Chapter Text
Stede sighs impatiently and checks his watch. The year’s first faculty committee meeting upstairs is starting shortly, and Lucius should have been here ten minutes ago with copies of Stede’s agenda.
He can’t say he’s not nervous about serving his first term as committee chair. He could say, however, that he’s quietly and utterly terrified. The position was an appointment by a lazy provost, and despite Stede’s enthusiastic acceptance last spring, the arrival of the fall semester has him wondering whether he’s an absolute idiot for agreeing to a leadership role—even one as minor as this.
Still no Lucius. If this tardiness is any sign of how the rest of the year will go, Stede may be looking for a new TA sooner than he expected. Moments later, the door to the building bursts open. Lucius is clutching a stack of papers in his hands, looking frazzled and out of breath.
“Lucius!” Stede exclaims with a frown, already holding his hand out for the papers. “My god, it’s about time you—why are you so sweaty?”
“Sorry,” Lucius gasps, shoving the papers into Stede’s hand. “Sorry, sort of had to run all the way here from your office.”
Stede tuts. “Might want to brush up on those time management skills for the future,” he remarks, disapproving. He begins rustling through the pages to ensure everything is accounted for.
Lucius blinks at him. “Right,” he says humorlessly. “It’s just that I sort of thought you were kidding when you asked for these, because the other TAs don’t really have to—”
“Lucius, come on!” Stede interrupts. “Have a little gusto! Some enthusiasm! You practically begged me for this position!”
“Oh, I mean, I really didn’t, actually,” Lucius says. “You sort of just told me to do it, if you remember.”
Stede pauses, eyeing Lucius in slight confusion. “Is that—? No,” he insists with a frown. “No, I’m pretty certain you—”
“Remember, because then I tried to say no, and then you just sent me a schedule for the semester, so… you know, this is sort of what you signed up for.” Lucius gives a vague gesture with his fingers towards the papers in Stede’s hands. “Uh, love the pay, though. Definitely not complaining. At all.”
Stede frowns down at the pages again, then sighs and gives one more anxious glance to his watch. Lucius shifts before him, antsy, and finally speaks up again.
“So—can I go, then, or—?”
“What?” Stede looks up at him and blinks. “Oh! Right, yes—good work with these. Thank you.”
“Yeah, I’m a real whiz with a printer,” Lucius says. Stede smiles brightly, pointedly ignoring the sarcasm as Lucius stalks off and out of the building.
***
Stede enters the meeting to find the room already filled with the rest of the faculty committee. The university is small, as is the faculty, and Stede’s colleagues chat and connect and form relationships around him as easily as breathing, just as they’ve always done. Stede quietly takes his seat at the front of the room, sitting with the faint awkwardness of the few polite nods he receives as the chatter dies down. He smiles back just as awkwardly.
“Is this, erm… everyone, then?” he asks after a few moments, looking around. He receives a few uncertain looks in response, then glances down to his own agendas, as if they might contain a committee roster of some sort. They do not.
“Right!” he says brightly as he looks back up to everyone. “So—another year, eh? I’m sure you’ve all been hard at work preparing for it, and I’d personally like to commend each and every one of you for—erm—preparing.”
He’s receiving a few odd looks now. Stede can’t blame them. He wishes he’d rehearsed this little opening speech of his. For that matter, he wishes he’d known he was going to be delivering an opening speech. Idiot, indeed.
“Sorry,” someone suddenly says, and Stede’s gaze lands on someone he’s never seen before, a man who looks just barely old enough to be here, and yet still appears less nervous than Stede feels. “I’m a bit new here, who, uh—who are you, again?”
Stede’s eyes widen. He didn’t even introduce himself for the new faculty. “Stede!” he exclaims quickly. “Stede Bonnet, history department—and committee chair!”
“Got it,” the man says. He lifts his hand in an awkward little wave. “Uh, Oluwande Boodhari. Just joined the English department.”
“Ah!” Stede says happily, feeling suddenly as if he’s remembering how to behave in a room full of colleagues. “Of course—shall we all go around and introduce ourselves, perhaps? Jim, why don’t you start?”
Jim stops twirling the pen in their hand as they glance up at Stede, then shift their gaze uncomfortably around the room. “Um… Jim,” they say simply. “Jimenez.”
Stede waits for them to continue, then tips his head encouragingly when they don’t. “And your department…?” he prompts cheerfully. Jim fixes him with a sardonic look and twirls the pen in their fingers again. They look as if they’d be just as at home if the pen were a knife.
“Spanish,” Jim says.
“Oh, hey, you—so we’re both teaching the language arts, then,” Oluwande observes with a tentative smile, reaching out as if for a friendly nudge.
Jim glowers at Oluwande for a moment, and Oluwande stops and lowers his hand. Jim seems to relax a little. “I teach them what they need to know,” they state simply.
Oluwande blinks, then glances around the room, a small, nervous chuckle escaping him, as if looking for the joke. “Right, like—Spanish… I assume?”
Jim grunts and doesn’t respond further.
Oluwande’s smile falters after a moment, and he slowly sits back, looking uncertain. And perhaps a little mesmerized.
“All right,” Stede interrupts smoothly, looking curiously between the pair. “Moving on, um… Nathaniel?”
“Professor Buttons!” Nathaniel says loudly. He looks around, as if he forgot who was asking.
“Right,” Stede agrees patiently. “And remind everyone what you teach?”
Buttons blinks at him. “What’s that, cap’n?”
Stede feels heat color his cheeks and frowns. “I—what? You don’t need to call me that, I’m not—”
“Seems to me you’re at the helm!” Buttons asserts, his heavy Scottish accent ringing throughout the room at an absurd volume. He gestures towards Stede’s chair at the end of the table.
“Actually,” Stede corrects, “I’m just the committee chair, so—”
“Aye!” Buttons says, as if Stede’s made the point for him. Stede sighs.
“Who else?” he asks, moving swiftly along. Frankly, he’s never learned what Buttons teaches, and he thinks it unlikely he’s about to learn today.
Another unfamiliar person further down the table raises his hand. “I’m teaching German this year,” the man says. His accent is distinctly non-German.
Stede brightens, smiling welcomingly. “Wonderful! And your name?”
“I’m not actually all that good at German,” the man says. Stede blinks as he says nothing else.
“All right,” Stede says slowly. “You’re—not German, I take it?”
“No, obviously not,” he says. His voice lilts even as he fixes Stede with an odd look. “I’m Swedish.”
“You’re Swedish, but you’re teaching German?” Oluwande asks. “But you don’t… speak German?”
“That’s right,” the Swede answers, looking a little impatient, as if he’s not sure what’s so confusing. “It’ll be fine, though. I think my TA speaks German better.”
“Oh, and who’s the TA?” Stede asks curiously. Just in case he were to look elsewhere.
“His name is Frenchie.”
The room is silent for a long moment. Jim starts snickering.
“You’re kidding,” Oluwande says. The Swede looks annoyed again.
“Why would I be kidding?”
“You don’t—” Oluwande gestures vaguely towards the Swede. “You really don’t see what’s funny there?” The Swede shakes his head. “Yeah, all right,” Oluwande sighs, leaning back again. Jim smirks widely at him.
“Let’s try to stay on track,” Stede urges, trying not to mourn the productive meeting he had envisioned running here. He begins shuffling through his papers, passing a stack down each side of the table. “I’ve got some agendas here—really, for this first meeting, I’ll just have everyone present what they—” He frowns, pausing and quickly counting the heads in the room again. “Hang on—are we missing someone?”
As if on cue, the door to the room opens. Stede glances up, expecting to see another familiar colleague, but stops in surprise as yet another new face enters.
