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There was a lot of joy in a mutiny, actually.
Oluwande hadn’t expected it. Even when he’d been mostly in on the idea of tossing Stede overboard he’d felt uneasy about it, despite the fact that Stede had been objectively shit at piracy.
Izzy Hands was great at being a pirate. It just also happened to follow that he was a complete fucking nightmare of a guy.
The weather, however, was giving Olu an attack of morality.
“We can’t throw him overboard in a storm,” he said, as Wee John finished tying Izzy’s legs. “He needs at least a slim chance of escape. Otherwise it’s just murder, innit?”
“We’re pirates,” said Roach. “Murder is part of the whole thing!”
“Yeah, and the guy fucking sucks,” added Frenchie, with a kick to Izzy’s ribs for good measure.
Olu knew this, obviously. And yet there was a tiny voice in the back of his head which said, hey, couldn’t this wait a few hours? Just until the thunder rolls on out?
“Let’s table this for now,” he said, firmly.
“Aye aye, captain,” said Lucius, with a salute of frankly worrying sincerity.
“I’m not being captain,” he said, for about the seven hundredth time that morning. As usual it fell on deaf ears, but he was hoping one of the crew would get annoyed enough to overthrow him and install someone else. Maybe Fang! Fang could run on a platform of having dogs onboard and probably win a captaincy vote in a landslide.
Lucius patted him on the arm. “Sure, Jan,” he said, before wandering off to canoodle with Pete. Olu didn’t bother asking who Jan was. He liked Lucius, but spending so much time with Stede had obviously done weird things to his vocabulary.
It would take a few hundred more attempts before Olu actually gave up on the whole thing, but as it was he retired below decks with an annoyed huff. The Swede gave him an encouraging thumbs up over Izzy, who was hogtied on the quarter deck and swearing a blue streak.
The crew quarters were nice enough, but Olu had to admit he was pleased Wee John and Frenchie had un-claimed the twin room and its sitting nook after the whole nightmare with Stede, Blackbeard and the British Navy. That Badminton guy had been such a fucking freak.
He paused at the door to his old cabin. The sawdust on the threshold looked like it had been disturbed. Fuck, it better not have been rats. Roach would have a field day with the meat cleaver, again.
The hinges screamed as the door swung open. Sea air was not ideal for preventing rust.
Jim stood in the centre of the room, wearing the fucking hat and the goddamn coat and smiling at Olu in a bashful, uncertain sort of way.
“Hey,” they said. Olu’s heart leapt.
They talked about something. Olu would never remember exactly what; he was too busy trying to stop his heart from breaking out of his chest.
He didn’t get very far with it before Jim kissed him. That was definitely one way of shutting him up, he supposed.
The feeling of Jim in his arms was way better than Olu could ever have imagined, and he’d spent a lot of time imagining it in the past few weeks. They were damp and dripping saltwater from their hair; their mouth tasted of salt and oranges. The lithe muscle of their forearms pressed firmly into the back of Olu’s neck. He’d never even thought about how you could feel things with skin that wasn’t on your hands; at the moment it was making him feel like every inch of exposed skin was literally on fire.
He put his hands on Jim’s waist, beneath the coat. Jim cupped his face in their own hands and kissed him harder, mouth open. Olu wondered, fleetingly, if you could die from happiness.
It was a long time before Olu could pull back long enough to speak without getting distracted and kissing Jim some more. In his defence they were extremely kissable with the whole thing they had going on with their face and eyes and general existence.
“How did you even get on board?” He asked, as Jim shucked off their coat and threw it over the back of a chair - the sitting nook was actually getting some use, which was nice. “I mean, loving the dramatic entrance, but…”
“Swam,” said Jim, as if the Revenge wasn’t currently two days from the nearest port and a few hours from anything more substantial than a sandbar with a few crabs clawing out a meagre crabby existence.
It became clear after a few seconds of silence that Jim wasn’t going to offer any more of an explanation. That was okay, though. Olu was in love with Jim for a lot of reasons; the air of mystery was definitely up at the top of the list.
“In that case, I’m glad you’re such a strong swimmer,” he said, as Jim pulled on a spare shirt from Olu’s clothes chest. It hung loose on them, the collar gaping open to reveal the sharp turn of their collarbones. Olu wondered, abstract, what it might be like to kiss them.
Then he remembered he totally could now, and just fucking went for it. Judging by the noise Jim made when Olu bit down, they didn’t mind him taking the initiative.
—
It was nice to get to be the little spoon, Olu decided. The feeling of Jim’s arm wrapped firm around his waist was excellent to wake up to, even if the fact Lucius was in the doorway screaming was a bit of a buzzkill.
“Oh my god,” said Olu, once Lucius was back out in the corridor, still screaming. “That boy is mental.”
“Tell me about it,” grumbled Jim, into the back of Olu’s shoulder. The feeling of their mouth on his skin was extremely distracting; Olu just had to turn his head and kiss them again, still consumed with disbelief that he could actually do that.
