Chapter Text
Edward Teach, his brain is screaming at him. Do not. Do. Not. Why are you even considering this? You are a serious fucking idiot if you go along with this.
But apparently Ed still hasn’t moved past the self-destructive tendencies of his younger years, as he ignores every blaring siren sounding off in his mind. “Sounds great!” he hears himself saying, projecting an uncharacteristically high level of enthusiasm. Jesus fuck, he sounds like Stede himself. “Let’s do it!”
Immediately he wonders what in the hell he was thinking. What did I just fucking tell you? his brain says. Poor impulse control much?
Shut up, Ed says back to his brain. What’s the worst that could happen?
***
It all began innocently enough, months ago. Going to Lucius and Pete and Fang’s party and seeing someone he’d never met before, talking animatedly on the other side of the room, his Kiwi accent unmistakable even from that distance. Ed’s brain instantly held nothing in it but legs and biceps and fucking hell, that dimple. So of course, he had to saunter over and introduce himself, doing his best to exude an appropriate level of sexiness in the process. He learned that the other man’s name was “Stede Bonnet, with a ‘d’” (“Works for me,” Ed said under his breath); that he was recently divorced and had two children; and, most surprisingly, that he was woefully unfamiliar with a vast range of media.
“You’ve never seen Home Alone?”
“Nope.”
“Jurassic Park?”
“Uh uh.”
Ed was genuinely flabbergasted. “What about TV shows? Schitt’s Creek?”
Stede grinned, dimple creasing his cheek. “If you have to ask, you already know the answer.”
Given how well they hit it off, it was a no-brainer to invite Stede over to do some pop culture catch-up the next weekend. Unsurprisingly, they had the best time: Stede inserted frequent commentary as they watched, inevitably leading them to riff off of each other in extended bits until they were laughing too hard to keep going, merely wiping their eyes and clapping each other on the back. That first media catch-up night was quickly followed by a second, then a third; it ultimately morphed into a standing friend-date on Friday evenings—at Stede’s more often than not, as he had a larger tv and better audio setup (ironically, given his woeful levels of media consumption pre-Ed). Eventually it was less catch-up and more staying current with whatever was on that interested Stede. Because for Ed, it didn’t actually matter: he had no strong preferences about what they watched, as long as it meant spending that time together.
And did Ed fall harder and harder for Stede with every Friday evening meetup? Oh, did he ever. Sneaking glances at him, as he stared at the screen with rapt attention; seeing how Stede got caught up in every story, growing anxious whenever there was tension or sighing happily when lovers got together at last. Ed fucking loved how all-in Stede always was. He was fun, with a biting sense of humor, and he was fucking hot. Everything Ed wanted in a partner, if he were honest.
But how did Stede feel about Ed? Well, that’s the thing. Stede seemed to have plenty of fond, friendly feelings for him; he always acted delighted to see Ed, and he readily introduced him as his best mate whenever new people appeared at gatherings they both attended. But that was the extent of it. At first, Ed indulged in some cautious flirting here and there; he genuinely couldn’t help it. But although Stede was always ready with a quip when they engaged in their usual banter, he never picked up the baton when it came to flirtatious behavior.
Over the weeks and months, Ed had grown used to tamping down his attraction; he didn’t make friends easily—never had—and he couldn’t bear to risk losing this friendship. That outcome was unthinkable. Stede was the first person who embraced Ed’s ongoing Pokémon Go obsession, listening avidly to all his tales of victories and unsuccessful raid days; who ooh-ed and ahh-ed over his secret collection of tiny porcelain animal figurines; who always encouraged him to splurge on whatever silly thing he hesitated to buy for himself. “If something will bring you joy, and you can afford it, you should get it,” Stede declared. “Or I’ll buy it for you.”