Quite a face, actually. Framed by long, silvery hair tumbling down his shoulders and a neatly-trimmed beard covering his jaw. The man’s black vest sits open over a simple purple t-shirt, and a slim black cravat hangs loosely around his neck, as if in place of a tie. Before this moment, Stede’s never seen someone wearing leather pants in a university committee meeting, and he very accidentally stares for a long few seconds. Perhaps leather should be more commonplace in academic settings.
Christ. What? Stede blinks rapidly to shake himself out of it. He shifts in his seat, trying wildly to make sense of his heartbeat suddenly so loud in his ears.
The man looks around the room. “This the faculty committee?” he asks after a long moment. Stede forgets to answer, too busy staring with enormous focus down at his agenda, willing his pulse to slow the hell down. Oh, god, is he having a heart attack? That’d be a humiliating way to end his first meeting here.
“Uhh… yeah,” Oluwande says awkwardly, looking oddly at Stede. “We were just about to…”
Stede feels questioning gazes on him and only manages to fiddle with an especially fascinating corner of his page. He finally chances another glance up to the newcomer, just as his gaze is sweeping over Stede.
Stede’s heart jolts again, and this time it pulls at his stomach, too. It nearly makes him dizzy. He is definitely having some sort of cardiac episode.
“Right,” Oluwande says, apparently now leading this meeting, for which Stede will thank him profusely if he survives the day. “We were just about to get into the, err—agenda, apparently. And you are…?”
“Edward Teach,” the man says, finally stepping into the room to swing the door closed behind him. “Sorry I’m late; got lost. First day on campus and all.” He glances around the table, spotting the only open seat. Next to Stede.
“This taken, mate?” he asks as he steps forward, reaching for the chair. Stede looks up at him with wide eyes, shocked at the question for absolutely no reason.
“No!” Stede says quickly. His voice is at least an octave too high. Edward looks at him in confusion and hesitates. “I mean—no,” he manages at a normal pitch.
Edward nods and slips into the chair with a little uncertainty, then directs his attention back to Oluwande. Stede sighs in quiet relief as he faintly registers the others in the room proceeding with the agenda.
The remainder of the meeting consists mostly of others’ content, leaving Stede free to panic. He tries to recall what exactly one should do when they’re experiencing a heart attack. Should he leave? Call an ambulance? What are the signs, again? Probably chest pain, he thinks dazedly.
His chest doesn’t hurt, exactly. Though he is having some trouble breathing. It gets a little worse every time he accidentally glances at Edward. Odd.
***
It must not have been a heart attack, because Stede is still living and breathing several days later when he walks into his first class of the semester. Teaching this class still gives him such a rush, he feels exhilarated just reading his own syllabus. Not that he’d admit it aloud to anyone. Most people don’t seem to find the golden age of piracy as fascinating as he does. Admittedly, least of all his students.
Today, however, the class is abuzz. The first day of class is usually rather quiet, with students awkwardly settling into place in the new year as much as Stede is. When Stede walks into the classroom, he’s met with interested chatter and students bent over their phones, and he can’t help but smile curiously.
“What’s all the excitement?” he asks upon entering, setting his books down on his table at the front. “Don’t tell me my syllabus was leaked early.”
The light jest is met with a few odd looks and perhaps a snicker. Ah, well. Nothing out of the ordinary, he supposes.
“It’s one of the new professors,” someone finally chimes in. “Just a rumor going around.”
“A rumor?” Stede asks, glancing about the classroom. He senses an opportunity for a modicum of rapport-building, which isn’t always a given with his students. “Nothing terribly salacious so early in the year, I hope?”
A small ripple of chuckles slips through the class, putting Stede a little more at ease.
“No, we just, uh—we think he might be someone sorta… famous,” the student muses, glancing back to their phone. Several others nod.
“Famous?” Stede snorts lightly, lifting his tea as he arranges his papers on the desk. “Who’s that, then?”
“The new art professor—Professor Teach? Edward Teach?”
Stede promptly knocks his tea over. He yelps as it spills across the surface of the table, only barely managing to snatch away his materials and save them from ruin.
“Sorry, what?” he chokes out, trying very hard to appear normal.
“It’s not him,” someone across the class suddenly says, rolling their eyes. “There’s no reason to think he’s Blackbeard.”
“Blackbeard’s anonymous, though!” someone else argues quickly, turning in their seat. “It could be, and my friend saw Teach’s art and said it looked way too similar to Blackbeard’s. She’s obsessed with Blackbeard, so if she thinks it’s him—”
“So maybe he’s a copycat.”
“Are you kidding? Teach seems fucking brilliant, I doubt he’s copying anyone.”
“Who is ‘Blackbeard’?” Stede manages to insert loudly, flustered as several more students begin chiming in with their opinions.
“He’s, like, this famous artist, he’s on Instagram and stuff,” someone answers, waving their hand. “His shit is really cool, but no one actually knows who he is.”
“Unless we do.” A few snickers thread through the classroom.
Stede nods slowly, huffing a small laugh along with everyone as he tries to keep up. “I see,” he says. “And those of you who are familiar—you all think this Blackbeard’s, ah—shit is cool, then? And… Professor Teach’s, as well?”
He observes scattered nods and murmurs of agreement throughout the class.
“Well!” Stede says, clapping his hands together. “Quite an exciting start to the year, isn’t it? How about we channel some of that energy into what we’re here to talk about—”
“We should look at Blackbeard’s art!” a student suddenly exclaims, leaning forward. “We should talk about it in here! His art’s got, like, tons of pirate-y shit and ocean themes and stuff!”
Stede doesn’t mean for his attention to catch at that, but he raises a brow. “Really?” he muses. He can admit he’s becoming curious, if the art can hold this much of his students’ attention. Come to think of it, ‘Blackbeard’ would be a rather good name for a pirate.
“All right,” Stede exhales at last. “No promises, but I suppose I could… take a glance for some later class.” Excited grins and chatter flitter through the classroom. Stede draws himself up a little with satisfaction before finally stepping forward, papers in hand. “For today, though—here, everyone grab a copy of the syllabus…”
***
It takes Stede too long to figure out how Instagram works, and he tells himself it’s a worthwhile time investment. For research, of course.
Blackbeard’s shit is cool. Even Stede gets it, and he’s well aware he’s generally a little disconnected from what’s cool. Each piece catches him a little off-guard by its captivating darkness as he pokes through the artist’s work. A monstrous figure with smoke for a head, eyes glowing in the black; a great kraken emerging from the depths, dragging down a nameless figure; a darkened ship whose sails are half-shredded, yet still catching a mystical wind on the open sea.
It’s fearsome, powerful. Stede’s notes for the next day’s lecture remain tucked in his bag for the entirety of the evening as he lets himself be swept away in the stories it tells. He can’t stop looking.
***
Stede lasts until the end of the following week before having another imagined health scare.
The kettle in his office hasn’t been working since an unfortunate late night last week involving one too many cups of tea, a few sparks, and an unpleasant burning smell. There’s nothing wrong with the kettle in the faculty lounge, even if it doesn’t have designated temperature settings based on leaf type.
And there’s nothing wrong with the faculty lounge itself, of course. Even if Stede typically struggles to socialize with his colleagues in ways that feel well-received. His office simply feels… safer.
Stede’s careful concentration on steeping his tea is interrupted by a sudden voice behind him. “Stede Bonnet, I presume?”
Stede starts and turns abruptly, finding himself face-to-face with Edward Teach.
Oh. Oh, god. An inconvenient time to start possibly having a heart attack again.
Edward’s hair is pulled back from his face today in a way Stede hasn’t seen before—not that he’s been looking, when he’s walking about campus or happens to pass Edward in the hallway. The hairstyle suits him terribly well, revealing the gentle crinkles at the corners of his deep brown eyes as he smiles lightly at Stede. He looks—softer somehow, more approachable than the first time Stede saw him. Stede gulps and remembers he’s supposed to respond.
