Work Text:
It’s Stede’s first time out since the divorce, and he’s—he’s fine. He’s fine! He’s at a bar. A gay bar! With Lucius and Pete, who—well. They’re here somewhere!
He’s absolutely fine, happy to be here, thanks, and definitely not panicking and overwhelmed by the music and the bare chests. He’s watched Queer as Folk! He knew what to expect!
And he’s definitely not sweating through his brand new outfit, definitely not, and he’s not going to spill his bright pink drink all over his lovely white silk shirt.
Only. Only the research he’d done hadn’t prepared him for, well, the intensity. The music is so loud, the people so close, the smell of rum and sweat and cologne pressing in on all sides—
Stede stumbles when someone bumps him, feeling his breath speeding up, his heart racing, and he gulps the last of his drink and starts stumbling towards the bar for a refill and a respite.
He leans against the corner of the bar, where it meets the wall, and takes a deep, slow breath. He’s not sure what he was thinking. Everyone here is closer to his childrens’ ages than his own, and they’re all waxed and oiled and. He should probably just take his silly silk shirts and go home.
The bartender isn’t the person from earlier, who’d gotten him his pink drink silently and taken his card without telling him a price or anything (he’d left ten dollars as a tip, because 1. they intimidated the hell out of him and 2. without a price he can’t calculate his normal tip). No, the new bartender is gorgeous.
He’s tall, maybe even a bit taller than Stede, with big dark eyes that crinkle in the corners as he talks to customers. Stede watches his muscles flex under the cuffs of his tee shirt sleeves, transfixed by the way the dark lines of his tattoos shift and twist with every movement.
He’s just about to try and get his attention—because, gorgeous or not, Stede desperately needs another drink to deal with everything in his life currently—when a man reaches over the bar and grabs the beautiful bartender’s wrist.
Stede freezes, focused on the interaction. The man behind the bar freezes too, but where Stede knows his eyes are wide and shocked, the bartender’s are narrowed and dangerous.
The rude man says something, but Stede can’t hear what it is over the music and bustle of the bar. The bartender leans back, eyes flicking to the side as if looking for an exit.
The man leans forward—he’s significantly shorter and maybe ten years older than the bartender, whose silvering curls and crows’ feet make Stede think he’s around Stede’s own age—and says something else, something that makes the bartender sigh and come back, reluctance in every line of his body.
Stede’s seen enough. Alma’s described enough pushy, rude customers from the cafe that he can recognize an uncomfortable situation when he sees one! And that’s when he remembers the story she told him last year, about the man who’d been hitting on her and not taking no for an answer: he’d been ready to storm down there and give him a piece of his mind when she’d said no, she’d been rescued by a beautiful girl who pretended to be her girlfriend so he’d leave her be.
The little angry man has his elbows on the bar now, and he’s reaching for the bartender’s elbow, and that’s it, Stede’s not going to stand for this one more second.
He marches over to them and clears his throat.
#
Ed is fucking tired and Izzy won’t leave him be.
He isn’t even supposed to be on this shift—that’s the whole point of having a dozen employees all trained to work the bar, so he doesn’t have to cover a shift at the last moment. But here he is, mixing cosmos and appletinis for the Thursday night crowd and wishing he was home on the couch with an episode of Star Trek and a mug of hot chocolate.
Instead he’s arguing with Izzy, again, about the themed events he wants to run and the ways Izzy wants to cut corners and make his fucking bar a fucking bummer. He’s ready to go home, now that Fang’s down the other end taking care of customers.
“No, man,” he says, as Izzy tries to grab his elbow to keep telling him about whatever semi-sketchy liquor vendor he wants them to switch to. “I told you, I’m not interested.”
“I think you should be,” says Izzy. “You’re—”
“He said he’s not interested,” says a firm voice to Ed’s left, and Ed turns, surprised by the interruption.
There’s a man standing there, in a soft-looking shirt and sinfully tight pants, arms crossed over his chest. He’s glaring at Izzy like he wants to slap him or throw a drink in his face, and Ed is immediately intrigued.
“Excuse me, we’re having a private fucking conversation,” says Izzy, turning to face the man. “Do you mind?”
“Mind?” The man meets Ed’s eye, and pulls a face that is clearly meant to convey something, but for the life of him, Ed can’t figure out what. “I certainly do!” He looks at Ed again, and Ed fights the smile trying to spread across his face. The man’s obviously a whackjob, but he’s fucking adorable, all golden curls and pink cheeks and huffs of breath that make his wide chest spread even broader. He’s indignant, that’s for sure, and it’s on Ed’s behalf and—
“This should be good,” says Izzy. “And what the fuck do you have to say to me, you twat?”
