all of this is temporary

by marsbareater12 (ao3)

Chapter 1: you do not want this (the space in your bed)

“You uh, you summoned me?” Ed drawled, leaning on the doorframe of the office, hands folded across his leather vest, black fisherman pants slung low on his hips, barely held there by a simple bowline knot.

Spanish Jackie nodded, filing the bundle of notes away in her drawer underneath the carved, wooden desk - an antique, she’d tell the new workers, beaming with pride, when everyone who’d stayed for more than a month knew she only kept the antique because it came with the building, and she was too cheap to spend a cent more on the business than she had to. “You’ve got an outcall, I’ll call the cab. It’s in the city, a hotel. Six hours.”

Ed let his jaw drop, picking up the piece of paper she’d pushed over with the address on it. “Six hours, that’s - what is that?” He wasn’t exactly known for his longer bookings - or any bookings, really. It had been a tough month, not helped by the knife he’d slammed into the furniture next to the thigh of the latest client who crossed him.

Spanish Jackie was still making him pay reparations for the bed-stand, even though Ed was pretty sure she’d just gotten it off the street and it certainly wasn’t a 1900s antique hand carved mahogany, no matter what the website copy said. 

“One thousand eighty for you, six forty for me, plus travel,” Spanish Jackie replied. “Don’t turn this down, Ed. I’m taking another three hundred to pay for that nightstand before we’re even.”

“No, uh - I wasn’t thinking of it.” He squinted, studying the address further. “2504 - that’s pretty high up. Has he been here before?”

“Once or twice, and you’d do well not to ask any more questions when you get there - the last two guys he saw said he was fine, but refused to see him again, not that he’s ever asked for someone twice. Do you have something to chuck over that?”

Ed nodded - he had his clothes he’d come here in, though they weren’t exactly the type he’d prefer to go through a hotel lobby in.

“Great. Go get them, come back here. I’ll call the cab now. And Ed - don’t fuck this one up. We both know you need it.”

Ed swallowed, nodding tightly before slipping out of the office, clutching the paper in his hand like a lifeline. He made a beeline for the dressing room, cutting through the boys room as he did. 

Lucius was sat there, sketchbook in hand, blanket covering his legs, curled in the corner on the old, stained couches. He raised his head at the sound of the door opening. “What’d she want with you?”

“Outcall, mate,” Ed said, words tight. He was pretty good with most people around here by now but still - better to limit what anyone else knows about you. They didn’t play by the same rules as the rest of the world. “What time do you finish?”

“Four, though if it stays as quiet as this, do you think the old witch will let me knock off early?”

Ed laughed - they asked the same question every night, but no one had ever seen Jackie acquiesce to that request. Rumour had it they’d throw a party if she ever did. “I’ll see you when I come back then,” he said, throwing a brief two finger salute before retreating.

“Don’t die,” Lucius called out, sing song, as the doors shut. Ed trotted briskly down the stairs and into the dressing room. There were a few people in here, but he ignored them, yanking his worn duffel bag down from his locker and rifling for the oversized jacket he’d come here in, head down and shoulders hunched on the street, begging for no one to recognise him. 

He found it, slipping the black, torn trench around him, tying off the waist to cinch it in, smoothing down the collar so his neck and face were shown for once rather than his usual style of pushing it up to hide himself. The sleeves sat weirdly on him - it was heated in here, designed for men wearing vests with light pants and nothing else, or on one memorable occasion, a kimono barely fitting the new boy (though he didn’t last the week, they rarely did). The synthetic fabric of the overcoat was uncomfortable, clinging to him, more suited for the cold streets of London than the red lights where his priority was clothes he could shed on demand and not take too long putting back on after.

He tucked his phone in his pocket, pausing at the last minute to grab a twenty quid note in case he needed to beat a quick exit, and slid his shoes on - tall leather boots, covered in mud and muck, but it was too late to clean them now. Jackie’s office was warm when he slid back into it, giving her a nod and settling into the chairs near the door to wait for the cab.

“Do you have cash on you?”

“No, madam,” he said, curling his hand around the twenty pound note in his pocket.

“Take this,” she said, passing him a fifty quid note, “for the cab, and bring me the receipt and change. Don’t fuck me over on this one, or I’ll take you off the roster for good.”

He nodded, thanking her as he palmed the notes behind the paper with the address. The buzzer rang and she looked up at the cameras before giving him a nod - right, that was the cab then. The night air hit him with a chill as he opened the door, mumbling platitudes to the driver waiting there before buckling in the back, staring out the window.

The last two guys he saw said he was fine, but refused to see him again, not that he’s ever asked for someone twice - so he’s one of the weird ones then, which that was fine, he could handle that. Jackie could be a right asshole, but even she wouldn’t send him out to someone who’d gut him like a fish, so there was that. He drummed his fingers on the door panel. How in the fuck was he going to spend six hours with someone? He’d not done more than a half hour in months, and his days of multi hours were well behind him, as soon as the new boy craze wore off.

The night sky was foreboding as he gazed out into it, watching streetlights whip by. The cab had heating on - small mercies - and he rested his head against the window, wondering how his life had hit this stage, wondering if he ever had any chance but to end up here.

The hotel came up quickly, and he fumbled giving the note to the driver, tucking the change and receipt into his pocket before braving the night air once more. Head down, through the lobby, straight to the elevators - walk like you belong here and they’ll never question you,  even if his clothes were too oversized for a five star hotel, his gait a little too uneven, and hair a little too tangled. 

Thank god they weren’t the kind with swipes, Ed thought, pressing the 25 and settling back into the mirrored walls to wait.

The doors opened with a soft ding, and he followed the signs, 2500-2520 ->, turning left and counting numbers until 2504 popped up, soft and unassuming and yet holding the key to something that made his stomach twist, but he hadn’t paid rent yet so he needed to ignore that, thank you very much. He lifted his hand and knocked twice, softly.

“It’s open,” a voice called from inside, light and high and definitely a man, so that was good at least.

Edward took a deep breath and twisted the handle, stepping into a suite that was bigger than his entire apartment what the fuck, shutting the door softly behind him. “Jackie sent me,” he offered by way of explanation, the words coming out stilted and awkward already and aw shit he really needed to not fuck this one up.

The figure on the couch rose, all silks and sheer drapery, the white oversized shirt hanging off his arms, tucked into black, sharp pants, matching the loafers that were polished at his feet, not even a blade of grass clinging to the soles.

Edward suddenly felt very, very out of place in his old, long jacket, held together with a fraying tie.

“Aren’t you resplendent,” the man breathed, and Edward was pretty sure he needed a dictionary for that one but figured it was some kind of complement, dragging his eyes up to meet the man’s, seeing the blush flood his cheeks as he took in the sight of Edward standing there. “I do apologise, I don’t do this kind of thing very often, you’ll have to let me know if I transgress.”

“No, it’s alright mate,” Ed said, walking further into the suite, as if he could avoid the uncomfortably beaming stare by simply getting closer. “The, uh - the cash?”

“Oh, of course! Right here, on the table. I did count it but please, feel free to double check,” the man said, stepping back to reveal an utterly stuffed envelope on the coffee table behind him. “I apologise, I ordered champagne, but um, it took me a while to get….settled in, and I think the ice has melted.”

Edward peered over at the bucket on the bench. Yep. That was a bunch of cold water alright.

Also, champagne?! What was this man doing with hookers?

“I’ll call room service, get them to send up another one,” the man waffled, and what?

“Uh, no, don’t worry, it’s fine mate,” Edward said, grabbing the envelope from the coffee table, heavy in his hands. “Mind if I freshen up? Make a call?”

“Oh, of course!” the other man exclaimed, the tips of his ears turning red, taking a few steps back so fast Edward was worried he was going to topple over. “The bathroom is through the hall, just back where you came. Take your time, don’t worry.”

What the fuck kind of hotel room has a hall?

Edward thanked him, dragging his dirty boots across the lush, cream carpet, back to the front door, back to so close and he could be out of here but that was a stupid idea and he tried not to let himself think it, because everyone who thought they could screw over Jackie turned up dead at some point. He took the left into the bathroom as gestured, locking the door behind him.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, turning on the tap to cover the sound of his voice.

Jackie answered, quick as always. “Have you fucked it up yet?”

“Nah mate, it’s all fine,” Edward answered, and for a brief moment he wondered what he’d say if it wasn’t, if he needed to get out and the man was listening at the door, but it was a bit too late to think about that one now. “I’ll see you in six hours?”

“You’ll need to call the cab back yourself, I trust you remember the address,” Jackie said, before the dial tone sounded in his ears.

Great. Edward turned to the envelope, sliding a crusted thumbnail underneath it, lifting the flap up slowly before counting the cash, separating it out in stacks of 500s, counting twice when he noticed his math was off because 5 stacks of 500 certainly didn’t add up to 1720, but he wasn’t about to tell the man. Grinning, he slid the excess into his pocket before wrapping the full fee around itself and putting it back in the envelope, sliding that into his leftmost jacket pocket and zipping it up. He stared at himself in the mirror, feeling too dirty, too covered in sweat and London grime to be in this room, and grimaced, splashing the water up his hands, rubbing his face until it was the cleanest he was about to get.

Right, time to work out what weird shit this guy was into, then.

He opened the door to the sound of a soft voice, insistent, stubborn, and rounded the corner to see the man arguing on the phone. “No, I want another bucket, send it now, I know you’ve done your best but this is unacceptable. Room 2504. Leave it out the front, please. I know it will be charged to my bill, I don’t care.”

His expression changed then, smoothing as he turned and caught sight of Ed. The tension seemed to go out of his shoulders, dropping, standing to his full height. “Thank you, that will be all,” the man said, softly, placing the telephone back down on its receiver. “I’m sorry about that, it’ll be fixed momentarily. I um, I believe it’s still cold, would you like a glass?”

Of champagne? Fuck yes, Ed thought, before shrugging his shoulders at the man, nonchalant. “I suppose, if you’re uh, having,” he replied, stumbling over his words, standing awkwardly at the entrance to the lounge and what kind of hotel had a shitting fucking lounge, this was ridiculous.

“Of course, it’s only polite,” the other man replied, inclining his head, smiling. “Please, let me take your coat. Have a seat, I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Edward laughed softly at that one, stepping into the room, sliding his coat off his shoulders to expose his simple leather vest. He passed it over it over to the man, before walking to the couch that took up most of the room, easing onto it. There was no way to prevent discomfort in his line of work, but he’d take the reprieve while he could. 

The man came over, soft halogens shining through the mop of curls sitting around his face, pale skin reflecting the dark from the windows, two glasses in hand. “Cheers, then,” he said, giving one to Ed and holding his own out.

Ed clinked it, and drowned the flute in one gulp.

The bubbles hit his stomach immediately and he coughed, doubling over, spluttering, ruining the small scraps of dignity he’d stepped into this room with. 

“Oh, oh no,” the man said, moving closer, placing his hand on Edwards’ back, rubbing firmly in circles. “I suppose I should’ve asked what your normal beverage of choice is, I’m sorry.”

“Not much of a - a champagne drinker, mate,” Ed coughed out, hunched over, forearms on his legs as the worst of it passed. “I don’t mind it though, I’ve just - it’s not something we usually see, back at Jackie’s.”

The mans’ face twisted in - was that displeasure? Did he have any idea who he’d hired? Edward was never very good at the whole class drag thing and he took a breath, visualising the next six hours ahead, where he constantly tripped over himself and broke lines he didn’t know where there. 

“No champagne? Gosh, tell me they don’t have you drinking beer over there,” the man exclaimed, moving back on his side of the sofa, placing a respectful distance between them which would’ve made sense for anyone but a hooker. “Here, I’ll get you another glass.”

“Cheers, uh…” Ed trailed off, realising that he’d made a fool of himself before he’d even gotten the guys name.

Great. Worlds’ Best Hooker award, coming to yours truly, any day now.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I’ve been a terrible host,” the man babbled, fiddling about in the kitchenette behind him. “I’m Stede, I should’ve introduced myself the moment I saw you, I was just simply astounded at the sight of you.”

Yeah, and at the sight of me tracking in mud into this suite that probably cost more than myself, Edward thought, watching Stede come back over to him, accepting the flute and letting it hang between his fingers this time, dangling low.

A knock rung through the expansive space, and Stede walked briskly to the door. Ed heard the murmurs of a hushed conversation between them, before Stede returned, carrying a metal bucket with condescension running off the sides.

Well, he wouldn’t be the only one ruining the carpet then.

“The ice has arrived, I’m so sorry it wasn’t here before,” Stede said, lifting the open bottle of champagne and placing it in the new bucket, bringing it to the coffee table between them. “I’ve been in town with work, publishing - it’s a strange industry - and I thought my night meeting was going to run longer, but it didn’t, and then you’re here, and well.”

“Nah, it’s alright,” Ed said gruffly, swirling the champagne in his glass. “It’s just booze.”

“Right, that it is,” Stede said, settling back on the couch, pressing into the far side, more than an arms length away. “It’s really quite good if you take it slow. Smaller sips.”

Ed took a sip, letting the bubbles race down his throat, sighing into the glass as the taste of the alcohol relaxed him. “Yeah. Reckon it is, hey.”

Silence hung between them, uncomfortable, stretching on and on. Edward knew he wasn’t good at conversing, not with the rich boys, but he didn’t realise he’d accidentally closed off the conversation until it had been too long to open it back up again.

Don’t ask too many questions, Jackie had said, and yet Edward hadn’t been in a more awkward booking in years. He wasn’t good at this. Didn’t get booked for the long ones, didn’t have his circus of regulars like the others did, didn’t manage to “foster relationships” or whatever it was that Frenchie was always telling him he should do. The silence stretched on, and on, and on. The sound of the central air kicked in, low, humming, before kicking back off again minutes later, and both of them barely moved except to take small sips from the flutes. 

He almost didn’t want to break it at this point. Sure, six hours in silence wasn’t the best way to spend a booking, but at least it gave the other parts of his body a rest. He was working six days this week, though with this booking he could probably afford to take a couple off, but everything was late and starting to pile up and - no, he needed to get on top of this.

Still, it would be good if this rich boy, obviously awkward, staring ahead of him and keeping his eyes off Ed’s body at any cost possible - it would be good if he got booked again, with a tip this fat.

Ed sighed. Paused. Sighed again, quieter this time. He was going to have to do it. 

“So uh, you want your cock sucked, mate?”

As silence-breakers go, it wasn’t the best, quickly evidenced by Stede sputtering, champagne flying from his mouth, stemmed by the hand he brought up to cover it. 

Ed shuffled over, awkwardly reaching his hand out, patting Stede on the back in a less-elegant mimicry of what he’d received earlier. The man violently recoiled at the touch, jerking away, and well. Jackie had implied he was weird.

Back to his own side of the couch then, ignoring the show to the right of him, letting Stede gather his bearings in his own time. Ed looked out the window, steadfast, refusing to deviate, looking at the city alight below him, streetlights shining in the London night. 

Six hours, hey?

The coughing died off, small sputterings into the silence of the night. Ed kept his eyes forward. There was nothing to do with a man who didn’t want anything to do with him, and besides, with that amount of cash, surely even the most reluctant man could work out what he desired from the hooker he’d just hired.

That was the crux of the problem, wasn’t it? Edward had one role here, something easy to fulfil, a mouth and an asshole and a couple of ears for filtering out whatever they said between, nodding along and trying to make all the right sounds, but at the end of the day - he was a hooker, and he was hired for a reason. This rich boy, this man dressed sharp, cut in finery, draping off the most excellent parts of his body - and here Edward stole a look, cutting to the side, hiding his eyes under his hair to note how that white shirt hung off his toned physique - it wasn’t Edward’s fault he had no idea what to do with a man. He’d tried, at the end of the day. It would be a one of a kind booking and he’d be back to scraping by with half hours soon, hoping he didn’t have another zero day, another day waiting and presenting and preening only to go home with his wallet lighter in the pocket from the cab fare. 

He was trying, and sometimes little boys didn’t know what they wanted, and that wasn’t his fault. Jackie had said that he never requested the same boy twice, so it wasn’t like any negative feedback was going back to the boss to harm him either way. 

Stede coughed. 

Edward turned to the side, recognising a summons when he heard one. He placed his empty flute down on the coffee table, taking a second to pause and inhale, the white marble burning into his eyes.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

If you wouldn’t - oh, Ed realised, with all the force of a punch to the chest, and hey, by his count he’d gotten to hang out, wait and do nothing for forty minutes. Better than he expected walking into his shift, anyway.

“Sure mate,” he ground out, dropping from the couch, crawling over to where Stede was sat, still refusing to meet his eyes, staring out the window - and c’mon, Ed might be late on rent and paying for booze on tick, but he knew he wasn’t that bad of a looker. Besides, there was nothing out this late, this high up, nothing to stare at but the stars and light pollution.

He raised his hands to Stede’s pants, slipping the clasp easily, unbuttoning the waistband and pulling out the fly. His briefs were nice, unstained, and a language Ed didn’t recognise embroidered around the waistband. They felt like velvet under his hands, slowly sliding down, until Stede’s cock was exposed.

Completely and utterly soft.

Well, Ed thought, they did have six hours.

He lowered his mouth, using his right hand to grip the base, position it upwards, and enveloped the entirty within his warm, wet mouth. He wrapped his lips around the base, tonguing the shaft, tracing circles around Stede’s length.

Above him, Stede sighed, settling back in the chair, legs spreading as much as his pants allowed. The material was taut under Ed’s face, a convenient spot to rest his wrist as his hand began to pump up and down Stede’s hardening length, keeping his mouth sucking on the head of his cock.

Stede’s hand found Ed’s hair, nesting in the curls at his neck, a soft grip. The pads of his fingers pressed lightly against the base of Ed’s skull, splaying out, and Ed began to gag as Stede’s length hardened to the point of reaching his throat. He pulled off, allowing his drool to form a line between the tip of Stede’s cock and his mouth, looking up through his dark eyelashes.

Stede hadn’t moved his sight from the London sky.

Well then, Ed thought, closing his eyes. It wasn’t like he had to look, he reasoned, resuming sucking with force, allowing his right hand to form a loose fist, pumping Stede’s cock. He pulled back the foreskin, running his tongue along the sensitive underside, before letting his fingers fall to a simple ring and taking it completely down his throat, nose nestled in Stede’s sparse amount of pubic hair, soft and curling around his face.

Stede moaned, shifting again, and the fingers at the back of Ed’s head became more insistent, lightly beckoning a rhythm, flexing in time with their breath. Ed followed it, taking Stede’s now large length with ease, allowing his breath to settle in time with the small thrusts Stede had began to make. It was easy, at the end of the day. It was a rhythm and a music, one he was used to, orchestrated by the man which had just handed him three times his rent like it was nothing.

Stede moaned again, stuttering, and Ed chanced a look up, mouth buried at the base of his cock.

He met Stede’s eyes, staring down at him, dark, smouldering, barely visible by the blonde curls fallen in his face, and at the sight Stede let out another soft cry, bucking his hips erratically, his hand keeping Ed’s head in place.

God, he was glad this place had plush carpet.

They kept their eyes locked, Ed letting his go glassy whilst he thought of other things, thought of what he was going to occupy the rest of his time with, what he was going to do when he left, how he was going to spend the new day off he’d just decided to have.

Stede didn’t seem to notice - they never did - staring with beautiful, unblinking, baby blue eyes, too innocent for the strings of salvia coating Ed’s face, for the mess he was making on the floor between them.

Another groan, and Ed realised the man was begging, a litany of please and god and Mary from his mouth and - hang on, Mary?

Stede fisted his hand in Ed’s hair now, fully fucking his throat, pushing Ed’s face deeper into his cock until Ed’s nose burned from being smashed into his pubic bone. He tried to keep calm, to remember to breathe.

“Please, please, fuck,” Stede was yelping above him, voice breaking on the profanity and-

-and Ed found himself across the room, splayed out on his back, his chest burning from where he’d been shoved, two hands on the front of his chest, reconstructing the scene in his mind as he made sense of the sudden roof he was seeing, his hands behind him, supporting his back, his thighs burning from the awkward position he’d been forced into with the violent push. 

He wiped his mouth, smearing spit across his face, rubbing the excess on his wrist into the fuckin plush carpet underneath him. “Jesus, I get if you don’t want to cum, but you can just tell me to stop, y’know. I’m not an asshole. I”m not going to leave as soon as you do, but fuckin hell man. Use your words.”

Stede was silent.

Ed looked up, suddenly keenly aware of the difference between them, of his own body spread out on the floor, belly exposed, face covered in spit and precum, hair messy, and Stede above him, every bit the put together gentleman, save for the erect cock jutting up from his hips.

Stede was refusing to look at him again, eyes hard, lips tight, staring into the distance. 

Ed moved his legs, shifting forward, tucking them under each other until he sat, cross legged, the own beginnings of an erection stirring against his thigh. “Come on man,” he said, frustration colouring every word, “you can’t just shove me. I’m going to get in trouble if I come back bruised.”

He wouldn’t, but it was an easy excuse to ward off the rougher of them. Jackie would never know either way.

Stede continued to ignore him, staring dead eyed into the distance, body tense as a bowline, his shoulders drawing a tight line, thighs clenched, body weight on his toes, pressing divots into the carpet.

“Get out.”

It was low, quiet, so low Edward knew he misheard with all the force he knew he didn’t mishear at all.

“Excuse me, mate?”

“Leave. I’m sorry to be an ungracious host, but you need to go. Get out. Now,” Stede said, still averting his gaze, refusing to look at Edward’s ungraceful form on the floor. His cock was still at full attention, precum beading at the tip.

“Look, you still have ages left,” Ed attempted, placating. “Jackie is going to ask questions. It’s okay, we can just relax for a bit. Don’t be so serious, man.”

Stede exhaled, though the movement didn’t lessen the tension in his body, Ed noted, and fuck he knew the guy was going to be weird but this was next level. “I’m terribly sorry. There’s been a misunderstanding. You need to leave. I will call Jackie. Please, get your things and depart from this premises now.”

“Jesus, man,” Ed grumbled, picking himself up from the floor, trying to ignore the humiliation heating his cheeks. “Whatever, it’s your time.”

Stede continued to avert his eyes, his cock staying stiff and hard, jutting out from his briefs, precum running freely down his shaft, and why wouldn’t he just tuck it back in? Edward got up, grabbing his jacket from where Stede had hung it, shrugging into the faded overcoat and yeah, he knew he didn’t fit here, but he didn’t need to be treated like it either. He tied it off around his waist before heading to the front door of the suite, palming each pocket to check and yeah, everything was there, the guy wasn’t going to stiff him.

He should be discreet. He knew this. Hooker rule number one.

He threw off a loud “Have a nice night,” as he opened the door, pulling it shut and trying to slam it behind him, kicking the scalloped moulding of the hotel hall when he realised he was on one of those fucking stupid slow release systems. 

Whatever. He got paid, way more than he should’ve, and Jackie wouldn’t question him when he complained about his lack of tip and weird fuckin man and she’d let all the usual boys room grumbling slide. This would be no different.

It was just one weird booking, he told himself, stabbing the lift call button, shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching over in the tiny mirrored elevator.

One weird booking, he mentally repeated, calling the cab from his phone and yes he could pay cash, thank you, he’ll be at the hotel, sitting in the chairs in the lobby to wait.

