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Soft, Edward Teach thinks, looking at the man in front of him.
Everything about him looks soft. His hair, his skin, his lips - slightly parted as he whispers broken, delirious sentences about being a coward, playing pirates, just playing. Even the smattering of blond hair on his bare chest looks soft.
Still, what draws Ed’s eyes the most are his hands. They’re resting on his stomach, fingers gently curled, and Ed wants to touch them to find out if they’re as soft as they seem.
He doesn’t, but he looks. Tilts his head like he could get a better understanding that way.
He’s never seen hands like that up close. His mother’s hands had always been calloused from working hard all day. His father’s too, big and rough and violent. His own hands had been like that as well for as long as he can remember. Every pirate he’d ever known had those same hands, hardened by rope and wood and sun and salt.
But this is what he has always thought an aristocrat’s hands must be: pale, elegant, beautiful. Never seen hard labour or a fist fight. Nails neatly trimmed, not thoughtlessly bitten down like Ed’s usually are. Skin so fair that he can see the blue paths of the veins faintly through it.
He’s fascinated. Not just by the hands but this whole man. What is he doing here? Why is he not in some fancy parlour, drinking tea out of fine china, or in a well tended garden taking an afternoon stroll? Why is he here, at sea, on a pirate ship with a crew of pirates - and a real ragtag bunch at that - and a stab wound? Surely a man like this shouldn’t be stabbed, it feels like an affront.
The man - Stede Bonnet, Gentleman Pirate - twitches and lets out a feverish moan. His fingers (long, not really thin but slender, and fuck, suddenly Ed has ideas) curl up tightly and Ed wants to gently pry them open and smooth them down again. Fists are not a good look on him, Ed decides.
Someone comes in and says something. Ed doesn’t even look up. He sends the stammering boy away while keeping his gaze fixed on this enigma of a man. He wants to talk to him, ask him questions, find out everything about him.
He can’t restrain himself any longer. Maybe this is weird but he has to know. He reaches out, slowly, and carefully puts his hand on top of Stede Bonnet’s.
Soft.
**
“Do you wanna do something weird?” he’d asked, and fuck, this sure is weird. Ed has only known the man for less than an hour and here they are taking off their clothes - not that that itself is unusual, but the reason is.
And as completely ass-backwards as it is, he’s feeling more nervous now than in those other taking-off-clothes-with-a-stranger situations. Who knew that undressing together could feel more intimate somehow when you’re not going to fuck?
Or maybe it’s the way Stede’s eyes kind of widen when Ed shrugs off his jacket and starts unbuckling his belt, and how he then hastily turns around. Ed has never been embarrassed of his body but now he’s suddenly a bit self-conscious. Maybe he should turn away too, since apparently that’s the gentlemanly thing to do, but he can’t help but steal a glance when Stede pulls his shirt over his head to reveal the smooth plane of his back.
He does have a nice build; he’s sturdy, could cover Ed’s body completely, envelop him. Ed likes that.
Shit, not supposed to think about stuff like that. No way in hell would a man like Stede Bonnet, with all those nice things and pretty clothes and books that he has read, be interested in him, a filthy pirate who doesn’t even know how to read or write.
Whatever, he thinks, turns his back on Stede, and concentrates on removing his boots and trousers maybe a bit more aggressively than necessary. He pushes them over to Stede with his foot, who then extends his arm behind him and offers Ed a frilly, white shirt. They remove and exchange their clothes in silence that stretches between them like a tensely pulled cord.
Ed feels a bit weird drawing the silk stockings up to his knees, but not bad weird. They feel smooth and cool against the skin. And they do make his legs look kinda nice, he’s got to admit, just like they accentuated Stede’s shapely calves and lean ankles.
