In the night, one or the other would drowsily wake, each reassured that the other was there, that it was real and not a dream that they were finally together - whether in an embrace, their bodies fitting together and curling into each other like a pair of nested spoons, a nuzzle, the brush of a hip or the touch of a foot, in the coolness of the sheets. Stede was still in his linen drawers, Ed wore nothing. The light, cool breeze coming in through the open windows felt good on their skin.

And in the twilight of dawn before the seaport woke, they woke together in desire for each other. They moved in closer to each other, each fully aroused.

Stede admired Ed's slim and wiry-strong body and his tattoos, tracing the curve of the one round Ed's arm that resembled a coiling dragon's tail or a sea serpent with his fingers, and Ed smiled dreamily up at him. The tattoo started at the base of Ed's neck, and then wound round his right arm to the top of his hand, just beyond the wrist, ending with a nautical star. He admired Edward's hands, always the aesthete; the beauty, utility and fine-boned elegance of the human hand, brought Edward's hand to his lips and kissed it, his lips over the nautical star. It was one of the things Ed so loved about Stede, this way he had of seeing the beauty in everything, where Ed had begun to feel a bit jaded.

Ed turned over onto his side, so that he was leaning slightly above Stede, and looking deeply into his eyes, bent his head and kissed him, hard and deep, Stede's lips opening to Ed's tongue. Ed caressed Stede's chest, his palm moving over his belly and down, brushing over Stede's erection, and helped him out of his underdrawers. Ed took Stede's hands and guided them to his body. Touch me, he whispered to Stede.

Stede needed little encouragement, so caught up was he in a whirl of passion and desire, and of pleasure. A tempest.

With Ed's unrelenting kisses nearly driving him mad, as Ed made love to him, Stede whispered ravish me, and Ed smiled up at him again, kissed a trail down the length of Stede's body. Stede drew in a sharp breath. It was something he had wanted, had thought about, for a long time. He reached for Edward, tangling his fingers in Edward's hair, and clutching at his shoulders.

"Oh dear God," Stede cried out in a whisper, closing his eyes, when he came to his release. He hadn't known it could be like this.

After, when they had stilled for a while, Ed gently got up from the bed and went to the washstand, poured some clean, scented water into the basin and wrung a flannel in it to wash their bodies. Edward had wondered and hoped where this would have all taken place, and when, or even if it would happen at all. And he was so very glad that it had.


Stede answered the door in his dressing gown. He'd been so tired the night before he'd barely unpacked anything, and had just thrown on an untucked shirt and a pair of breeches underneath. He hadn't even put on a nightshirt; all he'd wanted was to be as close to Ed as was possible. And after he'd awakened this morning, he hadn't wanted to leave their bed, nor for Edward to, playfully kissing Ed wherever his lips would fall on him. But the day called. He'd let Edward rest for a little while longer. Comebacktobed, Edward, still half asleep, mumured from the tumble of sheets and pillows, the top sheet and pillowcases trimmed in crocheted lace, reaching for him.

"It's breakfast, my love," Stede whispered. He could have sworn he heart Edward say, Fuck that, and only smiled. When Edward did wake, he might be hungry, and Stede certainly was.

"Just a moment!" he called out as he hurried to finish dressing.

A waiter greeted him with their breakfast, and proceeded to lay out a white linen tablecloth on the table with a flourish, the silver and breakfast condiments - curls of butter, honey, and bittersweet orange marmalade - and set down two domed silver cloche covered plates.

Stede signed for it, thanked and tipped him, and was answered in Brasilian Portuguese, sempre às ordens, Senhor, and he then quietly left. Edward still slept in the next room.

Stede went over to gently wake Ed, and they enjoyed their breakfast - buttered eggs, slices of ham, the toast and marmalade, fresh tropical fruit, a carafe of guava nectar, coffee and delicious biscoitos cookies and orange cake.


Ed put on his dressing gown, the flowered red silk that he seemed to have acquired from Stede somehow, and went out to the sitting room.

"Bom dia, my dear Edward!" Stede proclaimed, greeting him, and poured them each a cup of coffee; Ed's with a dollop of milk and seven sugars. Much too sweet, Stede had once tutted, as it was not to his taste or according to his regimen for good health, but he had still always made tea and coffee that way, perfectly, for Edward. There was toast in a silver toast rack. An old edition of a Portuguese language newspaper lay folded at Stede's place. That he couldn't read it all yet made no difference. He would, is what Stede would say.

A lock of his dark reddish-blond hair had fallen over Stede's forehead, and he looked a bit disheveled. Ed was reminded that Stede's eyes, a hazel brown, were nearly the same color as his hair. It was like seeing him for the first time anew, after so long away from each other. He thought that Stede had never looked more beautiful to him. And he knew it; Stede would now make it his mission to learn the languages, and to the best of his ability.

"You're rather good looking, you know," Ed said, smiling. Stede smiled back at him, a little modestly.

Stede had studied French for many years as a young man, but these days it only served when ordering from a menu at a French restaurant, he'd quipped.

"Have you tried these?" Stede asked, biting into a biscoito cookie. Ed had to smile; yes, he had. "They're delicious!"

I love you, Edward thought.