Chapter Text
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“I always thought I’d marry for love…” Stede sighed softly.
“Peasants marry for love- Blackbeard has acreage, money , business connections ,” Stede’s father explained through a tired sigh, sharp blue eyes piercing down his nose and straight into Stede’s quivering romantic heart.
“Right- yes,” Stede hummed, twisting his body away, sinking into himself and the plush turquoise cushions. The wide countryside rolled by while the carriage rattled ceaselessly along.
“Of course,” he added quietly just for himself, fitful fingers picking at one another in his lap and hazel gaze pensively scanning past the fields of crops, straining to catch glimpses of the sparkling ocean beyond. It glimmered on the horizon past scrub brush like distant sapphires, beckoning him and taunting him in equal measure. Freedom was out there , and he was in here - a stuffy bumping box carrying him closer and closer to another glorified trap.
This had all come on so quickly. His father made all the preparations within weeks. He knew nothing of his future husband save for the fearsome reputation that preceded him- a tale known far and wide.
It was a similar story no matter who you asked- Blackbeard was a terrifying beast of a man, they said- wealthy beyond imagination thanks to shrewd trading, running circles around even the most cunning. Blackbeard showed no mercy; they only dared whisper, cutting men down with mighty slashes of his sword; either way everyone agreed Blackbeard was a man you never crossed .
Some outlandish tales swore his head was a cloud of dark smoke, two ruby eyes shining ominously within. Others chose to speculate on why he could never seem to keep a bride. It wasn’t terribly unusual to be married more than once, with life as fickle as it could be- illness, accidents, injury, and childbirth taking many too young- but gossip prevailed. One terrifyingly popular theory Stede had overheard in the pub more than once was that none could satisfy Blackbeard’s dark lusts.
They’d say through smirking mouths that all of his betrothed fled to far off lands in panicked horror. Another more insidious rumor was a bloody end awaited any who foolishly took Blackbeard’s hand. The only truth Stede could say for sure was that all of Blackbeard’s previous husbands and wives had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. It was also deeply curious that no one had ever been brave enough to ask why .
Stede imagined this was all a real “win-win” situation for his father- a man with the flexibility and warmth of steel on a good day. Trading Stede off meant guarantees of fortune and lucrative business investments, and if he was really lucky Stede would simply disappear too- vanish just like all the rest- and he’d finally be free of his constant embarrassment of a son- a man who liked to pick flower bouquets on sweeping moors, who read poetry in the town square, who dressed entirely too soft, entirely too finely for a boy.
It was quite a shock to learn Blackbeard had asked for him specifically .
“He’s heard of me? Really?” he’d asked incredulously the first day his comfortable life had been interrupted. His father sat him down in his study, reeking of tobacco, and explained his future in no uncertain terms.
“He’s heard all about you, apparently ,” his father scoffed from behind his mahogany desk, turned toward the bookshelf on the back wall brimming with stuffy law texts as he sunk deeper into his plush leather chair. “I can’t fathom it either. What would Blackbeard want with a lily-livered little rich boy like you ?”
Stede stared at his feet.
What, indeed? He quietly pondered.
“I don’t really care why,” Bonnet senior huffed after a few silent beats. The menacing specter of his father swiveled around then to face him. He leapt out of his chair and stalked toward Stede like a wild animal, grasping Stede’s chin and jerking his face upward.
“You’ll go and you won’t make a fuss. Are we clear? ” he growled, blue eyes sharp as ice. He stomped out of the room, slamming the door and leaving no room for argument.
And that was that- well, beyond some documents signed behind closed doors- Boxes of Stede’s things (especially his books and his wardrobe) were packed and sent ahead; there were wedding dress fittings and whispers as he walked through the winding dirt roads of Barbados those few remaining weeks. Stede imagined often he was Ophelia in the river, letting the current gently carry him toward certain death.
He was definitely dressed for the part- his wedding dress was a spectacular riot of floral lace over a taut whalebone corset, translucent yet modest, covering him down to his wrists and nearly up to his chin, sweeping over his chest in flattering waves of foamy delicate white. The skirt billowed out with airy tulle from his tucked waist, a river of gauzy clouds that hid his shapely legs. Underneath it all his feet clacked anxiously together in a set of sparkling silk slippers.
In his hair sat a crown of sweet orange blossoms nestled into a wild arrangement of fragrant greenery- sage, rosemary, and sweet lavender, all complimenting his golden ringlets which tousled just so at the nape of his neck before curling down and around his sharp jaw.
He’d been given one last glance in the mirror before departing and was immediately overwhelmed by the picture of himself- pure innocence incarnate. He thought it was beautiful- breathtaking even- giving a few admiring turns in his reflection with his hands neatly folded over his stomach- but rather than a glowing bride on his wedding day the sight left him feeling like an utter and complete fool. He felt like chum in the water. He felt like a soft fluffy lamb being led into the maw of darkness.
As they’d progressed through the countryside the charming sun had begun to fade behind gossamer clouds. Overcast and bright diffused light had turned to darkening gloom and a little further still a roiling sky had brought relentless drops of rain tapping against the carriage windows. Stede’s mood had darkened too with every turn of the carriage wheel and groan of thunder, the little bundled bouquet of sweet peas beside him wilting along with his last dregs of childish optimism.
The carriage lurched violently, jolting to an abrupt stop and nearly throwing Stede off the bench. He was forced to scrabble for purchase against the door, gasping for air as sudden nerves plummeted into the pit of his stomach. The elder Bonnet sat mutely, a statue of quiet irritation, back ramrod straight as he calmly reached across Stede’s splayed arms and grasped the door handle.
When he unceremoniously shoved the hatch open Stede nearly tumbled out, grasping at his dress to keep the snowy tulle from spilling onto the muddy ground.
“I’m not a bride, I’m an idiot!” his mind helpfully supplied as the silk of his slipper soaked hopelessly more and more, staining dark brown in an instant when Stede reluctantly stepped down.
“ Out,” Bonnet senior spit in the next moment, placing a firm hand onto Stede’s shoulder and forcing him into the chill damp air. Stede stumbled at first, huffing and carefully gathering his skirts around him, determined to protect the beautiful garment Wee John had spent countless nights crafting for him. He took a few determined strides away from the carriage and a deep breath in, eyes pressed tight, fortifying himself with all the courage he could muster.