The breeches are tighter than his trousers but the material is a lot thinner and more pliable, so not necessarily more or less restrictive, just different. And definitely more breathable. The shirt is also nice and breezy, he likes the loose fit but the lace cuffs feel funny around his hands, ticklish. The shoes look so small that he wonders if they’re even going to fit, but surprisingly they do slip on with a bit of manoeuvring. His own boots have a lot more wiggle room, his toes feel cramped in the dainty little shoes.
He loops the thin black tie around his neck and then he’s done. It’s strange; he’s already standing differently, distributing his weight differently. Finds himself wanting to move differently. He feels simultaneously like some fancy-ass lord of some sort, and just… Ed in a costume.
That’s how he’s felt for a long time now.
Stede is still rustling and kind of grunting behind him, and Ed realises that the stab wound must be making it even harder to get into his stiff leather gear than it would usually be for someone who’s not used to it.
“Need help?”
“Oh, uh, I’m… almost done.” He sounds caught off guard, flustered. “Well, maybe with the jacket, can’t really twist my upper body all that much right now…”
Ed turns around and well, the leather trousers don’t look half bad on Stede from this angle. He’s fumbling with the buckle of the gun belt, and then he has everything on except for the jacket and the boots that are on the floor. He tries to reach down without bending forward too much but hisses in pain.
“Here, let me. Don’t want those guts poppin’ out, remember?”
Ed grabs a boot and crouches on one knee - the better one - in front of Stede. And isn’t this interesting, looking up at him like this. A whole new bunch of ideas. Maybe Stede has even caught onto some of them because his cheeks are suddenly very pink in his pallid face.
“Grab my shoulder and lift your foot,” he tells Stede, who complies and holds onto his shoulder for balance when Ed helps him with one boot and then the other.
The absurdity of the situation is not lost on him: Blackbeard, the Demon Pyrate, the Scourge of the Seas, whatever else the fuck, kneeling to put someone else’s shoes on. While thinking about sucking their dick, no less. Incredible, couldn’t make this shit up.
He doesn’t even know why he finds this half-dead looking man so damn attractive.
But maybe the weirdest thing is that he really doesn’t mind. Should probably find this degrading in some way, but he doesn’t. In fact he’s kind of enjoying this. All of this.
“There you go,” he says and pats Stede’s thigh.
He gets up, takes the leather jacket and steps around Stede who lifts his arms behind him so Ed can put it on him.
So, now they are in each other’s clothes - Stede looking frankly so ridiculous that Ed suppresses a chuckle - except for their underwear. And rings, Ed realises. At first he’s not going to say anything because what does a small detail like that even matter. But then he thinks, what the hell. If they’re going to do this, they should do it properly. If Stede is going to be Blackbeard, he should have Blackbeard’s rings. And if he’s going to be a posh fucking nobleman, he should have those clean, shiny rings, almost certainly more expensive than anything Ed has ever owned.
He takes off his rings, one by one, and hands them over to Stede, who blinks at them.
“Oh, right,” he says, takes them, and sets them on a table to remove his own rings first. He’s going to drop the small pile of jewellery into Ed’s palm, but then he hesitates.
“Let me just,” he murmurs as he takes Ed’s hand and starts fitting a ring on his finger, and suddenly Ed’s head seems to be filled with nothing but a high-pitched noise. Stede Bonnet is holding his hand gingerly and sliding his precious golden rings on Edward Teach’s calloused fingers.
They’re warm, is all he can think of. They’re still warm from his hands.
**
He wakes up in the crow’s nest, and for a split second he doesn’t know where he is, or even who he is when he sees frilly, puffy sleeves in his lap after opening his eyes.
Then everything comes back to him in a rush of excitement when he remembers how they cheated death last night.
He hadn’t felt that alive in a long, long time.
Stede has brought him breakfast, and fuck, when has anyone ever brought him breakfast? You’d think this man would be used to being serviced, not serving others, but here he is, offering Ed the best fucking marmelade he’s ever had. Sharing his food and his fine clothes and his secret passages on the ship with him so readily. So goddamn generous.