One fuckin weird booking, and he stared out, street level, watching London rush by him. Just one weird booking that would never happen again and he’d never have to think about stupid Stede and his stupid fucking hard cock and his willingness to splash too much money on hookers like him again.

It was just one booking, and by the time he’d gotten back to Spanish Jackie’s, full of apologies and I don’t know what happened, and he’d fixed his shirt in the dressing room, and Lucius had pestered him for all the gristly details he’d refused to give, he’d almost forgotten about it entirely.

 

Chapter 2: people disappear here

The light was bright, too bright for seven P.M., too bright for the five hour booking he’d just pulled, and Ed dug his hands into the chipped bench, trembling feet barely keeping him upright in the back room.

The mirror bore down on him, wall to wall, cracked and stained from years of makeup and hair gel and things Jackie would never bother to fix, things that could never be fixed. Blown pupils stared back at him, his nose burning, his cock fucking soft between his thighs even though he ached to jam it into someone, something, anything.

The drug was burning through his veins, jittering, and it was cut half with meth at least which he knew but he was stupid and he didn’t care and he hadn’t cared since he’d been handed two and a half grand and told to get the fuck out. It was hard to get it together for the simple bookings now, hard to stay present, and besides, it wasn’t like he couldn’t get away with refusing the lines from James if he wanted to keep extending.

Money didn’t go far in this town, not once he was paid up rent, settling his tab at the local bottle shop, and something expensive just for him - because no matter what that stupid Stede thought, he deserved expensive things, he could fit in, he knew he could fake it in that world and he didn’t deserve to be kicked out, disrespected, hated. Money had always slid through his fingers like it was water, quicker exchanged and run around the community than any sort of wealth.

Besides, it was vividly clear that he wouldn’t fit into that world regardless of the wealth he amassed. At least Stede had granted him that fucking gift.

He blew out his breath through his nose, sour drip running down the back of his throat, bridge of his nose aching and painful, sharp, a relief. Drumming a rhythm with his right hand on the top of the bench, he stared at himself, useless and sick and every atom of his brain was on fire, screaming at him to shove his junk into something wet if it would just fucking get hard and that was the goddamn fuckin irony of the universe, wasn’t it?

James was long gone, his card declining at the eleventh hour, and Ed used to be better at rationing out his lines, feeling out the end, keeping himself useful and sober afterwards but god the routine was starting to get to him and he hadn’t shanked any bedside tables in weeks, he deserved to fuck up every now and then.

The door opened behind him, and in the mirror he saw Izzy enter, two duffel bags slung over his hips and he groaned, of course it was him, the childhood friend he couldn’t get rid of, the friend who followed him from place to place until he fucked up so badly they’d dropped off the earth for years, stumbling into each other in Jackie’s like a storm nobody asked for. There were only so many brothels in town, and even fewer who’d entertain the insurance needed for Izzy’s type of clientele, and fuck.

“You’re a right sight, aren’t you,” Izzy called out, and what an asshole could he never just shut up and keep his fuckin mouth shut, stop commenting on everything and whoops, Ed had just dug up another chip from the flaking bench.

He dropped his bags, the sound of metal clanking ringing around the empty room, and then fuck, there he was in Ed’s periphery, in front of Ed, settling into a comfortable slouch near him, crossing his arms, staring and always staring and god, if there was a hell he knew his history would follow him deep down into the depths through this fuckin’ man.

“What do you want?” Ed ground out, dragging his gaze away from the mirror to meet Iz, fingers drumming harder now, faster, burning the chemical energy overriding his nervous system. “How are you always fuckin’ here?”

“Teach, this shouldn’t surprise you by now,” Izzy said, casting an eye across Ed’s taut form, his fingers tapping, his feet bouncing. “C’mon,” he added, softer, “let’s fix this.”

Ed turned then, releasing the too-tight hold he had on the aging bench (though no one was going to notice a few more divots anyway), mirroring Izzy’s pose, hip cocked and pressed against the bench, shifting his weight onto his right foot, leaning. “I used to be better at this, Iz.”

“I know, ran the town back in your day,” Izzy said. “Neither of us are getting any younger, Ed. You can’t do this to yourself.”

“I’m good at rationing normally,’ Ed replied, and that was the problem wasn’t it - now that he’d held the stuffed envelope, felt the weight of the cash in his hand, his other clients just didn’t seem that important anymore. He knew Stede didn’t book the same boy twice, but fuck, it wasn’t easy to come back to earth after that one. “Just, y’know. Times.”

“Times,” Izzy agreed, reaching out and clapping him on his bicep. “C’mon. Brace yourself.”

Ed sunk onto the floor, bringing his legs up to his chest, pressing his back to the wall underneath the mirror, face tilted, pushing his sweaty hair back with one shaking hand. Izzy followed the movement, kneeling, splaying his legs so he almost straddled Ed, leaning in close, breath skating across each others lips, hot and full of what could’ve been.

“Head back, and breathe in when I say,” Izzy said, laying his right hand on Edward’s left cheek. Edward whined at the contact, his hips bucking, finding nothing but air to thrust his soft cock into. Izzy’s other hand came to Edward’s nose, thumb pressing the right nostril shut, ignoring the obscene noises Ed was making underneath him - a gift he knew he’d be grateful for later.

“Now,” Izzy commanded, pressing deep with his right thumb, carving a path across Edward’s cheekbone, pushing in so hard it hurt as Ed greedily inhaled through the one nostril still open, chest expanding, deep and oh so clear.

He sniffed, relishing the moment of clarity. “Thanks, Iz.”

Izzy swapped the position of his hands on Edward’s face, plugging his left nostril, and they repeated the process on the other side.. He was still shaking and trembling but he could breathe now, breathe fully, the drug and drip completely gone from his nasal passages and setting up residence in his fluttering lungs instead.

Izzy got up without acknowledging how close they’d been for the first time in months, how much of a mess Edward was underneath him, how they always came back to taking care of each other. He turned around and walked to where he’d dumped his bags, Edward staying on the floor, breathing deep, willing the neurotransmitters in his brain to override the cocaine he’d snorted up in dirty notes. It was a bitch of a drug, and he still wanted to fuck something, but at least the half life was short, and already he could feel the edges of exhaustion clawing at his extremities.

“Still need to move?” Izzy called out.

“Yes,” Edward admitted, groaning, dropping his face down to meet his knees. “No. I don’t know, fuck, Izzy. When are you in?”

“An hour,” Izzy replied, and Ed could hear the sound of zippers opening, fabric rustling behind Izzy’s form.

A thunk sounded, Ed’s world suddenly dark, and “what the fuck?” before his brain kicked back online and he grabbed the rough lengths off of his face, looking up to find Izzy grinning from across the room.

“You’re a cunt, you know that?” Ed said, pushing the rope completely off his body, gathering the tangled lengths into a pile in front of him.

“Always bitching. You’re such a queen these days, Ed,” Izzy replied. He nudged his foot towards the tangle of rope on the floor. “Untangle these for me, would you?”

“I’m not your sub,” Edward grumbled, grabbing the closest end he could find and running it through his hands to find the knot. Fuck, and that was the thing about old friends, about Iz, he’d never not had his back and untangling his rope was the perfect activity for Ed’s coke addled brain to focus on, soothe into, get wrapped up in as the exhaustion started to slowly take over and ooze into his veins.

Izzy always knew what he needed, and Edward would never stop fucking up and needing him, and their relationship was an ouroboros at this stage, an eternal dance of fuckery and eating each other alive, and they were going to burn out harder than the coke burning out of Edward’s veins, but fuck if he wasn’t good in nights like these.

“I’ll tell Jackie you’re done for the night when I go in,” Izzy said, turning back to his bags, pulling latex and shining oil out, laying them on the bench. “We’ve got an hour, Edward. And, for gods sake, next time you decide you want a bender on someone else's dime, can you sort out your own babysitter for afterwards?”

Edward laughed at that, refusing to answer, knowing it would always be Izzy, knowing he always managed to run in at the right time. The rope smoothed under his hands as he twisted it into wraps, curling under each other and pulling bights through loops. His hands stilled as he fell into the rhythm, the coke burning out as fast as it had lit up him, leaving just Edward - a careless, dangerous rentboy - to remain.

Chapter 3: otherwise i'm useless (who the fuck would choose this)

His phone was buried at the bottom of his pocket, long trench hanging off his frame, pockets deep and sewn deeper with a little ingenuity, a seam ripper, and some excess fabric he’d had hanging around at home.

Edward thought there was something so desperately vile about paying money for the basics he needed to eat. Sure, he’d pay for a good drink, a night out, even the rent for his apartment. But for food? It went against his moral code. Besides, he was the one undertaking all the danger for his dollars - it seemed a bit rich to hand it over to a pimply teenager working the check out for a bag of rice and not much else.

And then, he reasoned, scanning the shelves, it was the same punishment if he got caught no matter what he had in his pockets, so he may as well treat himself. Besides, he deserved it, he thought, moving to the pet food aisle and finding the blindspot for the cameras he knew so well, opening the zippers in his coat and shoving steaks, turkey, and crab deep into the extended pockets he’d made, hunched over and hair just feral enough he knew no one would risk looking closely at exactly how his hands were moving.

Of course, this was exactly the moment his phone began to ring.

Ed cursed, dropping the package of crab meat he was about to shove in his pockets, and began rifling through, elbow sliding deep into them with all the ease of a ship crashing against a rock. Plastic crackled and mince squished under his elbow and fuck, he wouldn’t be able to go back to this store for a while.

He finally wrapped his dirty fingers around the little, buzzing rectangle and pulled it out.

Jackie, the phone flashed, the ring tone loud and obnoxious, something he’d no doubt changed it to when he was drunk as fuck and it seemed like a good idea.

He swiped across on the answer icon, and lifted it to his ear.

“What are you doing?” Jackie asked, her voice almost melodically high down the phone. She almost seemed like an actual lady when she was one step removed, when there was no smoke setting up shop in her skin, no husky gravel to her voice, no over-lined makeup hiding the ravages of aging and stress the job had taken on her.

Ed shook his head, bringing himself back to the fluorescent coated reality, the fact it was nearly midday and he was hungover in a Tesco, with about two hundred pounds of stolen porterhouse in his pockets. “I’m on my day off. What do you want?”

“You’re working now,” Jackie replied, and at Ed’s protests cut him off with a sweet “Uh, uh, don’t start with that. I’m only making you do one booking.”

“You don’t make me do shit,” Ed grumbled, setting down the basket of goods he hadn’t had time to fit into his pockets, casting a longing eye at the New York strip he’d thought he’d have for brunch. “I’ll report your ass if you do, I know the Met is looking for any excuse to do you in for trafficking and move you off that street.”

“You and I both know you need to pay rent far too much to do that, Edward,” Jackie said, and goddammit he hated being strung over the coals like this, hated being dependant on another, but he was all too irregular to strike out on his own (and the last time he’d tried he’d ended up shaking in an alleyway, throwing up after an especially bad trick, divorced from any sense of community and any ways they all took care of each other - there was more than one world out there he wasn’t welcome into).

Ed briskly walked out of the shop, eying the security guards, knowing they wouldn’t bother to stop him - there was far too much liability in the world these days, and if men like him who scrapped by day to day exploited the fear of lawsuits and legal cases, well. “What do you want?” he ground out into the phone, setting the pace to home, packets crinkling in his jacket with every step.

“Eight o clock, I’ll give you the address and you can leave your bag here. You’ll never guess who called,” Jackie said, and oh god her voice was coated in syrup, sickly sweet, and that meant one fucking thing he didn’t fuckin' dare ask twice for the same man, did he?

“One of these days, I’m going to murder you,” Edward replied as he realised his day off was definitely going to be cut short.

She laughed. “Truth be told, I’m counting on it. Be here a little before eight, please, and arrive ready - Ivan and Fang are on tonight and I don’t have time for your shenanigans in the break room.”

Edward hung up the phone, refusing to give the old bitch the dignity of politeness. She could have manners when she wasn’t making money off the back of the dicks he shoved in his own mouth, thank you very much.

Of course, if Stede asked for him tonight, he probably wouldn’t be shoving any dick in his mouth at all, he thought with a sick humour. Rich boy would probably pale at one look of him, dragging in mud and hair tangled, wild street boy who’d never fit in his own world, and panic again, sending him straight back out running.

God, but he was a cunt, which was the crux of the problem. Edward couldn’t figure out why he’d been asked for again - even if he never wanted the same boy twice, Edward clearly reminded him of something he’d rather forget, clearly got on his nerves. I don’t think Stede had a good time last time, he mused, unlocking the front door to his apartment and starting the six floor walk up. Maybe the boy was a masochist. Maybe the boy just wanted to prove he could do something. Ed had worked with those types before.

But still, they’d never shoved him out of their room with such vehemence before.

The afternoon passed, dragging and stuttering with every minute and shot of cheap gin that made its way down his gullet, and Ed looked at the clock at least fifty million gazillion times before it was finally time to work, and of course Stede had ruined a good afternoon too, Ed wound up taut on the couch, trying to rest and relax and just get drunk, impossible to do with the knowledge hanging over his head that he’d have to suffer through that fuckin' condescending presence again.

Rolling off the bed, Ed looked at the clothes strewn over his floor, picking his most tattered pants and stained shirt to shrug on. Stede thought he didn’t fit in before? Wait until now, he thought violently, leaving his hair tangled and unruly, brushing his teeth with the bare minimum of care, barely swishing around the frayed bristles for thirty seconds before rinsing. He tugged on the boots he’d run through the park in last week and never washed off, mud encrusted on the soles, flecks of dirt staining the tongue of the once-white shoe.

Jackie was going to fuckin’ kill him.

Jackie couldn’t fuckin’ kill him if she wanted her commission.

He grinned, stepping out and hailing a cab to the tiny little house on the corner, stopping at the red lantern hanging outside of it. Oldest industry in the world, he thought, unfolding a set of twenties and slapping them into the cabbies hand before getting out, slinging a broken backpack over one shoulder. Guess some things never changed.

He ignored the front door, heading around to the side before ringing the doorbell three times - the secret code that meant it’s just me, not worth the rush, I’m not a client - and Jackie opened it, pursing her lips as she scanned his body.

“Morning Jackie,” Ed grinned, pushing past her into the dimly lit bordello, giving his eyes a moment to adjust. “I’m ready, as you can see.”

“Give me one good reason not to fire you right now,” Jackie grunted, closing the door behind him and twisting five locks into place (no reason not to be too safe, not in this kind of business).

“How long is it?” Ed called out, already making his way down the twisting halls to Jackie’s office, grinning. It had been a while since he’d been anything close to indispensable, but a commission from little rich boy Stede was the closest thing to it.

Jackie followed him down the halls, and Ed could feel the daggers being stared into the back of his head. Oh well. This is why he had such an unruly mane to begin with. Couldn’t let yourself be too unprotected with the kinds of witches that ran in these parts.

It was entirely possible that between the hangover and now, he had gotten a little bit drunk, he mused, following Jackie into her office and collapsing into one of the chairs. Not entirely so, not enough he couldn’t fake it for now, but whoopsie.

I wonder how little Stedie boy will cope with a drunk prostitute at his door, Ed thought, and clapped his hand over his mouth to stem the laughter threatening to break forth.

Jackie narrowed her eyes, but said nothing, merely passing over the paper with the address and calling the cab. Ed knew he was going to get in deep shit for this later, but fuck this Stede character. This was his day off. He fucked his day off and a perfectly good New York strip, thank you very much. Stede could get fucked.

Or well, Ed supposed, he’d be the one getting fucked in the end if little rich boy could work his cock out of his pants without losing his goddamn mind.

The cab came, Edward leaving the brothel, relaying the address, staring out the window, and gods it was just all the same dance night after night, wasn’t it? Never mind he hadn’t had an outcall in years, never mind he wasn’t used to the multi hours (and of course this was another six hours, wasn’t it) and this really was a golden egg he shouldn’t squander - fuck it, he was going to stomp on it, scramble it, cook it up and eat it himself for breakfast because another one would always come around (it wouldn’t) wouldn’t it?

Like last time, the hotel came up all too quick, and if Ed stumbled out of the cab well - who’s to know? He looked at the number, punching in thirty three on the elevator this time and oooh, that’s even higher, how fancy for little hooker Edward Teach, settling back against the mirrors to wait. He caught a glimpse of himself then and doubled over laughing, realising that between the stained shirt, ripped pants, and completely unruly mane, he looked closer to giving blowjobs in the gutter than drinking champagne in the bloody diplomat suite, though he supposed it was all the same job after all.

The elevator doors dinged, again dropping him off at his destination, and he stumbled out of them. Thirty three oh seven, which shouldn’t be too hard, except he walked down several halls and doubled back at least three times before he found the right door. Whoops once again, but it wasn’t coming out of his paycheck was it, and he’d likely only spend an hour inside the room until little Stede realised exactly who he’d invited back.

He knocked on the door, three loud raps, none of this soft discretion like last time (that little voice whispered he didn’t deserve it and Ed wasn’t a good enough man to give into his baser instincts, really).

Stede opened it, lit from behind in beautiful gold silks and burgundy harem pants, a halo around his hair from the fluorescents, and Ed bowed, throwing his hands out to his side, gesturing wildly into the empty air around them. “Edward Teach, at your service,” he jeered, bent in half, and if that wasn’t a premonition for the rest of the night he’d eat his own hat.

“It’s good to see you again,” Stede said, gentle, slow.

What in the shittery fuck fuck.

“May I come in?” Ed asked, gruff, sarcasm jumping out in every word, and Stede stepped back to allow him, Ed accidentally bumping his chest as he made his way through the narrow doorway and fucking dammit the room had goddamn halls again.

“I wasn’t sure what you drunk, over at that….place,” Stede said, with clear dismay, leading Ed into the kitchen and oh god that was more booze than he’d seen in his entire life. “I’ve got gin, beer, light beer, vodka, bourbon, single malt scotch, herbal liquors, or wine. I should’ve asked, I know, but…”

His voice trailed off, and Ed could fill in the blanks - but I didn’t exactly have a way to keep in contact with you - and weren’t the boundaries of the business beautiful, the very thing that had kept him from even thinking of this man once since they last met, which was excellent except for the part he’d been poisoning his mind every single fucking day.

They stood in silence, again, Ed surveying the booze in front of him before grabbing the nearest non-bubbly bottle and popping off the cap.

“Oh, the single malt!” Stede exclaimed, turning around to rummage through the cabinets. “It’s quite delightful, it’s aged in Scotland I hear. They’ve got wondrous things happening with their barrels these days - did you know they import the wood from Portugal of all places?”

When he turned around, he locked eyes with Ed, voice dropping off, Ed’s mouth wrapped around the neck of the bottle and about to start swallowing.

“Uh, hi,” Ed said, muffled with his lips pressed against the rim of the glass.

Stede placed two short glasses down on the bench with a long exhale, closing his eyes, palms splayed out flat against the kitchen island.

Ed put the bottle down, wordlessly, stepping back and casting a look at the man. God, he looked like death. Stede’s spine was full of tension, his hands cut up and covered in scratches on the fingers, his shoulders downcast.

“I’ll uh, pour for us mate,” Edward said, grabbing a glass and eyeballing a shots worth into it. Sure, he was drunk, and he hated this man, but he didn’t realise Stede would be tense.

Not that it should change things. He probably didn’t even have anything to be tense about. Someone who can drop two and a half grand on a hooker doesn’t have real person problems, not the kind of problems that have you shoving mince down your pants in a Tescos on a Tuesday and sweet talking your landlord more often than not.

It shouldn’t change things.

It shouldn’t.

Ed slid the glass into Stede’s hand, grabbing his own and retreating from the scene playing out in the kitchen, leaning on the back of the couch instead (and really, what kind of hotel room has couches, this is ridiculous at this point).

“Thank you,” Stede said, quiet.

They hung like that for another beat, Ed watching, Stede drawing in a few deep breaths before he straightened up, smile illuminating his face, wrapping his scratched up hands around the glass. “Cheers,” Stede said, coming around to Ed, clinking their glasses together before moving to the couch.

Ed followed, his ripped pants catching on the leather stitching, sinking into the plush, heavenly sofa. He took a sip of the spirit, vapors evaporating in his mouth, the liquid sliding smoothly down his throat and god it was a far cry from the bottom shelf gin he’d been plying himself with all day.

It didn’t escape his notice that Stede had sat far apart from him again, too far to touch.

“Do you want to move closer, mate?” Ed asked, breaking the silence with a quiet voice, patting the couch next to him.

Stede didn’t answer, dropping his head again, pushing the hair back from his face.

A familiar swell of fury burst up in Ed’s gut, and he clenched his hand around his glass. “Look. I don’t know what your deal is, but usually when people hire a hooker they usually want to touch them,” he snapped, feeling out of place again in the opulent suite, the clothes he’d picked as a fuck you making him shrink into himself instead.

Silence swelled between them, hot and heavy, Ed’s words hanging like a knife. He stared out the window, again, refusing to look at the rich boy who’d bought probably thousands of dollars of alcohol just for him, the rich boy who refused to touch him, the boy who probably got off on some kind of headfucky game that he never quite understood.

“Fuck this,” he said, once it became clear Stede had no intention of replying, acknowledging him in any way. He got up, back to the bench, grabbing the unopened bottle of vodka and unwrapping the seal just to be a dick. “I don’t know what the fuck your plan is here,” he continued, twisting off the top of the bottle and taking a swig, “but newsflash boy, it’s your money you’re burning on hookers you can’t stand. It’s all going into my pocket at the end of the day.”

“Except for Jackie’s cut,” Stede murmured.

“Except for Jackie’s cut,” Ed agreed, mollified. “Seriously, mate. What am I doing here?’

Stede wailed all of a sudden, fists clenching in his blonde curls. “I don’t know,” he howled, chest shaking on the couch, his smaller form dwarfed as he sat alone, surrounded by the finest furnishings money could buy. “I thought this would be better. I told you, I don’t do this often. I want to not fuck this up, Ed. Tell me how to stop fucking this up.”

“Figuring out exactly what you want might be a start,” Ed replied, swinging up onto the bench, staring into the windows again, averting his eyes from the boy having a fuckin’ breakdown on the couch over there. “Jesus, Stede. Most people hire me because I give really good fuckin’ head.”

“You do,” Stede agreed between the sobs, small hitches of breath interrupting the words.

“Yeah? Could’ve told me last time.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Stede said, his body stilling, his words smoother as the sobs stopped just as fast as they’d come on. His voice was weak, trembling. “You scared me, Ed.”

Ed took another swig of the vodka and honestly, how did they manage to get this not to burn, that was half the appeal of clear spirits. “Don’t see how, but I’ll take it as a complement.”

Stede laughed softly, raising his head finally, meeting Edward’s eyes in the reflection of the windows. They sat there for a moment, breathing, staring at each other translucent behind the city lights beneath them.

Ed exhaled, shoulders dropping, the open bottle clutched between his fingers and resting gently on one thigh. “I’m here for six hours. What do you want to do, man?”

“Believe me, I mean this in the most proper fashion - but if it’s not too much to ask, I’d like to ask you to step out of those clothes.”

