Archive of Our Own

It started with, “Do you want to do something weird?”

No, it started with, “You’re a good man, Ed.” He had watched Stede Bonnet, the Gentleman Pirate, slip on a shirt with more frills than a whore’s best dress, and then some sort of gold robe thing that made Ed’s fingers itch to stroke it, it looked so soft, and as Stede sat back down, he had admitted he was a terrible pirate. When Edward had told him he was alive and so was doing better than a lot of the pirates he’d known, Stede had said, “You’re a good man, Ed.” Just simply, like it was true. A good man. Stede believed it was true, for that moment, at least. A good man. That was something. That was a lot. Edward’s stomach had given a funny flip as he stood up, his back to Stede, thankfully. He didn’t know what his face was doing after that statement.

Maybe it started with Stede’s feverishly hot hand under Edward’s own. (It made him think about his mother, her own hot hand under his, their dim house with the smell of sickness choking him, the smell of her sweat choking him, the terribly wrong color of her skin, her tears. His tears. Her rattling breath.) (He didn’t want to think about his mother.) Live, Ed had thought at him. Live, damn you.

Maybe it started when Stede, trapped in the type of dream that only a fever can conjure, circular and repeating, both the truths and the lies that you fear the most mixed up into something that feels so much like reality, murmured the name “Mary” over and over. A hot spike shot through Edward’s chest, and if he let himself think about it (he didn’t want to let himself think about it), it felt like… jealousy. As if Edward had any claim over this man he was barely tending to, more just watching, studying. “Who is this Mary, then?” he asked softly, leaning over Stede. A lover? A mistress? A wife? This beautiful man with his fine clothes and lovely, shining treasures surely had at least one of each. What woman wouldn’t be attracted to him, with his obvious wealth, his silken shirt (was it silk? it seemed as fine as the finest fabric he’d ever touched) that Edward had helped to cut off of him before the striped shirt man from his crew tended to him, with his heeled shoes and his golden hair? Even through the smell of blood and sweat, he still smelled… good. Edward couldn’t describe it. Light and sweet, like spring, but a gentle spring that crept in slowly and softly, tender little plants peeking out of rich soil a fraction at a time. It was almost a feeling more than a scent.

No, really, it had started with Izzy’s report in his cabin. “Fascinating,” Edward had said. This fancy man with his gorgeous, brand-new ship, with his crew of imbeciles, this man knew of him, knew who he was, and… he didn’t care? He didn’t tremble and quake, didn’t surrender before Edward had even boarded his ship, didn’t accompany Izzy to meet him all while whispering frantic prayers? “Go suck eggs in hell,” those were his words. He had to meet this man, this Gentleman Pirate, this stupid Stede fuckin’ Bonnet (he’d heard Izzy’s muttering on the way out the door even if Izzy didn’t think he did). Who was he? What kind of titanic balls must such a man have? How could he not be afraid?

And then he set eyes on Stede, gut-stabbed, half-strangled, face pale, hair mussed, cowering on the deck of the Spanish ship. “You’ve heard of me?” he asked, eyes so wide Edward could see the whites all around.

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard of you,” Edward had said. “I’ve heard all about you.”

And Stede had smiled! Just before his body went limp and his eyes closed (Edward’s heart gave another lurch just thinking of it, he’d thought the man was dead for a few agonizing instants, that this fascinating man had died before they could properly meet, that he’d been too late, and Ed had dropped to his knees, brace be damned, to check for a pulse, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding when at last he felt one, weak against his fingers), he had smiled because he was known, he was recognized. Edward knew that feeling well, or he had, once, a long time ago. He remembered that craving to be acknowledged, validated, the raise of eyebrows, the stammer in a voice, at the name “Blackbeard.” He had relished it, for a time.

No longer. He was bored out of his skull (and not the one that sat on his desk, either, his own actual skull). This wasn’t fun anymore.

