Chapter Text
Stede knew it was a bad idea not to put him on the warship en route to the wedding. He knew it was! He was a pre-eminent scholar of pirates, for goodness’ sake, and no matter how big his princely dowry was, most of them would steer clear of a royal naval vessel of that size. But nooo, his father had thought himself clever, putting Stede and several of his retainers—many of them young nobles!—on the less conspicuous Golden Apple.
The problem with trying to outsmart a pirate like the Dread Pirate Blackbeard is that no one on the Sister Seas is smarter than the Dread Pirate Blackbeard.
Maybe any other pirate would have been fooled. Maybe they would have left the Golden Apple alone. But they had crossed paths with Queen Anne’s Revenge, not any other pirate ship, so here they are. Captured.
Stede has to pinch himself surreptitiously to make sure he isn’t dreaming, because he has had this dream a lot.
Blackbeard is prowling up and down the line of trembling captives, eyes (lords above his eyes) hard and menacing. His crew are hooting, going through loot—Stede tries not to wince when they kick open one of his chests of clothes. The fabrics are worth hundreds of gold pieces, let alone the jewels that adorn them. He mourns his wedding suit, which they will surely find soon. He might have been less-than-tepid about the marriage itself, but the suit is truly splendid.
No one has spilled the beans as to Stede’s status yet, but that won’t really matter in the end. The reputation of his virginity will be forfeit, regardless that he’s certain from his studies that Blackbeard does not run a ship where rape is permissible, or indeed that that kind of assault is common on the Sister Seas at all. Still. The rumors will be enough, which is fine. Good, even. It means he might not have to marry the King of Low, so actually, it’s fantastic.
His retainers, though… they’ll suffer the same hit to their reputations, regardless of the truth of the matter, and unlike Stede, they will probably not be thrilled to be kept captive on the Dread Pirate Blackbeard’s ship.
But.
Stede has spent years uncovering in Blackbeard what he thinks is a deep, specific loathing for the King of Low. He knows Blackbeard grew up near Ned’s court in the Lowesian capital city of Herah and that they might have known each other. There is so much rumor Stede has heard about Ned that is shiveringly awful. It’s possible Blackbeard could be anyone Ned had wronged in the past, but Stede thinks it is more likely things are more personal between them. Blackbeard became a pirate between eight and eleven years ago and is a true maestro of methodical violence. Unlike Ned, who is ugly and cruel. But before the piracy there are gaps in the story. Stede has not uncovered Blackbeard’s true name, for example; still, he is confident that he’s more or less right. So perhaps Blackbeard will make an exception, if he figures out that Stede is the King of Low’s intended.
Blackbeard is too smart to not suss it out eventually, Stede reasons. He might as well get it over with, on purpose, to try and save his people.
He steps forward out of the line of captives and clears his throat. Blackbeard’s eyes—his eyes!—snap toward him. Stede’s nursemaid Atella is next to him, the dearest person to him in the whole world, and she tugs urgently on his sleeve, begging him wordlessly not to reveal who he is.
“Captain Blackbeard,” he says, ignoring her. “May I have a word in private?”
Blackbeard takes slow, menacing steps toward Stede. He flicks his eyes over Stede’s carnation teal brocade doublet, embroidered at the sleeves and hem and neckline with bright red cherries. Stede marginally regrets wearing this particularly confectionery look but is pleased to know he is still overall well-groomed. He had even put on a gilt three-medallion necklace set with rubies for a masculine display of wealth. William had ripped the crown off his head before the pirates had discovered their hiding place, which is fine, because it is tacky and he hates it. With or without a crown, he is His Royal Highness Grand Duke of Nirea Prince Stede of Bonnet, and his title is worth more than anything on the Golden Apple or the Queen Anne’s Revenge. Including, probably, the ships themselves.
Blackbeard circles slowly around Stede. He returns to face him once more and cocks his head to one side. Then his eyes spark.
(Lord mother of life and father of death, his eyes.)
“Are you Prince Stede of fucking Bonnet? ”
Stede nods. “Yes. I am the King of Low’s betrothed.”