Which is, of course, how Ed found himself wrapped in a towel watching the bath - and what kind of hotel had a bath? - fill, glass of water in one hand (Stede had plucked the bottle of vodka from his hands, and that was pretty fair, his breath shouldn’t be allowed by open flames at this point). Bubbles were rising, and he couldn’t pick the scent - something floral, aged, but it was filling the bathroom almost as fast as the steam.

His offending clothes were folded and placed in a cupboard out of the way, and Edward chuckled as he remembered the distasteful look on Stede’s face when he handed them over, steadfastly refusing to look at Ed’s form until he grabbed a towel to hide himself.

Someone was going to have to explain to this man what hookers actually did someday, Ed thought, reaching over to turn the taps off as the bubbles threatened to overflow.

“Bath’s ready,” he called.

“Go ahead,” Stede replied, voice echoing through the suite. “I’ll join you when I can.”

Ed unwrapped the towel from himself, hanging it across the door before lowering himself carefully into the mess of bubbles, slick and smooth against his skin. He hissed as the hot water hit his skin - he never was too good at judging temperature these days - and exhaled gently as the water and bubbles lapped over him, the ends of his hair drifting through the water.

I’ll join you when I can, and Ed recognised the sign of a workaholic when he heard one, so he made himself comfortable. He knew he’d be in here for a while alone, most likely, and it wasn’t like his shitty little apartment had a bath. He was going to enjoy it while he could.

The bubbles drifted around him as he closed his eyes, drifting off, hands hanging over the edge of the tub. He couldn’t believe he was back in Stede’s hotel, back with that envelope and oh shit fucking fuck he’d forgotten to get the damn fucking fee.

His eyes flew open, lurching forward in the bath chest first, fingers scrabbling for purchase. Jesus christ, he chided himself. He’d been a hooker for long enough, he knew the rules of the game. It didn’t do well to get complacent (or turn up to bookings drunk, he supposed, but it was easier to blame this one on complacency and not his particular vices). Lungs heaving, he snapped his eyes up to catch sight of himself in the mirror - wild, unruly, on edge - before seeing a familiar golden envelope placed on the bench behind him.

He sighed, settling back into the bath. Jesus, Stede might inspire rage and frustration, he might have set up shop in the bottoms of his soul, writhing around his veins, but he couldn’t inspire complacency. That’s how people got killed.

Besides, if he returned to Jackie empty handed, he was pretty sure she’d add her cut to his debts and start taking it out of further bookings. Jackie may be many things, but an empath didn’t rank high on the list.

The bath enfolded him with gentle warmth, his muscles unwinding in relaxation he’d not known for many years, and he shut his eyes again. The brothel would probably be starting to pick up by now - anytime after ten at night was usually good for trade - and he smiled, knowing Ivan and Fang had likely picked up at least two jobs by now. It was good to have them taken care of, he mused, good for morale. He kept to himself back there but they’d worked together for many years now, and he’d developed a carefully guarded affection for most of the main crew that staffed it.

Of course, there’d been one person he’d been with for longer than all. His mind drifted to Izzy, who swum through a slightly different stream of the world than they did, not quite enough hooker to be afforded the same camaraderie, not quite enough civilian to snatch at any protections that world offered him. The memory of Izzy’s hands on his face smoothing away the coke from his sinuses wasn’t an unpleasant one, but there was complexity there, complexity he needed to unearth.

They’d come to blows throughout the years but he’d always been there for him, picking him up out of the worst scraps, arriving at his apartment at Ed’s beckon without question. There was just something about him, something combatual, and Ed couldn’t figure out if he owed the man his gratitude or a swift backhand to the face half the time.

The sound of a knock at the main door shook him from his memories, and he froze, the water stilling and silencing around him. He stretched out his hearing, trying to make out the words through muffled sounds to no avail.

The door shut again, and Ed started as there was a knock on his own, splashing water onto the floor.

“Can I come in?” Stede called, softly.

Ed huffed quietly under his breath, lips turning up into a smile. Someone was going to have to teach Stede the concept of hookers, but he be damned before he gave up this easy ride. “Sure, mate.”

Stede entered, a bundle of towels in his arm, folded neatly in thirds. He placed them on the edge of the sink before beginning to unbutton his own shirt, the silk sliding easily off his skin to land in a puddle on the floor.

Ed gave him an appreciative glance - it was all part of the job, shut up - taking a sip of the water he’d placed on the edge of the bath tub.

Stede blushed, tips of his ears colouring red, and oh that was going to be fun. He grabbed a couple of the smaller bottles from the bench, before pulling up a stool to the edge of the bath tub, behind Ed.

“Mind if I?” he asked, gesturing with his hands to Ed’s scalp, and Ed nodded.

Stede plunged his hands into the warm water, bringing it up to Ed’s hair, massaging it through the unruly curls, and Ed sighed at the gesture, relaxing back into his hands, letting the weight of his head be supported by him. His hair was thick, soaking up the water almost faster than Stede could coat it, but eventually his locks lost their height, pulled down by the moisture, dripping wet.

With a hum of pleasure, Stede reached for one of the bottles, uncapping it with a small pop. He squeezed the citrus scented liquid into his palm, rubbing his hands together before bringing them to the nape of Ed’s neck and pushing upwards into his scalp. The liquid bubbled between the strands of hair, the oils of his week sliding down Ed’s back as Stede massaged it into him.

Stede used his hands to scoop water across Ed’s hair, pushing and pulling it down into the tub, and Ed followed the gentle pressure down into the tub, hair fanning around him as he sank. Stede rubbed the tendrils together, before tapping two fingers to the side of Ed’s jaw - a universal up.

Ed rose - a little too violently, he realised, as the water sloshed over the sides of the tub. “Shit,” he grumbled, before registering Stede’s yelp behind him and quickly turned to face him.

Stede was sitting there, shirtless, flushed, water utterly soaking the crotch of his slacks.

Ed stared at the stain, heart beating fast as he realised what he’d done. Those slacks probably cost more than he’d made all month. They probably cost more than his shitty apartment. Stede threw him out for the crime of giving a really good blowjob last time. He didn’t want to know what he’d do for ruining his pants.

Ed’s panic was broken by Stede softly laughing, and he dragged his eyes up from Stede’s crotch to meet his eyes, upturned in joy.

“Well, these aren’t doing much good now, are they?” Stede said, quiet, mirthful.

“They’ll dry,” Ed replied, throat dry.

“Indeed they will,” Stede agreed, eyes twinkling. “Although, I’m afraid to admit they won’t have much of a chance like this. Would you mind turning back around for me?”

Ed acquiesced silently, dragging his eyes from Stede’s form, fixing on the mirror on the wall across him to see Stede turn around. He heard the pop of a button, and a zipper falling down before Stede’s ass was exposed, two perfect, round globules Ed couldn’t take his eye off.

“Eyes closed, please,” Stede murmured, and Ed shuddered as he did as the man asked. He heard the sound of fabric swishing before the water moved around him, Stede’s hand on his back pushing him gently forward in the bath.

Stede settled behind him, wrapping his arms around Ed’s midsection, his thighs splayed around Ed’s hips. He gave a contented little hum, his head coming to rest on Edward’s shoulder, lips lightly brushing his neck. “Thank you.”

Ed opened his eyes again, seeing Stede reflected back at him, both of them buried in bubbles, the bathroom floor flooded. “You’re welcome,” he replied, retorts of this is what a hooker is burying themselves deep in his chest. It seemed like a crime to sever the tender moment, and he found himself inexplicably wanting to drag this out for as long as possible before he broke it.

Stede felt - well, good against him. His muscles were defined, skin soft, thighs thick. His cock was pressed against the top of Ed’s ass, half hard and growing.

Ed went to move his arm behind him, to help, but he was stopped by a gentle touch of Stede’s fingers on his biceps.

“I just…can we just stay like this?” Stede asked, awkwardly fumbling over the words.

Ed raised his hands in a surrender and placed them back on the edges of the bath, in front of him. “Whatever you want.”

Another small kiss peppered his neck and yep that sure was a cock growing to full hardness against his back. Ed looked in the mirror to meet Stede’s eyes and found them shut, buried in his neck, his hair.

Well, whatever. If Stede wanted to think he was someone else, it was his six hours. He should’ve known the bath, the perfumes, the fucking scented shampoo had a reason beyond just wanting to treat Ed nicely.

Stede’s hands pressed into Ed’s chest, the pads of his fingertips digging into Ed’s flesh, and his hips rocked against Ed’s ass. One of his hands dropped, finding the sharp jut of Ed’s hipbones, using to drive Ed back into himself.

Ed just…let it happen. Let his body be driven back into Stede’s, let Stede thrust against him, let Stede nip at his neck while he sat there, counting his own breaths, staring at himself in the mirror. The romance of the bubbles, the alcohol, the drawn bath had faded and the water felt tepid around him. He looked at the grout coming off the tiles, the fraying present on the edges of the towel. the chips in the corner of the mirror, and waited.

Stede was mumbling now, his hands pressing hard enough into Ed to bruise, lips fluttering against his neck. Little cries sounded out, and, not for the first time, Ed pondered how crying from pain and moaning in happiness sounded exactly the same.

His thrusts against Ed’s back were hard but steady, cock probably leaking into the bath. Ed wrapped his fingers around the edges of the tub, gripping it hard for leverage, gripping it hard in anger, in frustration that he’d let himself pretend this was anything more than it ever was.

Stede latched onto Ed’s neck, suckling under his jaw, and fuck that was going to mark but Ed couldn’t find it in himself to care anymore. The pace stuttered, hitching, and just like that it was over, Stede spilling into the bath silently.

“I’m - I’m so sorry,” Stede stuttered, the water rushing violently around Ed as Stede clambered from the bath, grabbing at a towel and hastily covering himself with it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve. I-“

“-Yeah, it’s okay mate,” Ed cut him off, hauling his own body out of the now ruined bath, letting his own cock hang between his thighs, half hard. “Don’t worry. I get it.”

“I have your clothes here,” Stede said, flustered. “Well, I have new clothes here. And old clothes. They’re on the towel. I need - I need - you should-“

“-I’ll go,” Ed agreed, holding a hand up to silence him, silence the man who hadn’t once looked at him in the eye since he got hard. “I get it,” he added, tired. “Don’t worry.”

Stede paused for a second, seeming to consider something, opening his mouth before ducking his head in gratitude and exiting the bathroom without a word. Ed looked at the pile of towels and huh, that really was new clothes sitting on top of them, folded and neat.

He unfolded them, noting that Stede had bought multiple sizes of the same piece, and slipped into a soft, pastel blue t shirt. The pants were darker, olive green, and felt nice sliding over his legs, buttoning easily across his hips.

He left the rest of the clothes. Logically, he could get a good price on the second hand market for them, but for now he just wanted to keep anything Stede as out of his life as possible.

Tucking the envelope into his new pants - new pants? It was dark out, for fucks sake, when did he even have time to get them? - he grabbed his phone, keys, and wallet from the old before silently leaving the suite, door closing with a click behind him.

Chapter 4: i want a fist around my throat (i wanna cry so hard, i choke)

“Another one signed up,” Frenchie sung, the double doors swinging shut behind him as he entered the backroom with a flourish.

Ed raised his eyebrows, craning his neck from the couch to see him. “Jackie’s going to fire you if she ever finds out about this, you know that, right?”

“Ah, but that’s the brilliance of the plan - she never will,” Frenchie replied, with an exaggerated wink and tapping his nose. “Where’s Lucius, anyway?”

“In a two hour,” Ed said, sinking back into the couches he’d been laying on for the entire shift. “He’ll be coming out soon. It’s been slow.”

“Every day is a slow day for you,” Fang called from the kitchen, and Ed grabbed his sock, throwing it at the doorframe with a weak thwack.

Frenchie stared at the fabric sliding down the frame before flopping into the chair next to Ed, fussing at his feet until the older man pulled them up under him. “Stop being a fucking hog, man,” he grumbled lightheartedly, pulling the blanket from Ed’s lap. “Some of us have been actually working tonight.”

“Excuse you, I’ve been getting up for intros,” Ed said, drawing up into a sitting position. “That’s hard work, these days. Do you know how many times I’ve had to put my shoes on?”

“Less than I’ve had to bend over,” Frenchie retorted, before leaning in close. With mock conspiracy, he cupped his hand to his mouth, whispering loudly, “Word on the street is you’ve been out more days than you’ve been in lately, care to weigh in?”

Ed shoved him back, ignoring Frenchie’s outraged cry as he fell onto his side of the couch. “Last I thought, you didn’t care to listen to the rumour mill around here.”

“Boys, boys, no fighting when I’m not here,” Lucius interrupted, pushing through the doors and taking a seat across from them. “I leave you for five minutes and you steal all my fun.”

“Frenchie’s telling lies,” Ed snapped back, tired, no heat in the words.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Eddie, sweetie, everyone knows about your little rich boy you’ve got on your chain. Don’t be mad at Frenchie for telling the truth.”

“That would be a first,” Ed replied, shooting a grin at the hustler, who simply put his hands up in mock surrender as a reply. “How many clients have you told the truth to about your little scheme, anyway?”

“We have another one?” Lucius asked, leaning forward, delighted, wiggling his hands at Frenchie, palm up. “Cut, give me it.”

“Greedy,” Frenchie tsked, grabbing the folds of cash out of his pants and handing Lucius the wad. “You need to start drawing more dicks and sucking less of them, I’ve fulfilled my part of the deal.”

“It’s a fucking NFT, I’m going to draw one dick and you can give it little hats,” Lucius retorted, tucking the bundle of notes away. “I still can’t believe you’ve got them to invest in this shit.”

Frenchie leaned back, splaying his arms, shrugging one shoulder. “What can I say? Born a hustler, baby. Besides, you mention anonymity to these fucks and they lose their goddamn mind. It’s almost too easy.”

Ed chuckled at that. “You’ve got your target market down, I’ll give you that,” he said, reaching for his drink before settling back into his spot.

The old TV blared between the three of them, repeats of music videos filling the old, falling apart lounge with tinny music. Above them, the fluorescents glowed with a dim light, and the clunk of the old heater turning on and off rattled through the room.

After the third shitty video played, Lucius cast his eyes to Ed with a knowing glance. “So, Stede?” he asked, faux-casual, and Ed sputtered on the drink in his mouth, coughing over the whisky setting up residence in his throat.

“How the fuck do you know his name?” he retorted, wiping his face with his hand, setting the drink down.

“We’ve all seen him,” Lucius replied, waving his hand in dismissal. “You’re the only one who’s gone back twice though. What have you done to him?”

“Nothing,” Ed grumbled, crossing his arms across his chest. “Literally, nothing. The man’s a cunt.”

“Aye, he’s a freak, that’s for sure,” Buttons chimed in from the other room.

Ed raised his eyebrows, staring at Lucius. Even Buttons? he mouthed.

Lucius nodded, smiling so wide it threatened to break his face in two. “I know!”

“I’m fairly sure he just gets off on giving us money,” Frenchie interrupted. “He’s pretty easy though. I don’t mind a basic suck and fuck.”

“Wait, he’s had sex with you?” Ed yelled.

Lucius and Frenchie exchanged a look. “Uh, you do know what the job is, man?” Frenchie said. “No wonder you’re sitting on the couch all shift.”

Ed clapped him across the back of the head, laughing. “No, you fucks. He won’t even touch me.”

“Well, it has been a few years since any of us saw him around these parts,” Lucius mused, sitting back and grabbing his sketchbook. “Maybe that’s why he keeps seeing you. I never would’ve pegged you for a treat them mean, keep them keen kind of guy, but if it’s working…” he trailed off, shrugging.

The buzzer sounded, and Ed groaned, leaning forward and lacing his boots across his feet. They got up, shuffling towards the door in a rough line, and then heading out to one of the intro rooms.

Jim, as always, had beat them to it, and their voice rang out from the curtained room, introducing themselves.

“You’re a boy?” Ed could hear the client ask, and the entire line behind him stifled a laugh.

“Nope,” Jim replied, popping the “p”.

“A girl, then?”

“Nope,” they drawled in response, and Ed knew they were imagining driving a knife between the mans eyes with their answer.

“Huh,” he heard, and he risked a peek into the curtain to see Jim standing, slightly back on one foot, flipping a pen between their fingers with ease. The man was shrouded, probably sitting on the couch - he’d be able to see him soon enough.

“Could you do an hour?” the man asked, after a moment of reflection, and Ed rolled his eyes, used to the routine of the chasers by now.

“Maybe,” Jim replied. “Any questions? I’ll have to warn you, I only let those who’ve paid find out what’s between my legs.”

The client must’ve shaken their head, because Jim swished out of the curtains, giving Ed a glare and mouthing I’m watching you at him before they went back to the girls room.

Ed drew in a breath, before drawing the curtains back and stepping in himself. The client was a mouse of a man, late 50s, greying hair, smaller frame. “Uh, hi. Ed,” he said, thrusting his hand out in an awkward handshake.

The client stared at him, keeping his own hands clasped in his lap. “And you do?”

“The usual - sucking, fucking, getting fucked is extra.”

“Hm,” the man replied, casting his eyes up and down Ed’s form. “I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you,” Ed blurted, suddenly aware of manners, before leaving the room himself and retreating back to the staff room. He took the same spot on the couch, unlacing his boots first before snuggling under the blanket. The guy wouldn’t pick him - he was too interested in Jim, and Ed didn’t blame him one bit.

Under him, his phone buzzed and he drew it out.

Email: Strata Tenancy Co Board

That…..wasn’t going to be good.

Swiping across, he opened it, and paled at the text before him.

Dear Mr. Teach,

We regret to inform you of the following breaches to your tenancy agreement:

Subsection 23A) running an illegal business out of the rental property

Subsection 23B) excessive damage to the property

Subsection 23C) failure to pay rent within time remitted

As such, we are forced to issue you with your final breach and terminate your lease. Your lease will end on 23/4. Please ensure you deliver our keys back to the office before this date, and return the property in a clean and habitable condition.

Kind Regards,

Strata Tenancy Co Board.

“Shiiiiiiiiiiit,” he hissed, under his breath, the phone bending in his palm as he gripped it tight, scanning the words repeatedly to find a loophole, any loophole. Todays’ date flashed in the corner of the screen - 13/4 - giving him barely ten days to find a new house. Fuck. Fuck. Shitting fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“Whatcha looking at - oh shit,” Frenchie exclaimed, peering over his shoulder. “Fuck, man. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Ed ground out, staring at the email, willing for the words to change. “Just, don’t man.”

Frenchie held his hands up, palm outwards, and moved over to Lucius's side of the room, picking up the man’s sketchbook and flipping through it. Ed stared at the email through blinking eyes, willing tears back, trying to tamp down his fears setting up home in the base of his stomach. Ten days. Fuck.

He didn’t have money for bond and security deposit sitting around, let alone enough to pay the movers - and he wasn’t mates with enough people in this town to beg off the day in exchange for pizza. It was the middle of London anyway, and he was always late with his fuckin’ rent. Who the fuck was going to rent to him?

Jackie popped in, calling out Jim’s name - yeah, he knew it, and Ed raised his head. “Jackie, your office?” he asked, hating to beg, hating that he was back in this same spot he’d been in so many times, hating how much the wheels of his life seemed to kick and turn and nothing ever changed.

Jackie took one look at him - shoulders hunched, face demolished, phone in hand - and nodded. “Five minutes.”

—-

He thrust out his phone, watching Jackie’s face change from - well, expressionless to expressionless with a slight bit of sadness - as she scanned the email.

“I need your help,” he begged, swallowing his pride. “I need more shifts. I need a room. Please.”

Jackie leaned back on her chair, eying him up and down. “What are you going to do for it?”

“Come on,” he exclaimed, fisting his hands in his hair, pulling at the rough curls to anchor himself. “I don’t know, okay. I’ve been here long enough. Please.”

He hated having to beg, hated giving Jackie any form of power over him, but he knew he’d be on the better side of this equation soon - and if there was one thing Edward Teach was good at, it was acknowledging when he’d fuckin’ lost the battle. He had his priorities, namely not being on the fucking street, and he was no stranger to retreating to lick his wounds when he was down.

“Look, kid,” Jackie replied, leaning in, uncharacteristically gentle, her eyes turning down at the edges as she loosely grasped her hands together on the desk.

“I’m not your kid,” Ed grunted, averting his eyes, sullen, feet digging into the old, mouldy carpet below him.

“Look, kid,” she emphasised, and Ed scowled. “I can give you a month. This isn’t a boarding house. But you need to be pulling doubles the whole time. I can only give you the rooms when we’re shut.”

He whistled darkly, the bleak prospect of 16 hour days for a month in a row dancing in front of him. “Doubles, five days a week. I need to find a house, Jackie.”

“Six,” she countered, “and you’ll be out of the premises for the whole day on your day off.”

He sighed, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, inhaling. “Six,” he agreed. “I’m not - I’m not gonna fuck you over here, Jackie.”

“I know you won’t,” she replied, opening a drawer from beneath her desk and pulling an engraved pistol from it, setting it between them on the antique desk. “I’m putting my neck out for you, Ed. If you want to continue having one after this, you’ll do what’s good for you.”

Ed stared at the pistol, stared at her, swallowed, and nodded. He wasn’t scared of any old gun - he’d been in more scraps than Jackie probably could imagine - but it was easier to let her think he was. He held out his hand to grab hers, pulling it into a firm handshake. “I’ll have a suitcase 23rd. I’ll be here every night til then.”

“Take a couple days off between,” she interjected, spinning the pistol with one, lazy finger. “You’ve got to pack, and you said it yourself - you need to find a house.”

He nodded, tight, pushing back the chair and moving towards the door.

“Oh, and Ed?” she called, light, knowing.

He turned, meeting her eyes, fist clenching at his side. Wasn’t it enough he’d had to practically beg for a room, enough he’d had to lower himself and throw on her mercy?

“Bonnet called. You’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Who the fuck is Bonnet?” he said, the words tumbling out of him without thinking.

She raised an ungroomed eyebrow, lazy, the kind of look that bore through him and dragged his soul up, screaming. “I thought you’d be on last name basis, after spending at least twelve hours with him in those hotels.”

“Fuck.” His fist clenched harder, foot kicking at the carpet beneath him. “Fuck,” he repeated, settling back against the wall, free hand running through his hair and gathering it in a fist. “What the fuck does he want with me?”

“I thought you’d be getting along well,” Jackie replied, pulling the pistol back to her and locking it in the drawer with a click. “He’s certainly never had a repeat client before. You must be a good influence on him, Ed. I’m proud of you.”

“Fuck off,” he snarled, her sneer raising his hackles. He opened the door with a bang, stomping down the hallways and back into the boys room to settle on his couch spot for the rest of his shift.

Chapter 5: it's in your image i'm made (you reap, you sow)

Ed couldn’t believe he was doing this again.

Jackie hadn’t even said anything as she handed the piece of paper over–though her knowing smirk had been enough for Ed to scowl at her and snatch it out of her hand before curling up in a chair to wait for the cab.

In retrospect, that hadn’t been his smartest decision, he considered, looking at the now torn to shit piece of paper in his hands.

Still, if he squinted his eyes just right, he was pretty sure that last number was a 3, which meant this was the right room, which meant fucking Bonnet was waiting behind that door and he was about to play the world’s weirdest game of gay chicken until he got kicked out again.

