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On a humid evening in August, Stede returned.
Blackbeard wasn’t sure what day it was exactly, only that it was hot. And he was sweating. And he was fucking pissed—in both the emotional and alcohol related sense of the term. Those had been his last few weeks; wake up when the sun was already far from the horizon, drink, yell at one of the crew members, drink, listen to Izzy prattle on with equal parts concern, fear, and pride, think about jumping over the ship's railing, yell some more, and then drink until he fell asleep. When asked what the plan was, Blackbeard would tell Izzy to keep the ship going westward, then turn it around and go southeast, following the trail of a merchant ship or raiding vessel that may or may not have actually existed. Since the night he’d forced him to eat his own toe, Izzy had been abiding by his every whim. As long as Blackbeard continued to walk all over him—figuratively and physically—and bark orders at him with a hand around his throat or a knife to the abdomen, he seemed content to adhere to his decisions.
Sooner or later, he’d catch on. In a few more weeks, Izzy would see he was sinking to the bowels of the ship more and more often to return to his slumped state of grief. Blackbeard had lost people in the past, but this was the first loss that ached with such a wretched hurt. It was like a festering wound clung to his chest with no sign of renewal. Hiding it from the crew should have gotten easier with time, but it only grew heavier with each passing day. And there was no one he could talk to. Lucius—after being rescued by Jim—refused to come near him unless specifically requested. After the incident, Blackbeard had kept him as far away as he could, at risk of instilling any more fear into him. He tried to dilute his outbursts by directing them randomly, and at different members of the crew each time. Still, he was wearing thin, and so was his stone-heart façade. He needed a break, a distraction.
Boarding a trading vessel cruising toward the coast of Leeward Antilles seemed as good a choice as any. They had been tracking the ship for two days, and now they were closing in.
“I imagine their crew will be quite surprised to be boarded by Blackbeard. No doubt rumor of your imprisonment has traveled across the sea by now,” Izzy said as they stood on the bow of the Revenge.
Blackbeard said nothing, only eyeing the growing brown figure on the horizon. He wondered how many people would die today. He wondered how the crew he’d marooned on an island had died; how many throats had the Kraken wrapped his lethal arms around.
“The first raid since your capture ought to cause quite a stir,” Izzy went on.
He wondered if anyone on that ship were lovers. Would they bleed out in each other's arms? Did they have family at home off the sea? How many people would feel their absence if they never returned?
Izzy stirred beside him; Blackbeard could sense his discomfort like a physical wave.
“Blackbeard, sir. What is our plan of action when we dock them?”
Blackbeard laughed with his belly, though it did not reach his face. “Who needs a fuckin’ plan. Board ‘em. Kill ‘em. Take their shit and be done with it.”
“And will you be boarding with us? Participating in the killing and taking of shit?”
Izzy’s tone drew Blackbeard’s gaze like the crack of a whip. It was that same inflection he’d used when Blackbeard had begun spiraling into boredom-fueled insanity before he’d met…
“Save your passive-aggressive tongue unless you want to lose it. I’ll be boarding the goddamn ship,” he snapped, even if it was only to raid their liquor supply personally.
Izzy nodded curtly. “Of course. I’ll tell the lads to prepare for docking.”
Then he was off, screaming at the small remainder of the crew to prepare for battle. Left gazing out at sea, Blackbeard focused on the vessel they were quickly approaching. There was still time enough for him to return to his quarters for a drink.
He was halfway through the bottle when he heard shouts on deck, and the clanking of cannons moving about with feet running beside them. The boat lurched as planks came down on the trading vessel. Cries of protest followed, and Izzy was shouting something over them. Then, strangely, things got quiet. He thought he heard Izzy yell again, but a thud came from above and his voice stopped carrying. The sounds of cheering and laughter pierced Blackbeard’s ears, which he found even odder. Stranger still, the voices drifting below deck sounded familiar. Though Blackbeard could not make sense of what they were saying, they unnerved him. He took another swig from his bottle.
