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“There’s a problem with Betty,” Lucius announces, sashaying into Ed’s office in a way that always means there’s something more going on.
Ed leans back in his chair, kicks his boots up on his desk, and raises an eyebrow. “How the fuck would you know?”
“Ouch,” Lucius says brightly, less sitting and more slithering into the chair opposite. “Not all of us can be rockstar palaeontology curators.”
Ed inclines his head modestly. “True. But none of us could do without Exhibition and Design. So what do you know about Betty that I don’t already?”
Lucius grins at him, and there’s that vibe again, a little like a cat that’s spotted an extra juicy dove pecking seeds off the ground, oblivious to the danger. But Ed’s always paying attention. Lucius pulls a sheet of paper out of the folio he’s clutching and slides it over the hundred other papers on Ed’s desk to get it to him.
“She needs her annual Christmas sweater by Monday.”
It’s a drawing, the kind the boy’s incredible at, mocking up the display as it’s going to look when the design team is done with it. There’s Betty, a full plaster cast skeleton of the t-rex whose actual heavy, mineralised bones are packed in drawers down here, in the subterranean storage. She’s wearing a brightly coloured Christmas sweater, like every year, this time in reds and greens and gold and cream. By the time she’s revealed to the public next month, the gift shop of the museum is going to be full of those sweaters, every size and shape, for him, her, them, the kids, the dogs, you name it.
“I don’t see the problem,” Ed says, because sure, the details are a little fuzzy right now, but nothing looks out of place. Lucius has even added twinkly little lights in the corners, fake snow, you name it. Hard to be all bah humbug when it brings people so much joy.
“Wee John was creating the sweater.”
“Uh huh, like every year.” He’s sure not every museum has a master knitter on their staff, but Wee John is a special case. He’s been part of the team crafting Betty’s sweater for years, but this year, he’s come on board as a conservator who’s now doing absolute magic in their textiles department. Ed frowns. “Wait, was?”
“Was.” Lucius grimaces. “He’s got a side-interest in pyrotechnics. Got a little overenthusiastic with the colourful arson over the weekend.”
Ed wrinkles his nose in sympathy. “Fuck. He okay?”
“He will be! It’s just put a significant dent in the plan. He had it mostly done, but it got a bit… damaged. And the merchandise is already in the shop, so it can’t be changed. We’ve only got this weekend to sort it out.”
Ed sighs. “So we call in a pinch hitter. Pinch hitter knitter, heh.”
“There’s nobody who can knit as fast as John.” Lucius jiggles the folio on his knee. “Not a knitter, happy to leave the work to everyone else, but I’m not even sure Wee John could knit fast enough to finish it in a weekend.”
Ed narrows his eyes. “Two knitters, then.”
Lucius shrugs. “They’d still have to work their way through the pattern one after the other.”
“What’s the plan, then?” He leans forward, chin on tented fingers. “I don’t believe you haven’t thought about it.”
“I have,” Lucius says. “That’s why we’re bringing in Stede Bonnet.”
Ah. Okay. Ed gets it, suddenly. The cageyness, the hesitation. “The new guy who Izzy hates?”
The guy who brought Wee John along with him when he was hired by the museum this year. The one who actually designs those sweaters. Lucius nods. “The new Senior Curator of Textiles to your Senior Curator of Palaeontology. That man knows every fabric in the world, every technique, every possibility.”
And he’s a—what did Izzy call him? A poncy twat. He’d been nearly apoplectic after the first conversation they had, at a schmoozy event that Ed couldn’t be bothered to attend. It’s all the same after a while, bigwigs trying to curry favour by making big donations, and Ed’s sick of the whole game. He just wants to work on his dinosaurs, share them with the public. Everything else is so fucking boring.
But after Izzy’s report on the new curator of textiles turning up looking like he’d stepped out of the 1700s, he wished he’d gone. Would’ve paid good money to see the guy run those rings around Izzy in real-time.
Also, he sounds like just the guy Ed needs. Someone who’s doing something original out there, willing to be flexible, imaginative, all the things other people are not.
“‘Kay,” Ed says carefully, keeping in the excitement. “Yeah, cool, happy to discuss it with him.”
“Perfect,” Lucius says. “I’ll send him down?”
To Ed’s boring office that’s full of all his boring paperwork? Nope.
“I’ll go up and find him, how about that?”
Lucius leans in and winks, and the grin’s back again. “Couldn’t have planned it better myself.”
~
Stede Bonnet is living his lifelong dream. He’s made it! He’s spent all these years working his way up the long, complicated ladder from museum tour guide to technician to assistant to contractor to curator. The pinnacle! He’s at his favourite museum! Running the show! He has a beautiful office, lovely friends, exhibits he adores, and a behind-the-scenes collection that’s the envy of his entire professional circle.
Nonetheless, or perhaps because of all this, he’s got his head down on the polished wood of his desk, trying to count his way through square breathing and avert the latest panic attack.
He’s not a curator, he’s an idiot.
“You good, bruv?” Oluwande’s voice is warm from the doorway, and when Stede looks up, Jim’s there with him, too, eyeing him up like they’re on Stede’s side about the idiot thing.
“No,” Stede says miserably. They’re his best assistant curators, the sort of deeply competent people this place needs, and he feels enormously lucky to have them here to help guide him through this role. He reaches out and readjusts the antique brass whale paperweight. “Did you hear about Wee John?”
Oluwande sighs. “Yeah, mate. Not ideal.”
“Not ideal?” That Christmas sweater is one of the biggest moneymakers the museum has, and goodness knows, with the fight for funding that they all experience, they need every dollar they can get. Stede’s known that since long before he worked here. “We can’t just have a naked tyrannosaurus and expect people to buy the sweater it’s not wearing!”
“You’ll think of something,” Jim says, tugging on Oluwande’s sleeve. “We gotta go. See you next year.”
Suddenly the panic is back, lancing through him. “Wait, what?”
Oluwande pauses mid-abandonment, turns back to him, looking at least a little guilty. “Booked to go see Jim’s Nana in Florida for the holidays, remember?”
He does remember vaguely thinking that sounded like a good plan when he approved the leave last month. He’d had vicarious visions of warmth and sunshine instead of the grey moods of London in winter. Good for them, because he knows—because the crew actually treats him like someone they want around for Friday night drinks, for perhaps the first time in his life—that this is a high stakes holiday, too, introducing the other members of their polycule to the family.
Just the thought of being surrounded by all that love in the holidays makes something ache deep inside him, in a place that feels unfixable at this point in his life.
