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Edward’s nerves bubbled in his gut, a roiling sea of expectations he so desperately wanted to live up to. Stede was going through his closet, chattering about silks and colour pallets far too fast for Edward to keep up with, though he tried. He was ravenous for every bit of information his hands could grasp onto, every mention of chemises or waistcoats landing on his tongue. Edward found himself whispering them back, testing out the feeling of them behind his teeth, watching Stede talk his way through their outfits.
This was one of his favourite rooms on the ship, truthfully. Edward was certain there wasn’t a softer article of clothing on the planet that wasn’t inside this room, each one smelling of old books, lavender, the sea. He brushed his fingers across a few buttons, idly wondering how many times Stede’s fingers had wrestled with them, tired or over-eager for a day’s adventuring. For so long, Stede had owned these, and so long Edward had desired to feel their kind, become familiar with smooth fabric, liquid between his fingers.
“Of course,” Stede went on, “there are the wigs as well, of which I have plenty, so we need not worry ourselves about procuring those. Lord knows I wouldn’t trust a dead man’s wig, it takes a lot of up-keep to maintain their lustre. A tad boring, these ones. Perhaps you have an idea how to spruce them up?”
Stede’s voice rolled over Edward in waves, Edward’s eyes catching on Stede’s rings as his hands darted between articles and accessories. It was a steady flow of sound, easy to lull into, until Stede stopped abruptly, eyeing Edward critically for a moment.
“Though…” Stede trailed off, stepping closer and examining Edward with a twist of the lips, a finger on his chin.
“What.”
Stede let out a hum. Edward shifted his weight.
“Your hair,” Stede muttered.
Unconsciously, Edward’s fingers came up to the ends of his hair, feeling the dry strands rub between his forefinger and thumb.
“What about it?” He hadn’t meant for it to come out so quiet, a hushed worry, an unspoken I thought you liked it.
Stede’s lips broke out into a gentle grin, and Edward felt a rush of relief lap at his ankles, cool and inviting, so easy to step into with Stede. “Nothing at all,” and his voice was so certain, as if nothing could ever be wrong, not here, not now. “It’s just, I don’t think it ought to be covered up. That would be such a waste, wouldn’t it?”
Edward felt an unfamiliar heat rise at the back of his neck, across his chest. The need for suspicion reared its head, but in Stede’s eyes he found only that same genuinity that seemed to live just below Stede’s skin. It bled out of him, flowing into everything he touched, and Edward felt it creeping into his bones.
Edward sniffed, feigning aloofness. “Suppose it would,” he shrugged, eyes falling back to the delicate embroidery of a nearby vest.
Stede’s smile settled into something passive, a figure curling in the daylight, and Edward briefly, bizarrely, wondered what it would be like to rest there, in Stede’s lips.
“Though, it’s rather full of sand, isn’t it. May I?” Stede’s hand was outstretched in question, as if Edward’s hair was something worth asking for. Edward simply nodded, feeling his muscles still and his blood slow as Stede’s careful fingers ran through the last few inches of Edward’s hair. They caught around knots and clumps of dried sea water, and Stede let out a teasing tsk noise.
“How long has it been since you properly washed your hair, Ed?” It held no judgment, just the easy curiosity typical of Stede, and Edward shrugged.
He didn’t say he couldn’t remember the last time he’d used soap and fresh water. Didn’t say it’d been years of neglect and anger and apathy brushed through his briney hair. Stede probably didn’t need to hear it to know.
“No matter,” Stede assured, letting go of Edward’s hair and passing by him with a pat of the shoulder. “I’ll get the water ready.”
It took a moment before Edward had truly soaked in what Stede had said, the rivers of thread gliding in his hand slipping the words into the pad of his thumb one by one. Stede was long gone, and Edward’s head snapped up.
He threw himself out of the closet, Stede’s name dripping from his tongue. “You’re doing what? Stede, mate, what’re you talking about–”
Edward worked his way into the bathroom, voice dying on his tongue.