Did his heart do a traitorous leap one evening when Stede told him he had something to say before they started that evening’s show, and it turned out that Stede had had some realizations about his sexuality, and he wanted Ed to be the first to know? It did. Ed knew better than to make a move just then; he’d need to be patient and wait until Stede was ready to start dating. So when Stede threw himself a coming out party, did Ed hope that would be the magic moment? That they’d find themselves in a quiet corner, just the two of them, and Stede would say, “Ed, darling. I don’t know how I didn’t see it all this time. But you’re the only one for me”? You bet your sweet arse Ed did. But no rom com magic happened that night or since. They were as close as ever, with an added twist of the knife: given the trust they’d built between them, Stede began bringing Ed his many questions about gay life, drafting him into the role of queer mentor instead of boyfriend, to Ed’s extreme chagrin.
Countless times Ed sat with his head in his hands after one of their evenings together, wondering if he should call the Friday media nights quits; every single time he asked himself this, he reached the same conclusion: he needed Stede in his life, in whatever form that took. If it meant he was caught in an endless cycle of pining and yearning and never getting what he wanted, so fucking be it. There was no way he could distance himself out of self-protection. That was a sacrifice he wasn’t ready or willing to make.
Though sometimes he had to wonder: what the fuck had happened to him, anyway? The hell-raising Ed of years ago would’ve doubled over in laughter to learn that his older self was this hung up on one singular middle-aged baby gay.
But he was. He really fucking was.
***
And so, the present Friday evening started like so many others had before: texts flying back and forth to decide what to order, Ed picking up the food on the way to Stede’s house, Stede welcoming him in with a broad smile (why does he have to have such a fucking perfect sunshine smile) and the two of them settling in on Stede’s couch in front of the tv and starting to eat while figuring out what to watch.
“So,” Ed said, between bites of his burger. “What’d you have in mind for tonight?”
“Mmm!” Stede chewed and swallowed before responding. “I thought we could start watching that new hockey show everyone is talking about!”
Oh fuck. Ed, who had just taken another bite, immediately choked on it and began to cough. “Good lord, Ed!” Stede exclaimed, clapping him on the back and handing him his glass of water from the coffee table. “Are you all right?”
No. No, I am not. Ed managed to clear his airways, gulping some water to buy himself time as much as anything else. “Yeah, I’m fine. You mean Heated Rivalry?” Might as well be sure. Maybe Stede picked up an entirely out-of-character interest in the actual sport, with all its cross-checking and fights on the ice and bloodied-up faces; who knows.
“Yes!” Stede beamed. “You’ve heard of it?”
Oh, I’ve heard of it. I’ve heard all about it. “Yeah, I have.” Ed paused; maybe better not to say too much just yet. “What have you heard about it?”
“I’ve heard it’s quite racy.” Stede waggled his eyebrows and nudged Ed with his elbow, to the point where Ed began to suspect he’d fallen into an actual Monty Python sketch.
“Yeeeah. Yup.” Ed had a strong suspicion that Stede didn’t actually know the extent of the explicitness, or he wouldn’t be suggesting it. Should he say something? Or just let it ride?
“And, you know,” Stede said, as Ed was still considering. “It’s good to show up for LGBTQ-plus representation on television, isn’t it? Befitting my new hard-won self-knowledge?”
“Mmhmm.” What else could Ed do but quietly die inside? Was he really considering sitting there and watching hot young men going at it with the best mate he’s been hopelessly in love with since about an hour after they’d met, but by whom he’d been thoroughly, and seemingly irrevocably, friend-zoned?
Stede tilted his head at him, clearly impatient for an answer. “So? What do you say?”
***
Of course, being the idiot he apparently is, Ed said yes. He’s already internally kicking himself pretty severely. Why did he agree? Is he some kind of fucking masochist?
By this point, Stede has fired up the show. As they finish munching their burgers, the episode starts tamely enough: Shane and Ilya’s first meeting, then the two of them watching each other out on the rink. Despite knowing quite a bit more about Heated Rivalry than Stede likely does, Ed doesn’t know exactly how quickly things will play out. It’ll be fine, Ed thinks. Probably nothing major will happen until the end of the episode, and I can book it out of here.
