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“I’m gettin real sick of seein’ yer poncey arse, Bonnet.”
Stede startled from where he was rummaging through crates in the storage hold of the Revenge. Izzy Hands was not near as stealthy as Ed, but still enough to catch the often aloof man unawares. Stede whirled around to watch the man swagger through the door. The shhhk of a knife being pulled from its scabbard was deafening even over the creaking of the ship. Izzy was leering rather nastily and seemed to be sizing him up like a drunkard about to start a brawl at some seedy dive.
“A-ah”, Words that were usually so easy for Stede sometimes failed him around Izzy and left him floundering, “My apologies, I remember announcing that I would be coming here to seek out material to mend my jacket. It seems to me you very easily could have kept me out of your line of sight.”
It seems that he has a way of making situations worse when he opens his mouth. As with everything that he says to Izzy, this seems to just anger the shorter man more. He stalks forwards and, in doing so, backs Stede against a barrel. His jump was was barely noticeable as his legs hit the wood, but Izzy laughed, low and cruel and without any mirth. It was gone as soon as it came. He felt the cold press of a knife’s blade to his neck, scraping quietly against the slight stubble under his chin in warning as he swallows like there is a lump in his throat. Stede was very aware of where they were in this situation. He and Izzy in the bowels of the ship while the crew sprawled out on the deck two levels up.
He did not know what he was planning to say. His mouth was moving faster than his brain as it was wont to do when panic settled like a jackrabbit in his chest, “Izzy, I-”
“Shut it!” Izzy did not let him have time to parse out his words. The man’s patience was thin, “Don’t you ever shut yer damn mouth, or is all that namby pamby rich boy bullshit just so backed up inside of you that you can’t keep it from spewing out?”
His eyes were cold and gleaming in the dull light of the cargo hold, seeming hollow and unnatural from the meagre light of the lantern Stede had brought with him. Stede’s jaw snapped shut with a click. His chin trembled in spite of him clenching his teeth. Those eyes locked onto that and that cruel grin was back. It was taking Stede back to places and times he would rather forget, but the danger of the situation was undeniably different from any previous experiences.
“Yer weak, Bonnet, a lily-livered rich boy strutting around this ship like a peacock when yer really just a strumpet looking to seduce anything that moves.”
“What?”
“I know yer stupid, but I know how all you feckin’ aristocrats are. Degenerates like the rest of us, just got the money to hide it. Got the money to run off to pirating.”
Stede’s breaths were coming quick and labored. Even though the other man was shorter, it felt like he was towering over him in this moment. Izzy’s shadow stretched out behind him, dancing wickedly in the candlelight thrown from the lantern. It loomed. It reminded him of the vague, shapeless nightmares that had invaded his dreams when he was a lad. Just like those, the meaning of Izzy’s words danced just out of reach of his understanding.
“There is one thing that I do not get, Bonnet. Care to help me make sense?”
Izzy had never been a man of many words. Stede realized he has had only minimal interaction with the man away from Edward. Now, out of the shadow of Blackbeard and reeking of liquor, he seemed to have much more to say while Stede was for once at a loss for words. He was watching Stede silently again, as if waiting.
“What?”
“Why the hell Blackbeard is so infatuated with you.”
Stede’s mouth dropped open, “Ah.”
He did not understand much himself why Ed seemed to like him as much as he did. As far as Stede understood about himself, he was a pathetic man who never had to work a day in his life. Even the one passion in his life, he failed at time and time again. He knew he was a bumbling fool and ridiculously naive. His optimism always put him and everyone around him at risk. He was truly pathetic as a man almost thirty. What Edward saw in him was nothing that Stede could explain to the man’s first mate. He did want to impress the legendary pirate, but he felt that he had done little to earn his positive regard.
All he could do was shake his head, minutely, desperately. Izzy tilted his head and then he understood superstitions and fears surrounding cats. He looked like a feline predator contemplating its prey. Stede felt the knife push his jaw up, forcing his mouth closed. Izzy pounced, the blade kissing his skin with a shallow cut as he was turned around his chest forced against the barrel, the iron hoop digging into his hips.
