Archive of Our Own ^beta

Something is tickling his nose. And his back is stiff. There’s something soft beneath him and over him, though. Someone is breathing close by.

Stede opens his eyes. He’s lying on the floor. Ed’s hair, fallen forward across his still-asleep face, is tickling his nose. Ed’s breathing is not quite a snore. The yellow robe covers them both.

He lies still and watches. Ed’s face is lined and still faintly smudged with the fading black grease; his mouth, amid the grey of his short new beard, is soft. He reaches up to touch his own mouth. It all comes flooding back. Whispered confessions — horrible confessions — and tears. And Ed’s mouth on his.

He can’t forget what Ed confessed — some things he said he’d done before (Stede had not believed him at the time, not really). But he has to admit that what Ed told him about what he’d done to Izzy Hands might explain the man’s smug certainty that he’d won, although Stede doesn’t quite understand why he apparently positively relishes being hurt. People are strange, he supposes, and some people react to very odd things in unexpected ways. He himself had sometimes wondered if he would have to agree to accept pain — perhaps not physical pain — as the price of someone’s attention. In a funny way, it was pain that focused Ed on him right at the beginning. That wasn’t the kind of pain he worried about as a boy and a young man. Stabbing with a sword is sometimes easier to survive than the other kind of attack.

He closes his eyes, trying to blink away the ugly pictures conjured by these recollections.

“Hey.” Ed’s voice is soft and scratchy. His eyes are still red-rimmed and puffy from tears and there’s a crease between them that Stede wants to smooth with a fingertip. But they are not the empty eyes Stede left in the cabin yesterday; some of the soft light that had been in Ed’s eyes since he first came aboard, since Stede opened his own eyes and found Ed tending his wounds, is back.

“Ed.”

Ed leans up on an elbow and kisses Stede. It’s still a surprise, each time. That Ed still wants to, that it feels so good.

Ed groans. “Fuck, I’m filthy,” he says.

“I’m none too clean either.”

“Yeah, but you aren’t wearing leather.” Ed sits up. “I don’t sleep in it usually.”

“That’s good. Doesn’t seem like it would be too comfortable.”

“It’s a bit ridiculous. Mostly for show. Although it’s harder to stab through, so I suppose there’s that.”

“I hope you don’t go round opening your jacket and inviting just anyone to stab you.”

“No.” Ed looks at him with that expression Stede got used to, when Ed first came aboard, and for the first time in his life, someone found Stede interesting instead of annoying and pointless.

“Is the bathtub still here?”

“Yeah. You want a bath? Must be a bit hard … Why didn’t you demand your cabin back?”

“Well, it hardly seemed … after everything. And it’s not so bad, living with the other guys. They’re very kind to me.”

“Yeah, they’re a funny bunch. Kind. Drive Izzy mental though.”

“He doesn’t appreciate their unique talents.”

Ed laughs. “Talents. Yeah, no. He is trying to actually sail the ship.”

“When I hired them,” says Stede, “I wanted to be a different sort of captain, and I was different. Not too many men were willing to go to sea with me, so I think these guys may have been more … desperate maybe? To be willing to put up with me. But I don’t think I appreciated what an unusual group they are. I didn’t really know them. It’s hard to get to know people when you’re in the cabin, wearing silk and reading books, and they’re out there. I didn’t think I treated them badly, but I see now that I didn’t really know them. And now I do, a bit better. They’ve been very kind,” he says again. Ed is still looking at him with that sort of warm amusement he got so used to. “I think it might be better for us all, better for me at least, that you got rid of my things. And that I let go of all the money.”

“Not all your things. And I’ll get you some more books, if you like,” says Ed.

Stede might cry.

And then Ed says: “How about a bath, now, though?”

“That would be heavenly. But I feel a bit … I can’t go out there and ask someone to fill the bath. Anymore. I can’t, now.”

“I can,” says Ed.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think so. Can’t hide in here forever.”

“Well, I suppose not. Only if you think—”

“Have to try.” Ed stands up, with effort. “Fuck, too old for this.”

“Your poor knee.”

