Work Text:
Ed had seen the book before. If he was honest, he’d seen almost every knick-knack tucked into every hidey-hole of Stede’s quarters by now. Each new thing he’d discovered had been so fascinating, so out of place, that he’d been compelled to turn out every chest, open every cabinet to get a peek at what else the madman had brought to sea.
He hadn’t spent much time with the books, though. There were so many, he’d just sat and stared and wondered what in the bloody depths they could all be about. How many things needed that many words to tell? How many things were even interesting enough to bother? Overkill, he reckoned. The fucking spoons all over again.
‘Course, he couldn’t say, really. All he could do was take them down, feel of the covers, flip through and enjoy the pictures. He recognized his own image (or what those assholes passed off as him) in a few. Might have sussed, eventually, which of the words was his name. Beyond that, the rest was gibberish.
This book, though—this one he remembered. The binding was wrapped in a gold fabric so soft his rough fingertips found it often when Stede wasn’t looking. Along the smooth spine, red thread traced tiny, raised hearts. Under his touch, they bump-bump-bumped up from the satin, regular as a heartbeat. Fuckin’ fancy. A pretty thing.
This time, as Stede slept on the couch across, recovering from his second stabbing in as many weeks, Ed took the book down again. He flipped through slowly: this one had loads of pictures. Black-and-white line drawings of a few things Ed recognized as clothing only because Stede wore them. Several drawings showed couples dancing or sitting or chatting. Two pages, arranged in the center of the text, opened bright, blooming with ink-colored flowers. They shone red and white and yellow and pink, nestled in the dreary black-and-white. He loved these pages best, and he stared at them for a long while, the sway of candlelight sliding across their colors like a breeze.
“Oh, haven’t seen that one in awhile.”
Ed slammed the book closed and lowered it quickly. He’d had it close, looking at the shading on the petals. “What?”
“The book.” Stede’s smile was as warm as the light bunched on the floor between them. He sat up and leaned forward, hand held out. When Ed handed him the book, their fingers didn’t touch.
If they had, Ed would have noticed.
“Meant to help guide young boys on the path of manhood, they said.” Stede flipped open the front cover to reveal loopy letters flecked with gold. ‘The Marquis of Redswallow’s Complete Guide to Courtship and Romance for the Moderne Gentleman. ”
Ed reckoned he’d only understood about half of that. “‘Courtship and romance?’ What, like…like grappling?” That was interesting. A hundred books on that topic, yeah, maybe that made sense.
Stede blinked. “Well…no, it’s…it’s more about the things that come before that bit.”
“What, like foreplay?”
The blinks stopped. “No…um, no. Not…It’s about wooing a romantic partner. Rules for showing your affection.” He let the pages fall through his fingers as he spoke, pictures streaming past. “What to say, what gifts to give, how to dance, which flowers convey the proper interest…that sort of thing.”
“Oh.” It was all Ed could manage. Shit. If there were this many rules, it was probably even stupider than he’d thought to try and make Stede understand.
Then again, maybe that explained things. Maybe that’s why none of it had worked yet. Why that night, in the moonlight, when he’d been so sure Stede would step forward to meet him…
“There’s…there’s rules for just…” Ed didn’t want to say it again, so he made an elaborating gesture.
“Well, the idea is that, eventually, such rituals and performances will lead to more than…” He gestured the same as Ed had. “They would lead to marriage.”
“Is that how you did it? With your wife, I mean?”
The warmth of Stede’s smile evaporated. “No…no. I didn’t—that is, there was no courtship between Mary and I. I was given to her—or she was given to me, I was never quite sure. More of a practical arrangement by our parents.” He sighed and held the book out to Ed once more. “No, I’m afraid I never got a chance to put the Marquis’s excellent advice to use. A shame, since I memorized it top-to-bottom as a boy.” A little of the warmth. “I always imagined a great romance for myself. Wanted to be prepared.”
When Ed took the book, the pages rolled open to the lined image of a man bowing low. He held the hand of the young woman before him, and, gently, his lips lingered in the air just short of it.
“Bit silly, isn’t it?” Stede said.
Ed felt himself flush slightly, then cursed himself for it and set the book aside. “Nah. No, I mean…’s nice. Good to have a code, you know? We pirates love codes.” Ed leaned back in his chair, trying not to imagine the brush of breath against his knuckles. The look of Stede’s eyes, up through lashes. His eyes turned to the closed book, and he wished he hadn’t closed it just yet. “It’s…gentle.”
Stede looked at him, and Ed knew his voice must have betrayed something. He drew in a deep breath, and searched for a tone more Blackbeard than Ed. “I mean, yeah, seems like a lot of trouble for a tumble, but…” He shrugged and drowned the thought in a swig of brandy.
Stede watched him before he turned to his drink, too.
“Not for the right person,” Stede said before they moved on to other, safer things.
***********
In the earliest spans of a courtship, the gentleman must reserve his displays of affection to the subtle and the material. The selection of a beloved’s favorite cake, the delivery of a curated bouquet, or even the remembrance of a special occasion with a small gift of special significance are all forays into the battleground of love. In this way, a gentleman may get the measure of his beloved’s interest.
