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The slow shifting ocean air smells sweet from the lush vegetation wafting in from the small island just nearby. The sun sits tall in the sky, casting its bright gaze on the earth. It’s the kind of day that smiles at you. There’s a storm high in the distance, but at the moment, all is calm. Or, all would be calm if it weren’t for Captain Stede Bonnet standing atop the mast of the Revenge.
“You really think this is gonna work?” Stede asks, casting a forlorn glance down what seems like miles to the ship’s deck. The thick bit of rope he’s holding looks much less sturdy now that he’s so high up.
“‘Course it’s gonna fucking work, man,” shouts Blackbeard, Ed, from below, “Just be sure to clear the ship, and you’ll be alright.” He says that last bit with a small tinge of a smile playing on his lips. He’s hoping for the best.
Stede smiles back, full out, then settles his face into a look of pure determination. Without looking down, he shouts, “Canon Ball!” and Ed watches his body swing swiftly towards the sky. The rope he tied to the highest mast propels Stede far from the ship. Before he crashes hard into the water, he can imagine Stede getting a glimpse of the sky, the clouds, the trees. Then, he’s hitting the sea, laughing.
Shortly after, Ed does the same. Launch off the boat. Crash into the waves. Instead of the awkward doggy paddle Stede used to get to the island, Ed swims in fast strokes. The water moves out of his way, like everything else. His reputation precedes him even now. As he gets closer, he feels a smile break out underneath his beard that’s more salt than pepper. He looks at Stede, glistening and golden in the sun. His arms are sea-water wet, and his curls hang damply across his forehead. He’s like a mirage, too good to be true.
Ed gets closer still, and Stede shifts over an inch where he’s sitting as if to make room for him. Like there isn’t an entire beach to sit on. Ed takes the spot Stede left, their knees and elbows touching.
“See, I told you it was gonna work,” Ed says, nudging Stede with his arm.
Stede looks soft, “It was quite fun. Invigorating. Now, there’s just the matter of getting back.”
Stede looks around the beach, taking it all in. There’s no dingy, seeing as they swam here. Without the help of the rope swing, the ship feels entirely too far away. But before Stede can panic too much about the state of their return, Ed sets a gentle hand on top of his.
“I’ve asked Lucius to pick us up at dusk. The day’s ours.”
Ours. The word hangs in the air like a thick fog.
Stede stumbled for his words, “So, what do you have in mind?”
Ed holds up a large flask that he pulled inexplicably out of his ensemble (he ditched the leather jacket today, tattoos and muscled arms on full display, which was definitely not a move), eyes flashing with mischief, “I thought we could start here.”
It doesn’t take long to get Stede drunk. A few pulls from the flask and he’s swaying like a leaf in the breeze. Not falling over intoxicated, but inebriated enough to let slip any thought that enters his head. They’re talking about sword fighting, but it’s more like Ed talking while Stede slips in and out of deep thought. Stede’s staring at his arms. His tattoos. Ed likes to imagine that Stede thinks of them fondly. He hopes Stede thinks of them picking him up, easy and effortless. Throwing his legs around Ed’s waist. Nuzzling in.
Those are the thoughts he’s having when Stede blurts out, “You’re strong.” Stede looks surprised to have said that, and Ed can’t help the smirk that spreads across his face. He was thinking about his arms! Stede raises his eyes to Ed’s and tries to recover, “to have so many tattoos.”
“You’ve fuckin’ stabbed me with a sword, but my tattoos make me strong?” Ed asks, incredulous.
Stede thinks for a moment, “Anyone can get stabbed with a sword. I’ve been. It takes a certain,” he searches for the right word, “Gusto! To get a tattoo.”
And that’s when a thought hits him like a cannonball. “Well if it takes gusto, you should get one. You’ve got loads of gusto.”
If Stede hadn’t drunk so much, he’d have seen the inklings of a plan start to form in Ed’s mind. But he had drunk so much. So, whatever happens next is a result of his own intoxication. The great Blackbeard is not to blame.
“I suppose to do have some gusto,” Stede considers, deep in thought, ignorant to his friend’s bright grin.
“Oh, yeah,” Ed encourages him, “And you know,” he says like he’s being helpful, “we’re not too far from an island with a wonderful tattoo parlor. If you’re up to it.”
