast with red chalk.

“It did not have claws,” Swede protests. “It had—giant round feet?”

“No animal could possibly look like that,” Roach sighs.

“It looked like a ylp—”

Stede crumples up Lucius’s sketch and tosses it aside. “That’s not a real thing, but kudos to your imagination I suppose!”

Jim and Oluwande venture back into the woods while everyone else regroups (Stede insists on a restorative snack for everyone, including John and Frenchie who weren’t even part of the scare). Jim and Oluwande come back a half hour later looking remarkably disheveled for not having found any sign of the monster.

Stede flips through Pliny’s Natural History again. “With that level of noise, it must be a beast of a larger sort! What are we thinking? Nevermind, I’ve got the book. So! Possibilities include the disoriented cynocephalus, an uncanny blemmye, or… oooh! Perhaps there’s a confused sciapod bouncing through the forest—”

“Oh hey,” Frenchie interrupts, “while you all were gallivanting, a nice chap with braids came by with a sign. John and I can’t read so well, but he was nice enough to tell us what it said—the owner of Blackbeard’s Inn and Tavern is offering a reward for proof the monster is real, double for its capture. ‘pparently the owner is miffed over lost business.”

“Oooh, a reward!” Pete says.

Affronted, Stede sniffs, “I pay you a salary.”

“Yes, but this is extra money,” Lucius explains patiently.

There’s some arguing about how to split the reward, which still annoys Stede but does make him feel better—everyone thinks he'll be able to find the monster! Which is a tad more support than he normally gets when he puts his ideas out to his longtime companions (he’s been assured that they all love him no matter what, and genuinely, that's usually enough—but he's still cheered by their casual endorsement).

“Hate to interrupt, my dears,” Stede says, “but wow! A reward! Sounds like these folks are in dire need of assistance! Plus it would be nice to sleep in a real bed, wouldn’t it? Let's tighten up and get going. What we are doing is perilous, but we’ve stared the monster mostly in its ghastly eyes—”

“Sort of,” Lucius interjects, scrunching his nose.

“—and I’m confident that with our skills combined, we can capture and tame this foul beast!”

There’s a ringing silence. Stede deflates.

“I thought you wanted to be nice to it,” says Swede, eyes pleading.

Stede waves his hands in frustration. “I was just giving a rousing speech, man!”

“Consider us very roused,” says Jim, cutting their eyes and smirking at Oluwande.

Stede has to threaten not to buy them ale tonight, but they all get up and on their horses quick enough.

#

The man who bursts through the door that evening catches Ed’s eye immediately, and he nearly overflows the tankard of ale he’s filling.

The man has a confident bearing, and he's dressed in a deep teal velvet jupon (a short surcoat that’s very recently become fashionable) with a row of tightly spaced mother-of-pearl buttons; his shapely legs are clad in hose dyed a deep apricot, almost like burnished copper. They’re finer clothes than Ed’s ever seen, and Ed’s been in the back of a crowd (picking pockets, obviously) when the king passed by; it’s clear that this man cares about his finery in a way that speaks to having fine things simply for the enjoyment of them rather than as a display of wealth. Ed gets lost for a moment in the thought of touching the velvet that adorns this man’s chest—

And then Ed notices how nice the chest is, how well-shaped, and how the face shining above it has lines at the corners of the mouth and eyes that suggest decades of laughter, and his hair—gods, his hair, Ed wants to bury his fingers in it immediately, would wager it's softer than that velvet coat—

The man stops and turns a pointed calfskin poulaine on one heel to look back at a young man trailing behind him, and Ed’s eyes go immediately to his calves; he’s not sure if someone sewed him into his hose or if they’re a little too small but the shape of his calves is just not something Ed’s going to recover from, maybe ever.

Then the man starts to talk, and Ed decides to set down the half-full tankard before he drops it.

“Is this Blackbeard’s Inn and Tavern?” the man trills, practically skipping over to the bar.

“It is,” Ed says, trying for smooth with just a tiny hint of seductive.

“I’m Stede Bonnet,” the man says, and Ed’s not sure if he’s meant to recognize the name or not, but this is absolutely the man Izzy was griping about earlier. Ed doesn’t miss how Stede’s pretty green-grey-brown eyes linger over the ink on his bared forearms, his mouth parting ever so slightly. His cheeks were flushed already when he burst into Ed’s tavern, but they grow pinker yet as he drags his gaze up Ed’s torso where his dark purple shirt is unlaced at the throat.

When their eyes lock, Ed finds that he's fallen head-over-heels in love, and they’ve exchanged fewer than ten words.

“You’ve got the big crew with you, yeah?” Ed asks. “Hunting for the monster?”

Stede beams. “You’ve heard of me!” He leans forward and says in what he seems to think is a low voice, “I’ve heard that Blackbeard is offering a reward for capturing the beast!”

Ed raises an eyebrow. “Are you interested in the reward?” he asks.

“My retinue is,” Stede says, indicating the pack of strange-looking people milling around the tavern. Ed follows Stede’s pointing finger and sees that Fang is already flirting with one of them. Another carries a shield emblazoned with a rampant unicorn on a field of purple. “And I’m interested in the creature,” Stede adds, returning the full force of his gaze to Ed.

It’s powerful enough that Ed leans forward, putting one elbow on the bartop so he’s also able to speak in a conspiratorial whisper. “What’s your plan?”

Stede smiles at Ed—disaster, Ed starts sweating—and says, “I’m not sure I should tell one of Blackbeard’s employees. You might pass it on to him and then he would go capture the creature himself so he doesn’t have to pay out!”

Ed blinks, involuntarily puts a hand on his chin—his beard is shorter and greyer but it is still present—and says, “That would be pretty, uh, dastardly.”

“Exactly,” Stede says. “But, you seem like a trustworthy fellow, so if you’d like to join my retinue, you’d be welcome to share in the reward as well as receive the weekly salary I pay all my crew.”

Ed’s experiencing whiplash, or maybe he's hallucinating—did he just get offered a job?—when Izzy appears at his ear and says, “Are you pouring that ale or…?”

“Uh,” Ed says eloquently right as Izzy makes eye contact with Stede and hisses, “It’s you!”

The middle-aged Adonis (wow, Ed is really smitten, isn’t he?) scrunches his nose at Izzy with distaste. “Oh, no. Are you Blackbeard?” His eyes cut to Ed’s, then go back to glaring adorably at Izzy. Izzy seethes.

“Nah, mate,” Ed laughs, “I’m Blackbeard.”

The pretty color drains from Stede’s face and he starts to stammer out an apology. Ed puts his hand over Stede’s, which makes the man abruptly stop talking.

“Not gonna stiff you on the reward, mate,” Ed says, patting Stede’s hand, which is warm and broad. Stede turns his hand over to clasp Ed’s palm—oh, their fingertips brush. Ed shivers deliciously but manages, “I just want the folks that pass through here to feel safe. Thanks for coming.”

Izzy stomps away in a huff to find out what Stede’s companions want to eat and drink.

Stede smiles at Ed. They’re still holding hands across the polished bartop. “I hope I can help! I don’t want to hurt the poor thing, just to be clear. I’ll bring it home to my manor, give it a proper home where it won’t disrupt the trade routes or have the king’s men underfoot.”

“You’re Lord Bonnet, then?” Ed asks, eyebrows lifting.

“Honestly, I just prefer Stede. My cousin Lady Mary does all the work.”

Ed squeezes Stede’s hand, then finally releases it. “Good man, admitting it. What’ll you have?”

After Stede orders his meal, pays Ed for a week of rooms and stabling for his entire retinue, and shucks his jupon—oh, he looks like he has nice arms under that cream chemise—Ed brings more tankards of ale to his table. Stede appears mildly surprised when Ed plonks down beside him, but doesn’t shift away when their thighs brush. Ed feels his own cheeks flush through his short beard as they talk about everything and nothing. Normally he’d hate that, for someone to see him lose a little control over his body, but with Stede it’s just—it’s easy. To let loose.

He garners up the courage to ask Stede to take a walk with him. He owns the place, yeah, but the noise and the vibes and the customers coming and going—it doesn’t exactly let him get close to anyone. That’s been part of the problem, the last few years.

It’s Stede who gives him the opportunity, actually, leaning back in his seat and stretching. Ed watches the muscles in his arms shift under the chemise and feels a little hysterical, like he needs some leeches or maybe a priest.

“I should check that the horses are settled,” he says, looking flushed from the food and the ale, sleepy, a little bit rumpled. It’s a good look on him. “Not that I don’t trust your fine establishment, of course, Ed, but you know how it is. They’re used to me, and they’re fussy.”

“You care for your own horses?” Ed asks, brows raising.

“I, erm, care about my horses,” says Stede, and now his cheeks are even pinker. “I bring them apples and carrots, and show them they’re appreciated. I like to train my animals with a beast-positive management style.”

“Beast-positive,” repeats Ed, and he’s baffled and delighted. This guy’s the most interesting thing to happen to him in years—and he runs a crossroads inn! In the middle of a forest haunted by mysterious creatures!

Stede’s pulling away, pushing himself upright, and Ed’s thigh is cold where they’d been pressed together. He straightens up, too. “I should, uh, come with you. The stable. Needs checking.”

“Oh!” Stede’s face breaks into a smile. “You’re welcome to join me!”

Ed grins his most beguiling grin back at Stede, whose expression doesn’t so much change as intensify, and they’re grinning back and forth at each other for he doesn’t know how long until Izzy bumps into him on his way past, hissing something Ed ignores under his breath. He also manages to splash a gout of ale at Stede’s lovely outfit, and it’s only Ed’s quick tug on his sleeve that prevents it from ruin. It snaps their gazes from where they’re locked on each other, and Ed, to his own private horror, feels the blush rising again. He’s blushed more today than he has in the last six months! And the last time was only because Madame Cleo read his fortune and told him there was a beautiful blond on his way to sweep Ed off his feet! Which—

Hm. Ed’s gonna pack that away for now. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Teach.

The crisp evening air is a relief, hiding his face and cooling him down. He leads Stede to the stables, where he coos over the horses and hands them treats from his pockets, stroking their necks and complimenting them.

Ed tries not to be too endeared. He also tries not to be too jealous. Finally Stede gives Arthur a final pat and turns back to Ed.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” he asks, voice tentative. “I know it’s getting to be late but I’m still feeling quite awake, and with the moon nearly full, it’s plenty bright…”

“Sure,” Ed says, though he would have agreed on the blackest night. Feeling bold, he holds out his arm, and Stede readily loops his own through it, wrapping one large, warm hand around Ed’s bicep.

There’s a narrow river not too far away, and its braided channels will look beautiful in the moonlight, Ed thinks; he leads Stede that way, both of them stepping carefully around exposed roots and ferns. “Watch your step,” Ed says gently when Stede trips over a rock, using it as an excuse to wrap his own hand over top of Stede’s; Stede, for his part, squeezes Ed’s arm more tightly and gets even closer to him.

“Where are we going?” Stede stage whispers.

“Just to see some sights,” Ed says. “Let you take a gander at the area so your beast-hunting goes more easily, that kind of thing.”

Stede beams at Ed and almost trips again. “Oh, bugger, I’ve got to be more careful,” he mutters, but Ed’s happy to have some of Stede’s weight leaning on him. With a pang of regret, he removes his hand from over top of Stede’s and pushes aside some ferns to reveal the river, each of its narrow channels glowing silver and mirror-like in the moonlight.

“Oh, Ed,” Stede breathes. “It’s beautiful.”

“You like it?” Ed asks, chuffed not only because he can tell Stede does, but because he had accurately guessed what Stede would like.

“The water,” Stede says, waving a hand around, “and the tall trees, and the hills…”

Ed smiles and looks down at the water, taking in their reflection—two men, heads tilted and bodies slightly turned toward one another as if drawn by an invisible force. Even though they’ve just met, he can feel the clear intimacy already established between them.