The man who has everything he ever dreamed of, and nobody to share it with. It all feels a bit hollow at this time of year.
“Right,” he says belatedly, realising his crew are still staring at him. “Yes. Of course! I hope you have a wonderful time.”
“You too, cap.”
With himself and his textiles and his empty house that’s hardly worth going home to, yes, he’s sure he will.
“Oh, and cap?” Oluwande leans back in the door before he can fully spiral into self-loathing. “The curator from palaeontology’s going to come see you about the t-rex situation.”
“Fantastic,” he says flatly, and waves them off to their fun.
That’s Edward Teach he’s talking about, of course. Stede knows all about him. He’s read his books. He’s seen his documentary series, for god’s sakes! The man is the shining star of this museum, but Stede’s been fascinated with his work for so much longer than that.
He’d been so excited to meet a personal hero, but Edward hadn’t been at the first gala Stede attended. No, just his odious assistant curator, Iggy or whatever his name was, who’d looked Stede up and down in the fabulously on-theme costume he’d made for himself, and asked if he’d come dressed as some sort of fruit cocktail (a few years ago he might have been insulted by that, but instead he’d leaned over in his authentically-sourced 18th century patterned formal wear and asked if the man needed any advice on his own aesthetic, which hadn’t gone down overly well).
He’s not sure Iggy’s ever worn a colour in his life, always stomping around in black whenever Stede runs into him in the hallways.
His boss has proven… somewhat more elusive. Thus far he’s never just run into Edward Teach, and he’s not yet found the excuse he needs to justify heading over to the palaeontology wing and introducing himself.
So he should be delighted that circumstances are finally going to introduce them. He really should! A silver lining and all that.
But all he can think is, Edward Teach is going to think he’s a fool. It’s a depressing introduction.
Ah well. Stede’s been a failure his whole life- nothing new, is it?
He’s only just beginning to think about how to present his best face in this disaster when there’s a knock at his door, and he’s out of time.
Fortunately or perhaps unfortunately, the man who steps through the door is even more distractingly beautiful in person than he is on the enormous museum banner that Stede walks past every day when he gets to work. He could come in the side entrance and save himself a few minutes’ walk, but it’s no hardship to greet that face every morning, and he wouldn’t get to see Betty, either. He loves Betty.
“Mr. Teach,” he says, standing, sticking out a hand. “Stede Bonnet.”
“It’s just Ed, mate,” says the man who’s now stepping into his office, walking toward him, reaching to shake his hand. “Good to meet you at last, I fucking love your sweaters.”
He’s wearing one of Stede’s Christmas sweater designs right now, Stede realises. The one from perhaps… five years ago? All purple and black and blue, trying something a bit different that year, and Stede had felt absolutely mortified when it didn’t sell as well as the previous years. It looks fantastic on Ed.
Stede blinks. “You’ve heard of me?”
Ed’s looking around the room in awe, still absently holding his hand. Stede’s not about to let go first. “Heard all about you.” He finishes his visual circuit, looks down and realises he’s still holding on, and lets go abruptly. “Shit, sorry, this is just—this is all yours?”
“My pride and joy,” Stede says, beaming. He’s very happy with how his office has turned out, actually, and not everyone appreciates it. He nods to the one wall that’s not covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves, which is covered instead with rectangular frames in neat rows of colour. “Each of those frames holds a different sample of fabric from across places and times, but… ethical reproductions.”
Ed’s brow is raised in what looks like genuine curiosity. “Yeah?”
He makes his way out from behind his desk and sidles over. “Yes, well, a lot of the collections in museums are of questionable provenance. We know the origins, we just don’t know how they came to belong to the person who donated them, or whose descendants donated them. And while that’s a complicated conversation in the exhibition space, in my personal space, I want to be more mindful than just sourcing antique fabrics from anywhere.”
“So what do you do?”
Ed folds his arms across his chest, still gazing up at all the panels with the kind of awe Stede only usually feels himself.
“I’ve spent many years locating the original communities where the weaving style or the pattern or the techniques originated, and commissioning new panels for myself and for display.”
“Incredible,” Ed breathes. “I love it.”
Stede has almost forgotten there’s a disaster unfolding here, but it’s been lurking at the edges of his conscience like an anxiety gremlin, and he sighs. “If only I could commission an exact replica of the intended Christmas sweater for Betty.”
Ed swivels to look at him, nose crinkled. “Yeah, sorry, mate, this sounds like it’s going to be a pain for you. Wanted to come apologise in person.”
Stede can feel the way his jaw’s dropped, and he makes an effort to close it. “You’re apologising… to me?”
Ed shrugs. “Gotta be a lot of work on your end every year, just so our girl can get her Christmas vibe on. Hate making you reinvent the wheel with five minutes to go.”
“It’s very much a team thing,” Stede says, feeling both baffled and also, better for the first time in hours. “I suppose we’re all on the same team, aren’t we? I’m very fond of Betty myself.”
“Co-parents,” Ed says, grinning. And then he clears his throat. “You, uh. You’ve got actual kids?”
“Oh!” Stede has definitely not forgotten the kids, but he hadn’t really given them a lot of thought since Ed walked into the room. But of course there’s a big framed photograph on the desk, all of them mugging for the camera in Santa hats. Louis is pulling a middle finger; he would have been about four at the time. “Yes, two. Alma and Louis.”
Ed seems to be waiting for something more, so he adds, “They’re spending Christmas in Australia with my very ex-wife and her family.”
“Right,” Ed says, nodding along. “So I guess it’s you and—?”
“Me and Betty, actually,” Stede says ruefully. “She’s promised to keep me company when I’m lonely at Christmas.”
Ed’s brows knit together. “Fuck, that’s sad.”
Oh, god, that’s not the mood he was aiming for. He scrambles to reverse it. “Well, personally, I think I can show Betty a very good time.”
Ed actually snorts. “Good for her. Good for you.”
“It is good, thank you.” He smiles at Ed, already at ease. “I do have some ideas about what we could do to pull this around. Would it be a bit too workaholic of me to ask if you’d like to discuss it over dinner?”
It’s just that he doesn’t have anywhere else to go, or anything else to do, and he’s feeling almost dizzy from the proximity of Ed, who’s a lovely man in so many ways, and that idea really did just tip out of him unformed, didn’t it?
He’s about to apologise when Ed says, “Yep! Yeah, might be nice.” He gestures in the direction of the museum. “Don’t have anything else on myself, like… tonight. Or at Christmas. Pretty much any other time. Maybe ever.”
It’s Stede’s turn to raise a gently querying brow. “Just you and Betty too? I might need a word with her.”
