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“Stede Bonnet. The gentleman pirate. I’m going to have fun with you.”
Ned grins. A chill runs down Stede’s spine.
“Don’t you fucking dare, you—“ Ed’s kicking and shouting, but the ropes restraining him are too strong. Stede knew from the moment that Ned boarded that Edward would have his back, that even if their relationship is rather precarious right now, he wouldn’t let Stede get hurt. He had faith that at least that much was true.
He never thought that Ed might try his hardest and still fail.
When he looks into the eyes of his captor, searching for some kindness, some hesitancy, he finds only a sharp and sinister gaze.
Fuck, Stede thinks, and Ned smirks, and he realizes that he’s said that out loud.
“Well, I wasn’t planning on that.” Ned steps around the side of Stede, slowly circling him, a shark who’s already selected his prey and merely wants to make sure that they realize they’re about to be dinner. “But who knows where the night will take us? Blackbeard here, well, he knows all about that.”
There’s a smarmy tone to his words, and Stede looks over at Ed, mouth open. They make eye contact for a second and then Ed looks away, ashamed, and that’s enough for Stede to imagine things that he’d never even considered until this very moment. But even as the history between Stede’s love and his foe hangs heavy in the air, Ned’s attention is focused on Stede. “You’ve got a pretty boy here, Blackbeard,” he coos, putting his hand on Stede’s chest, his touch feather-light. “So soft, so… preserved. Not a single tattoo on him. I wonder if you’ve even left any scars yet?”
Stede is still wearing all of his clothes, but he feels terribly exposed as Ned sizes him up. Not for the first time in recent days, he longs for his old outfits, the ones that are on the bottom of the sea. That clothing was an armor. This doesn’t provide nearly the same comfort. Stede doubts it could. His heart is pounding, his head light with fear, but he fondly remembers the scar on his stomach—not from Ed, of course, but because of how deeply he cares for Ed, which is nearly the same thing.
“I have scars,” Stede says. This seems to be the wrong answer: Ed winces, and Ned tilts his head. “I mean…” he grows quiet, trails off, his voice leaving him.
“What sound do you make, I wonder?” Ned walks to the fireplace in long, slow strides. He pulls out a poker, glowing an angry red at the tip. That same fireplace that Stede had put in as a source of warmth and comfort, now used against him. “When your skin starts to singe? When I burn past each layer, closer and closer to your core? I can get to the bone, you know, I’ve done it before. It’s not so bad when you get used to it.”
By the time Ned reaches him, poker in hand, Stede is barely in his own body. It’s an odd thing, really, that he doesn’t remember the pain. Doesn’t remember anything at all, after a point.
Most nights in the inn, Stede looks out over the ocean as the sun sets, staying out until it’s dark. Some nights, Ed joins him.
They don’t talk much; it’s a good time to think. But sometimes Ed can’t stand the silence, already getting bored after just a few months, already ready to move on to the next. Stede’s not even sure they’re a couple anymore, or just roommates, and maybe that will make it easier when one of them eventually leaves.
“You miss them?” Ed says, nodding toward the sea. Knowing the answer. They haven’t seen their old crew once since they left, and Stede’s got a growing suspicion they never will.
“I do,” Stede says, rubbing the scar on his arm, one of several that dot his skin like an aching constellation. Despite everything, he still remembers the passion in the eyes of the man who gave them.