But he was getting evicted, and money was money when it came to moving (and every other fuckin’ day of his life), so he drew in a deep breath and knocked.

The door flew open as soon as his hand made contact with the wood and Ed blinked, staring straight into Stede’s eyes, lost momentarily in the haze of blue. “Uh, hi. You were waiting?”

Stede flushed, a sheepish grin overtaking his face. “Yes I suppose I was,” he admitted, ducking his head down and pushing one hand through his hair before stepping aside. “Come in.”

Ed nodded, striding down the hall and nope, still not used to hotel rooms having fuckin’ hallways. “Bathroom?”

“Through there.”

Ed ducked into the bathroom, locking the door behind him and grabbing the envelope which, huh, that felt heavier than usual. He fanned out the cash on the bench before counting in stacks of five hundreds and yep, guilt pays, Bonnet’s upped his game. It was an uncharitable thought, but it was one that was going to pay for his new security deposit, and he shoved the guilt back down into the pit of his stomach as he stuffed the cash in the envelope, before sliding it in his pocket and making the quick phone call to Jackie.

Pleasantries and safeties dispersed with (god i hate this phrasing), Ed slipped back into the hall, walking to the lounge and god, he was starting to get a sense of the layout of the rooms here, this was disgusting. “Did you buy the entire bottle shop again?” he asked, perching on the couch, looking at Stede who was fussing about the kitchenette.

“Just three,” Stede piped up cheerfully, grabbing the bottles from the cupboard he was rifling through and placing them on the bench. “You liked the single malt last time, so I got a slightly different blend of that, and then I noticed you enjoyed the vodka as well. It’s a bit excessive, but I can’t resist a nice port, so I picked myself up a bottle, though you’re welcome to try.”

“I liked whatever was closest to my hands,” Ed corrected, and then seeing Stede’s expression waver hastily continued, “but the single malt did taste incredible, and I’m glad you got it again.”

“Ah, well, not exactly that one,” Stede rambled, eyes lighting up again as he picked up the dark bottle. “This one is aged in Spain, and the crop comes from Mexico - it gives it a little bit of a kick, though it’s still smooth enough to have neat. Shall I pour you a glass?”

“Please,” Ed confessed, the words tumbling out embarrassingly fast.

Stede, to his credit, didn’t call attention to it, and the hotel suite was filled with the sound of boxes being unwrapped and corks pulled with soft pops for a sweet moment before he joined Ed on the couch, sitting at an arm’s length as usual.

Ed took his offered glass and settled back into his spot. “Cheers, then,” he said, holding his glass up to the empty air and Stede did the same. The burn felt cleansing down his throat, the chilli dancing across his tongue, and he savoured the brief tinge of pain.

“Work’s been busy,” Stede offered up, and Ed turned slightly to face him, trying to suppress the shock he felt at Stede fuckin Bonnet starting an actual conversation with him.

“There’s uh, deadlines,” Stede continued, letting his arms drop to rest his elbows on his thighs, both hands clasping the glass in his lap as he leaned forward, resigned. “I’ve been pulling late hours. Mary’s unhappy, of course.”

“Who’s Mary?” Ed asked, instantly cursing himself as soon as the words slipped out, forgetting for half a second they both had lives he didn’t want to know about outside of the six hours they kept spending in these hotel rooms.

“She’s uh - she’s my wife.”

Ed nodded, staring down into his drink, turning the glass around in his hand. “Plenty of guys have wives.”

“She’s not - not like that. I think she’s getting a divorce,” Stede amended, the words rushing out of him. “She should get a divorce. I’m just - do you ever fear hurting someone so much that you let a wound fester until everything rots around it, but you’re so used to the rot you don’t even notice the ache taking over your life?

“Yeah,” Ed sighed, Izzy’s face flashing across his mind. “I get it.”

“She’s unhappy more often than not,” Stede continued, pausing to take a long drink of his port, staring into the muddled purple as he swallowed. “We both are, really.”

“Isn’t that why I’m here?” Ed countered, taking a chance and moving slightly closer on the couch. “I talked to the guys, you know.”

“I thought you might. God knows, if I had to put up with anything close to what you did, I’d need someone to talk about it with too.”

“I don’t think I’m exactly suffering here, mate,” Ed replied, draining his glass to prove a point.

Stede plucked it from his hand and retreated back to the kitchenette, picking up the bottle of single malt. “That’s kind of you. Unnecessarily so.”

He paused for a moment, and Ed watched as he seemed to be judging the bottle in his hands, an internal war playing out across his face before Stede succumbed and brought both bottles back with him, along with Ed’s glass. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m going to be good company. I didn’t want to cancel on you, it seemed rude.”

“Are you kicking me out again? Because that would have to be a world record.” Ed leant forward, grabbing his glass from the table and uncorking the single malt, eyeballing a double before leaning back into the couch. “Seriously, mate. I’m not going to tell you how to spend your money, but what are you even getting out of it by this point?”

“I don’t know,” Stede sighed, taking another swig of port. “I thought. I want things to be different.”

“Well, are they?”

“With you? Yes.”

Ed let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, spreading his spare arm across the back of the couch and kicking his legs up onto the (way too fancy) coffee table. “Then what the fuck are we doing here?”

Stede considered that, staring into his glass again before he drained it in one go and reached out for the single malt.

“Thought you got that one for me,” Ed remarked.

“I have a suspicion port isn’t going to cut it tonight,” Stede replied, filling his glass to the halfway point with whisky and oh jesus, alright then, Ed thought, swigging his own.

“Maybe the problem is the hotel room,” Ed ventured, tentatively.

“You might be right,” Stede agreed, thoughtful, meeting Ed’s eyes. “I don’t want to face the questions at work tomorrow if I’m seen with you, though. It’s happened once before.”

Ed raised his eyebrows at that, a clear invitation to continue, and Stede waved him off.

“Alright, your choice man,” Ed said, his own glass teetering dangerously close to empty at this point. “It’s a shame we can’t get like, fuckin’ costumes or something. You’d look great in a wig.”

He waited for the laughter but none came, Stede’s eyes tightening instead, and Ed could almost see the cogs turning in his head. “I mean it, y’know. You could be a redhead. Get hair down to your waist. It’d be cute. Could even tie it up in pigtails if you want.”

“It’s not the worst idea,” Stede replied, words drawn out and slow, considering. “We could do this.”

“Get bent. It’s 9pm on a Wednesday. Where the fuck are you going to get a wig from?”

Stede smiled, ducking his head to break eye contact, a blush creeping across the apples of his cheeks. “Give me five minutes.”

Ed held his hands up, surrendering, and refilled his glass and oh jesus he was going to need to pace himself a bit better if he didn’t want to end up pensive in the bath again, lost in his thoughts. Still, that was a problem for future Ed, he reasoned, sipping on the smooth liquid and relishing the way the flavours washed over his mouth.

Stede’s soft voice broke his concentration. “Doug? Can you drop around a couple of wigs, some extra clothes - something subtle, department store, cheaper. Not my usual. And another set, more expensive, the size I told you before. Maybe some sunglasses as well.”

He paused for a moment, clearly listening to the man on the other side of the phone. “No, it doesn’t have to be anything special. The more ordinary, the better in fact. Something we can blend in with.”

Another pause. “Great. I’ll tell you tomorrow. Same place, make it soon,” and he hung up, placing the phone face down on the table again.

Ed stared at him, eyes wide, drink forgotten about momentarily. “Stede. What the fuck?”

“He’s my assistant,” Stede offered, as if that didn’t ask more questions than it answered. “You’re right. Maybe it is the hotel rooms that are the problem. Where do you want to go?”

“Uh, I don’t get hired for that. Stede, my man, my job description has three parts to it - suck, fuck, and be fucked. We don’t - going out isn’t a thing.”

“I think the money I gave you should more than cover the extra,’ Stede replied, soft, eyes twinkling. “Besides, we can’t spend six hours in a room. Pick somewhere. Anywhere you’ve wanted to go.”

“It’s not about the money,” Ed exploded, and jesus he was probably drunker than he thought, why did getting older mean his liver had to get older too. “I don’t - no one takes me out, man.”

“Then that changes tonight,” Stede declared, raising his glass in a mock toast. “Anywhere. Your pick.”

“I don’t - I don’t fuckin’ know the places in this city,” Ed stammered, mind tripping over all his usual haunts and cringing at taking Stede, Stede who dropped thousands on him like it was nothing, Stede who hired hotel rooms with fuckin’ hallways to the holes in the wall he’d been prised out of on multiple Monday mornings. He knew of the fancy places, but he didn’t know if they were too expensive for Stede’s taste, and he couldn’t fathom having thousands dropped on him. And then the other places were tiny holes where fights started and he didn’t know if Stede wanted to go there. Trying to work out - to navigate the awkward class conversation and the unsaid expectations, it made his head hurt, and he pounded his glass of single malt which really was way too smooth to be sipping on, this was fuckin’ dangerous. “I don’t know, man. What do you want to do?”

“We could dinner,” Stede replied, easy, obviously completely fuckin’ unaware of the gauntlet of choices he’d just made Ed run through. “Steak? You seem like someone who’d enjoy a steak.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Ed grunted, reaching to fill his glass again and oh no they’d already had a third of the bottle.

They filled the time with pleasantries and grumblings - Stede bitching about work, a particular manuscript slow to be finished, and chasing up numerous authors for their advances. The bottle slowly got emptier and emptier between them, booze flowing freely before a knock at the door rung out through the room.

“That’ll be Doug,” Stede said, standing, swaying, reaching out a hand to the back of the sofa to steady himself. “Wait here. I’ll get it.”

“Nah, nah man,” Ed rose, barely staying up on his own feet, shuffling towards the door. “You’re drunk. I’ll do it. Let me work for the fuckin’ money, for once.”

He didn’t stay to see if Stede acquiesced peacefully, instead making his way to the door, swaying from leg to leg, trying to breathe through the rush of intoxication currently rushing through him. He wrenched the handle open, twisting roughly, to find two paper bags sitting in the hall tied together.

Grabbing them, he kicked the door back shut behind, opening one to read Human Hair Lacefront Wi- and snapped it shut again, realising that Stede had spent more money than he’d ever had in his life on this one little outing. He took a breath, waiting a beat, before making his way to the living area where Stede was waiting, eyes wide, enraptured.

“Come on! Hand it over then,” the man said, and Ed wordlessly passed the two bags to him before taking his customary seat on the couch. Far from Stede, impossible to touch, impossible for any accidental intimacy to happen.

Stede laid out the outfits on the table, and fuck, whoever Doug was they’d gone the full hog.There were multiple wigs in plastic packets, various cheaper satiny pants, and a few jackets across the marble coffee table, and Ed leant forward, whistling as he ran his hand across them. “Jesus Stede, no one has ever taught you how to do things halfway, have they?”

Stede smiled softly, grabbing the red wig for himself, unbuckling the packet and hanging the hair atop his head. “Do you like it?”

Fuck. “Yeah.” Ed’s voice was husky, or maybe just slurred, or perhaps he was just making up things from the drink.

Stede grabbed the tub of hair gel, slicking back his own hair, twisting it around his scalp before stretching the wig cap over it. He placed the red wig on his head properly this time - curly, shoulder length, the new hair shining under the lights of the hotel room.

“Let me gum it,” Ed blurted, and fuck, he reached over to grab the spirit gum, fussing with the nail scissors Stede had so helpfully procured. He shuffled over on the couch,faintly aware of his thigh touching Stede’s, pressing into it, heat running between them. He cupped Stede’s cheek in his hand, trimming the lace before opening the bottle of spirit gum and gluing the rest down, the brush streaking seamlessly across Stede’s forehead, leaving intimate shining streaks behind it.

Stede’s breath was hot on his collarbone, their skin barely apart, scant distance between the two bodies, and Ed was suddenly, keenly aware of their closeness. His breathing stilled, small gasps escaping over his teeth, arousal clenching low in his stomach. The stench of alcohol filled the air, the spirit gum between them setting something sharp and keen off in his nose, and he tried to focus on it, tried to prevent his dick from responding to the fuckin’ man who’d shown basically no interest in him.

He finished gluing it down and capped the bottle with both hands before returning his hands to Stede’s face, tracing the contours of his cheekbone with one hand. “You look good in red,” he mumbled, flushing.

“We should - we should do you,” Stede stammered, moving backwards and grabbing a wig from the table without looking, thrusting it in Ed’s lap. “I’ll - gel.”

Ed looked down and laughed at the packet in his hand, the long blonde wig accosting him, mocking him. “Sure you want this one?”

“It’ll do,” Stede yelped, voice careening dangerously high, grabbing the tub of gel. “Come here. I’ll slick your hair back.”

Between the two of them, they managed to tame Ed’s unruly hair to a vague knot on top of his head, his curls barely pressed in with mountains of hair gel, and he lowered the wig onto his head hatingly. Stede’s fingertips brushed his own as he took the small scissors, and Ed closed his eyes, feeling the cut lace drop down onto his eyelashes before Stede gently brushed it away. Again, the scent of spirit gum filled his nose, and he hissed at the cool splashes of the liquid before Stede’s thumb brushed the excess away, hesitant.

“I’ll let you get changed,” Stede murmured, their faces close, his hands still cupping Ed’s cheeks. “Take whatever you want on the right side. It will fit. Something a little less….you.”

Ed nodded, noting the way his artificial hair brushed against Stede’s forehead as he did, and he held his breath when he retreated, grabbing the first handful of fabric that he touched. “I’ll - bathroom.”

In the bathroom, he marvelled at the way the fabric hung on him, alluring yet discreet. The chinos weren’t his usual style, but the deep blue of them camouflaged the muscles pressing against the cheap satin, and the faded green of the polo offset them nicely. His chest was barely contained by the shirt, but he left the buttons undone and reasoned that if he wasn’t to flex, no one would ever know. Atop it, he’d shrugged into a charcoal grey overcoat, woolen and thick.

The clothes were nicer than anything he’d ever owned, and Stede had got them for a fucking outing. The world tilted to the side for a moment, dangerous, and Ed closed his eyes, breathing deep into his stomach, willing the butterflies to settle. He’d been around men with money before. He could do this.

Opening the door into the hall, he was met with a red haired Stede in tattered fisherman pants, a white, stained shirt hanging off his toned frame. The overall effect worked, he reckoned, raking his eyes across the man. The silhouette was entirely different. No one would know it was the same man - hell, he wouldn’t know if he hadn’t cut the lace on his wig.

“Well? Do you like it?” Stede beamed, turning around in a slow three sixty, glass of whisky outstretched in one hand. “Practically unrecognisable, yes?

“Yeah,” Ed said, enraptured with the man, and hang on he owned those same fuckin’ pants. “Did you just get the same outfit I had when I met you?”

Stede raised one shoulder in a shrug, cheeks colouring again as blood flushed to them. “Doug acquired, but when I realised, well, I couldn’t resist. You looked good. Look good, in fact,” he added, slowly, deliberately casting his eyes up and down Ed’s frame.

Ed shrugged it off, acutely aware of the grumbling of his stomach and the sheer amount of alcohol in his system. “Are we going, or what?”

“Indeed, indeed,” Stede replied, walking briskly to the door. “There’s a nice place a few minutes away, I hope you don’t mind the walk.”

Ed shrugged, acquiescing, easy, and followed him out of the hotel room. It didn’t escape his notice that as soon as they were in public Stede straightened up, stepping away from him, leaving Ed to trail behind in his wake. The elevator was silent, both of them standing apart, Ed not wishing to acknowledge him unless he did first–and by the way Stede was staring directly ahead, that wasn’t going to happen.

The walk to the restaurant was uneventful, but as soon as he saw the line outside Ed skittered to a stop, grabbing Stede’s bicep to slow him down. “Mate. This looks like the kind of place that needs a reservation.”

“Yeah, it is,” Stede agreed, shaking Ed’s hand off him and continuing forward, skipping the line completely.

Ed wasn’t a master of observation, especially not with the better half of a bottle in him, but he was pretty sure Stede hadn’t had the time to phone up and make one since he latched onto this half assed plan. Still, his client was leaving him behind and he had some self preservation instincts left, picking up the pace and hurrying after him.

Inside it was dark, quiet with the warmth of easy chatter flowing through the lush furnishings, and Stede was talking to the hostess. She was angry, stern, and Ed watched as Stede leant in and said something close to her ear. Her face completely changed, lighting up, and Stede held one finger to his lips - the universal shh sound - as she nodded, grabbing two menus and apologising to the couple who had been waiting at the front of the line.

Jesus fucking Christ, Ed thought, bumping through everyone as he caught up to Stede, leaving a few steps between them with deliberate finesse. The wig itched on his head, and he clenched his hands in the hem of his polo, pulling at the expensive fabric.

The hostess lead them to a back booth before darting away, and he slid in opposite Stede, feeling painfully out of place. “Do I want to know how you know her?”

“Probably not,” Stede laughed, passing a menu over to Ed. “Pick anything you want. I’m buying.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ed replied, tired, scanning the menu. There was a noticeable lack of pricing on the side and he frowned slightly, before closing it. Trying to make sense of meals with half a bottle in his system was going to be a fight on the best of days, let alone a day he was managing the world’s most finicky client. “You mentioned steak?”

Stede held a hand up, and a waiter appeared near instantly, smiling, pen hovering over his notepad. “Ribeye, New York strip–both rare–and if you could keep these glasses topped with the bourbon from Scotland that would be appreciated,” he rattled off, and Ed watched, a warmth unfurling in his chest.

“You’re known here then?” he asked, drumming his fingers on the white linen, trying to ignore the burn that was certainly only alcohol currently flowing through his veins.

“In a manner of speaking,” Stede replied, and god, Ed didn’t think he was remotely interested in anyone else doing everything for him until Bonnet had just taken over the whole situation with barely a word. “The owner did a favour for my wife years ago, and his books are published under our house. It’s nothing much. I’m sure you know much more interesting people.”

“Well, a lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” Ed grinned, watching the flush rise in Stede’s face as the implication hit–or maybe it was just the whisky they’d both been pounding the whole night. “I’ve never known anyone to change their entire hair just to eat a steak. We could’ve ordered in, mate.”

“We could’ve,” Stede agreed, nodding slowly, “but you can’t order in steak. It’s overcooked by the time it’ll reach you, and you don’t deserve that.”

“No, apparently I just deserve bubble baths.” Ed knew he was treading dangerous waters, but whether it was the booze or just his natural inclination for needling until he destroyed everything close to him, he couldn’t quite find it in himself to care.

Under the table, a hand crept along his leg–an invitation where no one would see. He grabbed it, intertwining his fingers with Stede, who squeezed softly in reply.

“I’ll run you another one sometime,” Stede said, quiet, apologetic.

The waiter returned then, filling their glasses with bourbon as requested, and Ed shut his retort off, watching the amber liquid cascade into his probably million dollar glass in front of him instead.

“Cheers.” Stede lifted his own glass, another invitation, and Ed took it, clinking quietly before taking a measured sip, keeping an eye on the now-redheaded man the whole time.

“You must have a lot of freedom, back there,” Stede continued, suddenly wistful, hand tightening in Ed’s.

Ed shrugged, withdrawing his own hand from under the table, suddenly uncomfortable and painfully aware of the rich restaurant, the rich man, the clothes he was wearing that probably cost more than he made in a month. “I don’t think I’d call that freedom, mate.”

“I would,” Stede replied, slow, measured, sipping his drink between words.

“Freedom is being able to order a steak without a price on a fuckin’ whim,” Ed snapped out, anger rushing hot through his veins, rising up and flushing his face. “You have an assistant who drops everything at nine at night for you, man. Do you know what I was doing before I saw you tonight?”

Stede inclined his head, a clear go on.

“I’m sitting there, shoving everything I own into garbage bags because I can’t afford to buy cardboard boxes, loading it up in the back of my friend’s fuckin’ car for storage because I don’t have a fuckin’ choice anymore,” Ed blurted, the words tumbling out without pause, the alcohol fuelling the anger swelling up in him. “Freedom is having the fuckin’ choice to do shit like this and hire rooms for people like me and-“

“Ed,” Stede said, quiet, firm, and Ed stopped, drawing in rough breaths, feeling Stede’s fingers press firmly into his knee.

“Sorry,” he muttered, quieter, aware he’d come close to causing a scene. “I mean it though. Don’t sit there across the table and tell me I’m the one with all the fuckin’ freedom in this.”

Stede paused for a second, the beat hanging hot and heavy between them. “What do you mean, you don’t have a choice?”

“Fuck off. I shouldn’t’ve said anything.”

“No, I think you should,” Stede retorted, quiet, firm, eyes steely. “Your things. Where are they going?”

Ed laughed, an ugly sound bursting out of his chest. “Landlords don’t exactly take kindly to people like me, mate.”

“Mmm,” Stede acquiesced, nodding slowly. “I can imagine that would be….difficult.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Ed wanted the retort to be sharp, angry, but it just came out tired and defeated. He took a swig of his drink before continuing, slamming the empty glass back on the table, and jesus he should really stop, he’s lost count completely. “Don’t sit there and talk about fuckin’ freedom, man. At least you’ve got a place to stay.”

“Does Jackie know?”

“Know and actively profiting off it, yeah,” and fuck he should stop drinking before he let out something that would send Jackie’s cronies after him.

Stede’s mouth thinned, his lips pressing together. “Seems…unnecessary.”

“What would you have me do?” Ed asked, quiet, aware of the tension and constant push pull, the client/provider relationship that was getting more and more blurred by the day. He pulled on this thread, he grabbed onto it like a lifeline, knowing that tugging too hard would break everything and shatter the steady money he needed to rely on.

“I can find you a place,” Stede replied, soft, eyes turning kind as his hand grasped Ed’s under the table. “Not with me - I wouldn’t ask that of you. I have flats spare, Ed, if you’d only let me take care of you.”

Ed considered the idea, rolling it around in his head like sticky candy, throat caught on all the ways he knew this was a bad idea but he couldn’t get out of it. “I–it would be temporary,” he stammered. “I don’t know if I could pay rent.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to do any such thing,” quiet, fierce, and Ed was reminded of the amount of money Stede was dropping on these nights with him. “I wouldn’t even have to know the address. I can get Doug to organise it for you. I just want you to be comfortable, Ed.”

“Yeah, that’d be a change,” Ed spat, bitter, soft, rolling the glass of bourbon around in his hand. I shouldn’t have told you, flashed through his mind, the adrenaline curling in the pit of his stomach as he witnessed the trap he was willingly walking into.

“I can make you comfortable,” Stede intoned, that same fierceness blazing through his words, his grip on Ed’s hand pulsing with them. “I won’t have you worrying about this, Edward. In fact-“ and he withdrew his hand, pulling his phone out of his pocket, tapping at the small screen with one hand whilst holding the other up to still Ed’s objections - “it’s done. I’ll give you Doug’s number, you can arrange logistics with him directly.”

Ed swallowed, the lump in his chest blossoming, gripping his lungs, stealing his ability to breathe and he was gripped with the sure knowledge he was making a very fuckin’ bad decision.

“Let’s just have a nice dinner,” Stede continued, smiling at him, clasping his hands together. “Steak. Whisky. A hangover tomorrow that I won’t be able to forget for years. It’ll be good for both of us.”

