He is dreading his eventual return to the Revenge. The undignified climb up the ladder, the jokes about his rapidly maturing sunburn. Perhaps if he times it just right he could manage to clamber up the hull during a meal and retreat unnoticed to his quarters. An acceptable plan, but one that would require him to first locate the damned boat.
Stede pauses his rowing and crooks his reddened neck around to pan the grey-green waters. The sea is smooth as an egg, just as it had been in the morning when he had decided to take the dinghy out. Typically uninclined towards sport (too sweaty!), Stede had such a weight on his mind that he had woken in the rosy hours before sunrise, informed first mate Buttons of his intentions, and lowered the smallboat without acquiring any rations or even a hat for the sun.
'Don't be losing sight of the ship then, Captain' Buttons instructed as he descended the ladder, a comment that Stede had taken, at the time, as suggestion. The sea was quite the lady today, and the sky was clear. He rowed away from the ship with unpracticed intensity that soon reached a vigorous rhythm. It was good to push against something, to feel sweat and to bring an ache into his muscles. The uncomfortable flutter in his belly calmed.
Of course Ed had still been asleep when Stede had slipped away, sprawled across the brocade of the settee like an absurd princeling, peppery curls cresting the back of the sofa. Stede smiles at the memory of their cavernous discussion the night before, so engrossed at third watch that Ed had gestured him into bed and spun the settee away from the hearth to face Stede's narrow bunk. They lay opposite each other across the darkened cabin, faces barely seen in the half-light of the untended fire. What did they speak of then, drifting in and out of awareness? Silly, partially formed things, thoughts so absurd that they cried tears and muffled their laughter like disobedient children. Stede had been unwilling to close his eyes but he had been the first to fall asleep, likely mid-sentence. He knows this because he woke to find himself covered by the quilt that had been left folded on the divan the night before.
Stede gave himself only the briefest moment to regard the man lying across from him in the dawn light before nervous energy had him on his was a chill in the air and Ed had wrapped both arms around himself despite his leathers. Stede, barefooted on the creaking sole boards, gently spread the quilt over his friend and was surprised when Blackbeard didn't rouse. Perhaps the night's brandy had sedated the usually alert sea captain, or he was deep in dream? Stede glanced over the bearded face and saw only tranquility. Ed's brow smooth, breath low and even.
Stede had started his journey that morning with zeal, taking pleasure in watching the Revenge shrink and transform until it was no larger than a child's toy, and then letting it disappear altogether. He felt a strong joy come into him as he skipped across the surface of the water. On such a windless and cloudless day, he had no concerns about relocating the ship. He would simply turn around when tired and make his way back to the boat. Easy peasy.
That was several hours past. Now, alone in the rowboat in the full heat of midday, Stede was feeling especially envious of Ed's peaceful night of sleep and wishing that he had simply climbed aloft to find privacy in the crows nest. It was no exaggeration to say that his situation was at best unideal and could continue to unfold in a less than savory fashion if he didn't get his head back on his shoulders. He had rowed three times as far in the direction he believed the ship to be and still the horizon lay empty, the sun was now high in the sky. He had clearly overestimated his navigational prowess.
One consolation to his aloneness: he could think freely of last night and the days before without gossip-hungry shipmates watching him like hungry wolves.
He is thinking, of course (of course!), of Edward. Blackbeard. Dreaded pirate, fearsome in his reputation. Stede could see why, but he has to squint. Edward was a tad unrefined, and he had his sharp edges, but mostly he was… lovely? A definitively wonderful guest. He relished in all the small delights that his host shared with him, and was not stingy with his appreciation. And of course the crew openly worshiped him, and Ed was gentle with them in return.
Stede has become accustomed to Edward's presence. What would Blackbeard do here, trapped in this navigational quandary? Apart for the first time in weeks, Stede begins to build Edward piece by piece in his mind, bringing him into being on the aftmost bench of the skiff. Starting with the right hand, the wrist, the ink serpent running up his arm- just one of an endless constellation of tattoos peppering his skin. Stede manifests a broad shoulder, capped under salt stained leather. He sees his own black cravat, looped jauntily beneath the silvery curls of his beard.
Stede's breath catches as he works his way down a memory of Blackbeard's body. The crescent of skin showing underneath Ed's jacket, the tightness of the leather across his hips, as if he were sewn in…
Stede allows himself, for the first time since their meeting, to dwell here. A beast of wanting, long dormant, shifts in its cave. He wets his lips and watches the Ed of his own making sit opposite him on the bench. Sea air shivers across his sweat-soaked shirt, but he is hot from rowing, hot from the feverish thud in his chest and his groin. Stede is swept up in his ache for this man, his desire to lose his hands deep in Edward's beard and to taste him, to put his mouth on each tattoo in turn.
Stede lets the oars sit loose in their locks and strips himself to the waist. He settles into the bottom of the boat and leans his back against the bow seat, knees bent, his hardness pushing against the velvet of his trousers. He runs a hand over himself on top of the fabric and feels many weeks worth of desire, closing his eyes as a gesture to beckon Edward closer to him. Echoes of Ed's form, scent of tobacco, lavender, the drop of his boot on the deck. His imagined hands run roughly down Stede's bare chest, and Stede hungrily licks a tattooed palm, kissing his fingertips, taking the fingers wholy into his mouth. Stede bites the pad of his own hand, hard, and eyes still closed, unbuttons his trousers and reaches down to grasp his pulsing cock. A gasp and it is Ed's hand on him, Ed's low tones in his ear.
'You've made me wait' he whispers, 'you've been holding out on me'.
'I didn't realize' Stede hears himself reply 'I couldn't act'
'Let's release you from that hesitation, yea?''
Ed is pulling and rubbing, drifting his hand across the head of his penis. Stede has never had such an appetite for this deliciousness before. The vitality! The blood renewed! He throbs in his own hand which is Ed's hand, stroking him into a fever. His belly is being born into mist. His idle hand cups his balls, pressing hard and grounding him deeper into the pleasure.
He has been starving through a long winter and now feasts! He is skipping along the peaks of a high mountain. Maintenance is impossible, and Stede's orgasm blooms quickly, coming in blazing colors. A man alone in the middle of the ocean, he hears himself cry out his name. 'Edward!' echoing across the still water. 'Oh God, Edward!' he spills hotly, desperately onto his own hands, ruining his velvet trousers, and shudders onto the wooden boards of the skiff.