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Stede dreams of pleasing a partner. They’re nameless and seemingly devoid of any and all sex characteristics most people would have, but he is enjoying himself nonetheless, and so are they. He wraps both fists around his cock to cover its entire length, and then he asks his partner if they’re ready. When they nod, he starts pushing his cock into them—he doesn’t know where, just some vague hole between their legs, a perfect receptacle for his dick. He steadies his erection with only one fist around its base.
He’s big, and he knows it, and so he takes it slow. He takes care not to cause discomfort for his partner, but when they start pleading for him to give them more, to speed up, to go harder, he complies easily.
He dreams that he makes them come with just his cock and some well-aimed thrusts.
He dreams that they moan as he comes inside them, and that they whisper to him that they love his girth, and his length, and his everything.
And then Stede wakes up.
He wakes up, his underwear soiled with his own semen, and he wrinkles his nose at himself. He hates having wet dreams, if only for the single reason that he doesn’t like the clean-up. He also prefers having sex with a partner, coming with them. He can’t really place why it makes him feel much better, but it does. Maybe it’s something in the fact that his spend means something, then? An end to a night, pleasure given and received? Something about how mutual it is, most of the time.
But it’s a moot point now, because he has spent inside his underwear, and he feels sticky and wrong, and so he slowly slides out of the bed to avoid waking up his partner.
His partner in his dreams might be undefined, but his real-life best friend-turned-boyfriend definitely is. Ed is gentle and caring and he loves Stede. He also doesn’t mind Stede and his nightly emissions, but Ed’s been sleeping badly the past few weeks and so Stede doesn’t want to wake him up. Really, Ed should have been sleeping at his own place for the past few weeks but he’d claimed to sleep worse in his own apartment than in Stede’s bed, and so Stede caved.
Still, that means that it’s just Stede and his filthy underwear and a washcloth, and he doesn’t look down as he cleans himself up. He barely opens his eyes, if he’s honest. He doesn’t feel like confronting the way he looks after he’s dreamed something that filthy, and he’d much prefer to just creep back into bed and go back to sleep right there, next to Ed. It’s generally where he prefers to be, but doubly if not triply so after he’s had a wet dream.
Dreaming about sex fucks with his head badly whenever he does, and Ed’s arms are the only safe space where he can even consider falling asleep again. He hasn’t found the words yet to explain why the dreams make him feel so bad, but they do. Sometimes, they feel like nightmares. Even when he’s pleasing his partner, even when they feature Ed, even that one time it featured several celebrities taking care of him… they always suck. Leave him with a sick feeling in his stomach.
Stede takes a deep breath, and then drinks a glass of water, and he feels like that should be enough to settle his nerves, but he doesn’t feel better when he gets back into bed, curling back around Ed. Ed’s back is warm and he sniffles and pushes back into Stede’s chest even though he must be cooler than Ed prefers. Ed doesn’t wake, and Stede is glad for it. He closes his eyes and hopes he can fall asleep again.
***
The next morning, Stede wakes up groggy and tired. He doesn’t feel well-rested at all, and the fact that Ed’s already up doesn’t help either. When he checks the time, he realises it’s later than he expected, and Ed must have already left for work.
Somehow, that also leaves Stede feeling… dejected. Less ready to face the day. More tired and worn out. He swallows the dread, though, and tries to get to a point where he can get out of bed.
The thing that gets him moving, eventually, is his bladder. He doesn’t want to add more of a mess to the bed, so he drags himself up and out of bed. Into the bathroom. Sits down, does his business, wipes himself clean without thinking too much about it. After that dream, he can’t quite confront his penis yet.
***
Stede manages to get through the day somehow, glad it’s a work-from-home day and he can just call into the meetings that are necessary and putter around in the house when he’s not quite needed at work. It soothes some of his restlessness, and he manages to find a rhythm in his day. He even gets dinner mostly finished by the time Ed arrives home.