“Reckon she’s rex enough for the both of us,” Ed says, and Stede laughs.
“Well, all right then. There’s a lovely Cambodian place down the road, if you’d like to eat some delicious food and see some more beautiful fabrics?”
~
Ed can’t remember the last time he laughed this much in one evening. His cheeks fucking hurt with it. He and Stede are the last ones left in the restaurant, but the owners seem to know him and love him, and they don’t seem to mind.
“So you’re saying we need a fuckery,” Ed says, looking at the scrawled Christmas sweater notes spread out on the table between them. Stede’s original design is there, too, a complicated chart covered in arcane symbols that Ed can’t interpret, but shit, it’s impressive.
“There’s no time to knit a new one,” Stede says. “But the merchandise is already in production. So what we need is for Betty the t-rex to be wearing something that looks enough like the one on sale that people will buy it, literally and figuratively.”
“Okay,” Ed says. “Okay, yep, but like… what about machine knitting?”
Stede makes such a face that Ed bursts out laughing again. “Fuck, okay, no machine knitting. What else?”
“There’s weaving,” Stede says.
Ed nods slowly. “And do you know how to weave?”
His face goes so hangdog that his bottom lip fully drops. “No. But perhaps we could manage duct tape?”
Ed’s chuckling again instantly, literal belly ache. “Fucking hell. What can you do, textile guy?”
“I can do plenty!” Stede says. “I can sew. Embroider. Applique! I can knit, too, of course, but not fast enough. Same for crochet.”
“Really chunky yarn?” Ed suggests, thinking about those big rugs he’s seen floating around the socials, yarn the thickness of your forearm coming together in twenty arm twirls or whatever. “Or we could just wrap the fucker up like a mummy, lots of loops, knots…”
“I think the details might get a little lost in that.” He taps the table. “What if we go on a bit of a fabric hunt? See if we can limit our work a touch, find something patterned that does a bit of the job for us.”
Ed’s already pulling out his phone. “Sounds good, yeah, let’s—”
“I mean… in person,” Stede says, and if Ed’s not mistaken his cheeks are pinking up a little, and that’s very interesting. “I know it’s the weekend. I don’t want to presume, but Oluwande’s mum has a fantastic fabric shop just down the road from me. If anyone knows where to find what we’re looking for, it’s her.”
“Fabric shopping?” Ed says. Nobody’s offered him this level of whimsy in like, a decade.
Stede looks a little panicked. “If it helps, there’s a market nearby on Saturdays! Amazing hot chocolate—”
“Sold,” Ed says. There’s nothing he’d rather do with his Saturday. “We’re doing that, sign me the fuck up, I’m all in.”
“Lovely.” When Stede smiles, his eyes crinkle right up. Almost look like they’re sparkling. He’s so damn pretty. “Well, my place is just around the corner. We could meet there? Say ten?”
“Perfect.”
He slides his phone over, lets Stede type in his number and his address. Shoves down the giddy feeling of swapping numbers with a cute lunatic of a boy as he pulls up a message and pings a shiny star emoji to Stede; waits while Stede pings back a little winky face.
They settle up—or rather Stede waves goodbye, tells Ed he sneakily paid for their dinner when Ed was in the bathroom earlier, the chivalrous bastard—and head outside. It’s cold and it’s damp and it’s the kind of winter night Ed hates, living here. He misses the bright warm nights of summer in Aotearoa; wonders if Stede does, too, because he’s from there, too. What are the odds, them winding up in the same museum at the same time?
But on the plus side: now they’re face to face, and Stede’s breath is misting out of his mouth as they stand there, near enough that almost like it’s an afterthought, Stede’s able to reach up and readjust Ed’s red scarf.
“You do know your knitwear,” he says teasingly.
Ed, discombobulated, feeling a few miles beyond insane, scoffs dismissively by long instinct. “This tatty old thing?”
“I personally consider the old things to be the best things, as you know,” Stede says wryly. And then, devastatingly, perfectly, he runs a soft hand down the front of Ed’s chest, tracing his mother’s old wonky stitches like they’re as precious to him as they are to Ed. “You wear fine things well.”
Damn, holy shit, Stede’s got game.
Ed’s literally within kissing distance. That was an incredibly kissing kind of thing to say, like Stede absolutely deserves getting tipped backwards and smooched to within an inch of his life.
But he’s just beaming up at Ed with those soft eyes, making no move to sway in and press their lips together, and with the most heroic effort he’s ever made in his life, Ed does not kiss him.
“Right. Yep. Night night.”
“Night night,” Stede replies.
Ed gives him a friendly little shoulder bop and turns away. He’s ten steps down the road before he can’t help turning back, and Stede’s walking the other way, yeah, hands jammed in the pockets of his gorgeous teal overcoat, but he’s looking back, too, and god.
Ed’s in trouble here.
He blinks up at the sky, laughing. Christ, it’s been so long since he felt like this. He can’t fucking wait for tomorrow.
~
Stede lies awake for so long that night that he’s not actually aware of falling asleep, at least until he blinks his eyes open to pale morning light.
He scrubs his hands over his face, and immediately remembers that he’s seeing Ed again today. Here, at his house.
Oh, god.
He rolls out of bed and then stops, staring at the window, because that’s—what? What? It’s… snowing out there. In London. In early December, in 2025! What??
Like something from a Christmas dream, and he stands up and goes over there, puts a hand on the window to feel the chill. It’s absolutely magical, the way those soft flakes float down out of the sky. He’s never gotten used to seeing it, not that he’s seen it very frequently here. There’s a light coating of it on all the trees and all the cars outside already, powdered sugar dusted over everything, beautiful, beautiful, and with Ed taking up space in his chest, his heart is suddenly so full he could burst.
“Tighten up,” he tells himself, under his breath. “You’ve got a fuckery to plan.”
He turns away from the beauty of winter outside, and gets to work getting dressed. It takes him a good while to come up with an outfit that’s suited to the weather, smart enough for a date—not that this is a date, he’s certainly not getting ahead of himself—but also casual enough for a friend, while also being him. And seasonal! Themed, without being completely on-the-nose!
He was right to launch himself out of bed, because it takes him a good hour in the auxiliary wardrobe to refine his choices down.
By the time he’s done, he’s wearing brown leather trousers with a set of long johns underneath, the better for not freezing himself to death walking about in the snow. He’ll pull his favourite pair of knee-high boots over the top of those, and on top, he’s got a cream cashmere shirt under a deep teal sweater knitted for him by Wee John last year. Both share the same fetching deep vee neckline, which he’s guarding against the cold with a shimmering gold scarf that he made himself (seasonal! Thematic!), and he’ll toss his bright teal pea-coat over the top.