He heard the carriage click shut behind him, his father bark a few short orders to the driver, and the squish of the wheels pulling away.
When he finally reopened his eyes a long awe-filled sigh eased out of his lungs. 50 yards or so ahead a long ancient dock stretched over gray lapping waves. A magnificent ship was secured to its moss covered and salt worn posts, groaning from the strain and stretch of many thick strong ropes. A cherry wood gangway, complete with extravagant gold railings stretched down like a lolling tongue to the roughened planks.
At its entrance stood a small man with piercing blue eyes, stringy blonde hair, and a curious seagull perched upon his head. Stede felt he looked decidedly out of place in his three piece penguin suit, with an expression perhaps more suited to roguish pirate attire.
On instinct Stede began to stride forward, eyes wide and lips parted as he craned his neck up to take in the full height of white sails nipping at the wind, his heart soaring up into his throat along with them. The golden leaf scrollwork detail all along the siding glistened even in the muted light. An ominous kraken figurehead with inky black carved tentacles writhed sensuously along the prow.
In the shadowy depths of its face sat two giant rubies, dancing like twin flames. It was splendor mixed with terror, opulence and ominousness, a tableaux of the luxurious macabre. Stede felt the kindling of a flame ignite inside his own chest; a heady combination of fear, excitement, and thrill in equal measure. If this was any hint at his husband’s aesthetic interests perhaps there was hope for them both yet. It wasn’t exactly his style but at least it was anything but boring.
Stede nearly tripped again when his father abruptly snagged him by the elbow, yanking him back and forcing their eyes to meet, fleshy thumbs pressing beautiful lace into his bicep. “You won’t embarrass me boy. Don’t speak . Don’t stare . Do as you're told .”
Stede managed a demure nod, shrinking instinctively into that familiar quiet space within just as quickly as he’d leapt out of it, lips pressed into a taut flat line, matching his father’s brutal pace as best he could while they approached the end of the dock.
“Mr. Bonnet and Mr. Bonnet- a pleasure.”
The thick Scottish accent rolled off the man’s tongue as his bright eyes roved over them, intense and unflinching. He spent a long time appraising them both in silence, seeming to see right through them and into some space beyond. Stede could feel the curl of his father’s petulant sneer as the seagull adjusted its footing on the man’s balding head. To Stede’s delight, he could have sworn the bird glared right back.
“Karl and I will lead ye to the ceremony. Come along.” Without further introduction the odd man turned and began shuffling up the gangway, hands tucked behind his back and seagull fluttering above.
Stede began to obediently follow, steadying himself on the railing. As his father’s boot touched the oiled wine red wood the man suddenly spun around, lank hair whipping in the wind. “Blackbeard sends his regards sir.” He was staring straight at- or rather- into his father in silent warning. “You’ll go no further.” he’d added as Stede heard his father’s jaw crunch. “Just him.” The man tilted his head toward Stede and Edward Bonnet reluctantly released his arm, leaving a buzzing sting where blood flowed back into the limb.
“ Fine.” Edward Bonnet sneezed, taking a decisive step back before turning the full weight of his stare onto Stede once more. Hopefully for the last time. “Goodbye then.” His look was a silent threat, behave, or else. One final huff, a passing glance up at the imposing ship, and then Stede’s father turned and strode away, not even sparing a single backward glance.
‘Out of the frying pan and into the fire’ Stede’s mind whispered as he turned back toward the strange little man and followed him up onto the deck.
There were 3 important details Stede noticed about his fiancée.
First, he did not have smoke for a head.
Blackbeard had a perfectly normal head- one just like any other human man except Stede might, if mildly pressed, say his head, his face, his entire countenance was striking, maybe even pretty. Taking him in for the first time at their wedding altar (or in this case, the helm of the ship) Stede couldn’t help but notice his betrothed’s thick famous beard curled like tendrils of fine vapor around his soft inviting lips- and his hair- god, his hair- Stede starred in complete awe.
Waves of it blew around the man’s cheeks and shoulders, wild waves like a roiling sea. Stede itched to run his fingers through the silky strands whipping about in the salty air, ached to neatly sort them into place with a braid and ribbon or smooth the tresses with fragrant oils.
Second, Blackbeard definitely did not have fiery hellish embers blazing in the pits of his skull.
Rather, Stede noted with singular shocked pleasure, the man had a set of wide evocative eyes, expressive and so warm, glowing like rare amber and sweet as caramel. Deep wrinkles crinkled kindly at their edges, charming ridges clearly built from a lifetime of cheeky smiles.
They remained in place as Blackbeard swept his intense gaze up and down Stede’s figure. Stede bowed his head modestly while nervous joy bubbled within his chest, forcing him to look away. He was certain he was blushing head to toe, like any bride should be on their wedding day, even one’s as odd as this.
And finally, third, the fearsome Blackbeard’s violent reputation- well, to Stede’s surprise and relief he wasn’t frightening in the least- actually he was quite lovely. Underneath Blackbeard’s collarbone, available for Stede’s open perusal (thanks to a risque deep v in a stylish purple brocade waistcoat) sat a fading tattooed bird, its wings spread in glorious freedom over tawny skin.
It seemed awfully romantic, soft, marking him as a poetic kindred soul. Stede was able to look very closely with his head tilted humbly forward, and he could tell Blackbeard’s heart was beating as wildly as his own, making the bird’s feathers and Stede’s breath flutter.
Stede’s mind had conjured a lot of possibilities in the last few weeks. He tried to mentally prepare himself again and again for this exact moment but ended up replacing any possible rest with intrusive what ifs. None of his fanciful daydreams or fretful nightmares had come remotely close to the vision of loveliness that stood before him.
All the rumors seemed now to be nothing but fabricated jealousy; and Stede wondered with glee, who could blame them? It was an insulting ruse to hide such a brilliant face. His soon-to-be-husband was something intimidating yet gorgeous to behold, much like his impressive ship.
Stede wondered if it was much much too soon to be swooning, to be flushed with such longing at first sight like a lovesick schoolboy. He couldn’t have possibly gotten this lucky - He never got this lucky- when he was young he’d been so unlucky his classmates forced him to makeout with a horse- and now he stood before the most terrifying pirate to ever live- to be wed.