And for some inexplicable reason he seems to trust Ed completely, smiling brightly and extending his leather-clad hand to shake his a bit later. Black and leather and studs don’t suit him at all, Ed briefly thinks; those hands should be framed by lace and pretty things. Whereas the pure white lace looks strange and wrong against his own weather-beaten knuckles when he reaches out to take the offered hand.
He squeezes it and feels like his throat is full of broken glass. He quickly claps Stede on the shoulder and turns to look the other way to hide anything that might slip through the mask. His hands feel dirty.
This is the man he’s going to betray and murder.
**
When Stede palpitates Antoinette’s head in the parlour, Ed is not jealous.
He has definitely never wondered how those nimble fingers would feel like rubbing his scalp in small circles or dragging nails against it in that way that makes shivers run all the way down his spine whenever someone does that to him while having sex - which is the only time anyone ever touches his hair or head. And shit, it’s been a while since the last time he’s even bothered to find someone crazy enough to fuck Blackbeard.
He hasn’t thought about Stede’s hands petting through his hair, gently combing tangles open, buried deep in his curls.
And he sure as hell hasn’t imagined one of those lovely hands grabbing a fistful of hair and holding on firmly, maybe even using it to yank Ed’s head back to look him in the eyes while he…
Nope, not a single thought about Stede doing any of that, ever.
Which is why he laughs so loudly when joking about Stede - sorry, Godfrey Thornrose - palming his cranium on a regular basis. Haha, that would be so boring, being touched by Stede like that all the time…
And the people laugh, and demand more, and it’s intoxicating. Their attention makes it easy to forget all about the idea of Stede stroking his hair, his fingers finding their way to the nape of his neck and softly massaging that spot there that’s often stiff and sore when he’s been sleeping on it weird.
It’s almost enough to make him forget about what he’s going to do.
**
He should have known. It had been delusional to think he could ever be an aristocrat. To fit in with them.
“We’re just not those kinda people.”
Never will be. Now he finally understands what mother had meant by that.
No matter how hard he’d try to learn the rules and play by them, they’d always see right through him in the end.
He looks down at the piece of red silk in his hands. When did he even take it out? Why is he holding onto it like it means something? Fucking pathetic. He should stop being such a sentimental piece of shit and throw it out, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t really belong to him and never will.
He hears footsteps and when he turns to look, Stede is walking up to him. Ed almost stuffs the silk back into his pocket again, but for some reason he doesn’t.
Stede is saying things to him, things that are obviously not true, just pleasantries meant to make him feel better, but some stupid, desperate part of Ed believes him. Just fucking drinks in every word like he’s dying for it. Stede sounds so damn earnest, his voice soft and low, like he really means all of it.
“May I?”
When he reaches for the silk in his hands, a voice screams in Ed’s head to not give it to him, to hide it away. He’s going to laugh at it. At you. He’s going to take a closer look and sneer, notice that it’s actually worthless after all.
But he lets Stede take it. And Stede doesn’t do any of that.
Instead, with skillful fingers he folds it up and carefully tucks it into his breast pocket. His hands are so close to Ed’s chest that he must feel his heart fluttering like a frightened bird in his ribcage.
Stede tells him it suits him.
The exhale that escapes Ed is half an incredulous scoff - as if that’s true, as if Stede is not just saying - and half his breath being punched out of him by the sheer honesty and tenderness in Stede’s voice.
How the hell is he doing this to Ed? Making him damn near swoon like a young maiden or whoever the fuck would swoon like this. Somehow Stede had made him believe for a second that he could have this, whatever this was. He had taken Ed’s old piece of silk and turned it into something beautiful in his hands.
Could he make Ed beautiful in his hands, too?
**
Strong, Edward Teach thinks, looking at the man next to him.
After they’ve gotten the sword out of him, Stede has wrapped one of his arms around Ed’s waist, draped Ed’s arm across his shoulders, and splayed his hand against Ed’s chest to hold him upright. Ed lets himself lean on Stede and he takes the weight without staggering.