It’s a very bright combination. It’s very him. And—finally letting his thoughts stray back to where they kept him up last night—Ed genuinely seems to like him, for all the things that others regularly deem too much, so…
There’s a knock on his door downstairs, and he freezes where he stands, staring at his own startled face in the full-length mirror, not ready.
Not ready because this feels like… so much, so suddenly. Getting to know Ed, feeling that instant resonating confident sense of friendship, finding his breath catching every time Ed’s eyes meet his, letting a hundred different future scenarios spin through his mind…
He wants it almost too much. He needs to dial it back a bit in case he doesn’t actually get it.
Ed does not in fact help that when Stede hurls himself downstairs and slings open the door. He’s standing on the doorstep, hair crowned with snowflakes, and he’s wearing—
“Ed,” Stede breathes, laughing in disbelief. “Are you wearing another one of my sweaters?”
“Told you I fucking love ‘em.” Ed puts his hands up and does a little shimmy. “Last year’s was my favourite, yeah.”
“It really does suit you beautifully.”
Last year he’d opted for a yellow and teal colour scheme, featuring trilobites and ginkgo leaves, and they’re dancing around Ed’s torso now in bands that highlight the shape of him, over those black jeans and heavy boots, a long black leather coat tossed so casually over the top.
“It’s a beautiful sweater,” Ed says. Stede could listen to his voice all day, low and rumbling. “Felt good for the weather, you know?”
“Indeed.” He feels like a string of fairy lights, all lit up and glowing when Ed smiles at him like that. “It suits you perfectly. Fixes all my doubts about it.”
“Doubts?” Ed raises a brow. “Mate, do you know how many of your designs I own?”
Stede blinks. “I’ve only been at the museum a year.”
“Before that,” Ed says. He scratches the back of his head a little self-consciously. “Kinda followed along with your career. And now I get to work with you, how about that?”
“It’s miraculous,” Stede says, opening the door wider, gesturing Ed belatedly in. “I’ve just got to put on my boots. I’d followed your career, too, you know.”
“Yeah?” Ed stops in the living room, which is neat and orderly as ever, all Stede’s trinkets in their built-in shelves. “You don’t decorate?”
Stede winces. “I didn’t think there was much point this year, with everyone away. It’s just me. Feels a bit lacking in celebration.”
Ed’s gaze is warm. “You feel like a guy who’d appreciate a pretty tree.”
“I do,” Stede says. “I love a tree, it’s true.”
When Ed says it like that, it feels almost silly that he hadn’t just… let himself indulge in that enjoyment, for himself. He perches on the edge of the armchair, pulling on his boots. “Maybe I’ll get one, then,” he says. “Maybe I need to find some new things to celebrate.”
“Sounds like a great plan,” Ed says. “You deserve it.”
When Ed says it, he can actually believe it, and Stede truly doesn’t want to look too closely at that just now. “We’d best get going, so Oluwande’s mum can torture me for a bit.”
Ed doesn’t pause at that, ready to jump into anything Stede suggests. It’s refreshingly lovely to have a friend, no matter what else happens. “Sounds fun.”
~
Ed’s only met Oluwande in passing, but there’s no doubt this is his family, when they walk into the shop. It’s a big space filled to the rafters with bolts of colourful cloth, and the moment they jangle the doorbell walking in, the three women behind the counter snap to look at them all at once. Same big smiles, same quiet, appraising intelligence, all three wearing gorgeous dresses and gele head ties in their own colour schemes.
The oldest of the three women breaks into an even bigger grin at the sight of Stede and comes around the counter, arms out. “Well, well, well, look who finally turned up again to see his favourite mother-in-law.”
“Oh, Lola, please, you know I’m not—”
“Work-married to my brother?” says one of the sisters, following her mother around the counter, laughing. She appraises Ed up and down in a way that makes him want to straighten up everything he’s wearing. “What about this one?”
Stede splutters. “Now, Dayo, that’s not—”
The other sister is on Ed now, stroking a hand down his arm. “I told you people like those sweaters.” She winks at Ed. “I like those sweaters on people, too.”
“Oh my god—”
Lola clicks her fingers in front of Stede and gives him a warning point, making him zip his lips. His cheeks are bright pink, and he looks like he regrets all his choices, but Ed’s already having the greatest time of his life.
“Ed Teach,” he tells the crowd. “Uh, I do work at the museum. But with the dinosaurs.”
“Ooh,” says the second sister, considering him for a moment, and then—unlike pretty much anyone he’s ever met, come on, everyone thinks dinos are the coolest—she turns back to Stede. “What happened to the one with all the gold?”
Stede tips his head back and groans. “It actually didn’t belong to him.”
“Still—”
“No, ” Stede says. “No, no, Nika, enough about my love life, I came here to talk fabric.”
They all light up at that. Ed watches him lay out the problem, smoothing the concept plan and the merchandise version onto the counter. Meanwhile he just stands there watching Stede flutter like a pretty teal moth from point to point, while love life and married, husband, this one? roll back and forth in his head.
Having a real normal one. So normal. He’s definitely not thinking about whoever this guy with the stolen gold is, and whether it’d be ethically correct or incorrect to slash his tires for whatever he did that made Stede make that face when this sister mentioned him—
“Ed?” Stede’s voice is soft, and he blinks out of it. “What do you think?”
Everything’s been whirling along without him, and they’ve got a pile of fabric on the counter, perfect matches for the green and cream and red that Lucius sketched out. One panel’s got a really, really similar pattern to the band of snowflakes and stars. One’s got dinosaur footprints stomping across it, printed in black; another’s got Christmas trees that are bang on.
“So we could cut those out,” Ed says, understanding the vibe, “and stitch them on?”
“Or iron them on, but that’s the idea, yes!”
“And you need this in what size?” Lola asks. She’s giving Ed the appraising up and down look again. “He’s nice and tall.”
Stede laughs. “I need something little bigger than Ed.”
A new round of snickering breaks out from the sisters, and Ed slings a friendly, not at all possessive arm around Stede’s shoulders. “Promise I’m just the right size for everything.” He throws in a wink for good measure. “But we’re dressing a dinosaur today.”
Dayo sighs, exaggerated. “You do like them old, like—”
“No,” Stede says firmly, cheeks flushed again. “We’re perfectly middle-aged, thank you, now if we can get… a lot of these bolts, and maybe pay for delivery as well?”
