Work Text:
Excerpt from A true journal of the life and happenings of Stede Bonnet, as recorded by Lucius Spriggs, Scribe for the ship Revenge.
September 2nd 1717
Note: Cannot Recommend spending all Night on Top Main while wearing Leather and recovering from Gut Wound. Excellent Company, slight Difficulties in descending to Deck and resuming Standard Attire.
Stede was starting to feel a bit silly sitting up above the deck with his breakfast tray, still in Blackbeard’s gear. Ed had gone down to talk to his first mate, although Stede thought letting that grumpy little man fuck off back to the Queen Anne's Revenge was a fine idea. In any case, the morning sun was blazing, all traces of fog wiped away, and leather was hot . At least silk was a breathable fabric! Did Ed truly wear all this leather, all the time ?
Stede clapped his hands together until he finally got someone's attention, and shouted for the swing. He could already tell he was in no shape to climb down the rigging. There was some confusion -- “Cap’n? That you? Or are ye Blackbeard?” from Buttons, while behind him Stede thought he heard Wee John mutter “Christ, I forgot he was still up there." Eventually, however, the bosun's seat was level with the top and Stede managed to haul himself into it, leaving the tray for later. Karl might enjoy the crumbs of scone & blobs of marmalade that were left, and Stede had quickly learned that it was rather important to stay in Karl's good graces.
Once on deck and trying to stretch his cramped limbs, Stede realized that as restorative as the night's adventures had been for his spirit, sitting propped against the mast for a scant few hours of actual rest had done nothing for his healing body. Several of the crew waved as he made his slow way below decks, which was encouraging, at least, and even Jim didn’t seem entirely displeased to see him -- and Stede remembered again that Jim was not a man, and thought that maybe in a week or two he would stop being surprised about it. Ed had generously given Stede perhaps a bit more credit than he was strictly due for the lighthouse misdirection when they had had come up on deck with Ed lugging a mirror from Stede’s en suite. Maybe the success of their plan had been a bonding moment for them all! Well, not that Izzy fellow, who was still chatting with Ed at the rail and looking just as sour as ever.
The Crew seems to be adapting well to our current Invasion Situation and we are Accommodating our Guests as comfortably as Possible given the somewhat cramped Quarters. After a slight Misunderstanding Mr Izzy Hands has unfortunately decided to Remain as well as several of Blackbeard’s Men to help Instruct our Crew. (Nb. Lucius Spriggs, ship scribe: They’ve taken over the Jam Room, is what they’ve done. Highly inconvenient since that was acknowledged by All to be the best Location on the Ship for Snogging Crew Bonding Activities.)
Once more in his quarters, Stede flopped inelegantly onto the chaise, chest heaving. Being stabbed was no joke, no game of pretend. Events had proceeded so quickly almost from the time he had opened his eyes yesterday -- was it only yesterday? -- that he was really just now beginning to realize he had Blackbeard to thank for his life. Blackbeard, who was just Ed, a man with kind eyes, a cheerful (compelling) grin, and an adventurous spirit. Who was maybe sticking around for a few days to learn how to be a gentleman, and to teach Stede how to be a better pirate. What a crazy random happenstance!
Stede managed to pull the strange leather coat off without shifting around too much, and laid it across the back of the chaise. (And why was there only one arm? Get rid of both in the name of symmetry, and at least the whole thing wouldn't be quite so heavy and hot!) He was attempting to lever Ed’s boots off his feet, pressing the toe of one against the heel of the other so he didn't have to bend over again, when the man himself crashed into the room, flinging the door back to bounce against the wall with a thud. Stede closed his eyes on a vision of scarred paneling, an inevitable outcome with the way everyone kept bursting in. Did no one knock anymore?
“There you are, mate! Izzy's gonna stick around, couple of the boys, we’re gonna get your whole crew into tip-top fighting shape, yeah? They're keeping an eye out for merchant ships, and we’ll get you on a proper raid in no time!” Stede realized he didn't really know Ed well, but the man seemed agitated -- from his conversation with Izzy? Stede watched as he fiddled with a wall hanging, peered at a stack of books on the desk, then came around to inspect the knickknacks on the mantel before focusing on Stede at last.
“Oh! You aren’t looking too swell there, Stede. Maybe we’ll schedule a raid for tomorrow instead?”
"I think so, yes.” Ed was so thoughtful! “Spending the night up top hasn’t seemed to agree with my, ah, stab wound. Just working on changing so you can have your clothes back, and I think I may spend one more day resting.”
Ed was next to him in a moment, lifting Stede’s legs to sit on the opposite end of the chaise and then repositioning them in his own lap. “Let me help, yeah? These boots are a pain in the ass. Usually get Izzy to yank ‘em off for me, and they're tighter on you. Look cool, though, don’t they?”
