Chapter Text
Stede Bonnet has no idea whatsoever what he’s doing here.
Scratch that, he has no idea whatsoever what he’s doing, period.
Letting Lucius drag him to a nightclub was a stupid idea. He’s not ready, he’s just not. Despite all his preparation and research. Thirty-five years old and what Lu refers to as a “baby gay”? Pathetic.
The place is also too intense. All purple and pink lights and leather booths and chandeliers. Stede’s in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by bodies pressed close around. The music is too loud by half. It’s all kind of a sensory nightmare, if he’s honest, but Stede needs to get used to it if he’s going to be out.
“You’re too tense, sweetie,” Lucius yells, as he grinds against Pete on the dance floor. “Go get a drink!”
Yes, right. Good. A drink. Just the thing to get Stede to loosen up. He makes his way through the writhing mass of people, pushing them aside as needed, to get to the bar.
All these folks look so comfortable here. There are all different kinds of people, many of them attractive, with lots of alluring skin showing. His own outfit had felt daring when he put it on—tight white, short-sleeved button-down shirt, impossibly skinny jeans. But it’s nothing compared to the dazzling array of outfits around him tonight. Everything from cropped tee shirts and tiny cut-off jean shorts to full-on silk suits. Lots of hot pants and leather harnesses. The clothes are all tight, and as the crowd tonight is mostly men, it’s a sea of biceps and pecs and asses as far as Stede’s eyes can see. He feels as if he’s been dropped into the middle of a foreign planet.
It’s thrilling, but also a little overwhelming for someone who tried not to think about biceps and pecs and asses for so long.
As Stede makes his way to one end of the bar, someone bumps into him, and their drink spills all over Stede’s shirt. Shit!
“Fuck, man, I’m sorry,” the man says. Their eyes meet and—oh, he’s kind of cute, actually. He’s got a weird mustache situation, but he has medium brown hair, blue eyes, and a good face with a nice smile and a high forehead. The man’s eyes drift down to Stede’s chest—his shirt is a little transparent and clingy from where the clear drink—smells like tequila?—spilled.
“Hey, sailor, haven’t seen you around here before,” the man purrs. “I need a new drink—let me buy you one, blondie?”
The cute man wants to buy him a drink! Stede hadn’t been sure anyone would be interested in him at all tonight. He happily accepts.
They get to the bar, and the man shouts his name (“Jack!”) to Stede, nods at the bartender, and holds up two fingers. The bartender, a slim, dark-haired person, quickly produces two more drinks.
“I can pay—” Stede begins.
“No need,” the man says, grinning. “This is my place, actually.”
“You own this place!” The Revenge is by far the most popular queer club in town, from what Lucius has said. And this guy owns it. Stede had thought the owner had something to do with some semi-famous rock band, a one-hit wonder; maybe this man was in the band. Stede doesn’t know much about popular music.
Now that Stede’s on the sidelines, he can breathe again and appreciate the place more. It’s intense, and all the purple and pink is a bit much, but it’s lovely to see how people are just themselves here. Stede finds it liberating like he can do anything or be anyone here, and people won’t judge him for it. This would be a first for Stede.
And the man next to him owns this place! Incredible.
“Yup, all mine,” Jack says, taking a sip of his drink and looking him over with what Stede believes are bedroom eyes. “So why haven’t I seen you here before? I’d remember you,” he adds.
Someone’s aiming bedroom eyes! At him! On his first night! As Stede knocks back some of his tequila soda, he considers that maybe this being out-of-the-closet thing won’t be so hard after all.
🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃
Half an hour and a few drinks later, Stede finds himself in the back office of The Revenge on his knees, wet shirt off, Jack’s cock in his mouth.
His first blowjob! Stede’s hooked up a couple of times from the apps–some hand stuff with one guy, receiving a blow job and fucking another guy. This is first time on the giving end, though, and he is prepared.
It’s an average size (to Stede’s mostly academic understanding), but thankfully nothing too big for his first go. Stede’s enjoying the feeling of finally—finally!—having a cock in his mouth. He’s read up on this, and he’s determined to do a good job. He’s going to use every trick he can think of to get this man off in record time. He’s even practiced on dildos so he can avoid having gag reflex issues, though that doesn’t seem like it will be a problem in this case.