“We can do that,” Lola says, starting to ring it all up. “You bring this one back again if you’re not going to keep him, yes?”
“No,” Stede says again, but everyone’s laughing. Ed meets his eyes, and there’s something soft and hopeful there. “No, I think we’re just getting started.”
~
Tasks all done for the morning, Stede and Ed head for the market. It’s still snowing lightly, of all the miracles, just soft kisses of coldness landing on Stede’s cheeks every now and again. A few little crystals catch in Ed’s long lashes, which Stede knows, because every time he looks over, Ed’s looking at him.
It makes his tummy swoop, that look. Fond and interested and… more.
Stede hasn’t had much luck in the dating scene since he came out. He’s had the occasional dalliance, but he’s yet to meet anyone he clicks with. And he certainly didn’t come into this weekend calamity with any idea of finding his perfect man, but…
Well. Maybe he has, by accident.
They chat, they laugh, they bump shoulders. They pass by Chauncey Badminton’s ostentatious townhouse with its giant lit tree in the front yard, and Ed makes such a face that Stede laughs until his belly hurts.
“Looks like a dying parasaurolophus with that droopy tip, holy fuck.”
When Stede can finally talk again he says, “He’s a board member at the museum, can you believe it?”
“Oh, I’ve met the fucker. Think we feel the same about him.” He nods up at the monstrosity, which is all decorated in white baubles, which have disappeared into the snow. “Think I’ve changed my mind about the tree, mate. This dick’s used up all the Christmas in the world.”
Thankfully, that turns out not to be true. The market is in full Christmas swing now, and there’s every possible sort of cheer on offer.
Stede loves this place. Loves this community. Comes here every weekend all year round to pick out fresh vegetables and cheeses and choose himself a big bunch of the loveliest flowers he can find.
It still feels a bit lonely, usually, even as the stallholders have grown to know his name and greet him kindly.
Today, it doesn’t feel lonely at all. Ed’s by his side, exclaiming over sugar cookies shaped like snowflakes, letting Stede brush the crystals out of his moustache after he moans his way through eating one. He’s nudging gorgeous painted ornaments on their hangers to watch them twirl, catching the light. He’s got both hands wrapped around a hot chocolate with a mountain of cream on it. He’s humming along, just slightly off-tune, to all the carols as the local retiree’s choir sings them with gusto.
It’s like he belongs here, right at Stede’s side.
As if he’s thinking just the same thing, he’s reaching down, as they stand in front of the enormous, eclectically decorated community tree, and he’s sliding his gloved hand into Stede’s.
Stede’s not sure his heart’s ever beat this fast before. He looks down at their hands, and back up at Ed, who’s smiling, crinkled.
“This all right?”
“This?” Stede’s smile just keeps spreading. “Perfect.”
It is perfect. All of it, everything. Ed’s perfect. The fact that they’re here together is perfect. He doesn’t even care that the whole t-rex sweater situation went off the rails, because it bumped him onto a different track, and Ed climbed aboard with him, and…
Ed’s staring at him again, like he did last night. Eyes big and shining, expression vulnerable, and Stede perhaps understands it a little better now.
Stede squeezes his hand. Ed squeezes back.
“Ed,” he whispers. “This has been lovely.”
“Most fun I’ve had in months. Years. Maybe ever?” They’ve gravitated toward each other somehow, turning face to face, and Ed brings his other hand up to cup Stede’s cheek. “You make me happy.”
Happy is what it makes him, too, truly. Stede’s not sure he ever knew what happiness was before yesterday.
“Well, that’s—”
And then Ed leans in, breath misting, eyes sparkling, and in the instant his lips meet Stede’s—warm, so warm, soft, gentle—his only thought is that he’ll have to re-evaluate the entire scale of the happiness, because this—
This is like waking up from a lifelong coma and finding that the world is brighter than you ever remembered seeing it.
He remembers belatedly to kiss Ed back, pressing in closer, clattering his bag of goodies—enough sugar cookies to hear Ed make that noise many more times—against Ed’s shoulder, his apology muffled into Ed’s mouth as he reaches to slide a hand up into Ed’s lovely long hair. He’s warm there, too. Warm everywhere, rapidly warming more, and someone at a nearby stall lets out a wolf-whistle that makes them break apart at last, laughing.
“Fuuuuck,” Ed says, a low, drawn-out groan. “Tell me you’re feeling this too?”
“I’m feeling it,” Stede says, dazed. “I’m feeling everything.”
There’s that wheezing giggle he already loves. Likes. No, he’s not afraid to say that he loves it. Loves everything about Ed, in fact.
“We could, uh. We could go back to your place,” Ed says, his voice rough as he strokes his thumb over Stede’s cheek. “Find ourselves a tree along the way. Find something new to celebrate together.”
“I think we already have,” Stede says. He slides his hand back down to Ed’s and squeezes it again, digging for every bit of self-control he’s ever possessed. “I would love that, but… maybe tomorrow? After we’ve finished our mission?”
Ed doesn’t look upset. “Probably wise, yeah.” He bites his lip. “Mate, you can always tell me if I’m going too fast, pushing you—”
“No!” Stede says. “No, no, you’re perfect. I just…” He’s not the best at verbalising his wants and needs, but with Ed, he feels safe. “I think that if I took you home, I might not be able to think about anything else ever again. Might forget the dinosaur, and her sweater, and the museum.”
Ed’s other arm has migrated around his waist, holding him tight. “Might be nice.”
“Might be very nice.” He searches Ed’s face. “Do you have time off over the holidays?”
“I do if you do,” Ed says, and jiggles Stede a bit. “Or hey, if you don’t, maybe I don’t either.”
“I do,” Stede says. “I do now. Just… a few jobs to finish before we get there.”
Ed nods. “Let me walk you home, at least?”
They wander the whole way hand in hand. It’s stopped snowing, and the flakes have already melted away, leaving everything a bit slushy, the romance of the day draining out of it, in theory. Doesn’t feel like it in practice.
Stede perks up again when they pass Chauncey’s place, because with the snow all melted, it’s a disaster. Ugly tree, ugly decorations, and the amusement lasts them all the way back to Stede’s place, riffing back and forth on a sort of heist idea where all the sad ornaments have teamed up to escape.
When they’re at Stede’s doorstep, he’s deeply regretting being so sensible about it all earlier. But Ed holds both of his hands and kisses him sweetly and tells him he’ll miss him tonight.
He watches Ed walk away down the street until he vanishes into the sunset, and then swoons against his doorframe, heart overflowing.