“You’ve—heard of me?” is all he manages, wide-eyed and a little choked.
Edward gives him an odd look, snorting a little. “Course I’ve heard of you, mate. I’ve heard all about you.”
Stede swallows and doesn’t know what to say. He’s not usually this socially inept, but usually his heart isn’t rattling around so recklessly in his chest, as if trying to claw its way out.
Edward raises his brows a little and continues when Stede says nothing. “Actually,” he continues, leaning back against the counter as he looks down to Stede’s steeping tea, “I sat next to you at that faculty committee meeting last week, if you remember.”
Stede remembers, approximately as easily as he remembers his own name each day. “Yes—yes, of course.”
“You know, strangest thing,” Edward continues. “I didn’t actually learn until after the meeting that you’re the committee chair. Sat next to you the whole time, and not a clue.” Stede catches the lightest teasing note to the words and the slant of amusement on Edward’s lips. He blinks, suddenly embarrassed.
“Ah,” he says slowly. “Right. I—yes, I suppose I should have, um—”
“Thought I ought to introduce myself properly, at least,” Edward finishes smoothly. He extends a hand towards Stede, easy and comfortable, a reassuring smile on his lips. “I’m Ed.”
Ed. Oh. Just Ed. That’s—yes, Stede rather likes that on him. Not that Stede has any business liking anything on him.
“Stede,” he replies, taking Ed’s hand. Ed squeezes warmly at once. Stede takes a deep breath. His heart seems suddenly more comfortable inside his chest, settling into a steadier rhythm.
“Well,” Ed goes on, tilting his head with a grin, “hopefully you’re not thinking of kicking me off the committee already, after being late to the first meeting. I’m sure chairing it is quite the responsibility.”
Stede’s brows draw together self-consciously. “Oh, it’s—it’s really not,” he admits. He glances down to lift his tea into his hands, finally drawing the bag out of it. “Truth be told, I’m not even sure I’ll do a very good job.”
Ed frowns, shaking his head. “Doubt that,” he remarks confidently. His hand is suddenly at Stede’s shoulder, squeezing gently, and Stede’s eyes are drawn back to him at once in surprise at the easy contact. “You know, most professors I’ve met in the past—they’re miserable fucks. Don’t give a shit about anything. So you’re doing a hell of a lot better than them.”
Stede can’t help the surprised laughter that escapes him, nor the flattered smile that steals across his lips. “Well—thank you, that’s… very kind.”
Ed smiles. Stede quite likes how he looks when he smiles, he notices.
“So you teach… history, is that right?” Ed asks, and Stede blinks in slight surprise, realizing he didn’t expect Ed to carry on the conversation.
“Oh—yes! Yes, you know—” Stede waves his hand vaguely, huffing a small, self-deprecating laugh. “Sort of classically dry, I know, but I… well, I find it quite interesting, so—”
“Of course it’s interesting, man. Aren’t you teaching some kind of pirate class or something this semester? That sounds fucking cool.”
Stede brightens, eyes widening. “Yes!” he says with renewed interest. “It is, in fact. It’s my area of specialty, actually—the golden age of piracy. It’s fascinating stuff, so much more nuanced than just—you know, killing each other and dying of scurvy, although even those things would warrant entire essays, of course—”
“I take it you’ve written those essays,” Ed interjects with a small smirk. The teasing feels friendly, not sharp or pointed the way Stede might have expected, and he only blushes a little as he goes on.
“Well, I’m not the foremost expert in scurvy, I admit,” he says. “Buried treasure, on the other hand—”
“Oh, fuck off,” Ed says with a laugh. “You’re not telling me pirates actually buried treasure?”
Stede grins enormously, leaning in boldly with an arched brow. “I bet you’d be surprised at what pirates actually did.”
Ed’s eyes widen a little, brows lifting with interest as he looks between Stede’s eyes. A slow grin grows on his lips, threaded with something Stede can’t quite place, and Stede suddenly realizes how close he’s drawn without meaning to. Before he can draw back, Ed speaks again, a little quieter, gaze rapt on Stede’s face.
“Reckon you could surprise me in plenty of ways,” he murmurs.
Stede’s smile falters, caught off-guard by the heat that rolls through him with the words. He blinks a few times, finding his breath has decided to leave his lungs entirely, pulled in by Ed’s dark eyes on his.
He quietly panics at the unfamiliarity of the moment and doesn’t allow himself time to think twice about it. Instead, he breathes in sharply, drawing back with a nervous laugh to try and cover the sudden shakiness of his breathing. “Right. Probably,” he replies simply, eyes suddenly glued to his tea as his heart races. Maybe he ought to be seen by a doctor.
The moment dissipates as quickly as it arrived, and Ed relaxes with a sigh, reaching up to scratch thoughtfully at his beard. “Piracy,” he murmurs, “so, what—seventeenth century? Eighteenth? Some pretty cool art going on at that time, as well.”
Stede’s eyes widen, remembering himself with a spark of interest. “That’s right! That’s your department, right?”
Ed nods with another smile. “Yeah, and a bit of art history. You know, there were some lesser-known works around that time near the coast that sort of vanished. Lots of speculation that they fell into the hands of pirates.”
“Really?” Stede asks with fascination, a delighted grin finding its way back onto his lips. Ed grins back and nods again.
“Really. Course, no way to know for sure, but it’s certainly a good story. A pirate historian would probably know better than an artist would, I reckon.”
Stede feels practically giddy, glowing at the feeling of someone plucking at his knowledge this way, asking him to crack the door open even further. “Some pirates were thought to be art lovers,” he agrees, breathless with delight.
Ed hums with interest, crossing his arms as he turns properly towards Stede, fixing him with a curious smile. “Funny you say that. Some artists seemed to be pirate lovers as well.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, there’s all this—” and suddenly Ed becomes even more animated, hands lifting to gesture as he speaks. “—all this work from certain artists at the time, absolutely swooning over the whole lifestyle. This fuckin’ brazen affinity for pirates comes through in all their stuff, but it’s hard to pick out everything they were saying without all the context of piracy itself, y’know? It’s like there’s a—a whole language in there I don’t speak or something.”
Stede breathes out eagerly, not even noticing how his heart is racing. “Well, I might speak it,” he offers excitedly. “I—I’d love to see what you’re talking about, and maybe I could—I mean, who knows?”
Ed looks at him with such delight that Stede can’t help but continue. “And honestly, I’ll bet it went the other way, too! If artists were out there writing love letters to pirates in their work… well, who’s to say certain pirates didn’t fall for particular artists?”
Ed’s expression is softening with something else now. If Stede didn’t know better, he’d call it fondness. But he knows better. Probably.
“Love letters to pirates,” Ed huffs quietly, echoing Stede’s words back to him. Stede feels his face heat a little, wondering if perhaps he’s found the boundary here—if that particular turn of phrase was a bridge too far for Ed to follow. Instead, Ed sighs, almost dreamy. “Sounds like you’ve got it all sussed out already.”
Stede’s brow furrows gently. He offers a soft smile, opening his mouth to speak further, when suddenly his phone chimes. He glances at his watch and pulls in a breath as he sees the time.
“Damn it,” he murmurs. “I’ve got to get to my class. This very one, in fact.”
When he looks up, he might think Ed looks a little disappointed. “Damn,” Ed says in agreement, smiling wryly. “Starting to wish I could take the class myself. Suppose I should get ready for my own class in a couple hours, as well.”
Stede emits a quiet laugh, that giddiness lifting through his chest again. “Starting to wish I could skip my class and hear more about all this art,” he admits. “Maybe teach you a thing or two about those pirates.”