Despite their softness and delicateness, the hands around Ed feel steady and sure.
While Stede is taking him to the captain’s quarters, Ed allows himself a moment of unabashed fantasising. He’s just gotten stabbed, surely he deserves that.
He thinks about the hands that he just moments ago had let drive a sword through him. He wouldn’t let anyone else do that to him, but Stede didn’t really seem to appreciate the gesture and the level of trust and closeness it implied. Maybe Stede would like something a bit more direct, even though Ed had thought that symbolic stuff like that was what high society people were all about.
Of course, Stede had left that world, so maybe he wouldn’t be offended by a bolder approach. Like if Ed just asked him to fuck him, would he do it? Or if he just grabbed Stede’s hand, pulled him close, and kissed him, how would he react? His lips had to be even softer than his… everything else. Ed has been looking at them a lot. He likes the way they purse when Stede is contemplating something, and the way they draw back to reveal his teeth when he grins excitedly about something. Stede has weird teeth, a bit wonky and wild-looking. Ed likes them.
His thoughts are all over the place and he’s feeling a bit light-headed, even though he hasn’t lost that much blood. Maybe it’s just because of Stede’s hands, like everything seems to be these days. The way they’re guiding him so steadfastly into the cabin and lowering him on the sofa after laying down some clean towels. The way he’s taking care of him, in a way no-one has since his childhood. No-one else would even dare to try.
But Ed lets Stede fuss over him, remove his jacket and push his shirt up to clean his wounds, feeling soft and malleable in his hands.
He feels like he should be making light quips and joking around to keep the mood casual, to keep up the image of tough Blackbeard who is only letting Stede help to appease his mother hen instincts. Not because he’s fucking desperate to be touched by him.
But fuck, it just feels too good. And makes him have thoughts. Like what if Stede pushed him down onto his back and straddled him, his warm weight pinning Ed in place. And what if he grabbed Ed’s wrists with one hand and lifted them above his head, held them against the armrest of the sofa while his other hand slipped into the opened front of his trousers. What if he stroked him light and slow, teasing him, and chuckled sweetly at the way Ed’s hips would buck into his hand. And he’d put more of his weight on Ed’s upper thighs so he couldn’t move; could only beg for Stede to give it to him. Not in charge for fucking once.
And he’s thinking about Stede’s hands being possessive and almost rough, grabbing and holding onto his waist when taking him, and then gentle again, petting, soothing him with the same tenderness and care that he is now dressing Ed’s wounds with.
Then Stede suddenly stops and makes a funny little noise in his throat.
Ed follows his gaze down to the obvious tent in his trousers. Ah. Should probably come up with some excuse.
“Sorry mate, that sometimes happens when I’m, uh, injured. Funny, that.” Good one Ed, there must be lots of people who pop a boner after getting stabbed.
“Ah, right, of course!”
Ed is not sure if Stede actually believes him or if he’s just playing along to avoid making the situation even more awkward, but he continues wrapping a bandage around Ed’s midsection. But now his touch is almost feather-light, like Ed’s skin could burn him. There’s suddenly a palpable tension in the room, or at least Ed feels it. Stede’s cheeks are flushed but that could mean anything. He could just be uncomfortable, probably is.
And Ed shouldn’t enjoy the touch if that’s the case - that would be wrong, wouldn’t it? But he can’t help it, can’t help imagining that Stede wants it too. That the slight tremble in his hands and the hitch in his breath are because he has to control himself, be proper and decent and not take advantage of a person who has a bleeding stab wound through him.
Ed kind of wishes that he would. Even though he knows it would not be wise in his current condition. He sighs, which accidentally turns into a frustrated groan.
“You alright? Is it too tight? Does it hurt?” Stede is immediately babbling, his hands worriedly flitting around Ed’s body - his sides, his shoulders, his face - like two hummingbirds who can’t decide on a flower. In the end they settle on cupping Ed’s cheeks to keep him steady, as Stede looks into his eyes to find traces of pain.