But then. Then Stede fuckin’ Bonnet had refused to meet him. Then he had saved Stede fuckin’ Bonnet’s life, and the lives of his crew. Killed the Spanish, brought him back to his ship (the Revenge; what was he getting revenge for, and who on?), made sure his wound was taken care of, and… and then he sat. He sat and he watched, he studied, he thought. He smoked. He rested his boots on that fine blanket for a while, but then he thought he shouldn’t, he didn’t want to dirty it. He listened to the feverish mutterings from Stede’s chapped lips. He gazed around the room, this fucking ridiculous cabin, and wondered about the madman who owned it. Two chandeliers! A fireplace! And, as he found out a little later, a secret auxiliary wardrobe!

The man was a lunatic. He’d never seen anything or anyone like him. Edward was fascinated, utterly enraptured. He traced his fingers (lightly) over the jackets hanging in rows while Stede struggled into clean trousers behind him. Blue, purple, yellow… some of the colors he didn’t have names for! This one was smooth, and he jerked his hand away when a rough spot on a callus snagged the fabric slightly. That one was almost fuzzy, like the belly of a newborn kitten. This one had a varying texture, some bits raised and rougher with other bits more slick, in a kind of diamond pattern. Amazing!

So after that, back in the main cabin, when Stede knew who he was (he looked terrified for a moment, and Edward had smiled to see it, to see that he still had it, that this man was human after all) and Edward--Blackbeard--had admitted he didn’t see the point in piracy anymore (the point in life anymore, he didn’t say), it just came out.

“Do you want to do something weird?”

He’d been thinking of it, in the back of his mind, since he saw the auxiliary wardrobe. Well, to be truthful, he’d just been thinking of wearing some of that frippery himself. Just to try it. Just to see how it felt. (Just to be someone else for an hour, someone he knew he could never truly be.) But even as he said the words, the idea came to him: they would swap. Swap everything. He could be someone else! For a while.

“P-pardon?” Stede said, smiling but looking puzzled.

Edward leaped to his feet, the gears in his mind going double time. He had to make it seem like he was doing this for Stede so that Stede would agree to it. He was good at getting people to agree to things. Normally he used violence, or threats of violence, but he liked the challenge of doing something without blood or mutilation, for once. “You want to be Blackbeard?” he asked. He was already taking off his jacket. “Here.” He held it out at the end of his arm, the black leather heavy. “Put it on.”

Stede, still bracing one hand against his wound, leaned forward to take it from him. “Ooh,” he said, wincing, the arm drooping until the jacket hung against his leg. “I, ah, I’m not really sure I’m in the best, ah…”

“I’ll help you,” Edward said quickly, not wanting to lose momentum. “Here, let me.” He took his jacket back and slung it over the end of the couch, then he sat and started unstrapping his knee brace. He could feel Stede’s eyes on it, but thank fuck the man didn’t ask about it. That was not a story Ed felt like telling just now. “Take everything off, we’ll swap.”

“Everything?” Stede asked.

“Yeah, everything,” Edward said excitedly. He couldn’t wait to feel the fabric of that shirt against his shoulders, his chest. And Stede’s trousers fit so much differently than his, what would that be like?

He glanced up to see Stede lean back against the little chair he was perched on and start to toe off his shoes as best he could. He gave a grunt a time or two, but he got them off himself. By the time Ed had discarded his brace and was working on getting his boots off, Stede had lifted one foot to the opposite knee and was peeling his stocking down. Ed found himself frozen as that pale ankle was revealed, the curve to the top of his foot so graceful, blue veins slightly visible….

Ed shook his head and dropped his boots to the floor with a thunk. He shucked off his gloves, then whipped his shirt off over his head and left it atop his jacket.

“Oh, oh my. The tattoos,” Stede said, sitting there with one stocking in his hand, one leg bare. “They just… keep going, don’t they?”

Edward quirked the corner of his mouth in a small smile. “Yeah,” he said proudly, looking down at his chest and over his arms. When he looked up at Stede, he saw his mouth was open, his eyes roving all over Ed’s upper body. Edward felt his neck and cheeks warm to an almost unbearable heat, and he looked down again. “Doing okay?” he asked gruffly.