Ed hums lightly, nodding regretfully in agreement and glancing down. Stede looks back to the tea in his hands, barely steaming anymore, but his gaze wanders next to Ed’s crossed arms, landing on the tattoos there instead. He follows them up past his elbows, until the tattoos disappear beneath the sleeves of Ed’s shirt. Neither of them moves to leave.
“Hey,” Ed suddenly says. His voice is soft, and when Stede meets his gaze, there’s something wistful and aching in his eyes, a hopeful little smile on his lips.
“D’you wanna do something weird?”
***
“Good afternoon, class!” Stede announces as he strides into his classroom, eager and giddy. “I hope you’re all prepared for a treat today!”
No one says anything, and someone sighs.
Stede feels so wild with delight that he hardly notices the lackluster response. “May I present your surprise guest lecturer for the day—Professor Edward Teach!”
The class stares and visibly perks up as Ed swans dramatically into the room, arms spread wide to bow as if meeting an auditorium full of thunderous applause, rather than a small classroom full of confused twenty-somethings. “Yes, yes, delighted to be here,” Ed drawls theatrically. Stede has to hold back a giggle at the way Ed flourishes his hands before bringing them together, folding them delicately over his chest.
“Today, dear students of piracy through the ages,” Ed goes on—several students are beaming or even giggling now, and everyone looks captivated—“we’ll be discussing art, but not just any art! No, today we’ll be adventuring through the Caribbean, exploring the works of art that, perhaps, fell into the hands of the very pirates you’re learning about here!”
A hand shoots up. Ed’s brows lift in surprise. “Question already?”
“Yeah,” the student says. “Are you Blackbeard?”
Ed’s face scrunches up in confusion. There’s a hitch in his movements, but he swiftly passes into incredulity, looking at Stede as if to invite him into the ridiculous nature of the question. “Blackbeard? Who the fuck’s Blackbeard?”
“Ah,” Stede says, brows drawing together in concern. Perhaps he should have warned Ed that today wouldn’t exactly be the first time the class had discussed him. “He’s, erm—”
“The artist,” someone interjects, emphatic. “You can’t tell me you’re in the art world and don’t know who Blackbeard is.”
Ed sighs then, his expression relenting a little. He lifts his hands as if in submission. “All right, fine. Obviously, I’ve heard of Blackbeard. The guy’s everywhere.” He snorts then, dropping his hands. “Why the fuck would you think I’m him?”
The class is quiet. A few shared glances pass between the students. “I dunno,” someone finally says, “I just heard your art was… like, really similar.”
Ed scoffs, crossing his arms. “Lots of art is really similar. It’s called influence. Derivation. You think after thousands of years, people are still coming up with totally original fuckin’ ideas?”
Several students, at least, have the grace to look a little sheepish. “Well—do you know who he is? You’re, like, an insider, right?”
Ed scrunches his nose again. “An insider?”
“Yeah! You’re an artist, and your stuff is kinda similar. So do you know who he is?”
Ed tilts his head, reaching up to scratch absently at his beard for a moment. He looks deep in thought, and the class is silent, seeming to wait with bated breath.
“Yeah,” Ed finally says, dropping his arms. “Yeah, all right. I might know the guy. Art world’s not that big, after all.”
Eyes go wide. “Cool,” someone murmurs. Ed grins, then claps his hand together.
“Now, are we gonna talk about some pretentious fuck, or are we gonna talk about fuckin’ pirates stealing art?” Ed asks with a smirk. Several students giggle again, and Ed looks instantly relaxed once more, launching back into his theatrics.
Stede watches as Ed continues weaving the narrative of the upcoming hour on the spot. The students are all but leaning forward in their seats as Ed talks and gestures, darts to the whiteboard after a few minutes to begin scribbling some notes.
He’s chaotic, a whirlwind of passion like Stede’s never seen in a classroom before. Stede is torn between hanging on Ed’s every word, fascinated by the subject matter, and simply admiring him. Ed’s eyes are bright, hair tossing around his shoulders every time he whips around to pose a question to the students, who are more engaged than Stede has ever managed on his own.
Soon the whiteboard is covered in Ed’s utterly incoherent writing, crude drawings of the art he’s rambling about, and arrows connecting bits of information by which Stede is hopelessly confused. Stede can’t stop utterly beaming. From the looks of it, neither can Ed.
“Fuckin’ brilliant question, Shay!” Ed praises, pointing across the room at a student who just spoke. He’s learned the names of half the students here in under an hour when it took Stede nearly two weeks. He’s also used more profanity in that space of time than Stede has ever heard, but he can’t bring himself to disapprove.
As Ed whips around to scribble another illustration in an empty corner of the board, he catches Stede’s eye. He looks elated, boundlessly happy and a little hopeful. Stede grins widely back, and some sort of satisfied relief steals across Ed’s face before he resumes his rambling. Stede’s heart could burst.
***
Stede gulps. It takes him quite a bit of mental preparation just to get up in front of his own classroom after carefully reviewing all his notes.
Now he’s standing just outside Ed’s art history class. Ed had emerged from Stede’s class earlier clearly buzzing with excitement. He had grabbed Stede by the shoulders and told him it was his turn next, and Stede had followed all the way to Ed’s class in a daze, only to be left outside the door as Ed had hurried off to grab some things from his office.
Stede glances inside the classroom. They’re only students, after all. And surely, judging by what Stede just watched in his own class, Ed can swoop in and save the lecture if Stede starts going truly off the rails.
Ed appears again, grinning breathlessly with a few books in hand. “Ready?” he asks with a clap on Stede’s back, but he pauses once he meets Stede’s gaze. His hand stays against Stede, sliding to his shoulder and squeezing, warm and friendly.
“Whoa—hey, what? What’s wrong, man?”
Stede blinks, not having realized he was so easy to read. “Nothing!” he says hurriedly, even while frowning. “It’s just—I’ve never really, um… gone into something so… unprepared.”
Ed softens, giving a reassuring little laugh. “What, this? Aw, Stede—don’t think so much about it. We’re having a bit of fun, all right? No one’s grading you on it. Though you’re free to give them a pop quiz at the end; probably be a bit of a laugh.”
Stede’s brow furrows. “That’s… true,” he admits. The grading bit, at least. Ed’s smile turns gentle.
“Hey,” he says. Stede’s gaze is helplessly drawn back to Ed’s face at the word. He feels terribly warm beneath Ed’s hand on his shoulder.
“I had a fuckin’ blast in your class just now, mate,” Ed says. “Seemed like you did, too.”
Stede presses his lips together, then nods. “Yeah,” he breathes, unable to help but smile. “I did.”
“So it’s the same thing here, right? We’re just talking about what we love. It was easy enough for you in the lounge, that’s all you’ve gotta do. Just have fun.”
Fun. Stede glances back into the classroom. It’s been a while since someone told him to have fun with his teaching, and even longer since he was invited to be so plainly passionate.
“Yeah,” Stede agrees at last, some tension slipping out of his shoulders. Ed’s smile grows again, and it puts Stede even more at ease. “Right. Ready.”
Ed grins wider and claps him on the shoulder one more time. “Good man,” he says happily. Just like that, his touch is gone as he sweeps into the room.
“Esteemed students,” Stede hears Ed announce proudly, pulling a quiet chuckle from Stede, “it is my very great honor to present today’s guest—an expert among historians, a gentleman and maybe even a pirate himself—” Stede is not blushing. “—Dr. Stede Bonnet!”
Stede musters every confidence Ed’s encouragement has given him and enters the room with a flourish. Ed’s arms are extended towards Stede in a humble, introductory gesture. When no one says anything, Ed glances up at the class with a frown.
“Clap,” he orders. The students jump a little and faintly applaud.
