Chapter Text
Ed Teach is a man of good taste and professional cultural brilliance. Over the twenty years since he finished his archaeology degrees, he’s worked on sites all over the world. He’s excavated and analysed globally significant artefacts. He’s published dozens of papers. He’s got tenure!
He’s also human, no matter what his undergrads seem to think, and he’s bored within an inch of his life, and he’s starting to wonder if this is all there is. So yeah, maybe he likes a little trashy reality TV sometimes as an escape from the endless circles of feeling lonely as hell, wondering if he’ll ever meet someone who cares about him as much as he cares about them. Or maybe a lot of reality TV, who’s counting?
Nobody’s counting right now, that’s for fucking sure. He just wants to feel something.
And that’s why he’s standing in the middle of the park on a bright summer morning, staring at a familiar face from his television and thinking maybe, just maybe, he’s taken this a little too far.
Out of all the soaps and game shows and tell-all dating disasters he loves to watch, Chad Stoneman’s shows have been his favourite low-brow escape for years now, and he’s had plenty of low-brow feelings about the man himself, too, all of which are being… slightly rocked in person. Guy’s got that famous big swoop of blond hair that always looks so soft, but it’s not actually moving in the stiff morning breeze. His teeth are also like, blindingly white and so straight that Ed feels like the bubble on a spirit level wouldn’t move if it was lined up. From this close, he’s caked in makeup, and shit, okay, maybe romance is dead.
Maybe he should have stayed a viewer, sitting in his sweats shovelling in caramel popcorn in the dark of his quiet living room and yelling at the contestants, instead of sticking his hand up to be one.
The cameras are rolling, one of the directors yells, “Action!”, and Chad just fucking… morphs right in front of him, from a guy who was leering at the makeup girl two minutes ago while she spritzed up his mascara, to the real man of mystery he always seems to be on screen.
“Welcome to another season of The Treasure Trove! Are you all ready to hunt for the truth?”
There’s a chorus of yells from all around them, and Doug elbows him a little fucking hard in the side for not joining in, so Ed lets out his own half-hearted cheer. Yay.
“We’ve got six teams this year chasing down the answers to our mystery, and—“ Straight down the camera with a wink, “today you’re going to meet the people whose lives may never be the same.”
On TV, this bit snaps into little close-up interviews and introductions, flashes of the backstory they’ve filmed over the last few weeks. Most of Ed’s had been done with him settled into his favourite armchair in his office, as a production assistant tossed him questions and he tossed back answers.
Out here, the director yells cut, and Chad, who still hasn’t actually introduced himself to anyone, shouts at his assistant to bring him a fucking coffee.
Ed looks around the assembled group, which is… yeah, much the same every year, he’s got to admit. Just variations on a theme. This year he’s probably meant to be the bad boy of the whole thing, with his tattoos and his leathers and his short beard and his long hair caught half-up. They probably want him to be an asshole, but they don’t know him. Ed likes his tea with seven sugars and his elementary school tour groups yelling funny as hell questions and his kittens nice and soft and kneading his belly, thank you.
“There’s a lot of waiting involved, isn’t there?” Doug says sympathetically, and Ed finally looks at him for the first time in a while. He and Doug, they’ve been at the same university together for the better part of a decade, and Doug’s the best scientific illustrator he’s ever worked with. Good friend, too. He’s always calm and kind and when Ed got the acceptance from this show, there was only one guy he could think of who he wanted for this journey.
And look, Izzy was pissed about that, yeah. Asked why Ed wouldn’t bring his right-hand man, who’s worked with him for years, knows him better than anyone, and Ed had tried not to say, because they know each other so well that they’d end up bickering so much that they’d never find a fucking thing. In the end he’d had to say that, and Iz probably won’t speak to him for a month now.
But hell, it was probably better than the truth. Because sure, they’ve worked together for years, but lately he’s starting to understand that Iz barely knows him at all.
Which is fine. Doug’s the guy he needs. And just to prove it, this is him doing that thing now, where he reads Ed’s fidgeting and averts the boredom crisis, every single time.
Ed nods, finally remembering he was supposed to answer. “Fucking hell, yeah, so much waiting. Are we just meant to stand here?”