Ed’s all laughter and joy today, a whirlwind of too much energy and Stede feels like he can’t compare. He lets Ed chatter a mile a minute about his day, lets him get it all out. He doesn’t try to interject but shows his boyfriend that he’s listening. Even during dinner, Ed keeps chatting, although he is also squinting slightly at Stede whenever he wraps up a story. It’s like he’s puzzling something out, and Stede doesn’t know what that thing is yet.
“How was your day?” Ed asks as they’re doing the final few dishes. They’ve cleared the table and put their plates and cutlery in the dishwasher, but Stede believes in washing the pots and by hand pans so they can be put away immediately.
Stede realises it’s intentional that Ed has waited this long to ask Stede about his day. Stede’s trapped now, hands buried in soapy water and busy with a task he doesn’t want to put off. There’s nowhere for him to go, no way out of the situation.
Ed certainly picked his time well.
Stede groans, not sure if he is angry at his boyfriend for doing this, or if he’s glad—because he needs to be forced to talk about his day. Or maybe, and more likely, about his dream.
His hands have stilled in the water without him having given it any kind of conscious thought, and he sighs.
“Ed…”
“You’re not getting out of this one, Stede,” Ed says. His voice is soft but there’s an undertone to it that sounds… tired. Exhausted. Almost as if he’s had a bad night, too, and maybe he has. Ed hasn’t talked about his night; just about his day. “How was your day.”
“Decent,” Stede says. “Nowhere as interesting or energetic as yours.” He shrugs. Tries not to fall into the trap of chattering on when he’s nervous—and then he does anyway. “Tiring because I didn’t sleep well and my colleagues got on my nerves, and I did get work done but not a lot and it all felt like pulling teeth. Everything felt wrong, today.” That last part, especially. Stede didn’t know that everything did feel wrong until the words made their way past his lips, and then he realised that… oh, yes, that was it.
“Wrong?” Ed asks, and his voice grows even softer somehow. Stede is no longer scrubbing the dishes. He wants to put his head in his hands, but his hands are still in the water, and removing them feels like the first step towards fleeing the conversation, which he doesn’t want to do. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” Stede says, a sarcastic snort escaping him before he can contain it. He knows it’s going to hurt Ed, and still he does it. “Why would I want to talk about it? You know I don’t—That’s why you waited until my hands were all soapy and I was in the middle of a task before asking.” His voice rises the longer he speaks.
“Stede…”
Stede can easily imagine the look on Ed’s face, hurt and worry creasing his forehead. He doesn’t look to double check. Instead, he finds the well of anger that Ed seems to have hit with his question.
“No, Ed. Why are you asking me when you already know I don’t want to talk about it?” Stede explodes, and he knows it’s not fair to get mad at Ed. It’s not going to help him in the slightest, and he can already feel himself grow guilty at his explosion. He doesn’t want to hurt Ed, and yet, here he is: hurting Ed. Being mad at someone who can’t do anything about the fact that Stede has issues because Stede doesn’t want to talk about his issues, and they’re—as he’s been assured many times—minor issues that shouldn’t cause him to feel like this at all. “Why are you trying to get me to talk about it? I. Don’t. Want. To. I don’t want to! I’ve said so before!”
“That’s unfair,” Ed whispers, and oh shit, Stede has gone too far. He still doesn’t remove his hands from the water, though. He can’t give himself permission to walk away. Maybe it would be the better option, before he’s so tired and so mad (and overstimulated) that he actually lashes out in such a way that Ed walks out for good.
“Why, Ed.” It’s no longer a question, because Stede is tired. He’s exhausted. Emotionally, physically, and—yeah. He doesn’t want to cry, but he feels close to tears. So close that his lower lip’s already starting to quiver.
Stede’s anger seems to stir something in Ed, though. He drops his towel on the worktop with a louder slap than necessary. “Because I care about you, and I want to know what you’re dreaming about that means you sleep like shit and get up in the middle of the night and slink back if you come back at all, and what has you behaving slightly off the day after. You never talk to me about it.” His tone rises and falls and Stede feels so fucking bad. “What’s going on, Stede?”