—The Marquis of Redswallow
Lucius’s eyes roamed nervously as Ed closed the door behind them. No one ever came in Ed’s quarters, on pain of…well, Ed hadn’t actually threatened anything. It was pretty much understood it would be fairly unpleasant.
They stared at each other for a few seconds. The only sound was the creak of the ship, the static of the waves.
“Soooo,” Lucius tried.
Ed stared.
“Haven’t, uh, haven’t changed your mind about that face stabbing, have you?” He was sweating. “Or…did you need me to write something or—”
“No, I want you to…” He pulled the book out of his vest, rifling for the page. “I want you to, uh, to read something.” He found the page and held it out. “And I’m still on the fence about the face-stabbing so, uh, keep that in mind before you get talkative about it, eh?”
“Right. Yeah. Reading now.” He took the book with enthusiasm. “Uh, okay, this bit?”
Ed nodded. Shit. The boy already knew, probably, but it still felt like too much of a bloody admission.
“Ok. 'Flower language. Since time immemorial, the giving of flowers has been a declaration of love, be it platonic, familial, or romantic. But it does not do to simply pick whatever buds dot the heather or grow in the hothouse. Each flower conveys a unique message, and selection of the appropriate flower is as vital to conveying one’s feelings as the words one might speak. A white lily speaks of a love that is pure, while a white carnation simply says the giver cannot requite the feelings—’”
“Yeah, ok,” Ed interrupted, grabbing the book and pointing. “What about this one?” He pointed at the illustration of a small spray of white buds, delicate and less showy than those around it.
“Oh, yeah, um, let’s see that one is, uh… ‘The blossom of the citrus sinensis tree, or the ‘orange blossom,’ is typically associated with devotion and longing. Because it is often worn by brides at their wedding, it is also associated with intentions of marriage or intimate relations .’”
When Ed didn’t say anything, Lucius looked up. “Is…I mean, do you want me to read more or…?”
But Ed wasn’t listening. He was thinking about the small spray of white flowers he had tucked, careful, beside the silk in his vest.
They’d just climbed back aboard, and he’d joined Stede in his quarters to celebrate the “incredible treasure” they’d unearthed. Stede had set the orange just so on his desk and beamed, and Ed had done his best to indulge it.
Oh, and just so you don’t come back from our adventure empty-handed , Stede had added and pulled the flowers from his pocket. For you, Captain.
Ed had recognized them from the book immediately. He’d been waiting all night for his “co-captain” to go to sleep so he could swipe the book and look it up.
“Flower-fucking-language,” was all he could say.
“Yeah. It’s a bit much, isn’t it? I mean—” The boy stopped. Looked at him with the same eyes as he had earlier in the day over spit-roasted snake. “Orange blossoms. Did the Captain…?” He didn’t seem to know how to finish the question in a way that would ensure his face remained intact.
Shit, Ed needed his pipe. He hadn’t had enough brandy for this.
Lucius seemed to take this as confirmation. “Oh, wow. That’s… Well it’s actually kind of sweet, isn’t it? I mean, the two—”
The look Ed gave him put a stop to that.
“Right. Not sweet. Just…I’m sorry, do you not want his—” he glanced back at the book for a moment, “his ‘devotion and longing’? Because if not, it looks like you just give him a white carnation and—”
“I’m not giving anyone a fucking carnation,” Ed grumbled casting about for wherever the hell he’d put his matches. Shit.
“Ooookay…is that because you’re Blackbeard and you don’t give flowers or because you are interested…?” Lucius’s voice petered slightly, but the boy managed to not be deterred by Ed’s unblinking stare.
Ed didn’t respond. He…he wasn’t sure.
Of course he was interested. In fact, he had already gone well past the point of interested, even if he couldn’t say which fucking plant meant ‘I want you to hold me and take me gently in that stupid soft silk bed of yours.’
But…what if Stede wasn’t…Stede didn’t really know him. And Stede hadn’t exactly gone for any of his advances thus far.
Maybe he had to do it like this, then, for Stede. More gentleman, less pirate. He needed to find flowers or…or…
“Oh!” The boy exclaimed out of nowhere and turned the book around for him to see. It was a lot of fucking words that meant nothing to him. “It says to learn your beloved’s favorite cake and deliver it as a surprise. The orange cake, that was for you wasn’t it?”
Ed might have been upset by the slavering excitement in Lucius’s eyes if he hadn’t felt a tingle of the same thing himself. “Uh, yeah. I mean, he gave me an orange cake. For my—my birthday.” Ed hadn’t wanted to make a big deal out of it: he hated that sort of thing. But Stede had brought the cake, said he knew how much Ed liked the marmalade, and it just seemed right. Been fucking amazing, too.
“And…let’s see…” Lucius was flipping through the pages, skimming excitedly. “Okay…oh, ‘arrange an outing .’ I mean, I don’t see treasure hunt on here, but—oh! ‘ A chaperone is required for propriety’s sake ’--that’s me! ‘ But take someone who is already invested in and aware of your intentions and feelings ’--oh my God. I so am. I’m so invested.”
Something about the brightness of the boy’s smile allowed his own to surface slightly. Get over yourself and admit it , the boy had said. Yeah, maybe he was right.
Ed swallowed. “Yeah, um…me too, I think.”