“I think so, yes.”
Ed scans the crowd again, leans in closer and murmurs out the side of his mouth. “Want to figure out their backstories?”
Doug huffs out a soft laugh. “We might not want to get too close to our competition.”
“Nah, we can shit-talk them ruthlessly. Just make up all kinds of bullshit. Motivate ourselves.” He points to a woman up the end, Archie, he thinks he remembers them saying, who’s wearing a red leather vest, fucking amazing tattoos down her arms, a little loud and chaotic next to her partner, who has the direct opposite level of calm going on. Zheng, she was called. “Bet Archie’s involved in a fucking… snake cult or something.”
Doug’s eyebrow lifts with amusement. “Sumerian, or?”
Ed wheezes a laugh. Trust Doug to get technical on him. “Who knows? Something really gnarly.”
He rakes his gaze over the rest of them. Jim looks deadly focussed, and their teammate Frenchie just looks concerned. The big Irishman’s named Wee John, and he’s with a guy who’s the opposite build exactly, a beanpole named Ricky. The last pair is a silver-haired guy called Ned—derivative, psh, they’ve already got an Edward here—and his… auntie, Ed thought he heard? She doesn’t look happy to be there at all. In fact nearly everyone looks some degree of pissed.
Doug nods, eyes straying back in the same direction they’ve been travelling all morning, now Ed thinks about it. “What about them?”
He pivots to look, and maybe it’s the breeze that knocks him sideways, or maybe it’s not, but holy fuck, suddenly he’s paying attention. The final couple up the other end are standing almost an arm’s length apart, and they’re both beautiful, even looking the consistent level of miserable they do, but he, he is… something else. He looks like he came straight from a PTA meeting contesting the hottest DILF awards. Blond and broad and wearing a blue button-down covered in brightly-coloured butterflies, well-worn lace-up hiking boots and khaki shorts that show off a pair of the most insanely toned calves Ed’s ever seen in his life, and he swallows so hard that his throat clicks.
Stede, the production assistant had said, and that floats back through Ed’s head now. Like a horse, and the guy had piped up and yelled, “But S-T-E-D-E, please don’t spell that wrong, that’s—“
And beside Stede is… Mary. Oh, he remembers. Who the fuck is Mary to Stede?
Doug chuckles beside Ed. “I thought he might be your type.”
He is, even without them having said a single fucking word to each other. They haven’t even made eye contact, for god’s sakes, but oh, no, there it is, Stede’s sweeping that kind of mournful gaze across the crowd, and before Ed can look away, their eyes meet, and suddenly the guy is staring right into his soul.
The guy reacts to that like a cartoon character getting whacked with an anvil, actually. Does the biggest double-take Ed’s ever seen a real person do, face goes all kind of mouth-dropped-open, wide-eyed stunned, and then he realises Ed’s still staring at him, and he beams.
Ed’s never had that Cupid’s arrow feeling before, but he thinks maybe he’s just experienced it. Direct hit, thumped right into his heart.
“And breathing in, and breathing out,” Doug says behind him, still with that note of laughter in his voice. “I don’t suppose that’s his sister?”
For the first time, Ed looks more closely at Mary, and finds that she’s staring back at him, too, mouth clamped in a thin line, glaring. He pats out until he finds Doug’s arm and hauls him forward like a human shield. “Speaking of types, mate…”
Because yeah, she’s very much Doug’s type, and now there’s a whole new round of conversations with eyes between the two of them instead, and this is starting to get funny as fuck. “Maybe we just go over there and ask. Maybe they just work together, like us. Maybe they’re fucking… cousins or something.”
They don’t look like cousins, and he can’t imagine bringing on a workmate who looks as mad about your presence as the woman does about this guy, but then again, well. Everyone else here. It’s like bring your best friend or your mortal enemy to work day, either/or. Stede and Mary have both got rings gleaming on their fingers, and Ed knows his odds aren’t looking great, but hey. That’s the motto of this show, isn’t it?
Against all odds, find your way.
