Chapter Text
The smell makes its way into Stede’s nose as he’s unlocking the front door - like pancakes but not quite, and something smoky-sweet, too. It gets stronger, almost overwhelming, when he steps into his house. There are two sets of heavy black boots on the mat by the armoire. Well, one - the smaller pair - actually on the mat, right on the sailboat printed into the fabric, the other in a jumble of leather and buckles just off to the side.
Stede smiles at the hint of chaos in his otherwise immaculate foyer. How long has it been since piles of dinosaur-patterned rubber boots and sensible pumps were a fixture in this very spot? How long since this house actually felt like a home, if it ever did? He offered it to Mary in the divorce, of course, but she’d happily moved in with Doug before the papers were even signed. Now it’s usually just Stede’s overpriced loafers standing lonely on the marble floor. He’s about to get quite sentimental about all of it when he hears voices from the patio, drifting towards him along with the mouth-watering scent.
“Just try it, Iz, please. Burned my bloody tongue, mate, can’t taste a damn thing.”
“Serves you right, then. I’m not making myself sick just because you have the patience of a fucking toddler. I saw you put a whole stick of butter and a pint of cream in there!”
Drawn in by their well-rehearsed bickering but not wanting to intrude, Stede tiptoes through his own kitchen. He takes in the state of the stove and counters with some level of alarm - various pots and pans are scattered about, there is something gooey and partially charred dripping down the sides of the waffle maker and every visible surface seems to be coated in a spatter of tacky, golden-brown droplets.
Filing the inevitable discussion about proper cleanup away for later, Stede inches closer until he can look through the glass doors leading from the kitchen to his backyard. Izzy is sitting in a lawn chair, shirt unbuttoned to his navel. He’s wearing sunglasses and a scowl, apparently trying to read something on his phone while Ed hovers over him brandishing a spoon. It seems to hold the same sticky substance currently decorating Stede’s kitchen walls.
“Aww c’mon, it can’t be that bad. I’m allergic to dogs and I visit Fang and his smelly mutts all the time. Haven’t died yet, have I?” Ed tries to shove the spoon into Izzy’s mouth, which only makes the grumbling and frowning intensify.
“Well, not everyone has the luxury of a husband who carries fucking antihistamines everywhere… Ah, Bonnet! Just in time. You taste whatever Edward is trying to poison me with.”
Stede jumps a bit, then steps out onto the warm stone tiles on bare feet, feeling oddly caught. Not like he’s been trying to hide from them. It’s still his own house after all, so that would be ridiculous. But even after half a year of knowing these two bizarre men, he can’t seem to take his eyes off them, doesn’t want to miss a single chance to watch and listen raptly, to observe the intricate dance of exasperation and affection between them. He knows the ginger tea Izzy makes when Ed has the sniffles, knows how Ed will handle phone calls and contractors when Izzy can’t deal with people that day. Stede also knows it’s been hard for them - doesn’t know all the details, doesn’t need to - but that makes him feel all the more privileged. He’s allowed to see them like this, maybe even had a small part in helping them get where they are now - Izzy with the sun in his face, Ed wearing nothing but an apron and jeans, waffle batter in his hair.
“Earth to Bonnet?” Izzy snaps Stede out of his thoughts the same moment Ed plants a sticky kiss on his cheek.
“Hope it’s ok we used your kitchen, love? Ours is too small and we gotta test out some recipes for the café. We’ll leave everything spotless, promise.”
“Of course, dear. That’s why I gave you a key.” Stede returns Ed’s kiss, bites back a comment about possibly having to burn down the house to get rid of the mess they made. Without warning, Ed sticks the spoon between Stede’s lips and all thoughts of dirty dishes vanish from his mind. It’s sweet and salty and so intense it makes him feel lightheaded, his scalp buzzing with the rush of contrasting flavors.
“That’s… wow. I don’t even- I’ve never-” Stede smacks his lips, blinks into the setting sun behind Ed’s shoulder.
“So… good?” Ed asks, smirking. Stede nods fervently.
“Very! What is it?”
“Salted caramel sauce. Just wait till you try it on something.”