Maybe that tarot reader was right. She’d charged him enough coin for her prophecy of a blond to sweep him off his feet, anyway. He feels like their souls connect with each other, like Stede’s idiosyncrasies fit neatly alongside his, like they’re interlocking stones of a well-built cathedral wall, like even though he doesn’t know the particulars of Stede’s life, he can sense the broad outlines and he thinks he could fit inside it—

“Ooh, look at that fish!” Stede says, and drops Ed’s arm to fall to his knees on the bank, leaning forward over the water.

“Careful,” Ed says, indulgently, because Stede’s just pointing, body practically vibrating with enthusiasm over what is no doubt just a river eel. Stede keeps leaning further, knees sliding down into the reeds closer to the water, so Ed says, “Careful,” again, a bit more frantically this time, as Stede begins to overbalance. Ed lunges forward and grabs him by the back of the collar of his jupon.

Stede’s heavy, but Ed's determined, so they flop over and land in soft grass on their backs side by side, Stede convulsing with laughter. Ed can’t help it; he starts to laugh too.

“Ed,” Stede gasps, “I think you saved my life!” He dissolves into peals of laughter loud enough to scare off any non-human life in the area.

“Hush, hush,” Ed manages to gasp. “You’ll attract brigands!”

“Two clever men such as ourselves could surely fight them off,” Stede says, clutching his stomach. “God, Ed, my face hurts from smiling.”

Ed’s does, too. Stede has calmed down enough to stretch out and stare up at the sky, and Ed rolls onto his side to drink in Stede’s profile.

“This really is a beautiful night,” Stede says, voice a little rough.

“Thought you were about to get enchanted by a river mermaid,” Ed says.

Stede sits up and holds out his hand. Ed lets himself be pulled up, and they both slowly get to their feet. Stede tries to look at his own backside. “Did I ruin my hose?” he asks.

Ed checks rather conspicuously, letting his eyes smolder as his gaze sweeps up and down the backs of Stede's legs. “Everything looks fine,” he says, but Stede seems to miss the innuendo; now he's fretting about the state of his jupon, which has collected some reedy detritus on one sleeve.

“You must go through a lot of clothing, monster hunting,” Ed says as they walk over to a stone bridge that crosses the river. He figures Stede’s less likely to fall in there.

Stede glances at him. “What do you mean?”

“Just that, it can be rough business on fine fabrics,” Ed says.

“Would you know about that?” Stede asks. “Monster hunting?”

“No,” Ed says honestly. “But I’m happy to help you.”

Stede cocks his head. The moon is huge, and bright, and it’s rising between two trees in a perfect, glowing sphere, and Stede is looking at him like he knows him already, and for once, Ed wants to be known.

Ed sways toward him, hand coming up to cup his jaw, watching Stede’s eyes flutter closed—when there’s a BOOM.

They spring apart, Ed swearing and Stede letting out a high-pitched yelp. Ed swings around, tweaking his left knee, and he watches with his mouth slung open like a fish as a fountain of shrieking gold-and-red sparkles shoots over the water from the riverbank. Half of Stede’s crew plus Ivan cheer around a smoldering barrel, which shoots out alarming sparks. He can hear Izzy yelling “What the fook!!” and “If you burn down our tavern I will end you, Sir Feeney!”

“Oh my goodness,” Stede gasps. When Ed turns, he sees Stede clutching a hand to his heart, chest heaving. His own heart is in his throat. “I forgot I told Wee John and Frenchie they could bring the fireworks.”

“Fireworks?” says Ed, not comprehending.

“They’re imported!” says Stede, before leaning precariously over the stone bridge to shout, “HEY! Yes, I’m obviously talking to you! You can’t use the firecrackers until after we find the monster! You’ll scare it!”

There are a number of dejected groans, though Izzy seems pleased to hustle everyone back into the tavern. The moment between them is shattered; Ed’s heart has settled some, but there’s a sharp, metallic scent in the air and Stede’s still hanging over the bridge wall tutting. He remains worried that Stede might topple arse over tea kettle into the river, again, but the view’s nice. The view gets even nicer when Stede straightens, smoothes out the lines of his coat, and looks back at Ed. He blows a puff of air from the side of his mouth in an attempt to get the hair out of his eyes, and failing at that, he brushes the lock of hair aside with his long pretty fingers.

“Cockblocked by technology,” Ed mutters, scuffing his boot against the cobblestones.

“What?” says Stede.

“Nothing!” Ed coughs. “Nothing. We should, uh, we should probably be getting back.”

Stede nods, hands fluttering at his sides. “Yes, of course. It’s dreadfully late, isn’t? One needs a good night’s sleep if one wants to be at their best for monster fuc—f—cunting, hunting, monster hunting.”

Ed’s thinking a lot of things right at this moment, but the man before him is a puddle of nerves so he claps him on the shoulder and guides him back toward the dirt road to his inn.

“I’ve got the best beds in all the land,” Ed boasts. “You’ll never sleep better.”

Stede laughs softly. He touches Ed’s forearm briefly, squeezes. “I’ll report back in the morning, but I believe you.”

When they say goodnight at the stair up to the quiet bedrooms above the tavern, Ed watches Stede go with barely-contained reluctance. If Stede had made any sort of move—a suggestive nod, a come hither crook of his fingers, a smoldering glance—Ed would have charged up the steps and fucked him against the closest four-poster bed, other patrons be damned. But Stede just looks at him shyly, gives him a bit of a wave from the landing, and—well, that’s more than Ed needs. He catches that against his heart, holds it to his chest, hopes Stede understands. The man’s lips twitch in that sweet, endearing way of his. Ed knows he’ll dream tonight of legslegslegs and a voice he could listen to for the rest of his days. It’s fucking dramatic, but it feels like a fantastic storybook animal the size of an elephant has trampled over his heart.

“Good night,” Stede mouths.

“Good night,” Ed whispers back.

#

Stede dreams of being wrapped up in a long, purple snake, or perhaps it’s a snout because when he looks up he finds himself swept up in the gaze of two big brown baby cow eyes. He doesn’t mind the pressure so much, until he wakes up abruptly as he rolls out of the wonderfully soft bed onto the floor.

“Oof! Bugger!”

He lands with a thud, tangled fully in the bedding and sporting an impressive morning dragon between the layers of fabric pinning him down. Thankfully his gentleman's mast tamps itself down before Lucius discovers him on the floor and rolls him out of his bindings.

“We will never speak of this,” Stede warns him as he picks himself off the carpet.

“Sure, no, yeah,” Lucius says.

As usual, it takes time to get ready for the day—a good impression is necessary to inspire his motley crew of companions! With Lucius’s help, he dresses in the day’s monster quest outfit—sky blue woolen hose, a white linen shirt, and a forest green quilted jupon bearing his house arms in gold embroidery and lined with pale green silk—and fastidiously coifs his hair. (His scribe refuses to do a quick sketch for him to ensure it’s perfect, so Stede settles for taking him at his word.) Then he follows Lucius down the stairs, prepared to greet the morning with extra fervor. He’s confident he’ll encounter a monster today, perhaps one he could even write about in his own book of cryptic fauna!

He’s in his head and nearly tumbles off the last riser when he catches sight of the innkeep, who is assuredly the most handsome man he has ever seen. Ed looks up at him from where he’s serving breakfast to two women, and his smile takes away Stede’s breath.

And then he remembers his dream—sparkling kind eyes, warm embrace—and how he’d rolled out of bed, and the lance between his legs that could unseat the bravest of knights, and how they’d almost kissed in the moonlight before—

“Good morning!” Ed says in greeting, gesturing toward the long table where Stede’s companions are tucking happily into their meal. He approaches Stede, his long leather-clad legs carrying him swiftly across the tavern floor. He’s still smiling, almost bashful. Stede thinks he might ascend to a higher plane just looking into Ed’s eyes. “Ivan and your Mr. Buttons are getting the horses ready. Thought I—we might tag along, if that’s all right?”

Stede can’t help the wide smile that breaks upon his face. “It is most certainly all right.”

Unfortunately for the monster hunt, they find absolutely nothing.

Well! Not exactly true. They find clues! Trampled trees and shrubbery, two friendly tabby kittens that Frenchie said were actually witches, and a fierce smell which could only be demonic droppings.

But no actual creatures, nothing that would explain the gruesome and terrifying tales that shaken, sometimes bloodied travelers have brought to Blackbeard’s.

Still it’s a nice morning—even with Ed’s grumpy man, Izzy, complaining of collywobbles. (Mr. Buttons and Swede took him into a shaded copse, and fifteen minutes later the man was right as rain! Perhaps they have an affinity for leech-craft like Roach!) Admittedly they’re all stomping around the underbrush, surely scaring off any lurking cryptids, but Stede decides not to highlight this to anyone—he's having far too much fun!

Ed is particularly attentive to Stede as they traipse through the meadows and woods around his inn with their people. He smokes a pipe and tells Stede about the life he and his crew lived before the inn.

“You were Robin Hood!”

Ed ducks his head. “Nah, just regular ol’ men in tights.”

Stede doesn’t miss the twitch of Ed’s lips under his scruffy beard.

Lucius and Pete flank Ed’s kind friend Fang as their little procession marches on through the woods. Lucius occasionally deigns to mark down potential signs of the monster on a hasty map Ed sketched of the area. Pete’s carrying his usual large ax, which he keeps moving from one shoulder to another.

“I’ll bite,” Ed says quietly to Stede. “What’s the story with that guy?”

“Pete?” Stede asks, and Pete glances back at them, waves, and nearly trips over the long pole of the ax. Stede winces inwardly, not wanting to embarrass the man but wishing he could act a little more professional in Ed’s presence. “He’s a traveling executioner. That’s his tool of the trade. Quite a brutal business, it sounds like!”

Ed cocks his head. “Does he do many executions?”

“None since I offered him a job in my retinue,” Stede says, then thinks about what Pete told him about his life before he met Stede while out on a nighttime jog near the local castle. “But before that, hundreds.”

At midday, when everyone is hot and tired, they sit in a meadow for lunch. The Swede makes a small cooking fire. Roach removes the tools of his trade from the giant sack that John has been carrying and sets about preparing food while the rest of them flop on the grass. Frenchie strums his lute, and Stede makes sure that Lucius spreads out the picnic blanket for him and Ed in the shade of a tall tree. He sits carefully, ensuring that his clothing is nowhere near the dirty ground, and watches Ed stretch out his legs.

There’s a simple leather brace over one knee; Stede can sympathize with the indignities of aging, and also notes that Ed really does have very nice legs. He’s caught glimpses of tattoos on Ed’s hands and arms and wonders if he has them elsewhere, too. He wonders if they’re an indication that Ed has traveled far, as tattoos are often a sign that someone has been on a pilgrimage, or come from a distant land—

“This is a fine day, isn’t it?” Ed asks, interrupting Stede’s thoughts. He’s watching Stede carefully, like it matters to him if Stede agrees. “Your people are very welcoming,” he adds, and Stede feels how much Ed wants to compliment him. It’s a marvel that Ed knows exactly how to do it, too; Stede is infinitely proud of the little crew he’s assembled over the last few years.

“Thank you, Ed,” Stede says. “It is a remarkably fine day.” He offers Ed a drink from his own wineskin, which Ed accepts with a smile.

Roach comes around with a bowl of stew for each of them. Ed puts a spoonful into his mouth and makes a frankly obscene noise that puts Stede’s mind fully back into his dream this morning. He clenches his fist and digs his fingernails into his palm to will himself not to think too much about that here.

“You made this?” Ed asks Roach.

Roach nods and smiles. “My special meat stew,” he says, and moves on to hand out another bowl to Ivan.

Ed looks at Stede, brow furrowed. “He’s your personal chef?”