Well, so much the better for his first time! He doesn’t think he has a strong preference as to size. Something at least a little larger would be nice next time, though. But this is perfectly fine for a starter dick!
Jack is holding the back of his head, gripping his hair, and saying stuff like “Fuck yeah, baby, that’s it.” Just like in a porno! Then Jack grabs him harder and starts fucking himself on Stede’s face. That seems pretty rude—seems like he should ask first, but Stede’s trying to get into it, to just shut his mind off a bit.
It ends up taking a while. “Whiskey dick,” Jack mutters. But Stede finally uses enough suction and has the brilliant idea of playing with Jack’s balls a bit, and that does it. Jack’s hips start shaking, and he yells fuck and pulls out. “Wanna come on your tits,” Jack grunts, and that’s fine by Stede; he’s not sure how he feels about swallowing yet.
Stede gives him a final few strokes, and Jack yells out “Steve!” as he comes in warm spurts onto Stede’s bare chest. For a moment, despite the unfortunate but predictable mangling of his name, Stede feels like a god. He got a man off, with his mouth—someone who thinks his chest is sexy enough to want to come on it. Pretty successful for his first outing in fellatio!
Stede’s about to pull his own cock out when the door opens—shit, why didn’t Jack lock it?
“Hey, baby, surprise, I’m ba—what the fuck is going on here?”
Damn, this is embarrassing! Stede quickly starts re-zipping his pants but he can’t do much about his bare, come-covered chest. He looks over at the man who just entered.
Jack may be cute, but he’s nothing to this man, for all that he’s standing there red-faced and shouting at Jack. About his own age, the man is wearing leather pants and a leather jacket with a single sleeve. His arm is covered in tattoos, including a snake winding around it. His long, flowing hair is starting to go silver, as is his short beard.
Stede’s mind buzzes a bit, drowning out what the man’s saying, but the beautiful man is angry. Jack is zipping up his pants as he stands up to face the shouting man.
The man turns to Stede: “And you? The fuck you staring at?” He looks Stede up and down—his eyes widen for a millisecond, or so Stede thinks, but then his expression shifts to one of disdain. “Get the fuck out of here!”
“Right,” Stede says, grabbing his shirt and standing up. He hightails it out of the room but decides to pause for a moment in the hallway to shrug his wet shirt back on and get his bearings. The walls must be thin because he can hear the two men fighting:
“What the hell are you doing home so soon anyway?”
“Got an earlier flight to surprise you,” the guy says. “The fuck, man! You said you wouldn’t do this anymore.” He sounds like he’s on the verge of tears.
“Baby—”
“Don’t ‘baby’ me!” the man shouts, angry again. “ Don’t touch me! Fuck you!”
“It’s not what it looks like!” Jack’s words are slurred. Stede gasps at that audacious claim. Jack must be drunker than Stede had realized. He may be new to all this, but he’s pretty sure there’s no explaining this away.
“Not what it looks like! He was covered in your come, Jack.” There’s a pause. “I can’t fucking do it anymore. The cheating, the lies—doing this right here in our club, our office? Where everyone can fucking see you picking up a fucking side piece. What the hell!”
“Eddie, look, I’m—“
“No, I don’t want to hear it. We’re fucking done.” The man’s voice is still audible, but he sounds weary rather than angry now. Defeated, even.
So Jack had been cheating on this other guy—Eddie. Who co-owns the club. This was one of Stede’s first hook-ups, and he stumbled unwittingly into the middle of an established couple. He’s mortified. He’s a homewrecker. Of course, he never meant to be, but it’s his fault anyway. If he’d only been out for longer, he might have known that this Jack character was cheating on Eddie. He’d have seen them together.
He’ll never catch up, will he? Stede hoped he might fit in here, for one shining moment.
But he doesn’t fit in here, and he probably never will.
Angry, embarrassed, and horny, he heads to the bathroom to try to clean himself up so he can go home. Stede’s shirt is still kind of sticky, but he reluctantly puts it back on after he cleans himself up.