Lucius made a sound not unlike a proud mother, and it looked for all the world as if he would give Ed a hug.
Ed took a step back.
“Yeah, okay, that’s fair. Sure.” Lucius cleared his throat and returned to the book. “So, then. You’re going to want to flirt back, of course. Let’s see what we’ve got here. There’s…poetry? Know any good love poems?”
Ed paused, tried to remember. “Um, ‘there once was a man from Nantucket, who—”
“Okay, not poetry then…let’s see. Maybe a gift. What sorts of things do you think the Captain would like?”
“How should I know? He likes fuckin’...fuckin’ fancy things. Besides, he’s got everything anyway.”
“Hmm. Strong point.” The boy flipped a few more pages. “Still, there’s got to be something—what do you get for the gentleman pirate who has everything?”
Ed grabbed the book from him. He knew exactly what he was looking for, but he didn’t know—
He stopped. There it was. The man bowed low, lips close to the hand of his young lady.
He pushed the book back at Lucius and tapped at it certainly. “This one. What’s this say?”
Lucius’s eyebrows raised seeing the picture, but he didn’t give whatever commentary was clearly on his mind. “Okay. It’s…oh. Actually, this might be good. It’s about dancing.”
Shit. “Dancing? That doesn’t, I mean—the picture—”
“‘A ball—or even, if need be, a less formal country dance—can be the perfect place for men of passion to express their affections in a more physical and elegant form. ’”
Alright…that was better. Physical, that sounded like him. Elegant, that was Stede. “A…a dance? Is that, uh, I mean, we could…maybe…do that?”
Lucius looked at him for a moment, smiling wide.
It did, honestly, make him want to stab the boy in the face.
But then Lucius nodded. “Yeah. Leave it to me. We’re doing it.”
*********************
Nowhere is the physical aspect of a gentleman’s courtship as fully expressed as in the act of dance. A gentleman must strive to be sure of foot and of bearing in any act of dance, and yet must also make such thorough work appear effortless. The Marquis advises that dance instruction be regularly attended by any gentleman.
It is imperative that the physical aspect of a dance, however, never be allowed to stray too far into the vulgar or familiar. Typically, ungloved hands may touch only as called for by the form. In the context of an appropriate dance such as the minuet or a quadrille, it may also be permitted to bow with lips close to a partner’s hand to end a dance. Some may say that it is even acceptable in such situations for a gentleman to lay a kiss on his partner’s hand, but the Marquis advises against this, as such unseemly displays may draw disrepute on both parties in many quarters of polite society.
—The Marquis of Redswallow
At the end of the day, dancing was a lot like sword play.
Obviously, there was a lack of blood and screams—at least, if you were doing it properly, he understood—but the footwork was surprisingly familiar. Lucius had managed to borrow a book or two from Stede’s library and had even convinced Pete to borrow the last one with the claim that he was “learning to read.” Ed had threatened them both with a variety of creative injuries if they breathed a word of it to anyone else.
Each night, after brandy and goodbyes, Ed went back to his room and practiced.
It was strange without a partner, certainly. For a few nights, he’d held a sword anyway, just to feel a little less pathetic. He’d even wished, once or twice, that Izzy was there to stand in: it would have annoyed the man to no end, and Ed tended to enjoy the hell out of that. But he couldn’t let himself dwell on the other man’s absence. Trying to remember the turns of these stupid dances was enough fucking work to be getting on with.
At the end of a week of late night practicing, he’d mastered the basics of what Lucius told him were a few reels, the waltz, and something he couldn’t exactly remember but that was wickedly tricky.
Now all they needed was a dance.
“Leave it to me,” was all Lucius said.
So Ed kept silent and kept practicing.
It wasn’t until one evening, when Ed and Stede were sitting at opposite ends of the settee, drinking brandy while Ed recollected a pirate he’d killed near the Antilles, that it happened.
“--a foot taller than me, if he was anything. Beard down to his belly and dressed all in red, head to toe. Looked something in the sun, let me tell you.”
“Ahh, a man cuts a fine figure in red, I’ve always thought. Especially a velvet. It really—”
The knock Lucius made before entering was almost theoretical.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he twittered, clearly not sorry at all. “Don’t mean to interrupt; I just wondered if you have a minute, Captain?”
He was looking squarely at Stede, so Ed made to leave.
“No, it’s not—you don’t have to go. Don’t want to break anything up!” Lucius gave a little eyebrow waggle.
Ed’s look sobered him.
“Aaaanyway…I was just wondering, Captain. Well, I don’t know if you know this, but my birthday is coming up on Thursday—”
“I thought you said your birthday was in the winter?” Stede looked confused.
The boy had clearly not expected Stede to remember that fact. “Oh, no…nope. It’s October 13. Every single year. I mean, I can see why you might not believe it. Libra, really? Not, um—”
If there was a way to convey ‘face stabbing’ with the eyes, Ed was doing it.
“--yeah, but, as I was saying. It’s going to be my birthday, and I was hoping we might, you know, celebrate?”
The way Stede’s face lit up made something flutter in Ed’s chest. Since when did his chest fucking flutter ?
