come_sailaway | We're wide awake now, our eyes are wide open. We're running this world, we keeping it turning

[Stede closes his eyes briefly and looks away]

If you keep using that word, you're going to get what's coming to you.

[his hand feels good in Stede's. Better than it has any right to. He's about to put his other hand around Ed's waist but remembers that part of this is about teaching Ed of the finer things in life. He's never really enjoyed dancing, but he wants Ed to know what to do if he meets someone really special.]

Here. You're the lead. Which means your hand goes here. [and he takes Ed's free hand and settles it against his waist. It is very warm there and Stede is glad he has the scant protection of fabric]

And I'll put my mine here. [and he rests his hand on Ed's shoulder which is surprisingly solid] Now, you lead, and I'll follow. Set the pace, the steps, anything you like and I'll do my best to follow. [a wan smile] Just ...not too fast, please.

A truer threat has never been spoken.

[Stede’s hand is soft and warm in his, lightly calloused from ship life—but it is still among the finest things Ed has had the pleasure of holding. He allows himself to be positioned and arranged as Stede wishes, watching with gentle, almost bashful and childlike curiosity. But when it comes time to lead, any of that ‘it’s easy, move with the music’ attitude disappears. He doesn’t want to fuck this up, step on Stede’s toes.

So he looks down into the space between them and watches their feet as he carefully steps with the rhythm. He frowns with concentration.]

Dunno why anyone’s got to lead. It’s a dance, not fucking follow the leader. Woundn’t it make more sense if this was—I don’t know—like a good sword fight? [To demonstrate his point, he sways them a few steps backwards for Stede, then with a gentle little pull in the motion, sways along to the music and moves them backwards for himself.]

Push. Pull. Back and forth. Nobody calling the shots by themselves?

[it's nice, it's very nice, better than he expected. Ed watching their feet is strangely adorable, though he is too drunk to worry about his toes being squashed. If it were anyone else, he might worry more. He is also drunk enough to let himself be lead in simple steps, back and forth, a little clumsy in execution but effortless in grace.]

Well a dance doesn't usually end up with one partner dead. [well except metaphorically because barbs exchanged while in close proximity to someone who had mastered passive aggression could really wound the psyche. But that would only complicate the issue]

You're not against each other when you're dancing, you're with each other. You're cooperating. If both try to lead...

[he pulls back just a little as Ed does, just to break the rhthym and show him what he means]

Everything starts to fall apart.

[and he allows himself to be lead again.]

See what I mean? It's less about push and pull and more about trust.

[More than the demonstration, the explanation is what gets to Ed. He understands what Stede is trying to demonstrate--obviously, it's compromise, something pirates only begrudgingly do; or following a lead as one follows a captain and it's simple really, but-- Trust. Trust is not so simple. Trust and loyalty are true rarities among pirates.

But Ed... trusts Stede. He shouldn't. Trusting is the surest way to end up with a knife in your back. But he does. Maybe has been coming to that since the other night in the bathtub. Maybe before that. And isn't that a hell of a thought.

And even though Stede is a bit naïve to the ways of piracy and foolhardy, even he should be wise enough to not trust Blackbeard. But Ed's heart is stuck on hope.

He steps closer, closing the gap between them, arm encircling Stede's waist just a little more as they sway to the music. Ideally, Stede would smell more like his soap than his stomach and alcohol, but Ed will take what he can get. With dark, bewildered, awed eyes, he watches this amazing creature before him]

You...trust me?

[oh that is very close and very warm. More than that, with Ed's arm around him he feels very--

Well, he'd never say it and tries not to think it because even drunk he doesn't want to go back to how he used to be. He's come a long way from a stupid simple boy picking flowers.

But in any case, he finds himself closer as well. He idly thumbs the neck of Ed's ridiculously cheaply made collar, that had been his own a few short hours ago-- then finds a better use and rubs it against the edge of a tattoo he can see peeking out from it.

He smiles at the question]

Of course! We're co-captains. And friends. And you do keep saving my life so that puts you high up there on the trust gauge.