Before he can do anything about it, the director’s back and so is Chad, who’s got even more blush on now, just fucking clown cheeks glowing in the morning sun. Ed can’t believe the number of times he wanked to this guy’s image, especially not now that his fellow contestant has opened his eyes to the other possibilities in the world.
Chad’s dead to him. Ed’s got a whole new crush.
~
Stede Bonnet is presently wondering exactly how embarrassing it would be if he had a stroke on national television, and whether they’d leave it in for the drama, or just cut him out and pretend he’d never been there at all.
The latter is how it usually goes for him. He’s very good at disappearing into the background while doing important work.
Specifically and particularly, delivering the mail, which will always be the backbone of this country’s communications system, no matter how much online interaction tries to change that. Every workday for twenty years, Stede has climbed out of bed and donned his shorts in almost all weather, and walked his routes, steadfastly refusing to contribute to global warming with anything motorised. He’s not especially fantastic on a bike, either.
No, his legs have taken him everywhere important, and that includes here, to the park in the middle of town, standing next to his wife as her favourite reality show host switches it on for the cameras and starts to outline the rules, and Stede counts from one to four in his head on repeat, and hears not a single word as he tries to remember how to breathe.
A quick glance shows that the man is still there, three teams up. Tall and striking and quite possibly the most beautiful human Stede has ever set eyes on in his life, and that frankly smouldering stare had burned into him and liquefied his veins and made his whole existence come into sharp, clear focus. Right on national television.
Stede stares intently at Chad as he speaks, trying to hear him over the ringing in his ears.
“… the usual way we do things, but this year, we’re going to shake it up.”
There’s a chorus of gasps and mutters from around the crowd, everyone looking stunned, and Stede at least doesn’t have to pretend that bit.
Chad puts his arms in the air like a deranged evangelist and yells, “Separate the pairs!”
There are black clad actors hustling over now, and before he can even open his mouth to ask what the hell is going on, he’s being grabbed and steered away from Mary and shoved down the line.
He wishes he felt anything but relief, with the silent treatment she’s been giving him this morning, but… yes, he can admit it, he’s a little bit relieved.
That lasts for as long as it takes for the guy who’s manhandling him to shove him in beside—oh god—the even-more-gorgeous-up-close man from before, who’s smiling at him. His voice is warm and rumbling as he says, “Hey.”
Stede attempts to make his throat work and squeaks, “Hello.”
The person who’d been standing with him—boyfriend, husband?—has been scooted off down the line to take Stede’s place beside Mary, and oh, that’s… that’s perhaps the first time he’s seen her smile like that in years, the way she’s looking at this total stranger. He tries to swallow around the lump in his throat, and the other man nudges him.
“You okay? I’m Ed, by the way.” He’s holding out his hand, and Stede takes it. Warm and firm and not shaking so much as just holding, those deep brown eyes searching his face. “If you need to sit down—“
“I’m fine!” Stede yelps, and pulls his hand back, because god, national television is surely not the time for this particular feeling to be surging through him. Surely not.
Ed chuckles and says, “Nice to meet you, Fine.”
He groans, because that was a terrible joke, but he gave the terrible inspiration. “I’m so sorry. I’m Stede. Stede Bonnet.”
“Stede Bonnet,” he says, like he’s rolling the word in his mouth, getting a feel for it. “Yeah, I heard before. Like the horse, but not. And like the hat, but…”
“No, like the hat. That one’s right.”
Ed’s grin has grown impossibly wider, eyes crinkling at the corners. Stede hadn’t caught any names, being in such a blind panic about it all, but he’s not going to forget Ed’s name now. Ed drops his voice softer, leans in like they’re actual friends now. “You a fan of the show?”
“No,” he admits miserably. “No, it’s really more my wife’s thing.”
If he’s not mistaken, the other man’s face falls a little, and his eyes flick up to where Mary’s standing with— “Doug,” Ed fills in helpfully, noticing Stede’s gaze in the same direction. “I’m an archaeologist. He’s a scientific illustrator on my team.”
Oh, god. Oh, okay. He knows from all the years Mary’s been watching this show that there are all kinds of pairs involved. Workmates, teammates, parent-and-child teams, friends. He’d just assumed that Ed and Doug were together, and maybe Ed’s not that kind of available at all… maybe he’s been barking up the entirely wrong tree, and to be honest, he’s having a slight crisis about that, because it says more than he was ready to consider about himself that he just assumed it—
“And what do you do?” Ed prompts. “Bet you’re a fucking… leg model or something.”