Stede nods and smiles, savoring the taste of Roach’s broth. “He’s a doctor, too,” he says. “He used to practice in London but was on a long vacation in the country when I met him.”

“A vacation?” Ed asks.

“Yes, he’d left London in a hurry because he just needed to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city, so he didn’t have anywhere to stay…” Stede catches Lucius making a strange face at Ed and frowns at him. “Yes, Lucius? Did you have something to say?”

Lucius quickly shakes his head. “No, no, just, uh, enjoying this stew.”

The crew starts to discuss the possibility of turning back; they’ve spent half a day looking for any sign of the creature with no luck, but everyone is becoming wonderfully friendly with each other (with the possible exception of Izzy), so it makes more sense, as Lucius puts it to Stede, for everyone to return to the tavern and continue to strengthen their relationships so that they can return to the search with a renewed sense of purpose and vigor tomorrow.

Stede glances at Ed, trying to catch his opinion, but Ed nods at him and raises his eyebrows. “You’re in charge,” he says with a smile. “I’m just along to help.”

“Well,” Stede says, “I suppose that makes sense. If all we take from this adventure is new friendships, then I will still consider it a success.” He stands and claps his hands to call everyone to attention. “We will be heading back to Blackbeard’s Inn and Tavern for another night,” he announces. “I think we’ve come quite far afield and the journey back may be perilous, so remember to use the buddy system!”

Ed grins up at him and accepts Stede’s hand to pull him to his feet. He doesn’t immediately let go once he’s up and Stede’s heart accelerates at his touch.

“Stede,” Ed whispers urgently.

“Yes?” Stede whispers back, leaning in as if he needs to close the distance between them to hear.

“Do you already have a buddy?” Ed asks.

“Hm,” Stede says, pretending to muse. “I think everyone’s already paired up—”

“I’m not,” Ed says. “I’m looking for a buddy, actually.”

“Oh!” Stede exclaims, beaming at Ed. “Wonderful.” He squeezes Ed’s hand. “At your service.”

As they walk back along the road towards the tavern, Stede realizes that his cheeks ache from smiling so much. Ed’s a fascinating and witty conversationalist, the best Stede’s ever met, he thinks.

“Do you ever think about what’s beyond the sea?” Ed says, his voice floating between them in the still summer air, as if this somehow isn’t the first time they’ve spoken of this but instead a well-worn line of questioning. It makes Stede a bit dizzy and he nearly trips over his own pointy shoes, again.

“There’s tales, of course,” Stede offers. “Dragons—mermaids—fantastical creatures—”

“Do you believe them?” Ed asks.

Stede thinks upon illustrations in books he’s read, maps he’s seen in the library in St. Mary’s church at Oxford, and the drawings in their margins and edges. “Maybe,” he hedges. “I think—I think it’s more interesting to believe in them. It makes life more of an adventure.” He looks at Ed, whose face is thoughtful. “What do you think?”

Ed’s about to answer when a boar startles them all, bursting out of the bushes close to Oluwande; Jim, without hesitation, throws a knife straight through its skull and the boar falls down dead.

“Fuck,” Ed says with feeling; he grabs onto Stede’s arm. “Those are some fucking knife skills!”

“That’s our Jim,” Stede says proudly. “They used to be unemployed, constantly moving from town to town, and I convinced them to come join us. Just think: all that talent, wasted!”

“Yeah,” Ed says. “I bet it was wasted.” He points ahead to the thatch roof of his inn peeking over the next gentle rise. “There’s home.”

#

The afternoon started out with arm wrestling between Fang and Wee John—it had ended in a tie when they both burst into laughter nearly simultaneously, and that set the tone for the evening. Ale flowed freely, song and dance followed, and Ed’s best efforts couldn’t keep enough food on the tables to soak up the alcohol.

Dusk is falling. Frenchie and Ivan are dueting on lute and drum, Pete and Roach are playing some kind of dice-and-knife game that Ed doesn’t want to know the rules of, the Swede is passed out in an empty barrel, and Izzy is slumped over the table after losing a drinking contest with Lucius. Pete, Fang, and Jim are throwing daggers at the ragged target on the wall while Oluwande and Buttons are deep in conversation about something completely unintelligible whenever Ed walks by with refills.

Stede’s been propping up the bar all night, chin in hand, faint smile on his face as he watches his crew. Ed’s been running around serving everyone—and keeping a tally, because he likes Stede, likes him a lot, is maybe doodling Lord and Lord Bonnet-Teach on the countertop in the condensation dripping from the mugs, but he’s still running a business. Still, he stops at Stede with every pass, asking him about his crew, his monster theories, his interests. He’s just pondering whether he can get away with asking Stede back to his own room tonight—for conversation and a nightcap, of course—when the door to the tavern bangs open.

“Monster!” cries the miller’s son, his pose dramatic, his chest heaving. “The monster is there, in the forest! Huge limbs and stone skin and a roar like thunder!”

“That’s kinda poetic, Dickon,” slurs Fang. “You ever considered being a poet?”

The miller’s son—Dickon, apparently, Ed doesn’t know why the fuck Fang knows that—is momentarily stymied. “Uh, no, Mr. Fang, sir, I can’t read or write.”

“Bummer,” says Fang, and faceplants.

“Where did you spot this monster?” asks Stede, who had whipped around in his chair so fast when the youth burst in that he nearly upended his flagon. “Is it nearby?”

The boy nods, eyes very wide. “Y-yes,” he stammers, and Ed sees him try to take in Stede’s whole deal, puzzled. “Sir?”

Stede stands. “We’ve got to go look!” he announces to the room at large. He looks back at Ed.

“Izzy!” Ed calls. “Get Hank a drink, he’s about to faint.” He steps closer to Stede and lays a hand on Stede’s shoulder. “It’s nearly dark out,” he says quietly. “Are you sure?”

“We’ll bring a lantern,” Stede says, waving a hand. “Lucius,” he calls, though his eyes never waver from Ed’s. “Fetch my lantern! The one with the gold scrolls on the sides!”

“I think Lucius is otherwise occupied,” Ed says.

“With what?” Stede demands. “What could be more important than—”

Ed points upstairs; understanding dawns on Stede’s face, or at least Ed thinks it does, because Stede blushes so adorably that Ed reaches down and grips the edge of his bar to prevent himself from latching onto Stede and never letting go. “I’ve got a lantern,” he offers.

“Well,” Stede says, clearly flustered, “Ed, you’re—you’re managing your establishment—I wouldn’t want to take you away from—I mean, Lucius is in my employ, after all—”

Ed raises his eyebrows. “Would you prefer Lucius?” he asks, which probably isn’t fair, but—

“No!” Stede says quickly. “You—I would love it if you would come.” He licks his lips; Ed’s eyes follow his tongue unconsciously. “And bring your lantern.”

“You’re not leaving me here?” Izzy groans from behind the bar.

Ed blinks at him. He had no idea that the man had even been standing nearby. “Somebody’s gotta serve the drinks, man,” he says, waving his hand vaguely.

Stede is looking around at his crew with a slight frown. “Ed, I think it’s going to have to be just you and me,” he says, and Ed hopes he’s not hearing disappointment in Stede’s voice. “Let’s go right now.”

Ed hesitates for a moment, the part of his mind that he usually thinks with catching up with the part of his mind that Stede seems to have confiscated solely for his own purposes. “Let me just get a weapon,” he says.

“Just in case,” Stede says. “Right? Because we’re not killing the creature.”

“Just in case,” Ed agrees. “I’ll meet you at the stables.”

He plucks a lantern off the hook by the door and lights it with a candle, then steps out into the dusk. The night is still warm, sun-baked heat radiating up off the path as he walks to the cluster of out buildings behind the tavern. Arthur whickers softly when he pushes open the door; he pats Stede’s horse absentmindedly as he looks on the wall for—

“Aha,” he says aloud, pulling down a small mallet that he thinks will do the trick if he needs to bonk any monsters on the head. He turns and nearly runs into Stede, who is stripped down to just his tunic.

“It’s hot,” Stede says, because he must see the startled look on Ed’s face. “And I was worried about getting something on my harvest season jupon.”

“Sure thing, man,” Ed says, willing his eyes to stop being drawn to Stede’s nipples—just barely visible through the thin linen of the tunic, and, oh, is it hot? Because they look a little—

“Ed?” Stede asks, sounding a bit unsure.

Ed snaps his eyes back up to Stede’s face. His face. Where his eyes are. Not—not down— “What?”

“I asked,” Stede says, “if you think this will do? For a weapon?” He holds out his hand and shows Ed the finest dagger Ed’s ever seen, complete with ornate quillons bearing an engraved crest of a rampant unicorn.

“Might be hard to get close enough to stab the monster,” Ed forces his mouth to say.

“Oh, well, then I’ll just throw it,” Stede replies brightly, and Ed slips ever further into complete infatuation with this delightful lunatic. “Are you taking only that?” Stede adds, pointing at the mallet Ed’s forgotten is in his hand.

“Uh, no,” Ed says. He walks to the back of the stable, thinks fuck it, and jiggles the loose board to reveal the inset panel where he keeps a range of weaponry from his time as a brigand.

Stede joins him. Ed can’t help but glance to his side and catch Stede’s wide eyes. “This is quite the collection,” he says.

“It’s kind of like, just in case, you know?” Ed says. He’s not sure even Izzy knows about the stash; it’s almost entirely weapons he’d taken off of noblemen, aside from a very fine sword that he commissioned when he first became successful.

So he’s showing a guy he just met one of his deepest secrets, so what? Fang would probably describe this as a sign of growth. Ed being open and available, for the first time ever. Open and available to showing his secret weapon stash to Stede kind of to impress him but also kind of because while he may have just met the man, he feels intuitively that he can trust him with anything.

“Ed,” Stede says, and his hand is already reaching as he asks, “may I?”

“Sure,” Ed says. “Uh, you may. What?”

Stede selects Ed’s fine sword immediately and removes it and its tooled black leather scabbard from the panel. “I think you should bring this one,” he says. “It will look particularly lovely when we return with the beast and Lucius draws us to commemorate the moment.”

“Great reason,” Ed says. “It’s sharp as hell too.”

“I assumed it would be, if you keep it in here,” Stede says. He’s handling it carefully, clearly having intuited its value. “Shall I—?”

Ed takes one step closer and raises his arms, allowing Stede to unwind the scabbard’s leather belt strap and draw it twice around Ed’s waist. “A little lower on the hips,” Ed suggests, which is both how he likes to wear his sword and how he wants Stede to touch him. Stede obeys instantly, putting one hand underneath the leather and carefully shifting it down so its weight rests just above Ed’s hipbone.

“There?” he asks, sounding a little out of breath.

“That’s perfect,” Ed says, voice pitched low.

“Excellent,” Stede says. “Let me just—” He slides his hand all the way around Ed’s body underneath the strap, presumably to make sure it’s lying flat. He tightens the belt, adjusting the buckle so it sits on Ed’s hip opposite the scabbard. “Secure?” Stede asks, both hands resting at Ed’s waist now.

“Feels like it,” Ed says.

“Good,” Stede says, patting Ed’s sides in a suddenly very polite and proper manner. “We’ve got a beast to hunt. Come on!”

#

The sun is fully down now, its light just a dull orange memory at the horizon. They’re trading off the lantern as they walk as quietly as they can down the packed dirt road that leads north from Blackbeard’s. It had seemed as good a direction as any to start looking, Ed had reasoned; it’s less traveled and he figures that the beast is trying to avoid capture.

“This road is in terrible condition,” Stede says. “I must write to the king about it.”

Ed’s been going through the byzantine process of petitioning his local court of assizes every quarter session to get these potholes fixed since he opened his inn five years ago; the idea that Stede could just write to the fucking king and get it fixed makes him want to laugh hysterically. “I would appreciate that,” he says.