“Oh! Yes, of course!” Stede said and stood as if he couldn’t contain his excitement. “A fantastic idea! What did you have in mind? I can ask Roach to whip up a cake or—”
“Oh, no cake please. I’m watching my figure. No, actually, I’ve already spoken to a few of the crew and we were thinking maybe…a party? You know some drinking, music, dancing. Something a little more formal than we normally do.”
That wouldn’t be hard. On any given night there was usually just the drinking bit. Occasionally someone would sing, but it usually didn’t qualify as music—usually on account of the drinking bit.
Ed turned his eyes, nervous, to Stede.
“A dance. Hmm.” He paced back and forth, considering. “Music and dancing.”
“I’ve already spoken to Frenchie and Wee John. They’ve been practicing lute and drum duets below deck during the jam sessions. And the Swede agreed to sing, maybe, if we wanted. And apparently, well, you won’t believe this, but Ivan plays the fiddle and the flute.”
Stede looked, questioning, at Ed.
“Shit, don’t look at me. I didn’t know. Not a lot of call for fluting aboard ship.”
“Well, apparently, he’s quite good. He and Frenchie were working up a minuet the last time I heard them.”
Minuet, shit, that’s what it was called.
“How exciting!” Stede said, plopping back down into his seat. His eyes were darting back and forth and somehow Ed knew he was planning out what he wanted to wear. “Well, I mean, I don’t know if anyone aboard will know how to dance a minuet, but maybe I can teach you.” He looked at Ed with such anticipation that Ed suddenly lost all ability to disagree.
“Yeah…yeah, maybe.” He swallowed, worked a little harder to modulate his voice. Wouldn’t do to sound too eager. “I, uh, I hear dancing is a lot like fencing.”
Somehow, this seemed to excite Stede even more. “Yes, exactly! Oh, I know you’ll be a natural, of course.”
“So that’s a…yes, then?” Lucius tried to find his way back into the conversation that had somehow become, once again, between just the two of them.
Stede took a deep breath. Straightened his back. Shit, Ed loved it when he did that. Like he was going to take on the world.
“Yes, I think so. I mean, only two days.” He exhaled dramatically. “There’s a lot of planning to do, but I think we can spare a few days from pirating to celebrate, don’t you, Ed?”
“Yeah. Yeah, mate. I think it could be…” He couldn’t find a word that seemed right, so he settled on, “Fun.”
That seemed good enough for Stede. “Wonderful! I’d better check in with Roach and make sure we have a few bottles of champagne. If not, maybe we’ll happen upon another French ship. Really would be nice to find something authentic. Oh, and you’ll want some decoration: I’ll put Fang on that. He’s got a real eye for—”
And Stede was out the door.
Lucius stared at him; he stared back.
“Hope you’ve dusted off those dancing shoes,” he said, doing a little twirl.
That hit. “Wait…I hadn’t, I hadn’t thought about clothes. If we’re going to—”
“Don’t worry. I’ll pick something from Stede’s closet for you. He’ll be delighted.”
Ed tried not to let the excitement show on his face. He loved pulling things from that closet. Each one felt so soft and so smooth and, above all, they all smelled at least a little like…
He cleared his throat. Something dangerously happy was beginning to spread through him. It felt almost like…joy. “Perfect. Yeah.”
Lucius nodded and turned to leave.
“Oh, and—“
He stopped, looked back.
Ed fidgeted. Thought about that wardrobe. About Stede’s face when he saw. “Just, uh, just see if you can find something in red, yeah?”
*****************
Once intentions have been declared and interest communicated through the more intellectual and material means described here, a gentleman may confirm the strength and entirety of his devotion through subtle—and it must be stressed never vulgar— forms of physical touch. Such forms should always remain within the bounds of the reasonable and happenstance, and, for propriety’s sake, must never directly call into question the motivation of either party. For instance, a gentleman may push a stray hair from the face of his beloved in order that she may better see. He may brace a hand at her waist while dancing or touch two fingers to an elbow to guide her as needed.
In the last and most devoted stages of a courtship, a gentleman may reasonably communicate the entirety of his commitment and his readiness to move from courtship to discussion of matrimony by initiating less happenstance touch, such as the touching of feet (within shoes), the brushing of shoulders, or the ungloved touch of a hand to a hand. Be warned, however, that such overt displays are only to communicate the most certain of affections, and will be viewed by all parties as a gentleman’s intention to bind a courtship into a more permanent state of love.
—The Marquis of Redswallow
They didn’t happen upon a French ship before the big day, but Frenchie and Oluwande were generous enough to donate a crate of champagne they’d been gifted by an apparently grateful Nigerian prince. When the near-full moon came out and the lamps were lit, they broke open the first bottle for Lucius on what was certainly not his special day.
Given that most of them had never had champagne, the first bottle went quickly. Ed was three glasses in before the music even began.
They started with a few shanties: Frenchie picked them out on the lute, and Lucius prevailed upon the Swede to sing. Eventually Wee John joined in, too, with a fabulous baritone. There really was more talent on the ship than Ed might have guessed. Not that you needed a set of pipes for pirating, but it was nice to see this side of the lads, he supposed.
Stede was beaming at them with paternal pride, of course, clapping with more enthusiasm than was warranted. Shit, and he had those same big, bright eyes he got sometimes when Ed managed to remember the different cuts of overcoat or which fabrics were which.