Stede had lifted his other leg up now, but his grunting and breathing had grown heavier. “Sure, yes, I’ve got it.” With his left hand still pressed to his wound, he started to try and take the second stocking off, but it was clearly a struggle with the way it was pulling muscles he hadn’t realized he had until they were sore.

“Here,” Ed said, coming to kneel in front of Stede. It was easier without the brace on, but it still hurt like a mother. He grit his teeth, mastering the pain. Stede slowly rested his foot back on the floor. Edward pushed up the cuff of Stede’s breeches over his knee and hooked his fingertips into the top of the stocking, but there was a ribbon there tied around it. Frowning at the unexpected thing, he pulled one end to untie the bow, and it slid free easily. He handed it to Stede, then he was able to pull the stocking down and off. He dropped it on the floor.

Stede was breathing hard, looking down at him, his lips still parted. Edward asked, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No.” Stede swallowed.

The room was silent. Neither one of them moved.

Ed’s eyes traveled down from Stede’s face to his neck. The rope burn would be there for days, at minimum. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing at the black cloth wrapped where the noose had been only last night.

“This?” Stede lifted his hand as though the limb belonged to someone else. His fingertips touched the cloth. “Just a… just a bow tie. Ordinarily,” he straightened slightly and began to speak faster, “it would go over a lace cravat, but I didn’t quite have the energy for that today.”

“Doesn’t matter. Can I have it?”

“Certainly.” Ed watched as Stede undid the loose knot, then unwound it from around his bruised throat. He handed it to Ed, his fingers brushing Edward’s palm as he passed it over.

“Your shirt,” Ed said, rising with the tie in his fist. He held one sleeve, then the other, while Stede gingerly pulled his arms from each, then Ed lifted it over Stede’s head and lay it aside. He couldn’t help but pause and look down at Stede. Not a single tattoo on him, making him different from almost every other pirate he’d ever known. But more than that, what surprised Edward was that Stede didn’t have any scars. Not a single one, well, other than where he’d been stabbed yesterday, that would be a scar once it healed. His eyes roved over Stede’s shoulders, his chest, his arms. Not a scratch, not a nick. Smooth as an infant. A slight sprinkling of pale hair down from his sternum and around his nipples. And then the bandage across his stomach, stained slightly pink over his wound.

“Not much to look at, I know.” Stede gave a strained smile up at Ed.

“No, you’re--I wasn’t--” Ed stammered, stepping back. “I think you’re, I mean--”

“I wasn’t fishing for compliments, you don’t have to--”

“Nah, I mean it, mate, you’re a good-looking blo--”

“Oh, pish posh,” Stede said waving his hand in the air as if to blow away a bothersome insect.

“Pish posh, what the fuck?” Ed’s eyebrows drew together in a frown as he stepped back. Was this some high-class insult he’d never heard?

“It just means I don’t believe you,” said Stede, explaining patiently as he had done earlier about the word “retirement.” “Like what you said was nonsense.”

Edward looked down at his feet. “Not nonsense,” he muttered, knocked out of a comfortable space by Stede’s protestations and more new words. The only person that ever argued with him was Izzy, and he didn’t pay that bastard much mind. No one argued with Blackbeard, no one! But Stede was arguing, albeit about something completely stupid. He was a nice-looking bloke, and if he didn’t believe Ed… if he thought it was nonsense… Well, Ed didn’t know what.

“If you say so, Ed,” Stede said gently. “Ah…” There was a slight waver in his voice, and Edward looked up at him. “Trousers?” he asked, uncertainty in his eyes.

“Yeah, right, mate, trousers,” Edward muttered. He turned half-away, not because he was particularly modest--you couldn’t be, living your life on a ship with dozens of other men, he didn’t give a fuck, parts were parts and he’d seen lots of them, no big deal--but because he thought Stede probably was. He reached for his buttons.

Then he heard Stede’s hissed inhale. “Edward… your back.” So he’d seen the scars, the ones from Hornigold.