As he emerges into the main room of the club, the pink and purple lights are blinding after the dimness of the hallway he’d emerged from. Panic grips his chest in a vice. He wants to bolt, but he looks for Lucius and Pete first. Fortunately, he finds them by the bar talking to Fang, one of their frequent lovers, who’s a bouncer here. Taking a deep break, Stede approaches.
Lu’s eyes widen when he catches sight of Stede. “Stede Eliza Doolittle Bonnet, is that sex hair I see?” Lucius shouts. “Did you hook up already, slut? I’m so proud!”
“I, uh—it didn’t go well.”
“What’s that?” Pete shouts over the music.
“I said it didn’t go well! I’m going! I’ll text you in the morning!”
Just as he’s about to turn and leave, Stede feels a hand grip his upper arm, and suddenly he’s being spun around.
It’s Eddie. The eyeliner around his eyes is smudged, and his eyes are red like he’s been crying. Stede feels like an utter shit heel. Some deep part of himself hates being the cause of this man’s tears. Certainly, he looks very tough in that leather, but his large, brown eyes reveal a touching vulnerability under his anger.
A new song starts up, one Stede doesn’t recognize but that has a quiet beginning. “Get the fuck out of my club,” the man grits out, voice oddly calm, but low and dangerous. His words are all too easily heard in the sudden quiet. “Now, before I have Fang here toss you out on your ass.”
His tone of voice does something to Stede’s insides, for just a moment, but then he forces himself to snap back to reality. Since the music had gotten quiet, everyone near the bar is staring at them. Lucius and Pete’s eyes are wide with shock. “Right, yes. I was just telling my friends here that I’m going.” Stede looks at them. “I’ll text you.”
Then Stede turns and heads towards the door, feeling people’s stares burning holes into him as he goes outside to wait for a car.
🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃
The next morning, Stede wakes up with a muzzy head and sticky sheets.
What the hell happened?
The memories come back in a flood. The club. Jack. Eddie. Being thrown out. Humiliation. Coming home and having an angry, drunken wank.
He tries not to remember that he’d pictured deep brown eyes rather than blue ones (or literally anything else) looking up at him as he’d come all over his sheets. The memory flutters around the edges of his mind nonetheless, unbidden and unwelcome.
It had been an awful night, and judging by the state of his head and his dry mouth, he’s now hungover. He hadn’t had all that much, as he remembers everything and was fully in control of his actions, if a little looser and more impulsive. He needs to build up his tolerance for alcohol.
His phone dings at that moment, and the noise is a personal affront, making his temples throb. He gropes for it—the text is from Lu.
Lucius: Emergency brunch. Noon. Forty Oranges
Stede: Head hurts. Everything hurts
Lucius: Be there or I will come drag you out of bed myself
Stede reluctantly sits up in bed. It’s 10:42. He’d better find a way to drag himself out of bed, hydrate, take a large quantity of ibuprofen, and get in the shower. He knows Lu will make good on his threat to come over if Stede doesn’t show up.
Stede’s grateful for all the help Lu’s given him since that day he found Stede crying in a supply closet (irony not lost on him). They were both working for Stede’s father’s company, Bonnet Capital—Stede as an analyst, and Lu as an executive assistant. They’d both hated it and bonded quickly over that. That day, Lu was the first person to hear Stede’s darkest secret, confessed haltingly between hiccups and sobs: that he’s gay, even though he was married to a woman. He’d tried to hide it for years since his father is a noted homophobe and all-around awful person.
The last straw had come when Stede caught Mary kissing Doug, her art instructor. He hadn’t felt anger, or disappointment, or even sadness. No, he’d felt envy. Of Mary. For getting to kiss Doug. And Stede’s not even into Doug! (He’s not sure what his type is, but it’s not Doug, lovely as he turns out to be.)
The envy stemmed from the fact that Mary got to kiss any man at all.
It had always been easier for Stede to shove his sexual thoughts into a box and try to forget about them most of the time. At the times when he did examine them, he spent hours mired in confusion before putting them away again.
But in the middle of the night, alone in his bed (he tossed and turned too much to share with Mary), he could admit to himself that he wanted to fuck men. He and Mary had tried to make it work, but Stede had always had to let his mind roam free to get there.
His mind always roamed to hard cocks and tight male asses.
