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Sometimes, Stede thinks, it’s just easier to be a pup.
Like when he’s so tired of thinking he could cry, or when it feels too hard to ask for affection as a person, or when he just wants some goddamn whimsy.
Like today, mint green collar snug and comfortable against his neck, knees only somewhat sore with the pads protecting them from the carpet, tags jingling as he pushes his nose insistently underneath Ed’s hand where it’s gone limp against his thigh.
“Needy today, are we?” Ed teases, but his tone is light and fond and he’s already shifting to scratch Stede’s scalp, right by the ears currently clinging to his head with half a dozen bobby pins. “Sweet pup.”
Stede glows with the endearment, a pleased huff of a bark coming from low in his throat. He wants to nuzzle against Ed’s leg, maybe lick his hand even though it’s always a better thought than reality, but the scratches feel too nice to move, so he lets Ed’s fingers run through his hair, over the fluffy ears, and back to the nape of his neck.
That gets a more unintentional noise from Stede, shivers trickling up his spine at the sensation of gentle nails against sensitive skin. Ed offers a honey-thick smile and lingers there, making Stede honest to god feel like he'll start tapping his foot in pleasure, before trailing down to slip two fingers beneath Stede’s collar—not tugging, just making Stede aware of the presence. Helping him remember he is wanted, he is held, he is someone’s.
The thought tugs at something in him, tightens his throat with memories of all the times that wasn't the case, but he pushes it aside. There are more important things to focus on, after all, like wriggling out of Ed’s loving hold so he can start clambering onto the couch—only to have Ed stop him with a firm hand on his chest.
“Hey, no pups on the couch, you know that.”
Stede huffs. Technically he was the one who made that rule, wanting to make everything seem more real, but now it feels like a very stupid one. He’s not really going to get fur or claw marks on the cushions, after all, and there’s so much Ed he doesn’t have access to on the floor.
“Pup,” Ed warns when Stede tries again, his voice firmer now. “You have a bed already. The couch is for people, not pets.”
Stede gives the (admittedly large and comfortable) dog bed across the room a withering look, then paws at Ed’s thighs, whining pathetically. When Ed doesn’t immediately give in, Stede then ducks in to grab the hem of his shirt between his teeth, tugging on it—gently, he doesn’t want to stretch it out—to say if I can’t come up there, then you have to come down here.
“Stede,” Ed scolds, but there’s laughter in his voice and the crinkles around his eyes. “Fine, fine, you stubborn little thing, I’ll sit on the floor with you.”
He slides to the ground, then seems to recalculate and grabs a couple throw pillows to put underneath him while Stede noses his dog bed across the carpet into position. He does a few circles, just for the fun of it, then curls up with as much of his body as possible in Ed’s lap.
“God, you’re so fucking cute,” Ed murmurs, fondness spread atop the laughter like marmalade on fresh toast. “How am I supposed to stay mad at you?”
Stede leans away from where he was nuzzling into Ed’s stomach to give the biggest puppy eyes he can manage. You can’t.
Huffing in clear agreement, Ed gets back to work petting Stede, one hand in his hair and the other sliding up and down his back, nails scratching pleasantly through Stede’s t-shirt (he’s never managed to do this naked, makes him too aware of his own body and how distinctly not-dog-like it is). Stede almost purrs in contentment, but that’s Ed’s forte, not his, so instead he noses Ed’s shirt up just enough to lick his belly. It makes Ed shiver and giggle, muscles tensing against Stede’s face, which Stede takes as encouragement to do it again.
“What a sweet boy,” Ed says. His voice is edging into a higher register, more like classic dog-speak than he usually does, and it makes Stede feel both embarrassed and deeply pleased. “You just wanna give me love, huh?”
Stede tries to nod, but Ed scratches at the nape of his neck again and he instinctively leans into the sensation instead, a needy noise slipping from his throat.
“Yeah, gotta give the good scritches for my good boy,” Ed says, and yeah, that’s definitely in cooing territory now. Stede resists the urge to tuck his face into Ed’s stomach again, hide the growing flush in his cheeks, because he’s a pup right now, not a person, which means he doesn’t need to be embarrassed about how much he likes being fussed over.