And Stede just… He can’t do it anymore. He’s tired, he’s so tired, and he should probably have talked to Ed before. Way before now. He bursts into tears, and he takes his soapy hands out of the water and puts them to his face, and he dreads how he’s going to feel about that later, but the need to hide his tears overwhelms everything.
He somehow manages to move to the corner of the kitchen—safe, his body tells him, safe is what we need—slides down onto the floor, and he curls up into a ball to cry some more. His hands are dripping on his face and on his shirt, and on his pants, and probably on the floor, too, and he’s going to hate himself (even more so) when he’s in a state where he can think about the mess he’s made.
Ed doesn’t immediately drop to the floor beside him, and Stede’s glad for that, because he doesn’t know how to tell Ed that he’s feeling this upset over something as small (hah) as his dick. He needs a minute to himself to just cry and be left alone, so he can process his emotions and slowly start feeling more ready to talk about it—even though he doesn’t want to, he knows he has to.
And it’s honestly a miracle Ed doesn’t know yet. Their romantic relationship is young enough that they’ve not broached the topic of sex yet. It’s… a complicated thing, for Stede. Mostly because of his issues, but also because he doesn’t trust easily, and he’s still scared that he’s going to fuck up his friendship with Ed if Ed doesn’t end up liking—
He cuts the thought off forcefully, shakes his head to try and clear it away.
He realises that Ed has put a glass of water and a towel next to him, but that he’s sat down a little further away, on one of the chairs. Ed is probably watching him, but Stede ignores that for a second as he furtively takes the glass and sips it before he dries his hands and his face. His shirt and pants are a lost cause, and they’re kind of annoying against his skin, but he can deal with them. He clings to the towel, instead, fingers clenched into fists in the material. He’d rather dig in there than into his wet shirt or his wet trousers.
The softness of the towel grounds him, too. He takes another sip of water, puts the glass back on the floor. Glances up at Ed for a second before looking back at his knees again.
He’s aware that he lashed out when he shouldn’t have, and he’s aware that he really should not have screamed at Ed. But he did, and when he’s collected himself, he’s going to have to talk to Ed. Like the adults they both are.
But fuck, why is it so hard?
He takes the time he needs, though, to stop sobbing, and calm down further, and then he takes a deep breath to lift his head. His eyes find Ed immediately, and Ed is staring at him. Stede isn’t surprised at that, but he is surprised at how worried Ed looks. His forehead is creased, and his lips are pinched. Stede swallows, but he keeps eye contact with Ed.
He can be brave.
Ed decides to be a little braver, though. He gets up only to move over and sit down on the floor right next to Stede. “Hi,” he says, and then nothing else.
“Hi,” Stede replies. He sounds… rough. He feels rough, too. He doesn’t know how to start talking.
“Do… do you need me to ask you questions? Or uh… what do you need?”
Stede doesn’t know what he needs. He knows he has to start talking, and the urge to go hide just grows anyway, regardless of whether he talks to Ed or not. He’s terrified this is the thing that’s going to make Ed walk out on him. He should… say something.
Ed seems to sense his indecision and decides to just jump in with questions. “Is it anything physical?” he asks, and Stede nods, because—yes. Yes, it’s something physical. And embarrassing. So fucking embarrassing.
“Okay, okay. So, questions it is.” Ed thinks for a second, then seems to decide on a track to follow. “Are you in pain?”
“No,” Stede whispers. He doesn’t count the emotional toll this is taking, the amount of time he’s spent crying until his entire body hurts. Technically, he could say yes, but. But. The honest answer is no, and if anything, he should be honest. It feels wrong to have Ed ask questions like this, but Stede is starting to accept that he struggles to speak up, himself, and the questions are easier to answer. At least he doesn’t have to figure out where to even get started, if Ed just asks him things to figure out where he’s at.
“Okay, good. But it is causing you… hurt. Just not physical hurt.” Ed hums to himself, as if considering that. And then, he cocks his head. “Whatever physical thing it is… is it the reason you keep me at a distance, sometimes? When we get… y’know. When things get a little hot and heavy between us?”
Oh God. Stede wants to bury his face in his hands, wants to go back to hiding. And—he can, actually, so he does. He mumbles, “Yes,” and hopes it’s loud enough for Ed to hear.