~
“Ed!” Stede says early the next morning, appearing in the doorway of his office. He’s all flushed and pretty and baffled, and Ed has to bite his knuckle not to laugh. “Were you responsible for the tree?”
“Tree?” Ed says, all innocent as he blinks up at Stede. “Don’t know what tree you’re talking about, mate, there are a lot of trees out there.”
“I was woken at 7 sharp this morning by a knock on my door,” Stede says, stepping into the office, looking around with the same kind of wonder Ed felt seeing his office. “And I came dashing down the stairs in my pyjamas, just in case it was you. But it wasn’t you. It was a Christmas tree.”
“Whoa,” Ed says, like he didn’t call Fang last night and beg the guy to find him a tree and get it dropped on Stede’s doorstep early this morning. He’s gonna owe Fang the biggest favour. More importantly, though… “Wait, you wanted it to be me?”
Stede pauses where he’s bent over to stare at a trilobite in a case, and throws Ed a sidelong glance. “Of course I hoped it was you. I was sad that it wasn’t.” He straightens up again, like he didn’t just melt Ed into a puddle. “But it prompted me to come in as soon as I could to see if you were here, and you were! Wearing this year’s Christmas sweater!”
“Felt appropriate for the day,” Ed says, kicking his feet up on the desk, wiggly and pleased at how happy Stede looks.
He sidles over and sits on the edge of Ed’s desk. “Thank you for my tree, by the way. I’ll need some help decorating it, so… maybe tonight?”
Ed nods, for lack of anything better to say, because all he’s had in his head since yesterday is Stede, and tonight, he knows they’re going to make fireworks. “Maybe tonight,” Ed says. “Yeah, could work. After work?”
“After work.” Stede returns the ammonite paperweight he’s been fiddling with to Ed’s desk and stands. “Speaking of which, the fabric’s all arrived down my end of the building. So, on your feet! We’re having a day.”
If you’d asked Ed a few years ago, he would’ve said he never really got the chance to be crafty as a kid. Growing up like he did, it was a hard slog without a lot of time for leisure. But his mum took in a bit of sewing work for some extra income, and sometimes she’d let him drive her trusty Singer and do the hems. He spent a lot of his time at the beach, fishing with mates like Fang, or trying to. Never really caught much, but he can tie a mean lure.
In the field in his early palaeontology days, he found out fast that you need to be able to fix anything that breaks miles from anywhere, so he’s pretty handy with a hammer and a saw. Can stitch up torn canvas and place a dozen kinds of knots.
He’s a fast learner, just has one of those brains, so he can pick things up quick, too.
The day they spend together stretches all of that and more, and he fucking loves it. Maybe he should start a side-hustle in sewing or something. Could sell shit just like his mum did. Have his own line of merch in the damn gift store!
“Here’s the pattern,” Stede had said in an empty gallery that’s waiting for the next temporary exhibit to bump in. It’d looked small, all folded up in a paper bundle, but then he opened it out, and opened it out, and holy shit, kept on opening it out, until it spanned half the floor.
“Fucking hell,” Ed had said. “Now I understand the six bolts of fabric.”
And also, the entire day Stede reckons it’s going to take, which may have been an underestimation. They’re several hours in now, and they’ve got all the parts of the sweater cut out. Stede had handed him a pair of fabric shears that turns out to be really satisfying to use- cuts through it all like butter, and Ed’s had a great time fixing up the various sections for sleeves and collar, while Stede tackled the torso.
Stede’s set up a couple of sewing machines off to the side and they’re racing each other, scooting the fabric through, watching the needle flash up and down as it binds the pieces together.
Stede’s doing race commentary, throwing it back to Ed every now and again, and he’s back to laughing himself silly as Stede corners like an expert and gets ahead of him.
“You win,” Ed wheezes, watching the last bit of Stede’s fabric fly out the end. “Congratulations, mate. Remember me when you’re famous, all right?”
“Says the man from my television!” Stede says, but his smile drops a little when he sees the look on Ed’s face. “Not your favourite part of the job?”
Ed rounds the last corner on his collar and keeps going, the machine whirring. “I don’t know, man. Sometimes I feel like I’m just treading water, waiting to drown.”
“I have… very much felt that way, too,” Stede says. “It’s a tough job, doing it for all these years. Have you ever considered retirement?”
He considered it literally last night, though maybe he can’t relate that one to Stede. Considered it in bed with his dick in hand, thinking about retiring with Stede to a little inn by the sea, where he’d spend whole days wearing nothing but an apron and strategically cleaning shit so that Stede could just bend him over the nearest available piece of furniture whenever he…
Yeah, okay, but he had considered it. “Yep,” he says. “Definitely thought about retiring.” His fabric hits the end, and he stitches back over it to lock the stitching in before he pulls the collar out. “I don’t know, maybe I just needed someone who sees it a different way. Show me the whole thing through new eyes.”
Everything he’s shown Stede, everywhere they’ve gone together, he’s had that same wide-eyed wonder about the world. He appreciates the little details of everything, and Ed used to be like that, before the world pummelled it out of him. He wasn’t kidding yesterday. Being around Stede is the happiest he can remember being in forever, and the glow he’s drawing out of Ed seems to brighten up everything around him.
He’s almost giddy about getting this sweater on that dinosaur tomorrow.
Unfortunately, that’s when shit starts to get real. They’ve got the actual garment all stitched together, and it’s looking incredible. Right colour, right shape, nice jersey fabric that stretches a little like wool- he’s confident they’re going to dupe the fuck out of everyone here.
“And now we get to do the applique,” Stede says.
Applique, it turns out, is Ed’s fucking nemesis.
Can’t be machine stitched with this much material in play, so they’re going to iron it on. But that means first they have to cut out every single one of those dinosaur footprints, trilobites and and ammonites by hand, along with the fusion material, though they do manage to win with the Christmas tree panels, since the fabric had the perfect pattern already printed.
They play an hour long game of Never Have I Ever that ends with Ed kinda knowing Stede a lot better, and also, hornier than ever before.
They play I Spy, which is short-lived in an empty exhibition hall. Only so many bits of sewing equipment you can cover before you go even crazier.
They have a crack at naming every fruit they can think of, followed by every dog, every shark, every country, and Ed’s maybe getting delirious.
And once they’re standing opposite each other with the fabric draped over a pair of ironing boards, fusing each piece on as the steam hisses and rises around them all volcanic, they end up just yapping about their backgrounds and their shitty dads and their studies and their careers.
“I think this is actually the Christmas sweater that I like best, seeing it on you,” Stede tells him once they’re deep into the night hours, and the crowd noise from outside has died down, and Ed’s fingers are sore from stitching. “I’m normally a bit disappointed that they didn’t match the vision.”
