Work Text:
“Lean back.”
Stede’s voice is gentle in his ears. Ed, eyes closed, complies: he consciously relaxes his body a fraction—muscles stiff from overuse, bones aching—and leans back in the bathtub, allowing his body to be enveloped more by the hot water.
“‘s nice,” Ed murmurs, lashes fluttering. “You’re almost hotter than the water.”
Stede snorts from somewhere above his head at the double entendre, chest briefly rumbling against his back. The hand over his chest begins wandering down, and up, and down, over his rib cage and in a half moon across his belly, sweeping inelegant soothing circles over his skin. His palm settles a little further down from its original place, thumb tucked into Ed’s belly button and fingers cupping the swell of fat lower to the right. Stede’s squeezing is as soft as the flesh is.
“And you are softer than anything these days,” Stede teases him, “my dear fellow. Let ourselves go quite a bit, have we?”
Ed grunts, wearily wriggles a little so he is pressed pointedly against Stede’s front. “Plural, darling.”
“Well I never!” Stede mock-gasps, giving Ed’s belly a half admonishing slap. “Rude, Mr Bonnet.”
“Only payback, Mr Teach.”
“Hush, you evil squid.”
Ed’s groan is more genuine than his grunt. Stede would never let that prank with the squid and his trousers go, evidently. Ed had dug his own grave, there.
“Yeah, I’m evil. Fear me. I’ll devour you.”
“Oh, I know you can.” There’s a kiss in his hair, soft, again, and Stede’s voice when it comes is deeper than before. “After all, there’s not just softness there, is there.”
The palm on his belly shifts meaningfully. Ed, suddenly grinning, allows his legs to spread a bit and forcibly tightens his belly muscles, gratified to see the slightest outline of abs still showing. “Got that right, love. Plenty left to do you good.”
“Ed.” The voice is long suffering but fond. “Hush.”
“Yaself.”
“Mhh.”
They grow quiet. Stede’s hand on his belly is suddenly heavy, weighing him down. His whole body is a sluggish, comfortable mess in the warmth of the water and the heat of Stede against his back, and Ed’s eyes close again. He could stay here forever, if he didn’t hate the feeling of shrivelled skin so much.
Ed stays, relaxed and relaxing further.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Stede voice comes after what seems like an eternity, a bit removed and oddly resonant in Ed’s head. “Let me wash you up.”
Ed grunt-groans this time, the prospect of moving from his safe, warm haven unappealing. Stede sighs and gently but firmly pushes Ed up a bit so he is sitting up by himself. Ed makes another complaining noise that’s more plaintive than before and Stede takes pity.
“We’re done soon,” he promises with a kiss to Ed’s left shoulder blade. “Just the hair left.”
“A’right,” Ed mutters. “‘f you bloody insist.”
“I bloody insist.”
After he gets Ed’s hair thoroughly wet, Stede begins washing it.
The hair, of course, is the nastiest affair on Ed’s body. Not his wonky knee, nor his aching back, nor his plenty scars give Stede as much as trouble as his hair. There’s a lot of it; it’s a bloody fucking nuisance, if Ed himself may say so, but Stede insists on doing this for him, sometimes. He has, ever since they first shared a night together.
It is something of a ritual. Ed pretends to bitch about it, but he’d be heartbroken if it ever stopped.
“Oh yeah,” he moans, nothing sexual and everything sensual about it. “Oh, Stede, yeah. God, please.”
Stede’s hands are careful, making sure no water and shampoo suds get into Ed’s eyes, fingers scratching his scalp in the most beautiful, soothing way possible. Whenever one of Stede’s nails scratches over his skin, Ed feels his dick half-heartedly twitch—and he tells it to go fuck itself, quietly but fiercely, this was so much more beautiful than a goddamn fucking wank could ever be—but it settles again, remains somewhat hard against his thigh. Ed pays it no attention: all his focus is on Stede’s hands, his gentle, sure movements, the way he handles every strand and curl as if it were precious and not a bother.
Ed rescinds his earlier notion. Fuck staying in the fucking water—this is how he’s gonna go. With Stede washing his hair and towel-drying it while still in the bathtub, then proceeding to fucking braid it like it’s a beautiful and not a ridiculous indulgence for someone nearing fifty with more salt-and-pepper than black.
“There, done,” Stede says, disgustingly brightly at eight thirty on a Friday night. “Now off to sleep, shoo!”
“Mhh, I dunno.” Ed half-turns his head, a playful glint in his eye. “Think I’m too tired to dry myself up, Stede. Might have to stay in here with you.”
Stede makes an unimpressed face like he hasn’t immediately cottoned on. “You’re not a squid, Mr Teach, you’re the Kraken! The worst of the worst!” He sighs, put upon and heavy, but gets to his knees and begins heaving Ed up. “Yes, I’ll dry you up, you big, clumsy child.”
They both step out of the bathtub and then Ed just stands there, half-drunk from exhaustion and Stede’s insane amount of love for him, nude and tired as fuck, and lets Stede kneel before him and dry off his legs. “Jus’ love bein’ touched by you,” Ed murmurs, terribly bare but unafraid. “Y’know that, yeah?”
Stede’s eyes go impossibly soft and the corners of them bunch up and crinkle. “I know that,” he confesses, quietly. “You ridiculous man. I know.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
Ed falls asleep, later, to the sound of Stede’s steady heartbeat.