“Consider it done,” Stede replies, before stumbling again and hissing, “Fuck!”

“I’ve got you,” Ed says, reaching for Stede’s arm. “Let’s hang on to each other,” he suggests. “It’ll make it easier to see in the lantern light as well.”

They continue up the road, passing familiar fields and stone markers until they come to a deep ditch lined with broad-trunked oak trees that Ed knows leads to a fairy circle. There’s no sign of anything—no people, no gigantic animals, no cryptids.

“Ed,” Stede hisses. “I think I see something up there.”

Ed squints in the darkness, unclear how Stede could have seen anything at all. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” Stede says, and starts to tug Ed by the arm towards the ditch.

“People say this place is haunted, you know,” Ed says. “Or maybe possessed by the Devil?”

Stede glances back; in the lantern light, his face is thrilled. “Do you believe them?” he whispers.

“Nah,” Ed says. “Not really.” In the dark, though, it’s certainly foreboding.

They advance into the ditch, surrounded by trees and shrubs. Stede keeps announcing he’s seen something, but investigation proves fruitless, until he stops in front of a particularly dense patch of greenery—yew grown over with blackthorn and holly by the looks of it—and announces:

“Listen, Ed, I swear I saw something.”

“You said that the last three times.”

“But this time—I really do think I saw it.”

Stede puts his hands on his hips and looks ready to stomp his foot; Ed might need to bite down on a stick to prevent himself from getting hysterical.

“Fine, let’s go look in those bushes,” he says, pointing vaguely in the direction he thinks Stede is talking about.

Stede gets that sunny smile of his—Ed looks furtively for anything to sink his teeth into to prevent himself from tackling the man in front of him—and then Stede turns and starts to approach the bushes very slowly.

“Ed, have you got a dagger?” he hisses over his shoulder.

“Yeah, mate.”

Stede waves his arm behind his head in a clear get over here gesture. Ed, a man who hasn’t taken a direct order in something like two decades, pulls a dagger out of his boot and follows Stede immediately.

As they get closer, Ed can see that the bushes actually are rustling, in fact he would go so far as to classify them as vigorously rustling. “Stede,” he whispers. Stede waves his hand again—shhh—and Ed whispers, “Stede,” again, but more urgently.

“What?”

“I think there’s actually something in there!”

“I’ve been saying that!”

“Stede—”

Stede’s at the bushes now, bent nearly double, tunic riding up to expose a very shapely ass under his embroidered hose, and what’s Ed supposed to do with that?

He’s staring. He can’t help it. He’s just standing there with his dirk in his hand, and he’s completely distracted by Stede’s firm little bum, so it’s a total shock when the bush directly in front of Stede erupts in a torrent of honks and out bursts a very robust snow-white goose with chaos in its eyes.

Ed is typically quick with his blade, having an unfortunate amount of practice in the art of self-defense (and a good bit of offense, too) thanks to his former line of work, but he’s caught off guard by the rush of panic that he feels on Stede’s behalf as the wayward waterfowl makes its entrance, and before he can ask let alone process what the actual shitting fuck, the goose is charging him with its wings spread and beak open and steals his fucking dagger right out of his fucking hand.

The next few moments pass in a blur of squawking and chaos, both human- and goose-derived. Somehow Ed drops his sword and the lantern goes flying. Stede leaps to his feet in a dramatic swirl of gloriously silky fabric and lunges towards Ed and the goose, and this next bit is how Ed knows Stede is truly a lunatic: he squawks and begins to chase the goose, until both Stede and the goose seem to realize that the goose is in fact armed, at which time the goose turns and begins to chase Stede. And then Ed finds himself running after the goose, who does a complicated hop-flutter-twirl maneuver, and suddenly the goose is behind him, and he’s caught up with Stede, and they’re both being chased by the knife-wielding goose demon from hell.

And that’s how he finds himself pushing Stede Bonnet up a tree. Not exactly how he hoped he’d be getting his hands on Stede’s fine ass, but it’s clear that Ed’s had the more recent experience with ye olde getaway climb, and he’ll take what he can get, so. They make it in the end, just high enough to avoid the wrath of the unnamed evil forest-dwelling fowlfucker as it flaps about at the base of the tree, honking and spitting and slicing the air with Ed’s knife.

At least it’s a big one—the tree, that is, with thick hearty branches sturdy enough to support both of them as they sit together and catch their breath. Ed checks them over for obvious wounds, and, finding none, is about to assess for emotional damage, when Stede turns to him with a brilliant smile.

“Well, that was invigorating!” he says, eyes twinkling with mirth as if there weren’t still a homicidal goose screaming at them from eight feet below.

Ed leans in and kisses him.

Look. Ed pushed him up a tree by his very toned arse, moments ago. The adrenaline is running high, what with the goose still circling and honking—muffled somewhat by the handle of the dagger—below them.

Stede goes still for a long moment and Ed starts to pull back, wondering if—somehow—he’s read this wrong, but then Stede grabs him by the shoulders and yanks him back in, bodies twisting awkwardly on the branch, Ed straddling it while Stede sits half-on his lap against the trunk, legs hanging off Ed’s knees to dangle over the edge of the branch, and—

“Shit!” Stede slides a little as a chill wind rustles the branch, bobbing it up and down. He grabs at Ed—not a sexy grab this time; a panicked, about-to-fall-onto-an-enraged-and-armed-goose grab—with a little shriek, and Ed grabs him back with one arm around his waist, the other scrabbling for the trunk of the tree behind him.

They stay still for a moment, panting, but the branch doesn’t seem to be about to snap immediately, and bit by bit, Ed relaxes. Maybe not the right time for a fuck-off big romantic kiss, but he can’t regret it, because now he knows the way Stede’s lips feel under his, soft and dry and sweet, slipping open on a gasp.

After a few moments of breathing hard and staying put, the silence hovering on a knife’s edge between awkward and heated, Ed shifts. He puts his fingers to his lips and moves Stede’s hands to the tree trunk, shifting them both until Stede is steady. He starts to slide a foot down towards the ground—

“Fuck!”

The blade swipes through the edge of his trousers, slicing a hot line along his calf. He yanks his foot back up, scrambling back onto the branch.

“Are you alright?” asks Stede, grabbing him by the elbow to steady him. It’s dark enough now that Ed can’t see him clearly, only the full moon’s light filtering through the thick canopy above glinting off the blond of Stede’s hair and cutting in broken shafts across his face. His hand is hot against Ed’s arm, though, and the strength in those fingers is an intriguing surprise, given Stede’s whole look. He’s pretty. But he’s also—solid. Strong. Fucking hot.

“I’m good,” Ed says, a belated reply. “Goose is still there, though.”

“Fuck,” says Stede, succinctly. He shivers a bit, and Ed notices suddenly that the temperature has dropped significantly since they wandered into this clearing.

“Hey, are you good?” Ed asks. “You’re shivering, mate.”

“Oh, I’m fine.” Stede shifts on the branch a bit. “Absolutely lovely. Happy to be here.”

“Hm.” Ed squints, looking up and down the trunk of the tree. If they’re going to be stuck in a tree, they might as well find the most comfortable tree to be stuck in.

There’s a spot a few feet above them where two trees have tangled, theirs and the one beside it. The limbs come together, one tree’s branch thrust through a vee in the trunk of Ed and Stede’s tree, making a sort of three-foot-wide platform, or, if you’re a creative thinker like Ed, a very hard, barky hammock. Ed rises up on his knee, wincing, and stands on the narrow branch they’ve been sitting on. It sways a bit, bobbing under his weight, and Stede yelps and grabs for the trunk.

“Come up here,” Ed says. “Before this branch snaps and dumps us both back down for it.”

Stede’s looking at him dubiously, a shaft of devastating moonlight cutting across his face from furrowed brow to trembling jaw. “I don’t know if I can, Ed.”

“I’ll help you, come on.” There’s a creak, and a small snap from the branch, and they drop an inch.

Ed reaches up and wraps his hand around the higher branch, bracing himself on the trunks on either side of his body, and hoists himself up. As his weight leaves their former branch, it creaks again, this time with a chorus of crack crack snap.

“Come on!” Ed reaches a hand down to Stede.

He hears Stede take a deep, steadying breath—and then there’s a warm hand in his, and Stede’s belly-flopping onto the higher branch as Ed hoists him, scrambling and kicking, buttons dragging against the wood, and Ed can’t help but wince as he hears fabric rip.

Stede kicks against the lower branch one last time and it breaks with a mighty SNAP!

Ed grabs Stede around the waist, hauling him in, as the branch tumbles down. There’s a furious HONK from below as the branch hits, then silence.

They stay there a moment, pressed together, Stede’s back to Ed’s front. The pair of branches they’re on are sturdy and wide. Ed adjusts his position until his legs are stretched out, Stede nestled in the open vee of them.

It’s warmer like this, pressed close together, and Ed is very casual about where he places his hands, not weird at all about resting them lightly on Stede’s hips. He’s definitely not super tense about it.

“Ed,” Stede whispers. He turns his head, tipping it back against Ed’s shoulder, and his breath ghosts along Ed’s cheek. “We can’t spend the night here, can we?”

At the warm puff of air, the brush of cheek, Ed’s struck by the sense-memory of Stede’s mouth, Stede’s tongue darting out to brush along his lower lip, the barest hot touch. His hands tighten on Stede’s tunic where it covers his hips. “I don’t see what choice we have, mate,” he replies finally. “Unless you want to fight a goose in the dark? Or you have a lantern in that pack of yours?”

“Er. About the pack,” says Stede.

“I know, man. Somewhere down there. Goose probably ate all your nibbles already.”

“There’s a certain poetry in it, if he got the foie gras,” says Stede thoughtfully, shifting a bit. “The Westphalians would call it schadenfreude, I believe.”

“Goose got his own goose.” Ed slides his hands up a bit, linking them around Stede’s waist—his shoulders are aching a bit from the climb, he reasons. This way he can rest them. It has nothing to do with the warmth of Stede pressed tight to his entire body, from the instep of his boots to the warmth of their cheeks.

“It almost makes up for losing that lovely Stilton, and the fresh loaves.” Stede sighs. “It’s going to be a long and hungry night, I’m afraid.”

Ed grins against his neck, turning his face in so his beard brushes Stede’s collarbones. “Maybe not,” he says, and delights in Stede’s shiver.

“Oh?” says Stede, and yes, it’s shaky with… something.

Ed unwinds one arm from around Stede’s waist and reaches into his belt pouch. The waxed paper cone inside is a bit squashed but still closed, and he eases the flap open, slipping his fingers inside to pull out a sticky, sugary morsel. He holds it up to Stede’s mouth. “Here,” he says.

“Oh!” Stede pulls back to try to look at the offering, pressing himself even tighter to Ed’s chest in the process. “What is it?”

“It’s called a fig,” says Ed. “They grow in Anatolia. I got them from a trader who passed through in exchange for his lodging.”

Stede tips his head forward and parts his lips, and Ed feels Stede’s mouth against his fingers, warm and slightly wet, as if Stede’s just licked his lower lip. It sends a shiver through him, the touch of Stede’s tongue, gentle on his thumb—the slight scrape of teeth against his index finger.

“Oh, that is—” Stede’s voice is a little muffled through the fruit. “Oh, Ed, that is glorious.” He chews, his body slumping slightly back against Ed’s. He lets out a little hum of pleasure as he swallows, and Ed drops his hand back down to Stede’s waist.

Ed isn’t hungry anymore. Not for figs, not for the fancy Stilton or for the nice bread. No, he’s hungry for this man in his lap, wants to make him make that noise again, a hundred times, loud enough to wake the fucking goose. He wants—

“Fig, you said it was called?” Stede asks. “I’ve read about figs, actually! Ficus carica, I believe. they’re a fascinating fruit! I didn’t think I’d ever get a chance to see one.”