“Yeah,” Ed agreed, the air whooshing out of him like a deflated balloon. He lifted his eyes, meeting Stede’s, and found his own lips curling up into a smile at the sight of the man in the wig, dressed ridiculously, the man who’d gone through all this trouble just for him. “It’ll be good for us,” he continued, gripping his own hands together, imagining Stede’s hand on his own, imagining them entwined in private, twisting sheets around them, stroking each other’s cheeks, skin ablaze where it touched, and his cheeks flushed as a familiar stirring in his loins overrode the anxiety of knowing he’d just sealed his fate.

Luckily, the waiter arrived, steaks in hand before Ed’s imagination could run any further and Stede’s wistful eyes could drag them back to the dark places, screaming. He smiled, shoving down trepidation and arousal and the firm knowledge that something had shifted between them - slick, wet, heavy, wrong - burying the feelings with expensive steak and light pleasantries and ignoring how the world was shifting around him, racing, too fast for him to catch up.

—-

They stumbled into the elevator together, Ed’s stomach rolling, the meat sitting like a lump in the pit of him. Stede hit his head on the doors on the way in, and Ed prepared to catch him but instead he just laughed, and Stede laughed, and they were so goddamn fuckin’ happy in this little room where no one was watching except the cameras and the staff and fuckin’ dammit.

Stede seemed to remember at the same time and threw his arm off Ed, stepping to the side, jamming his hands in his pockets, and fuck they were still in the damn wigs no one would even notice but Stede was leaning against the side of the elevator now, eyes fixed to the floor, shoulders slumped like Ed was a fire he was going to be burned by even being associated with.

The metaphor wasn’t entirely inaccurate, Ed thought ludicrously, biting down on his bottom lip to suppress the hysterical laughter at the mere thought of the scandal. God, Ed caught up in scandal. He’d come a far cry from the zero nights on the fuckin’ couch and the endless revolving door of tradesmen and blue collar workers he’d forgotten the names of. Now he was in a fuckin’ hotel, and speaking of the hotel the lift dinged and the doors opened and he stumbled out, reaching out to steady himself and grabbing onto Stede’s forearm by accident, meeting the mans eyes in apology, refusing to let go, watching the scarlet rush of blood flush Stede’s face and his body still.

Ed held on, letting his fingers lightly rest, and he wanted Stede to believe him, begged with his eyes, please just let yourself have this and Stede held them for a moment, scandalised, fear playing across his face before he shook Ed off and strode forward to the suite and yeah, it could be like that, I guess and Ed was trailing his own hands on the wall instead, two steps behind as always.

The door unlocked with a click and the breath rushed out of Stede before he grabbed Ed, pressing him against the wall, pressing his mouth into Ed with a fervour he’d not felt by the man before, covered in sweat and stinking of whisky and Ed opened his own mouth with a sigh, letting himself be explored, known, seen. Stede pulled at the artificial hair on Ed’s head, and Ed winced at the tug of skin where the spirit gum was holding it, but let himself be tipped back and opened up for every inch of Stede to inspect him with his tongue, his lips, his skin, his hands, and the kiss was hot, violent, rough, sloppy, and he groaned, loose, weak.

Stede plunged his hands under Ed’s polo, still kissing him, letting his hands traverse up the scarred skin of Ed’s form and Ed found himself tugging at the back of Stede’s own significantly less nice shirt, begging let me in, let me touch you, let me see you and-

-they broke off, Stede hiding his head next to Ed, forehead placed on the wall, hot breaths assaulting Ed’s ear as he tried to pace his own breathing, staring at the ceiling, willing the blood rushing through him to calm, take a moment, his thoughts a tangled haze strangled with arousal and alcohol and chemicals flowing through him.

“You okay?” Ed asked, and he meant now, but he also meant back then, and he meant for all the times in Stede’s life he’d had to hide in private rooms and been burned in public, and he placed his hand on the small of Stede’s back, bringing him in close, feeling the man’s skin rise and fall rapidly in time with the rasps against his ear.

“Bed,” and Stede’s voice broke on the single word, his hand tangling in Ed’s shirt from the inside, grabbing, pulling him close and they were stumbling down the hall, tangled legs and tangled hearts and tangled breath into each other before Stede threw a door open - a door, really? - and Ed found himself suddenly horizontal, hands grabbing out at the man above him, next to him, all around him.

“I’m not getting shoved across the room again,” Ed warned before he found Stede, finally, and ducked his head to lick a hot, red stripe up Stede’s neck and Stede keened, throwing his head back, Ed suckling kisses across the line he marked, Stede grabbing at Ed’s back in a nonsensical rhythm. Ed grabbed at Stede’s shirt and pulled, down, the cheap fabric giving up easily under pressure and he dove in to kiss across Stede’s collarbones, his hand finding Stede’s head and wrenching it to the side, forcing himself in.

Stede was panting on the bed, hips bucking, and his hands were working at pulling Ed’s shirt over his back, fluttering uselessly with every kiss Ed sucked into him. Ed huffed, a soft laugh, and pulled up for a second to pull his own shirt over, throwing it into the corner before continuing the assault on Stede’s chest, pinning the man down with his forearm thrown across his shoulders, kissing a trail down to his stomach.

Ed knew he wasn’t up for much, felt the half three quarter full bottle of whisky rolling around in his stomach and running through his blood, his dick soft between his thighs despite the coil of arousal in his stomach, and he untied the string holding Stede’s pants up - the fucker really did get exactly the same pants as my first outfit - pushing the fabric down and wrapping his mouth around Stede’s soft cock.

Stede fisted his hand in Ed’s artificial, blonde hair, the wig pulling at his skin again, and Ed winced as he mouthed along the underside of Stede’s cock, tongue darting out, licking little patterns into it. He rolled Stede’s balls in his hand, his tongue twirling lazy circles around the head of Stede’s cock, and laughed as Stede let out a strangled whine.

Splaying his free hand across Stede’s chest, a heavy stay there, I’m here, I’ve got you, he licked across Stede’s smooth balls, drawing one into his mouth, rolling it, suckling softly. He fanned his fingers across Stede’s cock, flexing his palm around it, coaxing blood to where blood had no right to reside after their night, and it was with a broken cry Stede found himself becoming half hard, his prick sluggishly stiffening in Ed’s hands.

Ed found his hand batted away, his head catching the back of the soft slap, and he looked up, tired, the routine of it all hitting him.

“Just - come here?” Stede asked/begged, soft, pleading. “Come up?”

Ed acquiesced, silent, his head rolling with the chemicals and the echoes of Stede’s fingers pushing it away. He tucked his head into Stede’s shoulder, snuggling around the man who, once again, was laying with his cock out and coated in steadfast refusal.

“Y’know, I’m pretty good at making people cum,” Ed drawled, the words slipping out, smooth like silk and honey and all the things that didn’t belong to him.

Stede laughed at that, hysterical, high pitched and slipping further up the register with every millisecond that passed. “Yeah. I know. Darling, I know.”

“Haven’t called me darling before,” Ed pointed out, drawing circles on Stede’s chest, slow, languid. “So, why won’t you let me?”

The laugh slipped even higher, Stede grabbing at his fake wig, pulling at it, eyes rolling back into the ceiling. “I did. I did, and the bath, and I ruined it, and I–“

Ed let Stede cut himself off, the laughter turning shrieking, and crying, and there were tears running down Stede’s face now and he could blame it on the booze but they both knew there was something stronger behind this, so he just kept tracing circles on Stede’s chest and waited.

“I have a wife.”

“I know.”

“I have–I have a wife.”

Ed shrugged. “Doesn’t stop the rest of them. Didn’t stop you with the rest of them, if I’ve heard right.”

“Discretion, if only I could rely on it,” Stede muttered, the words wooden with brittle resentment, a disappointment he’d come to tender with a long time ago. “I know. There was–“

“-a guy, I get it.” Ed had heard the stories of someone getting fired back in the day, before his time, times where Jackie was running damage control. “Who found out?”

“No one that mattered,” Stede admitted, guilt laden in his tone. “I haven’t since. I thought I could do this, lead this double life, have none of it get back to Mary and the company and my family and I just–I can’t, Ed.”

“So, why do you keep calling me back?” His hand stilled, and he looked up at Stede, trying to meet his eyes, settling for a kiss on the neck when he couldn’t and relishing in the moan that tore its way from Stede’s throat as a consolation prize.

The words, when they finally came, were laborious, dragging themselves out of Stede’s throat slowly, an admission full of heat and heavy and yet meaning nothing at all. “I like–I don’t feel in control around you.”

Ed paused at that, suckling a spot into Stede’s shoulder, turning the words over in his head. “I can do that,” he purred, grasping onto the port in the storm, finally something fuckin’ normal for a client/provider relationship. The words sat wrong on his tongue, more likely to be uttered in the darkness of the brothel, or murmured in an intro, but the sanctity of the standardised dynamic was a relief, a structure to be clung to for a reason, and he seized it with everything he could.

“You already do it,” Stede murmured, pressing a kiss into Ed’s wig, winding his arm around Ed and pulling him close.

“No, I mean I can do that,” Ed continued, voice dropping low and full of meaning, innuendo slipping off the words and he watched as Stede got it, eyes widening and mouth parting, a short gasp drawn in over his teeth and Ed smiled. “Next time, but not tonight. If you’d like.”

“I think I’d like that very much,” Stede confessed, small, mouselike, his hand digging into where it had curled around Ed. “If you don’t mind.”

“For the amount you’re paying me-“ and the words were wrong again, slick with poison but he tried to force it back into the dynamic, into the boundaries they needed to have, into the position he could feel himself slipping from, into something more nebulous, undefined, with more potential to hurt–“I can do anything you want.”

And Stede beamed, and Ed kept that slow, languid smile on his face, and Stede pressed into him, hiding his face. Ed held him, stroking his back, and pushed back the thoughts of Stede under him, crying out, inside him, holding him, waking up next to him, and he reminded himself the client/provider relationship and buried everything awakening in him that didn’t fit into the rigid walls he was building to keep himself safe, deep and underground. It was snaking into the foundations of the tipped power dynamic scale he was trying so desperately to right, the one that had him pitched off into the dark, the one that had him with nothing but a reliance on Stede for housing and holding and handling. He was staggering, falling off; he didn’t know which way was up and he knew it was wrong, knew it was only going to fuck him over in the end, but for a moment he let himself look at the man curled around him and believe that he’d be there to catch Ed before he hit the ground.

Chapter 6: bet she was brutal and bratty (bet that she'll never be happy)

“The fuck are you doing here?” Lucius asked, raising eyebrows, pointing his head meaningfully at the clock showing 11:03am.

Ed shrugged, his civ clothes sitting heavy on him, crossed legs on the couch. “Professional development.”

Lucius clicked his tongue, going back to his sketches, and Ed sat, waiting, the TV blaring the same old music videos that accosted them at night. The room was uncomfortably warm, designed more for the night outfits that were barely scraps of fabric held together with quick bowline knots, and he was sticking to the t shirt and cargo pants he was in, but fuck if he was getting dressed up for something he wasn’t even getting paid for.

Well, he supposed, I’d be getting paid for it later.

Besides, he’d been a worker for way too long to count and every other industry got professional development. He probably should invest something into his work, learn from someone, pick up some new skill sets. The brothel down the road had a revolving door of girls with new tits, new faces, new asses, and whilst he wasn’t against going under the knife, necessarily, he didn’t think at his age it was going to help much of anything.

Jackie had been told, obviously, and she grumbled about it but Ed spun that little lie of being indispensable, that little song of Bonnet asked for it, and she acquiesced under pain of six hour bookings, pain of a thirty percent cut of a sure thing, and whilst she asked Ed if he was sure about what he’s doing here, I’m not paying for the bills if it goes wrong, Ed fobbed her off and Izzy gave her one look and she folded like a dog blinded by the golden trail under its nose.

The door kicked open behind him, shaking Ed from his thoughts, and he met Izzy’s glare, only to be blinded by a stack of towels hitting his face.

“If you’re doing this, you’re gonna make yourself useful, you hear,” Izzy called, and Ed grumbled, aware of the favour he was asking, aware of how he’d had to debase himself over a drink in his new fuckin’ fancy apartment for Izzy to even consider it. He tucked the towels under his hand, and Iz was in the kitchen, fussing with plates, heating up an empty one in the microwave.

Ed raised his eyebrows now, looking at the rotating china before looking back at Iz. “Didn’t think you did that kind of thing, with your work.”

“Not normally, no,” Izzy replied slowly, the microwave beeping between them. “Felt like a treat. It’ll be like the old days. Besides, if you can make a man cry while you’re high off your tits, I’m sure you won’t have an issue with fuckin’ Bonnet in his fancy hotel suites that won’t even have a plate to microwave.”

Yeah, Ed had no answer for that one. He followed Izzy down the hall, noting the latex that clad his childhood friend, the leggings reflecting the low lights of the intro rooms, the latex vest stretching over his pecs, and they trudged until they found the very last room in the entire building - far away from everything, and soundproofed to hell and back.

Izzy held a finger to his lips, waiting for Ed’s nod before opening, and Ed crept in behind him, the room bright, harsh, the lights turned up to the full degree. Underneath them, steel tiling dully reflected the fluorescents, the walls sheets of stainless steel and mirrors. There was a bench to one side, with implements carefully laid out across it, a bed in one corner of the room with a cage underneath, a table and some chairs, and in the middle, a man hanging, naked, blindfolded, his wrists above his head and looped around the ceiling point.

He was groaning lightly, weight lolling on his feet, shoulders bearing the majority of his body, and Ed watched as Izzy placed the plate on the table with a loud clang before turning and landing a kick squarely in the mans ribs.

Huh. He could get used to this.

“Ed, Alan. Alan, your worst nightmare, as far as you’re concerned,” Izzy drawled, stalking over to the man and grabbing at his hair. “Do you want to tell him what you brought in here?”

The man whined as Izzy wrenched his hair back, shaking his head as much as he could with the firm grip, a tear eking its way from under the blindfold.

“Ed, go search his pants,” Izzy ordered, and Ed followed and fuck, he knew Iz was a cunt but he’d never seen him like this before. The pants were folded in a neat pile on the bed, and he plunged his hand into the pockets, knowing what he’d find, thrusting the two bags of white powder out pridefully, tsking loudly.

The sub whined, feet scrabbling away from Iz, chained in place by the hand twisting further in his hair. “What did I say?” Iz hissed, biting down on his throat, grinding his teeth into the tendon.

“No - no bringing consumables unless you’re going to share,” the man blubbed, and Ed raised an eyebrow at that, recognising the mantra their year two teacher used to sing across the classroom.

“Shut up,” Izzy grumbled, letting the man go, directing it at Ed but the man trembled regardless, stumbling to get his feet under him, only upright by the rope around his wrists pulling his shoulders almost out of the sockets. “I’m going to take your card, and take your notes, and empty that coke down my fuckin’ throat. I might even take your card with me at the end. Maybe I’ll be too high to remember to give it back. Maybe I’ll think it’s mine and I’ll order something online, an e-stim kit, a few floggers, a suspension rig, and when your wife sees the statements you’re going to have to explain how they got there. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll tell her that this evil man stole your wallet and stole your cards and you’ll describe me to her, forgetting that I’ve got your ID, with your current address on it, and I’ll tell her everything you begged me for over tea because I know where you live, you stupid, idiotic, fuck.”

Izzy grabbed the bags off Ed, motioning for him to follow, and they sat at the table. Izzy opened one, setting the other to the side for now, tilting it and tapping out a small amount. The man’s wallet sat next to them, and Ed rifled through it, coming up with a hundred pound note and his credit card, passing the card to Iz who began cutting the coke into six small piles, chopping it into straight lines, the sound of scraping and tapping echoing off the steel walls for half a minute, the subs sobs softening in the background.

Ed rolled the note, tucking the corner in to keep the shape, holding it out to Izzy who took it with a nod, ducking his head down and pinching his left nostril shut, inhaling the line with a sickening ease before passing the note back.

Tucking his hair behind his ears, Ed grabbed the card, neatening up his own line–he always preferred them skinny and long, as opposed to Izzy’s fat bumps–before pressing his own thumb against his right nostril and holding the note to it. The sharp edges pressed against the delicate skin on the inside of his nose, tucked in ever so slightly, and the coke burned as he inhaled, dripping bitterly down the back of his throat. He tucked the rolled note and dirtied card under the side of the plate, sitting back as the rush hit him, stomach unfurling before his veins lit up with the familiar fire, relaxing and full of purpose at the same time, light and tingling.

“Good coke,” he commented.

Izzy smiled, sardonic, loaded. “Yeah. Alan always gets the good stuff, doesn’t he? Too bad he never learns his lesson.”

“No - no sir,” the sub stammered from across the room.

Izzy threw his own shoe at the man, ignoring the pained cry that rang through as it connected with his shoulder. “Wasn’t talking to you, cunt.”

He untied his other one before leaning back on the chair, fixing Ed with a look. “So, your posh boy wants this?”

“Iz, I think you’d kill him if you brought him in here,” Ed replied, laughing. “He had a heart attack when he came, once. There was bubble bath involved.”

“Jesus Christ, Ed,” Iz whistled, breath thin through his teeth. “The fuck do you want me for.”

Ed shrugged, uneasy. “He wants - something like this. I think I’m gonna lose him if I don’t change it up soon, Iz. It’s been three bookings, and he won’t even let me near his cock. Says he likes how I make him lose control, as if he’s ever been anything but a stuffed up rich boy with an eternal stick up his ass.”

“You’re trying to fuck the rich version of me. Is that what I’m hearing?” Izzy replied, drumming his fingers on the table.

“I’m not trying to fuck him,” Ed exhaled, exasperated. “I’m trying to take his fuckin’ money, Iz.”

“Same same, with you lot in that lounge.” Izzy took a look at his sub, finally having got his footing aground under him, before looking over the implements laid out next to them. “I can teach you what to do so you don’t accidentally murder him before he writes you in his will, but that’s about it.”

“That’s all I wanted, Iz.” Ed was looking at the implements laid out next to them now, the floggers and canes and paddles he’d seen before but never aimed at someone else - unless you counted their twenties, drunk in bars no one ever spoke about, dark corners and Izzy crying on his fingers, Ed’s hands jammed over his mouth to keep him quiet.

Iz snorted. “Yeah, take your eyes off those for now. This one hasn’t got me written in his will either. Seems you’ve got some sense of self preservation, haven’t you?” and he raised his voice on the last sentence, clearly directing it at the tied up man.

To his credit, Alan, possibly remembering the shoe bouncing off his shoulder, kept quiet.

“One more before we start?”

“Don’t even have to ask,” Ed replied, handing the note to Izzy before he inhaled his own line, smaller, with no less of a rush prickling his veins as it dripped, his face twisting with the bitterness.

“Alright, up you get,” Iz commanded, walking over to the sub and pulling on a length of rope to drop the man into his waiting arms. “Basics, it’s your lucky fuckin’ day, Alan. Rope, impact, wax, knives, chemplay. I trust you know how to tackle the roleplays yourself?”

“Been shoved into that nurse’s outfit Jackie calls “new” enough times, yeah,” Ed grunted out in reply, grabbing the sub’s legs and carrying him over to the bed, depositing him carefully onto the hard surface. Alan shivered in their arms, another tear running from the blindfold, and Izzy rolled his eyes at Ed.

Yeah, he knew the pain of a job shared well enough, the stolen glances when the client wasn’t looking, the can you really believe we’re getting paid for this mouthed over shoulders and hidden from view. He got it.

Izzy jerked his head over his shoulder at the rope hanging from loops on the wall, and Ed left him on the bed, walking to the wall, wrapping the lengths around his forearm. The waxed jute slid smoothly on his skin, and he took a moment to get lost in the sensation of it, the inherent roughness of the material tamed by the wax coating and–yeah, he was high, he should get back.

On the bed, Izzy had taken off the subs blindfold, and was cupping his face in a mockery of tenderness. His head was down, close to the ear of the man, and Ed caught Alan’s eyes for a moment–terrified, wide with horror.

He grinned, waving.

Alan’s breath hitched, his fingers clenching at nothing, and Ed joined them back on the bed–just in time to watch Izzy’s grip tighten, pressing divots into his cheek and pushing the bone out of his face, pulling the flesh tight across Alan’s skull.

“Was just telling Alan about how high we are, over here,” Izzy said, conversational, lazy, hands tightening with each word, eyes boring into Alans the whole time. “I don’t know if I’ll be a good teacher high, Ed. What do you say?”

“I dunno, man. Kind of seems like you’ll get the basics down. Not sure if you’ll remember the safety,” Ed jeered, running the rope through his hands, watching Alan’s eyes widen at the words, “but I don’t really know if we’ll need it with this git. How often do you see him?”

“Not often enough,” Izzy replied, cold, nails pressing into the cheekbone under Alan’s eye, pushing him into the bed. “Always good to start on a spare, right? Less trouble for you later, if it goes wrong.”

Under them, Alan cried.

Izzy slapped him, rude, brutal, Alan’s head snapping to the side with the impact. “Don’t be such a fucking cunt, Alan. Ed didn’t ask for your tears. Jesus Christ, you’re going to make me have to clean them up. I don’t wanna bother with your stupid fluids on this fuckin’ bed. Should’ve put you on the floor.”

Jesus, Ed mouthed from behind Alan’s head. Yeah, he’d definitely made the wrong move going into hooking. Who knew he could’ve been doing this the whole time.

“Do you want to be the slightest bit useful, you sniveling weasel, and at least let Ed learn off of you?” Izzy demanded, still staring into Alan’s eyes, the latex and silver peppered haired figure looming over the still crying man on the bed.

Alan nodded, sniffing.

“Then shut the fuck up, apologise, and give me your hands.” Izzy didn’t wait for an apology, snatching them anyway, bringing them above Alan’s head to meet Ed. “Alright, you want to loop the rope in half and get the bight–and don’t be a shit, I know I’ve taught up what this means.”

Ed held up the loop at the midway, sliding it along the man’s wrist, and followed Izzy’s directions–around twice, two fingers underneath, and then pull underneath the wraps, twist off the excess, pull the bight through and tighten.

“If you do it right,” Izzy said, tugging at the remaining length, “it shouldn’t tighten, which is helpful if they want to keep their hand. It doesn’t matter much with this twat, but you might care about it with others.”

“Yeah, I think my guy would probably like to keep his,” Ed replied, the words dripping over his tongue, deliberately slow–an effort with the coke running through his system.

Iz untied it with ease, letting his hand drift down into Alan’s hair, alternating tugging and pulling in various directions “Again.”

When Ed had done the basic knot five times, Izzy decreed him proficient–with a celebratory line of coke, of course–and set upon teaching him the basic chest harness.

“Jesus fuck, none of this makes any sense,” Ed grumbled, the rope slipping off Alan’s shoulders again.

“Slip knot, lock it off, over, under, lock it off, over again, back to where you started, lock off,” Izzy recited, a tired old refrain. “It’s not that hard. Bring the rope in the opposite direction to lock off, and stop bloody pushing it under–you’re only going to warp the weave.”

“How the fuck am I meant to pull when it’s clearly a push motion?” Ed retorted, light, jovial, punching Izzy in the shoulder.

“Like this, you absolute fuck–don’t you dare move, Alan.” Izzy took the rope from Ed’s hands and suddenly a chest harness was woven over Alan, like it was fuckin’ easy.