“Oh,” Ed says, so he must have understood. There’s another beat of silence, and then— “Um. Oh god, I genuinely hope you’d have told me this, that you’d have felt safe enough and secure enough with our friends around but… Are you trans?” He grimaces as he says it, and Stede gets it. He… Well, being trans might have made it much easier. He’d have told Ed that easily. And he knows enough trans people that he’d have felt comfortable talking about that.
“I would have told you that, Ed,” Stede whispers.
“So it’s harder to confess to than being trans?” Ed has a frown on his face, now. “I… Stede, man, this is… weird. I—Is there something wrong with your dick?”
Stede winces, and that must give Ed his answer already, but Stede feels defensive, all of a sudden, and that somehow gets him talking.
“It depends on your definition of wrong—” he starts, and then he cuts himself off, because he’s realised his mistake just slightly too late.
“Well, you clearly think something is wrong.” Ed’s eyebrows have been doing a workout today, and they’re currently nearly at his hairline. “Is it that bad, really? Or do you feel bad about it?”
Stede sighs. Now that he’s done some talking, and Ed is close enough, it might just be kinder and easier to just… tell him. Or maybe telling him is the wrong option, because it’s easier to show this, isn’t it? Stede uncurls himself, then shoves himself upright onto his feet. Ed is staring at him, the frown back on his face. He seems on the verge of asking something, but mimes zipping his mouth shut when Stede holds up a hand to give him a second. Stede steels himself with a deep breath, unbuckling his belt and undoing the fastenings on his trousers so he can simply shove down his trousers and underwear in one go and bare himself for Ed to see.
He screws his eyes tightly shut, unwilling to confront whatever is happening on Ed’s face.
“Oh Stede,” Ed sighs, and then, “Is this why you’ve never undressed before me?” He doesn’t sound judgemental, just like he’s finally putting together a few pieces of a puzzle and the picture is starting to make sense. Stede carefully opens his eyes to see Ed’s gaze are very much focused on Stede’s penis. A beat, then: “Wait, really? This is why you don’t want to be naked with me?” He hesitates, then asks, voice gentler than before, “Is this why you’re not comfortable with sex?”
“I am comfortable with sex,” Stede insists. It feels like the easiest of the three questions to address. And yet, he can feel himself flush, and he knows he’s not fully honest there. “Okay. Mostly comfortable with the idea of sex.”
“Because of…” Ed trails off, gestures down at Stede’s crotch, and Stede nods, slowly.
“Yes. No. I…” Stede laughs, despite himself. “Oh my god, it’s complicated. But mostly, I think?” He breathes in slowly and steadily, then lets it out in one, long gust. He can do this. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a partner who… who did appreciate it, so to speak. All I got was ridicule, laughter. I… I’ve thought about—about this, with you, and—” Stede swallows. He’s thought about it extensively. Went through all the possible scenarios, from Ed breaking up with him in disgust to Ed being so turned on over his small size that they’d fucked for days after. Touched himself over it, felt bad about it, felt guilty over it. “I don’t want to be a failure?”
“You wouldn’t be,” Ed says. His eyes seem incapable of looking away from Stede’s penis, and Stede doesn’t know how he feels about it.
“But—”
“If you say you’ll be a failure just because your dick is smaller than average and you’re scared you can’t fuck me, I might just withhold sex entirely, Stede.”
Stede blinks, and there’s only one thing he can say. “The medical term is micropenis, actually, and—”
“And it’s very cute.” Ed interrupts him again, this time also moving forward until he stands in front of Stede. Stede almost thinks he’s going to sink down onto his knees in front of Stede to worship his penis (which would be a shame, because Stede won’t get hard, even with a gorgeous man on his knees in front of him), but no. That isn’t what Ed does. Ed puts one hand on Stede’s shoulder, and the other on his cheek, and he leans his forehead against Stede’s.
It feels like Ed is about to say something but just hasn’t found the right words for it yet, but the longer they stand there in silence, the weirder Stede feels about being in the kitchen with his dick out.