He tried to pull back as the knife pushed in harder. He felt warm blood dampening his skin and Izzy shuffling around. A clink and medal sliding against leather was the warning he got before the click of a gun being cocked. He felt cold steel against the back of his head. The knife was pulled away and the weight of the other man eased as he leaned back. Izzy’s tutted in time with the tap of the gun ringing through his skull.
“You are very pretty for a bloke.” He sounded contemplative, “dressed like a peacock, crossing your legs and skipping about like a chaste lass. Such a flouncey thing you are.”
To emphasize his last words he threw up the back of Stede’s jacket to expose his rear. Fear ratcheted through his body like a rusty pulley hoisting cargo. He could practically feel Izzy’s eyes raking over him. Any lust was not appreciative from the man. It was all born of sadistic glee gained over years of raiding and torture. Stede felt his stomach twist with nausea and was thankful for when he retched and nothing came up but bile and the small amount of alcohol was emitted.
“But so damned pathetic, are you not? The smallest hint of pressure and you crumple. It will be a pleasure to put you in your place.” He pressed the barrel into Stede’s skull to the point of bruising, “Be a good little whore and do not fight it.”
Stede sobbed as he felt Izzy using a hand to fumble with the ties of his breeches. He knew pleas were stumbling from his mouth in a incoherent strings of drivel. The gun was jammed against the captain’s head in warning, jerking him forward. He clamped his jaw shut, but pitiful whimpers continued to escape his throat. He wished in this moment that anyone would stumble down the stairs in search of more liquor. He would not even care if Black Pete saw him in this state, as long as it would all just stop. Somehow, he found his words again.
“Please Izzy, think about this. We can come to an agreement. I could help you somehow else. Please do not do this.” It was seeming as if his words were falling on deaf ears, and he was grasping for anything to say that would end this moment, “I just want to be your friend, Izzy. I do not wish to hurt you.”
The man behind him chuckled coldly, “Friend? Have you not learned yet, Bonnet? There are no friends among pirates. You are a weak man. You were given the world and you are still begging for more? You are a greedy slag. I thought I told you to shut up.”
Stars danced as sharp pain rocketed from the back of his head and down his spine. There was a hand over his mouth, muffling Stede’s cry of pain. He slumped over the barrel more, arms no longer supporting him as the dangled on either side. His nausea increased tenfold, and the cargo hold around him danced in a way that was not from waves rocking the ship.
He could distantly feel his body being jostled around as Izzy tore at the seemingly flimsy strings protecting his modesty. The blood on his neck had dried and was becoming scratchy and his face was warm and wet with tears. He thought of Mary, Alma, and Louis and which was replaced by disgust the next moment. Thinking of the family he left behind in this moment made his skin crawl, but maybe this was his punishment for abandoning them. His thoughts raced with repetitive apologies to his wife and children even as he knew that would do nothing to stop what was going to happen to him. Stede was never a pious man but desperation forced him to even beg God for salvation even as he knew it would be fruitless.
He felt cool sea air against his arse. He understood that there would be no aide, no intervention, no divine act to end this nightmare. The clinking of a belt might as well have been a toll from the gates of Hell and the shuffling fabric the whispers of demons coaxing him to fall forward. Stede warred with himself that he deserved this against attempts to exonerate himself from this damnation. Regardless of which way the coin landed, there was no way out. He was a weak, pathetic, gentle man who could not save himself.
He felt something blunt stab against the cleft of his arse. Izzy’s manhood, his inner voice unhelpfully answered. Stede was breathing through a straw, his lungs screaming, but his heart was louder. Panic fluttered through his bodily uselessly like a butterfly in a jar. I deserve this crashed through his mind like vain repetition prayers that he had seen the nuns do countless times at boarding school. As for them, it was an attempt to soothe his soul. Any calm he had managed to grasp slipped away when Izzy stabbed forward again, the tip pushing against his hole painfully.
Stede could not even register shouting, but was fully aware when the when all weight disappeared from atop him. He could feel a sob wrench from his throat, but heard nothing over the pounding in his ears. He hit the floor without something, someone, holding him in place on the barrel. He only had enough wherewithal to push himself up and squeeze himself between cargo, curl up, and throw his hands over his ears.