“They’re incredible,” Ed says. “Wish they brought you as much joy as they do everyone else.” They’re side by side on the floor, leaning against the wall, stitching on the snowflakes that were too delicate to iron, and Ed jostles Stede with his shoulder. “I even see dogs wearing them in the park, have to stop and tell their owners that’s from my t-rex. So fucking proud.”
Stede’s eyes are watery. “Really?”
“Number one fan right here,” Ed says, patting for his next snowflake. Which is—hold on. “Fuck, am I done?”
Stede looks down at the fabric that’s draped across both of their laps, and lets out a startled little laugh. “Oh, god, I think maybe we are.” He hunts around for the next piece of his own, and comes up with nothing. “We are! We’re done!”
“Fuck, yes,” Ed says, and he pulls the guy in for a hug, both of them wrapped up in dinosaur sweater. “We fucking did it!”
“We did!” Stede checks his watch, and groans. “Oh, it’s almost midnight, Ed, I think we’ve ruined our plans.”
“Could sleep right here,” Ed says. “Got a nice blanket. Roll ourselves up in it like a couple of caterpillars, pop out tomorrow as a pair of butterflies…”
“As appealing as that sounds,” Stede says, “I think we should go get some proper rest. We can finish up in the morning, and then it’s out of our way.”
Ed’s not going to pout. He’s fucking not.
He maybe pouts a little. “No going back to your place, then?”
“Edward,” Stede says, with so much authority that it sends a little shiver down his spine, “you’re not going anywhere else.”
They pack up the sweater, ready for the morning. They say goodnight to Betty on their way out, and she just stares after them, jaw dropped like she can’t believe they finally figured themselves out.
They make it to Stede’s place, only stopping on the way for a quick kebab. They kiss lazily up the stairs to Stede’s gorgeous room.
And Ed wakes up blinking in sunlight, fully dressed and splayed across Stede’s bed, and groans.
The man himself is splayed out on the other side—good sized bed, fucking cloud-soft cover—still snoring his pretty head off.
Ed rolls off the bed and finds his way to the bathroom, which is stocked, somehow deeply unsurprisingly, with a matching range of high-end boutique products and the softest Egyptian cotton towels he’s ever felt in his life. He strips off fast and takes a quick shower. Grabs a robe of Stede’s off the back of the bathroom door, one of those pretty fabrics he had commissioned, this one all pink and tropical.
And he slips downstairs, past the tree that’s still waiting in the living room, and finds his way to the kitchen.
He really wants to make Stede breakfast, as a thank you for everything, but it turns out Stede’s… maybe not the world’s best cook, because his fridge is almost empty. Ed does manage to scurry up some toast, some marmalade—guy’s got more marmalade than he’s ever seen in one kitchen before—and even cooks up a couple of slices of bacon. Makes them each a nice cup of tea, too, and finds a tray (Stede seriously has everything), and takes it back upstairs. He’s already sliding it onto the bed when he realises there’s no flourish, but a panicked look around the room finds a craft basket, and in it some twine offcuts, which…
It’s fine. Totally fine. And now Stede’s stretching awake anyway, and blinking over at Ed, and his face goes comically stunned as he rolls through the exact same thought process Ed did, plus a few extras.
“Oh god, did we just… fall asleep like that?” His eyes go wider. “Are you wearing my robe?” Wider again. “Did you make me breakfast?”
Ed shrugs modestly. “Took a little bite out of the toast, but the rest’s all yours.”
“Wait here.”
Stede insists on climbing out of bed and running for the shower, and Ed tucks himself under the covers and waits like a guy who actually knows how to be patient. He’s being so quiet, so still, so patient, so not letting himself think about Stede under a stream of hot water in there, naked and glistening, and—
It’s not helped by Stede emerging from the shower in the yellow robe that was hanging on the back of the door, the thing barely belted across his broad chest, showing shower-pink skin in a long line from neck to—
“Breakfast, was it?” Stede says breathlessly, and Ed lifts the tray to let him slide under the covers as well.
Just like that they’re bare thigh to bare thigh, the only thing stopping him from diving on Stede being breakfast. Cockblocking toast, fantastic work, Ed.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever made me breakfast in bed before,” Stede says, and okay, Ed’s changed his mind. The toast can stay if it makes him happy.
Not for long, though. Stede eats it like a guy who does not know patience in the least. Practically chugs down his tea, sets the tray aside on the bedside table, and turns back to Ed.
He had been so patient, so good.
And now Stede’s staring at him with the same sort of desperation mirrored on his face, and Ed’s patience runs out.
He wiggles over there under the warm covers and slithers himself onto Stede. Crawls his way up Stede’s body until he’s straddling his lap, both robes falling open, Stede staring down between them like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
“Ed—”
Ed kisses him, fierce and hungry, and everything else is forgotten after that.
~
“Oh my god,” Stede says. He’s not sure he remembers how to say anything else. “Oh my god?”
“Sounding like a guy who enjoyed that,” Ed says, sounding like a guy who’s a little bit smug about his performance, as well he should be.
Never in his wildest dreams had Stede imagined that. Ed had climbed onto his lap with intense purpose, half devoured his mouth, and had then opened himself up and sunk onto Stede’s cock and ridden him until they’d both shouted themselves hoarse. Until the day he dies Stede’s going to be seeing the vision of Ed with his head tilted back, a hand pressd to Stede’s chest and another feeling behind, between them, as his strong, soft, beautiful body rose and fell, drawing an explosive orgasm out of Stede in three minutes flat.
“Oh, my god,” Stede says, with a happy sigh. Ed’s tucked up under his arm now, playing with his nipples, his belly hair. “Good for you?”
Ed leans back far enough to arch an eyebrow.
Doesn’t need to say anything, either, because Stede still has flecks of dried come in his chest hair from the way Ed shot off just from the feeling of Stede spilling inside him.
“Point taken,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into Ed’s hair. “I don’t even want to look at the time.”
Ed scrunches his nose. “Time stopped. Pretty sure it just stays like this til we start it up again.”
“Very convenient,” Stede says. “Unfortunately the crew is going to be waiting for us to get Betty all sorted this morning.”
“Betty can wait,” Ed says, a little petulant. “You like her better than me?”
“I do not,” Stede says decisively, and Ed shouldn’t feel like he scored one over a fucking dinosaur skeleton, but… well. Suck it, Betty. Stede’s all his.