“Yeah, hardly noticed it when I was busy.”

“Well, warm water will soothe it.”

“Like you said before.” Ed gives Stede his big, warm hand, and pulls him up. He pushes the wardrobe door open. Stede watches him cross the cabin, through the shafts of light allowed in by the drawn curtains. His body is so beautiful. Perhaps Stede will be allowed to see it all, sometime. His stomach shivers at the thought. Ed bends to retrieve the leather trousers — abandoned since he took them off the day before — and sits to tug them on. His feet are still bare as he moves to the door and leaves the cabin.

Stede pulls open the chest where the soap and other toiletries are stored. The scent of lavender is a powerful reminder of the place that is no longer his home. He takes out a cake and looks for towels in the lower drawers.

He used to think his things — the silks and linens, brocades and finery — were important, were what made him happy. Back then, they did, when he didn’t have anything else to make him happy. Clothes and books, fripperies and fancies, making a brave show, losing himself in stories, hiding himself under layers.

Somehow, Ed had seen him beneath all that. But he still hadn’t understood what Ed meant at the privateering academy, about what a relief it was to be stripped totally bare. He understands now, standing in this place, surrounded by that remains of all his armour. He bends to pick up the yellow robe, blushing at the thought of himself wearing it when the English attacked. As he shakes out the folds he remembers Ed clutching it to himself as he hid in the bath from his most painful memory. So maybe silken armour isn’t all silliness.

He is startled out of his thoughts by the cabin door opening to admit Ed, carrying cans of hot water, followed by a scowling Roach with two more.

He steps forward to take the water from Roach, unwilling to let him see the nest of clothes on the wardrobe floor. “Thank you,” he says.

“Yeah, no problem,” says Roach, and under his breath, “You okay?”

“Yes, yes, we’re fine.”

Roach glances over at Ed, but he doesn’t say anything more as he turns to leave.

Ed has gone into the bathroom and Stede can hear him pouring water into the bathtub. He carries the rest through.

“There’s soap and towels. I’ll leave you to it, shall I?”

Ed turns to look at him. “The bath’s for you.”

“Oh,” he says, “No. I can use the crew’s washroom. It’s fine.”

A complicated look passes over Ed’s face. “You said a bath would be ‘heavenly’.”

“But you need the warm water for your knee. I can wash out there.” He tilts his head.

“No, don’t go. Don’t leave now.” Ed’s eyes are almost pleading.

“Okay. I’ll just…” He steps backwards, out of the small humid space, trying to ignore the thread of regret that curls through his gut. Maybe another time, it’s too soon to be given that freedom — to be allowed to see, to look.

He crosses to the window and stands gazing out, listening to Ed’s grunts as he strips off his leathers and lowers himself into the bath.

“Fuck, yeah,” Ed says, then, raising his voice: “You were right, it feels great.”

“Good,” Stede calls back. “How’s the knee?” His stomach tightens at the picture he has of Ed, his broad form in the small bath, water and soap suds running down his chest, over the ink markings — the beautiful bird and other images he has only ever glimpsed part of — the ends of his hair wet.

“Okay.” Loud splashing almost drowns Ed’s voice and covers the sound that escapes from Stede’s mouth. He lifts his hand and mimes running it over skin until it goes beneath the surface of the water; raises it again and runs it down his own chest and waist and further. He stops short of pressing it to his groin, and drops it to his side. Another great splashing and the thumps of Ed’s feet hitting the floor make him turn in time to see Ed enter the cabin with a towel wrapped around his hips, hair dripping, bringing the scent of lavender with him. Stede can’t stop his eyes travelling from his face to his feet, and back up. He coughs to cover his confusion.

“Feels good to be clean again. I let myself go.”

“So have I. One can’t maintain the same standards … and you know, I don’t miss it as much as I thought I might. Maybe one can be too fastidious. What’s a little sweat, after all?” Ed is looking at him as if he’s a lunatic. He shuts his mouth to stop his gabbling.

“Bullshit,” says Ed, “you can’t tell me you’d rather be dirty.”

Stede can feel the heat of his blush rising up his neck, and with only an open collar, Ed can see it as well.