Silence. For a moment. Two moments.
Groans from his people and hollering from Blackbeard’s crew.
“Quiet!” Blackbeard barks. His head tips back down to the right, loose hair dropping like a curtain of silver water between and behind the side of his face and his shoulder. He crosses his arms and taps a leisurely boot and slides his eyes (!) up and down Stede’s person. His expression turns from bored to leering. “You want to talk to me in… private, your highness?”
The innuendo in his tone is obvious enough that even Stede can read it. He gulps and sets his chin. “Yes.”
Blackbeard looks startled, but then he grins, broad and wolfish. He spins on his heel and walks across the ship to disappear behind a door at the bow.
“Your highness, please—” Atella whispers.
He shakes her off as gently as he can. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”
~*~
Stede stands in front of Blackbeard’s desk, hands clasped behind his back to mask their trembling, as Blackbeard sits behind it and lights a long, black pipe. He’s moving slowly, not looking at Stede, like he can’t be bothered to pay attention to him.
He is truly the most beautiful man Stede has ever seen. In all his fantasies, he had never imagined Blackbeard would look like this, tall but not terribly so, lean and lithe and feline. The beard he’d gotten right, although despite his youth it is streaked with gray. He’d also been correct about the myriad of tattoos blooming across all visible parts of Blackbeard’s tantalizing skin, but the only one he knew about specifically was the snake twining up his arm.
Not for the first time, Stede wonders what it might taste like.
“Captain Blackbeard, I—”
Blackbeard puts up one finger. He’s wearing fingerless leather gloves and his nails are painted black. All of his accessories are the Lowesian colors of silver and black as if a reminder he rules the seas like the King of Low rules the kingdom. Blackbeard inhales, still not looking at Stede. He finally turns his eyes to look as a cloud of smoke unfurls languidly from his lips.
“Pretty princeling,” Blackbeard drawls. “What possessed you to out yourself to me?”
“I—” Stede swallows, trying to remoisturize his mouth. “I want to make a deal.”
“You don’t have anything to bargain with.”
“I do,” Stede says. “Myself.”
Blackbeard chuckles. “I already have you.”
“Yes,” Stede says. “The ransom I would fetch would be quite large. But you don’t need gold.”
Blackbeard shrugs, taking another lascivious pull from his pipe. “I like gold.”
“But if you… kept me,” Stede says. “The King of Low would be… displeased.”
Blackbeard’s eyebrows knit together. “Beg pardon?”
“If I were to be your, ah, your—"
“Captive?”
Stede tries to suppress a shudder but doesn’t fully succeed. “Not exactly a captive, no. More like a… willing companion.”
Blackbeard’s eyebrows fly into his hairline. “Beg your fucking pardon?”
“The King of Low would certainly be incensed if you kept me regardless. But it fits neatly into your image. No one would think him a cuckold. Just unlucky.” Stede swallows. “But if I… wanted to stay… if the narrative is that you seduced me and I chose you… he would be furious.”
Blackbeard leans back in his chair, puffing on his pipe. He considers Stede for several long, agonizing moments.
“Intriguing.”
Stede waits for him to say more but Blackbeard just continues to survey him.
Stede has to say the rest, then. “It’s… if you agreed to release my people, Captain Blackbeard, I would be… willing. In whatever way you wished me to be.”
Blackbeard chokes on smoke, doubles over in his chair, hacking and sputtering. Stede’s feet take him behind the desk before he can think about it, his hand rubbing firm circles on Blackbeard’s back like Atella still does for him even though he’s no longer a boy.
Blackbeard’s arm flies back to smack Stede’s hand away. Stede minces backward, truly frightened for the first time since he’d entered the cabin.
“I’m sorry,” Stede says. “You needn’t—”
“Fuck you?” Blackbeard laughs, voice still harsh from coughing. “I could fuck you right now, your highness. Sit you on my dick while I steer the ship. Let all your people see, and when they’re ransomed, I’d be rich and they’d still tell Ned I’ve made you my whore.”
“No,” Stede says firmly. “He would be angry, but his pride would remain intact.”