Ed's ease with physical touch was something which Stede's life to that point had left him utterly unprepared. They'd spent most of an entire night with shoulders pressed together as they chatted and laughed and relived the evening's triumph, and that was nothing compared to this. His feet propped on Ed's thighs as Ed wrapped one hand around Stede's leather-encased calf and grasped his heel with the other. It took a couple of tries, and finally the boot came free, with Stede letting out a rather undignified squeak at the movement. Ed dropped it on the floor and soon had the other on the rug, as well as his stockings. Stede flexed his feet in relief, and then Ed … grabbed his foot? Wiggled his toes? What?
“Look at these piggies! How are your feet this soft, man?”
Uh. Stede was really not prepared to respond to that, given that no one had ever in his entire existence commented on his feet before this moment, let alone touched them, and it seemed strangely intimate. And, after the long day and night, entirely too much. Too much new information, too much thinking, talking ,touching -- too much. He awkwardly pushed himself up and swung his legs to the floor, movements stiff with aches from the long night. “Let me just -- I’ll go change, and return your clothing, shall I?”
“Oh, yeah! I should get out of your gear here, I suppose.”
“You’re welcome to it for as long as you want, really. It’s not like I have any shortage of wardrobe choices.”
Ed appeared to consider it, but then shook his head. “Nah. I’m used to my leathers, man, and this soft stuff isn’t really my style. What would people think, Blackbeard swanning around in silk?”
Ed stood up and pulled the shirt over his head in one fluid movement, dropping it behind him on the chaise. When they had exchanged clothing the day before Stede had retreated into his berth and pulled the curtain, and so didn’t see what he was now trying very hard to ignore, namely Ed’s chest. He'd seen other men shirtless, of course, but the sheer number and variety of tattoos covering Edward Teach's upper body were truly a sight to behold and had him transfixed.
Both arms from shoulder to fingertip were covered in ink; small stars, skulls, and figures were scattered among the undulating body of a snake on one arm and tentacles on the other. Stede followed the path of the snake up one arm and then his eyes snagged on the great bird that spread its wings across Ed’s upper chest and the ship that sailed across his sternum, below.
Stede realized Ed’s hands had stopped at the fastenings of the rust-colored breeches and he was staring at them. At Ed’s hands. At the tattoos on Ed’s hands! Tattoos were fascinating ! And oh no. He’d been silent & still for too long and now Ed was staring back at him. He was making everything horribly awkward. Again.
“Apologies, Ed! I’m being rude. I was distracted by admiring your. Uh. Tattoos! I’ve seen tattoos. Of course! Very piratical. I just, ah. Not so close up. I never realized what an incredible work of art a tattoo could be. That ship. On your. Uh.”
Ed stepped toward Stede, a glint in his eyes that made something in Stede’s belly go all swoopy again. Had one of his stitches popped?
“You can see them as close up as you want, mate.”
Stede reached out a careful fingertip, just hovering over the snake winding along Ed’s strong arm and over his shoulder. “This is … wow. How far around does this go?”
Ed’s eyebrows shot up, and then that small, secret smile, the crinkles around his eyes, that reminded Stede of the auxiliary wardrobe, the way Ed had looked at him like sharing a secret with Stede was the most wonderful thing in the world. Like Stede was someone to share secrets with at all.
“Want to find out?”
“Oh! No, I mean. I was. Wondering. Just imagining that -- “
Ed shifted just the tiniest bit closer, but Stede felt like he had been enveloped in heat, electricity. Panic? What had he been saying? Imagining Ed’s tattoos? The snake that went over his shoulder and curved around his ribs and then down to
“What were you imagining?” Ed’s voice was pitched low, and the way he was looking at Stede. Just looking! Stede had practice assuming confidence like a tailored coat he could settle over his shoulders, taking charge of nearly any situation, but he had no idea what to do with the way Ed was just -- there. Looking at him expectantly ? Was Stede supposed to…
And Stede panicked. That’s all there was to it. He opened his mouth, with no idea what was going to come out, and then -- “Well! Tattoos are certainly not in my wheelhouse I’m sure! Being new at. Pirating and all! Lots of thoughts about pirating! So I’ll just. Go! Go change. Changing now. Pants. And things! Feeling much better now, think I’ll just --”
Stede fled into his en suite and closed the door rather more forcefully than necessary, and leaned back against it. What had just happened? He felt a bit weak and shaky. He closed his eyes, put a hand over his belly where things were still jumpy. Aftereffects of being stabbed, still, no doubt, and so many things happening, all in a row. And -- oh damn. He was still wearing Ed’s pants.
After wearing Leather Trousers for the better part of a Day and Night, felt Somewhat Overheated. This, along with lingering Fever from my Gut Stabbing no doubt Accounts for the Prickly Sensations and Rosy Flush I have been Afflicted with Today. (Nb Lucius: yes, I'm sure that's the explanation.)