Jim smiled into the kiss, close mouthed, then pulled away. “Your breath reeks, man,” they said, fond. “Get outta my face and go drink some orange juice.”
“Your wish is my command,” he replied, and pushed himself up to find a reasonably clean shirt.
It took a pretty long time to get fully dressed, since Jim gave up on pretending to be cool and tackled him back into bed before he could get his belt buckled, but eventually he made it out into the galley. The lanterns hadn’t been lit yet, it being barely mid-afternoon; the tail end of the storm outside meant it was gloomy and dark, even with half the crew having an informal piss up over by the food stores.
Roach nodded in greeting. “Good night, Captain?”
“Oh my god, not you too,” said Olu, desperately. “Why does a ship need a captain, anyway. Can’t we just do, like, something else.” He waved his hands vaguely, wishing once again that Izzy fucking Hands had never darkened the ship’s doorways.
“We could do anarcho-syndicalism,” said Wee John, from the corner. “Ratify all our decisions at a—”
“Special bi-weekly meeting, yeah,” said Frenchie. “I don’t know, man, I kind of want less responsibility, not more.” He pointed at Olu, meaningfully, and then saluted.
Olu shook his head, and sipped the mug of juice Roach handed him. He’d always liked oranges, but now that they were the main thing standing between him and scurvy he’d gained an even deeper appreciation.
“I like getting to hang out like this,” said Olu. “And y’know, Stede was great, eventually, but he did hold himself a bit apart on account of being the captain. Even with Lucius.”
Olu didn’t want to hold himself apart. He liked spending all his time with the crew, listening to stories at bedtime and making bets on every tiny thing they could think of. He was still sitting on a nest egg of fifteen rum rations after the last impromptu spitting tournament.
And anyway, there would probably be some kind of ethical problem with sleeping with Jim if he stayed their captain. He was absolutely not going to give that up when they’d barely even started, so the captaincy had to go.
Izzy, still tied up behind the flour barrel, made a muffled noise of protest.
“Fuck off, Dizzy,” said Roach. Frenchie laughed, heartily, and toasted Roach with his own mug. It was probably one of Stede’s cocktail recipes, judging by the little umbrella Frenchie had to fish out before he drank it.
Buttons came to fetch Olu a while later, after he’d drunk about a gallon of orange juice and was starting to really need a piss. It was always those moments when someone needed you the most.
“Bit o’ a situation up on deck,” he said. Olu took a bit longer than usual to realise that Buttons was stark naked; it was weird what you could get used to. “Nothin’ bad, just a little irregular.”
The irregular situation, as it turned out, was actually extremely good. Olu felt himself grin, helpless, as Stede fucking Bonnet climbed over the quarter deck railing and landed primly on both feet.
“Oh, Oluwande,” he said, clearly delighted. He was wearing the plainest clothes Olu had ever seen him in, just a white shirt and dark breeches with leather boots. “How lovely to see you! I hope the ship’s fared well in our, er, unfortunate absence. Unplanned sabbatical?”
Our could only mean one thing. Olu felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders. “Ship’s fine! Great! Fantastic, actually,” he said. He glanced over Stede’s shoulder, attempting subtlety.
“Ed’s just tying up the boat,” said Stede. Clearly Olu hadn’t been as subtle as he’d hoped. No harm done. “He’ll be up in a moment. Er, fair warning, he did shave recently.”
Olu blinked. That was certainly news. “What, the whole thing?”
Stede nodded, clearly somewhat bereft. “Mmm. Apparently it wasn’t regulation.”
That did make sense. The British were soulless bastards who spent most of their time trying to grind anyone who didn’t conform to very specific standards into a fine powder, grist for the mills.
“Well, it’s fucking great to have you back, captain,” he said, honestly. Stede looked genuinely surprised, eyes wide.
God, the guy could be unbelievably pathetic at times. Olu had missed him.
“Oi oi,” came a call from the railings. Ed hopped over, agile as ever, and bounded across the deck towards them. Olu tried not to let his reaction to an almost clean-shaven Blackbeard show on his face; it was a bit uncanny, to be honest. He was very glad for the beginnings of stubble that were already growing in.
Ed, similarly dressed to his co-captain, threw a casual arm around Stede’s waist and kissed him on the cheek, apparently unconcerned with Olu’s presence.
“Oh, so that’s happening, then,” said Olu, under his breath.
“Totally is,” said Ed, cheerfully. He pulled back and nudged Stede with his elbow, grinning widely. “Took a bit of drama, but I talked him round.”
Lucius was going to be so pissed off he missed this development.
“Glad you sorted it out, captains,” said Olu. “Er, speaking of. The crew is sort of in the process of… doing a mutiny?” He winced. It wasn’t the easiest topic to bring up in casual conversation.
Ed snorted. “Izzy let the captaincy go to his head that quick, huh?”
Olu nodded. “He’s been a complete fucking nightmare,” he replied. “Plan was to throw him overboard but I felt a bit bad, on account of the storm.”