“Oh yeah?” Ed manages, because he’s hardening in his trousers, just hearing Stede talk about trees. He’s got it bad for this odd fancy man.

“Yes! They’re pollinated by wasps, of all things. They crawl inside the tip, squeezing their way in, barely able to fit, and then they lay their eggs inside and die!”

“Wait,” says Ed. “There are wasps in these?”

Stede nods, and his hair is so soft against Ed’s cheek he might swoon. “If they’ve been pollinated, yes. They’re absorbed by the fig.”

“Huh.” Ed’s momentarily distracted from trying not to grind his cock against Stede’s soft hose-covered rear by the thought of eating wasps with every fig. “That’s pretty badass, actually.”

“I thought so,” says Stede. “Insects are fascinating, Ed.”

“As fascinating as monsters?”

Stede laughs, and Ed shifts his hands to Stede’s thighs, stroking over the smooth hem of his tunic, worrying the edge where it brushes against thin hose and warm thigh.

There’s a rip in the fabric of the hose, he discovers, just below the hem of the tunic—his thumb slips into it, and he freezes, his skin burning hot against Stede’s. Sensations tumble through him one after another: hot skin, the tickle of sparse hair. Stede’s chest as his other hand slides up along fine velvet. The smell of Stede’s hair in his nose. The way Stede’s broad back presses into him, hard and warm, pinning him to the tree. The branch against his own back, rough through his thin shirt, fades away completely, and Ed can’t resist: he lets his thumb slide along Stede’s bare thigh, under the hose.

He dips his nose into the space behind Stede’s ear where the hair is soft and the skin even softer. He can feel Stede’s heart tripping along in his chest, through the soft velvet of the coat, and he presses his palm against him, soaking up the warmth of Stede’s chest through the fabric. Stede lets out a very quiet moan, hands landing hot and huge on Ed’s knees. His fingers clench, the strength of them clear through the cloth.

Ed parts his lips against Stede’s skin: it’s not quite a kiss, but it’s not not one, either.

“Is this okay?” he whispers in Stede’s ear. He feels feral with it, like there’s a beast inside him, barely contained—like he’s been chasing Stede all this time and he’s finally caught him, and he’s been caught in equal measure, and now—

Now he wants to devour him. Tenderly.

Stede tips his head back, baring his throat, and whispers back, “Please.”

Ed grins against his skin.

He slides one hand—the one not slowly working to widen the slash in his hose—up Stede’s hip, under his tunic, and he’s not wearing anything else underneath. Ed’s fingers slide directly onto his hot, bare belly. The hair there is soft, so soft, the skin so fucking warm, and Ed’s fingertips prickle with it, the low buzzing in his core filling him up, urging him on.

His arms are hooked underneath Stede’s, and even though he’s the one doing the holding, Ed feels… held. Stede’s head is tilted back against his shoulder, neck exposed, and he’s panting softly through his open mouth as Ed lets his hand drift up towards Stede’s chest. His roving fingers find a nipple and pinch, light, almost experimental. Stede whimpers, and Ed nearly loses his grip with the force of Stede’s full-body shiver. Stede rocks his hips and Ed groans as he finally palms the head of Stede’s cock. Ed has to reach so much further down Stede’s thigh than he expected, and he needs to get that fucking thing inside him sooner rather than later, because the head is broad and already slick and so, so hard for him.

Stede gasps, a high whimpering thing, and his cock jumps in Ed’s hand. A bead of liquid slides over Ed’s fingers, slicking them. He pulls his hand out of Stede’s ripped hose, shushing Stede’s protest with a reassuring murmur in his ear, and brings his palm to his mouth.

Stede’s groan as Ed licks his own hand, getting it slick and soaked in saliva, should be recorded somehow, written down in notes that Ed can play back on the harp or the lute or some other instrument he doesn’t fucking know how to play but he’ll learn if that means he can hear that sound again. He kisses Stede’s cheek, needing the sweetness of it, and he reaches back down, slipping under Stede’s waistband and shifting it down to pull his cock out into the starlit night.

The spit eases the glide, and he squeezes on the upstroke, urging out more fluid—Stede’s so fucking wet already, leaking like no one he’s ever been with, and it’s so fucking sexy that his own hips can’t stop grinding against Stede’s ass, a steady rhythm that makes the branches beneath them creak.

He can hear a discontented soft honking from somewhere down below them, but he ignores it in favor of the solid weight in his arms, the heat in his hands, the soft sighs in his ear.

Stede has no leverage except for digging his fingers into the meat of Ed’s thighs, and he arches back against Ed with a needy whine. Ed wraps the arm around his chest tighter, pinching a nipple to tell him to still.

“Ed!” Stede’s voice is rough now, thick with arousal. Ed rubs a thumb over the slit of Stede’s cock, spreading wetness over the sensitive flesh. He nips at Stede’s ear, mumbling nonsensical praise, and pushes Stede’s tunic further up until the back slips high enough that the bare flesh of Stede’s back is against Ed’s shirt—and he lets go of Stede’s nipple for just a moment to pull his own shirt up and over his head, shoving it behind him against the tree’s bark. He’s so fucking hard his cock is straining against his trousers. It’s the work of seconds to undo his laces and shift his hips enough that the head pops out to press between Ed’s stomach and Stede’s smooth, broad, strong back. He slides his arm back around Stede, grabbing a handful of the soft flesh of his pec. He’s so solid, so rectangular, like a brick of granite or a log ready for the fireplace—and he’s lighting Ed on fire with every soft, desperate noise.

Ed’s hand speeds up on Stede’s cock, under his hose, the wet sound of it loud in the dark forest. There’s something magical about it, being so high above the forest floor—Ed wonders how many humans have ever fucked this high up in a tree. He should start some kind of club, the twelve-feet up club, or something, and as Stede’s hips rock up into his hand, his head tossed back on Ed’s shoulder, Ed feels his own orgasm approaching like a trebuchet stone, rocketing through the air towards an impending crash. He whispers against Stede’s earlobe, pulling it between his teeth.

“That’s it, Stede, come on, you’re so close, show me how you look, I want to see you,” which is nonsensical because it’s so fucking dark he can’t see more than the glow of Stede’s hair in the moonlight, but somehow he can still see Stede, as though he were a lantern, a beacon, and his light fills Ed to the brim, overflowing so that he can shine for Stede, too. As Stede’s orgasm crashes through him like the splintering of a tavern wall, Ed shudders and starts to shake apart.

He catches Stede’s lips against his own, Stede’s mouth slack as he trembles, little moans and gasps the hottest things Ed’s ever heard. Ed strokes him through it, hand tight and slick against his shaft, the wet sounds loud in the silent night and getting louder as Stede’s cock spurts all over his belly, his rucked-up tunic, and Ed’s hand. Ed wants to taste him, wants to climb inside him, wants to bury himself in any part of Stede he can and never, never come out—and as Stede goes limp against him, Ed pets his hand over Stede’s softening cock, then lets go in favor of grabbing Stede’s hips.

He can’t get much leverage either, doesn’t want to unseat them or put too much strain on the intertwined branches, but fuck, he’s just grinding his cock against Stede’s gloriously muscular ass, rutting in small, controlled movements, but something about it—the danger, the closeness, the company—has him on edge faster than he thought possible from just this, just this simple rub of cock on sweat-slick skin.

Stede's head rests against his shoulder, breathing open-mouthed and hot against his cheek as Ed's pleasure surges higher. Stede lifts a hand from his knee to reach back and tangle in Ed's hair, holding him close. The tenderness of it nearly sends Ed right out of the tree—and then Stede fucking purrs, right in his fucking ear.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Stede says, voice low and honey-thick. “C’mon, Ed, let me—let me feel it on me.”

And even though Ed’s sure it’s the most vulgar thing to have ever come out of Stede’s mouth, he still has the nerve to sound a little pious about it, and that’s what fucking does it—words against ear, cock against ass, heart against heart—

“Fuck, Stede, I’m—”

Ed is coming, bliss pulsing through him like starshine and filling the space between them with his hot, salty passion. He grunts as his entire body goes rigid, and then he’s in freefall—not literally; despite all the action, they’re still steady in the fucking tree—but it’s so good, such a sweet fucking thrill, like he’s plummeting straight for the earth. And Stede is there to catch him, kissing his cheek and his temple and petting his hair and soothing him like one of his precious horses. Ed whimpers into his shoulder as he rides out his climax, and he can’t wait to get this man back to his tavern and clean him up just so he can come all over him again.

But first, Ed’s going to kiss him, and smile, and hug him, and wrestle his shirt back on so the night chill doesn’t fuck with his humors. And then he’s going to wrap his arms around him and go right the fuck to sleep.

#

They awaken when the stars are still shining above them, Ed blinking into consciousness first, arms sore, neck aching—but there’s a satisfaction laying close to his bones. Stede’s still limp against him, shifted slightly in the night to his side, curled against Ed with his face buried in the crook of Ed’s neck. The barest hint of sunlight peeks over the horizon, rosy fingers stretching from the east to paint the night sky in glorious watercolor.

Ed ducks his head, breathing in the scent of Stede. He smells—well. He smells like he had a very stressful chase, fell in the mud, was run up a tree and then had a surprisingly lovely handjob in said tree. But honestly, Ed doesn’t mind. He’s sure he doesn’t smell much better.

Stede shifts, lips smacking on a low snore, and stiffens in his arms.

“Oh, my back,” he murmurs. “What—” He freezes as Ed presses a quick kiss to his shoulder, then melts when he follows it with another, longer one. “Oh,” he says again, in a completely different tone. “Ed.”

Ed grins into his warm skin, nosing the collar of his tunic aside. “Morning,” he says. “I think it’s gone.”

“Only a goose, all this time,” says Stede thoughtfully, but he doesn’t sound disappointed, just—curious. “Odd, how legends grow and change.”

Ed laughs into his skin. “He was a mean fucker, though. And this doesn’t mean there’s not another creature out there somewhere.”

Stede pushes away, wincing at the twist, muscles obviously about as happy as Ed’s to be aging. He turns over carefully, not looking down, and puts his knees on either side of Ed’s hips to straddle him. “There,” he whispers. “I want to see you when I kiss you.”

And if that’s not the most fucking romantic thing Ed’s ever heard, he doesn’t know what is.

#

Stede makes a number of loud honks and warbles, surmising by the resounding silence that the angry bird has truly gone on its merry way. Ed helps Stede slide down first, hands clasped as Stede makes his way down the trunk. It’s an easier process than getting him up there the night before. Then Ed drops from the lowest branch to the soft, mossy forest floor, his movements feline and smooth despite the tight brace around his left knee. Stede is most impressed and shows it by kissing Ed up against their tree.

“I want you,” Ed pants against his mouth, grabbing Stede’s hips and yanking them toward him so their covered but unmistakable manhoods rub up against each other.

Stede gasps. “Here?”

“Fuck—yeah, no, maybe—fuck.” Ed babbles into the skin behind Stede’s ear then starts sucking a bruise into the same spot. Stede writhes, held in place by Ed’s strong grip. The drag of their aching cocks together is a hot, distracting point of connection between them, Ed’s mouth a sweeter sort of ache.

“My pack,” says Stede, helpless under the attention. His hands scrabble over Ed’s arms, feebly trying to push him off. “It might—oh, gods, right there—it might…” He manages to pull away, but laces their fingers and drags Ed into the meadow below the tree where the wrothful avian had made its stand. His pack lays in shreds in the center of the clearing, all treats predictably missing and his second favorite comb broken. He falls to his knees and searches through the pack, and after a moment lets out a cheer. “Aha!”

Ed takes the tiny proffered glass bottle, inspects it in the low light of dawn breaking through the tree canopy. “Guess the goose didn’t fancy eating this. Why did you have this in your bag?”