Looking at Stede like that, done up in his turquoise velvet and with lamplight on his gold hair, Ed felt something very much like champagne bubbles all through his limbs.
“Hope you’re warmed up.” Lucius sidled up next to him with a smile.
Yeah, he was feeling warm, that was for certain. “Maybe another glass of—”
Pete held out a bottle, but Lucius shooed him away. “Let’s wait a few, hmm? Drunk dancing is not cute. Trust me.” He turned to face Ed fully and looked him up and down. “But you are looking very—” It looked like he might say cute, but something on Ed’s face must have convinced him otherwise. “Dashing. You’re looking dashing. The red was a strong choice.”
Ed couldn’t help but stand a little taller at that. It did look good, he had to admit. The long overcoat was a solid red, and, underneath, a slightly darker waistcoat of satin brocaded with silver thread. He’d forgone the bows in his beard this time: Izzy was gone and he didn’t think he’d manage the shape just right. He had managed, though, to pull his hair back. In it, he’d placed a few of the orange blossoms, though they were looking a bit peaky. Here in the dim night light, though, he reckoned you could hardly tell.
When Stede had seen them there, he’d hummed approval and given him that smile. The champagne bubbles one.
“You nervous?” The boy asked, looking at the place where Ed was fidgeting with his sleeve-ends.
Ed’s first reaction was to scoff: after all, he’d jumped onto ships ablaze and run headlong into booming cannons and bested grizzled men thrice his size.
But, truth was, this was one thing he’d never done. Something that really mattered .
The thought must have shown because Lucius didn’t wait for an answer. “Right. Well, that just means it’s worth it. A man’s not worth a damn if he doesn’t make you a little nervous.” He straightened Ed’s cravat. “And, on that note, I got you a little something.”
Ed was surprised. He didn’t like surprises. “Thought it was supposed to be your birthday.”
“Yeah, well, when the real thing rolls around, I’m expecting something fucking fantastic. But for now…” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a single red rose.
The stem had been neatly trimmed, thorns removed. The petals were a deep, rich burgundy: they made Ed think of a blood moon.
It was beautiful.
“‘ No flower conveys intense passion and attraction so well as the wild red rose ,’” Lucius quoted with a wicked smile. “Little flower language can’t hurt. Just in case those puppy dog eyes don’t seal the deal.”
“‘Puppy dog—’”
The high, bright notes of a lute and a fiddle interrupted his objection.
Lucius looked relieved. “Well, looks like it’s time to dance. You ready?”
It was a reel: Ed remembered that. He could do that one. He could.
Lucius was kind enough to drag Pete out to get them started. Wee John and the Swede kept together, and Roach even managed to convince a still fairly glum Oluwande to join for once. No one was quite certain how Buttons and Karl would manage to factor into things, but it seemed gauche to question it.
It was Stede who approached Ed first. Damn. He’d have to be quicker than that for the next one.
“Fancy giving it a try?” Stede motioned out to the middle of the deck where everyone was lining up. “Seems like most of us knows this one, but if you just watch for a—”
Carefully, Ed set two fingers on Stede’s elbow and guided him out. “Yeah, sure, mate. I’ll pick it up.”
Despite Lucius’s worry about those glasses of champagne, Ed fell into the form as easily as a wheel into a rut. As they’d taken their turn to reel the line, Stede had stared at him with pride. It twinkled.
“I knew you’d be a natural,” he said as they circled around one another. The words were whispered, amazed.
Shit. Ed felt himself blush and hoped to God it wasn’t obvious in the lamplight.
“And you know what they say about a man who can dance!” Lucius interjected as he and Pete reeled past.
That wasn’t helping.
“Oh…no, I’m afraid I don’t,” Stede said with perfect, blinking sincerity. “What is it they say?” he asked Ed.
Luckily the dance ended there. Ed went looking for another bottle of champagne.
There were more songs: some for dancing, others just for enjoyment. Despite Lucius’s objections, Roach brought out a cake, and Ivan piped out happy birthday as the whole crew sang. The cake itself garnered only coughs and polite attempts to dump it overboard, but Roach didn’t seem to take it personally. Someone had used up all the sugar for tea, he explained pointedly, clearly not foolhardy enough to call Ed out directly.
Ed made a mental note to sail south where the cane merchants were this time of year as he finished his piece: he needed it to soak up some of the champagne.
After cake, Stede began the minuet lesson, posing Wee John and Fang and directing them as everyone else watched and tried to follow along. Ed stood back and gave an encouraging nod here and there when Stede looked his way. Wee John and Fang were doing fairly well, all things considered.
But Ed wasn’t really watching. Try as he might to review the steps, he found himself distracted. Stede’s hair would bounce through a turn, and he’d imagine running his fingers through it. Or he’d see those dimples set so deep and soft in Stede’s cheeks and wonder what it would be like to hold his face for a kiss. Or he’d hear that high, encouraging sing-song of Stede’s voice and imagine…would he sound like that if they—
“You’re mouth’s hanging open,” Lucius leaned in and whispered.
He shut it quickly. Shit. Fucking boy. Maybe not in the face: just a light stab to the toe or something. “Shouldn’t you be listening?” he hissed.
“Oh, I don’t think he’s going to be paying attention to what anyone else is doing once you’re dancing with him.”