Edward twisted his neck to look over his shoulder and meet Stede’s eyes. Anyone else and he would’ve snarled for them to mind their own fucking business. Or he would’ve lied. Made up some story about a sea monster, or cannibals, something nuts like that. But Stede was different. Stede knew who he was, and wasn’t afraid. Stede didn’t see him as a ghost but as a good man. Stede shared his fine things with Ed. So he just… pleaded. With just his eyes, he begged Stede not to ask.

And he didn’t. After a moment, Stede dropped his gaze and also turned away, undoing his own breeches. Edward got a look at his back, then. Still not a mark, not a scar. A few freckles, that was all. Just smooth, pale skin. And further down, a fairly nice ass. Ed shrugged to himself and tugged his trousers off as Stede stepped gingerly out of his own, one hand braced on a piece of furniture to keep his balance. Ed turned and threw his trousers over the chair Stede had been sitting in, then stooped to take the breeches Stede had left on the floor.

It took him a second to figure out how these buttoned up. They were a little different from his own. “What would you call this color?” he asked, his voice gruff as he stepped into them.

“Copper,” said Stede. “Though they are a little on the pink side for true copper.”

Ed looked down at the tops of his thighs and ran his palms over them. “Copper,” he echoed quietly. When he turned, he saw Stede bare-ass naked, his shoulders hunched, looking down at Ed’s leather trousers.

“I, ah…” Stede looked over his shoulder at Ed with an apologetic little smile. “I might… You go ahead and put my togs on if you like. I don’t think I should… Perhaps it would be best if I simply put on my nightshirt and went back to bed.”

He did look pale. His eyes were ringed in red, and he was breathing hard. But no, fuck! It wouldn’t be as fun without Stede there in Edward’s clothes. Not as fun and not as funny. He didn’t want to do it alone, that wasn’t the point! “No, come on, mate, I’ll help you,” Ed said, picking up his trousers.

“No, really, I should--”

“Think of the look on their faces,” Edward said, shaking out the trousers and stepping closer, holding them low so Stede could put one foot into the leg. “Your crew, when they see you all kitted out in this, looking just like Blackbeard.” He could see Stede’s expression change as he considered it. His foot lifted a little. “I mean, talk about respect.” Ed guessed right: Stede’s eyes lit up. He didn’t have the respect of his crew, as Ed thought, but he craved it. Stede lifted his foot all the way and, one hand still helping to balance himself on the desk, he lowered his leg into one leg of the trousers.

“There you go, mate,” Ed said encouragingly. Stede shifted his weight to lift the other leg, trading which hand pressed gently over his wound. For a moment, his free arm flailed in the air, but then he settled his fingertips on Ed’s bare shoulder. Instantly, Ed flinched away.

Stede put his foot down again and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“No, it’s fine,” Ed mumbled, looking away. Away away from Stede’s groin, away from his face, away from his brown eyes. “I wasn’t expecting--”

“I can sit down and do the rest myse--”

“Nah, come on.” Ed took Stede’s free hand and placed it firmly on his shoulder, then once more held the trousers open. After a moment, Stede complied and stepped into the other leg. Stede’s hand was cold on Ed’s shoulder, but so soft. Just like his chest and his back, there wasn’t a mark on his hands. His nails were clean and short, the pads of his fingers smooth with no rough spots to catch on his fine silks and linens. This man had lived the high life since he was born. Edward was baffled as to how he ended up here, the captain of a pirate ship. Or at least a ship full of pirates.

Ed let go of the trousers and turned away, letting Stede do up the buttons himself. While he did that, Ed shrugged on Stede’s frilly shirt. It was, indeed, finer than anything he’d put on his body, with the exception of the touch of fine fabric against his cheek a few times in his life. (A rather exquisite cashmere, he heard in his mind.) He ran his palms down the front of it. His hands were clean enough that they wouldn’t dirty the cloth, though he was careful not to let any rough spots on his skin catch the threads. He touched the lace at the neck with his fingertips, feeling the texture. Surreptitiously, he glanced at Stede, who was still busy with trouser buttons, before lifting the front of the neck opening to his face and inhaling through his nose. It smelled fresh, it smelled like sunshine. Like the laundry on the lines behind their house when he was a boy. Hardly any of it was his family’s; mostly it belonged to wealthier families that could afford to pay his mother to wash their dirty clothes. He remembered walking past it as a boy, pressing his face against the damp fabric and inhaling, smelling the good soap that his mother didn’t waste on their own clothes.

