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Stede can’t stop staring at Chef Teach. It’s making him sloppy. He almost chops a finger off while he’s prepping mirepoix. It’s getting really bad. He’s burning himself on hot pans, he’s running into other chefs, he’s clumsy with his knife.
“Chef. Are you alright?” comes a voice from behind him as he’s fiddling with a finger condom.
“Mm?” Stede says, turning with his bleeding, bandaged appendage outstretched.
Chef Teach stares at him, brow furrowed. “It’s just that… When we hired you, you were— And now your knife skills are—”
“I’ve been distracted,” Stede exclaims, cutting him off.
Chef Teach blinks at him, probably surprised at being interrupted. Stede is surprised with himself.
“Distracted,” Chef Teach repeats. “I guess that’s better than you being like… an evil twin or something,” he says, scuffing his shoe against the tile. Stede looks down at his foot. He’s wearing velcro sneakers.
Chef Teach follows his line of sight down to his shoe. His foot makes a little motion like it’s trying to hide. “Not exactly ballroom ready, huh?” he jokes.
“Ha,” Stede breathes.
“Never learned to tie my shoes as a kid. I know I could learn now, before you say it. But it’s so much easier to…” he makes a velcro noise with his mouth.
Stede is trying not to have an aortic aneurysm. This is the longest conversation he’s ever had with the man. The only real conversation he’s had with the man. If you can call what is essentially a series of jokes ‘real’. This is additionally the longest conversation he’s heard Chef Teach have where he hasn’t been yelling.
“Sorry,” Stede peeps.
“Hey, no sweat, man. This is your first week. Just… keep focused, eh?”
“Yes,” Stede says.
“Better get that condom on, huh?” Chef Teach says with a wink. And then he’s walking away. And Stede is watching him walk away.
“Huh.”
Stede carefully lets every tenth sauce break. He does it until:
“Hey, chef.”
“Chef Teach,” Stede says, smiling. Mission accomplished.
“What’s with the inconsistency, man? It’s like you’re letting every tenth sauce break.”
And this is true, but: “Oh, am I? Sorry, must just be—”
“Distracted. Listen, we’ve all got life shit. But we leave it outside of the kitchen.”
“What if my ‘life shit’ is in the kitchen?”
Chef Teach’s brow furrows. He looks around. “One of these guys? You’ve gotta get higher standards, mate. Find a librarian or something. An artist. A liberal arts professor. Can’t put two chefs together. I think your life expectancy lowers when you fuck a chef. Even, like, a dishwasher. Can’t do it.”
And this is bad news for Stede, whose whole thing at current is wanting to fuck a chef. “Hm,” he hums.
“Yeah.” Chef Teach’s eyes dart around the room, as if he’s trying to figure out who it is. His gaze settles on someone who Stede’s never spoken more than a sentence to. “Yeeeeah. Alright. Well.” He pulls a knife from his waistband and points it at Stede. “No more fucking chefs. Kitchen rule, okay?”
Stede locks eyes with the back of Chef Teach’s head across the kitchen and picks up an outgoing plate. He walks over to him, does not say ‘behind’ and acts surprised when he turns and walks directly into him.
“Jesus, Bonnet!” he exclaims, blackberry reduction running down his whites.
Now that he’s at his destination Stede doesn’t know what to say. “Sorry,” he tries.
“Sorry?” Chef Teach looks like he’s about to have an aortic aneurysm. “Sorry. Sorry! Sorry, you’re—”
“I’m sorry, chef, I was just—”
“Oh, you were just. You’re always just, Bonnet.” He takes a deep, heaving breath. “You’re paying my dry cleaning bill.”
Stede nods.
“Now fucking… Go. Just go.”
Maybe not his wisest move. Stede trudges back over to his station and looks down at himself. There’s blackberry reduction on his whites too. Stupid.
Stede isn’t going to blame himself for this one. Maybe he wasn’t practicing great knife safety, talking with it pointed out and all. But he didn’t try to stab Chef Teach. Chef Teach just backed onto his knife.