Eventually, Stede got brave enough to watch some porn, and it confirmed what he’d always suspected.
Thinking back on it, he’d had some intense friendships with boys in high school and college that had likely been crushes… he hadn’t realized until later because he was in denial about his attraction to boys. But otherwise, he’s never felt a strong desire to be in a romantic relationship, which made things confusing for him for a long time. Wasn’t he supposed to want to fall in love? And with men, if he’s gay?
Well, for now anyway, a romantic relationship is not a priority for him since he’s newly out. He has enough to navigate as it is. But sex with men? He craves it. And more importantly, he craves the space to just be free. To be himself, for once, instead of trying and miserably failing to live up to impossible expectations.
Once he and Mary had a long, painful talk, they agreed to divorce. Stede quit his job, and his father disowned him, but it was okay—Stede hated working in investments, but he’d been good at it and had invested his trust fund dividends well. He’s found that he can easily survive being cut off while he figures out his next move.
Having Lu’s help in this new world of being divorced and out has been invaluable. Sure, Lu wanted him to take the plunge sooner, but Stede wanted to do his research first. Lu, as Stede’s self-appointed Fairy Godfather, has been full of advice and resources.
And Stede had still messed it all up last night. Fuck, he’s an idiot, and now he’s going to have to relive the whole thing under Lu’s relentless questioning.
Stede manages to make himself sentient and presentable enough to go to brunch. He’s too queasy to eat much, but he can probably manage some scrambled eggs and toast. When he gets to brunch, he’s relieved to find just Lu there—Stede likes Pete a lot but is more used to spilling his guts to Lu.
When Stede sits down, Lu raises an eyebrow. Stede’s shoulders slump.
“Mimosas or coffee?”
Stede’ stomach gives a little lurch at the mere thought of alcohol. “Coffee. Please.” Lu signals to Olu, their server. They’re in here enough that they know Olu well, along with the Chef, Roach. After some pleasantries, Olu disappears with their orders.
“I’m an idiot,” Stede says, heading Lu off at the pass.
“Stede… you’re not. I think I know what happened, and I don’t think you’re to blame, but first tell me the whole story, hmm? Then we’ll figure it out.”
Face burning the whole time, Stede lets the whole shameful story out of him, hardly pausing to take a breath—he’s afraid he’ll never get through it if he thinks about it too hard.
Lu sighs. “Fuck, Stede… this is my fault.”
“Wh–what? How do you figure that?”
“I should have warned you about Jack Rackham. He’s a user and a serial cheater… I just thought he’d keep it out of the club he owns with fucking Blackbeard.”
“Blackbeard?” Stede thinks for a moment. “That guy in leather, right? His boyfriend? The one who threw me out? I thought his name was Eddie.”
“Blackbeard is his stage name. I guess you don’t know all the lore.”
Stede shakes his head. “Well, Blackbeard came back early from some trip apparently.”
“Ah, that explains it.” Lu goes on to describe how Blackbeard and the Krakens had had an album with a handful of hit songs or so years ago but fizzled out after that due to creative differences (and rumored relationship drama) between Blackbeard and Jack and Mary and Anne, the other half of the band. Mary and Anne quit, got married, and now tour together as a duo. Blackbeard and Jack bought the club, for some reason choosing to settle in this suburban town instead of the nearby city, trading on the Blackbeard name for a while after that.
Now, the Revenge (named after their first album) is just a local institution, and no one cares about the band anymore, though their hit songs still get some airplay.
Stede had always been out of touch with pop culture (especially the queer variety), which had never been encouraged in his house, so he’d missed all this when it was happening—too busy going to business school and getting married to appease his father.
“Blackbeard’s always been kind of a moody bastard,” Lu says. “Fang says he’s temperamental to work for, even though they’ve known each other for years—Fang and Ivan were their roadies.” Stede recalls that Ivan’s another bouncer.
“Well, he was angry last night, and rightly so,” Stede says. “It was my fault….”
“You’d never been there before—how could you know?” Lu reaches across the table to grab Stede’s hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you. Should have kept a better eye on you…. But, if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s Jack’s.”
Lu is right. Jack’s the real asshole in this situation.