Stede’s nodding fast, his face set, “I am up to it.” Each word takes its own breath to leave his mouth, and it takes everything in Ed not to laugh.
The next phase of Ed’s plan takes several hours to execute. Passing the bottle between Stede and himself, letting the lukewarm liquid touch his lips without ever opening. So while his mouth smells of liquor and his speech becomes progressively more slurred, Ed’s mind stays sharp as a whip.
It’s quickly nearing dusk when Ed commences the final phase of his plan. Stede’s been sleeping, his head pressed against Ed’s arm, his golden curls tickling Ed’s shoulder. He’s let Stede slightly longer than he’d wanted to, the alcohol quickly wearing off, but he hadn’t wanted to leave this perfect moment. Not with Stede’s breathing falling in even pants against his skin. Or the sun slowly retreating into the sea. Not with their day on a private island beginning to drift away. But a plan’s a plan, and this is a good one.
“Stede,” Ed says softly, his free hand gently combing Stede’s curls from his face.
Stede yawns, small and sleepy, digging his face further into the feared Blackbeard’s arm. Stede’s hand moves on its own accord, finding its place of resting on Ed’s chest. His eyes slowly blink awake, and he realizes where he is, who he’s touching. He moves away, just an inch, but the distance sends a chill through Ed. He wants to curl into Stede, press their bodies together, taste the sweat from his forehead. But he has a goal. One that he will stop at nothing to achieve.
So, Ed stands up, sloppily. He spills a splash of liquor onto his chest for good measure. “Good! You’re awake,” he slurs. He blocks the sun with his body, leaning down slightly towards Stede’s groggy figure.
Stede rubs a hand over his eyes, “I’m… awake?” His slow confusion tells Ed that he hadn’t waited too long. There was still enough liquor in Stede to pull this off.
“Yes!” Ed nearly shouts, “You’re awake! And now,” he stumbles backward, pulling a knife out of its holster and throwing it at a nearby wandering turtle, missing by about two inches. Perfect. “I thought we could play a game.”
Stede raises an eyebrow, sitting up and grabbing the flask in Ed’s hand. Ed passes it to him gracelessly and watches with intent as Stede places it to his lips. Stede drinks softly, still waking up. When he’s finished, he says, “What kind of game were you thinking?”
“Knives!” Ed picks up his knife near the turtle and throws it at a tree. It ends up hitting sideways and falling to the ground. “Whoever can hit more coconuts wins—‘course we’ll have to set up the coconuts, and I thought, why not make this interesting?”
He has Stede's attention, “Interesting how?”
Ed laughs, drunken with delight, “The winner picks the loser’s tattoo tomorrow.” He slurs his syllables together, careful not to oversell it.
Stede raises an eyebrow, looking between the sandy knife laying sadly on the beach and Ed’s wobbly body in front of him. Ed watches the thoughts race across Stede’s face. He’s weighing the options, but in Stede’s state of intoxication, he’s thinking he could come out on top. And who wouldn’t want a chance to choose Blackbeard’s ink?
Ed can see the yes reaching Stede’s mind. “You have yourself a deal!” Stede says, standing up on shaky legs. “Now, let’s get those coconuts.” He bumps into Ed as he wanders off towards the jungle. Ed follows behind, finally letting a sly smile creep onto his face.
They set up six coconuts. They’ll each get three chances to hit their coconuts off of where they’re perched on a fallen log. Whoever hits more will be declared the winner with full rights to choosing a tattoo for the other.
The sun is quickly setting, but Ed wants to make this fair. He turns to Stede, “Are you sure you want to do this?” He’s close enough to smell the liquor on Stede’s lips, and he knows Stede can smell him, too. The rum he painted so carefully around his mouth.
Stede smiles, cocky with the feeling that he’s about to hustle someone, “Oh, I’m sure.” He turns to their coconut log, “Game on!” And throws the first knife.
It lands just shy of the middle coconut, thumping against the log. With a bit of adjusting, he can hit the next two off with no issue. Ed suppresses a smile.
Stede collects his knife, saying “You next?” With Stede back by his side, Ed carelessly takes his knife in his hand, pressing the flask once more to his lips. He can hear Stede hold back a laugh. He takes aim, letting his body wobble as his wrist stays perfectly still. When he throws, he lurches his body forward as if to trip, but his arm remains solid as a rock. The knife lodges itself in the coconut and tumbles backward off the log. Score.
