Chapter Text
2nd July
Static erupts from the ancient radio of Ed's truck, burying the faint strains of bland, background pop music beneath mounds of audio snow.
"Piece of shit," Ed mutters, as he twiddles with the dial, keeping his eyes on the road all the while. Various snippets of sound float in and out of the static — a jingle for Al's Discount Carpet Warehouse; a talk show host ranting about something that Ed couldn't give a shit about; a bar or two of inoffensive Christian rock that's forgotten as quickly as it's heard — until finally, he stumbles across a classic rock station.
He snorts as David Coverdale prays for the strength to carry on. Fucking hell, it's a bit on the nose, but he'll allow it. It's a classic for a reason, after all.
He cranks the volume up until the windows of Queen Anne's cab rattle in their frames, and he belts out the chorus, uninhibited in the way that it's only really possible to be when there's no-one around for miles to hear.
"And here I go again on my own…"
He drums his leather-clad palms against the steering wheel as he clocks the sign for an upcoming turnoff to a rest stop, the Revenge Diner. His stomach growls and his bladder twinges, like some kind of fucking Pavlovian response to the sign that proudly proclaims Coffee! Pie! Last Rest Stop for 50 Miles!
A glance at the clock on the dash tells him it's coming up on midday. As good a time as any to take a break.
"Going down the only road I've ever known…"
He presses down on the brake pedal, dropping down through the gears as he gradually slows his beast of a rig in preparation for the turn.
"Like a drifter I was born to walk alone…"
He flicks the turn signal, even though there's no other vehicle in sight on this empty stretch of highway.
"But I made up my mind, I ain't wasting no more time. Here I go again…"
His singing drops down to vague mumbling — Something something rescue, something something charity — as he slides the truck into one of the designated parking bays like a hand in a fucking glove.
He applies the parking break and turns the key in the ignition. The constant rumble of the truck's 15-litre engine falls silent, along with the music. He probably could've waited for the guitar solo, but he's really gotta piss. He's sure the Whitesnake boys would understand.
He takes a moment to stretch out his back, cursing under his breath as his spine pops. He turns his neck side to side and rolls his shoulders. This is just the first little pit stop on what will be a five-day route — Denver to Santa Fe, down to Phoenix, then back up to Denver by way of San Francisco and Salt Lake City — and yet he can already feel every single mile in his bones. His back's gonna be screaming at him after four nights in the shitty bed in his cab.
He snatches the CB radio from its cradle. "Iz, this is Blackbeard. Just pulled into a rest stop in Walsenburg. Gonna grab a bite, take a break."
Izzy's clipped tones come through the receiver. "Copy that. Traffic conditions are good all the way to Santa Fe, but to make it there on schedule, you'll need to be back on the road by 13:00."
Ed rolls his eyes. He's been driving this route for fucking years. He knows, down to the second, when he needs to be back behind the wheel. "Copy that, Iz. Over and out."
With a deeply middle-aged grunt that he is glad no-one is around to hear, Ed hauls himself from the driver's seat and pulls back the curtain that screens off his narrow bed. He plonks himself down on the mattress, doing his best to ignore the dull ache in his bladder, and toes off his boots. He leans back on his elbows, lifting his bum just enough to slip his comfy, Cookie Monster driving pants over his hips and down to his thighs. The faces of a hundred cross-eyed muppets stare at him as he slides the soft pants off of his legs. He flings them aside and grabs his leather trousers. It's always such a pain in the ass tugging them on in this confined space — it's a whole-ass process, involving a non-zero amount of wriggling and flopping about like a fish on the deck of a ship — but finally, he triumphs.
He shoves his feet back in his boots, then, after a quick glance in the rearview mirror to make sure he hasn't fucked up his messy bun (there is, after all, a fine line between artfully messy and dragged-through-a-hedge-backwards), he climbs down from the cab. A wall of scorching, arid air smacks him round the face, as if he'd just opened an oven door.
He trudges across the parking lot, squinting against the glare and the dust that swirls in tiny eddies at his feet. By the time he reaches the door of the diner, there's already sweat dripping down his asscrack; not for the first time, he curses ever choosing leather as his signature look.