Stede realizes he’s kneeling in front of Ed. He flushes. “Well, I-I thought, um, I had hoped…well, it’s good to be prepared!”

The man towering over him hums, a low sound that slinks like mercury down Stede’s spine. “You know we’re in the middle of a fairy ring?”

Stede tears his eyes away from Ed’s crotch to look around them, and gasps. Ed’s right, of course—encircling them is a large ring of tiny brown and white mushrooms, poking up amidst the dewy grass. When he looks back up at Ed, his brown eyes are fond and dark, the morning stars still bright behind him. Stede finds his throat clogged with a hundred things he’d like to say, a mix of filth and devotions and tawdry poetry and he might be close to breaking out some sort of romantic ballad about nereids that his brain starts composing on the spot.

“I need you,” is what he says instead.

Ed pauses only to remove his cloak and toss it to the ground as a makeshift blanket before he presses Stede back into the grass. Their kisses are desperate, teeth clacking, laughing into each other’s mouths as their remaining clothes get shucked and tossed away. Stede’s hose are a total loss as Ed pulls them down, tangling around his ankles. Then suddenly Ed’s in his arms and they’re both outrageously, wonderfully naked in the meadow, pressed chest to chest, and Stede has never felt more treasured in his life. Ed flips his hair to the side and begins kissing Stede’s collar bones. Stede lets his head fall back against the surcoat behind him.

“I want to sit on your cock like a king takes his throne,” Ed murmurs into his skin, teeth scraping as he mouths hotly up his neck. Stede shivers in the cool, damp air. Ed maneuvers a hand between them and wraps it loosely around Stede’s cock. “But I think I’m going to need a little more preparation for this cyclops. Can I fuck you?”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t—oh!” A firm squeeze makes Stede gasp.

Ed sits up and locates the very lovely pink glass bottle from their discarded clothing. He watches Ed uncork it with his teeth. Stede opens his legs for him, welcomes the man between them, clutches at his shoulders. The moment Ed’s slippery fingers touch him, he forgets to be cold, forgets where they are, forgets about the goose and the monster. His focus narrows to Ed touching him, stroking his achingly hard member, shifting down Stede’s body to take the tip of him into his mouth—an act so unexpected and so good that Stede nearly releases in his mouth. Ed grins up at him, kisses the spongy head with something bordering on reverence, then tongues the crease of Stede’s thigh as he trails slippery fingers lower. He gently attends to the plums of Stede’s sac before sliding finally, finally, down to the furl of muscle between Stede’s legs.

It doesn’t take much before Stede is begging for more, filthy words and sounds leaving his throat before he can think to stop them. Ed gives him what he needs, crooking his thick fingers inside, making Stede’s toes curl with want. He nearly weeps when Ed removes his fingers, slicks himself, and hitches Stede’s legs around his waist. Stede doesn’t need to beg now—Ed presses inside him just as he steals a fierce kiss, swallowing Stede’s groan. He rocks into him, whispering encouragement in tandem with Stede’s plaintive sighs.

Stede feels pinned to the ground, surrounded, as if the ring around them is a delicate bauble of glass, their ardor bouncing inside it, speeding as Ed’s member slides in and out of his most secret place. He can’t do anything but take it, welcoming Ed inside him, letting him wind him like the taut cord of a catapult, each thrust increasing the pressure, barely holding him back.

Stede’s scepter rubs against the soft hair on Ed’s belly with every thrust, and then Ed pulls Stede’s hips up even further and oh, the feeling inside him! The building intensity! The rutting, rubbing, animal nature of it is thrilling—the grass against his back where Ed’s jacket has slipped, the sweat dripping from Ed’s brow to his own. He’s so close to his peak from this, only this—although nothing about this is only.

This is everything.

His member is still grinding against Ed’s soft skin with every movement, every shift, and Stede feels like a pilgrim on a peregrination, his staff leading him to absolution, to enlightenment.

And suddenly, he’s there, without warning—just bliss coursing through his veins, overflowing, and he wonders if perhaps the fairy ring has transported them to some other dimension because he had no idea his body could do this, could feel this way. He’s still arriving, still ascending, his fingers and toes tingling, spasming, when Ed—

Ed murmurs, low and broken, in Stede’s ear, “Oh, fuck,” and buries his face in Stede’s neck, hips stuttering, his perfect serpent swelling inside Stede and making him gasp.

Heat floods his body, Ed’s weight dropping onto his own as they tremble together, filled with perfect, human magic.

The next thing Stede notices is his fingers clenched tight around the back of Ed’s neck, holding him tight to Stede’s skin. He uncurls his fingers, petting the shivering skin, brushing sweaty, sticky hair aside. He’s not self-conscious, somehow, covered in sweat and seed—not even with Ed’s emissions about to start dripping from his... his podex. His culus. Oh, for heaven’s sake. His—his hole.

Ed lifts his head, kissing Stede’s cheekbone, and sighs contentedly, moving to rest his head on Stede’s shoulder instead.

He presses his mouth daringly close to Stede’s nipple, nips at the puckered tip, then pulls out and collapses beside him. Stede rolls to kiss him, only briefly worrying about Ed’s seed slipping from him onto his jacket because Ed wraps an arm around his waist and pushes his seed back inside as they kiss.

“That was…magical,” Stede sighs when they finally break apart. He reaches over and touches the cap of the nearest mushroom, sending a silent thank you to its fae gardeners.

“My mum used to tell me stories about fairies. Bet they all just got an eyeful.” Ed snickers, nuzzles his nose into Stede’s armpit, then sits up with a groan. “I don’t know about you, but I do not want to be caught without my kit if that goose comes back for a second bout.”

“My kingdom for a bath,” Stede agrees.

“I’d have to ask the inn owner, but I can probably make that happen,” Ed replies with a wink.

After a bit of cleanup, they pull on their clothes, which are all sodden and torn. Ed chivalrously hands Stede his own tunic, as its length will cover most of the rips in Stede’s hose. Something about Ed wearing his tunic and how it fits him across the chest is very nice, and astonishingly his prick twitches with interest. It must be the fairy magic causing such a swell of…emotions.

Ed slings an arm around Stede’s shoulders and they walk back together to the inn. Smoke curls invitingly from the chimneys. Stede is struck with the immediate thought that he should send word back to Lady Mary, that she can have all his lands and titles, because he’s going to become a tavern wench (Ed’s tavern wench specifically) and chase geese for the rest of his life. He has to shake his head to clear it. Ed’s hand slips down to tangle their fingers as they cross the stone bridge.

“Ed?”

“Yeah, Stede?”

“How does it feel? To be in love?”

Ed lets out a breathless laugh. “A little bit like this, I think.”

#

Dawn is well and truly broken when Ed pushes open the door to the tavern, Stede’s hand tight in his. They’re both filthy with mud, scraps of bark, a little blood in Ed’s case, and—other stains, too, easily blended in with their general air of filth.

He leans on the counter, asks a sleepy Ivan to have a bath sent up to his quarters, and shoves Stede ahead of him up the stairs.

Stede’s hose are—well. They’re barely hose, at this point, and tight enough that Ed was already distracted all day by the way his tunic swung just above his thighs. And now? With every step, Ed’s own tunic shifts on Stede’s body, longer, but not long enough, and Ed catches glimpses of hairy, sweaty skin. It’s intoxicating, the tiny window under Stede’s hose, the flashes of bollocks and taint, the curve of his arse where it meets his muscled thigh. He’s not usually glad to have his quarters all the way up on the top floor, but today he relishes the chance to watch Stede climb a second flight of stairs.

As they turn the corner on the landing from second story to third, Ed can’t resist. He hops up right behind Stede, a step below him, and grabs him by the hips, sliding one hand up under the hem of the maddening tunic to press into the soft flesh of his waist, slipping the other between his legs to brush all that hot, tantalizing skin. The frayed edges of the hose are soft as he slides his fingers up, cupping Stede’s balls, lifting them, stroking the underside of his cock.

Stede gasps and sags against him, hands flailing backwards, pulling Ed closer. Ed goes, hips snugging up into the perfect firm muscles of Stede’s thighs. He steps forward, crowding him up another step, and another, until they’re at the top of the stairs. He pushes a hand on the center of Stede’s back until he’s pressed to the wall, Ed close behind him, and when Ed reaches around, he finds Stede’s cock lifting the tunic’s hem, completely exposed.

He runs his hand down its length, cupping at the head, and breathes Stede in deep, just below his ear. Stede lets out a low, shivery moan.

“Bath,” Stede says, a little strangled. “Now.”

Ed chuckles against Stede’s skin, his cock slipping between those tight, muscled thighs. “Get you cleaned up,” he says. “Then get you all dirty again.”

Stede laughs a little in response. “That sounds wonderful, darling, but if I don’t get out of these filthy hose—”

“All right, all right,” Ed concedes, stepping back, but he’s grinning as he leads Stede through the door to his own chamber, the room’s air already heavy and humid from the steaming tub placed in the center.

Swaths of pale muslin are draped from a wooden frame surrounding the tub like a canopy, and bundles of fresh lavender and chamomile and hops hang over the steaming water.

“Ed!” Stede’s awed gasp sends a rush of fondness through Ed’s body, a warm light feeling that complements his dizzying lust quite nicely, thank you very much. “It’s… a four-poster… tub?”

Ed grins. “Perks of being the boss,” he says. “What can I say? Love a good bath.” Stede steps forward into the fragrant cocoon and gawks at the double-wide bathing barrel Ed installed a few years ago when his knee really started acting up.

“This isn’t a tub, this is a vessel,” he says, sounding amused. He looks up at Ed and waggles his eyebrows. “Think there’s room enough for two?”

Ed steps forward to join him and interlaces his fingers behind Stede’s back. He presses his thigh between Stede’s as he pulls him close and rocks against him. Stede leans in to chase his mouth; Ed leans away playfully to dodge the kiss.

“Thought we had to get you out of these hose,” Ed says with a smirk, releasing his hands to grab Stede’s hem and yank his tunic up and over his head. Under any other circumstances, he might regret the damage he’s causing as buttons fly and seams rip, but he and Stede have entered another sort of magical space here that exists beyond regret, beyond time, assembled not by fairies or monsters or disgruntled geese but by themselves—past, present, and future incarnations all overlaid to bring them into this moment of care and pleasure.

(The magical beings in the tavern below certainly helped, too.)

The tunic ruffles Stede’s hair even further as it comes over his head, a messy golden halo of frizz and curls and stray bits of tree and meadow, and it unlocks something feral inside Ed's chest. He needs to get Stede’s cock inside him approximately seventeen hours ago. He grabs the tattered waistband of Stede’s hose in each hand, grips hard, and yanks with a ferocious grunt. The hose disintegrate, tearing away from Stede’s body with a satisfying RRRRIP that fills the room, loud enough to eclipse Stede’s breathy groan, but Ed doesn’t miss it because he’s right there, mouth slamming into Stede’s to devour him.

Stede’s hands fly up to grab at Ed’s head, jamming his fingers into Ed’s tangled mane, rough and needy in a way that would probably be enough to make him come if he hadn’t already done so twice in the last twelve hours. His cock gives a valiant jerk anyway and Ed has to roll his growing hardness into Stede’s hip about it.

Stede’s hands are on the move again, pawing at Ed’s clothes. “Off,” Stede whines, breaking the kiss, and Ed chuckles and steps back. Stede whines again, and Ed turns on the smolder, quirking a brow at him as he strips.

And then they’re standing there naked, eyes roving, drinking each other in as the scent of lavender grows stronger in the steam. Stede’s cock is long and thick and proud, and Ed wasn’t kidding when he told him he’d need ample preparation to be able to take him. And he is going to fucking take him.