“Ooh, Shane sure is salty about not being first pick, isn’t he?” Stede says, as they watch the hockey boys being photographed at the draft while holding up their jerseys.
Ed huffs a small laugh. “Relatable.” He’s competitive; always has been. Not as single-mindedly as twenty years ago, but some things die hard: Ed’s not a fan of losing.
More suggestive glances play out on screen between Shane and Ilya, who are clearly drawn to each other; then it’s on to the next scene. “Ohoho.” Stede chuckles knowingly, as Shane heads to the workout room and Ilya claims the exercise bike beside Shane. “Look who’re the only two people there.”
“Lotta heavy breathing,” Ed replies, a bit humorously. He glances over at Stede, who looks back at him with a little smile.
As the scene continues, “Oh damn. Look at Shane checking him out already!” Stede exclaims, when the camera lingers not-at-all-subtly on Ilya’s crotch.
Ed shrugs. Been there, done that. “I mean. Who wouldn’t?”
Stede exhales a quick laugh. “Okay, okay. Touché.” When Ilya passes over his bottle so Shane can take a drink, “Oh my goodness, Ed!” Stede says. “Look at the finger brushing! It feels positively Victorian.”
“Sure does.” When the scene ends and the title card comes up saying “Six months later,” Ed exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding; so far, nothing too hot to handle.
“Oh, poor Ilya,” Stede sighs, as the Russian fields a phone call from his demanding mooch of a brother. “Family is so complicated, isn’t it?”
“Mmhmm.” Ed knows they can both relate: over the past weeks, they’ve gradually shared some of the damage from their respective families, and none of it is pretty.
Time keeps going by in the show, with Shane and Ilya seeing each other every so often as their teams compete against each other. “Flirting via photoshoot!” Stede says delightedly, as they end up in front of the cameras together, skating over and over into a dramatic face-off pose, ending up in riotous giggles by the end. “I love it.”
Maybe I should book us a couples photoshoot, Ed thinks. Just for the fuck of it. “Looks like fun,” he says aloud. But aside from his brain spitting out unhelpful ideas, everything’s fine so far. When they watch Shane dealing with the stress of being a role model as an Asian Canadian pro hockey player, Ed feels momentarily thankful that he grew up enough of a fuckup that no one ever had those kinds of expectations for him. (Though the lack of expectations brought its own pain, too.)
As far as the show goes, despite all the buzz around it, nothing too overtly sexual has happened yet. Until—oh fuck. Shane’s in the showers, and of course Ilya walks in, claiming a nearby shower. Ed sucks in a breath. Now I’m in for it.
Sure enough, just a few seconds later, bam! A wide shot from behind of the two nude hockey players.
Stede gasps. “Oh my god!”
“Yep. Butts,” Ed replies dryly.
“Good lord. Look how…round Ilya’s is.” Indeed, it’s an impressive specimen. “Mine never looked like that, even at his age.”
“Gotta put a lotta work into it, if you wanna be caked up like that. And have the right genes.” Ed pauses for a beat. “But who needs an arse, when you’ve got legs?” He looks over at Stede, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
But Stede misses it entirely: he’s far too mesmerized by the scene in front of him to pick up on Ed’s compliment. Ed stifles a tiny sigh.
“Oh goodness,” Stede whispers, as Ilya begins stroking himself, just out of frame. “Is he…”
Ed clears his throat. “Yep.” That’s about all the response he can manage, at this juncture. Now do you believe me? says Ed’s brain. We’re only fifteen minutes in, and things are already getting sexual in the showers. You really think you’re gonna make it through this whole episode?
Quiet, Ed says sternly to his mind. We’re in it to win it now. “Not here,” Shane says, putting a stop to things for the time being. Whew.