“Ed?” Stede starts. He doesn’t need to be loud—anything past a whisper feels like it’s going to break the fragile thing between them. Ed hums, and the fact that his eyes are closed gives Stede the little boost of confidence that he needs to confess. “I think I am scared that you won’t like it, won’t like me, because it’s yet another thing about me that’s not normal or standard and might be annoying, and that it’s going to be the reason we break up.”
“Oh, love.” Ed kisses him, then, and his arms slide around Stede’s waist to pull him against Ed’s body. “As if you’d get rid of me that easily.”
Stede feels stiff in Ed’s arms, awkward and uncomfortable due to his nakedness, and he’s not sure he can trust Ed’s words.
“Friends first, remember,” Ed murmurs, then, and Stede nods slowly. He’s going to need some time to let that sink in, to accept and embrace that Ed really thinks that. But he might get there.
When Ed lets go of him, Stede wants to protest, but he doesn’t, not when Ed does sink down to his knees, even if it’s just to pull up Stede’s trousers and underwear. He gets everything into place and as he gets the belt buckled again, he’s back on his feet and kisses Stede’s forehead.
“I’d love to see this again,” he says, a light touch to Stede’s crotch. “But let’s take this slow, yeah? I know about it now, and you don’t have to hide anymore. We don’t have to jump into sex.”
“But…” Stede trails off, not sure what he was going to say. Or how he’s supposed to say it. “Slow, how?”
“However you want. Change in front of me. Shower with me. Sleep naked with me. I don’t care. I’m perfectly fine not having sex with you.” Ed’s eyes flick down to Stede’s now covered penis, and when his eyes are back on Stede’s face, he says, sultrily, “I wouldn’t mind getting my hands or mouth on you at some point soon, though. Or having penetrative sex with you in any capacity.”
Stede swallows hard. Still doesn’t know what to say. All he knows, at this point, is that he feels incredibly small and not up to anything even if his cock were to rally today. His doctor had told him that his erectile dysfunction might be caused by stress and panic and the general feeling of incompetency rather than something being medically wrong with him, and Ed had made him wish that that was the case.
Ed is making him wish that it is the case.
Because part of Stede does want to try. He’d love to suddenly gain the confidence to bare himself in front of Ed, to show Ed his full body rather than just his chest (which Ed seems to love) and his legs (which Ed seems to love), or his arms (which Ed seems to love). He doesn’t, though, and maybe that can be okay.
Maybe he does get to work on himself first, and slowly explore what he’d be willing to do with a partner who loves every part of him and who’s willing to take it slow and back off if that’s what Stede needs.
And maybe, then, one day, he can feel safe and secure enough to have sex with Ed, bare himself and his stubby little penis, and see where it goes without feeling panicked. See if he can maintain an erection if someone cares about him enough to take their time with him and his fiddly body.
“Soon?” Stede asks, and his voice breaks in that one word. He doesn’t know why, can’t quite sort through the myriad of emotions he’s currently feeling.
“Whenever you feel ready,” Ed clarifies. “I don’t care if that’s in twenty minutes, or in five days, or in ten years.”
“Oh.” Stede blinks, and he breathes. Ed holds out his arms, and Stede steps into them, slotting his own arms around Ed’s waist and holding on tight as Ed cradles the back of his head with one hand, gently pushing Stede’s face into the crook of his neck.
“We’re doing this at your pace.” Ed rocks them softly, and Stede lets out a shuddering sigh. “But please don’t feel like you have to hide from me.”
Stede nods, even though it’s easier said than done. He’s going to have to work on that. For now, though… For now, it’ll have to be enough to know that Ed knows what’s going on, and to know that it’s no longer a secret. Stede doesn’t feel lighter; but he feels like his head is clearing up, like there’ll be more space for new thoughts and new developments and new experiences.
Maybe they can do this. Time will tell.
(He realises, when they’re in bed later that evening, that he hasn’t even told Ed about the dreams that triggered his silence. He decides that’s something to talk about when it doesn’t feel as fresh as it currently does.)