Chapter Text
Stede drew them a bath. It felt like a nicer, kinder ‘thank you’ gesture than ‘let’s hop in the shower and wash away our sins’ (and sweat. and… other things, oh god, other things ). Testing the temperature, Stede held his hand under the running tap and tried (somewhat unsuccessfully) not to think about Ed in the other room as he adjusted the hot water.
How many times had he run this bath in the past three months? How many times had he sat in it until the water turned cold, his heart too heavy for his body to move? How many times had he drunk wine and read a book in the bathroom under the thin guise of self care?
How many times had he wished Ed was there instead of the canvenous emptiness that accompanied him instead?
(Too many.)
But Ed was here now. He was here. And that’s all that mattered.
Stede turned off the faucet, dipping his fingers into the tub to double check the heat. Warm, but not overly so. Perfect. As Ed deserved. Stede wanted to give him the best, wanted to give him everything.
In that vein, Stede moved to his cabinet. It wasn’t as well stocked as it had previously been (he had lost a lot of his bath products in the divorce and the move, somehow. He had a running theory about Mary pinching some once she realised the delights of bath bombs) but there remained a few essential gems. Bath salts were a classic, but Stede eventually settled on Ceridwen's Cauldron; a bagged concoction of bath oils and oats and cocoa butter.
Stede dropped the muslin cloth bag into the bath, the oils and fragrance and butters melting through the coarse fabric into the water and turning it a soft, milky white. A deep calm settled over the bathroom; smelling of tangerines and lavender and sandalwood. Ed had made a note, once, offhandedly, about yummy lavender soap, so he hoped this scent would go over well.
Stede moved from the claw foot and opened the door. Ed was just on the other side, idling; like a cat, waiting to be let into a room he had been locked out of.
“Ah! The bath is ready,” Stede said, in half-suprise.
Ed smiled and squeezed past him, while Stede tried very hard to ignore the feel of him (fuzzy and warm and thrilling) and smell of him (musk and sweat and salt and old leather). Even amongst the steam and fragrance, he couldn’t escape the essence of Ed.
“Smells like you,” Ed said, off-handedly, placing his dirty shirt into Stede’s clothes hamper ( don’t think about why it’s dirty, don’t think about why it’s dirty, don’t think about what it had been used to clean ).
Smelt like him? - Oh.
Ed hadn’t liked the soap Stede had given him because of the lavender, he liked it because it smelt of him.
“Yes, it’s lavender-” Stede started, Ed overlapping.
“Lavender-”
Ed kissed him on the cheek with a chuckle, bemused. “I know. Flower guy, remember?”
“I might recall.” Stede teased.
“Fuck, it hasn’t been that long, man,” Ed said, his voice laced with humour as he created space between them so that he could unzip his jeans once more; an action that caused Stede to physically hold back a squeal, turn beet red, and look away so fast he almost pulled something in his neck.
Stede heard rather than saw the denim hit the tile, the metal of the belt and the heft of the fabric echoing throughout the bathroom. He knew, he knew Ed was bare and naked and Stede adamantly refused to look, embarrassed, sheepish, suddenly abashed, like they didn’t just do… that.
Ed pressed two fingers to chin, forcing his head back, and the pair locked eyes. “There you are,” He said, dripping and sickly sweet, and Stede’s discomposure melted away, one shy layer at a time.
He really was otherworldly. Stede could see Ed one thousand times over, and still find something new and mesmerising and interesting to adore on the one thousand and oneth viewing.
The scars; dark and rigid, striking across his torso like miniature galaxies. The freckles; speckled and numerous, stars that Stede swore he would count one day. The ink; black and blue and faded, some great time telescope into who and what Ed was.
Stede gently took Ed’s hand in his, his face bare and cold where Ed’s fingertips had been, and kissed his knuckles, mimicking an act of worship.
“Better get in the bath before the water turns too cold. Or before you do,” Stede said, leading Ed to the tub by the hand. Ed slid into the claw foot, deep tan lines and deep ink lines disappearing under the murky white haze of bath oils and warm water.
“Coming?” Ed asked, staring up at Stede, eyes glowing caramel in the warm yellow-gold light; wide and hopeful. Of course Stede had drawn the bath for the both of them (it just made sense, logistically speaking) but he was still monetarily taken aback. Ed wanted him. Ed wanted him there . Ed wanted him close.
“ Of course, darling,”
Stede removed the remaining pieces of his own clothes (mostly just his trousers, at this point. The rest had long since been, uh, discarded ) and slipped into the bathtub behind Ed, cradling him in an affectionate mess of legs and limbs and hands.