Lucius dropped a bucket of water unceremoniously to the floor. Light steam fogged the window’s edge, floating easily upwards and creeping up Edward’s spine.
“How the fuck did you get the water already?” He asked, ignoring the lump of unfamiliarity in his throat.
Lucius only shrugged, teasing a quick, You two have fun, before tip-toeing his way past Edward and out of the tight room. Stede flashed a wide grin, pride beaming outward.
“You can wash your hair,” Stede cheered, gesturing to the bath.
Edward felt his brows furrow, his stomach churning, ants crawling through his veins. “I can see that,” he started, chewing the words like sticky candy. There was supposed to be more of that sentence, a justification or an excuse for why he didn’t need to do this, but none came to mind. He glared at the water.
Stede frowned, looking between the tub and Edward, and Edward could see the dots connecting, his discomfort seeping into the air. Edward worked his jaw, willed his fists to unclench, trailed the lines across Stede’s forehead with his eyes and imagined smoothing them out, gentle like he knew Stede would be. He breathed, and gave his shoulders a little shake.
“Right, I can do that.” Edward’s gaze flashed between the tub and the bottles organized on the nearby table, doing a sort of math in his head. “Soap and water. Easy.”
Stede didn’t look convinced. Edward wished he hated Stede, then. Hatred would make it easier to turn off whatever part of him was letting bits of himself slip through the cracks, spill from his mouth and eyes and hands like magma breaking through the surface. One of these days, he swore, someone was going to get burned.
“I know it’s a bit… much. I take great care in washing my hair, but if you’d rather stick to basics–”
“No."
It was more affronted than angry, but it sliced through the room like a knife. Edward winced at his own indelicacy.
He took a breath, easing his voice into something closer to determined. “No, I want to do this right.”
Stede clasped his hands in front of his body, shifted, piecing together his thoughts, before offering hesitantly, “If you’d like to learn, perhaps it would be easiest for me to do it, and explain what I’m doing? That way, next time, you’ll know just what to do?”
This was a bad idea, Edward was woefully aware of that. He felt the ghosts of Stede’s fingers sliding across his while they’d exchanged rings that first day, a palm on his forearm in laughter. He felt his body painted with the memories and felt his skin ache for more. He cursed his own selfishness, his hunger for Stede’s hands wandering his body like it was something worth exploring. And he cursed his own fingers for twitching, insatiable in their need to do the same to Stede, search him like the open ocean, drown in Stede’s tide.
Edward knew this was a bad idea, but he nodded anyway.
“Tell me where you need me.”
Glee emanated from Stede, a sigh of relief and excitement escaping from deep within him. He unbuttoned his vest, folding it delicately and setting it out of range of the water, before striding up to Edward, helping him out of his leather jacket.
“We’ll get you a small face-cloth to put around your shoulders – try not to get you wet, plus a bit of extra padding on the edge of the tub.” Stede leaned in closer, folding Edward’s jacket in his arms and lowering his voice conspiratorially. “It’s hell on the neck, especially when you’re washing your own hair. My arms have never been more tired.”
Edward huffed, nodded, pretended he understood and ignored the sea sickness lined with curiosity growing in his stomach. Leave it to Stede to make him feel lost in the open ocean, marveling at the creatures below.
Edward settled down on the floor with Stede’s towel draped across his shoulders, watching Stede roll up his sleeves. His eyes lingered where sun-warmed skin disappeared under the elegant fabric, examining the flexing of muscle as Stede arranged a chair next to the tub and pulled the bucket of steaming water closer. Stede’s low chuckle broke Edward from the trance, eyes darting up to meet Stede’s sunny gaze.
“Your thing,” Stede stated, gesturing to the back of his own head.
It took a moment for Edward to figure out what Stede was referring to, hands rushing to tear at the half-up knot he’d been throwing his hair into since boarding the ship . The prickly feeling of tangled hair was familiar, but the sharp, lighthearted slap of his hands a second later was decidedly not.