“Well! First of all, that’s misogynist language, sir. And second of all, I think he’s made it quite clear he’s not interested in you.” He meets Ed’s eyes again, and Ed replays the last bit of his conversation with Izzy and—oh shit.
The grin is finally winning the battle and stealing over Ed’s face. The guy’s defending his honor! Ed! Edward “Blackbeard” Teach, reformed bad boy, millionaire owner of three bars and a restaurant across the city, renowned for his scowl and his eccentricity! Being defended by this middle-aged, soft-looking, lovely man with pink fucking cheeks!
It’s new. Ed kind of likes it. “Yeah,” he says, directing a glare at Izzy. “I’m not.”
Izzy stares at him. “Edward, what—”
The man glances at Ed’s hand on the bartop edging his own forward, then meets his eyes again, a question in them.
Ed nods slightly, not a fucking clue what he’s agreeing to, but he’s enjoying the ride so he goes with it.
The man takes his hand.
His palm is warm, soft, smooth and broad over Ed’s, and he curls his fingers around Ed’s hand, thumb stroking Ed’s knuckles.
Ed—
Ed is—
Look. People don’t usually hold Ed’s hand. Ed’s not the hand-holding type, as a rule. He’s got no problem with PDA—he runs a club mostly populated by twinks and college queers, after all—but he. He’s behind the bar, and.
He turns his hand over and closes his fingers over his mysterious “rescuer’s” hand.
“Is your shift almost done, love?” asks the man, and oh. Ed sees his game. Ed sees it, and he fucking loves it.
“Yeah,” he says, and he leans forward and kisses the man’s soft, soft cheek. He smells like lavender and fresh laundry and the faintest hint of clean sweat, and Ed wants to lick him. Instead, as he leans in, he whispers, “Thanks. I’m Ed.” Then he busses his cheek familiarly.
The man’s lips part on a small gasp, the pink in his cheeks darkening—Ed can feel the temperature change as the red rises—and his dark golden eyelashes flutter. He doesn’t give Ed his name in return, but that’s okay. Because Ed’s officially obsessed with him, this odd man who thinks Ed’s a damsel in distress. And Ed’s going to fuck him.
Izzy, meanwhile, is glancing between them, baffled and angry, which isn’t anything new for Izzy, but it’s still funny for Ed. “What the fuck?” he says finally, eyes landing on Ed. “Who’s this?”
“Oh, have I not introduced you? This is my boyfriend,” says Ed.
“Fuck off, Edward, you don’t have a fucking boyfriend.”
“Rude,” says Ed’s new boyfriend. “He most certainly does.” He holds out the hand that’s not holding Ed’s to Izzy, although his face is disdainful. “Stede Bonnet, Edward’s boyfriend.”
Izzy doesn’t take his hand.
Stede drops it and turns back to Ed, all but dismissing Izzy. Ed’s starting to think he can see the steam rising from Izzy’s head, he’s so boiling mad.
“Yeah,” says Ed. “This is Stede.”
“And so Edward is not interested, as he is very happily taken,” says Stede. “In fact, it’s our three month anniversary tonight.”
“We met at the aquarium,” says Ed.
“At the octopus tank,” says Stede.
“Love at first sight, right, love?”
“We both thought they shouldn’t keep creatures so intelligent locked up.”
“I caught him trying to smuggle one out,” says Ed, leaning forward, eyes fixed on Stede’s. There’s something building in his chest, a laugh or maybe a fucking Disney princess song.
“You did,” breathes Stede. “You helped me fit him under my coat.” His eyes are wide, beautiful, sparkling in the light.
“I distracted the guards,” says Ed. He puts his other hand over Stede’s, sandwiching it between the two of his. “We made a clean getaway.”
“We named him Iggy.” Stede’s grinning, and he has a fucking dimple, and Ed’s fucking lost, holy shit. “He lives in the bay but we bring him snacks every Sunday.”
“Yeah,” says Ed. “He likes volcano rolls from Wok In.”
“He doesn’t realize they’re a Chinese restaurant,” says Stede. “He’s an octopus, you see, so he can’t read.”
“But we love him anyway, yeah?”
“We do,” says Stede, and he’s smiling sweetly at Ed and Ed can’t help smiling back.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” says Izzy. “You two fucking deserve each other.” With one last glare at Ed, he storms off, nearly knocking a college kid to the ground as he stomps through the crowd.
Ed watches him go, still grinning. He turns to Stede. “So. Where are you taking me?”
#
Stede feels fucking incredible. He’s done it! He’s stopped a man from harassing a service employee, and he’s gotten to chat with the most beautiful man he’s ever met! He can’t believe how invigorated he is!