“I, Stede Bonnet, take you Blackbeard-” He began confidently, prompted by a nod from the Scotsman at the wheel beside them, shocking himself as the words came easily and joyfully tumbling out. A grand smile bloomed across his face, hope swelling like the singing of violins when Blackbeard grinned smoothly back at him, bushy eyebrows lifting in matching pleased surprise. “-to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward…”
Blackbeard glanced at something behind him, over his shoulder toward a point in the distance- and like the sun cresting behind a hill all of the soft edges began to sharpen on his betrothed’s face. His grin turned toothy. His smile leaned slightly wicked. The once gentle heat of his fiancé’s gaze was replaced by an exterior of cold cruel marble.
Stede faltered, a bolt of fear racing through him.
A confusing maelstrom of terror and attraction went to war in his chest, clashing swords as he suddenly couldn’t grasp the words he had memorized again and again.
Surely this was only a momentary lapse of nerves- surely .
His own stomach had been in knots for weeks.
The butterflies that had made a home inside him mutated into snakes, writhing around at the bottom of his belly.
“...for better or for worse,” Stede finally began again while a horrific realization began to wind its steady grip around his throat.
Something wasn’t right. In fact, something was terribly terribly wrong. It was as if the wind changed direction, or stalled entirely- everything was decidedly off. Blackbeard’s eyes may not have been blazing coals, but they began to narrow into the harrowing flat black points of a shark’s predatory stare.
“...f-for richer, for p-poorer,”
Blackbeard’s head certainly wasn’t a ball of smoke but the creases of his expression, only moments ago so benign, so kind and endearing, began to smolder menacingly.
“...in sickness and in health, to love and to ch-cher-” Stede whispered, eyes widening madly, trying desperately to find a safe place to land, to see a single shred of kindness or residual warmth in the still handsome planes of Blackbeard’s face. He seemed to discover nothing but silent threats. The beak of the hawk at Blackbeard’s throat sharpened, suddenly poised to gnash and peck at his flesh.
“- Cherish .” He drew a long wavering breath in, pulse thrumming thickly between his ears and drowning out the constant threatening slosh of the ocean all around them, “...and I promise-” Stede sucked in a small terrified breath, catching an embarrassing squeak in his suddenly dry throat “...to be faithful to you until death dep…” He gulped, frozen in place.
There was no turning back now, surrounded by an endless restless sea. The contracts had been signed. There was no warm welcome waiting back at home. This was it. The truth of it all, the harsh reality hit Stede like a slap to the back, knocking all of the air from his lungs.
Until death.
“ departs us.” He forced out, fingers curling tightly into his fragile bouquet, pressing it to his bosom to soothe his frantic breaking heart.
A few fat drops of drizzle slapped broad tears across Stede’s cheeks when the rain began to quicken. A feral smile spread across his husband’s lips, stretching wide enough to flash a few sharp canines. Stede swayed on his knees as the ship bucked roughly on the growing waves. The rain came down harder still, roughly pelting his skin, slicking his golden curls flat onto his damp cheeks, soaking the cheerful blossoms in his hair until they were limp and melancholy in a gnarled nest.
“YE MAY NOW KISS THA BRIDE-” The Scottish gentleman remarked all too loudly beside them. Stede jerked, having forgotten the man was even there in his panic. Blackbeard didn’t bat a single long eyelash.
He did finally step forward- and then slowly leaned in, casting a tall ominous shadow. Stede’s eyes slid shut as he steeled himself, quaking with anticipation while the damp began to set in bone deep.
The moment seemed to stretch forever waiting for Blackbeard to close the distance, to seal their agreement, to set Stede’s fate in stone.
Stede expected to be devoured , waited for a tongue to slither between his lips, braced himself for broad hands to grasp him and firmly take him- but strong fingers only slipped around his waist with reverence. Gentle lips faintly brushed his own, surprisingly hesitant and curious and chaste at first. Rugged whiskers scraped oh so carefully over his ruddy cheeks as velvet lips continued to tentatively explore, carrying him off to somewhere pink and warm and far away. Notes of patchouli and dragon’s blood made his head swim deliciously, dragging him willingly below the current.
Stede moved on instinct then, as the risk of danger seemed to simply fade away, replaced with blessed heat and softness. He pressed back, needing more, desperate for comfort, savoring every warm sweet breath shared between them. Blackbeard changed the angle then, smoothly in sync, following him so naturally as if they were dancing a waltz.
To Stede’s surprise it was easy, thrilling even, curious touches reigniting his initial desires so quickly he had whiplash- but he let himself succumb, gave himself permission to forget his sudden terror- if it meant he could have this . The world spun perilously off its axis as the hunger began to build, much too fast and somehow still too slow - and then, without warning, Blackbeard abruptly pulled away.
Stede heard his husband’s heavy boots stomping away while his eyes began to slowly flutter open. A void of cool air rushed in as Blackbeard skulked off like a shadow to some dark unknown recess of the ship.
Stede’s heart, having been thrust suddenly into the clouds, now sank lower than ever again, falling into the dark churning water. A crisp breeze swept in over the rail with sheets of rain, billowing his skirts all around him like an uneasy storm as Blackbeard completely disappeared. All-consuming dread filled in where love apparently had not. He touched a hand to his still warm cheek, feeling the flush lingering there, knowing he hadn’t dreamed it.
The journey to Blackbeard’s private island from Barbados wasn’t more than a few hours, but it might as well have been an eternity with the wind constantly howling and whipping rain against the deck.
The storm gained speed and intensity as they traveled, as if hastening them ever faster to smash upon the sharp rocks that jutted upward all along the approaching shoreline like gnarled teeth. Stede very nearly wished for their demise on those fangs, perhaps it was a kinder fate than whatever awaited him further inland.
Somehow, whether it was by destiny or well worn skill from the peculiar Scotsman at the helm, the boat navigated through a narrow channel toward a sturdy dock. It extended from a scant sliver of beach in a cove of opaque and blessedly calm dark teal water. Stede clutched the railing, feeling much like a poor drenched mouse as he took in the raw wilderness of the island beyond, all the natural untouched tropical foliage and dense deep forest. Splitting the lush greenery in two was a smoothly paved brick path- which swiftly angled right and then veered up into the darkness.