“Don’t forget the stockings,” Stede said, jolting Edward out of his memories. He had sunk down into the chair again, catching his breath after the apparent exertion of standing for so long.

“Oh, right,” said Ed excitedly. He sat down on the couch again and pulled them on. It took a little fussing and some pointers from Stede, but he soon had them on with the seams in the proper place and everything.

“Do you want the garters?” asked Stede.

“The what?”

“The ribbons that tie above your knee, to keep the stockings up.” He motioned to the ribbons that had been set aside.

Ed frowned at them for a moment. He knew a lot of knots--a hell of a lot of knots--but he knew he couldn’t tie a bow pretty enough for those ribbons, even if they would be hidden under the breeches. “Nah,” he said, buttoning the breeches below his knees. “‘S fine.” He slid his feet into Stede’s shoes and found they were just a smidge tight, but he would manage. He’d only be in them an hour or two, surely. “How’re you doing?” Ed asked, looking across at Stede.

“All right, I think.” His breathing had slowed a bit, and a little color had come back to his face.

“Ready for the shirt?”

Stede sat up a bit. “Ready,” he said, a little as though he was convincing himself that he was.

Getting Edward’s shirt on him was much like getting Stede’s own shirt off, just in reverse. Neck opening first, then one arm at a time through the sleeves, all while he was perched on the edge of the chair. Standing over him, Ed leaned over to help tug the hem down around Stede’s waist, but, clumsy oaf that he was, his knuckles scraped against the bandage on Stede’s stomach right over the dagger’s entry point. Stede yelped and jerked back.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“No, it’s fine,” Stede panted, one hand gripping the arm of the chair so hard his knuckles were white, the other arm curled protectively over the wound. “It was an accident, don’t--”

“I’m sorry,” Edward said again. He had stepped back and was holding his hands up, palms out. His stupid, thick-fingered, clumsy hands. Fuck!

Stede took a slow breath in, then let it out. “Would you like to put on that black bow tie?” he asked, nodding at the cloth where Ed had left it on the arm of the sofa. “Helps to complete the look, I think.”

Ed swiveled his head around to look at it. “Hell yes,” He said, snatching it up. He stretched it out and put it behind his neck, but then he didn’t know what to do with it. Probably more fancy bows that his dumb fingers couldn’t manage. He lowered himself with a groan to his knees right in front of Stede. “Help me,” he said, lifting his chin and offering the two ends of the tie. Stede looked startled, eyes wide, and he drew back a bit. “Please,” Edward added, and then, his expression softening, Stede took the ends in each hand.

Stede shifted to the edge of the chair, spreading his own knees so Ed could fit between them. A startling combination of scents hit Ed in that moment: his own leathers on Stede, soaked with his own sweat and the heat of the Caribbean sun; the laundry soap that Stede used (or someone on the crew, maybe, he couldn’t imagine Stede washing his own laundry) on the fine clothes Ed himself was wearing; some kind of flowery something that might be lotion on Stede’s soft hands, or oil in his hair; and then something deeper, musky, the smell of a man’s skin and the warm places where thigh curved to belly, and lower than that…

And then, oh god, Stede had crossed the ends of the tie and was leaning forward to wrap them around back of his neck, bringing his own throat within inches of Ed’s face. “Lift your hair, please,” he said softly, and Ed obeyed, reaching back with both hands to grasp the length of his hair and pick it up, resting his hands at the crown of his head. “Very good,” Stede murmured, and something inside Ed’s ribs fluttered distractingly. “May I touch your beard?” Stede asked before Edward could even recover from that.