He imagined Stede’s attention on him entirely, hair bouncing through turns, dimples deep, smiling. His hand went instinctively to the rose and his thoughts to the picture in the book.
“Alright, then! I think we’re ready!” Stede had his captain-voice on now, directing with that polite sort of force. Something about the way he did that was absolutely fucking wonderful. And effective. Everyone drew in, fell into their places. “Now, if we have any issues, if you forget the steps, don’t worry yourselves. Just keep going. Have fun with it!”
He gave the nod to Frenchie and Ivan who struck up a fancy, bright melody.
Fuck. Now or fucking never.
The boy gave him one more wink before taking Pete’s hand and leaving him to it.
Ed was sure to step up to Stede first this time.
Stede smiled. “So…do you think you’re up for this one? You can—”
Ed didn’t wait. He pulled the flower from his waistcoat and held it out between them.
“Oh,” Stede stuttered, with a pleasant look of surprise. Stede, unlike him, obviously liked surprises. “A—a rose. Where—”
“‘S for you. You know. To…” Shit. He should have thought through the talking bit a little more. Well, talking had never been his forte. Action. Yeah.
Carefully, gently, he pulled the bloom of the flower off and tucked it neatly into Stede’s breast pocket. It set against the turquoise velvet like a ship against the clear sea.
Stede looked down at it, ran a finger over a petal. Looked back up at Ed.
That smile shot through him like a pistol.
“It’s—it’s beautiful, Ed.” He touched it again. “Thank you. I—”
Ed knew he wouldn’t know what to say next, so instead he simply led Stede out to mid-deck where the rest of the crew was already dancing.
Stede cleared his throat, obviously trying to regain some hold on the moment. “Alright, now, uh, this one’s tricky, so I can lead, if—”
Ed took the lead. The dance was a complicated one, and he found the concentration required for the steps helped keep him from getting too flustered by the occasional, sudden closeness of Stede’s body. Mostly, the dance kept them at a polite distance, no touching, but every once in a while…
They reached up to touch hands and circle one another.
He felt it at the same time as Stede.
He heard Stede swallow. They were both staring at the spot where their hands touched.
“You’re…you’re not wearing your gloves,” Stede said, obviously.
“Yeah, didn’t really work with the outfit, no.”
The dance forced them apart again, and Ed cursed under his breath. They wove around through other couples, and Ed tried to focus on his feet, focus on what came next…
But he could feel Stede’s eyes following him.
The refrain brought them together again. This time, Ed allowed himself to take a firmer hold.
They’d touched casually plenty of times, but their hands had never touched fully like this. The calloused pads of his finger brushed up the length of Stede’s smooth palm. It was a contrast that spoke of things more intimate: of hardness and softness and the slide of skin.
Where their wrists ghosted together, he could feel the beat of Stede’s pulse.
Shit, he was so soft. Ed heard himself swallow this time.
They finished the turn, and Ed followed the form, prepared to pull apart.
Stede’s grip on his hand didn’t loosen.
The dance swirled on around them.
“Uh…I think…we’re meant to—”
“How are you so good at this?” Stede said, ignoring the couples moving around them entirely.
Ed threaded his fingers back through Stede’s. He didn’t give a fuck about the dance if Stede didn’t. “Dunno. Good lesson, I reckon.”
They were hardly dancing at all now. Stede was simply staring at him as if he’d hung the damned moon. “What do they say about a man who dances well?”
Ed wondered if his palms were as sweaty as they felt. “Oh. Yeah, uh, just that he…he’s probably a good…swordsman.” He was sure his voice had buckled a little there.
“They say he’s a good lay ,” Lucius contributed in an exasperated stage whisper as he and Pete danced past.
And, no, no the moonlight did nothing to hide the pink of Stede’s blush.
Not knowing what else to do, Ed picked up the dance again.
Hands came together and apart. With each pass, Ed dared to dance a bit closer, let his hand find Stede’s with a little more need. When the song split them from each other, Ed let his hand slide slowly away. Let dropping fingertips brush shoulder, or the curve of Stede’s waist, or once, even, a tiny, finger-tip brush of—
The music ended. They didn’t break apart.
They stayed for a moment, one hand twined in the other.
Stede’s face was bright, the flush of exertion and the blush on his cheeks fucking gorgeous beside one another. When he smiled, it was a delicate, contented thing. “Well, that was…Ed, I’m impressed.”
Ed considered making a joke about being a good swordsman but decided the Marquis might not approve.
“You’re quite a dancer.” He gave Ed’s bare fingers a small squeeze and stepped forward. The look in his eyes reminded Ed of a warning shot. Ever so slightly, his foot brushed Ed’s—the barest slide of leather on leather.
Shit. That was—the boy had read that bit—that meant— a gentleman’s intention to bind a courtship into a more permanent state of…
Had he meant that? Or was it an accident?
There was a clamor of uneasy sounds and groans from the bow of the ship that shattered the moment.
“Aaaand…Buttons is basking, folks,” Frenchie sighed.
The bow of Ivan’s fiddle petered out pathetically.
“Well, that’s a party ender, I’d say,” Pete said, clearly confused by Lucius’s vehement head shake.