“Well, I suppose not.” He faces something of a dilemma now. He said he didn’t feel he could ask one of the crew to bring hot water as he used to, but he can hardly expect Ed to go and fetch more himself. “It seems rude to go and ask for more hot water though.”

"The water isn’t cold yet.” Ed’s eyes hold a challenge. And it is one he can easily, even eagerly, accept. The thought of bathing in the same water as Ed is sort of thrilling. It’s the kind of strange thought he would never have considered revealing to anyone before Ed. But Ed has revealed dark secrets — secrets he has carried almost his whole life — in the very same bathtub.

“Yes,” says Stede, “no problem.”

Ed’s eyes glow warmer than the bath water probably is by now and Stede crosses the cabin, past Ed and into the bathroom. There is water splashed on the floor and bubbles on the soap. He strips off quickly and steps into the tepid, cloudy water — and allows himself to feel surrounded by Ed, lying there as if in his arms.

When he re-enters the cabin, wrapped in a towel and holding his head consciously high (Ed has seen him shirtless before, after all), Ed is still there, still not dressed.

“Do you have a clean shirt? Have one of mine if you like.” Ed looked lovely in his shirt that first time.

“I did wear your clothes, when I first came back. Before …” He trails off.

“And you will again? Everything I still have is yours. Whatever you want.”

“Okay.” Ed gives Stede a considering look as he walks into the wardrobe. “You coming to get one too?”

Stede’s heart is hammering, he’s almost dizzy with warring impulses: to stand naked with Ed as they dress, to look, to see and be seen, or to remain hidden. Is it too soon? Ed probably doesn’t care who sees him; he’s lived in a male world for so long. Stede has always feared being forced to reveal his body, can still hear Nigel calling him weak and fat. But Ed’s already seen him, part of him, all of him? He doesn’t remember what happened after Ed found him, gut-stabbed, only recalls waking and seeing Ed, feeling the touch of Ed’s hand on his bare skin.

“Stede?”

“Yes, coming.” It won’t be too hard. Ed isn’t Nigel. Ed has touched him with gentleness, Ed has never laughed at him meanly, Ed has never hurt him. Not like that.

When he steps into the wardrobe, Ed is standing with his back to the door. He has dropped the towel.

Stede lets himself stare. Couldn’t stop himself. From Ed’s shapely calves to his buttocks and up to his broad back, and back down.

Ed starts flicking hangers. “Where’re the shirts?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder and catching Stede looking. A smile — warm, amused, fond — spreads across his face and he turns fully towards Stede.

“Um … the other side.” He slides his eyes away, face burning.

“Hey,” says Ed, stepping towards him and reaching out a hand. He touches Stede’s shoulder, and then, stepping even closer, slips his hand up his neck until he’s cradling his jaw, turning his face back towards himself. Stede closes his eyes and leans into the touch. “Hey,” Ed says again, his thumb stroking Stede’s cheek. “Look at me.” Stede opens his eyes, looking into Ed’s. “There you are. Didn’t mean to shock you. I’m just a rough common sailor. Been getting my kit off in front of other guys my whole life.”

“Oh.” Stede laughs, a little breathy sound. “It’s not that. It’s … you’re so lovely.”

“Fuck off,” says Ed, laughing now as well, “all inked up and battered, more scars than skin.”

Stede lets his eyes travel down to that spot at Ed’s waist where one of those scars was made by his own blade. He stretches out his hand and traces a finger lightly over the mass of raised red skin. “Well, I’ve got a few scars of my own.”

“You do,” says Ed, and he places his hand on Stede’s chest, running it down to the angry red line where he was gut-stabbed. He slips it along Stede’s waist till it touches the matching scar from Izzy’s blade. Then he hooks his forefinger under the edge of the towel. “Am I going to stand here naked on my own?”

Stede slips his thumbs under the towel, brushing against Ed’s finger. “No,” he says, and loosens the cloth, allowing it to slide down his hips onto the floor.

“Look at you,” Ed says, voice soft, eyes shining. “Gorgeous. Fucking beautiful.”