“I still don’t understand why the fuck you wouldn’t just keep that pretty mouth shut,” Ed says, expression hard. “Whatever you’ve heard, you’d have been kept safe and healthy until we’d found someone to pay for you.”
“My people would suffer all the same. Rumors, by their nature, do not care for fact.” Stede places his hands on the edge of the desk and leans forward. “And that is why it matters if I appear willing. To make Ned look like a fool.”
He knows at once from the way Blackbeard’s face goes sharp and shrewd that these are the words he needed. If he is going to succeed at this gambit, this will be how. He holds contact with Blackbeard’s remarkable eyes, trying to appear brave. He prays for once in his life that someone will be fooled.
"I let your people go," Blackbeard says slowly. "And you stay."
Stede nods.
"That's your only stipulation to this arrangement?"
"Oh, um, well. I would prefer it if you did not ransom me back to my father when you become bored with me." Stede figures he doesn't even have to mention being turned in to Ned. "And I ask that you let my retainers go tomorrow. And that you do not loot any food or beverage.”
"Fuck," Blackbeard says. "I really wanted to keep those oranges."
Stede smiles. "I could be convinced to amend the contract to disclude the oranges from looting privileges."
"I'm keeping the booze, too."
"If you insist. Although I'd hate for you to find the loose floorboard half under the bed in the first mate's cabin concealing six bottles of fine brandy."
Blackbeard laughs.
No.
Blackbeard giggles.
Emboldened, Stede continues. "Or the choco powder our cook sews into his skirts."
Blackbeard giggles even harder. "No fucking way! That shit is worth more than its weight in gold!"
"Exactly. And I certainly hope you don't find my former fiance’s groomspresent, a fine fiddle made from elder spruce that cost two hundred gold pieces to make.”
Oh dear. Blackbeard’s face has gone stone still and murderous. There must be very specific rules when it comes to mentioning the King of Low.
“Do we have an accord?” Stede says hastily.
Blackbeard surveys him coolly. “My turn for stipulations. I just have the one.”
Stede nods. “Name it.”
Blackbeard taps the ash out of his pipe. He gets up and walks around the desk, slowly. Always so slow, this man. But something in the slowness feels wrong. Or not wrong, just… not the whole story.
Stede jerks back on instinct when Blackbeard carefully takes his hand. He is not used to being touched by anyone but Atella. But Blackbeard holds him firm. Uncurls the thumb from around Stede’s clenched and trembling hand in his and presses his lips to the pad of it.
The lord mother’s pledge of marriage, Stede realizes distantly, at the same time Blackbeard says, “Marry me.”
Stede’s knees buckle and bring him forward. And oh, now their faces are so close, and Stede has never thought much of the potential of brown as a color that stands on its own beauty, but now in the face of Blackbeard’s remarkable eyes? He does, he does, he does.
“Ned might still take you back if we aren’t wed,” Ed says, voice like velvet. “And besides that he’ll absofuckinglutely know that I did it on purpose to fuck with him.”
Ah. Yes. The King of Low.
“Quite brilliant,” Stede breathes, equally soft. “I accept.”
Blackbeard’s fingers convulse around Stede’s hand before he lets go. Stede does his best not to stagger backward.
He is surprised a second time at how easy it feels to smile in the dread pirate’s presence. “When will we be wed?”
Blackbeard bares his teeth in another wolfish grin. “Tonight.”
Of course, that makes sense. Stede’s people should witness the wedding for the rumor to truly take root. But merciful mother of life, Stede had thought he had another month to prepare. He reminds himself he does not dread marriage in and of itself, although those feelings are twisted together and have been since his engagement was announced. No matter. If the choice is between the kind of monster Ned is and the kind of monster Blackbeard is, well. It is an exceedingly easy choice to make.
Blackbeard is looking very intensely at him. Stede is at a loss at what to say next.
“Shall we, ehm. Announce our impending nuptials?”
“Not yet.”