Waiting for them at the edge of the tree-line was an elegant black carriage led by fine ebony stallions, tossing their heads with open frustration. A young man with thick mutton chops stood beside it clutching a crisp black umbrella against the torrential rain. He looked about as miserable as Stede felt.
“ Must everything be black and sharp-edged?” Stede’s mind whined, longing for his pastel bedroom, aching for naps in warm green grass, desperately trying to conjure the loving smiles of his friends to form a shield against the austerity of it all.
He shivered violently, clutching his goose-pricked arms against the cold. Neither his husband nor the strange little man- who he now knew as Buttons (which only made him stranger) had offered him fresh clothes or a hearth to warm himself by. The rest of the crew were rough-looking sorts, errant scars across their cheeks, scratchy tattoos on muscled bodies and ferocious swords on every hip.
They glanced at him every now and then, but kept a wide berth, as if being Blackbeard’s made Stede off limits to even look upon. Too afraid to ask for any relief, to get himself or anyone else in trouble, Stede simply let the rain soak through his beautiful gown and suffered. Weak-hearted lily-livered little rich boy his father’s voice taunted with every lurch of the ship.
“Husband,” Blackbeard purred as he re-emerged from the bowels of the ship, sending tendrils of want down Stede’s spine- and oh, Stede wondered, isn’t that something. The imposing man stepped up to the rail and leaned in along Stede’s side, brushing a possessive palm to the small of his back.
“Time to go home,” he all but growled into the shell of Stede’s ear while reaching out his other hand for Stede to take, chuckling softly when Stede shivered once more, this time against his husband’s chest.
Blackbeard was drenched from the constant rain too; inexplicably he wore it well.
Stede wondered how it might feel- to be able to pull nearly anything off with such a cool, confident demeanor. The dampness of his curls only exaggerated their wildness after all, only made him a more handsome and devilish figure to behold. The warmth of his body was heavy, radiant, insistent.
The welcome heat would have offered some small relief from the chill air if Blackbeard’s sly little smile didn’t remind Stede again of a smirking cobra.
With a quiet gulp Stede slid his slender fingers into the politely outstretched tan palm. He was led down and off the ship, held all the while in a surprisingly gentle grip, steadying him all the way down the gangway and smoothly into the interior of the carriage.
Inside he felt like a strange white streak against a sea of black crushed velvet, an unwelcome intrusion, a blinding light inside a dark womb, a lustrous pearl within a dark oyster. Blackbeard crawled up and quickly pressed in beside him.
Now the black box reminded Stede distinctly of the inside of an iron oven. The door creaked shut again, ready to roast him alive. He flicked his eyes to look out the small curtained window, trying (and failing) to ignore the distracting points where Blackbeard’s shoulder and hip pressed tight against his own.
Out of the corner of his eye he watched the man’s fingers flex in his lap. He can’t stand me. Stede worried his bottom lip anxiously between his teeth. Fingers spasming like- like he can’t even contain his disgust. Clearly disappointed in me- his meek little bride. Stede caught one last glimpse of the sea before the carriage leapt to life and tore into the lush greenery.
Silence settled upon them, broken only by their quiet breaths and the jumble of the cabin over paved brick. He could have sworn Blackbeard kept looking over, feeling rather than seeing his intimidating gaze all over his skin, assessing him. He prayed his embarrassing constant flush could be written off as exhaustion.
“There’s no lighthouse,'' Stede mentioned out loud, almost to himself, still staring away as they crested a hill and gained a glimpse of the surrounding trees and ocean from its peak. He was desperate to break the tension, thick with the awkward cloud of their unspoken thoughts.
“Don’t need one,” came the steady rumble of his husband’s voice, low and so close, swirling around him like rich incense.
“No light to guide you, how do you know where to go?” Stede bravely asked as he turned, just enough to daringly look up into Blackbeard’s face. To his surprise and quiet joy he found the man’s eyes had gone soft again, liquid gold, staring at him with open curiosity. The leaves of Stede’s flower crown dripped wet rivulets of water onto his cheeks.
“Common misconception,” Blackbeard responded easily, too quickly, not once tearing his lovely eyes away from Stede’s as he spoke. The pad of one large thumb reached up and swiped an errant bead of water from Stede’s brow, a broad palm pausing only a hair’s breadth away from cradling Stede’s rosy cheek.
Blackbeard drew in a sharp sudden inhale, as if summoning a terrible lost memory, remembering himself, his eyes widening as if seeing a ghost. Stede deflated as his husband stiffened and drew away, as far as one could in the cramped quarters.
“You’re supposed to avoid lighthouses, you know,” Blackbeard huffed, muffled by his cheek pressed against the cold glass.
“So you don’t crack up on the rocks.”
He directed this last part toward his own window, arms tightly crossed.
It was clear the conversation was over before it had even begun. Stede sighed, dejected and bone tired. Reluctantly he turned the other way again and leaned his weight against his side of the compartment, misery settling in. It was all he could do to fight the tremble in his lips, determined to maintain his dignity on his wedding day.
Was this all there is? Is this how it was to be? No passion? No romance? No fucking love? Just confusion and disappointment? He quietly grasped the wet foliage in his hair and pulled it down into his lap, fiddling restlessly with the worn petals, mourning how beautiful they’d been only a few short hours ago- fresh and fragrant, at the peak of their potential.
Stede grit his teeth against a sudden wave of all-consuming melancholy, salty tears pressing at the back of his throat, choking off any more courageous attempts at speaking up again.
The fine hairs on his neck prickled to life, standing to attention. It was as if cold fingers trailed ever so softly up and down his arms and he watched curiously as goose-pimples broke out across his wrists. When he chanced a quick look back at his husband, Blackbeard was already jerking his face away, pretending to be very interested in a path he’d certainly tread a million times.
Where Blackbeard’s ship was terror in motion, his mansion was fear incarnate; clad in a cloak of foreboding violet brick and black iron. Dark spires scraped at the silver clouds above, descending elegantly into rounded turrets and sweeping iron scrollwork along massive heavy stones.
The arching slate roof loomed above the gnarled trees that surrounded it on all sides, casting the lower levels in shadow. The drive leading to the grand entrance switchbacked like a serpent through the unforgiving landscape; waves of fuchsia azaleas and giant purple rhododendrons competed for attention among the froths of emerald palms.