The aircon blasts him full in the face as he steps through the door. It's a welcome change, but he can't help but shiver as the sweat on his brow rapidly cools. He nods to the server behind the counter — a young-ish guy he's seen in here a few times with killer sideburns and a voice that always sounds vaguely sarcastic — before making a beeline straight for the restroom.
He tries not to walk like a guy who's ten seconds from pissing himself, but he's pretty sure he's not successful. The closer he gets, the more urgent his situation becomes. Christ, it feels like his back teeth are floating.
He pushes open the bathroom door and is instantly greeted by that distinctive truck stop bathroom perfume — notes of stale urine and industrial cleaner, with a base layer of something Ed doesn't wanna think about too hard. Over on the right are a couple of stalls with their doors closed and to their left is a row of three urinals. Trying to breathe through his mouth as much as possible, Ed shuffles over to the urinal closest to the stalls.
He does a little wee-wee dance, leather squeaking while he fumbles to get his fly open. It's a good fucking thing he's alone in here, because the groan of relief that slips from his lips sounds downright fucking filthy.
Finally, after what feels like six fucking hours, the river becomes a stream, becomes a trickle, becomes nothing at all. Ed gives himself a perfunctory shake then tucks himself away, the zzzzippp of his fly echoing off of the tiles.
"Hi!" comes a disembodied voice. "Would you like a blowjob?"
Ed yelps as he just about jumps out of his skin. He could've fucking sworn he was alone in here!
"What the fuck? What the fuck? Who said that?!" Ed squeaks, spinning on his heel to survey the apparently not-so-empty bathroom.
"Oops! Sorry! Didn't mean to frighten you," says the voice.
Ed's a little more prepared for it this time, and so he has enough of his wits about him to follow the sound. He turns to the partition of the stall on his left and lets his eyes trail up, up, up…
Hooked over the top of the stall is a perfectly imperfect nose. And above that nose, peering down at him, is a pair of wide, hazel eyes, framed by a crown of shiny, golden curls.
"Fuck, man!" Ed exclaims, as his heart slams against his rib cage. "For a second there, I thought you were some kind of horny bathroom ghost or something!"
The guy chuckles, his eyes crinkling in the corners. "The ghost of blowjobs past?"
Despite himself, Ed huffs out a little laugh, too. "Yeah, something like that."
The eyes soften a little, and Ed could swear that he sees the hint of a blush creeping across the top of the guy's cheeks — the only part of them that Ed can see over the top of the partition. "Well, no. Not a ghost."
Ed's eyes narrow. Now that the initial shock has worn off a little, he has questions. "Mate, were you watching me take a piss? I'm not one to kink shame, bro, but consent is—"
"No!" the man practically yells in his haste to reply. "No, I promise you. I waited until you were done, like a perfect gentleman."
Despite himself, Ed finds his mouth trying to quirk up into a smile. "So you were listening to me piss, then?"
What little Ed can see of the man's face turns a deep shade of crimson. "I didn't mean to! But it's a bit difficult not to overhear, given the acoustics..."
Ed tilts his head, conceding the point to the stranger. "So… you're a perfect gentleman who hangs out in truck stops offering blowjobs to strangers, then?"
The eyes dart away briefly, before settling back on Ed. "Well, I… it's not something I make a habit of."
"No? Just woke up and thought you'd try something new today?" Ed asks.
"Something like that, yes," the man says, and for the first time, the stranger's cheerful demeanour slips, a tinge of sadness evident in the timbre of his voice.
Ed stares at him for a moment. He's got questions upon fucking questions. But first things first. He holds up his hands, wiggling his fingers in the air. "Let me just wash up."
He can feel the eyes on him as he washes his hands. And sure enough, when he glances in the mirror, there they are, peering over the top of the stall, all wide and nervous and hopeful.