Not dropping eye contact, Blackbeard crowds him, puts a soft hand on his hip, pivots him so that the backs of his thighs are pressing against the edge of the desk. Stede is overwhelmed by the smell of tobacco and leather as Blackbeard places both his hands on the desk on either side of him and inches his face toward Stede’s lips. Stede thinks—hopes desperately—that he is about to be kissed, but then Blackbeard swerves, his hot breath making its way across Stede’s cheek, his jawline, his neck. His beard brushes against Stede’s skin as he goes, making Stede’s whole body shiver.
“Gotta convince them you’ve been properly seduced,” Blackbeard says softly, before he puts his open mouth on the sensitive skin of Stede’s neck. Stede gasps, his hands flying up to clutch at Blackbeard’s hair.
“Mm,” Blackbeard murmurs, sucking hot and firm. Stede has never been touched this way, not even close. It is good he learned his lesson so young that no one would ever truly want him for more than his title; Blackbeard, obviously, included. Since then safeguarding his royal virginity has always been a convenient excuse not to risk the inevitability of being thrown away by a bored lover. But now he is to be wed, and sexual intimacy is indeed a standard part of a marriage contract. Which means Stede is finally, finally close to being able to fully give in to his burning, crushing desire to have another man touch him. It is radiating out from every part of his skin, burning like fire where Blackbeard’s mouth is busy at work. It feels so good, the hot, wet suction, the barest pressure of Blackbeard’s teeth. It’s… it’s almost painful, but sweet lords, that is a part of the pleasure. Blackbeard presses even closer, and Stede’s hips buck without input from his brain. Blackbeard’s hands are still planted firmly on the desk, Stede’s hands are still in his glorious hair. He is achingly, ashamedly hard, but if he is not mistaken, Blackbeard is in a similar state of arousal.
Interesting.
Blackbeard’s mouth breaks away, but not for long. He licks up the side of Stede’s neck and latches his mouth back onto it in a slightly different place. Stede’s hips roll again and a small whimper escapes his mouth. Blackbeard’s teeth, still feather light in their pressure, saw back and forth a few times before he breaks away.
Stede blinks, dazed. Blackbeard is looking at him again, looking with a capital L, and Stede is drowning in tobacco and leather and eyes, eyes, eyes.
He moves forward to close the distance and steal his very first kiss.
For a moment, just a moment. Blackbeard kisses back. But then he swears and lurches backward. His hair slips through Stede’s fingers and Stede’s body clenches with shame. Of course Blackbeard does not want to kiss him. Use him, maybe (hopefully). But a simple kiss from a bumbling virgin cannot possibly be what this beautiful and brilliant man wants.
“I’m sorry,” Stede says. “I won’t presume again. I’ll only do what you tell me to do.”
Blackbeard’s eyes blow wide and then narrow. “Loosen the ties of your shirt,” he says curtly, unbuckling his own jacket to leave it open. He flicks open one and then two of the buttons of the fall front of his breeches, but then with regrettable swiftness rebuttons one so that it’s in the wrong buttonhole. “Rumple your hair.”
Stede does what he’s told, squashing down the wish that Blackbeard would have done this himself. Blackbeard did not want to do this himself, Stede tells himself firmly. And the whole agreement is that he will do whatever Blackbeard wants.
“Remember, your highness.” There is steel in Blackbeard’s voice. “If you don’t convince your people that you want this.” He sneers. “That you’re willing. The deal will be off.”
“I’ll—” Stede licks his lips and swallows. “I’ll be convincing. I promise.” My cock is hard, after all, he does not say aloud. Best not to draw Blackbeard’s ire until, at least, his people are free.
Blackbeard stomps to the door of his cabin and crosses his arms, tapping his foot and glaring. Stede scurries to follow. “Ready?” In contrast to his body language, his voice is soft. Stede nods.
“Laugh,” Blackbeard says. When he sees Stede’s confusion, he clarifies, “as if I’ve told you a joke.”
He pushes open the door as Stede gives a high-pitched giggle. Stede affixes an expression of cock-drunk adoration on his face. He is an impeccable actor, but it’s not like this is much of an act. Blackbeard is also clearly fantastic at fuckery because he looks positively smitten.