He had had dreams like this before. It was getting difficult to separate reality from imagination these days. It was probably his subconscious, playing cruel, justified tricks on him again, but even as he thought so, his legs were already carrying him quickly to the door and up the stairs.
“I can’t believe you're alive! Idiota, I’ve been grieving you for weeks.”
“I guess that means you missed me?”
Blackbeard squinted as he watched Jim grab the apparition of Oluwande by his woven tunic and pulled him in close. He decided he must be dreaming, or had somehow traveled back in time. His liquor-logged brain couldn’t process what he was seeing; Black Pete, Bird Guy, all of the men he’d left behind were hopping aboard the ship as if they’d never been gone. It made Blackbeard’s stomach sink, and his ears ring.
“Edward!”
A voice called out, and it felt like the world had stopped spinning. Turning to the sound, Blackbeard saw another phantom that lit a fire in his heart and stuck a sword through his gut.
There he was; Stede. Like he’d never left, if he had decided to grow out a tasteful stubble and trade his fine linens for plain sea-wear.
The other ghosts around him flocked to their attention, and it made Blackbeard’s vision reel. He stumbled, and Stede stepped forward as if to steady him.
“Don’t fucking touch me! Don’t…” Blackbeard took a step back toward the door, holding the nearly empty liquor bottle in between them like a sword. “I don’t fuck with ghosts. I don’t need this…guilt following me into the daylight.”
“Ghosts? Ed, it’s me. Stede! Your… your friend.” Stede peered at him, wary eyed and looking half heartbroken.
Edward—Blackbeard—gazed around at the apparitions of Buttons and Wee John and the Scandinavian fellow, eyeing them distrustfully, mirroring the own betrayal on their faces.
“None of you are fucking here. None. I saw to that. I left. I did it. You’re not here. I’m going to bed. Y’all better be fucked off when I wake.”
And Blackbeard went back to his room, locking as many doors behind him as he could. Only Izzy had spare keys, and he wasn’t going to give them to a bunch of ghosts. They would have to take them from him, which he realized they might, as he settled into his secret closet-turned crying room.
No one came to look for him for nearly twenty minutes. As it would turn out, taking keys from an unconscious five-and-a-half-foot twit was easier than he had expected.
“Ed? Are you in here?” came Stede’s voice from the empty library. “I see you’ve elected to rid yourself of all my books, save the one that leads to my presumably empty closet. Are you in there?”
Blackbeard wanted to shout. He wanted to cry and stab something and sink into the floor all at once. “I’m not in here,” he said, shaking his head. “Yes I am. Leave me alone”
There was a long pause. “Do you mean that?”
“Yes.” No.
Feet shuffled around the floor briefly. “Well, alright. I’ll give you some privacy. Perhaps I’ll try again in a little while.”
Blackbeard hugged his legged to his chest. He’d decided to go with sobbing. Footsteps made their way to the hidden door, and a shadow stood just on the other side.
“I… I missed you, Ed. I’m not going to lecture you about marooning our crew just yet, but I do want to say that I’m sorry I didn’t show up at the docks. It wasn’t you, it was… well, a lot. There were some unforeseen, rather ridiculously chance deaths that occurred, had to occur—I needed to reconcile with my past before we could, you know… all that. Anyway, I’m rambling. This is more of a face-to-face sort of conversation, so I’ll just leave you to your processing and check on you in a bit.”
That was a word Blackbeard hated: leave.
“Don’t—“ his voice caught in his throat, barely a whisper. But the door of his chambers closed quietly, and the room was silent again.
The Revenge had undergone a collection of changes in Stede’s absence. Namely, all of his possessions were missing. Books, clothes, silverware. Even his stores of marmalade had been cast overboard in what Lucius had described as an addled fit.
“Everything had been going fine—well, as fine as they could have gone considering you up and left Blackbeard for your ex-wife,” Lucius had said as the rest of the crew filled in the gaps of what had occurred in their absence.
“Technically, we were never officially divorced; I died. Twice now, can you believe it?”