Stede inhales sharply, “Lucky throw.”
Ed strives to look wide-eyed with surprise, “You’re telling me, man. I was seeing three of them!” He pulls the knife out of the coconut and walks back to Stede, who’s already aiming his next shot.
“Middle,” Stede calls, throwing his knife with vigor. This one ends up knocking off the coconut farthest left, but a point is a point. Stede looks proud of himself. A small smile forming in the corners of his bright eyes. He’s golden against the dying sun. Ed wants to capture the moment, hold it against him somehow. But then Stede is retrieving his knife, and if there’s one thing Ed wants more than this moment, it’s winning.
Ed doesn’t work as hard to look drunk this time, but he resists the urge to call out middle just to show off. He hits it, though, his center coconut, and without looking back, he knows Stede is starting to sweat.
“Well, then,” Stede breathes, worried, “one more to go.”
Ed almost feels guilty, watching Stede set up his final throw. His form isn’t half bad, and Ed makes a mental note to give him a few pointers once they return to the ship. He imagines gripping Stede’s hips, straightening out the line of his arm. But he shakes the thought away with the knowledge that tomorrow, he’ll be choosing Stede’s first tattoo.
Stede hits his final coconut. His knife lodges itself in the hard skin and it falls. Stede’s too anxious to look proud again. Without preamble, Ed tosses his knife, hitting his last coconut dead on, knocking it to the sand with a soft thud.
When he turns, Stede’s eyes are wide with shock. Ed doesn’t want to rub it in too much, so he just says, “Sorry, man.” Then, “Guess that means I’m picking your tattoo!”
Realization is slowly settling on Stede’s face, but Ed has a plan for that too. He grips Stede’s slumping shoulders, steering him towards the beach. He presses down gently once they’re facing the water, and Stede luckily takes the hint, sinking into the sand. Ed sits, too, cleaning his knife on the edge of his shirt.
“You hustled me,” Stede spits out eventually.
Ed doesn’t look up, “That doesn’t sound like me.”
“That sounds exactly like you!” Stede’s getting fired up, “You’re Blackbeard for God’s sake! Oh, what was I thinking?”
Ed shushes him, soft and slow, “No, no, right now, I’m just Ed.” He points to the setting sun, the pinks and oranges and blue all lit up just from him and Stede, “And here we are, on a beautiful beach, watching the sunset.”
Stede mellows a little, relaxing his body against Ed’s, “It is quite beautiful.” They sit in silence for a moment. In the distance, Ed can see Lucius climb aboard the dingy. Their day’s almost over. “Just, please not anything vulgar for the tattoo,” Stede whispers.
Ed rests his hand in the sand behind Stede’s back, supporting both of them, “I wouldn’t dream of it.” And he won’t. He’s dreaming of something else entirely.
Lucius and the dingy reach them sooner rather than later. Stede doesn’t have the good grace to separate himself from Ed’s side, and Ed catches the quizzically interested glance from Lucius. Let him look , he thinks. When they get into the boat, he feels cold on the side where Stede left him. He wishes he could reach back out, grab Stede’s hand or his thigh or his face. But he doesn’t. The three of them pile onto the ship and he doesn’t touch Stede. He follows Stede to his room—their room, it feels like—but he keeps his distance. Their day at the beach slipping further and further away.
They’re settling into their spots. Ed lounging by the window. Stede picking up a book from his extravagant library. There’s a knock on the door, Stede yells “Come in!” and Oluwande enters.
“Captain?” He says.
“Yes?” Stede and Ed both say at once.
“Okay,” Oluwande says slowly, “Buttons said he sees a storm coming our way.”
Stede casts a glance at Ed, allowing him to take over. “I saw that this morning,” Ed says, still looking out the window. He can see the clouds rolling fast over the sea. There’s still moon now, but soon all will be dark. “Drop anchor here. We won’t sail til it’s over.”
“Aye aye,” Oluwande says, then shakes his head as if regretting his words, “I’ll go tell them.”
Once the door is closed, Stede starts on Ed, “A storm? You didn’t say anything about a storm.”
“I thought it might pass,” Ed lies. He knew it wouldn’t, but he didn’t want it to ruin their day. He’d always known the clouds would roll over them in the end. Stede didn’t have to know that.