“He can have our boat,” said Ed, immediately. Olu knew there was some history between Ed and Izzy; he’d heard enough about it from Izzy himself over the past week, in between swabbing the deck and contemplating murder. If that history only stretched to a rowboat for Izzy rather than keeping him on board, then Olu was willing to let it be.
“Oooh, did you get voted captain?” said Stede, sounding genuinely thrilled. “Congratulations, Olu. Your leadership skills certainly qualify you for the position, even aside from your obvious personal appeal.”
Olu winced again. “About that,” he said. “I was sort of voted in against my will.”
“Well, that won’t do,” replied Stede. “I would have offered you keep the captaincy despite our return, but if you really don’t like it —”
“I really do not,” Olu interjected.
“Then I would love to have you as First Mate, officially,” Stede continued. He grinned as Olu blinked in surprise. “You may not like being head honcho, but the crew clearly respects you and that does count for something.”
“Thanks, captain,” he said. “I’ll, um. Do my best?”
“That’s all I can ask!” Stede said, cheerful. Then he kissed Ed on the cheek, apparently just because he hadn’t done so in at least two minutes. Ed actually fucking blushed.
Olu was saved from having to spectate alone any longer, feeling deeply baffled, by the arrival of Jim.
“Oh, nice,” they said as they caught sight of the new arrivals. They came to stand at Olu’s side, letting the back of their hand brush against his arm.
Stede nodded a greeting, clearly pleased to see them. “Jim! How was your voyage of revenge?”
“Fine,” they said with a shrug. “It’s done now.”
“Solid,” said Ed. “Respect.”
Jim tilted their chin up, just slightly. Ed mirrored the gesture. This was, Olu figured, the equivalent of a congratulatory hug for normal people.
“Hey, guys,” Jim shouted, down through the trapdoor. “The captains are back!”
A ragged cheer sounded before a thunder of footsteps clattered towards them. Olu could just make out the muffled sound of Izzy Hands swearing viciously into his gag.
Stede was immediately swamped with crewmates; Wee John had both arms around his neck, absolutely beside himself. Lucius couldn’t even bring himself to look cool and aloof about the whole thing.
“What took you so long?” he asked, as a nonplussed Ed accepted a hug from Fang.
Stede and Ed shared a significant look over Fang’s shoulder. “Had to sort out some things,” said Stede. “Saw my family. Faked my death. Almost got shot in the head! Lots of stuff going on, to be honest.”
“Sounds like it,” Lucius replied. “Glad you’re back, anyway. Pete’s been moping the whole time.”
“I have not,” said Pete, who totally had.
“Nah, mate, you totally did,” said Fang, finally letting Ed go so he could go and drape himself over Lucius’s shoulders.
“Oh, and we’re fucking now,” said Ed. He grinned when Stede went bright red, his expression a war between embarrassment and sheer pride. “Only took like three huge misunderstandings. Good hit rate if you ask me.”
Roach raised his eyebrows. “Were you not fucking the whole time? Man, I read that wrong.”
This statement sparked a huge argument between the rest of the crew on the topic of whether Stede and Ed had been secretly fucking the whole time.
Olu, having been privy to more of the captain’s thoughts than anyone but Lucius, declined to take part.
“Guys, guys,” said Stede, just loud enough to carry over the noise. “No need to fight over past disagreements. It’s all sorted now, and besides: it’s almost sundown.”
Frenchie pushed himself up from the deck, where he’d been wrestling Wee John over his deepseated belief that the French party had been an elaborate ruse to cover up some kind of weird sex vacation. “Story time!”
“We can finally find out about the fish girl,” said Roach, delighted. “I hope she kills that bitch octopus.”
“I don’t know, I think that might be a bit out of character,” mused Frenchie. He got to his feet, presumably to go and fetch his hammock from below deck. “I reckon there’s a good song in there, though. I started one about her but I couldn’t figure out why anyone would choose having legs over being a fish.”
“Aye, it’s a toughie,” said Buttons. “I struggled wi’ it meself as a bairn.”
Olu left them to debate it out, pleased to find that Jim followed him down to the mizzenmast, away from the chaos.
He hauled himself up onto the capstan and sat, legs dangling, as Jim pulled themself up beside him.
“Weird fucking day, huh,” said Jim. They’d left their hat in the cabin and let their hair dry in the late afternoon sun.
“Oh, absolutely,” said Olu. He watched as Ed pulled Stede away from the crew and dipped him into a kiss, laughing the whole way. The setting sun framed the scene like a fucking painting, like some kind of triptych on the theme of romance against the odds. Olu liked to imagine that Jim and him were on a side panel, holding hands, rolling their eyes.
Jim took his hand, just to complete the picture. Their hand was rough with calluses, dry patches of skin flaking away from beneath their nails.
“Thanks for coming back,” he said, not quite brave enough to look at them as he spoke.
Jim huffed. “Where else was I gonna go, dumbass?” They squeezed his hand, ducked their head so their hair fell across their face. “You’re my family.”
“You’re my family, too,” said Olu. Then he turned, full body, and kissed them, just because.