[he doesn't want to ask if Ed trusts him, he doesn't want to know the answer. But he feels it is important for Ed to feel... well he doesn't know about safe. Could Blackbeard ever really feel not safe? That was the whole point to this, wasn't it? And... Stede isn't really sure if Blackbeard-or Ed needs to feel like he belongs either. If anything it's the opposite. He doesn't want to be projecting his own insecurities onto the man.]

I bet I'm not the only one.

Edited 2022-05-03 03:29 (UTC)

They trust Blackbeard to be a murderous pirate--that's how they trust me.

[But not you, Stede. (Although if Stede's funny collection of wannabe pirates ever comes to trust Ed--even if they only trust him a little, because Stede does--he wouldn't mind that, really.)

Blackbeard always feels assured of his safety and the unlikeliness of his death. Ed... Well, it doesn't really matter what Ed feels.

The siren song of catchy lyrics--about heartache and pain and what love is--tugs at his attention. No one's ever quite loved Ed. They've admired Blackbeard, worshipped him as a god among pirates. But they've been brutally cruel to Ed. They've been fair-weather friends. No one's really loved him. So how would he know what love is when no one has shown him?

Would he even know if it he saw it?

Stede just says these things so easily. Of course. Of course he trusts Ed, as if Ed is a person to be trusted with fine things like Stede's friendship. He's not. Blackbeard is a man who would stab him in the back now, if it served his purposes.

He won't though.

Oh. Blame the song, the alcohol, the warmth of the man pressed against him, but-- Oh.

Love, in whatever form, is...trust, he decides. He trusts Stede, more than he ought to--knows that touch to his neck will do no harm. What a terrifying revelation of his own vulnerability.

He waffles with clear indecision, has a false start, and then releases Stede's hand to bring both arms around the gentleman pirate in what might--if he were not Blackbeard--be called a hug. After this brief indulgence--and with a cough to clear his throat--he pulls back, once again at a safe, danceable distance.]

[Gruffly] Let's just--

That didn't happen.

[he can't really speak for Ed's crew sadly and it seems too disingenuous to say his own don't feel that way. He's sure that there are people in Ed's life that think of him as more then --

Oh God was Ed going to--

No, Ed wasn't going to and why would he but the hug is just as startling and warm and dangerous and Stede is not flying with full sail at the moment so before he can even think to return it, Ed steps back.

It's a strange thing to think about Blackbeard hugging. Everyone needs a hug, or at least Stede likes to think that. But Blackbeard is a terrible pirate and terrible pirates, when they hug, they hug in a manly way. It's charming while at the same time disconcerting and Stede is not sure what he thinks about it.

Except that Ed looks a bit lonely when he pulls back. Stede doesn't know what love is either, at least not like that. He doesn't even know what friendship is. He barely knows what a pirate is. But what he does know in his drink addled mind is that Ed needs someone right now, for whatever reason. Maybe just to get the affection out of his system.

So he steps forward and, faintly cringing and hoping Ed won't see him as a complete pansy boy, he hugs Ed back as he always wanted to be. One arm went around Ed's back and the other around his shoulders, feeling the tickling fall of his hair]

Don't worry... I won't tell anyone.

[but he's not sure when to let go of him either as he is so warm and real and this feels so good]

[Ed hadn't expected the hug to be returned. Hell, it was a stretch to have thought it might even be accepted--and in retrospect, maybe Stede is just too polite to push him away.

So with an inhale of surprise, he finds himself with an armful of Stede again. Is this pity? Could be. But fuck, he should just shut up and not look a damned gift horse in the mouth.

So Ed hugs him back. First with a few pats to his back and then--damn him and damn Stede too--he fully embraces the other man again in a warm, friendly hug, the likes of which he's never really known. Jack used to throw his arms over Ed's shoulders, shake and jostle and manhandle him, but that had always been less about affection and more about--

Camaraderie wasn't it either. It was really just...Jack being Jack. It was how men interacted on the seas--with brief, crude touches. Slapping backs, punching arms--even the good touches were violent. Those touches were never like this fine thing he is swathed in now. Stede doesn't squeeze him just to make his ribs hurt, or smack the back of his head in a 'gotcha!' He holds him. And Ed can't recall when he was last just held. It's horribly fascinating; it's frighteningly addicting.