To Stede’s surprise, Ed seems to have thought ahead in the few minutes between their lecture periods. Stede flounders at first, nearly finding himself skewing off into a ramble about Caribbean trade routes in the late eighteenth century, when suddenly Ed switches off the lights and flips on the projector screen. A photo of a painting illuminates the wall, and Stede stops mid-sentence, eyes widening.
“Oh—wow,” Stede gasps, stepping forward. “Look at that! Isn’t that—hang on, that’s one of the Royal Fortune ships in the background, isn’t it?”
Ed grins at him from across the room. “No fuckin’ clue, man. This is some of the art I was talking about. Tell us about it.”
Stede fills with confidence, taking in a happy breath. Easy as anything, he tells them all he knows.
***
The students filter out of the classroom at the end of the period, but Stede is still filled with—something. Adrenaline, excitement, passion like a loose cannon in his chest. He looks over to Ed, who’s gathering his books from the table.
“That was…” Stede starts, shaking his head after a moment and having to try again. “That felt—”
“You were fuckin’ great, man,” Ed says with a wide grin. “Thanks for coming. Most fun I’ve had at work in ages, if I’m honest.”
Stede laughs in disbelief. “Thank you!” he insists. “My god, I mean, what you did in my class was just—you know today might have been the first time I didn’t watch a single student yawn in that class?”
Ed chuckles. “Certainly no yawning in here today, mate. They loved you. Maybe we ought to swap places more often.”
Something warm flares within Stede’s chest at that, but Ed continues before he can quite formulate a response.
“Anyway,” Ed sighs, “I didn’t do all that much, just… rambled, really. Not totally sure I’m cut out to be a professor—I haven’t got it all together like you.”
Stede looks at him incredulously, huffing and nervously brushing past the compliment. “What? You—surely, you can’t tell me this is the first time you’ve taught.”
Ed shrugs, raising his brows and nodding. “First time,” he confirms. “I mean, I was on my way to getting my doctorate at one point, but…” He waves a hand as if to toss the memory aside. “I dunno. Didn’t agree with academia, and it didn’t agree with me.”
“I see,” Stede says, though he doesn’t, really. “So… how’d you land back in the thick of it, then?”
Ed’s shoulders lift and fall with a deep, thoughtful sigh. He gives a wry half-smile after a moment. “Just needed a change of pace, I s’pose. Turns out there are worse things than this.”
Stede blinks, opening his mouth to ask after that statement before realizing he shouldn’t pry. Ed’s gaze is averted, lost in thought, or perhaps avoiding further discussion.
“Well,” Stede says instead after a heavy beat of silence, “For what it’s worth, I think teaching looks… quite good on you.”
And that wasn’t really meant to come out exactly the way it did, because now Ed is looking back at him again, an odd glint in his eyes that Stede isn’t familiar with and a curious grin playing on his lips. It reminds him of the look Ed gave him earlier in the faculty lounge, and Stede swallows.
“That is—I mean—”
“You think so?” Ed interrupts. His smile is more pronounced now, but Stede isn’t sure what to make of it. His breath is short and his head is quite light all of a sudden. He manages to nod after a moment.
“I think so,” he confirms, voice a little higher. It’s mercifully even, despite the sudden weakness in Stede’s legs. What the hell is this? What’s happening to him?
Ed hums, looking satisfied as he straightens up. He finally takes a step in, and Stede’s entire brain short-circuits before he realizes Ed is stepping past him, making his way to the door.
“Looks good on you, too,” he says as he glances back to Stede. Stede’s breath catches somewhere in his chest as he watches Ed leave.
***
It’s a few days before Stede crosses paths with Edward again. It’s not for lack of trying, he’s embarrassed to admit. He’s spent an unusual amount of time this week making his tea in the faculty lounge, despite having gotten a new kettle for his office. He seems to narrowly miss Ed at every turn, though on several occasions he runs into Ed’s… associates. They’re large, imposing, and wear at least as much leather as Ed does.
The first time Stede meets them, they’re hauling boxes of art supplies into the building. Stede uses his terribly sharp deduction skills—and a glimpse of Ed’s name scrawled across two of the boxes—to conclude the supplies belong to Ed.
When he pokes curiously at whether Ed is around, one of the men glowers at him. “Boss is busy,” he says shortly. Boss? Stede is much too alarmed by the interaction to ask anything further.
It’s with some resignation that Stede supposes any further encounters with Ed will simply happen to him. It’s left him a little unnerved, wondering at any moment if he might be caught off-guard by Ed’s presence.
This particular morning isn’t helping Stede’s nerves. His day had started with his car making some rather concerning sounds, resulting in Stede bringing it to the shop instead of work and paying a cab to get him to campus. He’d arrived late and grumpy and may have snapped at Lucius by accident.
Despite the incident, Lucius is still in Stede’s office with him during his office hours this evening. He scrolls on his phone while Stede tries and fails to focus on drafting the presentation summary that’s been hanging over him. Yet another stressor. Admittedly, the mindless presence of a companion in his office—even if it is his long-suffering graduate assistant—has helped his mood somewhat.
“So did you… still need me here?” Lucius asks suddenly. Stede looks at him oddly.
“What do you mean? You’re my TA, Lucius. It’s your job to be here.”
“Right,” Lucius says slowly. “Yeah, you know that’s different from, like, a PA, right? Because I’m pretty sure TAs usually just sort of grade assignments and stuff. And right now I’m just sitting here.”
“You’re offering moral support,” Stede corrects.
“For what, exactly?”
Stede sighs. “For this—presentation summary! I mean, god, they invite me to speak at this conference and then don’t even give me a topic? What am I meant to do with that? And now they want a summary of the talk when I haven’t even written it yet.”
Lucius stares blankly at him, twisting his lips absently and nodding slowly. “Right,” he says again. “So isn’t this, like—a good thing, actually? I thought you academics sort of got off on being asked to ramble for a bit of money.”
Stede glares at him, then at his screen again. “We’re brainstorming. Keep up. What is it you’re so eager to go off and do, anyway?” Stede feels some remorse for the rudeness of his words, but he doesn’t particularly want to admit that his office hours tend to get quite lonely. His students certainly aren’t seeking him out for any help, possibly because his only office hours are in the evenings, after most of the academic campus is deserted.
Lucius rolls his eyes. “Well, Pete was gonna come meet me for dinner whenever we were done here, so mostly that.”
“Pete?” Stede eyes him curiously. “Who’s this Pete?”
“Pete. Pete, my boyfriend? I talk about him, like, literally all the time. He’s getting his masters here.”
“Is he?” Stede asks with surprise. He wonders why he doesn’t remember. “Close to finishing?”
“Uh, I’m not sure,” Lucius admits, fiddling with his pen. “He says he’s defending this summer. But he’s said that for, like, literally the past three summers, so I don’t really know anymore.”
Stede frowns. “All right, well—invite him here, then! We’ll make an evening of it.”
“Oh,” Lucius says, shaking his head immediately, “yeah, I’m… not gonna do that.”
Suddenly the door to the building opens at the end of the hall, then falls shut with its usual slam. Stede perks up at once, looking out of his office with curiosity. Perhaps a student has come for some help, after all, and Stede can put off thinking about this stupid conference a little while longer.
Instead, Ed walks by, visible for a second before disappearing, and Stede’s eyes widen as he pulls in a silent gasp of surprise. He’s never seen another professor here at this hour, much less one he’s been so terribly interested in running into.
Oh. Oh! Oh. Stede’s mind suddenly settles around an idea that makes his entire chest swell. He stands up from his chair abruptly, and Lucius blinks up at him.
“You know, I’m getting quite hungry, given how late it is,” Lucius says pointedly, and Stede waves him off, already making to step around the desk towards the door.
“All right, all right, go, get out of here,” Stede says hurriedly. “Have fun with—Paul.”
