Chapter Text
“Stede.” Ed’s voice is small, barely a whisper from the other room. “Stede!”
The dark fell hours ago, and they’ve given up hunting fruitlessly for the source of the smell; just picked the room with the biggest hole in the roof and knocked a bit more of the already-broken glass out of the nearest window. It’s slightly better in there now that it’s aired out more, or maybe they’re just—unfortunately—acclimatising to living in the miasma.
He pokes his head around the doorframe and finds Ed pressed back against a wall, eyes wide with fear. And when Stede follows his stare, he finds…
A spider. Just a small one, dangling harmlessly in front of the cracked and peeling wall, but Stede knows better than anyone that there’s no accounting for how big the terror can feel when it comes to small things.
“Aha!” he says cheerfully. “My first evictee. A very important aspect of the inn-keeping life! What an opportunity to practice!”
He scurries a bit of loose paper out of one of the drifts of detritus that lurk in every corner and, with apologies to the creature, scoops the spider out onto the porch and tosses it over the railing. Just as he’d re-situated the surprising number of arachnids aboard the Revenge, after he learned of Ed’s fears.
When he comes back inside, Ed’s already flopped down onto the mattress they’ve set up on the floor, hands tossed up behind his head, absolutely beautiful in the slanted rays of moonlight that pour through the broken windowpanes. He’d shucked off the leathers earlier, and he’s wrapped in the teal robe they brought with them. It’s barely managing to cover him, sweeps of tawny skin visible across his chest, his thigh, and Stede has to swallow deeply and take several breaths to generate some self-control as Ed’s eyes track him across the room.
“I’ll just—change, too.”
He digs a nightshirt out of the trunk and flees into the other room, ignoring Ed’s chuckle behind him. Honestly the man’s a menace, because when they’d both been thigh deep in the creek earlier, Ed strategically splashing water over his chest and suggesting maybe he ought to take the shirt off entirely, Stede had found himself inches away from tackling him into the reeds and making him see fireworks all over again.
And then Ed’s face had gone all serious and he’d said. “Maybe we should just—wait, a little longer. Talk about it tomorrow, yeah?”
Of course. Of course. They don’t need to be doing anything tonight, though tell that to his body, which doesn’t seem to have received the message. He gets into the nightshirt and wills himself to behave before he goes back to the bedroom and tucks himself all prim and proper in beside Ed, pulling up the blankets.
Ed rolls over and props his chin on his hand, fixes him with a stare. “Hey.”
“Hello.” It’s unfair how beautiful he is, actually. “And how are you finding the establishment so far?”
Ed grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Uh, little drafty?” Stede can see the stars sparkling through the roof behind him, and that’s a highly accurate critique. “I’ve had better mattresses. Had way fuckin’ worse ones, too.” He lifts a brow, which makes those lovely deep eyes glint in the last candlelight. “Kinda like the guy who runs it, though.”
It’s Stede’s turn to raise a brow. “Do you, now?”
Ed nods earnestly, shuffling forward until he can hook a thigh over Stede’s, sliding one very warm arm around his middle, nuzzling up under his chin like a large cat. “Don’t tell him,” he whispers against his neck. “Don’t want to spook him.”
“I assure you, he’d be very hard to spook.” Stede does his best to wriggle around in Ed’s grip, until he can lie down properly, facing him. “Hello again.”
“Hey.” Ed’s face is soft. He looks enormously tired, but he looks relaxed, which only shows Stede just how little he’s ever been that way in the time they’ve known one another. He lifts his hand, palms Stede’s cheek. Pauses. “Be okay if I kissed that innkeeper now?”
“I’d be very jealous if you—“ Stede’s saying indignantly, when Ed closes the distance and meets his mouth.
God, he’ll never get used to this, the euphoric rush that comes with kissing Ed, Ed kissing him. This time it’s Ed who slides his hand impatiently into Stede’s hair, lets out a soft moan that makes Stede ache with need. But as much as Ed’s apologised since, last night was a mistake still rings in his ears, and he breaks away, gasping for breath, lips tingling.
“Fuck,” Ed murmurs softly. “Fuck, we could get good at that.”