The scene shifts, and, “Dang. Look at him,” Stede says, when Ilya walks into the locker room in only his towel. “He’s got that…what’s it called? When you’re all muscle-y and it makes you look like a Barbie doll? Like your legs are kinda…behind you?”
Ed bursts out laughing; he’s been feeling the sexual tension so hard (pun intended), and that question is so Stede. In fact, said inquisitive human has paused the show and is staring at him, waiting for an actual answer. “I’m serious! Doesn’t it have a name?”
“If it does, dunno what it is,” Ed replies, still chuckling. “I think it’s just really defined abs.”
Stede sighs with dissatisfaction. “Fine. If that’s the best you can do.” He un-pauses the show, and as the scene progresses, Shane shares his hotel room number with Ilya. Oh man. Here we go.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Stede says to the screen, as Shane gets dressed up in his suit, waiting for Ilya to arrive. “I get it.” Ed wonders idly if Stede would do the same: get (temporarily) overdressed for a hookup, fuss nervously with the tv and lights…goddamn Ed would give absolutely anything to be the one to take care of Stede for his first time. Make sure he never felt that level of awkwardness or nerves. He’d be so good at it, too.
As Ed’s mind swirls with these wistful thoughts, the camera shifts to Ilya riding the elevator up to Shane’s room. “So why does the elevator stop at that floor?” Stede wonders aloud, when the door opens and it’s Shane’s mum, but no one gets off or on.
Ed smiles to himself; he’s well aware by now that Stede strenuously objects to logical inconsistencies in the stuff they watch. “Gotta suspend a little disbelief sometimes,” he replies. Stede gives a small hum of disapproval as the elevator continues on its way.
“Ilya’s a bit nervous too, isn’t he?” Stede muses, falling silent as Ilya enters Shane’s room, backs Shane into the door, and presses a sensual kiss to his lips. Yep, this is happening. Shirts coming off, hands wandering, the heat growing and growing between them. And fuck—all their sexy noises as they make out.
What noises would Stede make, if Ed kissed him like that? If Ed ever got a chance to show him how he feels?
Ed snaps back out of his imaginings when he hears Stede’s quick gasp: Shane has just sucked Ilya’s thumb into his mouth. Yeah, Ed can’t lie: it’s fucking hot. Stede gasps again when Shane drops to his knees almost immediately afterwards. “Oh. My. God,” he whispers. “He’s just…going for it!” Ed peeks over at him, then wishes he hadn’t; Stede’s eyes are huge, his lips are parted, and fuck if Ed doesn’t want to crawl over and climb into his lap and kiss him so very deeply…
Ed tears his eyes away, fixing them back on the tv. I’m not gonna make it, he thinks. Not a chance. Not with what’s happening onscreen and observing how Stede’s reacting; not with how badly he aches to play out this scene with him.
After a few seconds, Ilya pauses the blow job, slowing things down; they talk a little, Ilya learning that Shane’s never been with a man before. They move things to the bed, where Ilya begins to strip. When Ilya tells Shane to undress and he complies, “He’s folding his clothes!” Stede squeaks. “So relatable!” Ed chuckles again; well he knows what a clotheshorse Stede is. And when Shane joins Ilya on the bed and they see he’s left his socks on, Stede giggles; another welcome break in the tension.
…but only a momentary one, as the hockey lads get busy once again. Ilya leans over and drops a few kisses on Shane’s body, then begins to stroke him; Shane crawls down and begins to suck Ilya’s cock again, Ilya guiding his head gently with his hands and encouraging him with praise. It’s beautifully filmed and ridiculously sexy; with how quiet Stede grows, Ed’s sure he’s feeling it too. For his part, Ed’s thanking any gods there are that he wore jeans tonight instead of sweatpants—a lucky last-minute outfit change. There’s no way he could watch a show this horny with someone he wants as badly as he does Stede and not get seriously turned on. Wearing an outfit that would proudly display the results would’ve made things so much worse.
