They didn’t really discuss the next move until they’d already made it. Standing under the bright noontime sunlight, watering their exhausted horses in the port, Inigo somehow felt renewed, nearly satiated by the promise of the new day. A sensation that died away as Buttercup nearly fainted with exhaustion on crossing the gangway, leaving Westley to carry her down to his cabin before returning, calling the crew to him with a piercing whistle.
Inigo and Fezzik, having been all thumbs while trying to help the princess, now stood erect behind their once-dead friend, waiting to offer any support they could. Westley was introducing Inigo to the crew, telling them all that Inigo was the new Dread Pirate Roberts and that they could trust the swordsman with their lives. Then, he slapped Inigo on the shoulder, slapped Fezzik upon the middle of his back and left them to it.
Inigo – who had spent many years alone until Fezzik had reentered his life and righted it – eyeballed his crew of twenty men. It was an impressive, almost intimidating gaggle of humans who stood before him, waiting for orders. The men eyeballed him right back.
“All right!” Inigo said dramatically, as Fezzik beamed down at him. “Take the boat and shove it.”
Silence. Confusion “D’you mean you’d like us to shove off?” Asked one toothless fellow sporting a red bandana as he hung from the rigging.
“Yes, yes, shove off,” Inigo encouraged, and managed not to pitch face-forward onto the deck as the ship moved westward toward the setting sun.
Westley – the king of planning on the fly – had managed to avoid setting a course for the ship before disappearing with Buttercup belowdeck. After a meal of hard tack and dried beef, Inigo let the night settle in around him, feeling ornery – though not too ornery to take advice from Fezzik, who had been apprenticed to a mapmaker sometime in his youth. They settled down in a small bunk at the foot of the ship with Westley’s materials and tried to plot the course.
Fezzik's big fingertip traced the well-worn pathways inked upon the map in red. “If we go this way for a month,” Fezzik said, “we should be able to stop in the Indies. Then we can go from there to Virginia!”
“There is only one problem with that,” Inigo said. “Scourges of the seven seas don’t take the main trade winds into fair ports.”
Fezzik frowned. “I don’t know about that Inigo. Maybe it’s time for the Dread Pirate Roberts to be…nice!”
Inigo squinted at his friend. “Nice?” Warmth climbed up the back of his neck at this friend’s hopeful expression. Things had been changing rapidly between them since they’d stolen the princess on her wedding night and fled Florin for safer pastures.
“Sure! I think you could be nice! After all, you’re always nice to me, and to Buttercup. You're even nice to Westley, and he tried to stab you. And I accidentally almost drowned you!”
“You have far too much faith in me, Fezzik,” he sighed. “I’m a swordsman without much use, nowadays.”
“Don’t talk like that!” Fezzik insisted. “You and Westley left gave the prince mercy when you didn’t need to.”
“I spared his life because it was not my pain,” Inigo shrugged. “It was Westley's fight. Otherwise, I would have run him through, were it not for my wound.” He regretted that choice more every day, because now Humperdinck was a lingering threat hovering like a black cloud over all of them. Inigo glanced again at the mark on his abdomen, which was, at least, beginning to heal.
“Hey,” Fezzik nudged him fondly – which was enough to send Inigo sprawling across the mattress. “You are a good man, Inigo Montoya. There’s no one else in the world I’d rather have as a partner.”
There was that damnable blush again. “Thank you. I think we should stop in Spain for supplies. Then,” he shrugged. “The islands. And America.” A place he had never been to but one he had heard of often.
Fezzik followed the course they'd etched on the map with the tip of his thumb, tracing it carefully before getting up to take it to the night watch. While he was gone, Inigo blew out the lantern and curled up in their newly shared bunk.
But he didn’t sleep until he felt the mattress dip and heard Fezzik slump to the bed with a sigh.
The situation improved gradually. Fezzik was the key, of course – no one could argue with a giant’s firmly stated word, and if he believed the maskless man with the fabulous mustache was Dread Pirate Roberts, then the men aboard the Revenge weren’t apt to argue. Westley approved of this new approach to the Roberts character - more derring-do and passionately shouted messages of protection and revenge, fewer hoods and classy quips. And Buttercup – who had never held a sword before in her life when she had boarded the ship - was developing an animal cunning that was turning her into a fierce foot soldier for the ship.
Inigo adjusted to the role of leader gradually. He had been mercenary before his quest for revenge ended, living in shadows, breathing only for the culmination of his revenge; so now they carefully picked off their targets, ridding the world of the wicked, sparing the righteous. There was enough money by the time they were out of the continent's sight to set a course for Barbados, with the larder groaning mightily under the weight of fresh supplies.
He was almost proud of himself by then. And all the while Fezzik was there, beaming down on him like a radiant, ever-loving sun.
They had won a hard-fought battle together and the crew was wildly celebrating when Inigo hung his arms around Fezzik’s massive neck and the giant swung him through the air, victorious.