“Yes, yes, all well and good. While you were busy playing murder with your past, Blackbeard was… dispirited. Wouldn’t leave his room for days, built a fort, wrote a song—” Lucius shook his head, and Stede wondered what Ed had written. “It took weeks for him to finally pick himself up, and he was planning a musical and all that showy stuff you always liked, and then… We don’t know what happened. Well, I’m sure Jizzy had something to do with it. Next thing I knew, Blackbeard was shoving me over the railing. Thank god Jim hauled me back up and convinced him of my use. It’s been a pure nightmare ever since.”
Stede sighed. “Throwing people over the side of the ship, stranding his crew. I thought he’d left that lifestyle behind.”
“A lot can change when you get your heart broken,” Lucius said, eyeing him shamelessly.
Stede averted his gaze, staring up at the new flag that now flapped from the mast. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I had ruined the greatest pirate in history.”
“You only ruined him after you left,” Lucius replied.
That was becoming more and more apparent. “Do you think he’ll come around?”
“He put up a lot of walls after he cracked. Right after they had started coming down, too,” Lucius said. “At least without Dizzy whispering in his ear, you might have a chance of reaching him. But don’t hold your breath. Bastard tried to kill me and your crew without a second thought. He’s trapped himself in a dark place.”
“Where is Izzy now?”
“Locked up in one of the spare closets. I think some of the crew has hope that Blackbeard will spit on him and throw him overboard himself; I half think he’d like it that way. You should have seen the flare in his eye when Beardie had his fingers around his throat. Bastard definitely has a shame kink.”
“...Right. How long has it been since I was down there? Do you think I should check on Edward again?”
“It’s been about eight minutes, so no. Or yes. I don’t care. I refuse to speak to him until he apologizes to me, and the entire crew.”
Stede nodded. “Fair enough,” he said, standing from the barrel he had been sitting on. He peered around the ship, which was an explosion of conversation. The trading vessel that had rescued them from the island was already drifting out of sight. Probably happy to put as much distance between them and Blackbeard as possible. Stede was trying to do the opposite.
“Well, I suppose—”
“You gonna go see him again?”
“Yep.”
“Hm. Good luck.”
“Hello, Ed? It’s me again,” Stede said, knocking on the chamber door and pushing it open. “I know I was just here, but I’m back.” The secret room was still closed, and no response came from within.
“Truthfully, I don’t really know what to do with myself, being back on the ship. So much happened, Edward. Nigel woke me up at gunpoint that night. Took me out into the woods to shoot me. You’ll never believe it, but the poor drunk tripped and shot himself right through the eye! Like his brother. What are the odds?”
Stede looked around the room. Empty glass bottles littered the floor, the desk, and just about every other flat surface. Piles of dirty clothes and rubbish were strewn about, and a makeshift fire pit that appeared to be filled with the remains of burnt books lay crooked at one end of the room; a memorial of the damage he’d caused.
“I make light of it now, but it broke me. He told me I ruined beautiful things, and I believed him. I thought I ruined my family, your legend… Everything I touched spoiled. I don’t know why, but I believed him. So, I tried to fix two birds with one stone; if I went back to my family, left you… things would be whole again. But they weren’t. Some things aren’t meant to be put back together, because they weren’t broken in the first place.
“I reconciled with my family, with myself. Turns out Mary found a new lover, someone who makes her feel like everything I could never give her. More importantly, she helped me realize that maybe I also… found something special like that. A little late, but better than never, right?”
Still, only silence greeted him. Sighing, Stede wandered to the sitting nook by the window and eased himself onto the cushions. When he looked up, his gaze rested on the painting of the lighthouse; a single remnant of his existence here, and a beacon of hope. Perhaps not all was lost.
“Ed, I acted like a lighthouse to you, and you crashed up on the rocks. But I’m not going to let you drown.” Stede said this more to himself than to Ed’s shadow as he lay down. Shutting his eyes, he let the gentle rocking of the boat ease his mind.