“Pete.”
“Pete,” Stede repeats absently. “Goodnight, Lucius.”
Lucius mutters some farewell and heads off down the hall, and Stede gazes in the direction he saw Ed walking. He glances around before following, and it’s not long before he comes to the only other open, lit room in the building.
Stede knew he shared the building with the art department, but he had no idea there was such a large studio space down here. Ed is rummaging through some of the boxes Stede saw his associates carrying in the other day.
“Ed?” Stede asks tentatively. Ed straightens up and turns at once, breaking into a surprised grin.
“Oh, hey—the fuck are you doing here so late?” Ed asks, but his voice sounds a little delighted. Stede can’t help but grin back.
“My, uh… office hours,” he explains, gesturing vaguely behind him. “I mean, no one ever comes, but this is the only time I’m available for them.”
“Huh,” is all Ed says in response at first. He turns back to the box he was looking through and produces a stack of small canvases. “S’funny, because I’ve been coming and working in here most nights.”
Stede’s eyes widen. “You have?” He wonders how much time they’ve spent narrowly missing each other these past few weeks.
“Yeah. Nice and peaceful,” Ed remarks. He’s sorting through odds and ends, looking as if he’s getting set up for whatever he plans to work on. “I usually just work out of my place, but the change of scenery can be helpful.”
Stede’s a little mesmerized by watching Ed sort out all his supplies, and he nearly forgets what he came here for. Other than seeing Ed, that is.
“Oh!” he suddenly exclaims. “I—I actually wanted to ask you something. I had a, um… bit of a strange idea, and you can say no if you like—”
“How about you ask first before answering for me?” Ed interrupts with a small smirk. Stede blushes.
“Right,” he agrees, tentatively stepping further into the studio. “So I’ve got this, um… well, there’s this conference coming up in the winter. It’s an interdisciplinary thing, and I’ve been invited to speak.”
Ed pauses, almost minutely, before resuming what he’s doing, glancing back to Stede with a small smile. “Impressive.”
Stede huffs, brows drawing together with an anxious smile. “I… suppose. The problem is, I—I haven’t a clue what to speak about. These things can be so dry, and the last thing I want is to put people to sleep. But, um—well, as we’ve mentioned… no one was yawning, that day we swapped classes.”
Ed stops what he’s doing altogether at those words, looking at Stede with uncertainty. “Yeah?” he asks carefully, tilting his head. Stede bites his lip nervously before pushing on.
“So I thought… maybe, you’d like to sort of… collaborate? On—on a talk for the conference, about all the same things we talked about the other day. We could work on it together, write it together—I’d get your name added as a presenter, obviously, and they might complain about the last-minute change, but…”
Ed sets down a larger canvas he’s holding. This one looks like a work in progress. “You’re serious?” he asks after a moment. “You want to—I mean, you’d want me there with you, giving the whole talk or… whatever? Even if they’re, like—kinda pissed about it?”
Stede nods eagerly, offering a hopeful smile. “Of course! I mean—listen, these sorts of people could all stand to loosen up a little, and I think anything we’d do together would be far more interesting than what they’d get from me alone. Don’t you?”
Ed gives a small laugh, glancing down at his canvas. “I dunno. You’re pretty fuckin’ fascinating all on your own.”
Stede falters for only a moment, swallowing at the warmth suddenly flaring in his chest at the compliment. It’s followed quickly by the cold realization that perhaps Ed is trying to politely decline.
“Oh,” Stede says, wrongfooted. “Of course, if you’d rather not—”
Ed turns back to him so quickly it nearly knocks over a bottle of paint beside him. “No!” he says, and it might be the first time he seems nearly frantic. “Shit, mate, that’s not at all what I—” He sighs, reaching up and tangling his fingers into his long hair, looking thoughtful as he rubs at his scalp. His gaze returns to Stede after a long moment, tentative.
“You really… think I’d be any good there?” Ed asks carefully at last. “I mean, I’ve never even been to one of those things, much less done this sorta thing. S’not really my, uh… scene.”
Stede softens, perhaps imagining the glimmer of longing in Ed’s tone.
“I think you’d captivate them, Ed,” he says sincerely. “And—it’s not as if you’ll be alone. Like I said, we’d… do the whole thing together. Start to finish.”
Ed looks hesitant, though something in his expression shifts at that final promise. He takes a moment, perhaps to gauge once again that Stede is really being sincere, but finally he nods.
“Yeah,” he sighs at last. “Yeah, all right. That—that sounds like it could be pretty cool, actually.”
Stede forgets not to beam right across the room at him. “Wonderful!” he says breathlessly. “That’s—yes—yes, I think it will be.”
Ed looks even more at ease at that, and it sets Stede’s heart beating a little too quickly. He’s rather neglected, these past few days, to investigate why that seems to happen so often lately. It’s happening even when he’s not around Ed in person now—like when he remembers the looks Ed has given him at times, quiet and curious and dark, or when he thinks of Ed breaking into a smile after a joke Stede made. He’s only spent a few hours with the man, really, but Ed has occupied an embarrassing number of Stede’s thoughts since the day they swapped classes.
He knows what it sounds like, obviously. He’s not naive to attraction, but he feels quite naive to this. Something with the strength of a tidal wave that could drag him under if he’s not careful, with an onset so immediate it leaves Stede’s head spinning through every interaction, every moment of proximity.
But that’s—surely, this is all foolish of him to even imagine. He hasn’t so much as considered dating since his divorce from Mary, and he supposed that if ever he did, it would be with… someone expected. He’s never thought terribly hard about it, if he’s honest. Admittedly, he didn’t particularly picture dating women again. But he certainly didn’t picture dating—
“Stede?” Ed asks, breaking through Stede’s thoughts rather jarringly. Oh, god. Oh, Christ alive, Stede’s been standing here thinking about dating quite out of nowhere. How on earth did his mind wander there so quickly?
“Sorry,” Stede says with a startled blink. “What?”
“Was there something else you… came for?”
Stede stares for a moment, briefly mortified at the notion that Ed might have read his thoughts. It takes him a moment to remember Ed is probably a regular human who can’t do that. Probably.
“What—uh, what are you working on so late?” Stede asks quickly, deciding all at once that this could be the something else he came for. Right. A perfectly ordinary, appropriate question to a colleague.
Ed raises his brows and glances down to his canvas again. “Oh, uh—I dunno. Didn’t have much of a plan tonight, sort of just came to… you know. Dance with my muse.”
Stede arches a brow. Something about the words makes him want to sway on his feet. “Dance? With your—what does that mean?”
Ed fixes him with a sudden smirk, tilting his head. “Would you like me to demonstrate?”
The breath leaves Stede’s lungs again. Now this is becoming ridiculous. He’s technically supposed to be holding office hours.
“I’d love that,” he says, eyes wide with interest.
***
It’s not a dance Stede understands, but it’s… mesmerizing.
Ed starts with a simple canvas, nearly blank, painted over with something glossy. He goes in with color next, and Stede leans forward with fascination from where he’s seated on a desk, watching Ed work. The colors apply over the prepared background with startling vibrancy, breathing life into the canvas until Stede finds himself admiring a glowing sunset horizon.
Ed stands back for long moments then, humming quietly to himself every so often, occasionally muttering things Stede doesn’t quite catch. Suddenly he’s bearing down on the canvas with enthusiasm, applying paint with more than just brushes—palette knives, sponges, his fingers and knuckles and half a dozen objects scattered on the table near Ed. Stede realizes they were there on purpose; he watches apparent chaos fall into order as Ed creates an image Stede can’t yet make sense of. But Ed seems to see it. He seems to know it’s there before it is.
His movements flow just like the dance Ed called it, one into the next. Ed seems lovingly possessed, eager to give over to some driving force outside himself, to have his hands guided where this mysterious muse wants them.