“See, the benefits of this,” Izzy continued, wrapping his hand around the knot at the centre of Alan’s ribs, “is that you can pull him like this,” and with a wrench, Alan was toppling over, knees under him, ass prostrated in the air.

“See, it’s useful. Learn it. I’m cutting another line and you’re not getting one ‘til you finish this.’

“Oh, you cunt,” Ed whispered under his breath, examining the rope work underneath him, pulling Alan back up to untie it. He ignored the rise and fall of Alan’s breath, paid no notice to his expressions, absorbed in the problem ahead of him.

By the time Izzy had two lines all to himself–the greedy fuck–Ed could finally tie the harness and he locked it off, pulling experimentally and giving out a whoop before carting over the bed and to the table. “I’ll take this, thank you,” he grinned, grabbing the note and card from Izzy’s hand and chopping himself a line twice as long as he’d usually take.

“Congrats, you’ve graduated kindergarten,” Izzy retorted dryly, casting an eye over Ed’s work. “It’ll do. If your man starts feeling like he wants to swing from the ceilings, do me a favour and refer him, would you?”

Ed laughed, the world slipping off his shoulders, everything feeling easier, brighter. “Mate, if he ever decides to start hanging out like you do-“ he broke off, trying to envision Stede in all his finery trussed up in rope, swinging from the ceiling, probably narrating it the whole damn time and howled with laughter, bending over, thumping his knee.

“Pigs fly, eventually. Isn’t that right, Alan?”

The “yes, sir,” that replied was slurred, uneven, taking a beat for the words to form and Ed exchanged a look with Izzy–Jackie had been serious about the bills threat. Izzy waved him off, mouthed it’s normal, and Ed relaxed, drumming his fingers back on the table, casting eyes over the implement table again.

“Alright,” Izzy barked, and fuck that had Ed standing at attention too, the authority a steel, unwavering undertone in his voice. “Ed, pick something. Alan, arse up.”

Alan managed to shuffle over onto his stomach, drawing his knees under him, hands still bound from Ed’s lessons on double columns. Ed cast his eyes over the table of implements and picked up a wooden cane, thin, bamboo ridges unevenly across the length.

Izzy whistled at the choice. “Boarding school fetish there, Teach?”

“It’s your damn cane,” Ed retorted, laughing, and it was where they grew up, where they met, where they shared nights huddled together but bringing those memories into this place felt like sacrilege, so he focused on Alan instead, swatting it playfully at the offered ass.

“Here, here,” and Izzy placed his fingers at the top of Alan’s ass, and the top of his knees, “and between here and here,” drawing a line from bottom of shoulder blades to base of the neck, “but never between. Feet if you’re feeling nice. Feet with whips if you’re feeling mean.”

He placed his hand on Alan’s back, a reminder, and under him the submissive man shuddered before settling, face pushed down into the hard bed under him and ass arched up for the taking.

“Now, if you don’t want to leave marks, you should be warming them up first–what do you think, Alan? Should we let your wife take off your pants tonight to find matching stripes across your arse? Do you think that’s a suitable punishment for not planning to share?”

“Please, no,” the man begged, crying again, and Izzy rolled his eyes at Ed. Take over here, he mouthed, and Ed placed the cane aside, taking a seat upon the bed. He tangled his fist in the mess of rope around Alan’s back, carding one hand through his hair for the sheer force of somethin’ to fuckin’ do.

The crying man pressed his head into Ed’s thigh–probably grateful for the soft touch–and Ed suppressed the recoil, disgust curling low in his stomach.

He watched Izzy pick up one of the softer floggers, suede tails hanging heavily from the handle, and settle behind him, starting with a slow figure eight rhythm, the steady sounds echoing in the room. Alan groaned, shifting, pressing his arse up higher, and Izzy caught Ed’s eyes, rolling his own.

Izzy was a damn delight to watch, wielding a flogger. The latex clinging to his form somehow elongated the man, turning his body into one long sinewy shape shifting easily from side to side with each swing of the flogger. His hips moved in the opposite direction of the tails, bare arm extended out, holding its own circular, smooth tempo. The entire picture was hypnotic, easy, steady, smooth, and Ed found himself lost in the visual, the thwacks metering out time.

“Yeah, I’m not teaching you how to flog,” Iz laughed, breaking Ed out of his reverie, placing the flogger down next to him. “I remember what happened when you tried to throw a dart once in that bar. We’d need at least six weeks before you manage to even hit this cunts arse.”

Ed untangled his hand from Alan’s hair, moving off the bed to stand behind the man, ignoring the little cry that tore its way from Alan’s throat at the absence. His ass was a dusky pink, small welts raising across the sides, and–he held out his hand–warm to the touch.

“Yeah, yeah alright, go get your cane,” Izzy said, a small note of pride in his voice. “Unless you’re gonna split him open with it–which, to be clear, you’re not–he’ll be fine. And if he’s not, it’s your own damn fault, isn’t it, cunt?” He punctuated the last part with a soft kick to Alan’s ass, and the man pitched forward slightly, groaning happily.

Ed picked up the cane, wrapping his hands around the rubber coated handle, tapping the bamboo lightly against Alan’s flushed butt. “I think I can work out how to hit a man, Iz,” he pointed out, dry.

“Yeah, probably,” Izzy replied, shifting back to the bed, holding Alan’s head in his lap and carding his hand through this man’s hair, “but you would’ve split your guys arse open on the first stroke. Besides, Alan so generously gave us all of his coke–he probably deserves a little bit of a reward.”

Alan made a happy noise, snuggling deeper into Izzy’s lap, thrusting his ass further up in the air, and Izzy rolled his eyes again, yawning, deliberate.

Yeah, Ed could recognise a cue when he saw one. He brought up the cane, whistling through the air before it made a soundless impact on Alan’s ass, and the man jumped underneath him, twitchy, uneasy. He didn’t give him a second to take in it, raising it again and meeting the blood-flushed skin with another firm hit, lines blossoming across both cheeks, red horizontal welts forming.

He settled into a rhythm, the hits hard, relentless, bringing up lines across the subs skin each time the bamboo connected, evenly spaced across his pink ass. Iz held up a hand at the tenth one, and Ed stopped, wordless, before Izzy gestured to the plate on the table.

Fair play, Ed thought, placing the cane on top of Alan’s ass, bringing the plate, note, and card over, cutting lines for both of them. Izzy took his silently, Alan’s head still cowered in his lap, blinded by the position, and Ed did the same, rolling his shoulders back as the familiar rush burned through him.

He picked up the cane again, hitting harder, faster, and Alan whimpered, skating under them. Izzy tightened his hand in the mains hair, placing a hand on his back to keep him in place, and Ed moved to the sensitive underside of the man’s thighs, cane meeting the crease underneath his arse.

Alan yelped, feet curling under him, and Ed laughed, cruel, mean.

“Spread your legs,” Izzy drawled, tightening the hand in Alan’s hair, and the man let out a soft whimper as he obeyed him, knees dragging on the vinyl mattress. His cock hung heavy between his legs, swollen with blood, the tip purple and leaking and man, it wasn’t like Ed didn’t know people were into this, but it was different seeing the effect first hand from your handiwork.

He laid another stripe into the man, trying to keep it even, but it was harder when the legs were spread, the ass apart. Instead he changed his focus to the backs of the thighs, laying into them, the coke fueling every stroke.

He moved up the thighs to the crease of Alan’s bum again, laying a particularly hard stroke, and Alan screamed, lurching forward into Izzy, his balls swinging with the fierce movement. Ed stepped aside, letting the cane hang in his hands, watching Izzy pat his subs face gently, stroking his thumb along his cheekbone to collect the tears the man was depositing into his lap.

“It’s a good thing you’ve already had all your kids, right?” Izzy murmured, gentle, sweet, loving, and the shift in tone was whiplash to Ed’s ears. Izzy raised his head, smirking at Ed, shaking his head. “If you’re going to hit his balls–and excellent shot, by the way–I’d probably recommend starting out a bit lighter. Luckily Alan doesn’t half mind that particular trick, does he?”

The sub let out a rueful sob, still shaking in Izzy’s arms. Izzy rolled his eyes again, crossing his legs under him and heaving the sub further into his lap. “Go check in with Jackie, I’ll take care of this.”

Ed nodded, racking up a half bump before he left, the door slamming shut behind him and huh, it really was soundproof, he couldn’t hear the man crying at all in the hallway. Probably better for their vanilla clients, he supposed, wouldn’t want them hearing shrieks on the way to their booking.

He gave Jackie a nod in the hallway as he passed, and she shook her head, turning away, a clear cold shoulder. Whatever, it wasn’t her business to be interfering in any way. He made his way to the boys room, elbowing the door open, moving to the kitchen.

Lucius hadn’t moved–well, it was dayshift after all–and Ed felt his eyes follow him into the kitchen, keen, knowing. “How’s it going?” he called out.

Ed shrugged in reply, opening the door of the fridge and staring down the almost-empty shelves before snagging an orange, leaning back against the bench to peel it. The juice was tingly on his hands, settling into the cuts he didn’t know he had, and he relished the sensation against the coke dancing under his skin. “It’s….educational.”

“Izzy sick of your shit yet?”

Ed let out a bark of laughter at that–it had been decades at this point, and he wasn’t sure either of them could shake each other off if they tried. “Something like that,” he allowed, peeling another segment. “His guy started crying. Guess he just couldn’t handle the Ed-meister.”

Lucius raised his eyebrow, shutting his sketchbook with a deliberately loud thump. “Okay, one,” he held up a finger, “never call yourself that again and two,” he flipped up another, “I’m fairly sure that’s meant to be the point?”

Ed chucked a slice of orange in the air, trying to catch it with his mouth, his teeth clenching shut around nothing and he laughed. “Yeah, suppose so, mate. Guess not, hey.”

“Jesus,” Lucius breathed, rising from the couch and walking slowly towards Ed, pausing at the doorway to the kitchen. “You’ve got a little something under your nose there, Ed.”

“Unsurprising.” Ed sniffed and felt the bitterness hit his nose once again, the familiar echoes of the rush more placebo at this point. “Iz is spouting nonsense from our second grade teacher at this point, Lucius. You should hear him.”

“Yeah, nah, I think I’ve heard enough between you two for a lifetime.” Lucius stared at Ed with a look of disdain on his face, and Ed supposed he probably looked a little disheveled at this point, between all the cocaine and the rope work and the beating the shit out of people.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Bring the ginger, thanks - Izzy Hands (That One Cunt You Can’t Get Rid Of)

“Needs must,” he tossed off, turning back to the fridge and digging the bulbous root out of the crisper. He had always wondered why they bothered keeping it in here - it wasn’t like anyone was cooking up meals between bookings.

“Have fun,” Lucius muttered as Ed pushed past him, back down the familiar halls.

In the room, Izzy had dragged out what looked like a vinyl massaged table. Alan was lashed down upon it, on his stomach, hands and legs tied to each end of the table, keeping his thighs spread apart and Ed blanched at the sight of the mans hairy asshole exposed under the bright lights.

Izzy was fussing with a lighter, flicking it, the flame spluttering out with each attempt. “Fucking Jackie,” he muttered, rolling the flint between words to no success.

Ed placed the root of ginger next to the line up of floggers and came over to Izzy, wrapping his hands around him from behind, plucking the lighter out of his hands and rolling it successfully on the first try. Between them, a flame sprung up, burning bright yellow and Ed brought it close to Izzy’s latex, teasing.

“Prick,” Izzy cursed under his breath, grabbing the lighter from Ed’s hands, the flame going out as soon as Ed’s thumb left the gas. “You want to make this cunt burn?”

Ed stared at Alan, splayed out on the table, ass red against the rest of his pasty skin, flecks of dandruff peeling off and his back dotted with blackheads and knew, without a doubt, the answer was yes.

“We’re not doing knives, you can bring your boy to me yourself for that shit,” Izzy grumbled, before raising his voice. “What do you say to the nice man, Alan? He promised me he isn’t going to peel the skin from your back after your pathetic little show back there. Do you have anything you’d like to tell him? Anything you want to ask, maybe?”

A strangled, muffled sound came out of the man under them and Ed noticed the leather strap around the back of the man’s head–gagged, then. He chuckled softly, moving to run a finger under it, fussing with the buckle. “Iz, mate. I don’t think you’re playing fair with this one.”

“Nah, I’m not,” Izzy agreed, picking up a candle in one hand and setting it alight. “Thought it would be more fun this way.”

“You’re not wrong,” Ed replied, accepting the offered candle, wrapping his hand around the blue, tapered thick stick of wax. “You said something about making him burn?”

The man let out a wail underneath them, feet scrabbling fruitlessly in their binds.

“Would get all the hair off his back, but I don’t think I can cope with the smell of unwashed, burning skin,” Izzy retorted, setting another candle alight–pink, this time–and handing it to Ed. “Think we’ll just wax it off the old fashioned way. Sound fun to you?”

Ed grinned, tilting the blue candle to the side, watching the wax splash across the man’s shoulders. “Endlessly so, Iz. You’ve always got the best ideas.”

Iz barked out a laugh at that, humourless, grating, and went over to grab the knob of ginger and a knife. “Reckon you can coat him by the time I’ve finished whittling this?”

“Could give it a try.” Ed brought the candles down the man’s spine, wax flowing freely and splashing off the skin, pooling in the hollows of his lower back. “Definitely making him look better than he was when he walked in here.”

“Aye,” Izzy agreed, taking a pocket knife to the ginger and settling on the bed, watching Ed with a keen eye as he began to whittle the bulbous spice. “I’ve given you the nice candles, the ones that won’t blister him, the ones that’ll scrape off his skin after - though I can’t say the same for the hair. Gotta save some specialities for us, right Alan?”

The man blubbered something like an assent, and Ed shook his head, smiling, bringing the candles down and draping wax across the back of the man’s neck. He continued like that for a while, drips and drabs, alternating between long streaks and deep pools of wax across the man’s skin. Underneath him, the sub shivered each time the molten wax hit him, shuddering and twitching away from the liquid.

Ed placed his hand on Alan’s lower back, just above his rosy red ass, welts already raised and purpling. “I’d hold your breath for this one,” he cautioned, mildly, before bringing the flame an inch above the angriest welt and twisting his wrist in one sudden motion, sending wax careening across the blood flushed skin.

Under them, Alan wailed, bucking, and Ed pressed him further into the table with his hand, bringing the flame close enough to Alan’s skin that the hair singed around it. The radiant heat was burning Ed’s hand, and the thought of it against already beaten skin made his stomach curl with a sick anticipation, an empathy that switched routes halfway through into arousal at picturing the pain. Alan was still crying out, and Ed twisted the candle again, watching the wax run over the globes of the man’s cheeks, creating rivers. He painted the sides of Alan’s thighs in pink, saving the blue to contrast against the bruising already present on his ass.

A thought hit him then, and he raised his head, meeting Izzy who was busy carving the ginger into a remarkably familiar shape. “Didn’t you say that warming him up would prevent bruising?”

“Yeah, usually,” Izzy snickered, turning the ginger around in his hands to work on the other side, “but I didn’t think this cunt deserved to go without any. Just go a little lighter if it really matters. His own fault for hopping us up on coke.’

“His own fault indeed,” Ed murmured, splashing a pool of wax on a particularly nasty welt and digging his thumb into it as Alan thrashed under him. “Maybe this will teach him to share next time. I can’t wait to see how you’re going to explain this to your wife, Alan.”

A low howl echoed around the room, broken, defeated.

Ed jammed the lit candle into Alan’s foot, extinguishing the flame on the tender flesh, holding it still as the sub writhed in vain, rope digging into his ankles. He trailed his now-free hand over the other foot, digging his nail into the bed of Alan’s big toe, a warning.

“Deep breath now,” he cooed.

Alan let out a strangled plea, ratcheting higher as the pink candle met his other sole, flame licking up his heel for a millisecond before black smoke rose instead, twisting in the air.

Ed set aside the rapidly cooling candles, turning to face Izzy who was holding up his carved piece of ginger with pride. “Whatcha got there?” he asked, casual, feigning ignorance.

“Did I ever tell you that the mark of a good dom is knowing all the sensations that your sub is going through?” Izzy murmured, twisting the ginger around in his hands.

“Izzy, I’ve eaten ginger before, you fucking idiot,” Ed shot back, rolling his eyes.

“Arm,” Izzy drawled, standing up and walking to meet Ed at the table where Alan was bound down.

Ed looked down at the tied up sub, raising his eyebrows. “Don’t think I can move that one, Izzy. Unless you want me undoing all your excellent work from before.”

“Not him, you idiot,” Izzy retorted, grabbing a hold of Ed’s forearm and slashing his pocket knife across it.

Ed recoiled, jerking back from sheer survival instinct, but Izzy’s grip held fast and he jammed a sliver of ginger into it, digging into the wound with the root. He twisted at the burn, the edges of the wound lighting up with fire, drawing breath in through clenched teeth as he did so. “Jesus fucking christ, Iz. Thought that wasn’t the agreement here.”

“Nah,” Izzy replied, slow, considering, mashing the root into a pulp between his fingers before jamming it further into Edwards’ freely bleeding wound, holding his arm down as he twisted to get away, “but when have you ever known me to stick to those?”

Ed wrenched his arm out of Izzy’s grip, rubbing his free hand across it, hissing at the burn still lighting up his nerves. “Do you want me to start listing them?” he muttered under his breath, contempt laced in every word, grabbing one of the towels he’d brought in and pressing it against his forearm, the burn fading with every second.

“Did you get the milk?” Izzy asked, ignoring Ed’s litany of curses under his breath.

“Did you ask?”

Iz smiled at that, reaching over and grabbing a black glove from the helpfully labeled boxes across the room. He pulled it over his hand, wristband letting out a slick snap as he fingers distended the nitrile shape, smooth and sleek. “Should’ve told you. Easiest way to wash out a burn, Ed. We’ll wait.”

Ed grumbled, lifting the towel to see only dried blood beneath, the slash already clotting. He threw the towel on the ground and skulked to the kitchen, throwing the fridge door open, grabbing the milk, ignoring Lucius’s what the fuck and stomping back to the dungeon.

The coke was wearing thin by now and he was always an aggravated bastard on the come down. He shoved the door open with his shoulder, pausing at the sight of Izzy straddling the sub, elbow moving slowly backwards and forwards. “Thought you were waiting,” he called, before crossing the room and settling the milk down next to them.

Izzy merely smiled up at him calmly, three fingers deep in Alan’s asshole. “We are. Someone-“ and Alan shrieked as Izzy’s forearm flexed, the veins popping slightly “-got impatient. Besides, figured you do this six times a night, unless you want a crash course in opening someone’s arsehole.”

“Nah, I’m good.” Ed watched the two of them for a moment, leaning back and crossing his arms, taking in the sight of Izzy in his full latex buckled wear above the naked, crying, sniveling man, coated in blue and pink wax flaking to the floor with every shudder in his pathetic frame. “Seems like you’re rewarding him for being impatient though, I’ve gotta say.”

Izzy rolled his eyes at him. “Plate’s over there. I know what you want.”

Ed threw off a lazy two fingered salute before tapping out two more lines, inhaling one. He relished the dizzy, light headed flush for a half second before bringing the plate over, and Izzy, one fuckin’ handed, swept up the remaining line like a pro, not even breaking the rhythm of his fingers inside his subs ass if the whimpers were anything to go by.

Izzy leant back at that, holding his hand out expectantly, and Ed placed the ginger he’d been whittling into the waiting palm, “Oh, Alan,” he murmured, “you didn’t think we were going to stop at burning you on the outside, did you?”

Ed watched as Izzy shifted his arm forward, pushing the ginger deep into Alan’s gaping asshole. The resulting wail saw Izzy wrench his fingers in Alan’s hair, grinding his face into the table as the sub weakly thrashed under his straddled legs, pinning Alan’s hips to the table with his bodyweight.

“It’s like riding a bull sometimes,” Izzy commented, bored, driving his hips down into the twitching man below him. “Predictable, though. Tell me Alan, how does it feel?”

Under them, a warbled series of pleas tumbled out. Izzy turned to Ed and shrugged one shoulder, slow and deliberate. “I can’t make head nor tail of what he’s saying. Can you?”

“Nope,” Ed replied, grinning as Alan’s gagged nonsense rose even louder in response. “Think he’s saying he likes it. Can’t quite imagine the fun of fire up my arsehole, but then again, I’m not the one splashing his money on you.”

“Excellent point there, Teach. I can’t quite fathom what pathetic freaks like these like. Pass me the knife, would you?”

Ed flipped the pocket knife Izzy had stabbed him with in his hands and held it over, handle first. He grabbed a matching one from where Izzy had spilled his bag open on the benches and came up to the table, standing at the head.

“Just scrape it, on the side, don’t cut him because I don’t wanna have to fuck around disinfecting the wounds,” Izzy muttered, soft and quick.

Ed went to work on one of his shoulders, the flakes of wax peeling easily off the man who was still crying underneath them, shaking anew every time Izzy moved his knee, jostling Alan’s hips–and the ginger jammed in his asshole.

“Heard that fuckers moved you into a place,” Izzy murmured, scraping down his own side of Alan’s body.

“Seemed a better option than sleeping here,” Ed retorted, matching Izzy’s volume, discreet and quiet. “What options did I have?”

“I can think of at least five million better options than moving in with a client,” Izzy countered.

“I haven’t moved in with him, Iz. He had a spare flat. Doesn’t even know the address. Got his fuckin’ assistant to give me the keys and move me in, can you imagine?”

Izzy hummed, brushing the excess wax to the floor before starting anew on Alan’s thighs, elbowing the ginger shoved up his ass in the process. “I don’t like it, Teach.”

“Yeah well, I don’t like you, Izzy.”

“You haven’t for over a decade, and yet you’re still fuckin’ here, aren’t you?”

Ed opened his mouth to retort but nothing came out, dumb and mute.

“Stop moving, you shithead, unless you want me to slash your thigh with this knife,” Izzy yelled, slapping Alan’s thigh, the crack echoing throughout the room.

“Would be more fun than this conversation,” Ed grunted, flipping his own knife in his hands before placing it next to him, brushing off the flecks of pink and blue from Alan’s back.

“Someone’s got to look after you, since you seem to be determined to throw your life into hell and go racing after it,” Izzy murmured, back to their previous low tone, the conversation only for their ears. “What are you doing tonight?”

Ed blinked, shocked at the change in topic. “Uh. Showering, after this?”

“I’m coming over,” Izzy muttered, scraping the last of the wax off and pushing himself up from Alan’s body. The latex crinkled around his form, rubber sliding in a series of high pitched screeches. “You haven’t even checked it for cameras, have you?”

“Stede wouldn’t-“

Izzy leveled him with a cold, hard glare before jerking his head towards the client tied down to the table between them.

“Fine,” Ed huffed. “He wouldn’t do that, Iz.”

“Since when are you trusting of clients?” Izzy asked, grabbing the milk and an empty syringe, eyeing off the measurements on the side. “Getting soft in your old age there, Ed?”

“Fuck off. You’re almost as old as me, don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

“At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if you went senile on me.” Izzy drew the milk up into the syringe, calculating and precise. He came over to Alan again, gloved hand sneaking between his thighs before extracting the ginger root, twisting it on the way out, Alan shuddering and sobbing beneath him. “You’re calling the Uber after this. Go wait in the boys room. I’ll be out soon.”