“Ha!” Stede looks down at his pins, which he is quite proud of. “No, haven’t tried that yet. Maybe I should.”
“You could. Bet you could do anything.”
“I’m a mail carrier,” he tells Ed. “Nothing near as exciting as you.”
Ed lets out a snort. “Mate, everyone thinks it’s exciting, but it’s really a lot of digging, clearing away dirt with tiny brushes. Counting five hundred pieces of ceramic that all look exactly the same. Bet you get to do more interesting stuff.”
“I do like my job,” Stede says, warming under Ed’s gaze. “I get to see all the seasons pass by. I get to know the people, the neighbourhood, there’s always something happening.”
“See? Fucking fascinating.” Ed nudges him with an elbow. “Maybe we should swap jobs.”
“Wouldn’t that be something.” He’s imagined himself travelling the globe, exploring new places and old ones, learning about the past. He hasn’t, he has to admit, imagined several hundred pieces of identical ceramic staring him down day by day. “What do you do for fun?”
Ed blinks. “Uh. I cook, sometimes. Watch a lot of reality TV. You?”
Oh, he should have seen that coming, and once again he feels like a bit of a fish out of water, knowing nothing at all about the expectations here. “I’m also a bit of an… amateur historian, I suppose. I dabble in nature. A bit too fond of books. That’s why Mary thought I might do well here.”
Ed just grins, looking—is that… impressed? He seems impressed, as well as amused. “Well, she’s fucked now without you, then, isn’t she? Up shit creek without a paddle.”
Stede lets out a startled laugh. “Oh. I don’t know about that, I’m sure Doug’s very useful. She’s an artist, actually, they’ve got something in common.”
“Perfect.” The grin’s back on his handsome friend’s face, something almost shiver-inducing about it. “Guess we’d better hear what they’ve got in store for us.”
Chad’s grinning maniacally up the front, and if Stede didn’t know better, he’d suspect the man was trying to sell fancy steak knives or something. He probably has a side gig doing that. “As you’re now aware, we’ve reshuffled the teams. This year’s challenge is not only to find the clues and find the treasure, but to do it with a complete stranger.”
“Won’t be strangers for long,” Ed murmurs.
Stede spares a glance back at Mary, who’s already all but leaning against Doug’s side. No, he supposes they’re all in for some surprises today. And oddly enough, with Ed standing by his side, he suddenly feels readier to face that. He feels, in fact, like he’s already taken several staggering steps into a race he wasn’t expecting.
Against all odds, find your way. He might know nothing much at all, but the show’s motto certainly stuck in his head.
Chad’s yelling again. “At each location, you’ll receive a new clue. Decipher that clue to find the next clue. Follow that clue from location to location. And whoever makes it to the Treasure Trove first will take home… two hundred thousand dollars for the team.”
It’s a life-changing amount of money for a man who’s given up his family’s wealth for an ordinary life. But more than the money, it’s the experience they’d hoped would be life-changing, a last shot at saving their faltering marriage.
“Treasure hunters, are you ready?”
Perhaps a whole different game was just laid out in front of them, one in which the journey will take them to an unexpected conclusion.
Chad waves a gigantic racing flag and shrieks, “Then go!”
Ed grabs him by the hand and pulls him forward. Ready or not, they’re on their way.
~
The beats of this show have never changed, even if the structures sometimes get tipped upside down to freshen it up. Ed should have seen that one coming. Didn’t. Is currently thanking his lucky stars for it, because Stede’s bent over an actual paper map with a curl of hair flopping over his forehead, biting his lip in concentration, and this may be the best day of his life.
First up: they’ll crack the riddle and find their way to a starting point. They’ll do that a couple more times, then things will probably get a little silly, and at the end, there’ll be an overnight challenge that Ed can absolutely survive without becoming a home-wrecker. Definitely.
A small, impossible bird born of the universe, holds a shining tower of knowledge tucked into a sandy curve.