The carriage finally rolled to a stop in front of slate steps leading to an arched doorway of black metal- artistically molded into another ominous likeness of the mighty kraken. Stede simply sat and stared upward for a few long stricken moments.
It wasn’t that he hated it as much as he couldn’t find a single shred of comfort in any part of the cold facade. He prayed the inside had at least a cushy settee or two, somewhere warm and cozy to melt the chill from his weary bones and curl up with a good book.
Blackbeard leapt out and circled the carriage, leading him again by the hand up and into the house. Stede forgot himself, let his thumb sweep smoothly and absently over the man’s knuckles. It earned him a sharp backward glance, eyes ablaze- with rage or lust, it was hard to say. He was careful to not forget himself again, only nervously tightening his grip.
The interior was too much of everything , an embarrassment of riches- an overwhelming castle of drab tapestries, gargantuan oil paintings of pinched faces in gilded frames, hand tufted Turkish rugs coated in dust and layered one over the other. Taxidermied beasts stared them down from nearly every corner, all frozen in violent poses of attack. It felt like a mishmashed museum filled with the spoils of war at worst, a collection of poorly curated decaying antiques at best.
Stede spotted and was drawn toward a roaring fire in the front parlor but Blackbeard tugged him away before an ember of its warmth could reach them.
They strode straight up a wide spiraling staircase instead, bathed in blue light by slender tall stained glass windows. Stede caught a glimpse of St. Sebastian out of the corner of his eye, riddled with arrows and little sparkling rubies of dripping blood, cool light shining through him. In all the depictions he’d seen the saint’s hair was brown- in this one it was curiously blonde.
Stede had been so consumed with drinking in ever detail it wasn’t until they paused before a pair of heavy mahogany double doors that the panic began to take hold again.
Blackbeard turned to him, looming like a long shadow, and Stede’s mind finally caught up to his feet, a million thoughts reverberating like thunder. It was his wedding night . The night of his wedding . The night after his wedding. When he would have to - When they were supposed to -
He bit back a shudder, hoping to retain some poise. Blackbeard had asked for him, and wanted him, and that had to mean something. Based on the flagrant wealth all around them the man obviously didn’t need any money.
Money was the only reason any former suitors had come to Stede’s door. His father had dismissed them all outright, determined to make his own coin. So- there must have been something else- He could still feel confident hands on his waist, the glide of soft lips and the press of a pillowy beard against his chin.
Was he to be a sweet doll on Blackbeard’s arm? A plaything on a glimmering shelf? Maybe a dutiful housewife to whip this unwelcoming home into shape?
If so, Blackbeard hadn’t done his research- Stede was an awkward bookish creature and none saw him as a trophy. Style- he did have that, in spades , but Blackbeard clearly had his own strong personal aesthetic… and his reaction after their vows… none of it made any sense.
In any case, here he was, stuck, caught in the trap, unable to take back the vows he’d spoken or swim “home”. He’d seen some hopeful glimpses of tenderness in the cracks of his husband’s armor, but the hints of softness came and went as predictably as summer storms. Who could say which Blackbeard would show his face in their bedroom tonight?
Stede held his breath as Blackbeard used one hand to push in the heavy door and beckoned him inside with the other. Reluctantly Stede stepped past him, accepting his fate, and was met with yet another ocean of black; save for the bed, which was blessedly covered in a deep indigo duvet.
Each tall mahogany post was carved with intricate ivy leaves and vines that twirled all the way down to the floor. Gauzy lavender curtains draping each side swayed from an unknown breeze, tenting the inviting cushioned interior. Stede tentatively stepped further inside and noticed that a small weakening fire crackled on the right wall within an onyx fireplace, casting a warm orange light upon the undulating stone waves that danced around its gaping mouth.
Blackbeard left his side to poke at the fire with a sharp metal rod, grumbling something under his breath about fucking Lucius as he roughly dropped another log onto the barely glowing coals. Stede stood awkwardly beside the bed. Unsure what to do with himself he began to step out of his ruined slippers, toeing them off with care and stowing them neatly under the bed.
Blackbeard seemed at ease while Stede was certain he might vibrate apart from nerves and anticipation alone. The suspense only intensified the anxiety of what was to come, making him desperate for a distraction.
He decided to lift his skirts above his knees and assess the damage while Blackbeard busied himself tending the fire, content to ignore him. Everyone seemed to overlook him, why should his husband be any different? Why me?
His mind scratched again for answers and found none, watching his husband be more interested in poking at coals than touching his bride on their wedding night.
When Stede looked down he grimaced and hissed at his white stockings sullied with mud. He twisted one leg back and forth, surveying the dirty soaked silk pulled taut over his muscled calf. At least the little blue bow tied neatly up around his thigh was high enough to escape the worst of it.
When he glanced back up Blackbeard was staring a hole straight through him, bent at one knee beside the fire which had begun to roar back to life. His rugged figure was backlit in stark shadow except for his bright shining eyes- looking every single bit a terrifying legend.
“Do you see that ring of keys? Beside the bed?” Blackbeard suddenly rasped over the crackle of flames, his hoarse voice breaking the trance. He flicked his wide eyes to the right to show Stede where to go.
Stede released his skirts and dragged his wet feet over the soft carpets, squishing as he went. On the worn dresser sat a large silver ring, perfectly circular and smooth with a decorative orb latch neatly holding it shut. Upon it was an array of keys more dazzling and unique than one could ever imagine. Each and every one was a singular work of art.
Stede spotted a key made of strange ancient bone, looking a little like a skeletal finger, another of fine zebrawood caught his eye, sanded to a perfectly smooth finish. A delicate key of filigreed gold finally demanded his attention, seeming to sing to him, begging him to gather it in his palm.
Slithering gold tentacles wound into a heart at one end, with tiny amethyst suckers set in neat 1-by-1 rows. All of the winding limbs undulated to a meeting point, cradling a large shimmering emerald. It was gorgeous and horrific in equal measure and when Stede caressed the emerald a high tone flooded his senses, vibrating through him like a siren, like a warning.
Stede sharply shook his head and drew back. The ringing eased to an eerie silence. He decided to (carefully) pick the entire set up, needing both hands to lift them, relishing the comforting weight of them all, thumbing through each individual piece one at a time while making sure the gold key never touched his skin.