If he raises his hand, he could touch Stede's golden hair, cradle the back of his head and curl into the embrace. He can easily ruin this with a selfish piratical greed to have more of a good thing.

With a soft, self-derisive snort, he raises his chin from where it had come to rest all on its own against his friend's--I guess that's what he is now, so that's what we're calling him. A friend.--shoulder. He's going to say something witty about spoiling the dance, but the words don't form. He stares out into the dark night. His thoughts swell and roil like the tide. Someday, he knows he'll be dashed upon the rocks.

Ed puts on a smile and pulls back.]

Come on. Let's go. I'll walk you back to your cabin. [Which was always a given, so voicing it isn't all that brave, but--it feels it.]

[he doesn't expect to be hugged back either. The pats are a little jarring and make things a bit awkward. But then, oh, that is nice. It's lovely and warm and soft and he can feel the strength there, too-- even as he desperately tries to bottle up that queer sensation that tries to bob to the surface.

Not here, not now, don't ruin it. Don't go too far or do too much. But Ed's chin is on his shoulder and it's such a gesture of trust that Stede feels a little overwhelmed. The only chins he's ever had on his shoulder were the children's when they were smaller-- but never Mary and never like this and even if she had, he'd never have felt like this either, he thinks with a small burst of shame.

He is a lousy husband and a lousy father and somewhat of a lousy pirate-- but somehow combine them all together and he's not a bad Stede. At least one good enough to hug. And the worst part is a part of him wants to stay here like this while another part is more alarmed wondering just who this is right now. Fortunately he's too fuzzy headed to think of anything much.

He's both disappointed and relieved when Ed pulls away.]

Right. Good idea.

It's not much of a cabin though, is it? Entirely too small. And my so called 'roomie' is a creeper. [though now he will have to walk and if Ed gives him a moment he'll figure out how to coordinate his limbs]

I should complain to the management.

[The trouble with having his hands free is now he doesn’t know what to do with them. Ed just kind of stands there, exuding his usual gruff quiet, hoping to regain some of the cool and aloof attitude after what was a rather fragile moment.

Complaining to management is such a Stede thing, and would be funny if it were about anything simple like the ale selection onboard.]

Huh. How so?

[Concern and a vague protectiveness sneaks into his tone. He frowns and somewhat instinctively puts a steadying hand on Stede’s elbow as his friend finds his sea legs again.]

I don't [he hiccups a little, wincing at the taste he's just now noticing on his tongue] I don't know. Maybe a strongly worded letter? [the hand on his elbow is lovely but the sea must be excited because he can't seem to walk in a straight line without staggering to one side or the other]

I mean they have a library on board so someone must be able to read unless it's just for show. Maybe I'll knock on their door until someone answers or complain to the staff?

Not that I've seen any...

I didn't mean the bloody complaint--

[He isn't just irritable because they're talking about the ability to read and write. Or the fact that staff is non-existent so there isn't anyone to ~~threaten~~ complain to except Friday and Ed's decided she's off limits for that kind of thing now. ]

Your bunkmate.

[Killing them won't resolve anything if they'd just come back to life afterward, so there has to be another solution if Stede's bunkmate isn't worth bunking with.]

Oh!

[he bumps into Ed lightly on accident and absently grips the back of his shirt to keep himself upright]

Gosh, I miss the leather. You should have worn it. I imagine you would have gotten all sweaty but there's something very tough about it. No one would have given me any guff if I'd worn leather when in school. Though I had this very lovely brocade coat, pale blue with white piping. [he sighs] It's a pity it got covered in horse manure.

[he flops his head on Ed's shoulder, suddenly missing that coat very terribly. He's not a particularly weepy drunk, but somewhat misty eyed and it's a bit difficult to walk and rest one's weary head on an understanding shoulder, but he manages]

I don't need the leather to be tough. [Though it helps. Like putting up a shield or donning a costume to get into a role.] Neither do you.

[He'd like to have gone back and made all those little boys regret ever picking on Stede Bonnet--put the fear of Blackbeard into them, and make them learn to respect Stede.