Ed lifts an inverted plate off the patio table to reveal a stack of waffles, all perfectly golden and perfectly square - likely Izzy’s doing. Stede watches as Ed drizzles some of the sauce on the top one, making sure to let it run into every crevice of the dough. He lifts it up for Stede to take a bite and this time it’s impossible to hold back a genuine moan. It’s crunchy and fluffy and warm and savory-sweet - both Ed and Izzy snicker at the involuntary noises Stede makes while he chews.
“You two wanna move that shit to the bedroom? Some of us are trying to read about small business marketing.” Izzy points to his phone screen in mock annoyance and Stede knows him well enough by now to recognize that tone. So does Ed, of course.
“Jealous, Iz?” Ed grins and shoots Stede an encouraging look. Before Izzy can reply, Stede bends down to kiss him, smearing both their mouths with caramel.
“Not too bad,” Izzy relents, licking his bottom lip as he looks up at them. He points at Stede’s chest. “You’ve got some…”
“Oh. Oh dear, I better…” There is a large droplet of sauce on Stede’s collarbone, threatening to drip into the silk of his shirt, which will be absolute hell to clean and- Ed leans in and licks it right off his flushed skin. “Well, that’s one way to- oh. ” There’s a huff of surprise as Ed grabs the hem of Stede’s shirt and just pulls it off over his head, leaving him naked from the waist up.
“Better safe than sorry,” Ed says, feigning innocence, and Stede doesn’t have it in him to disagree. The next spoonful of sauce does not even try to make it to the waffle stack and lands instead on the bird tattooed across Ed’s sternum.
“Oops,” Ed tilts his head, batting his lashes.
“Fuck’s sake…” Izzy rolls his eyes just as Stede steps close to return the favor and remove the sugary rivulet with his tongue. And if he kisses his way up Ed’s neck a bit in the process, who would blame him?
Soon, Ed’s apron is untied and thrown across the remaining chair along with Stede’s discarded shirt. More sauce is spilled - purely by accident, of course - just to the left of Ed’s belly button. Stede kisses it off, mouth trailing over a shiny patch of scar tissue as he does.
“Ed ever tell you about that one?” Izzy asks. He might not be participating in their caramelized shenanigans but the hitch in his voice shows he’s not entirely unaffected by the display.
“M-mh. Don’t believe he has,” Stede mumbles into the soft, warm skin of Ed’s stomach. He wants to hear about all of it - every scar and tattoo, every single day of their life together before they welcomed him into it. But he’s not one to pry. Not all memories are made to be shared, after all.
“Disagreement with the old boss.” Ed’s voice has gone a bit breathy. Stede stops his dedicated nuzzling in surprise.
“What, Badminton?” He knows the horrible man - far better than he’d like to, in fact. Not many families with old money in a small town like theirs, impossible to avoid each other entirely. But slimy and obnoxious as he might be, he never struck Stede as the stabbing kind.
“Nah, before that. S’why we left the bike shop. Well… were encouraged to leave.” Ed shrugs and Stede sees Izzy straighten up in his chair.
“Seems we have one more thing in common, then!” In an attempt to dispel the tension, Stede finds himself turning to the side and pointing to a jagged red line above his left hip.
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask how that happened. Bar fight?” Ed winks and places a gentle palm over the scar. The touch makes Stede’s spine tingle as he replies.
“Business meeting.”
His answer is met with two incredulous stares at once and he honestly can’t blame them. Sure, most of his time at work is spent signing contracts he doesn’t read and sitting in on meetings he doesn’t see the point of. But every once in a while he’s not just another bearer of his father’s letterhead but also a convenient way to deliver a message. Nothing quite like putting a hole into the company heir to speed sales negotiations along. Stede feels himself blushing. He never meant to overshare and is ready to say as much when Izzy is suddenly out of his seat, rising up on his toes to kiss the last remnants of caramel off Stede’s lips. Their bare chests stick together with sugar and sweat.
“You’re so fucking strange, Bonnet,” Izzy shakes his head and Stede can see his own expression of slightly confused arousal reflected in his shades.
“Alright. Bedroom. Now,” Ed decides. Apparently, talk of knife wounds counts as suitable foreplay to both these lunatics and yet somehow Stede got labeled as the weird one. He opts not to comment on that as four strong arms pull him into bed. And maybe tidying up the kitchen can also wait another hour. Or two. Or three.