Ed gave a nod. “Ngh,” was all he could manage to say, sounding half-strangled but not by the tie. Wide-eyed, he watched Stede bring the tie ends around front so they lay on his chest, and then Stede’s hands were on his beard, gathering it all together into one hand and lifting it free so gently, then using his other hand to tug the ends of the tie down, cinching it tighter around his throat. Ed didn’t feel the rug beneath him, or the throbbing in his bad knee. He hardly felt connected to his body at all. It was like he floated somewhere above it but could still feel the touches. No one touches Blackbeard’s beard, Ed thought. No one would dare. But here was Stede fucking Bonnet, his soft hands so gentle, arranging the tie.

“You can let your hair down,” said Stede, and instantly Ed let go, letting the coarse strands fall down his back and against his shoulders. “May I touch your hair?” Stede asked, and it was killing him, chipping away piece after piece of him, to hear Stede ask his permission before doing things or touching him! He couldn’t have put into words why if he’d been held at gunpoint, but he liked it, Stede asking him and him answering, giving.

“Yeah, whatever you want.” The words tumbled from his lips as he gazed up at Stede. The Gentleman Pirate oh-so-gently slid his fingers across the back of Edward’s neck, catching stray strands of hair he had missed and lifting them free of the tie.

Ed gasped at the touch. “All right?” Stede asked, pulling back enough to meet his eyes.

Edward blinked a few times. “Yeah,” he said. He realized his hands were clenched into fists against his thighs and tried to relax his fingers.

“You have lovely hair,” Stede said, dragging his eyes away from Ed’s. “Do you ever curl it or braid it?”

Lovely hair. That thing inside his ribs fluttered again and filled Ed with heat. “Nah. Don’t know how.” Lovely hair.

“I’d love to do it for you sometime.”

Those words sent a heat somewhere else in his body, into the pit of his stomach, into his groin. He knew that’s not what Stede meant, but that’s how his brain heard it, and fuck! There were all sorts of things Edward would let Stede do for him, to him, on him, under him….. Shitfuck! No, fuck no. He couldn’t think those things. The man was still half-dead for one thing. And for another, this was just a lark, just something to amuse him for the day. They’d go show the crew their clothes, prance about a bit for a laugh, then they’d swap back and Ed would be on his way. He would leave this sumptuous room, these beautiful curtains, the sparkling chandeliers, all behind. He had no place here. This place wasn’t for people like him.

“Ed?” He realized he had been staring off into the void for a few moments too long, and his head snapped up. “Can you lift your beard again and I’ll do up the tie?” Edward immediately complied, feeling a few brushes of Stede’s fingertips against his collar bones as he looped and pulled the tie, listening to Stede mutter, “Not that anyone will see it much, but it’s the principle of the thing, there we go, and through….” He sat back, and and the loss of his nearness was like a roaring fire suddenly going out on a winter night. “What next?” asked Stede, his eyes bright.

“The, um.” Ed looked Stede up and down. Trousers, shirt. That was all. “My necklaces,” he said suddenly. He reached under his hair and under the tie to find the clasps.

“Oh, then you must have my rings,” Stede said. He started to pull them free of his fingers and gather them all into one palm. Ed had one necklace off by the time he was done, so he sat still as Ed reached up, the open gold chain in both hands.

But then Ed paused and thought of what Stede had done. Aked permission. “May I… may I put this on you?” he asked.

The smile that broke over Stede’s face like the fucking sun itself rising blew all other thoughts out of Ed’s mind. “You may,” he said brightly, and Ed reached up, Stede leaned down, and Ed wrapped his arms around Stede’s neck, oh, fuck! Ed’s beard brushed against Stede’s chest, and the frilly lace at the end of his sleeves touched Stede’s shoulders. His hands were shaking so much it took several long (torturous, brilliant, agonizing, amazing) moments to get it clasped. With a small sigh of relief and regret, Ed sat back. Stede started to offer the rings, but Ed murmured, “One more,” and undid his second necklace. Then, again, his knee screaming in pain, Ed leaned forward and reached around Stede’s neck. “How’s your throat?” he asked.

“Oh, not too bad,” Stede answered, his voice a bit higher and breathier than it had been. Was he--could this--no. Stede just felt awkward with Ed’s--Blackbeard’s--closeness. This wasn’t affecting him the same way it was affecting Edward. He probably just wanted this overwith. Ed probably stank, and his beard was too rough, and Stede just wanted away from him. He clasped the necklace and leaned back. Stede dropped the rings into his palm, and Ed took a moment to slide them onto his fingers, having to try a few different ones for each ring before he found the right fit.

