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“Shall I give you a tip?”
Now really, there’s all manner of crude or otherwise suggestive quips Stede could respond to that question with (most of which he picked up from Ed himself), but he is actually close to freezing his poor balls off, so he just nods shakily, rubbing his arms frantically to coax some warmth back into his skin.
Standing stark in Stede’s memory is the first winter he ever spent in the stables as a boy, on the few occasions he was made to accompany his father to tend to the land and check on the animals. Admittedly, the memory isn’t at all detailed, aside from the fact that his father had some cruel words to say about the fact that Stede’s hands were so frozen that he couldn’t quite gather the strength to pull the bolt across the door by himself.
More than that, though, this cold reminds him of the first storm that hit the ship, before his crew were a crew and were instead a bunch of thrown-together outcasts, frightened and uncoordinated, scrabbling to survive.
He remembers the ship barely scraping through the storm, and the air of desperate relief that surrounded them for days afterwards.
He remembers watching his crew drying off that evening, settling down below deck to sleep on sacks of potatoes, gingerly inching closer and closer to one another to casually exchange body heat.
He remembers shivering beneath his blankets in his cabin, the cold still clinging to him, and feeling relentlessly, helplessly lonely.
After living so much of his life in Barbados, Stede had assumed the cooler temperatures on the sea would be something of a relief compared to the stifling summers he grew up with, but in fact all the sea does is make everything so much more intense. Summers are sweltering, with little breeze and no shade to offer them any sort of protection, and the winters are icy, sailing through rough winds and choppy waters.
Despite it all, Stede still maintains (sometimes) that the weather at sea is preferable to that on land. His preference has always leaned more towards the cold than heat, though he hasn’t quite gotten used to the way the sharp bite of the winter sea seems to seep into his very bones.
Ed, on the other hand, couldn’t be more opposite. He seeks out warmth wherever he can, drawn to it like a moth to flame. There’s something almost feline about the way he loves to climb up to the crow’s nest when the sun is highest in the sky, so he can bask in its warmth with no threat of shadow, or the way he presses his arm to Stede’s whenever they stand side by side, loathe to be even an inch apart when he could be capitalising on the heat radiating from Stede’s body.
Still, though, Edward seems infinitely better at regulating his own body temperature than Stede is— or, at least, he’s better at hiding his discomfort when he can’t. Stede has to admit he enjoys a good sulk on occasion, and never more so than when he’s in pain, or just can’t seem to warm up, or both.
Right now they are struggling through the aftermath of a minor storm, not strong enough to do any damage to the ship but certainly enough to shake up stomachs a little and soak everyone to the bone. Stede’s teeth haven’t stopped chattering since they came below deck, and that’s even after drying off, and getting into his softest robe, and burying himself under the bedclothes.
Ed smiles down at him from where he stands beside the bed, himself wrapped up in one of Stede’s robes (the fuchsia one with the birds that Ed seems to have become rather attached to), and the curve of his lips alone is already working wonders to warm Stede up from head to toe.
“First, you gotta get some food in you. Big, hot meal. Hot drink. Warm yourself up from the inside first.” Suddenly, Ed’s eyes light up. “Soup,” he says decisively. “Fucking soup, that’s what you need.”
And before Stede can say another word, Ed is striding purposefully out of the cabin, the robe billowing around him as he walks.
It’s a surprisingly short amount of time before Ed returns with two steaming bowls of broth, hurrying into the cabin and hissing as the heat of the bowls stings his palms. He places both dishes on the dining table, before pulling out two spoons from one of the robe pockets and three small chunks of bread from the other. Unsurprisingly, Ed ignores all protest from Stede about the crumbs in the pockets, darling, that’s awful.
“Second,” Ed continues as Stede slurps the final drops of his soup, with an eyebrow raise and a pointed glare that silences Stede entirely. “Layers are your friend. Pile that shit on, mate. You have more than enough robes and sheets and soft shit to make a fuckin’ burrow for yourself, so do it. And the second you think ‘oh, fuck, hang on, that’s way too many blankets for one person’, add another two.”
Stede grins. “Another two blankets, or another two people?”
Ed looks unimpressed. “Unless both of those people are me, you already know the answer to that, Captain, so. Fuck up.”
He would’ve helped retrieve the blankets, honestly, but Ed doesn’t let Stede move a muscle; it takes Ed two trips to bring out everything Stede owns that he deems warm enough and large enough for their purpose, carrying out huge piles of robes and duvets and arranging them artfully across the bed until the weight on top of Stede is just teasing the edges of pleasant.
“And third,” Ed says conspiratorially once he’s finished, a playful glint dancing in his eye. “This is the most important one, so you better be listening.”
