Chapter Text
Knives McGee is having trouble with a lock. They broke their first set of lock picks — which will need to be replaced in the next town — about ten minutes ago. And now they have Jeff breathing down their neck.
“If you break mine too,” says Jeff, casually, “I’ll skin you.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Knives hisses. “I’d also like to see you fall in a spike pit. Así que compórtate. Or have you forgotten I’m your traps checker.”
“Mate, if you find traps like you open doors, you’re gonna be down there with me.”
🎲 🐉 🎲
Jim glares across the table at Ed; Ed smirks back. He’s got his cheek cradled into the palm of his hand, elbow leaning on the table. His expression is vaguely cat-like — smug.
Of the group, only he is willing to actively aggravate Jim. That doesn’t stop the Swede from making an aborted snorting noise to Jim’s left, desperate to hold in a laugh.
Stede looks pointedly at Ed. “Would you like to take a stab at the door, Jeff ?” He asks.
Jim crossed their arms.
“Fucking nat 1,” they mutter.
Ed meets Stede’s eyes with a burning sort of intensity. Stede swallows because that’s the look he always seems to get right before he starts rolling charisma checks.
“Yeah,” Ed purrs, “I think I will.”
Ed’s the newest addition to their table.
When the crew got a little too boisterous (the term used at the time had been rowdy ) at the library, Stede went on the hunt for a new location for game night.
Ed (a new-ish friend of Stede’s, acquired during a dreadfully embarrassing night back in October) had offered his bar, months ago, but the thought of dealing with Iggy on a weekly basis had been a bit off-putting at the time.
Venue-less, Stede was willing to reevaluate.
Ed sets them up in a private room behind the bar, usually reserved for parties, but solidly booked now on Wednesday nights to accommodate Dungeons and Dragons.
At first, Ed just popped in to sit beside Stede and watch the story unfold, making comments and laughing at the crew’s antics until Izzy, inevitably, commandeered him for neglected work matters.
Now, he’s a player. And Stede finds himself a little proud at how quickly Ed’s picked up the game. Specifically the role playing.
“What would you like to do?”
Ed grins. “It’s a pub right? Bet the guy behind the counter’s got a key.”
“Ooooh,” Lucius rubs his hands together and leans forward. “Is Jeff going to seduce the barkeep?”
Ed grins. “Think I might.”
Jim rolls their eyes but clearly they haven’t given up yet. “Sure, fuck, whatever. I’ll help. While Jeff flirts, I want to steal the key.”
“Okay,” Stede smiles. “Knives, roll sleight of hand if you please. With advantage. Jeff, what would you like to say to the barkeep?”
🎲 🐉 🎲
The tavern is crowded, bodies pressed tightly together, shoulder rustling shoulders. It’s humid in the space, dimly lit: one might even call the tight quarters intimate. Jeff leans over the bar, signaling for the barkeep, a human man of roughly 50. He has jet-black hair, ruggedly —
Ed cuts in. “Nah, gotta be blond, mate.”
“Why blond?”
“Not into black hair.”
“Oh… alright,” says Stede.
— He has corn-silk blond hair, ruggedly handsome —
“Why rugged? Can he be soft? Pretty.”
“Do you want him pretty?” Asks Stede, confused. Ed grins.
“Yeah. Want him in pretty clothes, with soft hands and killer legs, and a smile like the fucking sun,” Ed leans in. “And—“
Stede waves a hand, shooing away further interference. “If you muck with my character any more Edward, I’m kicking you out.”
“— a little bitchy,” Ed finishes, looking at Stede hard. Stede does not flush, adamantly fights it, in fact, but it’s a near thing.
“Fine,” says Stede.
— He has blond hair, and an appearance Jeff finds pleasing. (Ed chuckles “fucking cop out.”)
“What would you like, sir?” The barkeep asks.
“Something sweet,” Jeff tells him.
“Oh,” the barkeep responds. “What a surprising choice.”
“You are what you eat, right, mate?” Jeff winks. This makes the barkeep laugh; it’s a tittering thing.
“And are you sweet, sir?”
“Could be. For you, I could be anything.”
🎲 🐉 🎲
“Ugh, asqueroso,” says Jim. “I rolled an 18. Did I get the key?”
Stede clears his throat because Ed is still looking at him with those dark eyes. And despite Stede’s best attempts at separating himself from the narrative, he very much feels like the barkeep. It very much feels like Ed is flirting with some version of himself. Some version willing and eager to flirt back. Perhaps it’s best Jim cut in.