“Oh,” Stede says, and he looks up with fire sparking in those hazel eyes. “Oh, I think I know it.”
“Yeah?”
He scoffs. “I’m a mail carrier, Ed. If there’s anyone who knows every street in the city, it’s us.” He taps the map. “A small impossible bird born of the universe? A starling. A star-ling. And a shining tower of knowledge?”
Starling Street, Ed knows that, too, and he pulls the map closer. Says, at the same moment Stede does, “The Lighthouse Cove Museum.”
“That’s it. Come on, I know a shortcut.”
The other teams have scattered, some of them jumping in taxis, some commandeering bikes off random passers-by, with the production team following up and handing out cash at a rate Ed’s never seen before. All for the bit, huh? They set off on foot, weaving down side streets with their assigned cameraman following close behind them. Pete, that was the name. He’s recording every word they say, and Ed knows very well how that stuff can end up being used, so carefully, carefully is the name of the game.
“So that was your wife on your original team?”
Stede’s smile is tight. “Mary, yes. We’ve been married fifteen years.”
Ed whistles. “Congratulations, man. That’s a long time.”
Stede’s face stays neutral. “It really is, yes.”
“And she’s a Kiwi too?”
“She’s Australian. I’m from Aotearoa, though. You too?”
He nods. Easy to hear it in both of their accents. “Yeah, came over for my PhD, never left.”
Suddenly, Stede looks anything but neutral, his face bright with interest in a way it hasn’t been all day. “Your work sounds fascinating, Ed. I always wanted to be an archaeologist.”
He’s known a lot of people with that dream who never chased it, but there was nothing else he wanted more than to understand the past, and the way the world’s changed since. He also knows plenty of people who’d mid-life-crisised their way into their childhood dream years later. “Never too late.”
Stede laughs. “Well. That’s a nice theory, but by the time you have two children and a mortgage, the dreams start to get a touch more distant.”
Fuck, okay, this is new information. “You’ve got kids?”
“Yes, the light of both of our lives! They’re looking forward to watching.” The cameraman has circled in front of them for this conversation, doing a pretty fucking impressive job of walking backwards as he films, and Stede gives a jaunty little wave. “Hi kids! Hope you’re cheering on your dear father as well as your mother.”
Ouch? Ed’s gradually packing away all his hopes as they get to the museum, and they pause on the steps, staring up at the grand old marble columns. Stede sighs. “This is one of my happy places.”
“Mine too,” Ed says softly, and they grin at each other. This guy just meshes so well with him, same interests, just the right chemistry, the vibe. Ed knows the fan forums and Twitter feeds are going to be going batshit conspiracy theory about the two of them by the time the episode finishes airing, even if they never see each other again. “Can’t believe we haven’t run into one another before, man.”
“I know! Such a shame. But we’ve run into each other now, haven’t we?”
Yeah, they really have. Full collision, no idea what the damage is yet. Ed nods up the stairs. “Shall we?”
Before Stede can answer, another of the teams goes running past, the curly-haired beanpole that is Frenchie now teamed up with Wee John, the hulking blonde with stars tattooed on his temple. “You snooze you lose!” yells Frenchie over his shoulder as they disappear into the building, and Stede narrows his eyes.
“More haste, less speed. I bet neither of them have the annual membership advantage.” He glances at Ed. “Or the expert advantage, either. Shall we?”
There’s a crew member waiting at the top of the steps with a new envelope, and Ed accepts it, tears it open. Bends over it with Stede, heads almost pressed together as they read it at the same time.
Bright sugar flight will take you somewhere cool.
“Fuck,” Ed says, instantly blank. “Fuck, the short ones always get you.”
“Hmm.” Stede’s frowning at the paper like it’s personally offended him. “Natural, or cultural?”
Ed fires up his cogs, starts thinking. “Could be some of the community tapestries? Bet they’ve got birds featured, definitely bright as fuck.” That installation had been put in place last year, after all the stolen textiles had been removed for their return to their countries of origin, and it’s a great example of how good it can be to work with the community on projects like this, because it’s turned out great. It tells the stories from the right people’s perspectives, it was decided by the community, and it’s been a great part of the ongoing shift here over the years.