Blackbeard stood by the hidden door for a long time, listening. Stede had started snoring shortly after he finished his monologue. Fifteen minutes had passed since then, and he was debating if he should find a way to live in the closet for the rest of his days, or if he’d somehow try to face the life waiting for him outside.
When he finally cracked the door, he found the sun had set, and the chamber was dimly lit with the tail end rays of day. Outside the window above the sitting nook, a purple sky reflected against the waves. Below it lay Stede. Stede. He fit so naturally in the space, legs dangling over the side of the cot like he hadn’t meant to fall asleep.
Blackbeard didn’t know what to do. He had no plan for this. Should he go to the man’s side and wake him? Run him through? Or go up to the deck and endure the scrutiny of the crew he’d left for dead? It seemed easier to return to his closet.
Suddenly, Stede shot up into a sitting position. “Ed.”
A wave of discomfort washed over him, dousing the rage he’d been clinging onto.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“No. I was faking it.”
Edward nodded. “Hm. Sneaky.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, then Edward turned around and opened the closet door.
“Ed, wait! Please talk to me.”
Ed’s hand paused on the lever. “What is there to say.”
He heard Stede take a few steps across the room, but Ed didn’t turn to face him.
“I came back. For you. I took a rowboat out into the sea like some nut because I knew I had to find you. I could have died on that dingy, very well would have, if that trading vessel hadn’t scooped me and the crew up. But I put my life in the hands of God or faith, whatever you want to call it, because I believed the world would bring me back to you. And I was willing to die trying.”
“Doesn’t change that you left. Doesn’t change what I did while you were gone. Things are different now, Stede. I’m not the same man I was when you left.”
Stede stepped forward then, placing a hand on Ed’s shoulder. “Neither am I.”
Blackbeard took a breath as he savored his touch, trying to pretend like no time had passed. Then he jerked himself away and turned around, placing a hand on the hilt of his knife. “Tell me why I shouldn’t run you through where you stand.”
“Do it, if it will help even a little,” Stede said without hesitation, lifting the edge of his shirt to reveal his already scarred abdomen.
Blackbeard thought about how it would feel to stick him in the gut, if it would somehow ease the pain and anger and remorse that burned inside him; Ed decided it would not help.
“Put your fucking shirt down. I’m not gonna stab you.”
Smiling, Stede looked him over with a wistful gaze. “You’ve a kind heart, Ed. I’m so sorry for hurting it.”
“I don’t have a heart. I’m Blackbeard. Heartless phantom of the seas.”
“Now that’s not true. I think you have a bigger heart than you like to let on.”
“What do you know? Shit. A couple months of sailing together and you think you know me? You’re delusional mate.”
“Maybe, but I think that was part of the reason you enjoyed my company, hm? If I remember correctly, you told me I was a lunatic, and that you loved it.”
“Yeah, well, I say a lot of words. I love plenty of things: the sea, rum, those funny little clouds that sometimes look like frankfurters.”
Stede paused, a curious look on his face. “Have you ever been in love, Ed?”
The question seemed to echo around the room, and Ed shifted his attention between the various piles of debris around them. “Not sure anyone has ever asked me that,” he said, less to Stede and more to himself. “Don’t suppose I have. Falling in love probably goes along with retirement in this line of work.”
Stede nodded, stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets. “Huh. That’s a shame.”
Ed felt like he was acting strange. He wanted to hide again, but not because he was angry or upset. It was a different kind of discomfort, like he was exposed. “And what about you? Being in love, or whatever.”
“I think I’m beginning to understand what it means. May I have your hand?”
Edward blinked. “Think it’s a bit early for matelotage. I’m still debating if I should stab you or not.”
“Matel—what?”
“It’s nothing. Forget it.”
Stede rolled his eyes. “Will you please just hold out your hand? And close your eyes.”
“I’m not closing my fucking eyes.”