“Oh,” Stede says. “I better go warn the men. Will you come with me?”
“Sure,” Ed’s nonchalant, not saying that the men probably know more of storms than Stede. Ed himself had seen the storm brewing this morning. That’s why he had the men stay on board, securing their supplies and readying the deck. Their stop at the deserted island was a bit of good luck for Ed. Everything else had been a part of the plan.
Stede tells the men of the storm, loud and sure of himself. He doesn’t seem to notice the sarcastic, “You’re kidding,” spouted by Lucius or the mocking gasps from the rest of the crew. Ed should have been embarrassed with a co-captain so oblivious to the basics of sailing, but he can’t help the feelings of warmth creeping through him. He doesn’t have the strength in him to suppress them, so he lets the joy crowd his face, knowing that his beard conceals most.
“I know that storms are never ideal,” Stede continues, “But we will get through this! We have each other, and that is more than enough.”
Stede’s speech hits the deck with a splat. The crew blinks at him. Then, Oluwande says, “We’re just gonna go below deck and wait it out.”
“Excellent idea!” Stede says. Then, he turns, clapping Ed on the back, “Back to it, then.”
Back to it, then . The words echo around Ed’s brain. Now that they’re back on board and Ed’s content with his earlier winnings, he allows himself to partake in some of life’s finer pleasures. Namely, getting drunk. He’s swapped his flask for one of Stede’s fine crystal glasses. His mind is getting foggier and foggier, replaying clips of their day. The sunset. Stede’s curls wet on his forehead. The weight of his sleeping body. He wants to be closer. He’s thinking of excuses to breach the distance when Stede clears his throat.
“Suppose we won’t make it to that tattoo parlor after all,” Stede says, hopeful.
Ed shakes his head, “Oh, we’ll get there. Need to pick up some more rum, too.” Ed holds up the crystal bottle, waving its low contents in front of his face. But there’s something that Stede said that makes him stand, actually wobbly this time, and march to where Stede’s lounging on the couch.
“Well, if you want more rum, there’s—”
“Here!” Ed cuts him off, pressing a dull finger into Stede’s bicep. “I want your tattoo to go here.”
The white fabric of Stede’s shirt conceals the skin underneath, but Ed so desperately wants to see it. For tattoo reasons, obviously. Ed starts pulling at the fabric, and Stede struggles against him.
“What’re you?”
“Gotta see what we’re working with, yeah?” Ed softens his grip on the shirt, letting Stede take the lead. Ha, he thinks. That rhymed. “Stede in the lead,” he says.
“What?” Stede asks, breathless.
“Take this off,” Ed says, his voice rum dark and gravelly.
Stede nods, silent, and takes off his shirt. His skin is pale, so different from Ed’s dark features. There’s a smattering of hair on his chest with his soft belly just below. His arms are beginning to get a touch of muscle from the odd sword fight or bit of heavy lifting. He’d seen all the pieces before. A glimpse belly exposed from his dressing gown. A peak of his upper arm where he rolled his sleeves up. Never all together like this. He’d make this chest an altar if he were the praying type.
“Where’d you want it?” Stede’s voice is soft as the candlelight illuminating his face.
Ed doesn’t take his eyes off Stede’s skin, “Here.” He points to the small crop of muscle on Stede’s arm. The hairs are standing up. Ed runs a deft finger down their path and watches them move. Stede inhales and keeps his breath there. The room is silent save for the waves against the ship. And then a flash!
“Was that—” Stede asks, louder now, but he’s cut off by a boom of thunder. There’s quiet for a moment before the rain begins to echo through the room. The ship rocks, candlelight moving this way and that. Ed notices, not for the first time, the two chandeliers above and the wall of books in front of him.
“Just some fuckin’ rain,” Ed grumbles, the tenderness from before retreating out of his reach.
Stede does his best to look in control, speaking through gritted teeth, “Right.” He’s on his feet now, moving to replace his forgotten shirt with his dressing gown. Ed almost whimpers at the loss of skin, but he’s too busy regaining his misery to give it much thought. He hates the rain. It reminds him too much of that awful night. His clothes dripping with water hot as blood. His hands stained with the weight of what he had done. Memories seize him, unable to do much more than scowl straight ahead. But it’s not like he could go around being scared of a little thunder. He’s fucking Blackbeard.