~
They’re not fast about getting ready. In fact they’re so slow about it that when Stede finally checks his phone, it’s already ten in the morning, well past the window they had to get Betty ready before visitors started arriving today. They’ll be opening the doors right about now.
Ed sits with his legs hooked over Stede’s on the couch while Stede fires off a text message to Lucius, telling him they’ll do it tonight instead, after close. A one-day delay won’t kill anyone; they don’t have the bells-and-whistles launch til next week as it is.
“What are you going to do with the rest of your day?” Ed says, nudging Stede with his heel. “Important textile stuff?”
“I’m going to decorate a tree,” Stede says, tangling his fingers with Ed’s, and he takes a deep breath. “With my boyfriend.” A pause. “Is that all right?”
Is that all right? Stede should’ve been curating exhibits on the universe, because Ed’s floating somewhere around Mars right now. “Actually, I fucking love it.”
He loves all of this. Digging a box of dusty tinsel and decorations out of Stede’s attic, nipping to the shops hand in hand to grab some lights when it turns out he has none of those, nipping back hand in hand to put them on the tree together.
The sun’s going down by the time they finish, since they have to pause a few times in between for boyfriend things, including Ed railing Stede into a pile of tinsel beside the tree, fire crackling merrily in the background. Suits him, being surrounded by glittering gold and silver. Matches the swirls of hair on his chest. Really sets off the gleam in his hair when he throws his head back, back arched and yelling Ed’s name.
Ed’s come so many times that he’s kinda wobbly in the knees by the time it’s dark outside, and they stand side by side in front of the glowing tree.
“It’s beautiful,” Stede says reverently. “I only hope we can give Betty just as lovely a Christmas.”
“With the two of us on the job?” Ed leans over and kisses his cheek. “Can’t miss. Just one thing left to do…”
Stede looks at him quizically, and Ed pulls out the sweater he was wearing yesterday. This year’s design. He holds it up, and Stede lets out a shaky sort of sigh. And then he puts his arms up and lets Ed slip it over his head, and kiss him after for good measure.
“You wear fine things well,” Ed tells him. “Let’s go match up our girl.”
~
Betty’s waiting impatiently for them when they arrive at the museum. Stede gives Steaky, the night guard, a little box of those sugar cookies as they pass, and he looks like that’s made his Christmas.
Or, maybe that was seeing Stede hand in hand with Ed.
“Always knew you’d be just right for each other,” Steaky says, winking after them.
“Did everyone think that?” Stede says, bewildered. “Lucius has said it to me several times.”
“Ivan has, too,” Ed says, eyes a little narrowed. “You think we were the only ones doing a fuckery this weekend, or?”
“Now that you mention it,” Stede says, feeling puzzle pieces falling into place, “it did seem a bit convenient that absolutely nobody else was available to help with this.”
“Hmm,” Ed says.
The suspicion only intensifies when they arrive before Betty.
“Was all of this here yesterday?” Stede says. He certainly prides himself on being an observant person, especially when it comes to the museum, but… inside the ring of bollards and ropes, he’s really not sure that Betty was surrounded by drifts of artificial snow yesterday, or Christmas trees already decked out in white.
“Don’t think so,” Ed says, and nods to her feet. “Don’t think that was there, either.”
It’s a big box, gift-wrapped and beribboned, and the enormous tag on the top says, in unmistakeable capital letters, “ED AND STEDE.”
“For us?” Stede asks. “Ooh!”
It’s in Lucius’ handwriting, and Stede really should have guessed what was going to be in there. He should have.
He is, nonetheless, stunned speechless when Ed tears it open and pulls out… “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
It’s the sweater. The original, knitted sweater Stede designed. Metres and metres of it, all complete and undamaged.
Ed passes him the note that was on top, and Stede opens it up, still contemplating whether to laugh or scream. Each line seems to be in different writing, like the whole group’s collaborated on… all of this.
Stede reads it out.
“Dear work dads,
Sorry about the trickery but we knew we had to make this happen.
Get it, sluts!
Love,
Your teams.”
Ed’s bent over, hands on his knees, wheezing with laughter. “Those fuckers. Gonna file a report with HR.”
“That’s Archie’s writing,” Stede says, waving the letter. “HR’s in on it too. They set us up!” He feels a bit indignant about it, fantastic result notwithstanding. “All that stress! All that fabric! What are we even going to do with it?”
Ed finishes cackling and stands, reaching up to stretch, revealing a little glimpse of bare tummy that renders everything else unimportant. “I reckon we could find a charitable cause.” He grins. “Chauncey’s stupid tree could use some redecorating.”
The thought makes the laughter bubble up through Stede. “Oh, he’d hate that.”
“Yeah,” Ed says. “Yeah, I reckon he would.”
“We’ll put a pin in it,” Stede says. “Until then, we’ve got a dinosaur to dress.”
The crew’s put everything they need in the box. The sweater, yeah, but also a titanically large Santa hat, tinsel, strings of colourful lights. There are a couple of stepladders resting against the wall, and just as Stede’s moving to grab one, music starts piping over the speakers.
Have yourself
A merry little Christmas
Let your heart be light…
Ed snorts out a laugh, but a second later he’s tugging Stede back and into his arms, spinning him in a little twirling dance amidst the fake snow, Betty watching over them.
“Best holidays I’ve ever had,” Ed says. “I’m glad they’re such meddling dicks.”
“Me too,” Stede says, leaning up to kiss him again. “Me too.”
They part reluctantly as the music slides into jauntier Christmas songs, and Ed goes to retrieve the box of gear, and they work together to get Betty all dressed. Slide the sleeves carefully over her claws and up her short arms, one of them on each side. Reach across the top to touch their hands together in the middle, and then Ed works on connecting the sweater down her back, while Stede sets the hat on her enormous skull and arranges it until it sits just right.
They laugh their way through stringing tinsel around her neck like a festive green scarf, and then they pass the lights back and forth along her spine and her tail, looping it in satisfying swoops.
When they’re done, they pack away the ladders. Ed switches on the lights, casting an instant glow of red and blue and green and yellow.
They stand before her and look up at their work, and all of it, the time they’ve spent together, the way they accomplished their task, the warmth of knowing that the crew wanted them to meet, just knew they’d adore each other, it builds until he has to throw his arms in the air and shout, “Happy Christmas to all!”
And Ed, without missing a beat, raises his hands to his mouth and yells, echoing into the empty hallways, “And to all, a good night!”
Stede lets Ed fold him into a tight hug and they stare up at their dinosaur. This, them, is the greatest gift Stede’s ever received. He’s already looking forward to next year, and every year after that.