“Fine,” Stede said, and Edward watched him through narrowed eyes as he pulled a tattered piece of red silk from his pocket, folded neatly into a triangle. Stede placed it gently in his outreached hand. Ed felt like he was staring at a ghost, if linens could die and haunt a person.
“It came up in our fishing nets a few weeks ago. I almost couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw it, all salt-stained and soaked in fish slime,” he said, wrinkling his nose at the memory. “Right away, I knew it was yours. I was so happy I could have cried—and a few of the crew members might say that I did, if you ask them—because it meant we were on the right path. But I also remembered how important it was to you, so to find it cast overboard… Well, I’m glad I could reunite you with it.”
Ed struggled against the tears prickling behind his eyes. Scrunching the fabric in his hand, he thought about throwing it to the floor. His grip remained tight. “It’s all beat up and torn now; not much of a fine fabric anymore.”
Stede placed his hand around the one holding the cloth, looking Ed in the eye. “Even wind-worn and battered, it’s still beautiful. Riddled with holes and sun-bleached, it’s the finest fabric I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Stede was blurring before him as tears began to well up in Ed’s eyes. “Why did you come back?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Stede laughed, and it felt like the sun on Ed’s skin. “I’m in love with you, Edward Teach. Only you could toss everything I own and value into the ocean and still have that be true.”
Ed scoffed. “You don’t love me. You love the idea of me.”
“I love everything about you! The Edward, the Blackbeard, all of it. I could sail the entire ocean and never find another spirit like yours. ‘My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.’”
“Are you reciting fucking poetry?” Edward asked through tears.
“Shakespeare was a master of all genres; from horror to romance. I’ll read you some more, once I get my hands on another copy.”
“Shit. Sorry about that mate.”
“No apologies necessary; things can be replaced. I’m just glad the crew is all alive, albeit a little damaged. But no worse for wear.”
Another shit rolled off Edward’s tongue. “Fuck. I’ve been living in a daze. I don’t even know what’s happened these last few weeks, other than I tried to kill a bunch of people. Shit. Do you think they’re still mad?”
“I think rebuilding trust is going to be a large focus over the next while, for us all,” Stede said, holding his gaze.
Ed sniffed. “You got tan. And a half-way decent beard.”
“Yes, there was a distinct lack of parasols and razors on the trading vessel, apparently,” he said, itching his scruff with his free hand, which then moved to Edward’s blackened cheek. “And you’ve got black soot all over your face.”
“It’s my black beard.”
“And eyes?”
Edward shrugged. “I dunno, it felt right.”
“It’s a bit streaky now, love. We may want to reapply it before going up.”
Stede appeared equally surprised by the way ‘love’ slipped so naturally out of him. Ed melted against his shoulder and cried more. He had an endless supply of tears today. When he managed to pull himself together, a dark smudge of charcoal was left on Stede’s shoulder.
“Shall we sit for a moment? Before going up?” and Stede led him to the nook where they both sat down. Tearing a piece of fabric from his already fraying shirt, he began wiping at the mixture of tears and soot on Ed’s face.
“You’re not gonna have much of a shirt left at this rate.”
“I hear cropped blouses are in these days,” Stede said with a smile, gently wiping at the skin beneath his eyes. His attention drifted to the wall behind him. “I see you kept one thing, anyhow.”
Ed knew he was referring to the lighthouse painting. For some reason, he had been unable to part with it, even though it had made his heart sink every time he looked at it. “It’s got a nice color palette, I suppose.”
Stede continued tending to his streaky eyeshadow as he spoke. “You know, for a long time I thought lighthouses were the epitome of love, serving as a beacon, a lantern in the darkness of this world… I guess it seemed rather poetic. Now, I find I want to be something safer, a constant you can rely on. Like the moon, or the north star, guiding you through wherever the night may lead.”
“Well, the moon isn’t always visible at night. And Polaris disappears once you get south of the equator, so. There’s that.”
“Actually, the moon has phases. So even when you can’t see it, it’s still there.”
“Huh. No fucking shit.”