Eventually, though, a few of Stede’s joints start sending warnings that this scrunched-up position is going to feel bad in about four minutes, so he flops on his back instead, head and shoulders still in the cradle of Ed’s legs but the rest of him on the dog bed, hands curled into loose fists against his chest.
Ed smiles down at him, drawing the backs of his fingers over Stede’s cheek, the sort of love in his touch and his expression that makes Stede want to howl or spin in circles or cry. “Hey there, sweetheart.”
Stede can only bark in response, being a pup, but he tries to make it as loving a bark as he can. Wags his butt too, which mostly just means rocking back and forth a little, but it makes Ed smile even wider.
“Fuckin’ cutest pup ever,” he says. “Best in the whole world.”
Woof, Stede agrees, because compliments have always been easier to accept when he’s a pup, unburdened with regrets or mistakes or confusing human emotions.
“Seriously, man, you could be on one of those cute dog video channels,” Ed says, pulling Stede back into the moment at hand. “The comment section would be flooded with people yelling at me for taking a picture when you’re clearly so in need of belly rubs.”
Blushing, Stede raises his eyebrows and arches his back a little to show that indeed, his belly is completely un-rubbed right now.
“Yeah? You want some belly rubs?”
Stede nods, yipping in approval and wiggling to make his tummy even more accessible.
Ed laughs, clearly delighted, and immediately sets to his task. The gentle back-and-forth motions make Stede’s shirt drag subtly against his skin, and something about it drags against his brain, too, like everything is shifted an inch from where it should be. Skin-on-skin would probably feel better, but the idea of actually taking his shirt off, or rucking it up his chest, makes him feel irrationally embarrassed.
His indecision must show on his face, because Ed slows to a stop and pulls his hand away. “You okay, baby?”
Stede huffs through the blush that term of endearment always inspires, craning his neck to tug at his own sleeve petulantly.
“You want your shirt off?” Ed asks, and Stede shakes his head, frustrated for once at the lack of complex communication he can do as a pup. Ed frowns back sympathetically, then after a moment suggests, “I can go under it?”
Oh, that’s perfect. Stede woofs and nods and wiggles his assent, and Ed slips his hand under Stede’s shirt, warm and subtly calloused and familiar, safe. It’s just what Stede needed, lets him feel close to Ed without being too exposed—which, yes, he probably should work on that knee-jerk fear in therapy more, but right now he’s just a puppy who doesn’t want to think about the mortification of vulnerability, okay?
So he doesn’t. He just kicks his feet in pleasure as Ed’s nails scratch gently through his body hair, letting out giggly woofs whenever Ed finds his ticklish spots. Hooks his wrist around Ed’s forearm when he makes a detour for ear scritches, to which Ed laughs and presses his hand against Stede’s sternum, pretending to rock him back and forth like…well, like a puppy. Something small and sweet he just can’t help but take care of.
“You’re not gonna like this,” Ed says eventually, switching to soothing circles on Stede’s chest as if in apology, “but I gotta get up for a second. My legs are fucking killing me.”
Despite himself, Stede pouts a little at this, and Ed flicks the tags on his collar teasingly. “I’ll just be a second, you needy thing. Can’t stand to be away from you longer than that anyway.”
That’s enough of a balm for Stede to obediently let Ed slip out from under him to stand and stretch, shirt riding over his soft belly temptingly. Except then Ed says he should get some water, which will definitely take longer than just a second, so Stede starts to pull himself up onto hands and knees to follow.
“Nuh-uh, you wait there, I don’t want you to ruin how cozy you’ve gotten,” Ed says. Stede huffs, ignoring him, and Ed’s posture shifts into something more commanding when he repeats, “Stede. Wait. ”
So Stede waits. Feels his chest go tight with something like rejection about it, which in turn sparks embarrassment low in his gut—not the nice kind of embarrassment, either, where Ed teases him for something they both already know he can have, but the kind that’s usually reserved for Human Stede, the kind that usually accompanies words like too much.
Ed is just getting water, he reminds himself, pawing at his bed to fluff it up and feeling his knuckles drag against the shaggy material. There’s no need to be upset. He does a few circles, growls softly just to get it out of his system, and curls into what Ed would call donut position, cheek propped on the slightly raised edge so he can watch the doorway patiently for Ed’s return.