They are fucking filthy, though. The herbs are not enough to mask the funk and musk they’re bringing into the space, and Ed doesn’t want to bring all this schmutz with them into the fresh water. He grabs Stede’s hand and leads him over to a set of freestanding shelves lining one end of the bathing space, where a stack of soft cloths await them beside a basin and ewer.

“Call this the pre-wash, then,” Ed says. Stede laughs, nipping at his shoulder like he can’t help himself. He brings Stede’s hand up to his lips to kiss his knuckles before letting it go and grabbing a cloth. Stede makes a soft humming sound, not quite a groan, and he’s got a dreamy look in his eye as Ed begins to gently run the fabric over his skin. He begins with his face, tracing his brows, his cheekbones. He watches the lines around Stede’s eyes soften as his lids flutter shut, and Ed wants to study every eyelash, every single freckle; he wants to know him inside and out—wants to know him inside him, and if he wants to get fucked before dinner, he'd better get a move on.

Stede sways on his feet and sighs as Ed gently washes him with cloth and water, rinsing and refreshing every few passes. He finds himself speeding over the lower half of Stede’s body, thorough but restrained—you got a taste of him yesterday, focus, Edward—until Stede’s fresh enough to soak with. He stands, and he's just reaching out to grab a cloth for himself when Stede lays a gentle hand on Ed’s wrist.

“Allow me,” he says, voice rough and honey-thick, and Ed thinks he might die.

But somehow, he survives the unbearable lightness of being cleaned. Stede’s not quiet about it like Ed was, narrating his journey over Ed’s body with murmured adoration for tattoo and scar alike, freckle and fold and sinew, so tenderly that Ed is both fully hard and near tears by the time Stede makes it down to his ankles.

“There we go,” Stede says, pausing to place a sweet kiss to the head of Ed’s cock on his way back up his body. Ed makes a deeply cool, very sexy sound about it in the back of his throat. Stede’s lower lip glistens with a drop of precum, and he’s smiling, and Ed is ready for anything and everything with this man, forever, near goose nest or in the bath, til death do they not actually really part because come on.

“Ed, the water’s getting cold,” Stede says, but he doesn’t know Ivan—Ed made the mistake of climbing into a freshly drawn bath of his all at once. His right leg was red for a week.

“Nah, look. It’s just right,” Ed says, bringing Stede back over to the tub and taking Stede’s hand gently in his, dipping the tips of their fingers together into what is definitely still a hot bath. “See? Not too late.”

“Ooh,” Stede says, and steps into the water; Ed swears he sees Stede’s eyes roll back in his head for a second before he sinks down into it up to nearly his neck. “Ed,” he breathes. “This is magical.” He opens his eyes and gives Ed a heated look from under heavy lids. “It would be even more magical if you would join me.”

It’s a cheesy line, but it absolutely works, especially when Stede arches an eyebrow and offers Ed his hand to help him into the tub, like Ed’s some kind of landed babygirl nobleperson in need of the most delicate care. Well, fuck, Ed is, he decides, as he takes Stede’s hand and lets himself be helped into the just-perfect water.

Stede wraps one arm around Ed’s upper chest, turns him then tugs him close, putting the other hand on Ed’s hip and slotting him in between his legs. For several minutes they lie together in the hot water, and Ed can feel the tension of a night spent sleeping in a tree and then fucking on a meadow floor slowly draining out of his body; behind him, Stede seems to be fully relaxing in the hot water too.

Slowly, Ed starts to feel into the points where their bodies are touching: his back against Stede’s chest, his hips and thighs slotted between Stede’s muscular legs, Stede’s right hand curled possessively around the soft roll of Ed’s belly, and Stede’s left palm pressed flat to Ed’s sternum, his index finger stroking the hollow under Ed’s collarbone. Ed slides his own right hand down to slot over Stede’s, their fingers lacing neatly together; he runs his left hand along Stede’s thigh to his knee, feeling the soft hair and even softer skin along its length. Stede hums and there’s another point of contact—Stede’s mouth ghosting over Ed’s neck, just below his ear. Stede raises his left hand and sweeps Ed’s long hair to one side with delicate care, running his index finger underneath the strands most stuck to his skin so they don’t pull. Ed feels like a cat, wants to purr and rub himself back against Stede, just as Stede lowers his left hand again to Ed’s sternum and then very, very slowly brings it down until his index and middle finger rest just at the edge of Ed’s nipple.

Oh. OH. Fuck. Ed goes from utterly pliant to puddle of lust in the span of time it takes Stede to—seemingly with idle curiosity, though Ed can feel Stede’s shortened breaths against his ear and thinks it’s not quite so casual—capture Ed’s nipple between the tips of the two fingers and just slightly roll it between them.

"You like that," Stede murmurs, more an observation he might write down in a journal than a question, a Natural Histories of Edward Teach, a private record waiting to be rediscovered centuries from now and titillate folks who might dare call Stede and Ed roommates. Ed grunts some sort of response, lost in his head and in the starbright point of pleasure Stede is coaxing from the pebbled nib. Stede keeps up his light touch, just at the edge of teasing Ed, who wants more and harder. He whines and clenches involuntarily, grinding back against Stede and luxuriating in the very different kind of warmth than the bath that is pooling between his hips. “Oh yes,” Stede breathes, before running his tongue along the lobe of Ed’s ear, dragging it over the small gold hoops that stud his helix. Ed moans and bucks back against Stede.

Oh, right—Stede’s got an absolute belltower of a cock, and its full length is now pressing into the cleft of Ed’s ass all the way to the small of his back. He envisions lowering himself onto it and thinks he might black out. He digs the fingers of his left hand into the meat of Stede’s thigh to give himself leverage—and because he just wants to grip it—and ruts back wantonly against Stede.

“I want you,” he says. “Fuck, Stede, I want you so much.”

“What do you want?” Stede asks, and gives his nipple a little tug; Ed drops his head back onto Stede’s shoulder and pants, mouth open, then tugs Stede’s right hand—fingers still laced between his own—and presses it to the crease of his hip, then slides it down between his legs. The pad of Stede’s finger grazes the spot that Ed aches—no, needs—him to touch.

"Please," Ed groans, rolling his hips when the tip of Stede’s finger catches on the rim, the scented bath oils just enough—his body relaxed just enough—to ease past the muscle. Ed’s toes curl as a needy whine escapes his lips.

“As much as I’d love to fuck you in this tub, Ed,” Stede says, mouth hot against Ed’s neck as the water sloshes with every grind of their bodies, “I think, perhaps, the bed might be more prudent.”

“I think if you fuck me in this tub, I’ll never be able to get out,” Ed admits, and that settles it.

They barely make it to the bed, slipping and stumbling, Stede tangling in the tub’s curtains as they clamber out and collapse, entwined, on the soft, dry sheets.

It’s easy to stretch out together, legs tangled, bodies warm and clean on a soft mattress. It’s not the frantic tearing of clothes from earlier—this is softer, slower, deeper, sweeter.

Their bodies roll together, and Ed’s legs fall open, limbs loose. Stede settles between them, the slick slide of him, skin soft from the oils of the bath, slipping over Ed’s skin with ease.

Ed’s cock is so hard he’s a little lightheaded, and Stede’s—

Well. Stede’s cock feels huge, hot, hard against his belly, dripping against him. Ed remembers how wet it had gotten just from starting to touch it the night before—fuck, was it really just the night before?—and that turns him on even more, remembering stroking Stede’s cock and running his thumb over the slit, drawing out the slick liquid that means Stede wants him as much as he wants Stede.

“Touch me,” he rasps, voice so deep with desire that it surprises him with its sound. “Will you touch me?”

“Yes,” Stede says, and slides down the length of Ed’s body, nipping little kisses as he goes like he can’t help himself, he just has to taste Ed’s skin, just has to run his tongue around Ed’s nipple and in the patch of dark hair under his belly button and in the crease at the join of his hip and thigh. He settles on his stomach between Ed’s legs, propped up on his elbows, and he coaxes Ed’s legs up so his knees are bent one at a time. “Is this all right?” he asks, running his big hand down the interior curve of Ed’s thigh and stroking his fingers along Ed’s bad knee; Ed’s barely holding on as it is, because he’s never been with someone who would just manhandle him like this and it is such a fucking turn on, but the question is said so kindly, so matter-of-factly, like Stede’s here, meeting him exactly where he needs to be met—

“Darling?”

“Is it all right, fuck,” Ed murmurs. “It’s perfect, you’re perfect.” He reaches down and strokes some of Stede’s wild curls to catch behind his ear, then runs his thumb down Stede’s cheek. Stede smiles at him, soft, secret, in a way that Ed thinks no one else ever sees, and he could cry from being shown it. Stede ducks his head to kiss Ed’s thumb before sucking it into his mouth to run his tongue along its pad. He bends down and scoops Ed’s ballsack with one hand, then carefully strokes along Ed's hole with one finger of his other hand. Ed moans and lets his legs fall wide, still bent at the knee, forming a diamond around Stede’s upper body; Stede dips his head down, slides his free hand under Ed’s buttocks to cant up his hips, and presses his tongue directly onto Ed’s hole.

“Fuck,” Ed swears, and he feels Stede smile against him before swirling tongue in a circle around his opening. Ed can’t help himself; he pushes up on one elbow and looks down at where Stede’s head is bowed between his legs, then sweeps his hand into Stede’s damp hair and grips onto it. Stede presses closer, his nose just under Ed’s balls, his tongue still circling; Ed groans and tips his head back as Stede hooks one arm under his thigh and hauls him somehow even closer, his mouth wet and hot against Ed’s body.

Ed hangs suspended in this reality—the one where Stede is making a complete mess of him without even touching his cock, where all he can feel is the alternating broad stroke and tickle of Stede’s tongue across his hole while the entire rest of the world disappears. When Stede finally pulls away, Ed flops back, legs spread wide, feeling loose and absolutely dripping already. Stede returns with a vial and gently presses the wet pad of his thick index finger up into Ed.

“Oh that’s,” Ed says, arching his back off the bed, but slowly, luxuriously, while Stede starts to open him up, his finger gliding in and out of Ed’s hole with a thick amalgam of spit and oil.

Ed’s babbling, flexing his hands against the sheets, digging his heels into the featherdown mattress as Stede adds a second finger; Stede gently but firmly presses his other hand flat against Ed’s hip to hold him down as he says, soothing, like he’s gentling a skittish animal, “Shh, shh, I’ve got you.”

“You’ve got me,” Ed agrees. “Oh, fuck, you’ve got me, you’ve got me.”

Stede hums and kisses a line along Ed’s inner thigh, then starts to pump into Ed with his two fingers in earnest. Ed keens as Stede’s fingers curl inside him, stroking him just so.

Seems like a good time to start begging for Stede’s cock, right? Right.

“Stede.”

“Hm?”

Ed manages to open his eyes—he’s had them squeezed shut for several minutes—and says, “Want you.”

Stede smiles with half his mouth, one eyebrow raised. “Doesn’t it seem like you have me?”

Ed grits his teeth and glares. “You know what I mean.”

Stede curls his fingers again and somehow arches that eyebrow higher. “Is this not what you want?”

Ed’s seeing stars and every constellation looks like the light in Stede’s eyes. He makes a final attempt to beg, and lights up the big eyes. He hates to bring out the real weapons here but if Stede doesn’t fuck him soon he’s going to actually dissolve.

“Stede. Get your dick in me. Now.”

Whether it’s the desperate command or the burning need in his eyes, Ed can’t say, but it seems to work. Stede doesn’t stop what he’s doing, but he does increase the pace, then adds a third finger. Ed whimpers and grinds down onto it, giving up on having any control whatsoever here and happy just to be included. Then Stede coaxes him onto his front, positions him with his legs spread, knees bent, ass fully spread open and in the air. Stede nips at Ed’s back teasingly.