“These are the keys to every room in this house,” Blackbeard explained in a low syrupy voice, floating like a ghost around the room.
“It’s all yours to explore.”
Stede gasped with pleasure, the idea of so many beautiful new sights to behold unraveling some of the pain of the day, setting free some of the lust for adventure weighing heavily upon his chest.
“ Except .”
Stede whirled around and nearly crashed into Blackbeard’s chest, large hands curling menacingly around his biceps.
“You may not under any circumstances go into my study.”
He captured Stede’s eyes in a penetrating stare, flooding his being with glass shards of terror. There was no mistaking the threat in the order, the silent yet deafening or else. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run, no escape from that look , those eyes . It hit Stede again how completely trapped he was; a pretty canary in a gilded cage, just passed from one hand into another.
“That room is for me alone.”
Blackbeard’s grip tightened, his mystifying eyes bulged.
“ Do you understand ?”
“ Yes, yes of course Blackbeard,” Stede stammered quickly, whimpering and gripping the ring of keys so tightly a multitude of sharp little teeth bit into the meat of his palms. The once comforting weight cradled in his hands suddenly felt like an anchor, keeping him from spinning off this earth while also dragging him helplessly to the bottom of the sea.
Something strikingly vulnerable twisted in Blackbeard’s face, and then his shoulders fell, his hold finally loosening.
He released a long whoosh of breath, heaving it all at once from the deepest reaches of his lungs.
“It’s Ed.”
Stede cocked a curious confused brow, allowing his taut muscles to soften after the startling admission.
“M’name’s Ed. ”
His husband’s stare lingered, gentled, then dipped lower and lower still. Stede felt an entirely new range of fears and desires rip through him, not a single moment of relief between one swing of emotion to the next, like riding the pendulum of a giant hellish grandfather clock. Tick tick tick, from fear to longing and then back again.
He’d hold on tight if it meant between fits of terror he could see this other man in front of him now- the one whose fluttering lashes and charming smile lines told a completely different story- one totally estranged from the mythos of Blackbeard - a handsome entirely loveable man, seen only in blinks of softness had a name, one perfectly lovely, simply Ed.
“ Ed…” Stede found himself sighing wistfully back, bringing those large doe eyes up in an astonished flash.
“Do you- ah.. need help with…” Blackbeard’s, no Ed’s, voice grew quiet, almost as scared as Stede felt, starting and stopping so tentatively between each word with little gulps of air in between.
“Your clothes… they’re soaked.” Ed tried again after an awkward beat.
Stede’s mind reeled at the implications. In a flash he envisioned tanned hands ripping the lace from his limbs as they stumbled into indigo.
“Um, yes. I’m quite drenched. I would say- I mean, Thank you… Ed- Edward ?” Ed’s soft smile broadened with a slow nod. “Mm, good, Edward.” He noted Ed’s soft hum in response to his name spilling again and again from Stede’s mouth.
“Well if you wouldn’t mind- could you please…” Stede continued, drawing in a deep steadying breath, stamping down his anxiety as best he could as he turned in Ed’s loosened grip. He stepped forward momentarily to place the keys back on the dresser and then daintily stepped back again into the warmth of Ed’s orbit. He peered back over his shoulder as the man remained planted- staring, staring, staring.
“The back is the most difficult I’m afraid,” Stede helpfully chirped, all too bright and still a bit nervous.
Ed was still and silent for longer than he could bear, eyes wide as saucers and fingers twitching. Stede lifted his arms to brush his fingers over the line of small satin buttons that ran from the top of his neck to the bottom of his waist, following the elegant curve of his spine.
“Can never undo these myself…” He held his breath as Ed’s fingers at last reached up and gently pushed his own hands away. They stroked along the edges of endless lace, tracing delicate patterns of swirling florals, vines, and curling leaves so admiringly Stede nearly fainted on the spot.
“Do you fancy a fine fabric?” Stede whispered into the weight of the moment, if only to ease his own nerves, eyes becoming heavy and sliding shut.
“I think… maybe I do? ” Ed replied, barely loud enough to hear over their cacophonous dueling heartbeats.
Stede felt the top button slip free, then another, and another, popping open swiftly once Ed had the hang of it and offering sweet relief from the wet fabric clinging to his dewy skin.
Warm fingertips grazed down newly exposed flesh, from the nape of his neck to the sensuous dip between his shoulders, setting skin ablaze wherever they dared brush. Stede barely restrained the hitch in his breath and shivering tremor as they began to trail ever lower over the laces of his corset.
This was happening . He was surprised to find how badly he wanted it; he felt a little mad for how readily he craved each new sensation, how quickly Ed could sway him from nerves to desire. Heat stirred low into his belly with each gentle exploratory caress.
He’d been warned by the others in his circle about The Wedding Night. All of them, married off one-by-one, warned him it wasn’t going to be a romantic evening, not like flowery novels promised, never like they’d dreamed it would be. He mourned for them and for his own silly dreams of love.
He’d tried to temper his expectations, really, he did, admonishing his romantic spirit and taking their warning words to heart- but on sun-dappled days, book open and abandoned on his chest, his mind meandered into dreamland- and he’d let himself wantonly fantasize. What if his husband was gentle? What if his husband was kind? What if he was as handsome and lovely as the knights of the round table? What if he was touched so lovingly, worshiped so fully and then allowed to give the same in kind?
Then of course, the hammer of fate had come crashing down. His father had traded him off to a man infamously known for violence above all else. Life was unfair, cruel even, anything but a sweet fairy tale. Life was duty and bartering for land and status, securing the family name.
Stede counted himself lucky in so many ways. He knew he was beyond privileged really- poor him having to sleep with his ruggedly handsome husband and enjoy an extravagant castle for the rest of his days. Poor him having to manage a man with a bit of flair for dramatics- as if he didn’t have his own. Of all the lots in life, surely this was one even he could navigate.
Stede had finally calmed his fluttering heart when Blackbeard’s stroking fingers abruptly withdrew from his skin again. Stede found himself instinctively following their touch, caught in the same net as their wedding kiss, the gentle brush in the carriage, and now he wanted more than anything to let himself fall all the way- fall, fall, fall as far as he could go, arching his back to reach- but those large rough hands had already drifted too far. Gone, gone, gone.