“Yes, I do believe that does it. You take the keys from the barkeep's belt and disappear into the crowd.” Stede says. Oluwande whoops, slapping Jim on the back. Jim smirks in triumph. Stede turns to Ed. “Alrighty Jeff, you have the barkeep’s rapt attention, how would you like to make your escape.”
Ed looks directly at Stede, and Stede feels rooted by the intensity of his gaze. “Oh I’m not running, Stede,” he says. His voice is low, his eyes - usually so expressive - are almost entirely pupil in their blackness. “I’m going to fuck this man.”
The whole table erupts into laughter and hollering.
Wee John shouts “hell yeah!” So loud Stede thinks it’s likely the bar patrons on the other side of the wall may have heard it.
Stede feels something like lightning rush across his shoulder blades and a pang of arousal somewhere low in his navel.
“Roll persuasion, please,” says Stede. Thank god his voice comes out at all.
Ed rolls, looks at the die, and then flashes Stede a winsome smile.
“That’s a 15,” he says, pausing for dramatic effect, before adding: “plus 10.”
“Fucking bards.”
🎲 🐉 🎲
Stede stays at Blackbeard’s for a while after the rest of the crew have packed it in and headed out.
He’s followed Ed back into the main establishment to sit around while Ed cleans off the bar and helps close; which is very kind of him because Stede knows for a fact he is off on Wednesdays.
“I think tonight went really well,” Stede smiles. “You all are making good progress in the campaign.”
“Not gonna spoil anything for me are you?” Asks Ed, he’s placing a near-empty bottle of liquor back on the top shelf. Stede tries and fails not to watch the hem of his shirt ride up against his flank. It’s a losing battle. Ed has a myriad of tattoos hidden at any given time just under the thin material of his clothing and Stede is desperate for any wayward glance.
Even more desperate for an opportunity to really observe, to feel them and trace them and love them. These glimpses are maddening, but he’s drawn to them, like a sailor to a siren, heedless.
“Of course not. Like in life, anticipation is very important to a story.”
“Hmm,” Ed hums, turning back to Stede. The only consolation for the sudden lack of skin on display is that Stede now has the opportunity to look at Ed’s lovely face.
“I will, however, tease that Lucius is nearly done painting everyone’s minis. They look incredible, I can’t wait for you to see Jeff.”
“Oh yeah, edge of my fucking seat for that,” Ed says, his eyes sparkling but his mouth set in a very thin line, like he’s trying not to let on just how excited he really is. It’s very cute. Edward Teach is a cute man, when one looks past the intimidating aura and the frankly obscene amounts of leather. “You want a drink before I clear the glasses?”
“That sounds lovely, thank you Ed.”
“Course, man, what do you want?”
It slips out. Honestly.
Truthfully, it’s probably because he keeps thinking about the role play. Has been all evening. It’s been hours now, but Ed’s flirty banter with his NPC is on repeat like a reel in Stede’s mind.
Stede says “something sweet” and immediately, embarrassingly, turns bright red; a redness that betrays, very obviously, that the words were not a coincidence.
Ed’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline one moment, and then furrow very deeply the next.
His expression is… well, it’s certainly something, isn’t it? They stare at one another for a moment. For a lifetime, maybe, Stede feels it pass like molasses, swirling in Ed’s deep brown eyes.
“Yeah?” Ed asks, voice much huskier than Stede recalls it being a moment ago.
Stede has two options. He can say yes please, thank you dear. Or… he can continue the script. And hope, in doing so, he doesn’t ruin his repore with a beloved friend in his eagerness to have that friend kiss him senseless like he’s wanted since the moment they met.
For once in his pathetic life, Stede wants to be brave.
“You are what you eat, right?” Stede says. He tries to smile, he’s not sure if he succeeds.
But actually, it doesn’t matter, because whatever his mouth may or may not be doing, it’s hidden a moment later when Ed hefts himself half across the bar top and slams his lips on Stede’s.
It’s rough and bruising and then soft and tender. Ed smells like whiskey and leather. Stede’s trying to catalog everything about him: taste, touch, smell. He’s only just started when Ed pulls back with a grin so delicate Stede’s heart breaks a little just knowing it exists and he’s not seeing it every day of his life.
“Wow,” Stede breathes. And having nothing better to add, says it again.
“Fuck Stede,” says Ed, still leaning over the bar; apparently not interested in backing up any further. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.”