Ed Sheeran [SMUT]

Can I Drive You Home

Ed is sure he’s seen you around here before.

Wasn’t there once a time you and your friends came to the club, all dolled up and ready to party? He isn’t too sure, but there’s an inkling of familiarity. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. The point is you’re passed out at the bar, face pressed into the glass, and Ed can’t tell if you’re breathing or not.

It’s late and he’s ready to go home. Stuart left him the keys to lock up, something he usually makes Jensen do, but Jensen apparently called in sick early morning which Ed finds odd considering the guy went to some big birthday bash and uploaded twenty something pictures on Instagram. He won’t mention that to Stuart though, he doesn’t think it’s that important, and besides, Stuart promised to pay Ed extra considering he had to work the night shift with two newbies — who mind you, couldn’t mix a drink to save their lives. Ed shifts from one foot to the other as he stands behind the bar, staring at you. Your hair is splayed across the counter top and you have a glass of some weird mixture in your hand, it’s teetering to the side a bit as you remain unmoving. He hopes you aren’t dead or worst — drugged. Ed can’t remember for the life of him if he saw you come with someone, as a matter of fact, he can’t even recall seeing you at all tonight. Then again, he was probably busy trying to make sure one of the newbies didn’t burn the place down. 

He steps around the counter, stuffing the keys into his pocket as he taps your shoulder gently. “Excuse me, miss?” he said, husky tone filled with concern.

You don’t respond.

“Miss?” He taps your shoulder a bit harder. 

This seems to get the right response. Your head jerks up, eyes snapping open, and this abrupt movement causes you to let the glass slip from your hand and onto the floor. 

“Fuck,” Ed’s eyes flutter shut, and he’s sighing to himself as he’s about to get upset but he can’t because it’s not like you purposely meant to do that. 

He tangles his fingers above his head as he assess the mess on the floor, while you blinkingly stare at him. The first words are out of your mouth is a proven fact of how much you will annoy him: “Whoa, man. Are you my one night stand?” Though, considering how drunk you are, each word is slurred and he just barely makes out what you say.

“No,” he answered, fixing you with a pointed stare. “It’s closing time and you need to leave.”

“But… what time is it?” You’re blinking rapidly, smacking your lips together and looking around the room as if it holds all the answers to your questions.

Ed looks at the clock on the wall. “It’s almost six in the morning.”

You blink at him. “Oh, wow, I need to get home.” You blink once, twice and then you start to clamber off the stool. First off, your drunkenness has your hands gripping onto the counter top clumsily, and secondly, your heels aren’t even supplying you with the right footing through this process and Ed can just picture it now — you taking a nice tumble off that stool, succeeding in busting your head open and then suing the club. 

“Slow down there,” he said, grabbing onto your forearm with one hand while the other grabs your shoulder. He helps you get off the stool and steady yourself, but you’re still rocking back and forth in your heels with this dopy grin on your face. He keeps a firm grip on your forearm. 

“Is this your purse?” He’s talking about the small, black hand bag on the counter, which you give a sharp nod to and he grabs it for you. “Follow me.” The two of you step around the mess on the floor as he guides you towards the large doors. Ed figures he’ll just come in early tonight before Stuart, clean up the mess and then prepare for his shift. He wants to get you home and then get himself into bed.