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“And it's just like the ocean under the moon
Oh, it's the same as the emotion that I get from you
You got the kind of lovin' that can be so smooth, yeah
Give me your heart, make it real, or else forget about it”
“Smooth” by Santana feat. Rob Thomas of Matchbox Twenty
***
“Christ, what on earth are you doing?” Stede exclaimed.
Ed was standing, with an expression that was half triumphant and half-insane, a handful of beard (now jagged and bare in patches) in one of his hands and a pair of scissors in the other.
“They’re looking for Blackbeard, aren’t they?” He beamed. The scissors clipped off another handful of hair that soon met the pile forming on the floor.
“God, Ed, when is the last time you shaved?”
Ed looked deep in thought and looked off into nothing, eventually widening his eyes and conceding “Not a bad question, mate.” He paused. “It is part of the whole Blackbeard thing,” He ran a hand through his graying hair. “Hasn’t been black in a while though. Any of it.” His statement hung in the air for a moment before he moved to resume his trimming.
Stede shook his head and gestured for the scissors “No, no, no. Let me show you how it’s done.”
***
Stede sharpened the straight razor with a leather strop. “I have a number of soaps for this purpose-”
“The lavender one?” Ed suggested.
Stede looked up for a moment and smiled. A man after my own heart. “I need you to sit and lean back.”
Stede loaded the brush, with artisan badger bristles, with the soap. He swirled the brush in the shaving scuttle, flicking in a few more drops of water. Stede then applied the lather to Ed’s face in small circles.
It was surreal. Stede Bonnet, the man who smelled like rosewater and privilege, playing barber for Blackbeard of all people? The last encounter Edward had had with a barber was one whose title was followed by the word “surgeon.” “Tickles a bit,” he commented. After some time, he’d shut his eyes and they had fallen into a serene silence only broken by the quiet hiss of blade against skin.
Stede tilted Ed’s head up to get at his chin and neck. The blade moved across Ed’s throat, his Adam’s apple. Its vulnerability of it made something in both of their stomachs lurch. Ed wasn’t unfamiliar with having a blade held to his throat. His eyes fluttered open briefly, looking down at Stede through dark lashes. Stede’s expression was one of concentration, perhaps a bit flustered. Beyond the danger at this particular moment, there was something arguably sensual about the whole experience- the heady, herbal smell of lavender, the sensation of Stede gently holding his skin taut, the attentive, gentle strokes of the blade. It was a sort of tenderness that Ed wasn’t accustomed to. Perhaps a tenderness he didn’t deserve.
Stede moved to wipe the lather off the blade.
“‘Suppose it would have been bad to sneeze right then,”
Stede exhaled a short breath through his nose and smiled, “Of course.”
Stede applied lather for a second pass, one against the grain
“Not many pirates are lucky enough to get permission from Blackbeard to make him bleed.”
“Guess that makes me special,” Stede replied before adding, “You underestimate me, I couldn’t do that to you. At least not outside of fighting lessons.”
“Could I hold you to that?” Ed smiled.
Stede couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed with Ed’s expressions and talking prolonging the process. Ed’s closed eyes, his placid expression, were a rare sight that Stede couldn’t help but appreciate.
Satisfied with his handiwork, Stede wiped the remaining lather off of Ed’s face. “Oh you’ve got some-” he said, noticing a bit of lather that still clung to Ed's upper lip, brushing it away with his thumb.
“How do I look?” Ed tentatively stroked his face with the back of his hand.
“Quite handsome. Perhaps a bit naked,” Stede replied, quickly regretting his word choice, and passed Ed a hand mirror.
Ed’s eyes widened upon spotting himself in the mirror, tilting his face at various angles, and raising his brows.
Stede’s expression was one of contentment and pride. “God, how could I forget…” Stede fumbled for a bottle amongst his supplies. He knew the importance of matching one’s aftershave to the soap one had selected. He poured a few drops of the aftershave into his palm and rubbed his hands together, gently patting the aftershave onto Ed’s face.
The aftershave on Ed’s face began to evaporate with nary a sting. He really didn’t nick me once.
Stede was at a loss for words, his hand lingering on Ed’s cheek. He chuckled sheepishly “So smooth…”
Before he could conjure any other words, Ed was coming toward him, moving Stede’s hand to his side, and pressing their mouths together.