Ed slips an arm around Stede's middle to support him, since he's going to walk so close anyway. That's obviously the only reason.]

You were in a powdered wig and your finest foppery when you took down that French party boat.

You don't. [he snorts. then hums a little at the touch] You could look aggressive bare naked and shouting insults at the moon.

And that? That was just passive aggression. Turning people on each other in a mad frothing frenzy. If I didn't have Frenchie to help me out, I don't know where I'd be. That was fun though. We should do it again.

Maybe not here. Not yet.

[he considers a moment]

Anyway, it's not the point to look tough it's to look-- deadly but elegant. [he thinks about the sound of this] Dandy but handy? No.

Dressed to kill. [he grins] Only this time more literally.

[he lifts his head a little to smile up at him]

But you could be undressed to kill, right?

[Naked and shouting insults at the moon. Now there's a thought.

He lets Stede ramble and talk himself through whatever he's working on, as Ed chooses instead to work on making sure they don't tangle up their feet and fall over or walk into something.]

Suppose you could. Jim doesn't need to wear anything fancy to stick a knife through somebody. ...They've got a nice hat, though. Never really been a hat guy myself--it doesn't go with the hair--too much hair, really.

Point is, I think you're downplaying the massive aggression. Turn someone's fears against them and you own them, remember? You exposed them and all their flaws--and they went batshit. So what if they destroyed themselves--you lit the fuse. You were deadly, man. You were powerful.

You are powerful.

Just the right amount of hair I'd say! So lovely and thick. I bet you could run your hands through it for days. [and oh what a lucky so-and-so who could. He flushes at the compliment, mostly because it feels true]

Thank you, Ed. That means a lot. I'm glad we're co-captains. It wouldn't be the same without you, you know. I'd probably be dead but in here... [he presses a hand to his chest] it would just be a little lonelier.

[Ed walks into a chair while he's looking at Stede. He curses under his breath at the pain in his shin and has to tear his eyes away just to right their path again.]

Same, honestly.

[But he should really stop thinking about someone running their hands through his hair for days and days and days--]

I'm only saying this because you're drunk and probably won't remember, but--

Days have gotten brighter since you've been around.

[he's surprised by this and raises his head fully, feeling himself flush all over. What is he supposed to make of that kind of compliment? He wants to remember it and keep it tucked away in his heart, especially since most people seem to feel the opposite.

If only Ed had been a young woman with estate enough to attract his father's eye and then -- well they'd still sail the boundless sea but they'd do it together. Maybe Ed could still grow the beard. Some women could. There was a great aunt of his who did and he thought it had looked rather charming. Though not as charming as Ed's.

Maybe he could also be on the more flat chested and narrow hipped side with broad hands and rangey muscle and the perfect mouth. They didn't make mouths like that just anywhere.

He realizes he's stopped and hasn't done anything but stare at Ed softly for...well he doesn't know how long for but it's probably going to make things awkward]

Sorry I was imagining you with lips.

[that didn't come out right but he realizes obliquely he should say something he felt in return. Something about nights? Perhaps? No...]

You-- listen. My days are bright too. [it's not enough but it's hard to think so he pats Ed's chest with his free hand, right above the heart, and hopes that suffices]

[Ed gives him a very odd look at the lips statement. Should he be offended? Complimented? Concerned? He touched his own mouth just to reassure himself that under all that hair, and despite Stede's bizarre comment, he did in fact have lips.

Warmth blossomed through his chest at the touch.]

Right. Yeah. Uh.

[This is so not happening.]

So tell me about this bunkmate of yours?

[there is something enchanting with Ed touching his lips like that. He keeps his hand on Ed's chest because it's nice there and it's almost as if they're hugging again.

Though his mood is doused a little at the question]

He's a creeper. One of those that smile all the time and act like they know the universe but really keep pet spiders or suck bat eggs or something. I don't know. I'll have to find somewhere else to keep my things because I don't trust him not to take them. The letter of the law and all that.

The rooms are just awful too. I don't even have a bed. Just a sofa. No curtains or cushions or book nook. They call this a luxury liner. They don't know the meaning of the term. And they use too much starch in the bed linens. I should not be able to bounce a dubloon off it.

