Work Text:
Ed held stock-still as Stede knotted the little ribbon into his beard. He was being so gentle, just barely on the other side of tickling him, as if Stede were a stray fragment of wind that got caught under his chin. Ed felt he needed to shake his head around like a soaked dog just to erase the sensation of someone touching his facial hair with such care and intent, yet so lightly that it was almost nothing.
It wasn't that he disliked it, of course, but the need to hold still warred with the need to shake, move, itch, do something .
"There we are," Stede said brightly. "Splendid. Now, you said you would like your hair done up?"
"Not like one of those fucking..." Ed gestured around his own head. "White, curled up..."
"Powdered wig?"
"That. They powder them? What for?"
"Same reason the upper crust do anything, I suppose: tradition."
"Tradition," Ed repeated, feeling the word out in his mouth. "Load of bollocks, I reckon."
Stede chuckled as he took his place behind Ed. "I shall try to be careful of any knots, but do feel free to tell me if you need a break," he said, separating out a section of Ed's hair.
Ed closed his eyes, resigning himself to more self-imposed stillness, preparing for the pulling, when...
Ed could hear the comb moving through his hair, but he couldn't feel it. He opened his eyes and caught their reflections in one of Stede's mirrors, but he couldn't quite tell what was happening.
Then Stede's hand bumped against Ed's shoulder and he realized that Stede was still holding that section, about halfway down, and only combing the ends.
"You're missing something," Ed said.
"What's that?"
"You can't just comb the ends," Ed said. "I've tried. Doesn't work."
"Not to worry, Ed," Stede said. "The ends are merely where we begin! Much easier to untangle wild hair bit by bit, working one's way from ends to roots." As he spoke, he did just that. The strokes through that first section of hair got longer and longer, and Stede's hand gripped higher and higher until Ed could feel the heat of Stede's palm against his scalp.
"Where'd you learn to untangle long hair?" Ed asked. "Were you a, uh... barber? Or, um... wigmaker?"
"I was a father," Stede said. " Am , I suppose. My daughter likes to run around, get into play-fights with her brother... I would brush her hair while telling them a story before bed."
Ed was silent in response. He didn't know what was appropriate to say.
Stede started on the next section of hair.
"Like rope," Ed said.
"Pardon?"
Ed cleared his throat. "Untangling hair, it's like... unraveling rope. Gotta start at the ends."
"Ah," Stede answered. "I suppose so, yes."
"Lot more strands, hair," Ed noted. "No pattern to the knots."
"Indeed not," Stede said. Then he chucked. "Knot, not..."
Ed let out a sharp exhale, almost a laugh.
"I suppose you know quite a bit about knots," Stede said, "sailing as long as you have."
"Ah, yeah, I know every knot there is to know," Ed said. "If I don't know it, 's not worth knowing."
"Perhaps you could teach me some," Stede said. It almost sounded like a request, and almost like an order, but like neither of those things as well. "And I could... Well, I'm not sure what I could give you in return. Something as valuable as knots are on a ship, of course."
"You're already teaching me how to act like a Gentleman," Ed said.
"And you're teaching me to be more... pirate-ish," Stede said. "But knowing one's way around a rope is of more use than just... those purposes associated with piracy."
"...Honest sailing," Ed suggested.
"Tying a horse to a post," Stede said.
"Tying up a hostage."
Stede made a hesitant whining sound. "Rather pirate-ish, tying someone up, I think."
"Tying up a... dog... A dog's leash."
"Indeed. Need to know what kind of knot is best to use to keep my little doggy from running off while I'm in the shop."
"Why can't you just take your doggy into the shop?"
"Well, it's a butcher's shop," Stede said. "Be a bit torturous for her, don't you think? All that delicious meat, and she's not allowed to get at any of it?"
"She can still smell it from the door," Ed pointed out.
"True," Stede said. "I suppose I should have done my shopping before taking my little doggy for a walk."
"Or after," Ed said. "Don't want to make the poor thing wait for her walkies. She'll tear up your pillows."
"Ah, no, those are goose-down pillows," Stede said. "Take forever to clean all that up."
" And you'd have to stitch up the pillow first," Ed said. "Or else where would you put the goose down after you've gathered it all up? Little doggy would just spread it all around again. Nothing like making a mess of a tidy pile of something."
"Such a handful, my dear little doggy," Stede said.
"Probably needs some discipline," Ed remarked.
"Oh, now how could I do that to her? She's just acting according to her nature. Little doggies need to run and play. Can't punish her for my bad planning."
"Ah, mate, she's got you by the balls, that doggy."