Blackbeard, Ed , this man he was now bound to was a frustrating conundrum, a strange enigma, over and over again lighting fires and dousing them just as quick. Stede was desperate to see more, to untangle the mystery of him, to pin down where his heart really lived, but every time the answers lived just outside arm’s length. Perhaps there was so much more beneath the surface, someone who also longed to be seen.
The back of Stede’s gown fell open and he turned, a practiced involuntary movement from years of being formally dressed. At this point Frenchie would normally peel down the front and help him step gracefully out of the mountain of tulle. To Stede’s surprise when he blinked his eyes open- where he expected to find warm brown pools and a wild beard- Ed was again already halfway out the door.
“Goodnight, Stede.” Barely a whisper.
Ed was staring again, a look openly swirling with desire but grappling with something, something else tumultuous and dark. He gripped the ironwork handle in a clenched fist before slipping into the hall like a phantom in the night. The door clicked shut, leaving Stede confused, flushed, and so very very alone.
“ Goodnight Ed …” Stede murmured back into the cavernous black void.
-
Stede was absolutely and completely alone, a speck of pale sand on a long dark beach.
Had the sight of his alabaster freckled skin and trembling body not pleased his husband? What exactly had he done wrong? After all this hand wringing, all the berating for weeks from his father, the anxious dread of performing just so , he had still come out a failure.
The initial confusion passed after many long quiet contemplative moments, the stuttering finger taps of rain upon the window and the rippling snaps of flame in the fireplace rattling around with the swirl of his thoughts.
He began to think “ At last this miserable day could end-” and a wave of relief finally broke over his worried heart, even if a residual buzz of adrenaline still pumped through his every artery, even if he longed, he yearned for something still held just out of reach.
“ Perhaps it’s for the best-“ Stede attempted to convince himself aloud, combing in vain at the wild knots in his nest of gold hair. Blackbeard was only human after all- maybe he was just as tired as Stede suddenly felt. They had a whole lifetime of evenings ahead, all the time in the world, right?
Resigned Stede peeled the wet lace from his broad chest and muscular arms, wiggling the skirt down his trim hips. He laid the soiled garment upon the far window’s long bench seat to dry out (and he hoped to be properly cleaned later).
Drawn like a moth, Stede then crouched by the fire in only his delicate silk underthings to chase away the chill. The garments were fine white lingerie, embellished with the same lace as his dress all along the edges and painstakingly detailed with scrollwork of bright teal embroidery.
White garters clipped to his soiled silk stockings, just above the pretty little blue bows. It was a garment meant to be seen, felt, tugged, ripped . Worn specially for whatever intimacy he thought was awaiting him this evening.
Stede felt mostly foolish in the risque outfit now, staring up at the painting above the mantle and grasping his knees tight to his chest, letting the warmth melt his frozen toes.
The painting above the mantel caught his eye again- why at first he couldn’t say. He beheld in the golden frame a woman with a soft tan complexion and wild curly hair wrought in quick gestural strokes, every swipe of paint alive with emotion and movement. “ Ed’s mother?” Stede contemplated the odd choice of subject for their, well, his bedchamber.
The resemblance was uncanny- haunting.
The painting’s heavy eyelids slowly slid shut- then snapped open again, pinning him in place, freezing him solid again, all the way to his core in the literal blink of an eye.
“Oh fuck’s sake-” Stede scoffed at first.
Then they blinked again .
“...Must be more tired than I thought.”
He mumbled an octave higher than he meant to, desperately trying to hold onto his last shreds of sanity.
But maybe… What if…
Stede started to consider, with more startled curiosity than fear, if this was one of his husband’s special whims - perhaps one of the stories of his odd pleasures?
Maybe, just maybe, all Ed wanted to do was look tonight.
Maybe that’s why he’d rushed off- to steal away behind the wall to… watch .
Watch what?
Stede’s mind seized at the possibilities- intense eyes still staring out from behind the painting, trembling a little as they fought to remain still.
Where the idea may have unnerved anyone else- Stede was absolutely not like anyone else. In fact- the mere thought of it, after he got over the initial shock, immediately thrilled him, kindling tender in his heart he hadn’t even known existed.
Sure it was a bit odd, but then- so was he.
Weird he could work with.
This certainly took some pressure off their first night, and maybe could even relieve some their first time jitters? Stede knew what he liked (there had been boyhood dalliances) and he wanted to please his new husband- start their life together on the right foot.
In fact, he felt quite eager for the chance after stumbling through their entire cursed wedding day.
He’d been teased along by Ed all day- just as he got close the man would sway out of reach. The ratcheted tension had become unbearable - needed to be released somehow - why not this?
With a wall between them Stede was safe to do what he wanted and enjoyed, and Ed was free to observe however he saw fit.
Stede rubbed his lips together in deep thought, never taking his stare away from the painting and its magnetic eyes.
Game on, he finally considered with a cheshire grin.
Experimentally Stede stretched out on his back, lying down along the fireplace on the soft persian rug like a lounging cat. He glanced back up under thick eyelashes. The eyes were dark and intense, unable to tear themselves away from his flesh. He watched them move slowly down and across, taking him in fully, drinking in the sight with blown pupils and unrestrained lust.
Stede’s fingers followed their movement, dancing lazily down the front of his corset as he let his eyes fall shut and neck recline gracefully back. He sighed long and deep as his slender digits glanced lower- skating across the hard tent of his cock steadily filling out the cool white silk of his panties.
He could have sworn he heard a muted knock and shuffle within the wall and smiled coyly, letting himself gently thrust up into the firm plane of his palm and release a longing moan.
The heat of the flames melted across his skin as blood rushed into the bowl of his hips. He continued to tease lazily, luxuriating in the feel of smooth silk beneath his fingertips and the rigid warmth just beneath, seeing no reason to rush, enjoying the power and control of every move, the thrill of knowing Ed’s eyes were watching. He traced up his length again, relishing the friction, touching just so, light, teasing, not enough .
Stede suddenly saw glimmers in his periphery, felt light-headed, dizzy .
His corset was crushing his ribs and somewhat restricting his breaths and he knew if he carried on like this he’d probably faint before getting to the main event, so he smoothly rolled himself over onto his knees, leaning his shoulders down and curving his ass upward to accentuate the stretch.