“Galileo discovered that in the early 1600s. Fascinating stuff, astronomy.”
Ed stared at him. “It’s like you’ve got a library inside your head. All these weird facts just bouncing around.”
“That would be the consequence of reading. We should really teach the crew their letters. It could be an enjoyable team-building exercise.”
Stede dabbed a clean corner of the cloth with his tongue and wiped the edge of Ed’s jaw line. This all felt too normal, as if they could so easily adjust back into their old ways.
“What are we doing, mate? How do we go back to the way things were? There’s no picking up where we left off after everything that’s happened.”
For a moment, Stede said nothing. Then he sighed, setting the blackened cloth on the cushion. “We start fresh, begin a new chapter—a new story. One where you are you and I am me, and together we sail the vast expanse of the ocean. Maybe travel to the Malay Peninsula where the crown will never find us, and we can live out our lives however we please. We can be free.”
Ed chuckled; the sensation was almost foreign to him now after weeks of grief. “That sounds an awful lot like the idea I pitched to you back on the beach.”
“I was an idiot, Edward. I was scared and remorseful and didn’t think I deserved the happiness I felt when I was with you. But a wise woman I knew told me we only have this one life, and I refuse to squander it any longer,” Stede said, taking Ed’s hands in his own. “The seasons may change, but my love remains, for as long as we are good for one another—which I hope is forever.”
“You and your poetry, man.”
“That wasn’t a poem. It’s how I truly feel.”
Edward said nothing, eyes downcast.
“Ed?”
“Hm?”
“I know I caused you a lot of pain, and I want to do everything I can to make it right, if you’ll let me. Because when I was lost, you became my north star, and I never want to lose sight of that again. If there is anything I can do or say to reassure you how I feel, I’ll do it. You need only to say the word.”
Ed pursed his lips and nodded, trying to decide if he was going to cry again. “Just…” he started, turning his hand over to interlace his fingers with Stede’s. “Stay.”
“There’s nothing else I would rather do,” Stede said, tightening his grip with a smile. “Well, except for maybe one or two other things.”
Ed furrowed his brow, and Stede brought his free hand to Ed’s cleaned cheek, leaning in until there were only a few inches between them.
“May I?” Stede asked, and Ed could feel his breath on his lips.
“For fuck's sake, you don’t have to ask.”
“On the contrary,” he said, pulling back a smidge, “consent is critical in any relationship, and communication is—”
“Stede?”
“Yes?”
“I hear what you’re saying, but shut up,” Ed said, pressing his lips against Stede’s.
It was a sure, steady kiss; less fumble than their first. When Ed began to pull away, Stede slid his hand to the back of his neck to extend it a moment longer, and Edward had no qualms with this. Pressing closer to him, Ed wrapped his free hand around Stede’s waist and had to resist climbing on top of him. He tasted like sea salt and sunlight, or maybe Ed was crying again. It didn’t matter. The only thing that did was what he was holding on to, what he never wanted to let go of.
The kiss stretched on until both of their hair looked windblown and Edward’s clothes felt too tight. Oluwande walked into the room before it could go any further.
“Oh—shit. Hi guys. Captain. Captains. Didn’t mean to interrupt. Was just coming down to see if Stede was still alive. And I can see he is, so I’m just gonna go back upstairs,” Oluwande said, eyes averted and legs already carrying him back up to the deck.
“Oluwande, wait!” Ed called after him, and he stopped just before his head was out of sight.
“Yes?”
Edward stood, walking across the room until he was only a few steps away from the door. “I am sorry for stranding you on that island. That was really fucked, after all you and the crew did to cheer me up. Super mental, and not in a good way,” he said, unsure of the proper etiquette for nearly killing half a dozen men. “I made some bad choices, with the help of some very bad guidance. Doesn’t excuse it, seeing as you literally could have died. But I’m glad you didn’t,” he said, taking a breath. “I don’t expect your forgiveness any time soon—if at all—but I wanted to say my piece.”