"I don't mind," Stede said. "Just want to give her a good life."
Ed was actually surprised when he felt a slight tug. Not even a sharp pull, like he would have expected from letting someone else comb his hair, but Stede nevertheless murmured his apologies.
"Don't worry about it, mate," Ed said.
"I would like to put some scented oil in, to help keep everything sleek while I style, but I shan't do so without your full consent."
"What's the scent?" Ed asked. Then he smiled a little. "Scent, consent..."
"One moment," Stede said before stepping away. "Just over here... Oh! Forgot I have this one as well!" Stede returned with two stoppered bottles in his hands. "Option one," he said, opening one of the vials. He held it out and blew over the top of it.
Stede's breath carried a smell like flowers. Ed couldn't tell what kind of flowers they could possibly have been, but the scent reminded him of a spring afternoon in the country.
"And option two?" Ed prompted.
Stede replaced the stopper on the first bottle and removed the top of the second one. Once again, he blew a whiff of scent toward Ed.
This one reminded him of the color brown. He couldn't think of any further description. Not an unpleasant brown, and he could easily imagine that scent on Stede's golden hair, but when compared to the other option...
"One," Ed said. "Definitely."
"Certainly," Stede said. He closed up the second bottle and set it on some surface. Maybe it was a desk, or a bureau, or some other french word, but it was flat and accessible, and that was the extent of Ed's care about the thing.
"With scented oils like this," Stede said, "one must take care to not overdo it. The olfactory senses can quickly become desensitized, as it were, which can lead to the unfortunate circumstance of one believing that they smell lightly touched by fragrance, while all others in the room find themselves nearly suffocated by the overpowering scent. I usually use... oh, about this much..."
Ed watched Stede's hands as he worked, demonstrating the proper amount, easily handling both the bottle and stopper with seemingly no fear of dropping either. Ed wondered if the bottle would shatter if dropped, or merely crack.
"...But you have much more hair than I, and of a wonderful thickness, so... Maybe this much."
" You're the gentleman," Ed said. "Whatever you think is best."
Stede smiled and set the bottle down near the other, replaced the stopper, and walked back behind Ed. He worked the oil into Ed's hair with both comb and hand, and before long, Ed felt almost enthralled, transfixed, near somnolent.
"I have an idea for a hairstyle," Stede said. "If you like, I can try it and show you, and if you don't like it, we can try something else."
"Go ahead," Ed said. "Just no..." He used both hands to make parallel, horizontal looping gestures near his ears.
"Of course," Stede said.
Ed allowed himself to relax under Stede's hands. The scent of the oil was strong enough to distract him from the pervasive smells of being out at sea, but delicate enough that it was merely a distraction, nothing more.
All too soon, Stede was done.
"What do you think? Does it feel alright? Tolerable, at least?"
"Dunno how it looks," Ed said.
"How it looks is secondary," Stede said. "An uncomfortable coiffure has no chance of standing up to itching fingers. One must feel comfortable before going into a situation as socially complex as a party."
"I'm comfortable in my leather," Ed said.
"I do not doubt that for a moment," Stede said. He helped Ed to his feet and led him to stand directly in front of a mirror. "They were quite comfortable on me, despite not having been tailored to my measurements. But I suppose a better way of phrasing what I mean to convey might be... 'not discomforted'. Nothing pinching or pulling that you might itch at without thinking."
"Can't itch?" Ed asked, looking at the figures in the mirror. Stede had done nothing short of working a miracle; Ed barely even recognized himself.
"An itch is as loud as a shout among certain circles," Stede said. "And, like a shout, can be used to great effect, if one knows how and when to use it. But it must be intentional."
"Intentional," Ed repeated.
"For example," Stede said. He straightened his cuffs. "What did that tell you?"
"Ready for action," Ed answered.
"Not a bad translation. Alternately, it's a rather effective way to itch one's wrist. How about..."
Ed watched Stede slip a finger between his neck and collar.
"That one says you wanna get the fuck out," Ed said.
"And now you see how a simple, instinctive gesture can be taken as much more than what it was intended to be."
"Load of bollocks," Ed said. "An itch is an itch."
"And you are not wrong," Stede said with a smile. He hummed briefly and tapped a finger on his chin. "I suppose I should also teach you what I know about eye level."
"Eye level?"
"The elevation at which one makes eye contact," Stede said. "I don't know what others call it. In brief, one who looks up at another is placing oneself in a position of symbolic submission, while one who looks down..."
"I get that much," Ed said. "Refusing to bow, standing on a higher level... Making them kneel before you..."