Stede thinks he must watch for half an hour or so. Maybe. At least. He’s not sure anymore. At some point, Ed pauses to pull his hair back, undoing the half-up knot at the back of his head to pull all the strands into a messy bun before continuing on.
It leaves the back of Ed’s neck bare as Stede watches from behind. He can see more tattoos climbing up the line of Ed’s neck, peeking out from the collar of his jacket. Stede’s fingers curl over the edge of the desk as he grows distracted for a moment, imagining following those tattoos further, inching the clothes out of the way to reveal more.
Stede’s state doesn’t improve much when Ed tugs off the leather jacket he’s wearing, tossing it over his chair before returning to his task. The tee he’s wearing beneath hugs him far more closely, rides up his skin as the muse he’s following tugs him this way and that around the canvas. Stede is breathless.
When Ed’s movements begin to slow, Stede realizes he’s been watching Ed for the better part of this time, rather than the canvas. He also realizes he’s flushed, hot from head to toe, lips parted and mouth dry.
Ed’s breath is a little heavy as he finally steps back with a note of finality. He watches Ed reach up and drag the back of his hand over his forehead to catch the glisten of sweat on his brow.
Finally, Stede’s eyes shift back to the painting, and his mouth falls open properly. The canvas now bears a tall ship bursting over the bright, glorious horizon, majestic with the wind caught in its sails. If Stede didn’t know better, he’d think he could see it pull across the waves. He can practically hear the gentle thrust of the open sea the longer he looks, can feel a hopeful rush of wind across his skin.
“Wow,” Stede breathes softly, awed. Ed starts and turns abruptly, a hand at his chest.
“Fucking hell,” he says, shaking his head a little. “Almost forgot you were here.”
Stede blinks, wondering suddenly if perhaps he ought not to have been. “Sorry,” he says quickly, not sure why. Ed shakes his head at once, stepping over to pull another desk right up beside the one Stede is sitting on. He fits them flush together before turning, pushing up to sit on the desk right beside Stede, tucking his legs up to cross them, the same way Stede sits. Their knees touch, then rest together. Neither of them moves away from it.
They both gaze at the painting in silence for a long moment.
“That was amazing,” Stede finally says. His voice is quiet, reverent, as if worried the moment could break in two if he speaks too sharply. “I’ve never… seen anything like it. Like that, like… you.”
He feels, more than hears, Ed’s breath hitch beside him.
“Sometimes it doesn’t even feel like me,” Ed admits after a long moment. His voice is quiet too, soft around the edges. “In a good way, though. It’s something I can get lost in. Stop thinking so hard and just be… Edward.”
Stede’s brows draw together as he chances a glance at Ed’s face. “Who else would you be?” he teases gently, a soft smile on his lips.
Ed glances over and meets his gaze. His lips slant into a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before he looks away again, back to the canvas. Stede does the same, his heart beating heavily behind his ribs.
“You like it, then?” Ed suddenly asks, even quieter. Edged with softness again, and something else—careful, cautious. Stede frowns, a little bewildered.
“I—Ed, it’s beautiful,” he breathes emphatically. “The colors, the—the vibe of it. It makes me…” Then Stede quiets, trailing off with a soft, embarrassed sigh. When he glances up, Ed is staring at him, eyes wide and practically shining.
“What?” he asks. He looks as if he’s hanging on Stede’s every word, and Stede swallows quietly, trying to adjust to being the focus of such intense attention.
“It makes me feel like… like a pirate,” Stede admits, making no effort to hide the blush that creeps onto his cheeks. It’s hard to care if he sounds silly when Ed is looking at him like this, like Stede’s words are the only thing in the world that might matter by morning. “Or at least—what I like to imagine it would have been like to be a pirate. That sort of exhilaration, the freedom, the open sea… it’s… it’s all there.”
Ed blinks and looks back at the painting, as if seeing it with new eyes. “You really feel all that?” he asks quietly. Stede nods.
Another beat of silence passes between them. Suddenly, Stede realizes Ed is chuckling beside him.
“What?” Stede asks a little nervously, and Ed shakes his head, grinning widely.
“You and your pirates,” Ed murmurs. “Your pirates, and your history, and your—all your talk about vibes and paintings as love letters. You’re a bit of a lunatic.”
Stede’s brows draw together. The word rubs against him uncomfortably, and he feels suddenly smaller, the way he used to feel after some of Mary’s cutting remarks—or even earlier in life, those from his peers.
Ed looks up at him again, adding to the thought swiftly. “I like it.”
Now Stede frowns, blinking in confusion. “You just said I’m a lunatic.”
“Yeah,” Ed agrees. “You are. You’re a fuckin’ lunatic, and I like it.”
“Oh.” The weight on Stede’s chest lifts abruptly. The word sounds fond now. Warm and friendly, once again. Stede smiles quietly.
He’s not sure how much longer they sit there. Finally, Ed shifts and tugs his phone out of his pocket, letting out a soft phew. “Shit. It’s nearly 10.”
Stede looks at him with wide eyes, alarmed. “What?” he exclaims. “We’ve been here—three hours?”
Ed looks at him with a grin, laughing lightly. “Yeah, mate. What’s wrong?” His expression falters. “You—did I make you late to get home to… someone?”
Stede blinks, caught off-guard by the implication. “What? No,” he says quickly. “No, I just didn’t—it didn’t feel that long.”
Ed’s grin returns, and he leans back and rests his weight with his palms against the desk behind him. He unfolds his legs—hisses a little, surprising Stede—and then stretches his body slowly, nearly catlike, before relaxing again, letting his legs hang loosely over the edge of the desk. “Yeah,” he finally agrees with a sigh. “Time sorta gets away from me when I do this. But it’s late. I should let you get home.”
Something warm rolls through Stede at the phrasing. As if Ed’s held him captive here. As if Stede would mind if he had.
Stede nods anyway, sighing and sliding off the desk at last. He thinks briefly of his papers, what he ought to gather before going home—
“Oh, shit,” Stede suddenly hisses, hand flying to his face as a realization crashes down on him. “Oh—oh, damnit.”
“What?” Ed asks in concern. Stede suddenly feels ridiculous as he glances towards the door of the studio.
“I—I forgot I don’t have my car,” Stede grimaces. “I had to drop it at the shop this morning—they swore it’d be finished by tomorrow, but they’ve gotta be closed now, and—oh, Jesus.” He sighs, already pulling out his phone. “Trying to get a cab at this time of night—”
“Whoa, hey,” Ed interrupts, reaching out to swat lightly at Stede’s phone in his hands, not quite making contact. “That’s ridiculous. I’ll give you a ride.” He’s already sliding off the desk, and Stede’s eyes widen as he suddenly pictures himself in a car with Ed. Alone, close, some new sort of intimacy. Immediately, Stede’s mind skitters frantically backwards from the notion.
“Oh,” he says, voice pitching too high. “No, that’s—that’s too much, I couldn’t possibly ask—”
“You’re not,” Ed says, clearly uninterested in Stede’s protests. “I’m offering. C’mon, mate, you kept me company for fuckin’ hours tonight. Least I can do. Here, just—” He slides his phone out of his pocket again, holding it out to Stede. “Put your number in there and add your address.”
Stede’s stomach twists. It seems like a bad idea somehow. A very bad idea.
“All right,” he agrees, accepting the phone. Ed grins.
***
This is not what Stede expected. This is at least ten times worse of an idea than even he anticipated.
“What?” Ed asks. He nudges Stede lightly, and Stede nearly jumps at the object Ed’s holding out to him, staring at it as if it might bite him. Ed frowns.
“You need the helmet,” Ed insists. “There’s no fucking way I’m taking you if you’re gonna refuse to wear a helmet.”