Ed's not ashamed to admit he's had his share of bathroom hook-ups— though, granted, all of them in clubs in the small hours of the morning, when he'd been at least three beers in. Definitely not in a nondescript truck stop on a Tuesday lunchtime — but it's been years since the last time. And yeah, those dalliances had felt good in the moment. They'd scratched a temporary itch. But afterwards, they'd left him feeling kinda scraped out. Hollow. Lonelier, somehow, than he'd been before.
So no, bathroom blowjobs aren't really Ed's style anymore. Haven't been for a long time. He won't be taking this guy up on this offer, but he sure is curious as fuck about his whole deal.
He rinses off the soap suds, then pulls a paper towel from the dispenser. He dries his hands on the rough, scratchy paper, turning back to face the stranger — or the top of his head, anyway.
Once his hands are dry, he balls up the paper towel and tosses it into the bin without looking. The stranger's eyes track the path of the projectile before snapping back to Ed when it lands in the bin with a soft thud.
"How about a coffee and a slice of pie?" Ed asks, folding his arms across his chest.
The eyes crinkle. "I think I might like that."
Ed's gaze wanders across the laminated menu, though he's hardly taking anything in. Every second or two, his eyes drag themselves up to his would-be bathroom hookup.
Now that he can see Bathroom Guy's face in its full glory, it's kinda hard to look away. The bloke is objectively handsome. Ed already knew about the immaculately styled golden curls and the wide, hazel eyes, of course. But now he can also see the dimple that appears with every smile, and the short bristles on his chin that catch in the light that streams in through the window.
Bathroom Guy's expression constantly shifts as his eyes roam over his menu, lips quirking up in delight when he sees something he likes, and nose wrinkling ever so slightly in distaste when he comes across something less appealing. Definitely not a poker player, this one.
Ed forces his gaze back down to the menu, trying his hardest to hold his focus for long enough to read more than two fucking words at a time. He doesn't get far before the server with the sideburns wanders over. "And what can I get the two of you on this fine afternoon?" he asks, popping his hip and pulling out his notepad and pencil.
"Coffee. Black," Ed says, by sheer force of habit. He glances down at the menu, scanning the desserts real quick for something to counteract the bitterness of the coffee. "And a slice of the cherry pie."
The server mumbles in acknowledgement as his pencil scratches across his notepad. When his pencil stills, he turns toward Bathroom Guy. "And for you?"
"Tea, please, erm…" Bathroom Guy leans forward a little, squinting at the server's name tag. "Lucius, is it? And another slice of the cherry pie for me, please."
Bathroom Guy smiles at the server — Lucius, apparently — as he hands over his menu. Ed hands his over too with a muttered thanks. Lucius heads back over to the counter, and then it's just the two of them, alone at their booth.
With no menu to hide behind any longer, Ed finally lets himself take a proper look at Bathroom Guy. He's a fucking puzzle and a half, that's for sure. He's well put together, dressed far too finely for a truck stop diner in the asscrack of nowhere. His silky shirt is loud and flamboyant, and it drapes his broad chest in a waterfall of ruffles. Somehow, it treads a perfect line between masculine and feminine. It's the kind of statement piece that very few blokes who visit places like this would ever be brave enough to wear, and it makes him wonder: just who the fuck is this guy?
A blast of hot air whips through the diner as the front door opens, causing the paper napkins on the table to flutter in the draft. Ivan — fellow trucker and long-time acquaintance of Ed's — closes the door behind himself, wiping the sweat from his brow as his gaze sweeps across the room. He nods in greeting when his eyes meet Ed's, then heads over to the booth he's sharing with Bathroom Guy.
"Blackbeard," Ivan says, holding out his fist.
"Ivan, bro, how's it going?" Ed replies, as he dutifully bumps the offered fist.
"Ah, y'know, same old same old. Just on my way down to Albuquerque, then it's on to Tucson. It's hot as balls out there today, bruv, ain't it?" Before Ed can respond, Ivan turns his attention to Bathroom Guy. "And who's your friend, then?"
"Oh. He's, er…" Shit. Ed can't exactly introduce him as Bathroom Guy, can he?
Thankfully, Bathroom Guy steps in. "Stede," he says, extending his hand for a shake.