Stede , he’s thinking, his lips unable to form the word. Stede, who is currently on the move to his bookshelves, eyeing them with caution. The ship rocks again. The chandeliers rattle, and a few books fly from their homes on the shelves. Stede picks them up, sighing. It’s that action, that mundane, delirious action that pulls the word out of Ed’s mouth, “Stede?”
The question pulls Stede up short. He turns around, “Yes, Ed?”
Ed knows his face is giving everything away. He’s trying hard not to resent this room and its safety or his face and its betrayal. But this is Stede. He doesn’t have to keep secrets here.
After a beat, Ed says, “Tell me a story? A nice one. And bring the rum.”
He doesn’t have the strength in him to say please or thank you . His mind is overpowered with the storm, the expectations. But Stede doesn’t seem to mind this time.
“Yes, Ed.” Soft. As the finest cashmere.
So Stede picks up one of the books that fell to the ground, pulling a full bottle of rum from a cabinet he passes. Ed’s seated in the nook by the window, staring blankly at the painting of the lighthouse that witnessed his first real meeting with Stede. His gaze doesn’t shift from that lighthouse until Stede sits down in the chair next to him, and when he does look, he finds sympathy spread fast on Stede’s face. For a moment, he’s filled with disgust. No one pities Black— he cuts off the thought. Ed. Right now, he’s just Ed.
“What story do we have tonight?” He’s talking to keep the thoughts away.
Stede’s face brightens at the question, “Tonight, we have a love story!” His excitement cuts through Ed’s sourness immediately. Stede pours rum into a glass and hands it to him. Ed sits up a little, begrudgingly, propping himself up on his bent knee and waits for Stede to begin reading.
Tonight’s story is a strange one about a mermaid who longs to become human. She’s told that only true love will make her into one. Stede speaks louder with every boom of thunder, holds Ed’s attention during each flash of bright lightning. He’s changing the storm from a terror to a symphony with just his voice and his face, captivating his audience of one.
By the end of the tale, the bottle of rum is down to its last dredges. Ed tips the bottle high into the air, sucking the drops from the cool crystal. He hadn’t spoken a word while Stede told the story. He’d been content to just listen, wrapping himself in the safety of Stede.
“Why does she want to become human anyway?” Ed asks as Stede closes the book.
“Because she loves humans,” Stede says, resolute.
Ed considers this. But he knows more about humans than a fucking mermaid. He says, “She just watched that one stupid prince. She didn’t know the fuckin’ half of it.”
“Maybe it just takes one,” Stede’s looking right at him.
“To give up everything you know?” Ed’s speaking more to himself than to Stede.
Their eyes meet. Courage is rising up in Ed, but he doesn’t know what for. There are a thousand words unsaid hanging between them. Ed’s body feels hollow, his bones aching to win the battle against his mind and close the distance between them. Before they can win, Stede stands up.
“Better get another bottle,” Stede says. He takes the empty glass from Ed’s hand, their fingers brushing just for a moment. When Stede turns, Ed holds his fingers to his lips, feeling their white-hot contact quickly fade away. Stede returns with the bottle he promised, and Ed worries himself with forming another plan. A good one. One to close the distance. But his mind is muddy with rum, and his heart can’t hold itself still much longer.
The first phase of his plan, like any good plan, is to get Stede drunk. He realizes, in the back of his mind, that this was the first stage of his earlier plan, but he ignores the thought, knowing this is no time for originality. Seeing as Ed is already quite drunk, he studies Stede less. Had his mind been sharp, he’d have noticed the way Stede leans into his words or the slow unraveling of Stede’s dressing gown. He’d have seen the blush coloring Stede’s cheeks, and he’d have known it for what it is. An invitation.
But the rum in him blocks such images from registering properly. Instead, he focuses on Stede’s lips, parting and closing with every word. Or Stede’s eyes, becoming wide and small with inflection. They’re talking about something, words slurring and thoughts half unsaid when Ed interrupts.
“You should’ve seen the water lilies—”
“Show me your secret room again.”
Stede’s confusion flies fast on his features, “Do you want to see my summer linens?”
“Yeah,” Ed says, “Sure.” No, he thinks. I want to see you . But that doesn’t make any sense at all. He’s with Stede right now, away from all the prying eyes on the ship. It’s not enough. He needs to sink further away. Somewhere no one can find them.