Edward is still holding his hand, pressed between his own warm, dry, calloused fingers. Stede wants to crawl into that space, cradle his whole body in there, rub himself all over Edward’s skin, and—
And he’s pretending. This is pretend! He swallows, and pulls his hand back. The triumph is fading, leaving awkwardness in its wake.
“Um. I—thank you?” says Stede. He wants to melt through the floor. “I mean, for playing along?”
“Hey, not often someone swoops in to save me,” says Ed. “I mean, that was the bar manager, so I didn’t actually need saving, but it was sweet as hell anyway. Izzy’s a dick.”
“You—” Stede stares at him. “What? He’s the—oh, no.” He drops his face into his hands. “Oh, I hope you’re not in trouble.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” says Ed. He’s smiling, Stede realizes when he peeks from his hands. “Seriously, man, most fun I’ve had all week, bullshitting with you.”
Stede drops his hands slowly. “Really?”
“And uh,” Ed crosses his arms, leans a hip against the bar, and that’s when Stede realizes he’s wearing leather pants, “I wasn’t lying.”
“About stealing an octopus?”
Ed grins. His beard covers most of his face, but the glint of teeth sends a shiver through Stede, and he has the sudden, nearly irresistible urge to kiss the crinkles around Ed’s eyes. “About my shift being nearly done.” He unties the apron around his waist, tosses it under the bar. “I can take you out for our, uh—he glances down at his watch—”Three minute anniversary, maybe?”
#
This isn’t how Ed saw his evening going, but in the last five minutes he’s met a cute guy, pissed Izzy off, and got a date all at once, so he’s not complaining. His couch will be there for him once he’s fucked this guy. Preferably multiple times.
They leave the bar out the back door, the silence sudden after the bustle of the bar, and Ed shoos Stede down the alleyway before any of his smoking employees can catch his eye. He pretends he doesn’t see them taking extra breaks, they pretend they don’t see him sneaking out with a bar patron—it all works out.
They grab yakitori from the Jimenez food truck, Ed laughing as Stede declines the takoyaki with a horrified grimace—I’m not eating Iggy, Ed!—and lean against the wall, devouring it.
Ed hadn’t realized how hungry he’d been, or how long it’s been since he ate something that wasn’t a rushed bar meal or something out of the microwave. This is still eating convenience food standing up, he supposes, but he’s laughing, shoulder pressed to Stede’s, smiling almost too widely to eat his snacks.
He feels like he’s known Stede forever—or at least, longer than the twenty minutes or so they’ve spent together. It’s weird. He likes it.
Stede’s explaining something about his outfit, but Ed’s not listening to the words because his top button has come undone and there’s a little vee of golden hair peeking out. In the slanting warm glow of the streetlights, Stede’s shirt has gone translucent, the contours of his strong, soft chest limned in silver through the glistening fabric. Ed wants to lick that sparkle off him, eat him alive, bury himself in Stede’s torso like a fucking tauntaun.
He tosses his empty handful of skewers in the trashcan and turns, crossing his arms, shoulder against the wall. Stede’s gesturing, but when Ed catches his eye, he trails off. They’re so close together that the front of Ed’s shoulder is pressed up tight against the side of Stede’s, the swell of Stede’s bicep hot against Ed’s skin through two thin layers of cloth, and his shadow falls across Stede’s chest in a sharply bisecting line. Ed cocks his head to the side, considering Stede.
Stede stares at him, eyes wide, hazel, catching every available photon of light and shining them back at Ed.
“Hey,” says Ed, and reaches out, pulling Stede’s empty yakitori skewers from his unresisting hand and tossing them in the direction of the trash. “Never hand someone rescue me before.”
Stede blinks, mouth dropping open just the slightest bit. “You, ah, didn’t need it, after all that.”
Ed shrugs, drops his hand to Stede’s wrist. “I liked it, though.” He tugs him forward and Stede comes willingly.
#
Stede is—he’s going with the flow, he’s leaning in, he’s doing all that good stuff his therapist told him to do, and he’s in an alleyway outside a gay bar with a beautiful, beautiful man.
And then—
Ed’s mouth is warm, shockingly so—he tastes like sweet liquor and spiced chicken and like everything Stede never knew he wanted. Stede kisses back, clumsy, hands fumbling up to grab at Ed’s shoulders. He’s never done this, never kissed a stranger (although, is Ed a stranger? They’ve just met, but it feels like they’ve known each other for years), never followed someone beckoning him out of a bar. Never been ravished in an alley, which he hopes is where this is going.
Ed pulls back, smiles at him. His whole body presses to Stede’s, hot and hard and Stede can't feel anything but Ed, Ed, Ed. He feels wild, like anything could happen, like he’s been born anew in a different world than when he left his condo a few hours earlier.
Ed smiles. “You can rescue me anytime.”