“Good news, crew!” Blackbeard calls, eyes still fixed on Stede. “We’re having a wedding tonight!” He snakes his arm around Stede’s waist and kisses his cheek.
Drat. Just when his cock had been softening, Blackbeard had to go touching him again.
Blackbeard kisses Stede’s cheek again, nuzzles his nose into it, the soft scrape of his beard against Stede’s jawline sending zips all throughout his body. He giggles again, although this time it is involuntary.
“Your highness!” one of Stede’s retainers, William, calls from where they are all still lined up. “What is the meaning of this?”
“You heard the captain,” Stede says. “We are going to be wed.”
He shakes himself gently free of Blackbeard, not completely withdrawing, just linking their arms together at the elbow so that it is easier to stride over to his people. Blackbeard’s crew are looking incredulous, but not entirely surprised.
“Good for you, captain!” says a particular man with a round face and belly wearing what looks like a necklace made of animal claws.
“Shall I send a few gulls out t’ the main folks?” a bedraggled man with an unblinking stare and seagull on his shoulder says.
“Will there be cake?” says a handsome man holding a lute.
Stede’s people, on the other hand, are looking mostly shocked, tinged with an annoyance with which Stede is well-acquainted. Atella looks devastated, but, well. Perhaps Blackbeard will allow him to explain to her the truth of things in private.
“As a wedding present, Captain Blackbeard has agreed to let you all go free,” Stede explains.
“Tomorrow,” Blackbeard says. “Once we’re wed. You’re all invited.”
“Your highness,” says William. “Don’t be daft. Just let him ransom us. We knew this might happen. The King of Low will not fault you for being kidnapped.”
“I care not for that man,” Stede snips. “My heart belongs to Blackbeard now.”
Blackbeard breaks away from Stede and prowls slowly toward William, who shrinks back under the force of his glare. “Call him daft again and I’ll send you back in pieces.”
“Bonnet is—it’s wealthy, Captain Blackbeard, sir,” William continues, despite Stede shaking his head for him to stop over Blackbeard’s shoulder. “And Low is as well.” William’s eyes flick to the marks on Stede’s neck and takes in his general dishevelment. “There’s no need for—there’s no need for this. Take one of us instead, if you want a toy to play with.”
Blackbeard’s fist smashes into William’s nose. “He’s not a toy,” he snarls. “He is to be my husband.”
Oh dear. There goes Stede’s cock again.
“Darling, leave him be,” Stede says, tugging gently on Blackbeard’s arm. Much as he’d like to see William be kicked with Ed’s scuffed black boot from where he’s been laid out prone on the deck of the ship, there’s no need to be gratuitous. “He is simply jealous.”
Blackbeard’s eyes soften and he draws Stede into his arms. “Are you certain, my love? Can’t I cut off like, one toe?”
Stede ponders this, but then he sighs. “No. It is our wedding day. No one needs to be maimed on such a wonderful occasion.”
Blackbeard grins and—and—AND—
KISSES STEDE—
Stede is too shocked to kiss back, but his leg pops up of its own accord anyway.
“You’ve never been to a pirate wedding, babe,” Blackbeard says. “We’ll be lucky if there’s only one maiming.”
Stede wants so, so, so badly to initiate his own kiss. But after the disastrous attempt in the cabin, he is going to follow Blackbeard’s lead when it comes to kissing (for now).
There is a bubbling wail from behind him which startles Stede and Blackbeard apart. He’d forgotten, for a moment, that there was anyone else on the ship except the two of them.
It’s Atella. She falls to her knees. Stede gasps and hurries to help her up; she’s far too old and frail for this. “Please, Captain Blackbeard,” she blubbers, leaning on Stede. “Don’t do this, don’t take my little prince away.”
Stede says urgently, “Atella, it’s fine, I’ll be alright—”
“Please, please. He’s soft. You’ll break him!”
Blackbeard throws his head back and laughs, the sound harsh and grating. “Oh, I intend to!”
For the first time in ten years, Stede thinks that Blackbeard might be as cruel as the rumors say.
He is not sure how to feel about that.