Ed looked at the milk-filled syringe in Izzy’s nitrile-gloved hand, and then at Alan’s gaping red, raw puffy asshole, and nodded his assent, absolutely booking it out of the room, almost tripping over the towels on the floor as he rushed to leave before his brain could put together exactly what was going to happen next.

Chapter 7: i never wanted saving (i just wanted to be found)

Ed was used to it by now, the tell-tale rhythm stuttering, the fingers in his hips gripping harder, and the thrum as the vein on the underside of whoever’s cock it was pulsated inside him, spilling their seed, hips stuttering and jumping. Sometimes they howled. Sometimes they cried. Most of the time it was over with a grunt and a sigh.

He reached his hand under him to grip the base of the condom, easing his aching ass off his client’s rapidly softening cock. Turning over, he pulled the condom off, throwing it in the bin next to him before grabbing a tissue and wiping down their cock, once, twice. The man whined when he briefly brushed it over the head of his cock, collecting the last few droplets, squeezing slightly to eke the remaining cum out.

He threw the tissue in the general vicinity of the bin and laid back with a thawmp, staring at the ceiling, the old dropsheet coarse on his skin.

“My god,” the client breathed– probably a Dave or Josh or Jared, half the time they had names that started with “J” and Ed was never much good at keeping track of them. “You’re incredible.”

Ed let out a bark of laughter at that one. “Some say, yeah.”

“No, truely, I mean it,” the client continued, gushing. “God, I feel like a lucky lad. What do you do, then?”

Ed rolled over onto his side, dragging his fingers down the client’s chest, a brief attempt at commercial tenderness. “What do you mean?”

“Well, are you a student? Day job? I’m an architect, you know.”

“I’ll call you when I need the extensions for my house designed then,” Ed muttered, ears flushing hot. “I do this.”

“This?”

“Sex? Molly boy? Brothel work?”

“Oh, but surely you must have something else!” the client fluttered, eyes growing wide with concern. “This can’t be all you do.”

Ed–vividly remembering the man handing over money right before he shoved his fingers in Ed’s asshole–rolled his eyes. “Seems a pretty good life to me. Get fucked, get paid for it. Can’t imagine doing anything else, really.”

“Oh, I see,” the client breathed, brows furring in concern. “You don’t have a choice. Oh god. Oh my god I’ve just-“

“-I have a choice, man,” Ed cut off, sensing the impending panic attack and stopping it in its path. “I just don’t really vibe with working for minimum wage in some kind of shop front when I can do this instead. Seems counter, you know?”

The client murmured an assent, though Ed noted his body didn’t relax, his posture still tensed up with defensive walls and the incorrect realisation that ‘oh god I’ve raped someone who’s probably trafficked.’

“Look mate,” he continued, propping himself up on one arm to meet the client’s concerned gaze, “I’ve got offers. I just don’t like working nine to five. Can’t imagine dealing with a boss. How’s yours?”

“Oh my god, he’s an asshole,” the client exhaled, worries forgotten, and promptly launched into a story of the latest time he’d been crossed at work, or something. Ed didn’t bother following along but he made “mmhmm” noises and nodded his head in all the right places. Truth be told, he was grateful for how easy it was to get the clients into a segue, avoid the dirtier parts of the job. He had no issue letting them fuck him in the ass, but pressing into his personal life–well, it felt signfinicatly violating, in a way.

The rest of the time passed in drips and dregs, dragging and stuttering until the buzzer interrupted them, a harsh noise in the quiet room Ed had come to think of as salvation. He made his apologies to the man, offering a shower, gathering the sheets and bundle of tissues in his arm. They always left without much fanfare, ducking their heads as they exited through the back, and Ed let his face drop as soon as the door closed behind the man. He was more tired these days, wearier, but it had also been a long shift and a good one–three half hours and two one hours. It was easier to wave off the exhaustion on that, than acknowledge it had been rattling in his bones since before he walked in the door.

He cleaned the room in silence, fluffing towels and relining bins, letting his mind drift into nothingness as he put his body through the rote actions. He didn’t bother getting properly dressed again, slinging an old towel around his hips and buzzing Jackie to let her know he was taking off–it was past the end of his shift, and he shouldn’t’ve taken that last booking, but old habits of scarcity were hard to shake.

The walk to the dressing room was short and it was mercifully still in there, no one around except a new boy quietly getting ready in the corner. Ed threw the towel in the corner, shrugging on old sweatpants instead, pulling a stained, too large shirt over his head. His work clothes got shoved in a ball and crammed into the side of his duffel, and he sat down to unlock his pencil case, scrolling Izzy’s birthday into the combo lock until it opened with a soft pop. The brightly coloured notes sprung out at him and he rolled them in his palm, counting and bundling in stacks of two hundreds, falling into the old ritual with a practiced ease.

When he was done, he shoved the six bundles back in the case, zipping it and locking, the swell of pride unfurling in the bottom of his stomach. It had been a while since he’d had a shift this good, and well–he didn’t have rent to worry about anymore, not with the entire fuckin’ suite Stede had given him, but it was still good to tuck away cash, a freedom of sorts.

He shrugged the duffel bag over his shoulder, tossing off a quick “night” to the boy getting ready in the corner, and pushed open the staff only door. It was a warm night but the air was starting to get a chill to it, and he hunched over, curling into himself to conserve warmth before heading into the alleyway. Cracked pavements gave way under his feet, the mud squelching around the shittily maintained concrete, and he set off towards the tube station five blocks away.

It was quiet in the alleyways, no one taking these paths except for hookers going home and others hooking up, and he always found a sense of peace in it. He’d never walked them in the daylight, only at three in the morning, and even though they stank like piss and reeked of worse shit–it was comforting, in a way. Almost homely. More like home than the apartment Stede had forced him into, at any rate.

He heard the sounds of a scuffle behind him and picked up his pace slightly. It wasn’t unknown for teenagers to take these routes, get their anger out between each other, but it was late and he was tired. Back in the day he’d pick up the fight for something to feel, that echo of adrenaline rushing through his veins but–Jesus, Izzy was right, he was getting old.

“Hey!”

He walked faster.

“Man, hey! Hey! Come on now, don’t be a pussy.”

Edward sighed, slowing his pace back to normal and pulling his bag closer to him, the over a fuckin’ grand in cash burning a hole in its lining.

“Man, come on, come here,” the man yelled behind him, jeering, mocking. “Where you gonna go?”

“Fuckin’ home, ideally,” Ed muttered under his breath, turning the corner to find three men waiting, watching, staring.

Shit.

He stopped, rocking back on his feet, holding his hands up and hunching lower, appearing as non threatening as possible. “You know that guy?”

“You could say that, yeah,” one of the men said, walking forward towards Ed with slow steps. “Where are you going so fast?”

Ed backed up, equally slowly, keeping his eyes locked and low. “Just wanna get home, man. Don’t start this.”

“I don’t know what you think we’re starting here, man. Just trying to be friends,” the man said slowly, lazily, the undercurrent of something wrong twisting into his tone.

Ed stopped backing up with a bump as he hit the man who’d been calling after him in the alley, his back pressed against a sweaty chest, breath heavy with beer washing over him. “Come on, guys. I don’t have anything more than you do,” he lied.

“That was the wrong thing to say, friend,” the man leered, and Ed caught a flash of silver in the dimmed streetlights before he ducked, the knife catching the space where his shoulder was.

“Come on,” he called, twisting to the side, dodging their attempts to grab his arms. “I just wanna go home.”

“And you will,” one of the men grunted, driving a fist into Ed’s side, “just as soon as we get what we want, you hear?”

Ed kicked out his leg, connecting with someone’s flesh and he grinned, wicked and satisfied, looping the strap of his duffel over his other shoulder to make it cross body. “I told you, you really don’t want to start this,” he taunted, low to the ground, curling his hands into fists.

One of the men spat at him and he dodged, his side wincing with the sharp movement, bringing his fist up and over his shoulder to hit someone’s jaw, the bone disconnecting with a sharp click. He grabbed someone else's hair, pulling them to the ground before stomping his heel into their face, bouncing their skull on the cracked concrete.

Someone grabbed at his forearms, trying to pull them back, and he wrenched them up before driving an elbow into the space behind him fruitlessly. He ducked his head before throwing it back, pain blossoming across the back of his skull as it connected with something, and worn fingers wrapped around his forearm, pulling him back even as he threw his shoulder into empty air where a body should fuckin’ be to try and get them off.

A kick connected with the back of his knee and he stumbled, the air rushing out of him, the edges of the broken pavement digging into the soft underside of his kneecap and he groaned, feinting to the side to avoid the kick aimed at his face. His hip hit the ground with the movement and he had a half second to realise there were four men above him and he was now laying on the ground before he grabbed an ankle and pulled towards him, sending one of the men stumbling.

Another set of hands grabbed his wrists, pulling them back and planting a foot in the centre of his back. His face hit the pavement, sending a sharp pain bursting through his lip as his teeth sliced through the soft tissue, the taste of old piss and dirt grinding into his gums. He bucked his hips, kicking up before his right thigh erupted in a shot of piercing agony, warmth rapidly spreading across his skin.

Edward’s scream echoed in the empty alley, his body going taut with the pain, arching fruitlessly against the weights pressing against him. His thigh twitched around the knife jammed in it, instintually trying to get the fuck away from the pain and bringing it along right with him with every movement he made, blood running freely and soaking the leg of his pant.

Dimly, he was aware of the men opening his bag, hands rustling through and he knew they’d find the pencil case, nothing was well hidden in there. He groaned, the realisation that he’d fucked and sucked and contorted himself into so many positions and it had all been for nothing settling like lead in his system, weighing him down, body limp and resigned as he gave over to the facts of the situation–it was four against one, they already had his bag, and it was over, done, quicker than he’d ever thought possible.

God, Izzy was right. He really was getting old.

The knife in his thigh twisted and he grunted at the action, the muscle fibres twisting and snapping under the blade and sending pain ricocheting through his limbs at each one giving in, and then there was nothing but the sense of emptiness and the warmth flowing faster, wetter, the ground underneath him soaking, sticky, his clothes sodden with his own blood.

The hands holding him down let go, footsteps pounding up the alley, away from him. He groaned, bringing his palms to his thigh, pressing against the wound and biting down as the action ached. His fingers came away streaked a dark red and he looked at it, eyes bleary, head heavy and oh shit that’s probably too much blood.

He tried to get his leg under him to stand and bit out a curse at the sharp pain shooting through his leg at the action, collapsing under him as soon as he put the slightest bit of weight. Rivulets of blood had found their way to his knee, twisting under the fabric of his pants, thick and unwelcome. He rolled over on his back, groaning as the action jostled the wound that was still pumping out blood, reaching over blindly until his hand found the familiar coarse fabric of his duffel.

Dragging it over to him, he propped himself up and forced himself to open his eyes, focusing on the blurry, darkened shapes in front of him. Rifling through it, his hand met fabric and metal and leather until finally, it closed around the familiar rectangle of his phone. He grabbed it, bringing it close to his face, letting himself slump back on the dirty pavement, and pressed the lock button to illuminate the screen.

Which was shattered. Great. Exactly what he fuckin’ needed.

Squinting his eyes, he tapped the passcode in by muscle memory, navigating to his messages icon. Below him, his heart beat fast, pounding, blood coming out in fits and spurts in the worst kind of matching rhythm, the puddle under his leg growing larger with each beat.

Izzy Hands (That One Cunt You Can’t Get Rid Of)

He pressed a button.

You are now sharing your location for the next 59 minutes. Tap here to change this.

The phone clattered out of his hands and he cursed, letting his head bounce back against the dirty concrete underneath him. He brought his hands back to his thigh, pressing against the wound again–apply pressure, elevate, bandage he remembered Izzy telling him, back when he got in his first scrap in the schoolyard, knuckles grazed and bleeding significantly less than the pool he was sitting in now. He laughed at that, the memory slow and easy, comforting, wiggling its way through his increasingly murkier brain. Things were easier back then, he thought. Easier than bleeding out in an alley. Easier than the life they’d fallen into now. Easier than giving half a cut to Jackie who never did any fuckin’ work anyway, where the fuck was she, letting one of her staff lay here bleeding half to death in an alley.

He drifted, leaning into the pain, the dull ache a familiar, comforting blessing. Below him, his fingers slipped off one by one, slick with blood and hurt and all the things he didn’t want to name pumping out of him. He wished his bed was more comfortable. He’d been spoiled, probably. Spoiled by Stede and those stupid hotel suites and those comfortable pillows he’d filled Ed’s new apartment with and everything he wasn’t used to having. Below him, it was hard, aching, pointy, jagged edges pressing into his skin and he shifted before remembering exactly why he wasn’t doing that, crying out softly at the fresh wave of pain rolling through him. He just wanted to be comfortable. He deserved a softer bed to be comfortable in.

God fucking dammit, Stede really was rubbing off on him if he was whining about shit like that.

Right, he was probably bleeding out. Hands. On thigh. Hands should be on thigh. Hands should be here though, and it was only really fitting for their friendship that he’d missed Ed at the last moment, that he’d missed the time Ed really needed him, that he’d gotten sick and over dragging Ed up out of his own messes before dragging him down into his own. It was probably good for him to get away from it all, good for him to finally cut free the toxic thread Ed had never quite been able to server, good for him to be the one brave enough to stop them from hurting each other by hurting him more, taking a breath and walking away and if either of them deserved it it was Israel, always the underdog, always cunning and smart and keen and he had a better chance of getting out of this life than Ed ever did.

Underneath him, the blood was slowing, and Ed opened his eyes, taking in the stars except he couldn’t see any under the smog, London suffocating him with her final breath, her last cruel trick up her sleeve and he snorted - or tried to, the sound escaping him instead a pained echo of what he’d once been. Fitting. He could only see the stars when he was with Bonnet, when the very thing that introduced him to Bonnet was the reason he was bleeding out in the alley in the first place.

“Edward?”

Ed rolled his head towards the sound, except he didn’t, except it stayed in the same place and huh, that was funny, wasn’t it?

“Edward you sack of lying shit, get the fuck up right now.”

The voice was getting closer, louder, angrier now and he said his name except he didn’t, he yelled out except he cried instead, and his mouth was open but it was lolling, tongue heavy and salvia slick around the edges, thick and viscous.

“Shit, fucking shit,” the man cursed and oh, look at that, Hands’ hands were on his thigh after all and wasn’t that funny, he’d have to remember to tell Izzy later, he’d laugh, although there probably wasn’t going to be a later and that thought should maybe make him more scared than he was but all he thought was peace, finally, and that was a novel thought, maybe he should get some.

Across his face, pain rang out, the crack of skin hitting skin echoing in his ears a moment later and Ed found himself face to face with Izzy, his thumbs pressing into Ed’s cheeks, eyes wide. “Ed, you fucking idiot. Have you called the ambulance?”

The what Ed thought, and “t wha” he slurred, his tongue still thick with sleep and happiness and the peace he was finally going to fuckin’ get.

Iz cursed again, grabbing his own phone and dialling, voice going low, urgent for a few sentences. Ed groaned at the pressure on his thighs, trying to pull away from it, swatting uselessly at the arms holding him down, encircling his leg.

“Ed, Ed, you need to listen to me,” Izzy intoned, fast and desperate, words tripping out over his tongues.

“You’re so sweet,” Edward cut him off, except it came out a blurry mesh of syllables running into each other. He cupped Izzy’s face in his hand, so sweet and so terrified, except his hand didn’t quite make it off the ground, flopping in the mud it had landed in.

“Ed,” Izzy repeated, angry and stern and cracking on the one syllable, squeezing Ed’s useless hand with his own. “Ed, they’ll be here in a few minutes, it’s the centre of fuckin’ London because of course you got stabbed in the centre of London, I need to know if there’s anything in your bag I should be dumping.”

Blink once for twice and yes for no, Ed thought and he laughed, or he tried to, the sound bubbling up and over his lips but it was something closer to pain and aching and spilling out everything he tried to hide, and he squeezed Izzy’s hand back, locking eyes with him, the tired lines in his face he’d long since memorized taut with fear.

“Ed,” and that was a new layer of urgency now, a new layer of fear and panic and it seemed rather a fuss to be making over him, he’d have to tell Izzy later, “Ed, fuck Lucius, squeeze harder you cunt - Edward fucking Teach, keep your eyes open, on me, keep looking at me, just a few minutes, please-“

and the last word cracked and really, it was unfair that in the end Ed would be the one to crack the great Israel Hands, and in the end it wasn’t much of an end at all as his eyes rolled back and someone yelled again, but it had been so long since he’d had peace and all he wanted was to wade willingly into her waters, soft and dark and enfolding him in sleep under their hands, the alley and every step he’d taken to end up here distant and forgotten, as distant as the men trying to hold him together, as distant as the world he’d come to know and ruin.

Chapter 8: lost all my faith and lost all hope (i'll hang myself if you give me rope)

Ed blinked at the harsh lights above him, blearily swimming up into a haze of consciousness into a cacophony of beeps and yelling, slightly muffled as if in another room.

His head lolled to the side and he smiled slightly, seeing Izzy’s small form slumped over in the corner, legs pulled up on the plastic chair beneath him–he’d not seen him in such a tiny ball since they were sharing bunks in boarding schools together.

Wires tugged at his chest when he tried to move and he looked down to see lines feeding into his hands–quietly snorting at the mental throwback to the old days. The bed underneath him was both completely uncomfortable and comfortable enough he could already feel sleep clawing back at him. He put together exactly where he’d woken. Really, it shouldn’t’ve taken him this long–he was no stranger to hospital rooms, and Izzy always refused to leave him, moving into the rooms until he got discharged. He should’ve put it together as soon as he saw Izzy curled up in the uncomfortable plastic chairs–he’d bitch about his knee later, and it wouldn’t be worth it, but selfishly Ed was glad he wasn’t waking up alone.

Still, it was kind of a shame to wake up at all. Probably for the best though, and although he was already longing for the brief brush with peace he had to return.

So Edward did what he did best when faced with looming decisions and responsibilities and news he was trying to run away from–he pulled the scratchy blanket over his shoulders, sunk back into the slab of stone under him, and slept.

——

“Iz,” the words tumbling out of him as he lurched upright, eyes darting over to the corner where he knew he had to be.

Iz glanced back at him, curled up in the ball, the days-old clothes hanging off his figure. “Ed,” he acknowledged, gruff and blunt. “You look like shit.”

“Feel worse,” Ed admitted, easy, huffing out a laugh. “Fuck, Iz.”

“Fuck just about sums it up,” Izzy said, uncurling himself from the chair and stretching before he came to stand at the edge of Edward’s bed. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Just wanted to get home,” Ed mumbled, clenching his hand around the railing of his bed at the recollection of the sharp pain bursting in his inner thigh. “Not as young as I used to be, I guess.”

Izzy curled his hand over the top of Ed’s and squeezed. “Have you considered calling a fucking ambulance the next time you get stabbed?” he said, fragile and thin, and it was only then Ed noticed the stains across Izzy clothes. He’s coated in rust and brown, dirt and grime streaked through his hair, filth encrusted at the edges of his fingernails. “What in the ever loving fuck possessed you to drop a location pin to me? You’re lucky I wasn’t in a booking or asleep.”

“Knew you’d come,” Ed replied, the words ringing hollow with exhaustion. “You always come, Iz.”

“Yeah,” Izzy replied, choked, turning his face away. Ed gets a view of the dirt and blood encrusted up the side of his neck, small patches at his hairline thinned–outright missing, in some cases–and familiar divots in the shape of fingernails indented around the musculature of his throat. “Always will, Edward.”

Ed shifted upright in bed, half sitting and pushing his hair out of his face. “You look worse than I do. When’s the last time you were home, Iz?”

Izzy didn’t meet his gaze and that’s answer enough–not that Ed didn’t know the answer before he asked, knew that Izzy had curled up to keep watch over him through the nights.

He turned his hand up, catching Izzy’s palm in his and gave it a squeeze. “I’m fine, Izzy. Go and clean up.” Izzy stared at Edward’s hand in his before meeting his eyes and for a second he seemed lost–scared, Edward thought, fear pulling taut around the edges before Izzy stilled his face into the usual mask and stuffed down his emotions. His hair fell across his face when he ducked down to break their eye contact– Ed frowned at it, noting the clumps of blood and alley mess through the unstyled tangles. “I’m not going anywhere, not hooked up to half this shit,” Edward joked, raising his arm with the IV nestled in the elbow.

“That ‘shit’ is all the blood you lost,’ Edward,” Izzy grunted.

“Yeah, but it’s coming back to me now, isn’t it?” He’d poke Izzy in the ribs if he had full use of his arm–as it was, he tried for jovial, but fell flat on the delivery. “Go and clean up. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Izzy raised his head, looking at Edward for one long moment before giving a quick nod. He didn’t drag out the goodbye–barely even said one actually, tossed over his shoulder as the door shut smoothly behind him. Edward leaned back in his bed and stared at the tiles on the roof, waiting for exhaustion to pull him under again.

—-

He woke to an angel, blonde hair glowing and illuminated, a halo around his head.

“Oh, hello,” Ed murmured, reaching out his arm to touch Bonnet at his side, standing over his bed. “I’ve missed you. You’ve got softer beds.”

“I can’t imagine they’ve got anything nice here, I’ll admit. Hospitals do take the lowest bidder after all.” Dream Stede carried a basket of… something. Ed didn’t recognise half the goods wrapped up in the cellophane. And Stede’s eyes were pinched, face drawn and weary. He wore a muted blazer and slacks, gold watch flashing at his wrist, and Edward wondered if this is what Stede looked like at work, and what part of his brain had dreamed up this vision.

He mumbled an agreement, as he turned onto his side and tried to pull Dream Stede closer to him, wincing as the motion set his ribs alight in a blaze of sharp agony.

Dream Stede placed the basket down next to him before winding his arms around Ed, letting himself be drawn in and gripping Ed firmly. “It’s good to see you awake,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“You’ve been here before then?“ Ed blinked, confused.

“Not as such,” Dream Stede laughed, a rosy blush spreading across his cheeks. “I’d heard things.”

“You’ve been talking about me,” Ed teased playfully. “What happened to your need for discretion?”

Dream Stede’s face dropped, eyes afire with conviction as he frowned. “Some things are more serious,” he murmured reverently, pressing a longer kiss to Ed’s forehead and gripping him tightly. “Jackie told me you weren’t in, and your house seemed untouched according to Doug–I knew something had happened. I couldn’t forgive myself if I lost you, Ed.”

“This is a nice dream,” Ed said absently, laying back on the bed and letting his hand slide down to grip Dream Stede’s. The sensation was so vivid he almost lost himself in it, Dream Stede impossibly firm and present, skin soft against his. He was just so damn here in the ways Ed knew he’d never be. “You’ve been so nice to me, Stede. What happened to make you be nice to me?”

“You happened,” Dream Stede replied, breathy as he squeezed Ed’s hand in his. “I’m not very good at this. I should have been treating you better from the start–but there was paperwork to settle, arrangements to make. I’m sorry, Edward. You deserve fine things, and I’ve certainly been withholding them from you.”