Ed looked up to the forecastle, where Buttons was removing his trousers.
Shit. Yeah, that would do it.
“Ah.” Stede stepped back. “I’d forgotten. Almost the full moon, then.”
Something inside Ed howled.
Slowly, around them, the evening broke apart, separated like pale puffs of cloud in the night sky. Most yawned; everyone smiled. As he and Pete passed, arm in arm, Lucius gave Ed a nod and an obvious look he desperately hoped Stede had missed.
Eventually, it was only the two of them left on deck.
The ocean swelled and the ship creaked and they looked at one another.
“Well, that was an enjoyable evening.” Stede’s blinking had slowed, and whatever Ed had seen there for a moment—for the brief moment when their feet had touched—seemed to have diffused into moonglow. “I think we can call that party a success.”
Behind him, the moon circled Stede’s head like a crown. Below, its light tossed, sighing, on the waves.
It felt terribly familiar.
Ed wanted to kiss him. God, he wanted to. Kiss him and hold him and bloody push him back against that mast and grab handfuls of waist and back and…
But that wasn’t right. That was a pirate’s instinct—to plunder. Those weren’t the rules.
Instead he bowed deep. Pulled Stede’s hand close to his lips. Let them linger.
Shit, why not? He was still a pirate, wasn’t he?
He pressed a kiss, tender and warm, to the smooth skin of Stede’s hand. Let his lips slide as his fingers had. Let his thumb trace the bare, tender cup of Stedes’s palm.
Stede exhaled, ragged. It had the shape of a moan.
It was barely breathed, but Ed felt it. No sound had ever run him through so thoroughly.
It hit every single important bit.
When he looked up at Stede, he was at an obvious loss.
Panic gibbered, slightly, in Ed’s chest. He stood but didn’t let go. “That…did I…that’s how it’s supposed to go?”
Stede’s brow furrowed.
“A…gentleman. At the end of a dance…?” Ed tried to keep his tone light, as if he were asking about melon spoons or hosiery and not his fucking heart.
It seemed to help Stede find his footing. He finally took a full, shapeless breath. “Yes. Yes. Precisely. Although, I—Yes. You did—you did very well.” His eyes flittered to their hands, still joined between, and then back to Ed’s lips. “A natural, of course.”
From up on the forecastle, the thin sound of Buttons’s flute played an end to the moment.
“Right. Well. That’s—g’night, I reckon.” Ed let their hands, finally, fall apart. “Thanks for the dancing, mate. It was…it was fun.”
Stede gave a nod. Looked briefly, perhaps unconsciously, at the hand that was now free.
Ed turned to go.
“You know, we could always practice more,” Stede blurted.
When Ed looked back, Stede’s smile was brighter than the moon.
“I could teach you a few more dances, if you like. You know, some other night. Move the couch out of the way, and there’d be a nice space in my quarters. A gavotte or a waltz or, you know…there are plenty.”
Though it was a statement, it had the tilt of a question: Ed couldn’t be entirely sure what it was asking, but shit, he hoped.
“Since you’re such a…good dancer,” Stede added, a bit more quietly.
Ed grinned. That seemed a good sign then. “Yeah. Yeah, mate. That—I’d love to. It’s a date.”
If Stede objected to the expression, he didn’t say so. Just nodded and looked relieved.
As he walked past Ed to turn in for the night, the edge of his foot brushed, gently but surely, against Ed’s. When he glanced back, something in his eyes told Ed it hadn’t been an accident.
Ed smiled, looked up at the moon, and basked.
Maybe he could be a bit of a gentleman after all.
************
It is to be expected that, when passions run hot, a gentleman may, at times, overstep the boundaries of politeness or give offense where only love is intended. Likewise, he may feel the hurt of his beloved with a keener sting than it deserves.
It is advised, therefore, that when one suspects himself of wounding his beloved, he lead both with sincere words of apology as well as actions designed to restore love to its fullness.
When he finds himself wounded by the object of his affection, a gentleman must likewise, and within the boundaries of reasonableness, forgive such slights more liberally. The greatest and kindest of souls can wound in matters of the heart. As strong as is a gentleman’s love, so, too, must be the strength of his mercy.
—The Marquis of Redswallow
It was gone, all of it.
What Ed had expected to feel when it was done, he didn’t know. Wiped clean, maybe. Or returned to himself—to Blackbeard.
Or maybe he’d just been hoping for a little fucking relief. Some sweet taste of justice now that he’d taken everything from that bastard, too. Broken it. Left it on the ocean, alone.
As he stood in the middle of the empty cabin, however, all he felt was that. Empty.
He hadn’t thrown it all out, not yet. There was an auxiliary wardrobe that remained, a few items squirreled away for a day when he needed something else to throw into the sea and watch sink below the waves.
There was a painting of a lighthouse to serve as a reminder. A fucking warning .
And there was…
He stepped up to Stede’s bed— his bed, damnit—and looked down at it: that last thing, sitting just where he’d left it beside the window.
He’d spent too much time staring at it these last few weeks. Too much fucking time remembering.
It had to go. He knew it had to go, but he wouldn’t let them do it.
It had to be him.
He picked it up, let his finger bump-bump-bump over the thread, the satin. When he opened it, its well-pressed spine fell to the page. The page he always went to. The picture.