And their faces were close together, and he was leaning down and…
Fezzik was holding him at a distance. “I’m not sure we should kiss in front of the crew. We’re respectable murderous pirates now, you know,” Fezzik said. “We’re professionals!”
“I do not think they have room to judge me,” Inigo said stiffly. “I saw O’Brien pitching woo to the masthead while he was scraping barnacles last night.”
“I think we need a shore leave," Fezzik noted, remembering an unfortunate encounter he'd had with one of the deck swabs while the deck swab was having a very pleasant encounter with a sack of flour.
“How far is it to the next island?”
“Five days, according to the map.”
An eternity, but Inigo would endure it.
Seducing Fezzik was never part of the plan. It was just a side-effect of closeness and nuzzling and bed-sharing and increasing tropical heat. They were still miles and miles away from solid land and well….
It felt nice to surrender to the rhythm of his body to the will of nature. And his very attractive friend’s wonderful mouth.
Somehow he got a hand down Fezzik’s tights and Fezzik’s big hands were restless and all over Inigo’s body, and he slipped down that massive trunk….
Suddenly Inigo needed two hands to shove down Fezzik’s pants and palm what he felt. No. Perhaps three. Fezzik's wet-tipped cock slapped him right in the mustache and made him lean back in awe.
“How in the name of Madre Maria do you manage to walk?” he asked, blinking. Fezzik’s cock was about as thick as a mug, and as hard as his favorite weapon. He had, admittedly, seen a peck of members thanks to his very brief service with the Seville Army (revenging and military work, alas, did not mix well) but this took every single cake ever made in the history of human cake-making, and several cakes made by lowland gorillas sometime in the fourteen hundreds.
Fezzik tilted his head and shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “One day I looked down and it was like that. I’ve gotten lucky and met some nice ladies and fellows who taught me how to take care of it.” He kissed Inigo’s toe, which was all he could reach in such a position, in the semi-gloom of their little cabin at the back of the boat. “I’ll take care you just the same way!”
A fine proposition. “As long as you don’t make me pay.” Inigo’s careworn hands circled Fezzik’s shaft and began to rhythmically tug and pull at his cock, and a rumbling sensation burbled up beneath his chest. Somehow Fezzik got Inigo’s own tights unlaced and the smaller man’s cock was swallowed down in a gulp by Fezzik’s talented mouth.
Fezzik surfaced with a gasp. “I would never treat you that way!”
Inigo began to wonder hazily if he’d wasted too many hours pursuing his singular goal. Surely, when he wasn't lamenting his father's death there had been time to learn how to juggle. Or rhyme. Or suck on cocks. He was so far out of his depths that he felt like he was the fumbling virgin all over again. (There had been women, of course, a scattered few, and a gentleman like Inigo would never tell no matter how much anisette you plied him with). The number dwarfed Fezzik’s multiple experiences during his time traveling with the Brute Squad and at various carnivals in his youth. Somehow he had never considered his own sexuality in the mad dash for the six-fingered man, and now that he was being confronted by its existence...
“You’re so strong. I might have guessed that.”
“Hurry, or they’ll find us undressed…that…please don’t stop, Inigo!”
At that, Inigo’s mind returned to the task at hand. Cautiously, he opened his mouth and took the head of Fezzik’s cock in. It beat against his lips, and cautiously he took an inch onto his tongue, jaw straining.
Then all at once Fezzik’s cock throbbed hard and Inigo letting go instantly, choking violently. It was no mirage – the flesh was real, angry looking and rather purple, quite close to climax. But he’d managed to do it! Fezzik’s faith had not been misplaced!
“Easy,” Fezzik said, patting clumsily at Inigo’s back to offer whatever comfort he could. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
“I have studied with ruthless swordsmen in Calais. I have defeated grief and the killer of my father with my own hands. I don’t think my destiny involves choking to death on your cock.”
“Inigo,” Fezzik sighed, covering himself with a huge hand, “this won’t work unless you touch it.”
“I know that much,” grumbled Inigo. With dignity and love, he encircled Fezzik’s prick again with both of his fists and began to gently pump it, resting the wide head upon the tip of his tongue. He kept going as the flesh in his hands grew hot, thicker, and began to throb violently. In an instant Fezzik was moaning into Inigo’s ankle, his big hand cupping Inigo’s own cock, as he jetted his release into Inigo’s eager mouth.
Cautiously, Inigo continued to gently stroke the flesh through its final spasms. When he glanced over his shoulder, Fezzik’s smile was both grateful and dreamy. “That feels nice,” he said, his big hand mashing gently down on top of Inigo’s head. Minutes passed by. Inigo sweated. Fezzik grew limper, and he grimaced and cupped his hands over Inigo’s working fingers. “And now it’s feeling not-so-nice,” he said, sitting up on the bunk and rummaging around in the trunk. He came up with a small container of lotion made of sheep’s milk that he’d won in a game of dice from one of the sailors.