“Fuck!” they both exclaim in unison.
“Oh my god,” the line cook with the dramatic sideburns that Stede was talking to says.
Chef Teach turns, eyes wide as saucers. “Did you just stab me?”
“I didn’t mean to!” Stede exclaims.
“Waving your fucking knife around and you don’t think someone’s going to walk into it?”
Stede is honest: “Well, no!”
Dramatic Sideburns sidles past the two of them and then turns a little green. “You should really go to the hospital, chef.”
Chef Teach deflates. “Is it bad?”
“Aye, tis a lot of blood!” someone calls from across the room.
“Fffuck,” Chef Teach hisses. “Alright. Bonnet, you’re driving me to the hospital.”
“Yes, chef.”
By the time they get to the hospital Chef Teach is pale, so they’re rushed through the ER and he’s checked out and stitched up.
“You’re lucky you missed all the important bits,” Chef Teach grumbles into a jello cup. “Could’a fuckin… punctured my liver or something.”
“I’m sorry, Chef Teach.”
Chef Teach rolls his eyes. “I think you can call me Ed, now that you’ve literally stabbed me.”
“Ed,” Stede says, smiling. “And you can call me Stede.”
Ed sniffs. “Fine. Stede. Stede, you’ve gotta get more focused in the kitchen.”
“I’m not fired?”
“What? No. You think I’ve fired every guy that’s stabbed me?”
“I would think so, yes.”
“I haven’t. Like three of the guys in that kitchen have stabbed me.”
“Accidentally?”
“Sure, if that helps you sleep at night. Anyway. Focus. You need to focus. I don’t know who you’re making puppy dog eyes at all night, but it’s gotta stop.”
“Mm.”
“Is it Frenchie? Because, honest to god, I can’t really see that, man. Your energies don’t align.”
“No, it’s not—”
“Steak Knife? I didn’t peg you as someone who would go for that kind of thing, but—”
“Ed.”
“To each their own.”
“Edward.”
Ed squeaks. There’s no other word for it. “Full-naming me, huh? I get it. I’ll shut up about it—”
“It’s you, Ed.”
Ed goes silent. His big eyes go bigger. “Me?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Fairly sure, yes.”
“That’s a road you don’t wanna go down, mate. Anyone’ll tell you that.”
“Well, I don’t want to listen to what anyone else says.”
Ed snorts. “Clearly. Do you remember what I said to you about fucking chefs?”
“Nope. I was—”
“If you say ‘distracted’ I’m gonna fuckin’ stab you back. But seriously, man. This is a bad idea.”
“I think it’s a fine idea,” Stede says, smiling.
“You’re gonna regret it,” Ed says, leaning forward. Stede leans forward in kind.
“I’m not.”
“I’m a fuckin’ psycho, man, you don’t even know the half of it.”
Stede cups Ed’s cheek. “You’re saying that to a man who stabbed you.”
“Yeah, but you did it accide—”
Stede kisses him.
Things are great. Stede couldn’t be happier. Ed is a marvel; everything he does is perfection. Stede already knew this, but now he has a closer view. Ed makes him a grilled cheese sandwich after everyone else has gone home and Stede has to bite his lip to keep from crying. It’s the best grilled cheese he’s ever had. And maybe that could be because he’s falling in love, but he doubts it. Ed is just that good.
They do a lot of kissing, which is a beautiful thing. Ed shoves Stede up against the side of his car and holds his hands up over his head while he kisses him which is. Well. It’s fine. It’s just that Stede is starting to have a sneaking suspicion that they might not be compatible in the bedroom. Which is fine! Stede is willing to try whatever Ed wants to. That’s how much he likes him.
They haven’t had sex yet, and Stede is honestly thinking that it might not ever happen. They’re speed running the relationship, Stede over at Ed’s place night after night, making out on his bed, but Ed pulls away every time the kiss tips from passionate into desperate.
“Wow,” Ed croaks as he pulls back, lips swollen and cheeks flushed. Stede may have been biting his lower lip a lot. Ed hadn’t complained. “I fucking love kissing you, man.”