Ivan shakes Bathroom Guy's — Stede's — hand, eyebrow quirked as if expects him to say a little more. When neither Stede nor Ed does, Ivan releases Stede's hand and gestures vaguely in the direction of the bathroom. "Well, I'm just gonna…"
"Yep, alright, man. Good to see ya," Ed says, firing him a little two-fingered salute. He watches Ivan's retreating back as he trudges over to the bathroom, his booted footsteps thudding loudly on the tiled floor. A question springs to Ed's mind, unbidden. If Ivan had arrived ten minutes earlier, would Stede be sucking him off in the bathroom right now? And why does the thought of it make Ed's tummy feel all weird and squirmy? It's not like it's any of Ed's business. Jesus.
Stede's voice snaps Ed out of his reverie. "So… Blackbeard? Like the pirate?"
Ed chuckles. "Yeah. Just stupid trucker shit. A dumb nickname that stuck years ago." He picks up a napkin and begins tearing little squares off of the corner. "It's a bit embarrassing now, though. Beard's not exactly black anymore. I'm more like Greybeard these days. Salt-and-Pepperbeard, maybe."
"Well, I like it," Stede says, with a shy smile. "Your beard, I mean. The colour."
"Thank you," Ed murmurs. Fucking hell, he can feel the blush creeping up his cheeks. He just hopes his thick beard will hide it. He extends his hand across the table. "I'm Ed."
Stede takes his hand in his own, giving it a shake that's firm but not crushing. "Stede."
Ed nods. "It's nice to meet you, Stede."
They release each other's hands and Ed goes back to tearing up his paper napkin, adding to the growing pile of white confetti on the table. For his part, Stede just kinda stares at him, a smile on his face that Ed can't really parse.
"So, Stede," Ed says, when the silence stretches on a little too long. "What exactly is your story?"
"Oh, it's terribly boring," Stede says, with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Ed fixes him with a disbelieving stare. "Well, something brought you here, to a place like this, offering to suck the dick of the first stranger who wandered into the bathroom. I wanna know what it was."
"Oh, no. You've got it all wrong!"
Ed cocks his head, his face screwing up into the perfect picture of incredulity. "Stede. Unless the word "blowjob" has gained a new meaning that I am unaware of, you absolutely offered to suck my dick in the bathroom not fifteen minutes ago."
Stede's cheeks pinken. "Well, yes. Yes, I did do that, didn't I? But what I meant was, you weren't the first stranger to wander into the bathroom. Far from it!"
Before Ed can work through the implications of that particular statement, Lucius appears at the booth. The silence stretches on between them as Lucius sets down Ed's coffee and Stede's tea, along with a little jug of milk.
"I'll be back with your pie in a moment," Lucius says, glancing back and forth between them.
"Thanks, mate," Ed murmurs. While Lucius retreats, Ed busies himself, adding a decent dollop of milk to his coffee. He tears open a couple of sugar packets (alright, maybe more than a couple), and pours in enough to make his coffee sufficiently palatable that he won't grimace his way through every sip.
"So…" Ed prompts, as his stirs his coffee. "When you say I wasn't the first guy to wander in, you meant…?"
"Oh! Well, you see, I'd been in there for quite some time. A couple of hours, at least!" Stede replies breezily. "At least a dozen or so men wandered in there before you!"
Ed chokes a little on his barely drinkable coffee. "Right. Yeah," he sputters. "That's… wow, that's a lot of guys."
"It is, isn't it?" Stede chirps. "I was actually quite surprised at the amount of footfall a place like this gets on a Tuesday morning."
"Yeah, well, that's, erm… that's truckers for you. Always trucking," Ed replies, setting his mug down.
Stede hums in agreement, before pulling (from where, Ed does not know) a tiny jar of honey. "I always carry this, in case of emergencies," Stede says, with a wink. He stirs a spoonful of honey into his tea, then takes a long, appreciative sip, his eyelids fluttering as he does so. He sighs as he smacks his lips. "Ah, that's perfect. A bit of honey in tea always soothes the old throat."
Ed blinks. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess that's… you'd be needing that."
Stede grins. "Mmm. Really hits the spot."