“I’m not quite done here,” Stede murmurs against Ed’s skin, voice quiet, focused on the feast before him. Ed’s groan of horny frustration transforms into a whimper as Stede drags his tongue in a broad stripe across Ed’s hole, and suddenly he’s lost again to sensation.

And Stede is dedicated—Ed has never had his hole worshiped so thoroughly, like Stede is a penitent at the altar of hole and his tongue is the offering. He sucks at his rim with devoted passion, and each swirl and lick sending a crackle of sparks through him, lighting him up. He can’t come from this alone, he’s pretty sure, but damn if it’s not fucking divine.

And that’s when Stede pulls back, cool air shivering over Ed’s wet hole. Ed can’t help dropping his face into the pillow, or the muffled objection that drips from his lips.

“I thought you wanted my cock, Edward?” asks Stede, and he shouldn’t be this fucking smug, not after spending hours neck deep in Ed’s hole. He doesn’t give Ed a chance to reply, just slips three fingers in easily, slicked with spit and oil.

Ed gasps, hands flying out to grip the sheets. Stede’s fingers are thick, driving into him with purpose, working Ed like an instrument, tuning him, preparing him thoroughly. Ed wants to be fucked, wants Stede’s cock inside him, but Stede keeps stroking deep with those long fingers, never quite hitting the spot Ed needs.

Ed would complain but he’s seen Stede’s cock, knows that Stede’s just taking care of him, and shivers at the complete trust he’s putting in this man right now. Then Stede wraps one arm around Ed’s waist and pulls him back until Ed feels the thick head of Stede’s cock pressed against his entrance.

Stede moves slowly, but doesn’t stop. Ed’s mouth drops open, a low whine falling from the back of his throat as Stede stretches him beautifully, impossibly open. He has a frantic, lust-drunk thought that he might have been impaled rather than fucked just before Stede bottoms out. Somewhere in the midst of this, his own cock has softened a little, every vein and nerve of him focused on where their bodies connect. Ed’s white-knuckled on the headboard, he feels like he might combust, but instead he laughs. He’s happy.

“Your dick is a monster,” he says, clenching around Stede’s girth and moaning at the delicious burn.

Stede runs his open palm over Ed’s flank. “Then I suppose you were the one to find the beast,” he says. Still fully seated, he rocks his hips, ignoring Ed’s babbling pleas to move. “So you have stiffed me on the reward after all! You menace!”

Ed starts swearing, and it’s Stede’s turn to laugh, an equally happy sound that makes Ed imagine red hearts flooding out of his pretty hazel eyes. But just Ed keeps swearing, because he’s impatient, because he’s Blackbeard (was anyway), because he’s smitten like a kitten, and he really needs to get—

“FUCK!” Ed shouts as Stede pulls out and slams back in.

There are a number of gods and lesser deities Ed could pray to, but his mind goes blissfully blank with the fierce, steady rhythm Stede sets. Stede’s humors have obviously been restored with the warm soak because he grips Ed’s hip with one hand and curls the other around the nape of his neck and fucks into him like it’s his life’s purpose. Ed’s not so much taking a throne as being taken—for the ride of his life. Fucking is like riding a horse, but Stede a different sort of creature; a centaur comes to mind, but Ed shoves that thought away, makes a note to ask Stede about them later.

The bed creaks worryingly underneath them. They’re both being loud. Stede might be reciting aloud from one of his botany tomes to keep himself from releasing his seed before Ed can get sufficiently railed. He appreciates the commitment, all but yells his thanks, fingers scrabbling at the bedding, arching his back to meet Stede’s thrusts, chasing the friction of their love. The bed groans this time, knocks hard against the wall. A cool breeze slinks over his heated skin—oh, whoops, Ed forgot to close the shutters. Fancy man that he is, Stede might mind, but Ed gives exactly zero shits if the entire inn can hear him gagging for every inch of this man. Let them listen. They’re just jealous.

Ed has always enjoyed being stretched open on a thick cock, and Stede’s is no exception. The drag of him over the sensitive spot inside when he shifts to more shallow thrusts, the deep all-encompassing sensation when Stede sinks all the way in, the dirty roll of his hips against Ed’s arse, the sounds of skin smacking together—it all breaks over him in waves. His lungs can’t keep up, and his legs tremble with the effort of keeping upright for Stede. It’s a glorious sort of drowning, one he wouldn’t mind repeating until they actually broke their bed.

(Their bed? Oh.)

“Oh, Ed,” Stede says. He moans as his rhythm begins to falter. “I—oh, you’re so—so good for me—but I can’t—beautiful man, I’m going to—”

Ed gets a hand on himself, dimly surprised to find his cock stiff and weeping. He palms the spongy head, spreading the fluid that leaks from the slit, the motion of Stede fucking him making him rut clumsily into his hand. He tosses his hair over his shoulder, groaning when Stede’s fingers sink into it. Stede speeds up his pace, the headboard slamming into the wall with the force of his thrusts. Ed clenches down on Stede’s cock and wraps a hand around his prick, his balls drawing tight, ready to catapult him over the edge.

Ed hears the hoofbeats of his climax galloping towards him, and it only takes a few pulls before he’s coming with a strangled gasp. He pulses his release into the sheet beneath him, and it turns out his bliss isn’t a horse but a pegasus, and he’s flying. Stede wraps his arm around Ed’s waist, chest to back, pressing him into the mattress as his skin erupts in gooseflesh.

Ed turns his face to kiss him, biting at his bottom lip until Stede growls and shoves Ed’s face into the pillow. Overstimulated and still pumping his flagging cock, Ed whispers filthy encouragement, begging for more, for everything Stede can give him. Stede follows him over the edge, shout-sobbing into the close space between them.

And then there’s a long beat, a suspension of time, where Ed isn’t sure when he ends and Stede begins, although the liquid heat inside him threatening to leak out of his hole is an indicator.

He wants to say something profound, but his heart’s lodged in his throat. He might be crying a little bit? Stede swipes his sweaty blond hair out of his eyes, then kisses Ed’s temple sweetly. Ed hums, charmed. Stede starts to say something but gets interrupted when several someones down below in the tavern cheer. Izzy shouts, “Fooking FINALLY!”

Stede groans, and pulls out with an outrageous squelch. He clambers off of Ed, kissing the small of his back on his way. Still struggling to catch his breath, Ed sags into the mattress.

He has to be maneuvered onto his side because, it appears, he has lost full control of his own body. Well fucked and fucked out, he can barely keep his eyes open as Stede tugs the messy sheet out from under him. Stede fusses and flutters about Ed’s bedroom before returning to the bed. He pets Ed’s arm and flank, running his hand down to his hip in warm, firm strokes until he tenderly nudges Ed’s legs apart. He gently wipes the seed from Ed’s hole with a cool cloth. Ed murmurs sleepily, grinding back a little when Stede’s finger slips past the puffy ring of muscle, another finger trailing up the seam between his hole and his balls. Stede’s admiring his work, Ed realizes.

They have to kiss about it for a while.

A blanket gets thrown over him eventually and he finally lets his eyes close while Stede makes a number of ablutions near the now-cold bathtub. He’s half awake when Stede makes it back into bed. He reaches back to grab Stede by the wrist and yank his arm around his chest. Nuzzling his face into the pillow, he whispers a contented fuck yeah into the soft fabric. Beside him, tucked up close against his back, Stede chuckles sleepily.

“What?”

“We need another bath after that, I think.” Stede runs a gentle hand over Ed’s belly, pulling their bodies closer together. “In the morning.”

#

The next time Ed wakes, Stede is curled close around him, arm draped over Ed’s hips, face plastered to Ed’s naked shoulder. He’s snoring kind of loudly into Ed’s chest, the rumble of it almost soothing, and his thigh is pressed between Ed’s legs, cock warm and big and mostly soft where it presses into Ed’s pelvis. Ed’s soft too: of course he is, he’s in his forties and they’ve fucked kind of a lot in the last day. He’s content to run his palm down Stede’s supple back, cupping a hand around the globe of his ass before dragging back up in long, slow strokes. He sinks his fingers into Stede's thick golden curls, enjoying the pleasure of touch without urgency. He’s pleasantly sore, a little sweaty, and absolutely fucking content.

Stede hums under his palm, shifting, hips giving a lazy grind against Ed’s, but Ed can tell he’s similarly fucked out. Still, he lifts his head only enough to kiss Ed’s chest, rubbing his nose against the fine hair there, in what’s either a nuzzle or an attempt to maybe scratch an itch without moving his arms.

It’s fucking cute, is what it is.

“Morning,” Stede says, and his voice is raspy with sleep. “Or is it afternoon?”

Ed shrugs. “Dunno,” he says. “I don’t think it matters, yeah?”

Stede laughs a little. “I would like to go find my pack and your sword, at least. And your coat. Before it’s dark again.”

“Mm.” Ed tips his head back to glance at the window. “Plenty of sunlight left, love.”

Stede stills against him for a moment, then Ed feels his lips curl up against the thin skin over his collarbone.

They doze another few minutes—or maybe hours—until Ed’s bladder forces him to shift Stede off of him and pad to the chamberpot. Stede’s eyes are blinking open when Ed returns clad in a short robe bearing a mug of water and a plate with apple slices, cheese, fresh bread, and a small pot of honey.

Stede’s eyes go wide at the sight, and Ed can’t tell if it’s his outfit or his offering, but his chest swoops and fizzes regardless.

They dress slowly, exchanging caresses that don’t lead anywhere, and finally, as the late afternoon sun stretches its dusty fingers through the leaves, they wander outside and follow their trail through the forest from the night before. Ed’s coat is a lost cause, but they find his sword and the lantern tossed aside near the tree. Stede’s pack is abandoned, contents dumped, beside the fairy ring—which is, somehow, completely undisturbed, not a blade of grass bent within it, and they don’t comment on that out loud, just exchange a glance that says enough for the both of them.

When they return to the tavern, dinner is in full swing, a combined effort from Roach and Fang—a glorious roasted goose.

It’s delicious.

#

Ylp has spent a long time in these woods.

His bulk is almost a benefit, after all these years—his mother taught him to use the shadows, to find the cracks between the trees, to disappear into the dark. Most creatures know to avoid him, besides his few friends. There’s an owl he exchanges pleasantries with, a fox who sometimes plays hide and seek with him, and—

There’s the goose.

Because Ylp has remained hidden from the humans his whole life, and his family line have been in these woods since the man who took his great-great-great-however many greats-grandparents from their home and forced them across the great water on floating wooden islands, and then lost his fight dramatically. The legend of Ylp’s however-many-greats-grandparents escaping the battle to hide in the woods is one of his favorites, a story his mother used to tell him and his siblings around the nest on long winter nights.

For generations they’ve lived in this forest, foraging peacefully, undisturbed by humans, until now.

And it’s not as if the goose needs help, or anything! He’s just causing mayhem for the joy of it, Ylp thinks! For the anarchy! For the pleasure of destruction!

And now the humans are tramping deep into his forest, with their quills and their paper and their seeing-tubes, and they’re looking for him.

All because of one angry goose.

If Ylp ever sees that goose again, he’s stomping it flat. It’s about the size of one of his footprints, he thinks. It could work.

Another pack of humans is nearing his nest, and he grumbles, getting ready to move away—

When he realizes it isn’t a pack of strange humans after all.

It’s the tall, dark-haired one from the building that smells delicious, down by the road. With him is the yellow-haired one who’s been poking around recently. Ylp’s made note of his clothing, because it’s beautiful, all colors and textures Ylp would love to run his trunk over.

And when they stumble into view, they’re laughing, and Ylp doesn’t even bother to freeze still.

They only have eyes for each other.

Ylp settles back down in his bed as they sway closer together, closing his eyes and tucking his trunk over his exposed ear. They look like they need a bit of privacy, and Ylp knows these woods are good for it.