“I fucking love kissing you, too,” Stede responds. He’s hard and aching between his legs. He could feel against his thigh a second ago that Ed is in the same boat. “It’s just…”
“Just? What’s just?”
“Why haven’t we had sex yet?”
Ed bristles. “Oh.”
“Not that it’s a problem if you don’t want to! I’d be happy to go forever and ever without having sex!”
“Forever and ever,” Ed muses. “I don’t know, mate,” he groans. “I just don’t think we’re on the same wavelength.”
The lip biting. Oops. “How do you figure?”
Ed’s eyes unfocus. “Well. Everyone’s got this image of Blackbeard, y’know? Of Chef Teach,” he says it like it’s a slur.
Stede nods. “Sure.”
“Fuckin’... larger than life legend. Can’t fail. Mean and loud and scary and…” Ed’s eyes settle on Stede. “What if Ed isn’t like that?”
Stede’s eyebrows fly up. “Okay. That’s fine. So, what are you saying?”
Ed sighs. A long, deep, tired sigh. “I don’t wanna top you, man.”
Stede can’t help it. He laughs. Ed rears back, looking legitimately upset. “Alright. I didn’t expect you to be a fucking dick about it—” Stede grabs him by the arm.
“That is the opposite of a problem,” Stede says, smiling.
Ed looks confused for a second, and then his face clears. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack,” Stede nods.
“Oh,” Ed peeps. And maybe Stede should’ve seen this coming. The way he goes soft and pliant while they’re kissing, the way his eyes go wide and swimmy when Stede rolls them over and kisses him from on top. The way he doesn’t complain when Stede bites his lip. “Well, that’s nice.”
“So…”
“You want to? Now?”
Stede nods. “It’s kind of been torture to get this hard every time we make out, sweetheart.”
Ed’s eyes light up at the pet name. He blushes and hides his face in his hands.
Stede pulls his hands away and looks into his big, wet eyes. “I’m going to take care of you.”
Ed’s eyes slam shut. “Fuck, man, you can’t just say shit like that.”
“I think you’ll find I can just say shit like that,” Stede says, smiling. He pushes Ed onto his back, crawls over him. He slides his hands up under Ed’s t-shirt, situates his hands on his chest, brushes his thumbs over his nipples.
“Mmm,” Ed moans, voice trembling.
“You’re so lovely,” Stede murmurs.
Ed’s hands fly over his face again. “Stooop.”
“Tell me what you want,” Stede says.
“I can’t,” Ed says, peeking out through his fingers.
“Edward.”
“Fuckin’ full naming me again, huh? Okay. I’ll tell you what I want.”
Stede looks on expectantly.
“But I can’t look at you while I do it.”
Stede considers insisting. “Alright.”
Ed covers his eyes again. “I want. Stede, it’s a lot. And you have to promise you’re not going to laugh.”
“I won’t laugh.”
“It’s just that I’ve never had this before. And I’m kind of freaked out.”
Stede rubs a hand along his flank. “That’s alright. Take your time, darling.”
Ed takes a shuddery breath. “I wanna belong to you.”
Stede waits.
“Hello?”
“That’s it?” Stede asks. “Ed, you do belong to me.”
Ed’s arms splay out to the sides. “You’re not getting it, man. I want you to fuckin’ own me. Collar and leash shit. I want to be yours. I want you to like. Control me. I want you to tell me what to do. I want you to tell me what not to do. I want.” His energy peters out. Stede can see it happen. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Ed.”
“No?”
“No.”
Ed crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s okay?”
“It’s okay,” Stede says, running a hand over his stomach. Ed shivers. “I want that too.”
“You do?”
“More than anything,” Stede says, smiling up at him.
“Can I tell you something else?”
Stede huffs out a laugh. “Anything.”
“I kind of walked onto your knife on purpose.”
Stede startles. “What?”
“I saw that you were holding it out. Which, like, you really shouldn’t do, man. And then I backed onto it.”