Ed’s an expert in Indigenous cultures, and he’s been directly involved with this museum in the work of repatriation, identifying what material came from where so it can be sent back to where it belongs. It’s some of his proudest work.
And that’s why he’s not so sure this relates to that. “You know more about the natural history?”
Stede brightens up. “I do. It’s a bit archaic, having all those collections of dead animals, but at least these days there’s a conscious effort to organise the information for a better storytelling flow, organising it by landscapes and eras, making the displays more interactive. More focus on conservation, too. And I think… I think I know where to go for this one. But then perhaps you do, too.”
They pause in the foyer, Pete circling around them, filming. It’s a coin toss which way this’ll go, in terms of that clue. If they get the wrong one, they’re going to lose their advantage. If they get it right, though, they still stand a chance of beating everyone else.
Ed looks at Stede, sees the uncertainty on his face. He doubts himself, knows that Ed knows better. But Stede’s got instincts that Ed already trusts, because they’re backed with passion.
“Let’s go your way, mate.”
Stede lets out a breath. “Wonderful. Over here.”
They dash off into the galleries, and Stede quickly proves that knows even more shortcuts than Ed does. Ed spends most of his time in this place in the cultural collections. He’s spent less time in the natural sciences wing, but Stede weaves through the crowd like he belongs there. Cuts through one of the kids’ sections where you can touch different types of rocks, and Ed trails his hand over the plinths as he goes, feeling the roughness of zirconia give way to the smoothness of talc as they slide down the Mohs scale. Then Stede’s pulling him through a secret little gap low down in the wall, the forgotten cameraman cursing on the other side as they leave him behind.
They come out the other side and into a model cave that’s barely high enough for them to stand inside, since it’s meant to be for kids. But the walls and the roof have crystals embedded, lit up with LEDs, softly glowing prisms of pink and white and green and gold, and Stede stops short, and Ed crashes into him.
Has to catch him as he stumbles forward, obviously.
Finds himself holding onto Stede’s broad hips, pressed up against his back as they both stand there catching their breath, lit by the ebb and flow of those lights for a silent, breath-holding moment of searing connection.
“It’s magical,” Stede breathes, not turning to look at Ed. His hair’s a perfect undercut, and Ed stares at the back, where the shaved edge of the gold meets his neck, where those broad shoulders branch out. Stede whispers, “I love this place so much.”
Because he comes there with his kids, Ed knows he means, and he forces himself to let go, doesn’t even care that Stede’s hips press back into empty air, like he was chasing that contact just the same way.
“It’s pretty great,” Ed says thickly, and nods to the little cave entrance they’re going to have to crawl through. “Time’s running down, mate.”
“Of course.”
They’re out into the natural history gallery a moment later, all the displays full of gleaming rock specimens. And then Stede reaches out and takes his hand and hauls him through the gallery, racing past meteorites and anthills and stratigraphic models of river beds, through the world, the universe, past Arctic ice and African savannah, until they burst through into a room that’s inside a cylinder of glass, three hundred and sixty degrees, behind which a whirling flight of pinned butterflies and moths is taking off up toward the bright skylight in a tornado of colours.
Ed catches his breath at the sight of it, turning a circle as Stede does the same. It’s so beautiful, so fucking beautiful, and yeah, he’s no fan of taxidermied animals and insects stripped of life; likes to see it in nature much better. But this speed-run has really shown a cross-section of this amazing world they live in, and that’s something that’s awed him since he was a kid.
Maybe the moths all died of natural causes. He’ll go with that.
“There,” Stede breathes, pointing up at a pink and yellow moth, just above head height. “Dryocampa rubicunda, the candied melon silk moth. Bright sugar flight.” He turns back to Ed, eyes shining, and fuck, he wants to kiss this guy already. Takes a step in, forgetting everything, and sees Stede’s breath catch.
And then the cameraman comes bursting in through the gap, panting for air, and says, “Christ, you guys, you’ve got to give me a minute to catch up.”
“Sorry, Pete,” Ed says, taking a reluctant step back again. He’s not that sorry for anything right now. He turns his attention back to the display, and that’s when he sees it. “A QR code.”
