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Summary
How he does it, Ed has no idea. How he sits in his blouse and breeches and his fucking stockings, back straight and voice steady. How he explains that he wants to edge Ed into oblivion with the same cadence he’d use to read a fucking shopping list.
Ed can barely breathe with how much he wants it, and somehow Stede looks completely unaffected by the sentence that just came out of his own mouth, the slight bounce of his right leg his only tell.
or: Stede has an idea. Ed's going to lose his actual mind.