Ed stares at Stede for a minute longer, this absolutely baffling paradox of a man. Ed's not one to slut-shame, nor to judge based on appearances, but fucking hell, what is this guy's deal? Ed has, like, a million questions, and no clue how to ask any of them tactfully.
"So…" Ed begins, when his curiosity wins out over his desire to be tactful. "Were you, like, going for some kind of world record or something? Most truckers sucked off in a rest stop bathroom in a single day?"
Now it's Stede's turn to choke on his tea. He does so considerably more spectacularly than Ed, though, coughing and spluttering until his entire face takes on a deep burgundy hue.
Of course, Lucius picks that exact moment to return with their pie. He sets the two slices down, glancing warily at Stede.
"Is he okay?" Lucius asks. "He's not, like, choking or having an allergic reaction or anything is he?"
Stede gives Lucius a thumbs up as he mops up the little puddle of tea that had dribbled from his mouth onto the tabletop.
Ed chuckles. "I think he'll be alright, mate. Just needs a minute."
"Oh, thank God," Lucius sighs. "I really didn't want to have to do the Heimlich manoeuvre. See, I have this whole thing with my lower back…"
"I'm fine," Stede rasps. "Thank you."
"Alright," Lucius says, still side-eyeing Stede warily as if he might drop dead at any moment. "Well, anything else I can get you, then?" he asks, wrinkling his nose like a rabbit as he looks back and forth between Ed and Stede.
"Nah, mate. I think we're good," Ed says.
He gives Stede a minute or so to catch his breath and regain his composure after Lucius leaves them alone again. He takes the opportunity to dig into his pie, the perfect, sweet antidote to the bitterness of the coffee.
"I think I might have given you the wrong impression," Stede says, when he can breathe properly again.
"Yeah? Wanna enlighten me?" Ed asks, as he takes another bite of pie.
Stede sets the napkin down and sits back in his seat. He looks off into the middle distance for a moment as he drums his fingertips on the table.
"I did come here today hoping to… well…" Stede's cheeks somehow flush an even deeper shade of crimson than when he'd been choking on his tea. "To 'blow' somebody." Christ, Ed swears he can hear the air quotes in Stede's voice. "But, the truth is, I failed rather spectacularly on my mission."
"Oh?"
Stede's gaze briefly lands on Ed before flitting away again. "I watched at least a dozen men come and go — not in a creepy way, I promise. I swear I don't have some kind of voyeuristic piss kink going on…"
Ed raises his hands as if to say "who's judging?", though he probably would've had to have had a chat to Stede about the importance of consent if that had been his bag.
"Anyway, I didn't want to blow a single one of them. Not until… well, not until you came in."
Ed can feel his lips quirking into a smile as an image of Goldilocks and the three bears (or Goldilocks and the dozen cocks, as the case may be) springs to mind. He bats the image away, shovelling in another mouthful of pie to hide his smile.
"Flattered though I am, mate, I've gotta say, I have so many questions."
"Well, then, fire away," Stede says, delicately slicing off a bite-sized piece of pie with the side of his fork.
Ed swallows his mouthful. "Alright, then. Let's start with the big one. Why were you on this "mission" in the first place?"
Stede gazes out of the window, brow furrowing as he chews his mouthful of pie. He swallows, huffs out a quiet sigh, and sets down his fork.
"A year ago today, I asked my ex-wife for a divorce."
Ed tries his hardest not to let his surprise at the "wife" part of that sentence show on his face. 'Cos: this guy? Really?
"In a move that apparently surprised no-one except me, I came out as gay. I moved into my own place, quit my awful, soulless office job and started my own little tailoring business, and I decided that I was finally going to live life on my own terms."
"That's great, Stede! Really. Must have taken serious balls to make such huge changes to your life, man!" Ed says, raising his next forkful of pie in a sort of toast.
"Yes, well…" Stede's gaze drops to the table top. He twiddles with his fork, rotating it this way and that between his forefinger and thumb. "The thing is, it's been an entire year, Ed, and yet I haven't… Christ, this is so mortifying." He drops the fork, burying his head in his hands. "I haven't yet been intimate with another man. In any capacity."