And Ed can’t help it: he sneaks another look at Stede while Ilya is sucking Shane off, and jesus fuck the man is actually biting his lip and breathing fast and shifting slightly on the couch cushion he’s sitting on and god fucking dammit it’s all Ed can do not to slide onto the floor and land at Stede’s feet and beg him to let Ed do a reenactment. Now he knows Stede’s turned on, too. Being unable to do anything about it is fucking excruciating. To put it mildly.
“Wow,” Stede whispers, as the scene ends, the camera lingering on Shane’s face after Ilya leaves, capturing all the complicated emotions moving across his features. “I just…wow.”
“Yeah,” Ed replies, cursing his treacherous body when he hears how hoarse his voice is. I am so fucking doomed. Though it’s too dark for Stede to be able to see what’s going on at his crotch, Ed can’t completely hide the effects this whole business is having on him.
Fortunately, the mood shifts again as the title card appears on the screen: “Three Months Later.” “Three months?” Stede says, agitation in his voice. “So much time is going by!”
“Sure is.” And Ed’s much-needed reprieve continues as the storyline keeps Shane and Ilya apart for a while. Ed can exhale for a hot second, let his body calm down, get his bearings as best he can.
Stede, meanwhile, sighs as Shane deals with the pressure of not disappointing anyone; he sighs even more heavily when Ilya’s sponge of a brother berates him on the phone. “What a dick!” he exclaims, outraged. Then he returns to sighing when another four months pass in the show.
The next time Shane and Ilya are reunited, they’re seated together at a table, wearing suits and being interviewed on camera, performing for the press as the high-profile professional athletes they are. Stede and Ed watch as Ilya bumps his shoe against Shane’s beneath the table; seconds later, Shane jumps in to rescue Ilya from a difficult question, tapping back with his own shoe. “Ohhh,” Stede breathes, as the scene concludes with them both moving their feet in closer to touch under the table. “That’s so precious.”
Well. Ed’s only human. A stupid, reckless human. But a man’s gotta act, sometimes. He doesn’t give his brain time to second-guess: he slides his own sock-clad foot over to touch Stede’s, giving him a sly look as he does it. Stede turns to him when he feels it, surprised. An instant later, his face softens into a gentle smile. It’s incredibly sweet; almost shy, even. And not only that: after the briefest of pauses, Stede begins to rub the side of his foot back and forth, just the tiniest bit, against Ed’s.
Well, that fucking does it. Ed melts into a complete puddle. There’s a formless blob where he was formerly sitting on the couch next to Stede. He’s never felt as swoony about a touch of any kind, with any body part, as the small side-foot-rub he just got from his favorite person.
Ed’s still feeling a happy little glow inside when he starts paying attention to the show again: Shane has found out what hotel room Ilya is in, and he’s knocking on his door after the game. Oh shit. Here we go again. His foot is still touching Stede’s when Shane grabs Ilya for a passionate kiss; when Ilya tells Shane to get on his knees, and Shane complies; when Ilya picks Shane up and hauls him over to the bed; when Ilya dives onto Shane’s cock. Ed can’t help looking over at Stede, who’s gone silent again. His eyes grow enormous as Ilya begins fingering Shane, and Shane confesses to having a dildo. Stede seems to have forgotten that his foot is touching Ed’s; Ed can’t tell if this bit of contact makes things better or worse. There’s no forgetting Stede’s physical presence, nor his nearness; no forgetting that they’re just friends.
“Oh my god, there’s his perfect arse again,” Stede whispers, once it cuts to the wide shot of the bed with the naked hockey boys on it. Ed’s starting to wonder if he should hit the gym—a thought that, frankly, has never before entered his mind—and he also wonders what else he’s going to have to survive before the show is done. But this scene ends more quickly than it could have: they’re soon parting after exchanging numbers using women’s names—“Jane” for Shane, “Lily” for Ilya—to facilitate their plans to fuck in a more private place.