Stede eagerly sits upright in bed at that, the picture of a model student. Ed frowns and pushes on Stede’s shoulders until he gets the message and retreats back under the bedclothes.
“You gotta have a cuddle buddy.”
It’s hard to recall the specific point in time where Stede realised he could predict what Ed would say before he’d say it. From the moment they first met, it was hard to believe they hadn’t always known each other, their thoughts and ideas were so in sync. Stede has always been grateful for it though, and never more so than now; he knew what Ed’s third suggestion would be before the words had the chance to form.
Still, he plays it off, because that’s how they play games like this. Stede frowns, faux-thinking, like he’s considering the validity of Ed’s suggestion.
“A cuddle buddy,” he repeats thoughtfully. “How would you define one of those?”
Ed stares at him disbelievingly. The corner of his mouth twitches. “A buddy that you cuddle with, obviously.”
“Ah, yes. Of course.” Between his fingers, Stede fiddles with a tassel on one of the many blankets thrown over him. “And can this be any buddy one has?”
“Doesn’t even have to be a buddy, really.” Ed shrugs. “Can be someone more than a buddy. If you have one of those.”
Smirking, Stede murmurs, “I do, as it happens.” He pauses for a moment. “And this step is important for maintaining a healthy body temperature, you say?”
“Mhm,” Ed hums, smiling right back at him. “Essential, mate. Vital, even. It’s science.”
“I see. Well, I think a cuddle is an excellent idea. Especially if it’s science.” Stede untucks himself from under the weight of the blankets, opening his arms out wide. “Do you know anyone who’d be amenable to that? It’s just that my arms are so empty, you see—”
“Enough,” Ed declares suddenly, and he immediately closes the distance between them, diving onto the bed and scrambling beneath the covers and into Stede’s waiting embrace.
Ed kicks his legs under blankets, trying to warm the mattress beneath him before he settles, and he tugs whatever layers of blanket he can reach up until they cover both of their heads, trapping the heat in. Amused, Stede just watches him, lets Ed arrange them both how he wants them, and then he wraps his arms around Ed’s waist, tugging him into Stede’s chest as close as he can be.
In another attempt to warm him further, Ed cups Stede’s cheeks and blows gently over his face, huffing warm breath over his nose. It’s so heart-wrenchingly considerate, so painfully sweet that Stede’s eyes prick with it, and he gulps to force down the lump in his throat.
“I dreamed of this, you know,” Stede whispers, unable to stop the words from leaving his lips.
Ed doesn’t need to ask when he’s referring to. They still talk about it sometimes, whenever a new memory of their time apart resurfaces that feels important enough to not be left unsaid.
“Dreamed of what?” He asks instead, his eyes wide and shining in the faint flickers of moonlight sneaking through the window.
“This.” Stede squeezes, tightening his hold around Ed’s middle. “Holding you. Feeling your breath on my skin. Having you fall asleep in my arms after a long day. All the time. It was the only thought that kept me going.”
With a shaky moan, Ed shivers in Stede’s arms, though something tells Stede it has little to do with the cold. He lets Ed sit with that for a while longer, as he often needs to whenever Stede says anything heartfelt like this, and Ed remains silent as Stede strokes his back soothingly, up and down, up and down.
“And?” Ed croaks eventually, barely audible over the gentle rush of the waves beneath them.
“And what?” Stede asks.
Ed’s hands come to Stede’s front, fiddling idly with his nightshirt as he gathers the strength to be vulnerable.
“Is it as good as the dream?”
Stede’s heart cracks a little, a dull ache blooming in his chest at the thought that somehow, Ed might not know the answer to this already.
“Oh, my darling Ed,” Stede whispers. Slowly, Stede reaches up to cup Ed’s cheek, and he gently strokes Ed’s cheekbone with his thumb as he tells him, “You put even my loveliest dreams to shame.”
There’s nothing more to be said after that, Ed seemingly decides. Not with words, anyway.
Ed tells Stede how he loves him with gentle kisses pressed to his lips over and over in the flimsy sanctuary of their blanket hideaway. Ed tells Stede how grateful he is to be here with him with the easy sweeping motions of his hand on Stede’s back, his movements dragging slower and slower as sleep comes to claim them both. Ed tells Stede how much he wants him with a leg thrown over Stede’s own, trapping Stede against the mattress, securing him to the bed and keeping him safe.
Stede falls asleep with Edward Teach in his arms and lying most of the way across his chest, with his fingers in Ed’s hair and Ed’s sleepy, contented smile buried into Stede’s neck. He’ll never feel cold again.