Happy Sexual Sunday - here are two tasty little nibbles of post-canon Ed/Stede!
Stede is out of his depth.
Not literally! Literally, he’s very much on land, very much in the moment, as it were, but...
“Fuck, Stede,” Ed groans, and Stede glances down, and oh! Yes. He’s jerking Ed off, isn’t he? He’s doing it sort of idly while he panics, almost the sort of automatic nervous energy-releasing movement he’s always tried to train out of himself, a fond, thoughtless movement of the slicked hand and loose wrist while he straddles Ed’s lower thighs and panics.
Because Ed’s just asked for something, and Stede—
Well! It’s certainly an appealing idea, biologically speaking: his own member had risen to complete hardness so quickly he’d gone a bit lightheaded in the first moment after Ed had asked.
Stede’s gotten distracted on his way out of the bath again.
Ed pauses in the doorway to the bedroom, fond smile creeping over his face. Fuck, but he loves the guy—and sometimes he can’t believe they made it here, to their own little cabin overlooking the water, where nobody except the goats expect anything from them.
(And the goats only expect the occasional treat, and a pat on the head once in a while, and the chance to nibble the edge of Stede’s silk robes when he’s not paying attention. Stede swears he’s going to learn how to milk them, says he remembers the maids doing it back at his estate in Barbados, and Ed hasn’t had the heart to tell him yet that all three are male)
But today he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes intent on the book spread out before him, golden afternoon light creeping in through the window and shimmering in his hair. The towel he’d used to dry himself off is slung over the rough-hewn chair that was the first piece of furniture they’d made for the place, and Stede—
Stede’s naked, pink from the warm water, and looks absolutely edible. He’s wearing nothing but his reading glasses and an expression of absolute focus, little furrow between his brows, bottom lip caught, just a little, in his teeth.