“No, no, it’s fine, I’m fine. You’re doing… a great job.” He hasn’t even paid attention to the pain, really, his mind has been so full of fucking Stede. Stede fucking. Whichever.
“Oh, good. I’ve never bandaged anyone’s wounds, so I’m a bit nervous. Kinda scared that I’ll just make it worse with my clumsy, inept hands.” His self-deprecating tone makes Ed frown and open his mouth before thinking.
“Oh shut up, your hands are perfect…ly capable!” Nice save. Stede definitely won’t suspect anything since I’m being so normal, Ed thinks dryly.
Is he just imagining things or is Stede blushing again? He’s turned his head to look away so that his face is in the shadow and Ed can’t tell. Well, at least he’s smiling, which is good. Ed feels like there’s a sail billowing in his chest whenever he makes Stede smile.
“Aw, you’re just saying. But thank you.” Stede sounds pleased, maybe even a bit touched. Like no-one has ever said something so nice to him. The idea makes Ed angry.
“I fucking mean it, mate. Never been patched up so good. Wrapped up like a present, only missing a bow.”
Stede chuckles brightly, turning to look at him again with a crooked little smile.
“Well, you could certainly stuff a stocking.”
Ed blinks. Was that a dirty joke?? Hadn’t expected that from mister blushy Bonnet. Apparently there are still more sides to Stede he hasn’t discovered.
He wants to discover them all.
**
He should have known that he wouldn’t be able to do it. And not just because he hasn’t killed anyone with his own hands after his father.
He had tried to think about it as little as possible, and the plan had been to just do it, like he’d yanked out his own milk teeth as a child whenever one had started coming loose. Just get it over with. Not think about how much he’d enjoyed every second of Stede’s company. Not think about how it would feel like to lose that and never have it again. Not think about how he’d have to live with having taken an innocent man’s life. The life of a man who had been nothing but welcoming and open-handed and just so fucking sweet towards him. And so painfully trusting, while Ed had been planning his demise.
But then the time had come and he’d had a knife in his hand and Stede had been right next to him, excitedly peeking through the curtains to see their ridiculous fuckery unfold. Eyes shining like stars and his entire face lit up. Not suspecting a thing.
Would have been easy, would have been quick. Maybe he wouldn’t even have realised what was happening if Ed had managed to cut a major artery. Or maybe it would have taken longer, maybe there would have been time for Stede to look him in the eyes, shocked and confused. Maybe he would have asked “why, Ed?” as the light and life bled out of him.
In hindsight it’s ridiculous that he’d managed to even half-convince himself that he could kill Stede Bonnet.
Still the guilt had hit him like a tidal wave afterwards, along with the memories, and it had all been too much. He’d dragged himself to Stede’s bathroom like a wounded animal and curled up in the tub.
And now Stede is there, trying to comfort him, even though he’s the one who was almost murdered today. And he’d forgiven Ed, or at least offered to forget that it ever happened. Offered his friendship, even after that.
Ed doesn’t think he’s ever had a friend, not really.
Maybe he doesn’t even deserve friendship, least of all from someone as good as Stede. Certainly not after trying to fucking kill him.
But there he still is, saying he’s Ed’s friend. And here Ed is, raw and vulnerable after having bared his throat and underbelly and everything to Stede by opening up about this dark and terrible thing in his past that he’s never told anyone.
Stede had taken it all in, unwavering, and Ed feels a bit lighter now that the load is shared.
And then Stede puts his hand on Ed’s shoulder and squeezes gently, and it’s like an assurance and a solace and an absolution all at once.
Ed leans against the back of Stede’s hand, closing his eyes and letting himself be sad and then consoled, like a child. He wonders how it can feel so good to put your heart in someone’s hands like that. Just let it rest there under their protection for a while, knowing they’ll take good care of it.