He’s holding a motorcycle helmet out to Stede, his own helmet tucked beneath his arm. Because they’re standing in front of Ed’s motorcycle. Because apparently, Ed doesn’t drive a car. Ed drives a motorcycle.
This is a very bad idea.
“I, uh,” Stede manages at last, looking nervously between Ed and the bike, “I didn’t, um… realize you—that we’d be, uh…”
Ed’s expression is growing more confused by the moment, until finally it seems to click. “You didn’t—how did you not know I drove a motorcycle?”
Stede looks at him incredulously. “Why would I know that?” he asks wildly, much too loudly.
Suddenly, Ed bursts into laughter. Stede actually forgets his terror at the motorcycle for a moment when it happens, because he’s never seen Ed laugh like this—open, with his head tipped back and his shoulders shaking, free and delighted.
And then, quite suddenly, Stede’s focus shifts yet again, because the harsh glow from the parking lot lights catches on something Stede’s never noticed before—something shiny in Ed’s mouth, tucked against his tongue, just far enough back to remain hidden until now. Stede’s stomach drops abruptly, heat curling low in his body.
Ed has a tongue piercing. For some reason, this is the single most devastating piece of information Stede has ever had to cope with. Maybe in his entire life. Holy hell. That’s—holy hell.
“Mate, c’mon, I swear you’ll be fine,” Ed is suddenly saying, pressing the helmet firmly into Stede’s chest. Stede grabs at it helplessly, head still spinning. It seems especially unwise to get on the back of a motorcycle when he feels embarrassingly close to fainting, eyes still locked on Ed’s mouth.
“Sure,” Stede accidentally agrees, dazed. Then his eyes widen as Ed nods with satisfaction, slides on his own helmet, and swings a leg over the bike. “Wait—oh, god—”
“Coming, or what?” Ed asks.
Stede shifts nervously on his feet, heart racing for too many reasons at once. He glances down at the helmet again and finally sighs anxiously, lifting it to carefully tug it on before sliding the visor up so he can see in the dim evening. The helmet feels weighty, and he feels ridiculous.
Ed isn’t looking at him like he’s ridiculous. Ed’s suddenly looking at him with something entirely new in his eyes, staring as if he’s seeing something for the first time.
“What?” Stede asks, concerned.
Ed blinks. “Nothing,” he says quickly, then clears his throat. He nods over his shoulder. “C’mon, on you get.”
Stede steps up, not sure where to put his hands, considering Ed is about the only thing for him to hold onto. He manages to slide onto the seat with only a brief grasp at Ed’s shoulder and minimal awkward shimmying into place.
“Hold on,” Ed prompts, flipping his visor down. His foot kicks at something and the bike shifts beneath them.
Ah. Right. Ed’s still the only thing to hold onto. Stede slides his own visor over his eyes and sets his hands tentatively at Ed’s sides.
Ed pauses, turning his head. “You wanna fly off the back or something?”
“What?” Stede asks, unsure if he heard Ed correctly through the muffle of their helmets.
Suddenly Ed reaches down, grasping Stede’s hands and pulling. He gives a noise of surprise as Ed draws his arms tightly around his waist, hauling him forward and pressing Stede’s hands to his stomach.
“I said, hold on,” Ed orders from behind his visor. His voice is closer, now that Stede’s head has fallen right against his shoulder. “Tight. And don’t let go.”
Stede gulps and nods against Ed’s shoulder. He wonders if Ed can feel his heart hammering, given the way Stede’s entire front is now pressed flush along Ed’s back, from his chest all the way down to their hips. Christ.
Stede tries to shift a little, and his hips accidentally drag against Ed’s, and—wrong, wrong, wrong idea, oh, god, absolutely no more of that. He will stay very, very still here, in fact, right up until the moment he can climb off and hide in the safety of his home for the rest of the night.
The motorcycle roars to life beneath them. Stede holds tighter—out of anxiety, more than anything—as they pull out of the parking lot and set off.
***
Staying very still is, in fact, not entirely an option. Being on the back of Ed’s bike is nothing like being in a car; there’s little to no shock absorption to cushion them against each bump on the road beneath them, and Stede is mortifyingly aware of each little jolt that presses them closer. The vibrating hum of the motorcycle below them makes Stede go far too warm against Ed’s body, even with the wind whipping around them.
Even in the midst of Stede’s personal crisis, however, the ride is… exhilarating. Stede lets the purr of the engine drown out his panicking thoughts after a while, clings a little closer to Ed when the brisk wind makes him shiver. He can feel Ed’s body shifting as they ride, the rise and fall of his breaths, the way he leans in and out of each turn. Even through the helmet, Stede can smell the leather of Ed’s jacket and catch the other scents Ed always seems to carry with him. Smoke, spice, a warmth Stede can’t name.
Stede doesn’t realize he’s closed his eyes until he feels the motorcycle begin to slow, occasionally drawing to stops. When he opens his eyes again, he realizes they’re in his neighborhood already, and he watches as Ed slowly pulls up in front of his house before killing the engine.
Ed’s body relaxes back, pushing against Stede’s front. Stede breathes in a little sharply as he realizes he hasn’t so much as loosened his hold on Ed. He does so at once, drawing back as well and reaching up to tug off his helmet, and tries very hard not to think about the state his hair must be in.
“This is you?” Ed asks, tugging off his own helmet and looking back to Stede, who nods in confirmation. Ed blinks and looks back up at the house. “Jesus,” he mutters. “You live here on your own?”
Stede frowns and hesitates before answering, now eyeing the size of the place, self-conscious. “Well… yes, I suppose,” he admits. “Though, I… didn’t always.”
Ed looks back at him curiously. His expression shifts after a moment into a slightly regretful one, and he doesn’t ask anything further.
Stede’s a little thankful. He’s not sure he wants to discuss his divorce while he’s straddling the back of a bike, hips still flush against Ed’s, with far too much heat resting low in his body.
“Um—thank you,” Stede finally manages breathlessly. “For the ride. Thank you very much, I—I hope it didn’t put you too far out of your way.”
Ed casts him a small grin over his shoulder, waving a hand vaguely. “Ah, don’t mention it, man. Happy to do it. Sorry if I kept you too late.”
“You didn’t,” Stede says quickly. He doesn’t remember the last time he was so pleased to be kept at work so late.
He finally shifts back, carefully sliding off the bike, much less nervous this time about holding onto Ed as he does so. He holds the helmet out once he’s steady on his feet again, and Ed takes it with a smile.
“Well—nice having the company in the studio,” he reiterates. “If your office hours get boring again, feel free to… y’know. Drop by anytime I’m there.”
Stede’s brows lift. “Yeah?” he asks, smiling a little hopefully.
Ed looks almost surprised. He breaks into a wider grin and nods sincerely. “Yeah, man. Mean it.”
A light breeze could probably knock Stede over. He nods back, feeling warm and happy.
“Right,” he says at last, nodding up his driveway. “Well—thank you again. Goodnight, Ed.”
Ed’s expression is warm—and once again, full of things Stede can’t quite read. He twirls his helmet lightly in his hands, the gesture looking absentminded as his gaze rests on Stede’s face. “Night, Stede.”
Stede turns at last, making his way up the driveway and to his front door. He pauses before opening it, glancing back. Ed’s helmet is still off, and his eyes have followed Stede all the way up to his house. He doesn’t look away when their gazes meet again.
Stede goes breathless. After a long moment, he tears his eyes away and slides his key into the lock, pushing open the door. When he glances back one last time, Ed is finally fitting his helmet back on and kicking the motorcycle back into life. Stede watches him ride off.
This, Stede thinks faintly to himself, wavering on his feet as his pulse races, might be what people refer to as fucked.