"Nothing wrong with that, man," Ed says. "Really," he stresses, when Stede peers out from behind his hands, looking at Ed as skeptically as if he'd just suggested that the tooth fairy is not only real but a close, personal friend of Ed's, actually.
"But… but what if I got it wrong? What if I blew up my entire life — left my wife and kids, burned down my stable if uninspiring career — for nothing?"
The pieces slot together in Ed's mind, and his heart breaks a little for the man before him. "So… that's why you were in the bathroom, offering a stranger a blowjob? Because you wanted to make sure you're really gay?"
"Well sussed," Stede replies, with a dark chuckle. "It's an unconventional approach, I know. I just… well, I woke up today and decided it was time to be brave."
Ed briefly considers asking Stede if he's ever heard of Grindr, but he dismisses the question. Seems like it's kinda missing the point. "Stede, man. Fuck. You don't have to earn the right to be queer. There's no… no fucking requirements, y'know? No fucking checklist of sex acts that you need to do before you can call yourself gay."
Stede finally lifts his gaze from where it's been fixed on the table. His eyes are watery, glassy with unshed tears. "I know. I do know that, intellectually, at least. It's just… I suppose it would be nice to have the confirmation. To know without a doubt that this really is who I am. To be gay in practice, rather than just in theory."
A tear gathers on Stede's lashes. Stede wipes it away before it can roll down his cheek. Jesus, Ed wants to wrap this guy in his arms and keep him safe. He can't really do that with the table separating them, so instead, he knocks his boot up against Stede's shoe.
"Mate, I promise you, as long as it feels right to you, that's all that matters. Yeah?"
Stede shakes his head, sniffing back any further tears before they can fall. "I just can't shake this thought. What if I was wrong?"
Ed sets down his own fork. "Listen, man. From what you've told me, your life sounds a hell of a lot better now than it was before. And you've built something new out of the wreckage, right? Your own business, doing something that makes you happy."
Stede sighs. "That's true, I suppose."
Ed can see it's not enough, though. Stede might be happier outside of his marriage and his corporate career, but the matter of his sexuality is clearly important to him.
Ed narrows his eyes as he formulates a plan. "Okay. I'm gonna ask you some questions. We're gonna go rapid-fire, and I don't want you to think too hard about your answers, okay? Just shoot from the hip, say the first thing that comes in your mind. Got it?"
Stede nods, sitting up a little straighter. A wobbly smile appears on his face. "Got it."
"Alright, then. Here we go. First question: Peanut butter - crunchy or smooth?"
"Crunchy. Obviously."
"Obviously," Ed echoes, with a grin. "Question two: Favourite animal?"
Quick as a flash, Stede answers. "The rosy maple moth."
"Wait, really? A moth?"
Stede hums in affirmation, and his smile grows as the light returns to his eyes. "They're adorable, Ed! All pink and yellow and fuzzy!"
Ed chuckles at Stede's earnest enthusiasm. "I'll take your word for it, mate." He fires a few more questions at Stede (Favourite colour? Turquoise. Opinion on Bigfoot? Real and misunderstood. Optimal pizza topping? Pepperoni), just to really build up the momentum. He keeps it moving quickly, giving Stede limited time to think or second guess himself.
He draws in a deep breath before the next question, schooling his expression into something more serious. This is the biggie, after all — the whole point of this exercise. "Are you romantically or sexually attracted to men?"
Stede pauses to rake his eyes very deliberately from Ed's face down to his chest and back up. It's only when he meets Ed's gaze again that he answers, in a voice without a trace of uncertainty. "Yes."
Jesus Christ, this fucking guy. Ed can feel the heat rise in his cheeks. He squirms a little under the obvious attention, clearing his throat. "Alright, then. Last question. Does it feel right to you to describe yourself as gay?"
"Yes," Stede says, his smile now bordering on blinding. Ed is powerless but to grin right back at him.
On impulse, Ed grabs his fork. He leans across the table and taps Stede first on one shoulder, then the other. "By the power vested in me, I dub thee, Stede Middle Name Last Name —"
"Bartholomew Bonnet," Stede fills in, with a self-deprecating smile.