Edward stared, wide-eyed, up at a grimacing Stede.
“Be more gentle with yourself, good heavens.” It was a soft admonishment, not a command, but it was enough to throw Edward into a miniature paralysis. Before being able to figure out what to do himself, Stede’s hands came up to the back of Edward’s head.
“It’s easier to do when you can see it,” Stede conceded, fingers deftly unraveling the bun. Edward held his breath.
Stede’s fingers carted through the hair once he’d managed the bun, loosening the strands and sending a shiver down Edward’s spine. Then, with a muttered Lean back, Stede cupped Edward’s jaw and guided his head to tilt back against the lip of the tub. Facing the ceiling, Edward swallowed the mix of anticipation and fire pooling on his tongue. He thanked God for the barrier of his facial hair, feeling even just the small strip of skin under his beard alight with the brush of Stede’s pinky. This had certainly been one of his worse decisions, to allow Stede to do this, look over him with such care, but Edward was nothing if not stubborn. He’d made his bed, and he was going to lie in it.
Stede picked up the bucket of water, resting it on his thigh. “I’m going to pour this over the back of your head to soak your hair, alright? I’ll try not to get your face too wet, but maybe cover yourself with your hands a bit. Just in case.”
Edward nodded, bracing himself with his boots against the floor, hands coming up to cup around his forehead. He only realized he’d closed his eyes when water pressed against the backs of his fingers, just for a second, and then two hands were running through his hair, working the warmth through to his scalp. He could sense Stede leaning over him, arms encircling his head. He was certain that if he were to open his eyes, Stede’s neck would be mere inches from his lips, and so he kept them shut. That left his attention on the hands tangled in his hair, working something smooth and sleek from the scalp downwards. There was a shift next to him, and then the sound of a brush catching on dead-ends.
“I’m just getting the tangles out, so you can put your hands down,” Stede murmured, low against Edward’s ear. “It’s one of the better oils I have, orange scented. Thought you deserved the full experience.”
Edward’s hands fell to his lap, distracted by the pull of detangling knots, the brush working steadily upwards.
“I hope I don’t have to tell you this,” Stede teased, “but start at the ends and work your way up. Don’t want to damage your hair more than the sea water already does.”
Edward hummed noncommittally, preening at the feeling of bristles scraping against his skin. Stede’s hand was at the back of his head now, cupping it gently like a child’s, and Edward realized that Stede had probably done this before. The protective care in his steady motions, his whispered warnings of particularly problematic knots, Stede must have learned this from somewhere. Edward felt something creep into his lungs at that, something thick that had been steadily growing inside him since meeting Stede. He wasn’t sure what it meant.
“Bring your hands back up,” Stede requested, and Edward blinked his eyes open just long enough to watch him lift the bucket back up. “I’m going to rinse that out, and then we’ll wash.”
The shock of the water against his head was easier to handle this time, the scent of oranges floating around them, revived. When the water stopped, hands carting through his hair, Edward eased his hands down, purposeful and steady. The sound of lathering soap filled the quiet, an earthy, flowery scent seeping into Edward’s sinuses, and he forced his shoulders to relax.
“This is some of my favourite, this soap.” Edward could hear the grin in Stede’s voice, and fingers came to the back of his scalp, sudsy and firm. “Lavender. Supposedly it has a calming effect, but I just like the smell of it.”