Oluwande blinked as he took in his words. “Right. Blackbeard apologizing. Never thought I’d hear that,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “We’re all alive and together, I guess that’s the important part. Not sure everyone else will be so quick to forget, but it wouldn’t hurt to try and make your peace with the rest of them. Especially Lucius. Guy holds one hell of a grudge.”
Edward stood tall and nodded. “Rightfully so. Good. Thanks for hearing me out, and all that.”
“Sure,” Oluwande replied, pressing his lips together. “Anyway, I’ll let everyone know you’re still alive, Stede, and let you guys get back… back to it.”
“Great. Good night,” Edward said.
“G’night.”
“Good night!” Stede called out.
The two of them sat in silence as they listened to him hurry up the stairs.
“Well, that was… good,” Stede said.
“Awkward. It was a little awkward.”
“Just a hair. I’m sure he’ll forget about it in no time.”
“Probably not. Didn’t you ever walk in on your parents? That’s a memory that stays with you,” Ed replied, and a light sensation bubbled up in his chest. Then he was laughing at the absurdity of it all. When he’d awoken this morning, half a dozen men had been dead to him. Stede may as well have been, and he himself had hardly been more than a ghost. Now it was as though a fog had lifted, like color had returned to his world, revealing beyond just black and white, extending past the grey area. Looking outside, he could see a violet sky and imagine an indigo morning. He could envision an amber sun and the pink splendor of a mouth that seemed divinely made for him to kiss. Bursting from his imagination was an array of colors painting the world in every shade he could ever need, in every hue he could desire. Suddenly, here it was, the poetry Stede could always see in every piece of the world.
“God, did I miss that sound,” Stede said, smiling in his direction.
Ed nodded. “Me, too.”
“So, did you want to go up to the deck and speak to the crew?”
“Nah, I think that is better left for tomorrow. The sun’s already set, and I’m exhausted,” Ed said, stretching his arms upward, quite certain Stede was not oblivious to the way his shirt rode up.
“As am I, and excited to sleep in a proper cot,” he said, clapping his hands together. Then his face fell a fraction. “Er, or perhaps the couch, assuming you have claimed the bed in my absence.”
“No, I couldn’t bring myself to sleep in it. I usually slept in the nook, or in the closet, or on the floor.”
“Ah. I see. Could you stand to sleep in it now?”
Ed waved his hand. “No, you take it. I’m used to sleeping wherever I end up.”
“Actually, what I meant was could you stand to sleep in it with me… in it.”
“Sleep with you?”
“If that is something you want, yes.”
Edward hesitated. "It's a rather small mattress. You think we'll both fit?”
“Just a greater reason to hold you close,” Stede said, taking Ed’s hand again. “Though as a fair warning, I have been told I’m a bit of a blanket pilferer.”
If not for Stede’s hand warm on his own, Ed might have thought he was dreaming. Leading him to the cot, they both stripped down to their briefs, as the ship had a distinct lack of clean sleeping attire, or any attire, for that matter.
“Sorry, your nightgowns are all sitting at the bottom of the ocean with the rest of your things,” Ed said as he crawled into the bed.
“No matter, it’s a bit too warm for night robes this time of year. I’ll adjust.”
It would have been a strange sensation, sharing a bed with another man while almost naked, if he did not feel so at ease pressed up against the length of Stede's leaner-than-he-remembered body. Not that he hadn’t shared a bed with other men before, but back then it had been more sex and less sleeping. Which reminded Ed of something.
“What was the other thing?” Ed asked.
“Hm?”
“You said there were one or two things you’d rather do earlier. Obviously, kissing me was one of them. Very smooth.”
Stede shifted his arm around Ed’s chest. “Oh, I uh, don’t recall just now, but I’m sure it will come back to me after some rest,” he said, letting out what Ed guessed was an artificial yawn.
Ed smiled to himself in the dark. “Alright, get some rest then,” he said, bringing a hand up to rest on Stede’s chest.
Just like that, on a humid evening in August, Stede had returned.
And so had Edward.