Now what? He looked around at the discarded clothing and other pieces. “Do you want…?” Ed gestured toward his knee brace. “You don’t have to,” he said quickly.

Stede smiled. “Of course. If I’m to be Blackbeard, I want it all. Which leg, left, yes?”

“Right. I mean, yes. Left.” Ed grabbed for the brace and started to buckle it over Stede’s knee, though he didn’t do it as tightly as he did for himself. Stede wouldn’t need it for actual support. Stede sat quiet and still, and Ed felt his fingers tingle with Stede’s gaze on them. Once that was done, he helped Stede into his boots. “How’s that?” Ed asked.

“Not bad. A bit loose.”

“You know what they say about men with big feet,” Edward said with a smirk. It just slipped out. Shit, fuck! Fuck! No, he couldn’t do this, couldn’t flirt with this man in such a way! Not Stede, not the Gentleman Pirate here among all his fine things. Fucking hell!

Somehow, despite the blood loss and the recently-broken fever, Stede’s cheeks grew bright red, and on up to the tips of his ears. “They have big… feet?” Stede asked, a nervous smile on his lips. Clearly he knew what the actual saying was, but he was sidestepping quite gracefully. Of course he was, this man had fucking manners, unlike Edward himself.

“Yeah,” Ed muttered. Feeling hollow and dark, he pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. He picked up his leather jacket and held it out, not looking at Stede. “Can I… may I help you with this?” he asked softly.

Stede got to his feet as well, though it took him a moment. “Certainly.” He turned around, and Ed caught one arm into the sleeve and pulled it up, then the other arm through the cutoff sleeve hole with the leather pauldron over the top. Stede turned toward him, and Ed couldn’t help but grin at the sight of him. Golden hair and pale skin contrasted with the worn black leather, shark’s teeth, and metal bits. Even the way he stood, one hand lightly over his stomach, his feet turned out, it was too much, too good! “Shall I fasten it for you?” Ed asked, and Stede nodded. He stepped closer, though not too close, not like before, and did up a couple of the toggles, leaving the top part open, like he always wore it. “Nice. Fucking nice, mate,” Ed said, standing back and looking him up and down, giddiness washing over him. “That all? Oh, no, gloves!” He all but dove for them on the sofa, then held them out to Stede. He didn’t need help with those, so Ed just watched him pull them on over those shining clean fingernails. He pushed the snap closed on one, then the other.

“How do I look?” Stede asked, his eyes bright as his smile.

“Badass,” Ed said, smiling, practically vibrating with energy. He couldn’t wait for the crew to see Stede like this. He couldn’t wait for them to look at him in this foppery. The look on Izzy’s face alone would be worth it! It would just kill Izzy to see Blackbeard dressed like this. Wicked. “Okay, let’s go,” he said, starting for the door. “You--”

“Wait,” said Stede, turning to track him as he walked. Ed froze and looked back at him. “Don’t you want to see yourself?” Ed frowned. “In the mirror.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” Ed said, his heart starting to pound. Stede made his way over to the bookshelf again and pulled the figure to open the secret door. He gestured for Ed to follow him inside, and once they were in, Stede closed the door. Shit, it was so quiet in here, and it smelled so nice. For one wild moment, Edward thought that he never wanted to leave this beautiful room with its painted walls and plush rug and beautiful fabrics all around. But he knew he would have to leave it, probably in just a minute and maybe forever, so he soaked it all in while he could, breathing deeply and flicking his eyes all around. A wig, a soft red robe, a pretty box, curly hangers. He followed Stede to the far end where a big wardrobe, a large wooden piece of furniture, stood. Movement caught the corner of his eye and he half-turned to catch his reflection in an oval mirror mounted on the wall above a wooden chest, but then Stede said, “Here we are,” and Ed looked to see he had thrown open the doors of the wardrobe. On the inside of one door was a mirror almost as tall as he was. Stede stepped aside, going half-into the hanging trouser section, so Ed could look.

