Chapter Text
It’s barely even fall and yet the chill stings his skin when Stede climbs out of the cab. Four weeks of Caribbean climate have left him tanned and accustomed to heat and humidity far beyond what his hometown has to offer this time of year. He hopes the driver doesn’t see him sway as the solid ground shifts dangerously beneath his feet. It makes his stomach churn. Too much stress, too much time on boats and planes, not enough solid food. His internal clock is out of sync with reality. He didn’t sleep on the flight and yet there’s an urgency in him, a feeling like he needs to get up, attend yet another tedious meeting, stare down yet another corrupt investor, put on the mask of a stranger’s smile, teeth white and jagged as a shark’s. But it’s midnight. The dark is like soft velvet, cool air laced with the last remnants of summer. And just a few steps ahead - a beacon of warm light, a window with a quirky sign of coffee cup and crossbones, two familiar figures bustling about beyond.
“…and then it just sprayed all over the fuckin’ place, like, what was that?” Ed’s chuckle carries well, even through the door, and Stede is tempted to linger out of sight and listen, just for a little bit.
“It’s not fucking funny, Edward. I’ll need to replace the gasket tomorrow. Can’t have hot milk scalding the customers,” Izzy grumbles, takes the dish towel from Ed and lets scarred fingers graze the back of his husband’s hand as though by accident.
“It was a little bit funny. You’ve still got some foam there.” Ed leans down to kiss Izzy’s temple and Izzy closes his eyes, the picture of pure bliss, then scrunches them up and squirms as Ed’s kissing turns to licking, leaving a damp trail all over the side of his face.
Stede can’t bear it a second longer. He opens the café door.
“Sorry, we’re closed,” Ed says, his back turned. But Izzy, ever vigilant, whips around, exclaims “Bonnet!” and everything is a whirlwind from there.
Long arms wrap around Stede’s waist and his feet lose contact with the ground. His nose is pushed into a scruffy beard, sticky with rogue droplets of oat milk. Then there are lips on his mouth, his cheek, a second, smaller body pressing into his back, smells of hair wax and the sweat of a hard day’s work and warmth and comfort and…
Stede sniffles against Ed’s shoulder. He hasn’t even uttered a single word of greeting and already the past month’s exhaustion is catching up with him all at once. Ed gently lowers him to the floor, steps back though Stede does his best to fight it. He wants to leave his face buried in the worn cotton of Ed’s shirt. Doesn’t want them to see the wetness in his eyes, much less verbally acknowledge it.
“Shit, Stede, what’s wrong?” Ed sounds immediately worried - exactly what he had wanted to avoid.
“N-nothing,” Stede lies, the hitch of his breath a betrayal. “Just very tired. Happy to be back.”
“Bullshit,” Izzy scoffs behind him. As repressed as the little grouch is about showing his own emotions, he sure has a keen sense for sniffing out distress in others. “Sit. What do you need? Have you eaten?”
Stede lets himself be guided to his favorite armchair by Ed, shakes his head as the rainbow quilt is draped across his lap.
“Not really. There was quite a lot of turbulence that didn’t, um… agree with my stomach, I’m afraid.”
“Right,” Izzy replies and gets to work behind the counter like he’s been given an order of some kind. Ed, meanwhile, settles on the chair’s armrest and runs his fingers through Stede’s flat, sun-bleached waves. It’s so tender, sends such sweet tingles down his spine, it’s all Stede can do not to start crying again.
“You look like you’ve escaped from a bronzer commercial, mate. Suits you.” Ed’s voice is just as warm as the hand caressing Stede’s scalp.
“It did start off as a rather nasty sunburn. I looked like a boiled lobster for the entire first week-”
Izzy snorts behind the counter and Stede lets himself melt into the familiarity of it all - the soft touches, the low rumble of the electric kettle, the clink of cups and spoons. He jolts out of his half-hazy state when Izzy sets the tray down in front of him.
“Here. Ginger tea, helps with the airsickness. And yesterday’s oatmeal cookies. Fucking stale but easy to digest.”
“Trust him on that. If there’s one thing Iz knows about, it’s trying not to puke,” Ed teases, though his tone is gentle, and he shoots his husband a fond smile. Izzy’s “Fuck off!” is equally affectionate.
