Fics like we're finding new forms

“Yeah,” Ed agrees, leaning in, breathing deep. “Yeah, you’re good. You’re fine.” “Mm,” is Stede’s smiling response, and then between one moment and the next Ed is being kissed again. His shaking hands are in Stede’s hair, gripping at his ear, the side of his neck, trying to hold on to the shape of him while Ed himself feels like he’s falling apart. Heat and tongues and the slick, indecent slide of them take over. Breaths funneling into one another. Against Ed’s gasping mouth, Stede murmurs, “My dear. You’re shaking,” before sucking in Ed’s bottom lip. Groaning, Ed doesn’t try to fight it—the tide of panic, of love, of fear that lingers. He hadn’t expected that part, to be honest. All his life and Ed had shown fear the middle finger every time it came knocking. He’s had to, hasn’t he? But then wham, love stomps him to the ground, sets up a home inside his chest, and Ed hasn’t known peace since. Stede’s fingers trying their damnedest to wiggle under his leather, squeezing at Ed’s ass sure as shit isn’t helping keep him sane.

Fics like we're finding new forms

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