Work Text:
In a lot of ways, it’s a relief to change out of Blackbeard’s heavy leathers and belted bits and bobs and slip back into something more comfortable; something more Stede. Ed’s worn cotton t-shirt was the only soft thing, just one thin layer of comfort, compared to Stede’s own cashmere and silk and linen and velvet— how uncomfortable he must be all the time, Stede reflects, as he folds the t-shirt with care, and adds it to the small pile of clothes he will be handing back to Ed, once Ed has finished his bath.
It’s a relief to be Stede again, and that’s not something Stede ever thought he would feel.
Nevermind that the clothes smell of Ed. Forget all about that. This is not a detail Stede will be sharing with Lucius and his quill. That they smell of… well, leather, naturally, and smoke, and saltwater and sea air and— something a little unidentifiable, a bittersweet tang of sweat and skin. Stede cannot name it, but he thinks he will recognise it now, always.
His mind drifts to where Ed is; soaking in his tub. Stede had offered: least he could do &tc &tc, as a Captain and a Gentleman, since they’d pulled off the lighthouse plan and saved everyone’s necks. That they did it together was a thrill; and then they stayed up all night, buzzing from their victory, and ate breakfast together too, until sleep at last began to catch up with them. Seeing how tired Ed clearly was, it was only polite to offer him his cabin and all the things therein. “What’s mine is yours!” Stede had said, waving a hand about as Ed looked around like a child who had been shown a vast selection of sweets. How nice it is to have someone aboard who really appreciates the thought and effort Stede put into this vessel.
Unthinkingly, he raises the t-shirt to his face and takes a deep breath. Like skin that has soaked up the sun. Like freedom.
He hears the splashing of a body climbing out of the bath and hurriedly lowers the t-shirt again. God’s teeth Stede, get a grip; get a ruddy grip, he chides himself as he smoothes down his shirt and checks his cuffs are tidy. Oh damn. He’s still wearing Ed’s rings.
The one on his right hand slips off as easy as butter. He places it carefully on top of the small pile of clothes.
“Stede, mate?” There is the sound of bare feet padding softly behind him as Edward walks into his auxiliary closet, and Stede turns to see him enter. He has pulled his hair away from his face and his beard is curling even more from the steam of the bath water. He is wearing only a long towel wrapped around his waist. Beads of water slide down his chest. Stede looks away, which is the polite and gentlemanly thing to do. “Have you got my— oh, there they are.”
Blackbeard, the world’s most fearsome pirate, places his ring back on his hand and gently shakes out the pile of clothes, humming to himself.
“That tub… reckon I should get one of those. Nearly fell asleep in it, I was so fucking comfortable,” the shirt is pulled on quickly and the hem brushes his navel. Stede reminds himself to look away again. “Also, a rubber whale? Genius.”
“Yes, he is quite fun isn’t he? I call him Aloysius.” Stede tugs at the second ring. It is a little bit stuck. He tries to pull it again, subtly, and succeeds only in elbowing a wall. Ed is pulling on his trousers and Stede turns away to yank at the stubborn ring. Fuuuuuuuuck.
It’s jammed.
Warmth behind him. He turns and startles to find Ed standing close, watching him curiously. He smells of lavender. “You alright, mate?”
“Yes! Yes! Absolutely corking! Except I, well.” Stede’s finger on his left hand throbs. “I seem to have accidentally got your ring stuck. On my finger.” He raises it helplessly. “I’m very sorry.”
Ed shrugs. “Easily fixed.” He takes hold of Stede’s wrist in a loose grip. His thumb presses against Stede’s pulse point. It’s not that Stede is afraid of him— he really isn’t— but for a brief moment he wonders if he’ll lose the finger so that Ed can get his ring back. Instead, something far more shocking occurs.
Ed opens his mouth and slides Stede’s finger into it. Inside his mouth is wet and— God, Christ, Jesus in Heaven— so hot. His tongue roughly sweeps over Stede’s finger. His beard tickles Stede’s hand. The ability to breathe has momentarily abandoned Stede, but breathing is overrated, really. They are maintaining eye contact (his eyes are so warm; not anything like Pete described them, not like a wildfire but like the friendly flame of a candle at night) and it should be awkward; should make Stede want to yelp and run in the opposite direction, but instead he just feels a heat building higher and higher, up from his feet to his knees to his thighs past his stomach and chest, rising, rising—
Ed pulls Stede’s finger out of his mouth. The ring is held between his teeth. He grins and spits it onto his palm.
“See? Nothing to it.”
“Right,” says Stede weakly. He wants to sit down. His ring finger is wet: he combats the strange urge to put it in his own mouth and see how Ed tastes.
Ed pushes the ring— also still wet— back on his left hand. He yawns and stretches and his navel is revealed again. He scratches at it with one hand. “Don’t reckon there’s more of that marmalade going, is there?”
Stede looks away from Ed’s skin, for a third time. “Plenty more, plenty more!” He gently pats Ed’s arm. Warm. Damp, still, from the bath. Lavender. Seasalt. Freedom. “I’ll, ah, just go and fetch some.”
Stede hurries out of the closet and hopes he doesn’t look too flushed about the face. He will not be telling Lucius and his quill about any of this.