Ambrose woke up on a pillow far more comfortable than it ever had any right to be, and cursed.

Eli had put him in his bed again. How many times was he going to do this? The man was healing from a gunshot would. If he had gone and folded himself up in a hammock out of some stupid sense of chivalry…

He sat up, winced, and pressed a palm to his forehead. The windows were pitch black, the room illuminated by nothing but moonlight. Even still, Ambrose could see no silhouette in the chairs. Satisfied that Eli at least wasn’t bent up in one of them, he turned to himself and inspected his arms. He ached all over, certainly, but the bruises were lightening, and his vision had re-balanced. Most definitely the work of Sherry, and he suspected his new junior potioneer Zoe.

He’d have to compensate her for that at some point. And perhaps do a small ceremony, if she wanted. Ceremonies were nice.

Groaning against his stiff, pained limbs, he shrugged into his coat and limped his way out to the deck. Eli was nowhere out here, either. Which means he was either with the rest of the crew, or…

“Aha!” He shoved open his workroom door, still bullet-riddled from the day’s adventures, and shone a lantern on his cot. Eli jumped and squinted against the light, and as angry as Ambrose tried to sound, he was stupidly giddy to see the man alive and breathing. “Captain Valenz, you are meant to be healing, not holing yourself up in this hovel. I haven’t even cleaned up the glass yet, how dare you waste my potion like this—“

“Me?” Eli stood. Ambrose lowered his lantern, making Eli’s face unreadable in the darkness.

“Yes, you!”

Eli strode towards him, forcing Ambrose back out onto the deck. “How dare I? I’m meant to be healing? You’re the one who’s supposed to be healing, you bastard—“

“Bastard?” Ambrose set aside the lantern in surprise. “Why am I a bastard?”

But Eli kept coming, driving Ambrose in a line back to the captain’s quarters. “You take my fire staff, you double up on incompatible vials, you drink an untested potion—“

Ambrose’s fists clenched. “To save your bloody ship, Eli—“

“And I didn’t get to see any of it!” Eli raised his arms, and as he stepped forward, the moonlight revealed his expression. He was grinning from ear to ear, his eyes crinkled with his smile. “Do you know how much gold I would give to see the Intrepid aflame again? To see you staring Pearce down while you nullify his entire ship with one hand? God, I’d give,” he cupped Ambrose’s face as if he were a treasure himself, “I’d give everything, you brilliant, handsome fool of a pirate—“

Ambrose gave up and kissed him.

For an instant, he was completely lost, tasting sea salt and sunlight and the last traces of the man’s breathless smile—then he pulled back, the words spilling from his mouth as if Eli’s lips had dragged them out of him. “I did it for you,” he babbled. “He shot you, and I couldn’t let him get away with it, I had to burn it—“

Eli sealed his words with another kiss, pushing him against the door. His hands ran quickly through Ambrose’s hair, along his coat, as if the man was going to disappear at any moment. In turn, Ambrose moaned against his lips, slid his hands around his waist—

His fingers struck Eli’s ribs the moment Eli grabbed his forearm, and they both reeled back with pained yelps.

“Sorry,” Eli gasped, “the shot is still—“

“Bruising’s still healing,” Ambrose breathed at the same time. “Apologies.”

They stared at each other, then burst into laughter.

“Alright, my scallawag,” Eli reached behind Ambrose and opened the door, “back to bed with you.”

Ambrose couldn’t hide his smile as Eli helped him out of his coat and held the blankets up for him to slip into—but one thought did make his excitement fade as he slid under the covers. “Eli, you’re not really going to go back and sleep in my cot, are you?”

Eli smiled and tucked the blankets around his shoulders. “While I adore the enthusiasm, I think we’ve both proven that we need to heal before we—“

Ambrose’s cheeks bloomed scarlet. “No, no, I meant,” he fiddled with the edge of the sheet, “I just meant that I think there’s enough room here for both of us, and you’d heal much better in a more comfortable space, and…”

Eli laughed and kissed his forehead. “If you’re asking me to stay, I’ll stay.”

Ambrose swallowed. He had never shared a bed with another man, not in any sort of way. But he nodded firmly and steeled his voice. “Yes, please.”

Eli slipped in next to him, and after a few tosses and turns, ows and not there, that still hurts, they settled into a sleeping position that worked for them—staring up at the ceiling, pinky fingers hooked together, wincing at their various wounds and bruises.

“I feel like I should reassure you,” Eli said, “that I am far better at cuddling under normal circumstances.”

Ambrose smiled. “I believe you.”

“And you deserve it. You deserve the cuddling—“

“Thank you, I appreciate that.”

“And, before we go any further…” Eli tried to turn on his side, flinched, and fell back with a sigh, addressing his remaining words to the ceiling. “Ambrose, you’re not a casual dalliance to me. I know that’s not what you want, and I would never do that to you.” His pinky tightened around Ambrose’s. “Please know that I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me.”

If Ambrose’s heart was already swelling out of his chest, it now threatened to break through his ribcage and float to the ceiling. “Eli,” he breathed, “how dare you say such things when I can’t even give you a proper hug.”

Eli’s laugh came out broken as it slipped against his ribs. “Tomorrow,” he said, nodding to the ceiling. “Healing potions with breakfast, then I will trade you one proper cuddle for one proper hug.”

Ambrose nodded against the pillow. “We have an accord.”