“Gave me the nicest apartment I ever had,” Ed remarks, reaching up and cupping Dream Stede’s face before pulling him close and brushing their lips against each other. “Discretion doesn’t matter in a dream, I know. At least we have this.”

Dream Stede laughs again, awkward this time, pushing Ed’s hand from his face and grasping it loosely. “What makes you think this is a dream, love?”

Suddenly, Ed’s world shifted, shattering in two and he blinked, shaking his head, before recoiling as the sick sense of something wrong slicked up his veins, cold as ice. He pushed back with wild eyes, yanking his hand back as if it had been burned. “You’re - you’re here.” It’s a statement, not a question and it came out guttal and broken, haunted with a tinge of hope, a prayer that Ed had misheard and misread the situation.

“Edward, darling, my love–I couldn’t–I heard and I-“ Stede floundered, reaching out for Ed before catching himself and bringing his hands back to the bed. “I couldn’t leave you like this.”

“What are you doing here?” and it’s a low plea, a beg that he’s misheard everything, that he’s actually still sleeping and he’s alone right now.

Stede took a breath, drawing himself up and rocking backwards on his feet. “You have to understand Ed–I called Jackie, she said you weren’t in-“

“- And she told you I was here?!” Ed’s voice careened dangerously high, the beeps next to him increasing as his heart beat against his chest, insistent and fast and impossible to ignore.

“Well, no. Not exactly,” Stede admitted.

Ed’s stomach dropped and he inched further away, pressing himself against the railing of the bed, putting as much distance between him and Stede as possible.

“You have to understand–I rang, she said you weren’t in, and it’s not like you-“

“-You don’t know me,” Ed shrieked before curling in on himself and taking a deep breath. He’s suddenly aware of the staff surrounding them in the building, pressure pushing in on all sides and he quieted his voice before continuing. “You don’t know me at all, Stede.”

“Don’t I?” and it was Stede’s voice now careening higher, both of them hysterical as he took a step around the bed and Ed leant even further back. “Don’t I know you? I know you'll down a bottle of spirits before you even touch a glass of champagne. That you’re exhausted and trapped by your job, that you know how to put on and style a wig, that you come in on days off just for me, that you’re exhausted with the others, that you know how to read me so well you finish my sentences, that you prefer a steak to any other food, you don’t know how to use the different spoons and you don’t care-“

“- What’s the name of the man who found me?” Ed cut Stede off with slow, knowing words, ignoring the twist of self hatred in his gut as he lets them tumble over his lips.

Stede took a step back, eyes flying wide open in shock. “I don’t–there’s just us, Ed.”

“There’s no ‘us’, Stede.” Certainty settled into Ed’s veins now, the realisation that he’s shattered a good thing, that he can’t come back from this, that he’s ruined everything but he needs to end this, as much for himself as for Stede. “You’re a client. I’m a worker. That’s it.”

“I–Ed, there could be an ‘us’. I want there to be an ‘us’. Won’t you make it with me?” Stede stepped forward and grabbed his hand, eyes blazing, earnest and hopeful and full of all the ways he hadn’t been burned yet.

Ed yanked his hand back, stuffed it under his legs. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, forcing the words up and out as they caught in his poison-slick throat. “I shouldn’t’ve let this go on so long. You can’t be here.”

“I’m not going to leave you bereft–I’ll pay,” Stede stammered, and Ed is all too familiar with that fear in his voice, the fear of having to acknowledge the truth, the refusal to admit when you’ve done something wrong because you don’t think you’ll be able to pick up the pieces for this one. “I’m not trying to–I understand what this is, Ed.”

“I don’t think you do, mate,” Ed replied, drawing his eyes to the side and staring past Stede in a fruitless effort to avoid watching Stede’s world come crashing down around him. “It’s not a matter of payment, Stede - “ except for all the ways it is, the way he’d dragged him out of his darkest moment, the way he’d fervently promised security without even thinking twice, tipping him in stuffed fat envelopes too full to close properly “ - it’s just - how did you even find me here?”

Stede didn’t reply and Ed drew further into himself, counting his breaths in the silence.

“I–you weren’t on shift,” he eventually admitted, the words sounding like they’d been dragged out against their will, slow and kicking, fighting him the whole way.

“Yeah, I know that mate.”

“I was worried,” and it was like the floodgates had opened, words pouring out of Stede in a frenzy of despair and hope and pleading for understanding, understanding Ed had no desire to gift it to him, “and Doug said you hadn’t been around the place in a while and it’s not like I was surveilling you but my other assistant has some links to these–these places–and she did a search and called and it’s a long story even I don’t quite understand but um, uh, we found you here, or well a man matching you with your name, and I already knew in my gut something bad had happened since I care about you Ed and I care about us and I just–I didn’t think. I had to come and see you.”

The realization settled in Ed’s stomach like curdled milk, rolling it, heavy with clotted bitterness. “You hacked into a hospital system to find me.”

Across the room, a raspy, familiar voice cut in. “You’ve made a friend.”

Ed lifted his head, meeting Izzy’s eyes as he leaned against the door frame. He was freshly showered and changed–somehow more intimidating in a pair of tracksuit pants than full latex, though it might just be the way he blatantly sized up Bonnet.

“Ed, who the hell is this?” Stede stepped back from the exit, voice high, rigid with shock.

“Wasn’t asking you,” Izzy drawled, leveling his eyes at Ed, waiting.

“Iz, don’t,” but there was no fight left in it, it was the same old routine they’d played out between them time and time again. “He was just leaving.”

“I was not,” Stede squawked, floundering. “I brought you a gift basket. That’s what people do when the people they love are sick.”

“I think you were, actually,” Izzy said, each word dripping with purpose and authority, making no move to get out of the doorway he was currently blocking. “Thanks for the gift basket. We’ll be sure to send a note, express our proper regards.”

“Ed,” and Stede turned to him, eyes wide, pleading. “Explain this, please.”

“I said,” and Izzy turned his head towards the staff outside, slow and deliberate before moving his gaze back to Stede, “you were, actually. Reckon you should get a move on. I hear traffic is a bitch this time of day.”

“I didn’t drive here,” Stede retorted.

“I don’t see what that has to do with this.”

“Izzy, stop.” Ed was exhausted, his voice heavy, tinged with all the things he couldn’t say and the things he didn’t want to put together yet. “Stede, mate, I told you. Come on.”

“I don’t believe you,” Stede hissed, turning his fury on Ed. “I know what I saw, what I heard–when you thought I wasn’t here, when you thought this was a dream. Is this what you dream of, Ed? Dream of me and never let yourself actually have it, dream of a life better lived and refuse to reach out and take it?”

“Alright.” Izzy broke into Stede’s rambles with a pointed kick at the door frame, his tone raising the hackles on Ed’s back. “That’s enough outta you. Unless you’d like to take your chances with the road rage I hear is on the rise–I’d suggest you head off now, get an early start.”

“Ed,” Stede said, small, pleading.

Ed turned his head back and stared at the wall.

“Fine,” Stede huffed, turning on his heel. “Enjoy your friends, Ed. I guess you were right, I never really did know you at all–not if this is the company you choose to keep.”

Ed was dimly aware of Stede stumbling over Izzy’s legs, Izzy refusing to make space for him in the doorway, the brief argument that rose and sputtered out between them just as quick. He let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding when Stede was gone completely, melting into the bed under him. “Iz,” he said, a small whine. “I think I need to move house.”

“I’d be inclined to agree on that one,” Izzy said, staring after Bonnet’s retreating back. He crossed the room, curling up in the chairs in Edward’s gaze again. “I’ll get the boys, Ed. Go back to sleep. I’ll be right here.”

And Ed - exhausted, heart aching - surrendered the reins to Izzy, as he always had.

Chapter 9: kiss goodnight and give some head (is this is life that lies ahead, now?)

Edward hadn’t moved from Izzy’s couch in days.

The move had been easy in the end - Izzy taking the keys from Ed’s keyring without argument and saying he’d “settle it”, leaving the room before Ed had a chance to chime in but he didn’t know what he’d say either way, and well, it was probably better this way for everyone involved.

Everyone but Izzy, he reflected, as the front door opened and shut with a slam and the familiar sound of Izzy dumping his duffel on the table echoed through the studio flat. “Morning,” Ed called out.

“For some of us,” Izzy replied, but it lacked his usual bite.

Ed watched Izzy round the corner and take in the sight of him. He knew it wasn’t pretty—snuggled under blankets with a three day growth around his chin, half empty bottle of rum on the floor next to him–but fuck it, he’d been stabbed. A man could take a few days off.

“You planning on coming back anytime soon?”

“Is Bonnet still calling after me?”

Izzy shrugged. “Jackie wouldn’t tell me if he is.”

Yeah, and that was a fair point, but it didn’t stop the rolling in Ed’s gut he’d not quite been able to work out–the way his nervous system both perked up and shied away at every mention of the man–and he sighed, rolling over in his makeshift bed to face the seat of the couch.

“I’m not letting you get drunk on my couch forever, Ed,” Izzy warned, pushing at Ed’s legs to take the seat next to him.

Ed grumpily curled them up under him and sat up, head spinning with the sudden movement. His hair drifted into his face and he pushed it back with one hand, grimacing at the feel of oil-slick strands between his fingers.

Izzy grabbed the remote between them and flicked the TV on to soccer, an old match being rerun. The screen flickered as they sat in companionable quiet, the hum of the commentator filling the spaces between them.

At half time, Edward slumped to the side, pressing his face into Izzy’s shoulder.

At the last quarter, Izzy lifted his arm up, letting Edward fall further into him, wrapping it around Ed’s shoulders.

“Do you love him?” Izzy asked quietly, keeping his eyes on the rerun of the game.

“I don’t know,” Ed answered honestly, the question seizing in his chest and making his ribs constrict, breath catching in his rotten lungs. “I think,” he continued after a beat, “I love what he can do for me?”

“Not much difference in this world,” Izzy said, his fingers curling slightly into Ed’s shoulder. The screen blared the siren of final time to them, small men running around in celebration on the field, pixelated and blurry.

“Did you know he got outed?” Ed said, a quiet defence of the man brewing in his chest, trying to wade through the tangled mess of the situation in his brain.

Izzy snorted, letting the match flick to advertisements, leaving the remote untouched between them. “Forgive me if I don’t have much patience for a fucking client being outed, Edward. Wasn’t so long ago you’d consider the idea yourself, if it gave you a little extra cash.”

“Guess I never saw it on the other side before,” Edward countered.

“No, you did,” Izzy argued, soft and certain. “You just didn’t care. You’ve never cared about anyone the way you’ve cared about him, Ed. I haven’t seen you this rattled since we both almost got caught on the streets the first time.”

Ed shoved at Izzy’s ribs with his free hand, pushing his elbow into them. “That’s not true. I’m here, aren’t I?’

“You’re here because you need a bed, Ed, don’t get it twisted.” Izzy’s voice was no less soft, but there was an undercurrent of steel in it, of conviction from all the wrong places.

Ed sat himself up, pushing himself away from Izzy and stared at the man next to him. For the first time, he took in how tired Izzy was, how he was slumped back into the couch, lines worn deep in his face, grey running through his hair. “Iz, stop being a shit.”

“I’m not having this argument today, Ed,” Izzy replied, weary. He turned the television off with a click, getting up from the couch slowly, his oversized shirt falling off his shoulders as he moved. “Go the fuck to bed. Or don’t. I don’t care, just shut up.”

Ed reached out and grabbed the hem of Izzy’s shirt as he was retreating from the couch, pulling him to the back of it, tight fisted and urgent. “Izzy. I’ve known you for decades.”

“You were out of my life for one of those, and it was the most peaceful ten years I’ve ever had,” Izzy muttered, staring down at Ed’s form curled on the flaking couch.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ed’s tone was low, dangerous, and he extracted himself from the blankets around him to walk around the couch, pressing himself into Izzy instead of just gripping his shirt.

“Jesus, Ed, don’t get your knickers twisted.” Izzy wrapped his hand around Edward’s wrist, a slight pressure, a warning.

“Did you want me to go back to Bonnet then?” Ed leant in close, lips brushing the sides of Izzy’s ear, flame licking up his words. “Get out of your house? Fob me off on him so you can have your peace?”

“Do you think I would’ve gotten your shit out if I did?” Izzy countered, pressing his hips into Edward, pushing back with equal pressure. “Be a pretty shit plan on my part, wouldn’t it? Though you’d probably think it was great, one of those fuckeries from the old days you keep crowing about to the boys who listen.”

“Watch your tongue,” Edward growled.

They stayed together, a beat, an immovable object and an unstoppable force. Izzy’s breath was warm on the sides of Ed’s face, and Ed was keenly aware of his pulse thrumming under Izzy’s hand, every beat of his heart marking itself on the pad of Izzy’s thumb.

“I’m going to sleep, Ed. Some of us still have jobs and can’t rely on others to pick up the slack.” Izzy shoved Ed to the side with his hip, and Ed let him, watching Izzy tuck himself into the single bed across the room, swimming in the oversized shirt around him.

---

So Ed ended up back at Spanish Jackies.

Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. He ended up back at Spanish Jackie’s office, trying to explain exactly how he could work with a bandage still around his thigh.

Jackie held one finger up and Ed shut his mouth, arranging his features into something suitably mollified.

“Have you worked out what you want me to tell Bonnet yet?”

“He’s called?” Ed couldn’t hide his hope.

“You want him to.” It was a statement, not a question, and Jackie tapped her pen on the desk, the sound echoing in the empty room. “And if he does, what am I saying?”

“That I’m–not in? For now?”

Jackie signed, leaning back in her chair. “Ed, what if he comes in here? What if he sees you avoiding him? I can tell him you don’t want to see him, but he’s not going to try again once I do.”

Ed stilled, opening his mouth to retort but finding the words empty.

“Go home,” Jackie said, flicking her pen at the door. “Come back when you figure out what you want.”

Scowling, sullen, he left the room and exited into the broad daylight on the streets–a far cry from the exit into moonlight he was accustomed to. He thought about going back to Izzy’s, back to home for now (ignoring the fact he wasn’t anywhere close to actively searching for another place to stay, somewhere far away from Bonnet), but his legs betrayed him and he found himself up at the old bars he used to frequent, the holes in the wall somehow still trading when it was morning, full of men who hadn’t gone home yet and fuelled entirely by too much swill.

He took up a chair in the back and started drinking.

The beer was shit–nothing compared to the single malts and champagne he’d had by Stede’s side–but it was filling the hole inside him, giving him something to do while he figured out his plan. His wallet was still stuffed fat with the remainders of the envelopes Stede had pressed upon him, and they weren’t going to run out anytime soon–it was the closest to financial security he’d been in his entire life. Still, the way his blood ran cold at realising what Stede had done still echoed in his veins, the terror waking him at night.

The problem was, he thought, knocking back a shot of something clear and ignoring the fight breaking out next to him, he couldn’t figure out whether he was terrified that Stede had crossed all the boundaries to be by his side or that he was terrified of what it meant.

All his life he had longed for freedom and he’d never managed to reach it, his own plans simply tightening the trap around him he’d constructed, thrusting him further into a life of mere survival. He couldn’t shake the fear that by walking back into Bonnet’s life and letting him book him again, he’d be walking into just another trap, waiting for it to snap.

He flicked open his phone, thumbing over to Izzy’s contact. Wyd?

Izzy Hands (That One Cunt You Can’t Get Rid Of): working. unlike some of us. fuck off edward.

Groaning, he locked his phone and set it back down on the table, taking another sip.

The problem wasn’t Bonnet exactly, and it wasn’t like there was a dearth of clients out there–although the nights on the couch probably said otherwise, he thought, rolling the thoughts around in his head. It was the life Edward was giving up by refusing to see him, the life with free rent and nice apartments and no worries, the promise of being able to take care of those around him, the promise of freedom eventually, a life where he could do whatever he wanted, as long as he remained at Stede’s beck and call.

The metaphorical leash tightened around his neck.

The other problem, a seething part of him whispered, rising up from the back of his brain no matter how hard he tried to shut it down–was that it probably wasn’t exactly ethical to use Stede just for housing and money. It felt different to using the others for cash, different to the boundaries of a clear transaction, of money exchanged for services rendered, of times and buzzers and rooms that didn’t belong to either of them.

He couldn’t imagine bringing Stede back to that place. Couldn’t imagine Stede walking through the doors at Jackies, handing over the agreed upon amount, blushing at the crude signs on the wall and the efficiency of it all.

When had his feelings changed?

He thought back to the wigs, to gluing them down, going out in disguises, running through the town like two schoolboys just because Stede didn’t want to subject him to room service steak, and frowned. It wasn’t like he’d never eaten steak in his life–he still hadn’t forgiven Stede for the forgotten new york strip in Tescos–but he’d never really had someone willing to risk being seen for him, to take the danger that lies in indiscretion on the chin and carry it through the town, watch him with golden eyes just so he could eat a singular piece of meat.

And, fuck him, it had been a good piece of meat.

Unwilling to examine the rock and hard place he’d forced himself into, Edward flicked open his phone again instead of coming to terms with the inevitable conclusion.. A notification popped at the top of the screen and pressed it, opening up his messages.

Lucius Dick Extraordinaire: heard you’re wallowing in your own misery

Edward: did you change your contact name???

Lucius Dick Extraordinaire: hush. not important. where r you

Edward: none of your business, tell izzy to shut the fuck up. thought he was working anyway.

Lucius Dick Extraordinaire: i have my ways. is this about your boyfriend again.

Lucius Dick Extraordinaire: okay not your boyfriend.

Lucius Dick Extraordinaire: okay i get the point Edward, stop ignoring my messages. frenchie wanted me to ask you to ask him to invest in the scheme. he said he’ll email you the talking points.

Edward: DO NOT EMAIL ME THE TALKING POINTS!!!!!!!!

Lucius Dick Extraordinaire: too late intro ttyl

Edward: LUCIUS

Edward: I WILL OUT YOU

Edward: COME BACK HERE RIGHT NOW WHAT DO YOU MEAN BOYFRIEND

The phone blinked at him, messages unanswered and Ed grabbed his beer instead, slamming the last of it down his throat.

Jesus Christ, he really was Bonnet’s kept boy, wasn’t he? Prized and pampered in a cute apartment, running at his every beck and call, letting everything get so blurred the man didn’t see an issue with exerting his means to find him, breaking every law and practice in action. Probably bribed a nurse or two with those nice, stuffed envelopes on the way, thinking he could just buy his way through life.

Well. He’d managed to buy Edward for a time at least, and the thought made Ed’s stomach roll again.

His phone chimed again, buzzing on the table.

Lucius Dick Extraordinaire: jesus man, chill tf out. the two of you u hauled faster than my lesbian neighbours.

Edward: we did NOT u-haul!!!

Lucius Dick Extraordinaire: sure sure, anyway, the scheme.

Edward: HE IS NOT MY BOYFRIEND.

Lucius Dick Extraordinaire: hate to break it to you buddy, but iz says you’ve been moping about the apartment ever since you knocked heads. ‘sides you’ve barely been at jackies and fucking all your intros up since you met. idk what you call that but i call it a boyfriend.

Edward: lucius. do you value your fingers being attached to your body.

Lucius Dick Extraordinaire: don’t shoot the messenger. coincidentally, that’s the same phrasing we use when marketing the dick pic NFT scheme

Edward: we are not investing in your scheme

Lucius Dick Extraordinaire: “we”

Edward: fuck.

Edward: shut up.

Edward: i’m blocking your number.

He held up his hand and ordered another round, slumping back into the chair. It was going to be a long day.

---

“Day drinking? Thats bleak, even for you, Teach.”

Ed lifted his head up from where it had fallen on the sticky bar table, glaring at the man opposite him. “I’ve been day drinking since I snuck you your first bottle at twelve. Try again.”

“Yeah, but not in a pub.” Izzy grabbed Edwards beer and took a gulp, grimacing at the taste. “Swill, Ed. When’d you get here?’

Ed raised his head, saw darkness outside the window, and noped the fuck out, turning to face Izzy instead. “Do you think he’s my boyfriend, Izzy?”

“Nah. I don’t think he picks up enough after you to do that, Ed.”

“Fuck off,” Edward grumbled, good natured, and stole his beer back. “Backwash. You shit.”

“I don’t think you’re going to taste it, not after the way you’ve managed to pickle your tongue,” Izzy replied dryly, eying Ed with disdain. “Jackie kick you out?”

“Said I had to work out what I want,” Ed said, low and hollow, aching, “and then I found out everyone at Jackie’s thinks we’re dating anyway, so.”

Izzy shrugged one shoulder. “Can’t blame them. You did move in, after all.”

“I moved in with you, and I’m not dating you.”

“You’re crashing on my couch, there’s a significant difference,” Izzy bit back, and oh there was that steel Ed needed to take care of.

“You think I don’t care about you Izzy?” and his voice was broken now, thin and reedy. “Iz, I’ve known you for so long, man.”

“Seemed pretty angry to see me back at Jackies,” Izzy replied, slow and measured, weighting each word on his tongue before he chose then. “We’re getting too old for me to pick up after your mess, Ed.”

“You know I need you,” Ed said, and taking a breath to retain his composure, continued, “you know I’m grateful for everything you’ve done.”

Izzy stared at him for a long moment before exhaling. “I know, Ed.”

Between them, the air was static, heavy, and Ed broke it with a sigh. “I know you do, mate-“

“-Just because I know, doesn’t mean I’m going to come running next time you drop a pin,” Izzy interrupted, stealing Ed’s beer back, the fuck. “I can’t find you coked out of your brain, Edward. I can’t find you bleeding and bruised and barely breathing in an alleyway. I can’t be moving your shit from place to place, watching you couchsurf and destroy yourself again. We used to be a legend on these streets,” and his eyes were blazing, fervent, “and I’m not going to watch you destroy yourself because you think there’ll always be someone to catch you.”

“Won’t there?” Ed murmured, meeting his gaze.

“I have a job, Edward. I have a life. A house, friends, commitments. I can’t always be there for you,” and Izzy was begging now, fear undercutting each word. “What happens the next time I don’t see your text? The next time my phone is dead? The next time I’m otherwise occupied for more than a half hour just to turn on the news and see that you’ve bled out in the street?”

“You think I should go back,” Ed said, contemplative and low.

“I don’t think you have a choice,” Izzy replied, curt. “Ed, I cut you out of all your messes, but I can’t untangle you from this. You’re in too deep. Besides, would it really be so bad? A life with everything provided for, a life where you don’t need to worry, where I don’t need to worry about you?”

“Sounds more like a trap to me-“

“- and bleeding out in an alley isn’t?” Izzy gripped the table underneath him, fingers curling into the paper napkins spread out on the sticky surface. “Ed, every choice is a trap. At least this one is a nice way to go until it snaps.”

Ed held his gaze for a long moment before exhaling, dragging it away to the wall next to them, letting the idea of a life with Stede, a life with a man who had every avenue to find him, who had every ability to cut off any route for escape. “He hacked into the systems to find me, Iz.”

Izzy’s voice, when he finally spoke, was soft, raw, sharpened with the edges of a life cobbled together from the shadows they’d both held. “Can you make yourself believe it was because he cared?”

And, the scary part twisting in Ed’s gut, the unfurling that was slowly happening, sending sticky, sweet, dangerous sentiment through his veins - was that he already did.