“Alright, then,” Stede says, offering a hand to help Ed up, “Follow me!”
Ed takes Stede’s hand, refusing to let go as they walk the short distance to the bookshelf and beyond into the small hidden closet. They must look so stupid, so juvenile, but Ed can’t bring himself to care. He’s tethered to Stede’s warmth, his goodness. There’s nothing that can break them apart.
Once they’re in the room, Ed feels small. He listens as Stede shows him his summer linens again, each one precious in its own way to Stede. He looks at the glass bottle in Stede’s hand, almost empty. He takes in the man in front of him. His red face flush with liquor. His golden curls askew. His open dressing gown exposes the delicate skin underneath. And something in Ed clicks into place. Now.
“Stede?” Ed asks again, a question and a command.
Stede’s still holding a bit of white fabric between his fingers, but he gives all his attention to Ed, “Yeah?”
Now, he thinks. Ed moves closer, just an inch away. Every word is getting caught in his throat, so he doesn’t speak. He puts a hand on Stede’s exposed chest. The breath catches in Stede’s throat. Yes, he thinks. He’s hoping that neither remembers this in the morning.
Ed leans in, slowly, giving Stede plenty of time to pull away. He doesn’t. Their lips touch, rum drenched and sweet. It’s a slow thing, a kiss. Timid and shy in a manner that’s so foreign to Ed, Blackbeard, gone soft for a touch of lips against his.
They separate an inch, moved by a wave cresting on the side of the ship. Ed touches his forehead to Stede’s. Their breath mingles into one, and Ed longs for more. To be one being adrift at sea. He realizes how scared he’s been. A solitary idol spreading fear to all he touches. Except Stede.
He looks at Stede’s bliss, his closed eyes and warm cheeks. No, Stede’s not afraid. Not like Ed, who’s afraid of losing something he doesn’t even have. Something he’s maybe never had.
Ed doesn’t know how long they stay like this. Swaying in the candlelight, holding each other close. Somewhere far away, he can hear books falling off shelves and rain thrashing the side of the ship. But not here. Not in Stede’s arms.
Ed’s mind is shifting in and out of consciousness. They’re here together, then they’re on the floor. Kissing again. Good, Ed thinks. They’re sitting on the ground, Ed’s hand on Stede’s face. Their lips moving as one. Supple and warm. There’s no rush, no haughty press for more. It’s like time is standing still. Looping around and around to the first press of their lips together. Or maybe it’s just Ed’s mind, fuzzing and blanking, that’s doing the looping.
***
Ed wakes on that same nook in front of that same lighthouse. The sun’s piercing through the window, causing his heavy head to throb in stiff pain. He drank too much last night, that’s for certain. He remembers the storm, bits and pieces. He remembers feeling afraid, but he doesn’t quite know why.
It’s not until Stede comes into the room, carrying a delicate porcelain tea set, that he remembers everything clearly. The storm. The story. The kissing. And Stede is there all the while. Ed’s eyes go wide for a second, then he knits his features into a mask of indifference or pain or nonchalance. Anything that hides the fear he feels when he meets Stede’s gaze.
“Good morning!” Stede announces, wincing as the platter slams onto the table.
“Are you not hungover?” Ed asks, groggy, from across the room.
“Oh, I’m hungover,” Stede replies, “But what’s better for a hangover than a nice cup of tea?”
Ed doesn’t bother answering. Instead, he makes his way to his spot next to Stede at the table, pouring himself a cup and taking a large bite out of a scone. “It’s good,” he says, mouth full.
“It’s blueberry.” Stede’s taking some for himself, his bites much smaller than Ed’s.
They sit there, eating their scones and drinking their tea. Ed doesn’t want to make the first comment about last night. He doesn’t know how much Stede remembers, and there’s that fear again, creeping up in his throat.
“What a storm last night!” Stede says, breaking the silence at last. “I don’t remember much of it, but from the looks of the deck, it was a doozy.”
Ed exhales sharply, failing to keep his face blank, “It was a nasty fucker, that’s for sure.”
Stede raises an eyebrow, “Did something happen? Did I do something weird?” His voice got progressively higher as he went on.
Ed laughs, a real one, “No, nothing weird.”
“Then what? What do you remember?” Stede seems genuinely concerned, so Ed tries his best to choose his words carefully.