Stede’s blushing, but there’s a smile he can’t suppress, too. Ed takes a small step backwards, and looks him very frankly up and down. “I mean, I knew it, but you didn’t look your best when I saw you half naked before.”

“Fever sweat doesn’t do it for you?”

“Prefer you not half dead, yeah.”

Stede is trying to take this scrutiny, but it’s not easy. Perhaps if he gets closer, close enough to touch again, too close to be seen. He steps back to Ed, reaches out and places a hand on the softness at Ed’s waist, which he has had fascinating glimpses of; traces a finger around his belly button.

“What the—” Ed moves to swat his hand away, but stills.

He withdraws. “I’ve wanted to touch … this soft part, just here. But I’m not allowed?” He had thought it would be different, with Ed. “I’ve never thought I would be allowed, before.”

“Sorry,” says Ed, taking Stede’s hand and leading it back to that soft place. “Just surprised me. You’re allowed, whatever you want. Whatever shit you were told before, stupid rules and laws, they don’t apply out here. They don’t mean anything to us.”

Stede’s head is bowed, he’s looking at his hand on Ed’s skin. Beyond it, he can see that it’s not just him who is aroused.

Ed slips his hands around Stede’s waist, slides them down to his arse and pulls Stede against him, against his heat, hip to hip, cocks touching.

“Oh!”

Ed smiles at him. “There you are,” he says, broad palms hot on his skin, blunt fingers pressing divots into his soft flesh.

“I’ve never—”

“Never?”

There is so much never.

He’s never even been allowed to look, invited to look.

He’s never been told: “You’re beautiful.”

He has never been held like this, naked against naked skin.

He has never been this aroused, burning with it.

He has never done anything other than his marital duty.

He shakes his head. Ed slides his hands up Stede’s back, dips his head and drops a kiss on his mouth. “That’s horrible. Gotta change that.” His mouth returns to Stede’s, more searching, more demanding, and Stede loves it, loves tipping his head back, reaching up for Ed, surrendering to him. He finds his hips twitching forward, seeking more contact, and slides his own hands down, cupping Ed’s arse. Ed groans into his mouth and Stede’s knees are shaking — if Ed’s arms were not around him, he would sink to the floor. His heart is staggering in his chest. Pulling back — Stede drags in a huge ragged breath — Ed says, “Hey, hey, I’ve got you. Let me just—” and he lowers them slowly to the floor. He keeps one hand on Stede, on his shoulder, up against his neck, as he drags fabrics around. He leans over and grabs Stede’s fallen towel, spreading it out over the fabric nest. “Okay,” he says, “better?”

“At least I won’t fall over now.” Stede is breathless, and he finishes in a laugh, almost hysterical.

“Yeah, that’s right. Can’t have that. Come here.” His hand moves up into Stede’s hair, cupping the back of his skull, and he draws them together again.

Stede braces his hands on Ed’s thighs, all hard muscle and coarse hair, something he has desired ever since he knew what desire was, something he thought he would never be allowed to touch like this. He moves his hand up and boldly wraps it around Ed’s cock. It feels different in his hand than his own. Also, he’s not usually looking at his hand on his own cock, and to have only one part of the sensation is odd too. Ed makes a sound, a strangled gasp, and Stede can’t help smiling — he did that.

“C’m’here.” Ed shifts and scoots closer, hooking his legs over Stede’s, tangling them together. And then he puts his hand over Stede’s and wraps both their hands around both their cocks. Thought isn’t possible then, there is only pure sensation. Ed drags his thumb across the head of Stede’s cock, through the wetness there, so Stede does the same to Ed’s and the slick sound of wet skin on skin joins the sound of their panting. He looks up into Ed’s eyes. They are completely serious, even a little awed.

Ed tightens his hand, squeezing, and Stede gasps.

“Okay?” Stede can only nod. He’s bracing himself with his other hand behind him on the floor, but Ed has his hand on Stede’s shoulder, holding him up. He’s torn between looking down at their cocks, together, and up into Ed’s shining, beautiful face, his eyes full of the softest light, his skin flushed and hazed with sweat, his mouth open, panting just like Stede is.