In the black-and-white lines, he saw it again. Stede. The small sigh like a stab. The salt and lavender taste of skin.
The book flew across the room. Hit empty shelves with a thud and landed, open and pathetic, in the spot where Stede’s couch had been.
He grabbed the bottle from the desk and drank deep. It burned. He shut his eyes and forced himself to think of another scene. A long, empty pier. A dinghy. A sunrise.
All of it—all that gentleman bullshit. What a waste. What a fucking waste.
After a moment, he crossed the room to face it again, staring down, toeing it with his boot. From its pages, flowers sprang, too bright.
There was no place for flowers here anymore.
It had to go.
No one was on deck this time of night: at least no one awake. The moon was a sickle, and its slice of light was perfect cover for the kohl and tear streaks down his face, the lazy blotches the greasepaint had settled into. A soft breeze picked up his hair and cooled the rum-soaked sweat of his skin.
Moonlight on the waves made him think of it all over again. His grip on the book tightened, and he hesitated.
Just one more time. He let it fall open just once more.
In the dim of night, he could almost enjoy it, that picture. He could feel its contours closely enough that it seemed real. It had been real, hadn't it?
Had any of it?
Not real enough.
The sound as he tore out the page was too much like a sigh.
He folded it, tucked it inside his vest. One piece. That was enough.
He reeled back and threw the rest of the book overboard. It arced, fluttering across the backdrop-moon, and fell silently out of sight.
There. It was done.
On to the ne—
“Oww!”
He froze.
“Watch where you’re throwing things, if you don’t mind!”
Had he—?
Ed held perfectly still, breath stopped, listening.
There was a rise and fall of waves. The groan of the ship. The light snuffle of crew sleeping further on. And…
A soft sound. A click.
Click.
Click.
He moved to the railing and peered over.
“Ahh.”
They were the same kind, brown eyes Ed remembered looking into his. The same happy dimples. The same lips he’d tasted, just the once.
But now a beard, soft and golden. As far from a black beard as possible, of course.
Stede was almost at the top of the ladder, his face mere inches away.
“Ed,” he said quietly, through a smile.
Ed grabbed him by the shirt front and dragged him the rest of the way onboard. The sound of the man hitting the deck was incredibly satisfying.
Stede coughed, the air gone out of him, but he didn’t make a move to get up. “Yeah. That’s—understandable, certainly.”
Ed stared. Couldn’t speak. What was he seeing? Was Stede here? On his ship, in the middle of the night? With those brown eyes and a fucking beard and his—
“I think you, uh, you might have dropped this.”
And the book. The fucking book.
When he ripped it from the other man’s hand, it felt wrong. He opened it, and a piece of red silk fell from between two pages.
It drifted silently to the space between them.
“Oh, and I, uh, I found that as well. Caught on a pile of books. Among all of…my things there.” He pointed overboard at the trail of sinking treasure that lay like crumbs through the water behind.
The flash of red was as if to a bull. Ed stomped his boot onto it. Watched it twist beneath.
“Oh, you shouldn’t—it’s so hard to get dirt out of sil—”
Something in Ed’s look stopped the objection.
“Right.” Stede pulled himself up. Tried to stand. “I…I suppose it’s a bit late to say ‘I’m sorry’, but I am, Ed. I am.”
Ed’s boot found a new target. The center of Stede’s chest. “It’s Blackbeard .”
Stede buckled, made it no farther than his knees.
“I’ve missed you, Ed. More than—”
A threatening whisper as Ed unsheathed his knife. “Don’t call me that.” He set its fine point at Stede’s throat.
Beneath it, soft throat bobbed as Stede swallowed thickly, eyes flickering down to the moon-white knife before they returned to Ed. Settled there.
They watched each other for a moment.
Two.
And then, tentatively, with a slowness that matched the swell of the waves, Stede reached up and took Ed’s free hand.
He set his lips to it, gently. Fully. Even through the leather, Ed could feel the heat of that mouth and…
He pushed the knife point forward slightly. Just enough.
Stede didn’t move away. Instead he slid a finger up Ed’s wrist to the border of glove and skin. With a tug, he loosened it, slid his finger inside…
—that was something wasn’t it? Something that—
…and pulled the glove far enough down that the next kiss met his skin directly. The hot, soft press of lips. So fucking soft. Who fucking needed silk, with lips like that?
Stede looked up at him through those lashes. Through those kind fucking eyes. Moonlight caught in them. He shouldn’t be allowed to look like that. Someone who hurt you shouldn’t be allowed to look like that.
Ed didn’t move. Couldn’t.
Keeping Ed’s hand as he stood, Stede stepped closer. The point of the knife followed, but he didn’t seem to notice.
His foot touched Ed’s—thin shoe to thick boot. Delicate, like a gentleman.
And then, not like a gentleman at all, Stede leaned in and kissed him.
It was a kiss that spread from lip to toe and that lasted far longer than Ed’s resolve ever could. Vulgar, the Marquis would have called it, and rightly so. There was nothing soft or tender to it, except, perhaps the whimper Ed heard escape him as Stede parted his lips and plundered, deep.
The gentleman-fucking-pirate.
Ed’s knife hit the deck.
He didn’t pick it up again.