“Two weeks,” Stede says, when the words appear on the screen. But a snowstorm keeps the hockey lads apart; their plan will have to wait. Is Ed disappointed or relieved? A little from column A; a little from column B, if he’s honest.
“Ooh, the plot thickens!” Stede says gleefully, when Ilya is startled to find a woman at his place when he gets home after being unable to make the flight to Montreal. But, “Mmm,” he hums, with disapproval, when Ilya ignores Shane-as-Jane’s text.
Time keeps on ticking away in the show: “No, not another four months!” Stede looks stricken when he sees another title card pop up. “This is no way to get a real relationship going.”
“True,” Ed agrees. “Much better if you live in the same place. And aren’t, y’know, closeted.” He gives Stede a meaningful look, but Stede’s not looking at him. Ed doesn’t expect him to pick up on his hint—to be fair, it was pretty subtle—and indeed, he doesn’t. Ed can only stifle yet another sigh.
While he’s stuck trying to manage his emotions, Stede’s tsking over the scene in front of them, as the two men meet up again after Shane wins Rookie of the Year. “These boys need to talk,” he says, with disapproval. It’s true; Shane has no idea what Ilya’s actually going through, but Ilya also doesn’t tell him.
“Not wrong about that,” Ed responds. But it’s not always the easiest thing, talking about the important stuff, he thinks to himself. Ask me how I know.
But as they watch how Ilya can’t bear to let Shane leave without backing him into the wall for a passionate kiss, “Oh no,” Stede whispers. “Ilya really does have feelings for Shane, doesn’t he? And Shane doesn’t see it.”
Ed harrumphs, just a bit. “Happens more often than you think.”
Stede hums thoughtfully. Ed would give anything to know half—no, a quarter—fuck, anything going on in his mind right now. Can he really not have a single clue how down bad Ed is? What exquisite torture this was, watching a show this sexy and surprisingly emotional, feeling the way he does about Stede?
But that’s neither here nor there, at this point; the show is over. Stede reaches for the remote, moving his foot away from Ed’s in the process. Ed can hardly bear the cold spot it leaves behind.
All right; time to end this night. Get home, have a depressing wank; cry in the shower, maybe. Who the fuck knows. “Welp. Better get going,” he says, rising with a middle-aged grunt, beginning to pick up the trash from the takeout so he doesn’t leave a mess for Stede to deal with.
They tidy up together, staying mostly quiet as they move around Stede’s living room and kitchen. As Stede hands Ed his winter jacket—it’s already quite cold out, so he needs to bundle up—“Is this show okay with you, Ed?” he asks, a touch anxiously, running his hand through his rough blond waves. “It’s…uh…a little spicier than I was aware.” He gives Ed a sheepish smile. Fuck. None of this would be so difficult if every single thing about Stede didn’t call to Ed. Didn’t make him want a goodnight kiss more than anything else in the universe.
Not really. It’s not okay. But not for the reasons you think. “Yeah, mate,” Ed replies, smiling fondly. Because at the end of the day, he can take a little horny suffering. He got to spend this time with Stede, and his night wasn’t boring, that’s for sure. “S’a good show. Look forward to next week. Seeing where it goes.” What the fuck is wrong with me? he thinks. But it’s not a lie. Ed does look forward to it. As messed up as that probably is.
And the relief on Stede’s face is worth it. “Good. Because I liked it too. And I wouldn’t want to watch it with anyone but you.”
Ed makes a strange, strangled whimpering noise, high in the back of his throat. What does that even mean? He really can’t take one more thing, so he merely claps Stede on the shoulder, very firmly, then hustles out to his car.
As soon as he’s out of view of Stede’s house, he pulls over and stops at the side of the road, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. “Fucking hell,” he mutters to himself. His chances of surviving watching all of these episodes with Stede aren’t even slim to none; they’re just plain none.
But he wouldn’t say “no” to it for anything.