Ed pauses for a second. "Really?"
"Really."
Ed blinks it off. "I dub thee, Stede Bartholomew Bonnet, gay."
Stede giggles as the tension melts away from him. It's a glorious fucking sound, light and bright, and Ed already knows that he'd do pretty much anything to coax that sound from him again. "The power vested in you by whom, exactly?"
"Dickfuck, I dunno," Ed chuckles. "By, like… the Council of Elrond or something."
"The Council of Elrond?" Stede repeats, his giggle blooming into a full-on belly laugh. And yeah, that's even better, actually.
"You saw those elves, mate!" Ed laughs. "No way they were straight. Queer as fuck, they were!"
"You're not wrong," Stede says, the laughter still twinkling away in his eyes. "Well, thank you, Ed. And… thank you to the good elves of Rivendell, too, I guess." Stede's expression turns more serious. "You've helped me more than you can possibly know."
Ed bats away the sentiment with a dismissive wave of his hand and a pfft.
"Really, Ed. I mean it," Stede says, and his tone carries enough weight that Ed doesn't try to protest further.
Ed nods. "It's no problem, mate. Glad I could help."
Stede slides his hand across the table, until it rests on top of Ed's. "Though… I would still like to, erm… well, that is… the offer is still very much on the cards. If you…"
Ed looks down at their hands, then back up at Stede's hopeful face. He knows he can't take Stede up on his offer. Not today. And not just because casual hook-ups have lost all appeal to him, but because Stede is clearly working through some serious shit. Ed's not gonna take advantage of him while he's in such a vulnerable state. It wouldn't be right.
With his free hand, Ed pats Stede's. He slips his hands away and brings them to his lap with a sad smile.
Stede gets the message right away. He pulls his own hand back as if he's been bitten. "Right. Of course. No, that's —"
Ed cuts him off before his obvious panic sends him bolting from the diner. "It's not a never."
Stede freezes, his breath catching in his chest. He stares at Ed, caught somewhere between hope and defeat.
Ed draws in a deep breath of his own. The truth is, he has enjoyed meeting Stede. He's had fun, and he's intrigued by this absolute lunatic of a man. He feels like there could be something here, between them, and he wants to be careful with it, wants to nurture it, let it grow, see what it might turn into. He wants to know whether it might become something strong enough to survive the shit buried in Ed's past. In other words, he wants to take it slow.
"It's a not now," Ed clarifies. "It's a not here, a not like this."
Stede relaxes fractionally, his shoulders retreating just a touch from where they had been bunched up around his ears. "Oh. Well, that's…"
"But it's also not a yes," Ed cuts in, before Stede can get his hopes up too high. "It's a maybe one day. I've had fun this with you this afternoon, man. It's the most fun I've had on the road in ages. And so, yeah, I'd like to see you again. See whether there might be something here. As long as that's something you want."
Stede just about melts into a puddle, his smile as soft as butter. "I think I'd like that."
Ed can feel the shy smile creeping across his own face. "Okay. So, my route brings me through here every couple of weeks. Today's the second, so… I should be here next on the sixteenth. Maybe I'll see you then?"
Stede's smile broadens. "Maybe you will."
Wordlessly, they both tuck into their slices of pie, shooting each other the occasional glance, chuckling shyly whenever they catch each other's gaze. When their plates are cleared, their conversation picks back up, meandering here, there, and everywhere, until their mugs are drained of all but the last dregs.
Ed glances at his watch. Much as he'd like to stay here with Stede, he does have to get back on the road. Izzy'll be breathing down his neck if he doesn't report back in by one o'clock, and he could really do without that particular ball-ache. He fishes out his wallet, plucking out a couple of notes.
"Please, Ed, allow me," Stede says. "It's the least I can do to repay the kindness you showed me today."
Ed nods, folds his wallet, and shoves it back in his pocket. "Alright then. Thanks, Stede. The sixteenth, then?"
Stede beams at him, the dimple on full display. "The sixteenth."