As his climax builds, inexorable, he can see it also in Ed’s face, can feel it in the tension of his body, the way his fingers tighten around Stede’s hand and their cocks, and dig into his shoulder, can hear it in his ragged breaths.

And then it hits him, punches the air from his lungs like the boom of a cannon does, thrums through his whole body as he tries to swallow his cry. Ed's hand on his shoulder clamps almost painfully tight as he follows, his hot spend painting Stede’s chest.

As the wave recedes, he falls forward, his forehead on Ed's shoulder, his chest heaving. Ed's arm slips behind his back, holding him close, and he brings his other hand up to his own chest, dragging his fingers through Stede's come. Stede lifts his head as Ed slides his fingers into his mouth. His lips curve into a smile around them.

That's— astonishing. Stede wants to taste too. He dips his mouth to the bird at Ed's throat and sucks, the clean salt of Ed’s sweat mingled with bitterness, and faintly, the lavender soap. “Ed,” he breathes, “Ed.” His name in Stede’s mouth feels sacred, precious, a revelation — the way it felt when he said it in Mary’s bedroom.

“That’s me. I am Ed,” he says, above him, and Stede lifts his head and looks into Ed’s lovely eyes again. There is no doubt and pain in them now. Stede isn’t a fool, he knows darkness is not so easily overcome, but it feels like they have opened a door — or closed one. Like they are on the other side of some of the hurt that he did to Ed. That he did to himself.

“I’ve never—”

“Me neither.”

“But Jack said—”

“Yeah, I’ve fucked guys. Jack. Others. Didn’t even know some of their names. But not like that.” He cups Stede’s face, brushes his thumb across his cheekbone. Will that ever not undo him? Stede wonders. “Not looking.”

“Yes. Mary and I, we looked over each other’s shoulders. And it was dark. Always dark. And quiet. I think she must have bitten her lip. Waited for me to finish. I saw her, you know, with her new man. They were making quite a lot of noise. She sounded ecstatic.”

He wonders if they have been overheard. Very possibly, the helm is right over their heads.

“I’d like to hear your ecstatic noise,” says Ed, and Stede can feel heat rising up his chest.

“I don’t suppose most of the men would be all that shocked.”

“Not your guys.”

“I think they’d be glad, for us.”

Stede puts his hands on Ed’s chest, on the planes of muscle. It’s still hard to believe he is allowed to touch Ed’s very male body. “I knew, you know. What I wanted, that it wasn’t just that I didn't love Mary. I knew it wasn’t her sex that I wanted. I knew that when I was quite young.”

There is a crease between Ed’s brows. “When you were a little kid?”

“Well, I didn’t know any specifics, but I knew I was different.”

“I knew you were too. Well, I was pretty certain. It was hard to tell sometimes, if you were just—” he waves hand at the clothes racks surrounding them “—posh and silly?” Stede finishes for him.

Ed smiles. “Posh. I’ve never met too many people like you. At that party, though, it was pretty clear you were nothing like them—”

“I should hope not!”

“Yeah, well. And then afterwards, back here…”

“Did you want to kiss me then?”

“What you said, what you did … that was the kindest anyone had ever been to me.”

“I’m so sorry, Ed. I don’t think I was ready …”

Ed leans forward and kisses Stede then, soft and chaste. “I’d have kissed you like that,” he says. “But I saw you, so I didn’t. It was too soon.”

“That’s just it, you see me. And you keep looking. No one else has.”

“And you see me. Even in a fever. Even through everything.” Ed has scrubbed the last of the faded black from his face. He’s not trying to hide, or to be something he is not, Stede thinks.

“I thought it was a fever dream, that first day. Opening my eyes and there you were.”

“You weren’t afraid of me.”

“You gave me no reason to be, mopping my brow!”

“You really could have died,” says Ed, “and that would have just been cruel.”

He was cruel to Ed, not intentionally, perhaps, but in his panic he was.

“What now?” he asks. “What do you want now?”

“You. Will you stay?”

“With you? Always. As long as—”

“Now. Here. Always.”