“Next time, we’ll use this.” He slapped the spot beside him and had Inigo lie down. “But I think I’ll just lick you. Would you be fine with that?”
“I don’t think I’ll be very pleasant,” he said.
“You’re handsome, Inigo. And built so nicely.” Inigo’s cock twitched and Fezzik’s grin widened. “You see that? It knows!”
“Please don’t talk about it like it’s not attached to me.” But Fezzik’s big hands were stroking along his body, and his mouth was descending again…
Inigo came in an embarrassingly short amount of time, deep in Fezzik’s mouth.
Fezzik licked his lips as he finished, wrapping himself around Inigo’s shaking body, rubbing it, as Inigo clung to his bare forearm.
When Inigo regained the power of speech, he asked, “How many days until we reach port?”
“Two,” said Fezzik, yawning hugely.
“Good. I want to try this in a bigger bed.”
They didn’t mean to get married but that’s precisely what happened. Perhaps it was the way the moon’s shining on the deck of the Revenge, or perhaps it was Fezzik’s nakedly pleading expression.
Or the rum. They had both drunk a fair share of the golden intoxicant that they’d scavenged from a galley that had partially sunk in the waves. Fezzik had taken in an entire cask by himself, and Inigo had had three cups by the time they stood alone on the deck under the enormous, shiny moon.
Whatever it was, Inigo leaned into his old friend’s chest and stood on the very toe-tips of his fine leather boots and tangled his fingers in his thick, curled hair. And it was a tender embrace. Stunningly tender, for a man who could crush his head with a single blow.
“When we dock, where do you want to go?”
Fezzik smiled and kissed the top of Inigo’s head. The men around them…actually minded their own business. “I think I would rather stay here with you.”
Inigo smiled back. “Maybe it’s the night making me sentimental…but I feel that way too...”
The next thing he remembered was waking up in Fezzik’s bunk, nude, with a small band of tin around his ring finger and a headache.
Fezzik remembered very little of the previous night. “We docked, there was a lot of loud noise…do you think we could get a honeymoon suite? There's a place in town, they have wonderful rolls, and Buttercup won't have to cook for us...”
"Please, Fezzik," Inigo sighed, shielding his raw red eyes from the sunlight, "I'm trying to think!"
It was Buttercup who had all of the answers, who sighed expectantly, and dished up some platters of fried beets when their hangovers precluded Fezzik's solution to the problem. “I didn’t think you would remember,” she said. “You begged Westley to marry you right away, and then he did, with me as your witness.”
“I…” He peered up at Fezzik. “Do you suppose it counts in the church?”
“Of course. My Westley was a captain, after all,” Buttercup pointed out, then rushed off to serve the rest of the men porridge and pork.
They went on working together, but the confusion had stopped their newfound love life dead. In fact, they didn’t talk about it until they were stranded in the midst of a monsoon in Manila. Then they shouted about it as loudly as they could while clinging to either side of the mast.
“Fezzik!” Inigo shouted. “If these are our final hours, know I died hoping we would always be together in the end!”
“That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said,” he shouted back Fezzik. “I won’t die now because I want to hear a lot more romantic things from you! So hold on!”
Inigo discovered two things at once. Sticky tar was both a great weatherproofing agent and a big help if you wanted to cling to something for your life, and true love can give an infatuated person an infinite amount of strength.
Inigo wiped his greasy fingertips as he hovered over Fezzik’s body. “Are you sure this is the right way?”
“There are other ways to do it,” Fezzik said solemnly, lying flat on his back with his legs hanging off either side of the bed, “but this is the best way to go through it.”
“Are you sure I won’t blow it?”
“If you do, I will let you know it.”
Inigo was nervous as he pressed forward, the tip of him slowly breaching Fezzik, who was surprisingly warm, surprisingly tight.
“Is it good?” Inigo panted.
Fezzik smiled. “It’s wonderful,” he said softly, and kissed Inigo, and pulled him close and rocked their bodies together.
And then Inigo was held tightly by his husband in every way possible.
The Revenge made its first successful American raid two months later. The bounty was wonderful – they’d rescued ten women kidnapped and bound for a brothel in London, taken their stores, and, in that grand Roberts tradition, left no villainous survivors.
Indeed, this new Roberts was quite a different fellow. He was known to liberate the kidnapped, the enslaved, the downtrodden from the cruel and domineering. With the poor and especially the orphaned, he shared generously. And with his men, who had finally accepted him as the latest Roberts.
The main bounded blue all around them as their people cheered, carrying sacks of potatoes and hardtack and loops of sausage from the raided galley. Tonight, they would feast, and tonight he and Fezzik would….
Fezzik stooped quickly and kissed Inigo’s grinning lips, cutting off any further thoughts.
Yes. It was definitely good to be good.