In a strange, clear thought, he wondered how silly he looked, hiding like a child. He could not bring himself to care. He pulled his legs up in an weak attempt to protect himself and his modesty. As his hearing slowly returned, he could hear shouting, then the sound of thumping. Something was hitting flesh repeatedly but he could not identify what. His high pitched whimpers were grating to his own ears but he could not force himself to stop. He was rocking back and forth in a futile attempt to soothe himself.
He did not notice when the fighting had quieted, but when hands grabbed his wrists, he screamed and lashed out. The grip was firm, but allowed him some movement. Ultimately his fighting was useless. Sobs were forced out with his panicked breathing and he begged. It was all he had left, his legs not cooperating with his body, so he begged. He looked without seeing at the person over him, for the lantern had been snuffed at some point between him hitting the deck and opening his eyes again. It could be Izzy again, to finish what he started, it could be a new attacker, it could be anyone, and his pleas were most likely falling on deaf ears.
As the person stayed still, only holding Stede’s wrists to fend off any attack, he came more back to himself. He could recognize the silhouette of long curly hair and a lean build and the smell of well-worn leather and his favorite lavender soap. His voice cracked as he spoke, “E-Edward?”
The man did not speak, but he could see movement that looked like a nod in the dark belly of the ship. Otherwise, he was still. He did not say or do anything beyond loosening his grip as Stede worked towards calming his breathing. Stede tried to peer into the darkness in search for Izzy. The room was too dim to see more than a few feet and Edward seemed to shift himself to be in line of sight wherever he looked. The thought of his would be attacker lying in wait in the shadows caused Stede’s breath to catch in his throat. It was silent again save for the creaking of wood. He could not even hear Ed’s breathing.
“Breathe, mate.”
The words spoken quietly still startled Stede, and he jerked his hands up to protect his face. Well, he would have if Ed had not retightened his grip to hold them down. This somehow did not cause him to panic. It was actually rather reassuring for him. It grounded him to the real world when it felt like his soul was just hanging on by a thread to keep it from floating away.
Edwards spoke again, “Breathe, dammit.”
The words were firm but not harsh. Stede forced himself to suck air into his lungs, exhale, and repeat. He vaguely heard praise as he continued this cycle. He focused on the shape of the man before him, but his face was lost to the blackness of the room. He could imagine it clearly, though he was not sure what expression would be there in reality. He continued to breathe as instructed. Being told what to do was calming in this moment. All he had to do was breathe. Words were trying to push past the barrier of his lips and he could not stop them from breaking out.
“Izzy— he—”
He was shushed, but it was comforting rather than frustrating, “I know, mate. Everything’s fine. He will not hurt you again.”
Stede did not ask. He did not want to know. He just nodded and began to uncurl himself. He remembered the state of his clothes and brought his legs back up. He was confused as to how Ed had known to come to the cargo hold. He was almost sure that the man was asleep when he left the deck. He could not be certain because Ed did not have the typical tells for sleep that Stede was use to reading. Either Edward could read his mind, or it was a lucky guess as he answered the unspoken question.
“I was awake. Saw you go down and saw Izzy follow. When neither of you came up for a while I thought to check. I figured he might be trying to intimidate you. I didn’t expect . . .”
He trailed off. Neither of them needed him to complete his thought. He carried a strange tone in his voice that Stede had never heard from him. He sounded stilted and tight. It was different from his typical carefree or contemplative way of speaking. Stede did not have the ability to suss it out in that moment. Adrenaline was still quaking through his body, and he was ready for the illusion to shatter and drag him back into hell. He figured he might be clearer headed if he could reclothe himself, but his legs still had not caught up with the rest of his body,
It seemed even more that Edward could read his mind. He whispered, “let’s get you up and dressed. Then we can work on getting you back to your cabin, yeah?”
The softness was a disconcerting change, but Stede allowed himself to be pulled up and supported against Ed’s chest. He suppressed the urge to fight when he felt hands grab the waistband of his breeches. The momentary panic was soothed when they were pulled up instead of down. He was aware of his coattails being adjusted to cover the broken ties at the back. Stede supposed there was some good to wearing such flashy clothes in this situation.
Stede realized that he was floating when he did not fight as Edward ushered him out of the cargo hold. Despite his curiosity, he did not have the energy to look back. He had to be nearly dragged from the room due to his uncooperative feet. He continued to shake even as he was pulled back through the gates of hell by the most feared pirate on the seven seas.