It’s up there on the glass, a pink square with the familiar pattern inside, and it blends in with the moth in the background. Wouldn’t have seen it at all if he hadn’t moved just then. Pete hands him a generic phone, since they’re not allowed to have their own during filming, and Ed swipes it open to the camera and lines it up.
The link takes him to a new clue, and Stede reads it out.
“West finds north end and southerly temperatures, with a sweet map in the middle.”
He looks up, brows pinched. “Oh. Uh. Hmm. More sweets! Maybe?”
Or more maps. A bookstore? There’s a geography department at the university. Candy stores in town. Candy stores in the north end of town? But the southerly… Wait. Suddenly it starts to come clear in Ed’s head, and he finds himself grinning. “I know where to go.”
~
They do take a cab this time, because the ice-cream parlour is on the north side of town. Ed says he knows the chef, who’s perplexingly named Roach, who hails from Mauritania, hence the West (Africa) reference. “Go there all the time. Love their stuff.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been,” Stede says. There is so much he hasn’t done in this town, so much he’s denied himself.
“Oh, mate, that’s a crime. We’re going to call this just your first visit of many.”
They’re sitting on either side of the back seat, and it already feels too far. Stede forces himself to look out the window, looking pensive and tense for the camera that’s filming from the front seat, which is not a stretch. His mind is racing, but it’s not all about the clues, which he has to admit, now have him in quite a competitive hold. No, between the two of them they’re making short work of those, minds very well matched for this task, as it happens. Stede doesn’t think he and Mary would have done anywhere near as well, and he wonders how she’s going with Doug.
And also, whether they’ve had any heart-stopping moments of contact, physical or otherwise, that have sent them spiralling down the same mental paths Stede’s unexpectedly been taking.
He’s got no reason to expect such a thing from Mary, and the thought induces a deep well of guilt, because he knows precisely where it comes from. A man in a glass butterfly house, hurling meteorites.
His mind’s a constant loop of remembered touch and feel, Ed’s fingers firm on his hips, the sudden vivid image of Ed holding him like that if the two of them were bare, if Ed was pressing him down into the bed and fucking him deeply.
Oh… god, where did that even come from?
He slides his hand over his mouth and tries to collect himself, but it doesn’t help. The thought keeps circling, real enough in his mind that he can almost feel the bedsheets clenched between his fingers. Is it his bed, Ed’s bed? A secret third bed? He’s not sure what he’s imagining, he’s just… well.
The thing is. He’s had a lifetime of squashing down these thoughts. It’s less that he’s been in the closet, more that he’s attempted to pretend there’s no such thing as a closet at all. Can’t be in a closet if such a thing doesn’t exist!
Can’t be gay if he doesn’t look directly at his own desires, but oh, he’s never felt a draw so powerful to anyone in his life.
Stede might, he’s thinking, possibly, in fact, be a little bit gay.
Even the mere thought fills him with the panic of all those years of denial. Maybe it’s just the circumstances. Maybe that’s it, he’s just overwhelmed with the excitement of being on this quest. And he likes Ed, he really does. He doesn’t have too many friends of his own, so he’s probably just mistaking these feelings for something more, for absolutely no good reason.
There’s the lightest touch on his pinky, where his hand’s resting on the seat between them, and he snaps to look. It is Ed, gently touching him. “You okay?”
He nods automatically. “Mm-hmm. Great, yes.”
Ed’s still stroking his finger, and he’s not sure what it says about him that this is the most intense physical contact he’s experienced in a long, long time, the slow stroke of a fingertip lighting up every nerve in one centimetre of his least useful finger, and somehow from there, sending a slow-rolling lightning along every nerve he owns.
“Hey, uh. This game can be a lot, yeah? So just… let me know if you need anything. If you need to talk. Or…” He blows out a breath. “Or hug it out. Or whatever.”
From the corner of his eye, he can see the light on Pete’s camera blinking, taking in every word they say. “That’s very kind of you, Ed. You’re a good friend.”
Ed smiles a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and Stede pulls his hand away and looks out the window.
This was… not how today was supposed to go.
But god, maybe it was how it was meant to go anyway.