Ed rested his head on Stede’s damp shoulder, pewter hair spilling like cool mercury between them, and Stede interlocked his fingers across Ed’s chest; arms creating a possessive loop. With another body in the tub, Ed wriggled his bad knee out of its now crumpled position, hiking it over the side.
“So no back tattoos?” Stede asked, when Ed had re-settled. He’d noticed, when Ed had entered, that his back was uncharacteristically barren; empty of tattoos or markings, and the curiosity scratched, unsatisfying, at his tattoo-artist brain.
“Nah. Did most of my tattoos myself. Bad stink ‘n poke or with a cheap machine, and I can’t reach all the way around.”
“Why not get an artist to do it?”
“Too vulnerable. Don’t like it, facing your back to someone for that long. Leaves you too open, y’know?”
“Can’t say that I do.” Stede said, smiling coyly, “You don’t seem to have a problem right now,”
“‘s different,” Ed argued, and Stede could see the tops of his ears brighten with a tell-tale flush of red and feel his body tense in playful offence. He was the most gorgeous beast like this; open, exposed, hackles down. Allowed the space to simply exist.
“I love you,” Stede chuckled, kissing what he could reach of Ed’s temple; the skin warm and wet, but not unpleasantly so. Ed practically purred, transgressions immediately forgotten; relaxing further, softer, deeper into the embrace of Stede’s bare chest and Stede’s bare arms.
“Would you allow me the honour of giving you a back tattoo?”
“Maybe, if you weren’t being a dick,”
“What would you get?”
“‘nother eagle. Or maybe a dragon,”
“A dragon?”
“They’re big and scary, right? Fire adjacent. Tough,” Ed punctuated his point by drawing one of Stede’s hands towards up to his face and playfully biting at the palm.
“I don’t think you’re all that big and scary,” Stede mused, relishing in Ed’s soft, apologetic lips kissing over the faint, bite mark.
“That’s because you’re also a dragon, mate. I’ve seen how you hoard things, you lunatic.”
“I suppose that’s true,”
“Nah, I’d get a rose,”
“Mm?”
“Can’t lose em again if they’re on my body forever,”
Stede opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it, closing it again. Taking the silence as disagreement or discontent, Ed half-twisted to look at him, water crashing in tiny waves around him.
“Bad idea?”
“No- it’s just-” Stede hesitated, “nothing- it’s perfect, darling.” Stolen property was stolen property, trespassing was trespassing, and he wasn’t willing to openly admit to either, not even to Ed ( especially to Ed, who’s property he had stolen, and who’s shop he had trespassed on). “I would love to do that for you.” Stede cupped his cheek and kissed the top of Ed’s head with a smile (nicotine and citrus and lavender lavender lavender and them).
Ed settled against him, bare back against Stede’s bare chest, slotting together, like an intricate, complete puzzle. It felt good, it felt right, Stede thought again.
Stede fingertips danced over the wispy baby hairs at the base of Ed’s neck, twirling the barely there locks around his pointer. “May I?”
Ed nodded.
It was both familiar and unfamiliar all at once. He wasn’t necessarily unfamiliar with Ed’s hair at this point ( soft silver braids, grey hair in his fist as they kissed roughly-), yet he wasn’t familiar with it, either. But he did tell himself, once, that the curls would appreciate sweetly scented hair oils.
Stede ran a careful hand through the wet strands, over and over and over again. It was like velvet, fresh from a wash; smooth and silky and malleable. Ed hummed; a full body hum that Stede could feel physically resonating his chest as the man went slack against him, pleased and satisfied. If Stede hadn’t known any better, he would have sworn he was asleep; eyes lightly closed, eyelashes and beard dusted with dew-like drops, expression soft and glazed.
He’d only seen Ed like this once before, but it was a sight he had sorely missed. Stede isn’t sure how he got this lucky, all things considered. A week ago his heart was shattering in a million pieces, a knife held at his stomach. And now Ed trusted him trusted him enough to turn his back to him and allow Stede to pamper him.
Stede reached for the caddy, careful not to disturb Ed too greatly as he grabbed a small bottle of hair oil- a delightful concoction he knew to smell decadently of peonies and lilies of the valley and musk. He poured a few drops into his palm, before rubbing his hands together and sliding his fingers over Ed’s half-saturated tresses. An appreciative sound escaped Ed’s lips and God what Stede would have done to bottle that.
“Is that okay, darling?” Stede asked. He knew the answer, but checked anyway. Ed nodded, murmuring affirmatively as words escaped him and Stede glided his fingers, like an easy comb, through his silver hair. Stede considered his hands in Ed’s hair, and his hands in Ed’s hair, and thought he might die happy here.