“Ed.”
Ed smiles. “Sorry.”
“Edward, that’s ridiculous.”
“I wanted an opportunity to talk to you again,” he says, smiling shyly.
“You could’ve just talked to me!”
“Well,” Ed shrugs. “Too late for that. You’re stuck with me.”
Stede bites his lip. “I may have broken every tenth sauce on purpose.”
Ed’s eyes flash wide. “I fucking knew it!”
“And I poured blackberry reduction on you deliberately.”
“Ohhh, you’re such a fucking hypocrite,” Ed says, grinning.
“Well, you could’ve found an easier way to get me to talk to you! Steal my knife, maybe? Spill something on me in retaliation? Ask me to be your sous…?” He says the last part jokingly.
Ed rolls his eyes. “I was already going to do that anyway.”
“You were?”
“Duh. You’re a fuckin’ animal in the kitchen, babe.”
Stede lurches forward and kisses him. There’s nothing else he can do. There are no words. He kisses him until their lips are swollen and Ed’s legs are up around his waist.
“Should we fuck?” Ed asks, digging his big toes into Stede’s back.
“Could do,” Stede smiles.
“Cool. I’m so totally normal about this.”
“Me too,” Stede says, running a thumb along the line of Ed’s beard. “You’re beautiful.”
“Shut uuuuup,” Ed says, closing his eyes again. “Can you just fuck me about it already?”
“Yes, chef.”
Ed snorts. “Don’t call me that.”
Stede squirms down Ed’s body to his sweatpants and tugs them down. Ed wiggles his legs until they’re around his ankles. Stede pulls them off and flings them across the room. Then he situates his fingers under the edge of his boxer briefs. “Okay?”
“Yeah.”
He tugs Ed’s briefs down, the waistband snug under his balls. Stede leans down and takes a deep breath of the musk of him. He glances up. Ed is looking at him like he hung the moon. Stede feels electric from it. He wraps a hand around Ed’s cock and starts jerking him off.
Thirty seconds later: “Stede, I think you’ve gotta fuck me soon or this is gonna be over really quick.”
“I think you can hold on just a little longer, darling.”
“I can’t,” Ed squeaks. “I really can’t.”
He’s leaking, dripping down the shaft to meet Stede’s fingers. Stede keeps a steady pace, the slide slicked slightly.
“Stede,” he says, and grabs at his hand to stop it.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Stede says, moving back up the bed to grab his wrists and hold them over his head. “Keep still.”
“Sorry. Sorry, I just. I’m going to—”
“Don’t.”
“Can’t not. I need to—”
“Hold it. Ten more seconds.”
“Stede!”
“That’s it. Ten… nine…” he counts slowly.
“Please!”
“Alright, three… twoooo,” he draws out.
“Stede, pleasepleaseplease,” Ed gasps.
“Now.”
Ed comes. It looks painful, the way his face screws up and his back bends, muscles tensing. Stede keeps stroking him throughout.
“Stede, I can’t take it—”
“You will. I want every last drop.”
“Unnnh,” Ed groans, still coming in spurts over Stede’s fist. “Please.”
“Ten more seconds.”
They’re lying side by side on Ed’s bed, hands clasped together.
“Will you be my sous?” Ed says to the ceiling, chest rising and falling quickly.
Stede turns his head to look at him. “Yes, of course. Of course, Ed.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah. Will you be my boyfriend?”
Ed turns his head to look back. He smiles. “Of course.”
Stede smiles back. “That’s good.”
Stede can’t stop staring at Chef Teach. It’s keeping him focused. Dinner will be in full swing and Stede just has to look at him, just has to catch a glimpse of him, and it keeps him going. It makes his knife skills better, it keeps him coordinated. It makes him a better chef. He makes him a better chef.
Stede has just finished plating a tomato gelée when he looks up and catches Ed’s eye. He watches Ed’s face change, the grim determination slip off in favor of a soft smile. Stede raises a hand and blows him a kiss. Ed catches it.