With slow, careful sips - both because the beverage is hot and because he still doesn’t quite trust his insides - Stede empties half his cup. It leaves him feeling pleasantly warm and really does alleviate the worst of the nausea. Something in Stede’s gut unclenches for the first time in a month. He takes a bite of cookie - it’s a bit dry, but still delicious, and when it doesn’t threaten to come back up, he scarfs down the entire thing.
They don’t pressure him to speak as he eats and drinks, Izzy wiping down the remaining dishes, Ed a solid presence at Stede’s side. Lord knows it would be the height of hypocrisy - they’re both notoriously terrible at talking things through. Though therapy does seem to be helping, Stede muses when it’s Izzy who breaks the silence then.
“So, what happened?”
Stede sighs. No use beating around the bush, after all.
“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
Izzy freezes, wet cup held aloft, and Ed’s hand in Stede’s hair stills.
“Can’t do what, mate? Is it something we did, do you wanna-” The edge of fear in Ed’s voice alerts Stede to his blunder. Clearly four months of self-reflection aren’t enough to entirely banish all demons of insecurity from the Teach household. He hastens to explain.
“Gosh, darlings, no! It’s not about us. This is perfect, you are perfect.” Stede waits for Izzy to exhale and Ed to resume his petting before he goes on. “It’s just… I’ll be turning fifty next year. And still nothing I’ve accomplished professionally feels even remotely like… mine. I’m… maybe I’m getting too old to be my father’s mouthpiece, just a convenient hand to sign the family name. If I’m honest, I hate the work. I hate the people. I think-”
“Then quit.” Ed says it like that’s actually a possibility. Which is utterly ludicrous. Stede deflates even further, eyes glued to the string of fairy lights overhead.
“I don’t know how to do anything else. Hell, I barely know what I’m doing as it is. It’s all just his ideas, his bidding, and he knows I’m a coward, knows I’m too soft and too weak to ever leave…” A hot, shameful tear makes its way down Stede’s cheek but his hand is grasped tightly before he can wipe it away. Something compact and dark has swooped in and settled on the chair’s other side.
“Fucking listen to me, Bonnet,” Izzy growls, gaze hard and as bizarrely attractive as it’s terrifying. “You waltzed your posh little ass into our former place of work. You chatted up Edward fucking Teach right in front of his husband. You took us both home to have a bloody threesome the very same night. Does that sound like fucking coward behavior to you?”
“He’s got a point there,” Ed agrees through barely suppressed laughter. And maybe he does, Stede has to admit as much.
“I, um… I guess if the incentive is sufficiently enticing…”
“Suppose there are more threesomes where that first one came from.” Izzy’s response is so entirely deadpan that Ed finally cracks and starts to wheeze, almost falling off his precarious perch in the process. Izzy ignores him and goes on. “Roach asked to reduce his hours when classes start in October. So there’s a part time barista gig if you want it. You’ll be learning on the job.”
Stede blinks, looks back and forth between Izzy’s blank expression and Ed’s giddily expectant one. The earth tilts again, like he’s still on the plane and they’ve hit an air pocket. He waits for the punchline, for the offer to be snatched away before he’s even properly considered it. Nothing happens.
“Can… can I think about it?” Stede’s mind is made up already, of course it is. Even though he knows better than to make life-altering decisions at this level of jetlag and fatigue. Even though the prospect of training under Izzy is more than mildly intimidating. Even though his father is bound to curse his name and disown him, and then what will Mary say when the children are left with nothing because he couldn’t be a proper husband or father or son…
Like he can smell his mounting anxiety, Izzy squeezes Stede’s hand again, anchoring him to the present. Ed kisses the crown of his head, warm breath in his hair cutting through the panic’s icy fog.
“You take all the time you need, love. Finish your tea, Iz and I just gotta lock up and then we’re bringing you home with us.”
Home, Stede feels the smooth, worn edges of the word where he’s wedged between the two men on the leather chair. Then again later, with his cheek on Ed’s chest, Izzy’s soft belly rising and falling against his back. And once more over breakfast while his boyfriends argue about blueberries or chocolate chips in the pancakes. They settle for both and let them go cold anyway as the three of them end up in a frenzied tangle of limbs on the living room floor.
“I’ll write to my father,” Stede decides in a subsequent moment of post-climactic clarity, still panting and wondering where his briefs have gone. Ed and Izzy exchange a sly smile between his legs. He genuinely doesn’t know what’s next, how they’ll manage, whether it can really all work out. They are about to enter entirely uncharted waters. But if these two gorgeous, crazy men have taught Stede anything, it’s the art of saying fuck it, and diving in head first.