Ah, one of those. That sucks.

[A pause.]

You know...

...I’ve got a bed.

Pretty nice bed—big bed, really. Can’t do much about the room or the linens, but— It’s a bed. All to myself, too. Great big bed, pillows, blankets—you know. The works. Bed with a mattress, even.

No roommate yet to speak of.

...And a couch. Got one of those too.

[Ed is going to regret this, he’s sure of it. It still isn’t too late to offer to off Stede’s roommate, even if the man would return from the dead eventually. He could. He would. Stede would only have to say the word, and he would kill for him.

So maybe this is cowardice. Or weakness, the kind of weakness Izzy claimed was overtaking Ed with Stede around. Or maybe this is character growth. Ed’s not sure. It’s masochistic whatever it is.]

No pet spiders. And I’ll only suck eggs when you tell me to.

[Don’t make him spell it out, Stede. And don’t get the wrong idea—he’s offering to take the couch indefinitely.]

[well he doesn't have to go bragging about it, though it does seem he lucked out on the whole situation. Stede is not surprised he's managed it since Ed is effortlessly brilliant in everything.

He sighs, letting his hand fall from Ed's chest to idly link his fingers around the man's slender waist, just brushing his hip. This is nice. He could get used to this. He shouldn't. But he could.]

Lucky roommate. If you get one.

[there's something there Stede can't grasp. A thought. An idea? It's very difficult to manifest it but he chases it only to fall in the metaphorical ditch at Ed's last words-

He suddenly feels like a captive who has been tied to the mast for several hours baking in the heat, complete with crispy bits.

Ed would... Blackbeard would... And not if Stede asked him to, not that he ever would but if he-- ]

If I...told you...?

[fortunately he has decades of practice of frantically shoving thoughts like these in the hidden closet of his mind. This might make him stare off into the middle distance for a moment before he shakes his head.]

Well-- well... [the thought that he'd had before creeps shamefacedly out of the brush where it had hid and prods him on the leg. Thank God for that.

He hugs Ed just a little closer without thinking about it and slumps a bit so he can rest his chin on the man's shoulder and bat his eyes at him.]

I don't suppose you would mind if I er...nipped on your sofa? Just for tonight?

[Freudian slip before the invention of Sigmund Freud. Told. Yes, told. Because Stede hadn't asked Izzy to ask his boss to suck eggs in Hell. It was told all around. And if Ed occasionally does what Stede tells him to do--stand down when faced with aristocrats laughing in his face, for one--that is neither here nor there.

He meant it as a joke--just a response to Stede's list of crimes his roommate might commit, including the keeping of spiders. He never meant it to be so telling, but isn't that just the way of things.

Ed focuses very keenly on the walkway in front of them. Not on the press of Stede's side to his, or where his hands might be, or where Ed's hands might be, or what the lovely lunatic is saying. Just one foot in front of the other, scowling at the floor like he plans to murder it in its sleep.

The eye batting is entirely unnecessary. Ed would probably walk on hot coals for the price of a smile. He swallows hard, face forward, eyes flicking between Stede's face and the hall in front of them, and back to Stede's face.

If he feels lightheaded, it's because he's forgotten to breath.

Gruffly:] Do mind. Sofa's spoken for. [By Ed. Because Ed might be a pirate, but he's also Stede's friend. And Stede is probably Ed's Best Friend. And there is trust there. Plus, he's learned a thing or two about being a gentleman. Gentlemen take the couch when they have guests.]

You're gonna have to take the bed. [No he will not clarify that it's all yours, Stede.]

Oh. Are you expecting company?

[how disappointing. He'd wanted Ed all to himself. But it makes sense that he's popular.

Oh well. Stede straightens and has to grip a little tighter until his head stops spinning.]

In that case I'll try not to whack you in the face. I've turned into a bit of a wild sleeper.

[it's been ages since he's shared the bed with someone. It will be fine. He'll just tell himself it's Mary and nothing will happen]

We're wide awake now, our eyes are wide open. We're running this world, we keeping it turning

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