The breathing behind the wall picked up into a steady pant and Stede arched deeper, hissing when his underwear pulled tighter, losing himself in the performance.
He strained to reach behind his back, cheek pressed to the rug as he tugged blindly at the ribbons tied into a bow and criss-crossing along his back, every pull loosening their hold and driving a contented sigh from his lips.
When the knot finally eased, worked open by his impatient hands, the corset released its grasp and Stede moaned with relief into the carpet. He could have sworn he heard a muffled groan to match. He slid the garment over his head and set it neatly beside the hearth. When he pulled himself back up and sat back on his heels he suddenly felt shy and exposed. His cock was already painfully hard, the flushed head peeking out from the lace band, dribbling cum and leaving a dark wet stain in front of the fabric.
The rest is ruined anyway- Stede hummed, giving up the ghost at last, might as well soil it all . He wiggled his toes, still muddy in the tips of his stockings.
Instead of looking up at the painting he chose to stare down into the flames, centering himself, focusing on his pleasure, letting himself be mesmerized by the undulating glow. Bathed in the orange light he’d never felt sexier, more desired, openly wanted and pined for.
He could feel his husband’s eyes lighting small fires all over his skin and this time he relished the sensation and welcomed it completely as his hands flitted across his chest, swept away as he experimentally tweaked a hard nipple.
He swore he heard an echo of Ed’s rushed breathing through the wall, spurring him on, intensifying the radiating pleasure.
His mind strayed as he lost himself to the trance of the dancing fire and his roaming hands. Something magnetic had pulled at him every moment in Ed’s presence- telling him the man ached just like he did, longed for comfort, begged for sweetness despite hiding behind a hard mask. Perhaps it was all so much after a lifetime of being treated as a terrifying beast- so frightening no one even dared to reach out and touch. That seemed a terribly lonely existence.
He was drunk on the power of the moment- wanting to draw it out- knowing his husband, the great and terrifying Blackbeard was under his spell- that those magnificent eyes were etched into his skin- It beguiled him to imagine the sweet gentle side of Ed on the other side of the wall, pumping his fist over himself, peering through 2 little holes, fucking desperate to see every single move Stede made.
Stede imagined rougher hands on his own body as he freed his cock from the lingerie, bobbing against his soft stomach as he tugged the panties down and around his trembling thighs, trapping them together. He took himself in hand at last with a ragged moan, spreading the pearls gathering at the head down his length to slick the glide of each stroke.
The heat was almost too much , the fire burning and licking into his front, crackling and egging him on as sparks of warmth also lit him wholly from within- each thrust of his hips into the tight circle of his fist purging each and every last drop of cold from his veins.
He heard a soft whimper through the wall and it spurred him to move faster, pressing his eyes closed with concentration as he began to set a quick and urgent pace, twisting and squeezing the tip on every upstroke as he swayed onto his back, catching himself on his forearm before he could fall all the way down.
“ Ed… please..” He gasped, thrusting sharply again and again, hips stuttering and erratic as he began to lose control. He swore he heard a heavy muffled thud and then a muted “ fuck-“ rasped behind the wallpaper.
Ghostly hands swept across his shoulders, up his chest to cup his tits, rubbing over the buds of his sensitive nipples.
He arched and bucked as he suddenly rushed up the hill, sprinting toward the summit of his pleasure as everything else- the terrifying house, the rejections throughout the day, all the many anxieties of his new life -completely fell away.
The nails of his free hand twisted into the rug.
His spine pulled as taut as a bowstring, toes curling as he filled the room with desperate little whines.
“A-ah!“ he sobbed pitifully again, feeling his cock pulse in his hand and trembling as his slick palm covered the sensitive tip. “ Can feel your hands on me- want you, a-all over-“ Stede gasped. A choked wail followed, piercing through the wall like a hail of bullets.
The sound sent him over the edge- swift climax crashing over him like an unseen tidal wave, dragging him down down down into the inky depths, wrapped in black tendrils as hot spend gushed between his curled fingers and spurted sticky webs over his belly and chest.
He sagged to the floor, limp and fighting for air, the sheen of sweat on his skin catching the cold drafts even the fire’s warmth couldn’t reach.
When he swam back to the surface, breaking through to reality with a deep rattling breath he immediately craned his head up, straining his gaze over the mantle with a dazed smile.
He stared for some time in complete unnerving silence, the dying embers at his feet softly hissing, his brows furrowed and expression melting into broad heart-breaking confusion.
The woman’s eyes perfectly matched the rest of the painting again, intense and wrought in confident obvious brush strokes. He couldn’t see any cut edges, any human life within the paint, any animation or indication of true flesh.
Stede couldn’t say for sure how long he laid there and scrutinized each molecule of canvas, the rug becoming pricklier by the second, the drying cum on his stomach and legs tangled in silk becoming tangibly uncomfortable. The log Ed had placed onto the fire dwindled into only a thin red sliver of kindling.
A long day. It had been a very long day- full of anxious anticipation and overwhelming emotion- that was the only explanation. Surely his mind wouldn’t have- couldn't have -conjured all this on its own?
Wearily, when his breath was finally even, Stede picked himself up off the floor, numbly finding a washbasin in the corner to put himself to rights. He dropped his soiled stockings and undergarments by the hearth with a wet slap. For a brief second he considered tossing them into the dying fire.
Inside a mahogany armoire on the other side of the bed he thankfully found his golden robe (affectionately named his ‘battle jacket’) and one of his white nightgowns to change into. The rest of his wardrobe was hopefully elsewhere, but a little bit of familiar comfort set him minutely more at ease.
Before snuggling into the welcome cushion of the down duvet he dropped another log onto the fire (and wiped up his mess on the rug as best he could).
He pointedly avoided looking at the painting-
He knew its eyes would haunt him wherever he went, and so chose instead to roll over in bed, facing away and hugging a pillow tightly to his chest.
“Just a bad dream, just a bad dream. I am adequate. I. Am. Adequate !” He sternly mumbled before whipping the sheets over his head ‘ just to be safe’.
When sleep finally took him his dreams gratefully whisked him off to thrilling pirate adventures, all beside a mighty bearded captain with glowing red eyes.