He trusts those steady hands to hold his heart carefully.
**
Edward Teach has had a terrible day.
He kind of hates being on dry land, he remembers that every time he’s ashore. The ground is too stable, each step feels like he’s an elephant stomping around. Too hard, jarring. His legs tire out faster than usual and his knee starts immediately acting up. He’s just too used to the sway and rhythm of the sea.
And he’s used to the wind that keeps him cool even in his leathers, without it he’s sweltering. Not to mention the fucking bugs and other goddamn wildlife. Don’t have to worry about fucking snakes on a ship.
Add to that the humiliation of people seeing Blackbeard on a little treasure hunting romp, and he’d rather do a drink tasting at Spanish Jackie’s.
All that said, right now it’s maybe not so bad. The grilled snake actually tastes pretty good, there aren’t that many bugs now that they’re out of the jungle, he’s getting to rest his legs, and he’s just having a nice time with Stede.
They’d started making shit up about opening a restaurant, and it’s just so damn fun and gratifying how Stede always goes along with whatever he says, enthusiastically feeding into any kind of idea, no matter how silly or outlandish. Their back-and-forth feels so easy, so natural somehow.
“Oh, you got a… little bit in your beard.”
Ed pauses and lifts his hand up to his beard.
“No, come to the- down a bit.”
He hadn’t planned it or anything, it just sort of happens that he’s very haphazard and ineffective in his snake morsel hunting. Maybe if it takes him too long, Stede will…
“Just up, up a little bit. To the- to the left.”
His eyes meet Stede’s in a silent plea.
“Here, I’ll get it.” Stede reaches out, his voice close to a whisper.
Ed leans towards him, feeling so helplessly needy that it would be mortifying if he could muster up the capacity to care. But at this point he has sort of accepted that he’s got it bad for Stede and he’ll make a fool of himself if it gets Stede to smile or laugh or touch him.
Especially touch him. It’s such a rare occurrence that Stede is the one to initiate contact. Ed doesn’t know if he’s simply not used to it because of his upbringing or if he’s just shy or something. Or if he’s figured Ed out and is too polite to say anything but doesn’t want to give him the wrong idea, give him hope for something that’s never going to happen.
Ed doesn’t want to think about that possibility. He craves these casual moments with Stede, these small everyday acts of care and intimacy.
Usually he doesn’t like people touching his beard - not that many have had the guts to try that in years - but Stede could braid it up and put big bows in it and he’d probably say thank you. Anything to have him so close, have his attention, feel his hands on any part of Ed’s body.
“Oh my god, this is happening,” mutters the boy sitting cross-legged in front of them with the snake skewer - his name always escapes Ed. And huh, he’d almost forgotten that it wasn’t just the two of them here.
Ed plays clueless, and either Stede plays too or he really is, so it comes out in perfect unison:
“What?”
**
Edward Teach has had a good day. Inexplicably.
Stede got his little treasure in the end, so he’s happy. And seeing him happy makes Ed happy too, no point in trying to deny that. Especially since he feels like he can take a little credit. After all, he was the one who thought to rinse out the unusually evenly shaped rock.
Ed doesn’t really get why Stede is so excited about some old-ass fruit. Well, when he thinks about it, it kind of is pretty interesting how it hadn’t rotted away but instead gotten preserved in the island’s soil.
Before, Ed wouldn’t have seen any value in something like that, but Stede’s undisguised, genuine wonder for the world around him is contagious.
Stede pours him more brandy - the good stuff, way better than what Ed is used to.
“You know, Ed… I don’t know if I, uh, well…” He gestures with his glass. “...agree that a ship can only have one captain.”
“Hm! Yes, well, ‘spose if you found the absolutely two perfect people…” Could that be them? Suddenly a flash of hope flares in Ed’s chest. “Then they could potentially…”
“Co-captain?” “...co-captain.”
Stede laughs and makes a surprised, elated face at that.
“We said the same thing!”