Edward could almost feel the rumble of Stede’s voice in his own chest, Stede’s hands running through and massaging Edward into putty. With each motion of Stede’s hands, Edward felt tangles give way, salt seeping out, some part of him born anew. He bit his tongue against a sigh, tightened his eyes against the mist that gathered, his body threatening to break open and fall apart under the scrape of Stede’s fingernails. It occurred to him, distantly, a phantom memory more than his own, that no one had ever touched him like this. It was alien, addictive, like marmalade and morning tea, and he was being consumed by it. In the silence of the afternoon, golden and liminal, Edward was soaking up Stede’s warmth like a lizard in the sun. Stede carted his hands from the base of Edward’s skull to the ends, and Edward felt an outer piece of him shed off, again and again as Stede scrubbed further. He let out a shuddering breath, a hellish man turned holy by the hands of Stede Bonnet, and he wondered if there had been a beauty within him all along. He wondered if it had always just been trapped behind a saline crust, and all he’d needed was Stede to break through it.
Edward’s hand came up to Stede’s knee, a need to feel real turning his movement desperate. Stede only paused for a moment, no more than a heartbeat, but there must have been something on Edward’s face that assured him. Stede’s fingers continued to work slowly, and each time his nails dragged against Edward’s skull a new breath was drawn from his chest, not violently but profound, guided by the care soaking into him through Stede’s hands.
Stede leaned closer, voice no louder than a murmur, as if the moment suspended between them would pop like a bubble at the disruption of his words. As if Stede could ever do anything but wrap Edward in the blanket of his timbre.
“I’m going to have to rinse it now.”
Edward sniffed once, releasing his grip on Stede’s leg and bringing his hands, shaky despite himself, back to his forehead. Stede took this slow, too, easing the soap through and combing through Edward’s hair with his fingers. Bit by bit, pausing the stream of water to work the soap out, Edward felt the thick suds clear away, light and refreshed. The room smelled of citrus and flowers, and it swirled between their bodies, intoxifying.
The water stopped again, Stede’s hands running through the ends of Edward’s hair. The brightness of oranges flooded back into the room, and Edward could almost hear Stede’s heartbeat, feel his chest expanding with each breath.
“Oiling the ends again,” he whispered, and Edward wanted to drink in the sound until he was choking on it. “Only the ends, don’t want your hair to get greasy, but they need some extra care down here.”
Edward sucked in a breath, willing the scents around them to fill him up, coat his insides with beautiful things – Stede’s things. His eyes fluttered open, finding one of Stede’s hands braced against the tub, the other carting through his hair, Edward’s body bracketed by Stede’s. There was a long moment where they looked at each other, something heavy and fluid in their matched gazes, and then Stede’s thumb brushed across Edward’s cheek, careful, an ocean of wonderment leaking from the corner of Edward’s eye.
“There,” Stede smiled, and Edward couldn’t help the tentative grin that broke his own lips.
Stede’s eyes tracked the movement, nothing more than a flicker, and something at the back of Edward’s mind swooped at the closeness of Stede’s smile, the adoration in his eyes. Edward wasn’t sure he would ever grow used to it, or if he even deserved to, but then Stede was leaning forward, closing the barely-there gap, and Edward felt soft lips against his hairline. It was nothing more firm than a brush, and after the sensation of Stede’s hands deep in his hair it was almost imperceptible, but Edward felt his entire body alight anyway. His fingers found Stede’s arm, holding him close, tethering Edward down or else he feared he would be swept away in the riptide of Stede’s affections.
“Will you let me do your hair for the banquet, Ed?” Stede asked into his forehead, and Edward felt the question massage the space between his brows.
He only nodded, leaning into the sensation of Stede all around him, under his hand and in his hair and just beyond his closed eyelids. They didn’t move, though Edward felt his neck growing tired and he was sure Stede’s back would be sore. For the moment, they lived in a sea of lavender and oranges, and Edward prayed this would be enough. He begged his body to let this be all he needed, these touches, these moments. He felt Stede’s fingers at the nape of his neck and he could have cried out, a whimper of mercy because he could not ask for more, he could not need more. This had to be enough, or else how would he ever learn to breathe again?
Stede pulled away first, and Edward blinked, dazed and gasping after being submerged in Stede’s waters. He saw the smile of a gentleman, the wet sleeves of a lover, and Edward wished to learn how to breathe underwater.