Chapter Text
That was it, Ed decided. He was never going on holiday again. Every time he did (which was, admittedly, not very often), something weird or terrible happened while he was away. First, someone broke into the shop and Izzy ended up getting stabbed in the leg. The next time, a cat moved into his flat and she was still there two years later. Now ... now some absolute lunatic had opened a fucking fabric shop directly across the road. And it had a tearoom in it. A fucking tearoom! Nothing had ever looked so out of place in the rundown row of shops that Ed called his hometown. It was shiny and colourful and honestly just fucking garish. What pissed him off the most, though, was how badly he wanted to go over there and run his fingers along the delicate silks and cottons and feel their softness against his skin, while a pot of tea and a slice of cake waited for him at a table. But Ed couldn't do that, because Ed was also Blackbeard.
Blackbeard, tattooist and owner of The Kraken Wakes tattoo studio, did not like girly fabric and cups of tea. He liked leather, and skulls, and everything fucking black.
Sometimes, Ed hated Blackbeard.
Stede hummed to himself as he unlocked the front door of The Finer Things and looked around his shop, lit by the early morning sunlight. He knew it looked a little odd, sandwiched as it was between a boarded up pub on one side and a dingy off-licence on the other. But they had had a surprisingly high number of customers in their first week, and Stede hoped that would continue. Especially because he had three lots of wages to pay at the end of the month. Admittedly, his employees were also his friends, so they would probably cut him a little slack, but they still had bills to pay. Lucius and Pete manned the counter in the tearoom, and John was in charge of cutting metres of fabric and chatting about dress-making with the (mostly older, female) customers. Stede himself spent the day alternating between running the till and greeting customers with a cheery wave and possibly slightly too much enthusiasm.
That morning, barely five minutes had passed since Stede turned over the 'We're Open!' sign on the door before the bell above tinkled to indicate someone was pushing it open. He turned around, ready to greet the first customer of the day, but his words never made it out of his mouth as he just stared. Stede hadn't been 'out' for very long, so maybe he just hadn't looked at enough men yet, but he was fairly sure this one was the most breathtakingly beautiful (and also kind of terrifying) creation in the world. He wore a leather jacket with only one sleeve, which showed off his strong, tattooed arm, and the tightest leather trousers Stede had ever seen, tucked into large black boots. Long grey curls fell about his head, and a salt-and-pepper beard finished off the look. Stede wanted to run his fingers through it; it looked so soft. A blush rose in his cheeks as he realised he'd been staring for quite some time.
"Hi!" Stede squeaked at last. Then, mentally shaking himself, he added in a more normal tone, "Welcome to The Finer Things! If you're in need of fabric, allow me to introduce you to my good friend, John, who can answer any questions you might have. Or perhaps a spot of tea? Lucius makes an excellent scone if you're feeling peckish!"
As Stede finished his spiel and took in a breath, he noticed his palms were sweating and tried to subtly hide his hands in his pockets. The customer just stared at him, much like Stede had been doing when he first walked in.
'If you're feeling peckish'? What was this guy on? Ed was fairly sure he must be completely insane. Nobody should be that energetic at nine in the morning. Also, nobody should be that fucking attractive at nine in the morning - or ever, really. It was very fucking distracting. Soft blonde waves of hair catching the morning sun, legs up to his fucking eyeballs and a silk shirt that clung perfectly to his torso ... just wasn't fair. He'd been expecting some old woman to be running this crazy eyesore of a shop, not the sexiest man alive! How was he supposed to be mad about the shop's existence now?
Shit, Ed was still staring. He really needed to say something soon.
The blonde beat him to it. "So, er, do you work at the tattoo place? For Blackbeard?" Christ, was he that obvious? And had everyone in this godforsaken town heard about him?
"Never thought about it like that. Yeah, I suppose I do. I'm Ed," he said at last. Fuck Blackbeard. Right now, he just wanted to be Ed. Hell, most of the time these days he just wanted to be Ed.
"Stede."
"Nice to meet you, Stede," Ed said, with a smile. It felt weird to smile; he really didn't do it much anymore.
"Likewise. Ed."
They stared at each other like fucking idiots for a bit longer, until Stede blushed and looked away. "Can I offer you a tour of the shop?" He asked, waving a hand in the direction of rows and rows of fabric rolls.
Fuck, yes, Ed wanted to say. Instead, he shrugged in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner and said, "Sure."
Stede beamed at him and led him down the first aisle, saying something about thread count that Ed was barely listening to because he was completely and utterly distracted by Stede's arse. It shouldn't be fucking legal to have an arse that good! In an attempt to pretend he was paying attention, Ed ran his fingers along the nearest cotton roll, nodding and letting out a quiet, "'S very nice."
They turned onto the next row, and Ed had just reached out to touch the most beautiful purple silk when they were interrupted by a very annoyed voice.
"Fuck's sake, Edward, what are you doing? You've got a client due in ten minutes!" It was Izzy, as usual taking his job as 'shop manager' (he handled the money and organised the appointments, but nearly killed Ed for calling him a receptionist one time when they were drunk) a bit too seriously.
"Is that Blackbeard?" Stede asked quietly, moving closer to Ed so he could still hear him.
"Hmm? Oh, no. I'm Blackbeard."
"What?!" Stede squeaked, his eyes wide, blushing when he heard himself. This glorious man with the twinkling eyes and soft voice ... he was Blackbeard? Everything Stede had ever heard about him had made him sound terrifying; even the people who admired him and his artistry seemed a little scared of the man. On reflection, the beard and tattoos probably should have been a bit of a giveaway, but Stede had been too distracted by his good looks to put two and two together.
Ed just smiled that soft little smile again, and let go of the silk. "I'd better go. Things to do, people to stab," he said, causing Stede's eyebrows to somehow shoot even further up his forehead. "With needles. On my tattoo gun," Ed clarified.
"Oh! Right! Yes, of course. Because that's how tattoos work, obviously."
Letting out a small laugh, Ed said, "'That's how tattoos work'? Fucking hell, mate; you're a bit mental. I like it."
"Erm ... thanks?"
Still smiling, Ed said, "Catch you later, Stede," and clapped him on the shoulder. Sparks seemed to shoot through Stede's body at his touch. As he watched Ed follow the angry-looking man out of the shop, he wondered if Ed had felt it, too.
Ed had definitely fucking felt it. As he followed Izzy back to his shop, he clenched and unclenched his fist, trying to get rid of the unfamiliar tingles shooting through his fingers. He felt like a fucking romance novel cliché. Not that he had an extensive collection of said novels hidden in his flat, obviously. That would just be fucking sad. He definitely didn't live in fear of Izzy one day stumbling across them when he let himself into the flat to drag Ed out of bed on the days when he couldn't bring himself to move.
Back inside The Kraken Wakes, Ed nodded a greeting to Ivan and Fang, his fellow artists, then shut himself in the back room to wait for his first client of the day. He'd always preferred tattooing in there, away from prying eyes, but now he almost wished he was out front just so he could maybe catch a glimpse of Stede's dazzling smile from across the road.
Fucking hell. Ed was a fucking goner, and he'd only spent ten minutes with the guy.
"Fuck," he mumbled, shaking his head and unlocking his iPad screen to print off his designs for the day. Hopefully work would be enough to distract him from thinking about sexy blondes in silk shirts.