“I think we’re quite decent at it,” Stede says, because he feels like his soul leaves his body briefly every time their lips connect. “But practice definitely makes perfect. We should do that. A lot.”
Ed chuckles again, and this time he rolls onto his back a little, pulls Stede with him, holding him tight.
There’s a future to plan, but for the minute, there’s only now, and the two of them here together. Slightly hungry, because the most food they managed to find tonight was a hand of bananas growing a little way up the slope behind the house. Slightly chilly, and he has a sudden, surprising surge of appreciation for the Vista Suite, which was apparently a lot more insulated than this.
Slightly raw, because today they watched their friends sail away with their ship, without them. All but the one very important friend who’s buried in the front yard, and that’s something they’ve barely processed at all. Not now, not the time.
They’re happy, mostly. Safe. Ed’s so incredibly warm, and his hair smells of the coconut oil he favours in the bath, and Stede lets his hand wander boldly across the landscape of his belly, slipping under the robe, fingers trailing over rough hair and jumping muscles under the softness.
“I’m so glad we’re here,” he says, utterly truthful. “I’m so glad we have each other.”
He can hardly think about the alternative, knowing how close they came, but Ed shakes with barely suppressed laughter. “Little bit of a whim, this. Little bit.”
“Tiny whim. Mostly a fantastic idea, though.”
“Our whim,” Ed says, and presses a soft kiss to his temple. “I’m glad, too.”
It’s just the two of them in this falling-down shack for the foreseeable, no interruptions, and as much as he’s going to miss the crew, he’s very much ready to try this. Ed’s been everything to him since the day they met, and Stede knows now that Ed feels very much the same. There’s going to be time for all the things they want to do, and all the things they haven’t even imagined yet, and all the future whims they might decide on.
Right now, they have the luxury of settling down into the softness of the sheets, wrapped together and safe and loved, knowing it. Breath evening out slowly, both still buzzing a little bit. He rolls back, as Ed protests and snatches at him, and blows out the candle before he lets himself get reeled back in and swamped in heat again, wrapped up in Ed’s arms in the moon glow.
Happiness like this feels uncontainable, and he very much needs to bring himself back to earth. “Would you like me to tell you a story? Recite something?”
The crew always loved that, and Ed did as well. Stede remembers the butterflies he used to get when Ed looked up at him from the deck over the flare of his pipe, but now he understands those moments so much better. The butterflies are still there, fluttering with every touch of Ed’s skin to his own, every smile, every soft word from his mouth. He has, if he’s lucky enough, a lifetime of butterflies ahead of him now.
Ed nods. “Think I might like that.”
Stede wracks his brains for a good thing to share, mind a whirl as he rustles through his mental library, pondering love and bravery and sacrifice and safety, finally settling on… change, and the inevitability of it, and the way transformation can be both unexpected and beautiful. He clears his throat and begins to speak the words he’s had memorised since he was a miserable teen, dreaming of an escape he never thought he’d actually get.
Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:
Ding-dong.
Hark! now I hear them,—ding-dong, bell.
He’d hoped for Ed’s opinion, but Ed’s breathing has settled completely by the time he’s done, and Stede understands that he’s fallen asleep, just like that, leaving him to his thoughts.
There’s an underlying hint of sadness here—how could there not be? But there’s been laughter all evening, splashing each other in the creek, trading silly banana jokes, bumping shoulders as they went about their new bedtime rituals. And there’s comfort now, warmth in each other, and… hope. So, so much hope.
They’ve sunk themselves full fathom five into their new lives here.
Perhaps Stede’s always been a little strange about that poem, but to him the primary thing was never about the drowning, no. It was about how beautiful transformation was possible even in the darkest circumstances. He’s died once already, hasn’t he? Ed has, too. And now, after that, despite that, because of that, they’re held in the safe space of a world that’s all their own, rich and strange and everything his heart has ever yearned for.
They’re going to be great. And tomorrow? That’s the first day of the rest of their lives.
He drifts off to sleep held safely in the arms of the man he loves, who loves him, and his last conscious thought is that he couldn’t possibly want for much more than this.