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“That’s nothing, mate. Like I said, you just need to turn yourself so that they miss the important bits. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”
“But I ran you through, Ed. It’s not nothing!”
“Look, you wanna see something really bad?” Ed pushed himself up to sit upright on the bed, but he was unable to fully mask his wince from how the movement tugged at his fresh stitches. That Roach bloke had quite a knack for sewing people up, but a stab wound was bound to sting a bit as it healed. No way around it. Of course the bizarre little lunatic noticed—he always seemed to notice things the mighty Blackbeard could usually obscure—but Ed pointedly ignored his accusatory scowl. It was just a fuckin’ flesh wound, after all, and he’d had dozens of them over the years.
As he shifted in the bed, Ed was pretty sure he heard the other man mutter something along the lines of “fucking nutter” under his breath in a way that tugged at an important bit of flesh buried somewhere deep in Ed’s ribcage. Ed turned his torso so that he could show off one of the really bad ones. Stede gasped audibly at the sight of Ed’s back. Whether it was because of the tattoos or healed-over scars, Ed couldn’t tell. Hissing as he tugged at the stitches again, he reached a hand behind him to point out a ragged knot of scar tissue sticking out between his left shoulder blade and spine.
“Now this one? This was bloody rude, is what it was,” Ed began. “Coming at a man from behind like that? It’s bloody cowardly.”
“Oh—I mean…well, it does look—” Stede stumbled over his words in a way that was charming as fuck, and Ed couldn’t fully bite back a grin as he looked over his shoulder to gauge Stede’s reaction. He had a single hand outstretched, like he was aiming to touch, and when Ed turned, a flush of pink spread across his face that highlighted a fresh crop of freckles peppering the top of his nose and cheeks. Upon being found out, Stede immediately cast his gaze down toward the bedsheets. “Sorry, didn’t mean to be so vulgar,” he mumbled.
“Nah, man, it’s alright.” Ed reached for Stede’s hands, now folded politely on his own lap, and lifted the closest one up. It was so soft. How could skin be so fucking soft? Probably some sort of leather conditioner in that yummy lavender soap of his.
“Give it a feel. It’s pretty wild.” After a gentle tug, Stede accepted Ed’s offer. When Stede began to reach toward him, Ed felt suddenly, ridiculously shy. He looked out the window toward the comfort of the sea. Tracked the rolling motion of the waves as he felt the most delicate press of a fingertip against his skin. Bizarre, really, how intensely he felt Stede’s finger sliding across the gnarled mess of it, seeing as how the hardened scar tissue had practically deadened the nerves in that spot. But still, somehow, some way, Ed felt every goddamn stroke of that gentle finger like it was an iron-hot brand. Stede traced every bit of it with that delicate fingertip, so thoroughly that Ed immediately missed the sensation when he could no longer feel the soft heat of Stede’s skin against his own. He inhaled sharply at the loss of it, and of course Stede noticed.
“Does it hurt?” The concern in his voice touched Ed, made something warm coil up deep in his belly. He swallowed, slow and thick, before answering.
“That old mess? Nah, can’t feel a damn thing there.” He wasn’t sure why he felt the sudden need to embellish, to lie to Stede about it. He just knew he needed to, to wrap himself in a protective layer of fuckery. Even if he couldn’t even convince himself to believe it.
“So, how long ago did you get that one?”
Ed turned again, scooting back to rest against the wall, careful to keep the soles of his boots far from the edge of Stede’s fine linens.
“That happened back on Hornigold’s ship. We’d ambushed a Spanish Porto Coell in Blind Man’s Cove and were just havin’ a bit of mayhem with the remaining crew when this blubbery old ponce came up from out of nowhere. Damn near severed my spine while I was facing the other way.” So what if he left out the bit where he’d been caught mid-gouge, fingers poking into the sticky wet bits inside the other man’s eye socket. Stede doesn’t need to know everything, now, does he?
“Oh dear, how frightful,” Stede said. Ed tensed at the feel of Stede’s fingers on his back, at how he pressed the whole of his palm against the old scar. “You’re lucky to have survived.”
“Yeah,” Ed shrugged, “had an assist from one of my old mates. He took out the backstabber and got me back to the ship. Owe him my life.”
“I’m glad he was able to save you, Ed.” Stede smiled as he spoke, and that bit of Ed hiding deep inside his chest maybe throbbed a little to see it. He chewed his bottom lip as he returned the smile.
They stayed like that, staring at each other, the silence between them a heavy, palpable thing.
“You know what, mate? I’m beginning to feel that way, myself.”