Thankfully, it’s only a minute or so before he reappears, two glasses in hand with ice in one and a bendy straw in the other, and when their gazes meet, making Stede’s chest pang with sharp, irrational longing, Ed’s expression melts like an ice cream cone on a hot day.
“Fuuuuuck, you are so fucking cute,” Ed says, sounding borderline upset about it as he hastily sets the cups on the coffee table and kneels down. He slips his hand between Stede’s face and the bed to cradle his cheek, eyes and hands unbearably gentle, and Stede’s whole body flushes at the attention, so much sweeter than how he felt a moment ago that he can almost taste it on his tongue. “Your fuckin’ smooshed face and your big eyes and your fucking ears, fuck me.”
He then proceeds to kiss all over Stede’s face, big smacking presses of lips that make Stede giggle with delight, that sugary feeling buzzing in his veins and slowly drowning out the residual embarrassment. “Saddest downside of having you in my lap, I swear. Too far away to kiss you.”
Stede woofs and noses against Ed’s cheek in agreement, paws at his chest to encourage more of the kissing, and Ed seems happy to oblige—at least, until Stede can’t help himself and licks a long stripe up Ed’s cheek just as Ed turns his head, which turns it into more of a half-hearted wet willy.
“Eugh, big no on ear licking,” Ed says, face scrunched up adorably as he wipes away the offending spit. Stede makes a very penitent whine, sticking his lower lip out a little to really sell it, and Ed says, “I’m not mad at you, sweetheart, don’t worry. Just—aim that tongue a little better next time, yeah?”
They both giggle at that phrasing before Ed flops down next to him, half draped over his body like a blanket with his chin tucked on Stede’s head between the floppy golden ears. It’s one of Stede’s favorite positions, small and surrounded but not trapped, his nose tucked against the tender skin of Ed’s throat. He could fall asleep like this, and has in the past, especially with Ed’s gentle, mindless humming that Stede can feel more than hear.
Right now, though, Stede feels suddenly like he’s about to cry. Which isn’t necessarily surprising, because something about puppy play always makes him emotional, but that usually comes afterwards, when he can see the full shape of the thing rather than living inside it. Once he’s a forty-something man with a Prozac prescription rather than a puppy whose only thought is of what love he might receive next.
But maybe those lines are blurring today. Maybe Stede needed to be a pup so bad, after the drop from a weekend with friends compounded by a dozen little frustrations at work he couldn’t quite solve, that he tracked the need in like muddy paws on hardwood.
Stede doesn’t know how he feels about that, about the outside world being able to slide into this precious space he’s built. Doesn’t know how he’d voice those feelings, either, not when he's in this vulnerable in-between. So he just nestles closer into Ed’s hold, forehead pressed against the surety of his heartbeat, eyes squeezed shut against the flood of nameless emotion.
A hand comes up to his hair immediately, fingers stroking in slow circles one way and then in reverse whenever the strands start to tangle, the other pulling Stede tighter against his chest like he knows exactly the safety Stede is desperate to feel.
“Love you, sweet boy,” Ed murmurs, sounding sleepy and content, easy, and Stede does cry then—just a couple of tears, no heaves or sobs or shaking, but it feels like relief anyway.
He pushes his nose against Ed’s chest, soft and insistent, hoping Ed knows it means I love you too, means thank you.
They’ll get up in an hour or so when they’re both pulled out of half-sleep by the rumbling of stomachs, Ed slowly working Stede back up to being a person with gentle touches and encouragement the way he always does. He’ll clock the slight redness of Stede’s eyes, too, but say nothing until they’ve eaten their sandwiches and chips and some leftover cookies, at which point he’ll slip his human fingers between Stede’s and ask how he’s feeling.
And Stede will have to work through that question for a few minutes, stepping carefully around the brambles of shoulds and shouldn’ts and I don’t knows to find those budding flowers of truth. But Ed will be patient with him, which will make Stede cry again, which will make Ed lean over to wipe the tears from his eyes with one hand so Stede can keep clutching at the other like the lifeline it is.
And then, when Stede’s managed to pick a whole bouquet of honesty and Ed has told him he’s brave until Stede starts to believe it, he’ll put the collar and the ears back in their box under the bed until the next time he’s tired of thinking, or it feels too hard to ask for affection as a person, or he wants whimsy, or—or maybe, sometimes, when there’s mud on his paws and Ed’s voice is calling him home.