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Ed's shoulder jars against the solid shelving while reaching for the little suit doll. Fuckin'...mannequin? Lever. Definitely a lever or something. Closet opener. Like a can opener except for closets. This closet. Secret closet, that Stede only shared with him.
The lever finally holds still enough for Ed to pull it and open the hidden door. He cusses and swats at the weight that almost fucking brains him on the other side of the door when he closes it behind himself. Things really need to stop having it out for him. He's just... just trying to see the closet. All the pretty clothes.
There's sunlight like the first time he was in here and he remembers for a moment how excited they'd been. Peas in a pod. Stede happy to share, Ed fasci-- fas-- interested. A lot. The orange breeches they'd both worn had come from here. That had been the first time forrrfuckingever that Ed had been unbored.
He stumbles while trying to find orange fabric and tries to catch himself again, but the stupid clothes aren't solid like the shelves and he hits the floor hard, taking a couple useless summer linens down with him.
"Fuckin' ow."
Oh no. Ed fumbles at the shirts, checking for tears. If he's ruined them, Stede will be--
Stede won't be anything. Because Stede isn't here. It's been two days since Ed got here, plenty time for Stede to catch up. If he was coming. Which he's not. Why would he if he already left Ed behind once?
Ed blinks away the extra blur and turns to the winter jackets. If Stede isn't coming back, then Ed can do whatever the fuck he wants with his stuff.
The jackets are a bitch to yank down, but Ed has a nice big pile of fancy clothes fast enough. He runs his fingers over lace, embroidery, patterns, buttons, silk, velvet, linen that feels rough in contrast. He rubs an extra fancy stitched design over his wet cheeks and the beginnings of the first stubble he's had since his...teens? Twenties? Like at least half his life ago, however many years that was. He still feels cold.
Ed's been trying over and over and over and over again, but he can't figure out where he went wrong. If Stede didn't leave him to come back for his rich people things, what the fuck did he leave for? Had he remembered that Ed's a bad person, the worst, someone who killed their own dad? Or that he'd tried to kill Stede that one time? But they'd decided to forget about that and Ed would never--he'd rather chop off his own fuckin' dick than hurt Stede. Stede had to know that. Didn't he? Or maybe he'd finally saw that Ed will never fit him. Stede is sunshine and fun and nice things and Ed doesn't deserve any of that.
But Stede had kissed him back, Ed knows he did. And he'd said--
Ed drops face-first into the pile and hugs it tight.
Stede had said with his own mouth that Ed made him happy. So why--
Ed sniffs back snot and smells lavender and the cologne Stede had worn to the fickle fuckheads' party. He shoves his face in deeper and lets the building sob out. The headache that had settled behind his teeth earlier rushes back to his face.
Maybe it was because the kiss had been a weird angle? Cuz it had been, and it was Ed's fucking fault. Ed should have...should have climbed into Stede's lap like he'd wanted to a bunch of times, gotten as close as he could, found a better angle, and kissed him dizzy. Make sure he kissed Stede better than his wife ever had. He should have--fuck.
He pulls the clothes even tighter towards himself and wiggles his hips against them for friction as he imagines it. He should have laid Stede back and shown him how fuckin' good they could have been together. Nothing to slick the way and all the fucking sand meant buggering wasn't on the table, but Ed had gotten a lot of practice in his youth and could have sucked Stede until he saw goddamn stars. He could have found out what Stede's cum tastes like. He could have--shit.
The button of his pants snaps open easily--finally something doesn't fight him--and Ed has to lift his face from the clothes to gasp as he takes himself in hand and starts tugging.
He could have touched all over Stede's high-life soft skin and the scars from his recent adventures, kissed the sparse chest hair Ed had stared at while waiting for Stede's fever to break. He could have found out how Stede's prick fit against his palm.
He'd thought they'd have more time. Half-baked images of teaching Stede how to fuck Ed same as he'd been teaching him sword fighting mosey through his mind's eye and the pressure in his face builds into an awful throbbing ache as he nears climax. He thinks about the little cute-as-fuck noise Stede had made before Ed had ended the kiss and cums with a tear-stained cry.
He'd thought he'd have more time.
He'd thought--
Doesn't matter now.