Work Text:
Ed hated the bell.
That was a shame.
“Fuckin dingalingaling every time I make a fucking move,” Ed said with a scowl, and in so doing provided quite the lovely proof of it. He tossed himself noisily into the armchair that had taken the place of the recent, elegant chaise in Stede’s cabin. “It’s all, ding ding ding ding ding, and then everyone’s like, oh shit, Ed, din’t hear you there, here, you wanna—”
Oh, well. “You wanna?” offered Stede.
Ed grunted in the affirmative. “Exactly. They’re all,” he waved a hand at the ground in front of the armchair like a suggestion. “Have a sit? Here? Where we can all see you and keep both eyes on you and shit?”
Stede considered the suggestion. He tried again. “Hard on your knees.”
“Too fuckin’ right it is.” Ed glowered. Like a little, angry cat. Stede thought about petting his hair. “They could pay the fuck attention when I tell them shit.”
“D’you want me to say something about it to the crew?”
“Nah mate. Thanks. But I can’t just count on my—”
Stede held his breath. Caught it in his throat with all his hopes.
Ed’s bell went ding.
"—to say something to someone about anything any time I’m not happy about it.”
Stede gave up. “I’m sorry, darling. That sounds very hard.”
Because that was what you said, wasn’t it? When someone was unhappy about something and you wanted them to know you were unhappy they were unhappy even if you weren’t, necessarily, remotely unhappy about the ding.
Ah—the thing.
From over there on the armchair, all dressed up in white, Ed looked grumpy and annoyed and highly fuckable.