His joy is so pure Ed has to turn away to hide his own ridiculous smile that he can’t suppress.
They toast to that, and Ed takes a sip of the brandy. It warms him from the inside with a pleasant burn, but it’s Stede who is making him feel inebriated. His closeness, this shared moment, and the unspoken understanding that Ed is not leaving - because he doesn’t want to leave, and Stede doesn’t want him to leave - all of these things have left him feeling hazy and soft around the edges.
He’s not thinking clearly. He could ruin everything; this careful tiptoe balance of unspoken words and unanswered questions between them. But Ed just doesn’t have the strength to stop himself from reaching for Stede’s hand anymore.
He runs his fingers along the back of that lovely hand, the knuckles and the tendons, his touch whisper-light. He brings it closer to his face and recognises the distinct, earthy smell of a day spent outside on land, even though Stede did wash his hands after digging around in the dirt. The scent still clings to the sun-kissed hairs on his arm. They look golden in the candlelight.
Ed lifts the hand to his cheek and is reminded of rather exquisite cashmere. Then he gathers all of his courage and presses his lips against Stede’s knuckles, so quickly that it could almost be an accident, just a fleeting brush.
He’s not brave enough to look at Stede’s face to see his expression right now, so he keeps his eyes fixed on the hand he’s caressing. At least Stede is not pulling it away. That has to mean something, right? Or maybe he's just too shocked to move.
Ed realises he’s holding his breath. Is Stede holding his breath too? It’s so quiet all of a sudden.
He gently turns the hand around and follows the lines on Stede’s palm and the veins on his wrist with a sort of reverence that he doesn’t regard many things with. Stede’s fingers twitch and Ed is about to retreat - fuck, he overstepped, he made Stede uncomfortable, made things awkward - but then they curl around his fingers to lightly hold his hand.
He looks up at that, a wild hope blooming somewhere deep inside him again.
Stede’s eyes are soft, like they were in the moonlight that one evening. Like they always are when he looks at Ed.
Ed reaches toward him, moving like a rising tide or a rolling wave; with no conscious decision, only a desperate need that guides him and drowns out the voice in his head yelling, don’t do it, don’t destroy what you have, he’s going to withdraw, he’s going to be disgusted, he’s going…
But Stede doesn’t withdraw. He leans forward just a sigh to meet Ed, his eyes fluttering closed before Ed closes his, along with the last inches of distance between them.
The angle is weird, Ed has to crane his neck and twist his upper body, but nothing in his life has ever been this right. The feeling of Stede’s lips against his is everything he’d imagined and still different from anything he’s ever experienced.
Their kiss is like the sea kissing the shore, as natural and inevitable, like they have always been here like this.
At first they don’t even move, just the gentle press of their mouths together is enough to set Ed’s insides alight while soothing his soul like a relieving balm at the same time. Stede is not recoiling in horror, he’s not pushing Ed away and turning him down, revulsion barely concealed under apologies and politeness. He’s there, his lips soft, not tense or pulled into a grimace.
And then Stede leans further in so Ed doesn’t have to stretch his neck so much, and he feels a hand on his cheek. Stede’s other hand is squeezing Ed’s fingers a bit more tightly.
This gives Ed the courage he needs to open his mouth a little and move his lips, to melt into the kiss, into Stede. There’s a flutter in his stomach and a weird tingling sensation in his toes and fingertips. And his entire body fucking sings when Stede’s lips part and he responds in kind.
Ed lifts his free hand and fumbles around with his eyes closed until he finds the back of Stede’s head. Gratefully he sinks his fingers in the bouncy curls and pulls him closer.
Stede makes a soft, appreciative noise, and Ed’s head is spinning. This is real, he has to keep telling himself. This is real and Stede is kissing him, and Stede likes it, and his hands are cradling Ed’s face and hand, warm and loving and deliberate. Like he wants to keep Ed as close to him as possible.
And Ed never wants to be anywhere else.
***