"Yes, in part," Stede said. "However, there are often times when one cannot change the actual elevation of their eyes, whether by kneeling or climbing to a higher level or what have you, so one must instead..." Stede tilted his head back slightly. "Cheat."
Ed was struck speechless. Such a small movement should not have made such a difference in Stede's demeanor, but by merely lifting his chin by a few degrees, he transformed from Stede, amateur sailor and timid leader, into a creature that looked like he could set someone on fire and watch them burn to char.
Ed swallowed with a small amount of difficulty, suddenly feeling the need to itch his neck.
"For instance, take the gesture of the hand kiss. If one were to make eye contact in the midst of the kiss, one would, traditionally, be looking up at the woman. Like so." Stede stepped to the side and Ed turned to face him. "May I demonstrate?"
Stede held out a hand, looking like he was waiting to take something from Ed. Ed looked at the empty hand, no scars or calluses visible, and then at Stede's face.
"Go on," Stede said, "set your hand on mine, palm to palm."
Ed lifted a hand and hesitantly did as Stede instructed.
"Now, the traditional kiss on the hand, with a bow..." Stede bowed, bringing his head to the level of Ed's extended hand, and briefly touched his lips to Ed's knuckles. Ed barely felt it. Then Stede stood up. He didn't let go of his gentle hold on Ed's fingers. "Formal, courteous, firmly neutral. Compare that to..."
Once again, Stede lowered his head to kiss Ed's hand, but this time he looked up at him while his lips touched Ed's skin.
Ed felt like he had missed a step. Like he was suddenly falling, quite unexpectedly. The way Stede's eyes looked, half-eclipsed by his eyebrows...
It should not have made that much difference.
"Quite a different effect, wouldn't you agree?" Stede said.
Ed swallowed. "Yeah." He cleared his throat. "What about... looking down?"
"Well, you would have to have your head tilted back far enough while kissing their hand that you're looking down, rather than up... I suppose, if you lifted the hand..."
And even though it was Ed's question, Ed's idea, Ed's suggestion, he was still struck breathless when Stede stepped closer, lifted his chin and Ed's hand, and kissed his knuckles once more.
Unfortunately, though, Stede immediately stepped back and dropped Ed's hand. "No, that doesn't feel quite right. Probably looked utterly ridiculous."
"Maybe if you were taller than me," Ed said, heart still pounding in his chest. When had his pulse started thumping through his veins like this?
"Perhaps," Stede said. "And you would be taller than most women, so..."
Ed held out a hand, just like Stede had, and after a moment of them both looking at it, Stede's hand lit softly upon Ed's rope-roughened fingers.
Ed looked Stede in the eye, his slight height advantage allowing him to look down at him without tilting his chin up, and brought Stede's hand to his lips.
Ed wasn't sure how he had forgotten that he had a big, thick beard surrounding his lips. Although Stede had styled it, it was still dense enough that he felt Stede's hand long before his lips touched Stede's unblemished skin. It probably ruined the whole effect. Stede's kiss on his knuckles had been soft as a rose petal, but Ed's bristly beard probably...
"Oh," Stede said.
Ed's heart beat against his ribcage like fists against the bars of a prison cell.
"You're right," Ed said, "that's stupid, probably. Best keep the bowing. Tradition."
So Ed stepped back and bowed his head to Stede's hand, soft as cashmere, and kissed the knuckles once more. He glanced up during the contact, hoping to see...
Stede's mouth was open, just a bit, and his eyes were wide.
"Is that..." Ed slowly pulled himself out of his bow. "Did I do it right? Traditionally?"
Stede cleared his throat subtly, but Ed, whose ears were well trained to pick up sounds of weakness, heard it loud and clear as a boatswain's call.
"Yes," Stede said. "Very well done. And keep in mind... that eye contact is... a very powerful bit of communication. Especially when..."
"Eye level," Ed said.
"Yes," Stede said. Then he cleared his throat once more. "Right. Then I think we are just about ready."
Ed looked at himself in the mirror, and then at Stede.
"Ready," Ed told himself. He wasn't ready, but Stede didn't need to know that.
"And if you feel overwhelmed and need to take a step outside, or leave the party entirely... you can say..." Stede hummed. "Something memorable, but not likely to come up naturally in polite conversation..."
"What's that little doggy's name?"
Stede pressed his lips into a thoughtful frown. "Tiffany, I think."
"Tiffany," Ed said. "I can remember that."
"Splendid," Stede said. "Now. Let's find our companions before I lose my nerve about this whole affair, shall we?"
Ed straightened his cuffs. "Let's."