“I don’t remember much,” he lies, “But I do remember deciding on your tattoo.”
***
They arrive at the tattoo parlor two days later, Stede complaining all the while.
“I was coerced! Hustled!” Stede says as he walks with Ed to the dinghy that will take them to shore. Lucius is with them, writing something down in his journal.
“A deal’s a deal, man,” Ed says, more sympathy in his voice than he intended. “Besides, who doesn’t want to say that Blackbeard chose their tattoo?”
“Me!” Stede nearly shouts, “That’s who.”
But he gets on the dinghy and goes to shore all the same. The tattoo parlor sits in between a small pub and a market in the center of town. Before they reach the main street, Ed stops and turns to Lucius, “You have the drawing?”
“Oh, yes,” Lucius says with a hint of a smile.
“The drawing?” Stede asks, “Are you not coming with me?”
“I can’t go in there, man. I’m Blackbeard.” Stede’s face falls, worried, so Ed continues, “But don’t worry! Lucius will be with you the whole time. It doesn’t even hurt.”
Stede calms a little, “It doesn’t hurt?”
“No, ‘course not! Why do you think I have so many?”
Stede considers this, “Well, in that case, off we go, Lucius!”
Ed claps Stede on the back as they go, wishing he could go with him. He stays behind in the tree line, pacing, then sitting. An hour goes past and then two. He’s wondering how long it takes to get a fucking tattoo when he hears a rustle of branches and two familiar voices.
“That actually hurt quite a bit,” Stede says to Lucius.
“I could tell,” Lucius bites back, “You know with the screaming and all.”
Stede catches sight of Ed and startles a bit, knowing Ed heard the end of their conversation, “I thought I was very brave.”
Ed perks up, standing to greet his friends, or whatever it is they are, “I’m sure you were.”
“Do you want to see it?” Stede asks, bravado seeping through his words.
Ed nods, holding down his excitement, “I’d like to, yeah.”
The world fades away, the bustle from the busy town, the eye rolls from Lucius, everything, and then it’s just Ed watching as Stede slowly removes his arm from his shirt, revealing the familiar skin tinged with new darkness. Ed steps closer, hands grabbing Stede’s arm to get a better look. And there it is. The design he asked Lucius to draw just yesterday, now forever marked on Stede’s skin.
He’d originally wanted to fuck with Stede. Get them to put a gory picture of Blackbeard ripping some poor fucker’s head off or something equally terrifying. Give him a real bloody pirate tattoo. But the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to do it right. So, he stole Lucius away from his duties to draw up a tattoo fitting for the Gentleman Pirate.
There, high on Stede’s bicep, is the outline of an orange sitting in front of two crossing swords. It’s a pirate tattoo, no doubt, but one suited for a gentleman. It is perfect. Just like the man who wears it.
“They did a damn good job,” Ed says, still enveloped in the knowledge that he’d put this tattoo there to live on Stede’s body for the rest of time.
When Ed tears his eyes from Stede’s arm, he sees that he’s smiling. A great big one that takes up his whole face. I should kiss him , Ed thinks. But he doesn’t. Not here, in the jungle with Lucius as witness. Not when Ed’s so certain that Stede doesn’t remember their first.
It’s almost enough. This tattoo standing as a monument to their bond, whatever that is. Ed tells himself it’s enough. He tells himself it’s enough until they do kiss, without the stain of alcohol on their lips, and it’s sweet as oranges on the high sea.
***
Later, after everything, Stede sits with Ed on a beach much like the one where they first made their tattoo wager. Stede’s shirt is still discarded from their swim just moments ago, and Ed takes another look at his now-fading tattoo. It’s still the only one he has, though his body’s received its fair share of scars and burns to mark the skin. For the first time in a long time, maybe ever, he feels brave enough to ask a question that’s been haunting him for quite some time.
“Do you remember?” Ed asks, gathering Stede’s attention away from the tide, “The night after the beach? When you lost at knives and I got to pick your tattoo?”
“The night of the storm?” Stede asks in return.
“Yes, that one.”
Stede’s eyes remain fixed on the sea, “I remember.”
“Everything?” Ed wants so badly to know, but he can’t bring himself to say the words, no matter what they’ve shared between now and that night.
“Everything,” Stede says, and before Ed can ask more, Stede’s lips are on his again, soft and slow and without fear.