He looked… like a different person. Or half a different person, at least. His black and grey hair and beard were the same, wild and tangled. But his legs in those stockings and shoes. The white, fine fabric on his calves… He turned slightly and pointed his toe, his eyes round with wonder. Tthe graceful curve of his calf. That color--copper--on his hips and thighs, shining, beautiful. He turned and twisted to see the way it curved over his ass. And the white shirt covered in lace and little tassels! When was the last time he had seen himself in any color but black? Probably as a lad when he had first joined Hornigold’s crew, years and years ago. Even then, his white shirt had been stained and dingy, more the color of sand. This was pure, perfect white, and the lace frothed at his neck like a waterfall, and it dripped over his hands like frosting on a cake. He stood silent and baffled for long moments, turning this way and that.

“You look splendid,” said Stede. Ed’s knees turned to water and the fluttering in his chest had turned to thumping warmth. He didn’t dare look over at Stede. This man was like a siren to him, his gentle words compelling Ed to do anything, anything for him! He would throw himself into the sea for this man, he would give him anything, if only he could keep listening to that soft voice, encouraging, god help him, complimenting him.

Ed cleared his throat and stepped aside, pushing himself slightly amongst the jackets on the other side of the room. “‘M all right,” he muttered. “Here, you look.” He gestured at the mirror.

Stede stepped in front of it and his eyes once more lit up. “Ahh,” he said, grinning. “Now there’s a proper pirate, yes.”

“Splendid,” Edward said, Stede’s word feeling strange in his mouth. He caught Stede’s gaze in the mirror, and they stood smiling at one another for a long moment.

“All right,” Stede said with finality, but he still didn’t move. “Shall we go out?” Still didn’t move.

Ed kept looking at him in the mirror. He stepped a bit closer, then a bit closer, until they were side by side, both of them looking at their reflections together. His shoulder bumped Stede’s shoulder, but Stede didn’t pull away. Ed didn’t pull away. They just stood there. Looking. Stede dropped his right arm away from his stomach and stood straight, but his knuckles brushed the back of Ed’s hand. For half an instant, Ed’s heart rose, rose, up into the sky…

But Stede jerked his hand away and stepped aside, out of the frame of the mirror. His heart, or whatever lump of coal in his chest that had once been a heart, crashed back through his ribs and further down, out the soles of those fancy buckled shoes and through the rug. “Let’s go,” said Stede, turning abruptly.

Ed, heavy once more, followed him out of the auxiliary wardrobe and to the door of his cabin. One moment, he thought Stede was… interested, or at least intrigued. There was tenderness in his eyes and his hands. But then Ed would do something wrong--he never knew what--and Stede would shutter closed again. Why? “Wait,” he said, stopping Stede with a hand on his chest. He couldn’t even feel Stede through the layers of leather. “I’ll go out first,” Edward said. “Get everyone’s attention. Then I’ll introduce you, and you come out as Blackbeard. Okay?”

Stede hadn’t drawn back from Edward’s hand on his chest. “Okay,” he said in a whisper.

Edward swallowed, his eyes darting from Stede’s eyes to his mouth and back to his eyes. There was pain there. But was it just his bandaged wound? Or was that pain deeper? Ed drew his hand back. What could it be? What could hurt such a splendid man as Stede Bonnet? Could he ever find out?

“Okay,” Ed said. In all his borrowed finery, he opened the door.

***

Later, much later, when he took all of it off, Edward kept the black tie around his neck.

It made him feel fancy.

It made him feel like he deserved to wear fine things.

It made him feel close to Stede.

And that was all he wanted, to stay close to Stede. Stede with his marmalade and his exquisite cashmere and his rows and rows of books. Stede with his gentle hands and his gentle voice, with his asking instead of taking. If Stede asked, he could take all he wanted from Edward, all and more. He would stay. He had to stay. The Kraken itself (monster of the sea or monster of his mind, didn’t matter) couldn’t drag Ed away. He would stay.