“You know I’m all for open relationships,” Lu continues, “when all parties are aware and consenting. He took advantage of you. He’s a real creep—he usually goes after guys on the younger side. Old enough to get into the club but in their early twenties.”
Stede’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m not really any younger than him, I think.”
Lu waves a hand dismissively. “You’re hot, and you have that wide-eyed ‘baby gay’ air about you. You were like chum in the water to a shark like Jack, fuck….”
“No, it’s not your fault,” Stede tells him. “Look, it happened, but I’m okay. I had a few too many drinks, but I knew what I was doing and he didn’t coerce me. I’ve given a blow job now, at least, which is something I hadn’t done before. I was bound to deal with at least one asshole at some point. Now I’ve gotten that out of the way!”
“You’re right. And I’m glad you’re okay. I wish someone would do something about him, though,” Lu mutters. “The stories I’ve heard….”
How bad is this Jack character, exactly? Maybe someone should do something about him. Why should Stede or anyone else stand for this treatment? And his poor boyfriend…. Or ex-boyfriend now, Stede supposes. He feels awful about what happened, but perhaps he’d inadvertently done Blackbeard a favor in the long run.
“Was it good, at least?” Lu asks. “The hook-up?”
Stede’s face flushes. “Well, that’s hard to say. It was mortifying to be caught and then thrown out in front of everyone. But, well, I enjoyed it at the time, I think? I think I did a good job for the first time, gave it my best go.”
Lu snorts. “No one’s grading you, Stede.”
“I am!” Stede insists. He hadn’t told Lu, but he’s planning to journal about his experiences to help him figure out how he can improve his sexual techniques. “I’m so behind. I have so much to learn.”
Lu pats his hand again sympathetically. He then leans across the table and whispers, “How was his dick?”
Now it’s Stede’s turn to snort. “Extremely average.”
They laugh, and Stede’s stomach is starting to feel normal. He’ll be okay.
In the back of his mind, though, the idea of “doing something” about Jack lingers.
🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃
Even though Stede felt better initially after brunch with Lucius, he has spent much of the folllowing week spiraling. If he had a job, he’d probably spiral less, but he’s still figuring out his next move—maybe opening a small business. Something queer-friendly, perhaps a bookstore? Somewhere that will provide a safe space for people to gather and be themselves.
Anyway, Stede has much too much time on his hands. He can’t forget how he’d been humiliated in his first full foray into the local gay scene.
Of course, he should be used to humiliation—he suffered it for years at the hands of his father, who was always talking down to him, especially in front of his cronies. And at the hands of bullies in school, especially the Badminton twins, who also worked at Bonnet Capital. Stede hoped he was past that phase of life now and had come to a place where people could at least accept him, even if they don’t seek him out.
Jack had blown that notion out of the water. Stede had been used and, worst of all, had unwittingly hurt someone else.
By the time Friday rolls around, Stede’s determined to do something about it. No more lying down and taking being hurt and humiliated. He knows that it’s probably healthier for him to just move on and avoid the Revenge from now on, but he also knows that he has a petty streak a mile wide.
There’s more to it, though, than just his wounded pride. He remembers the angry, hurt look on Blackbeard’s face. Something about that look called to Stede; he felt the echo of it in his soul. It’s the look of someone weary to the bone, fed up with being used and humiliated. That someone as attractive as Blackbeard—probably the best-looking person Stede’s ever seen up close—could feel the same is intriguing. You’d think he’d have people falling all over themselves to be good to him.
Stede wants to apologize to Blackbeard, maybe explain what happened. If his breakup with Jack seems permanent, Stede might suggest that Blackbeard help him take Jack down…. Stede’s not quite sure how yet. From what Lucius has said, the man may be too amoral to be hurt by much. Perhaps Blackbeard would be willing to help Stede figure out what to do.
Deciding to arm himself with knowledge, Stede reads up on the band Blackbeard and the Krakens online, and it all seems extremely messy. Their breakup is compared to that of Fleetwood Mac, so Stede goes down a rabbit hole reading about the relationship dynamics in that band. It’s all rather bewildering, that people would feel so strongly about each other that it would negatively affect their art and their livelihoods. Stede never felt that way about anyone. Of course, Stede can understand the band members fucking each other—that’s bound to happen among attractive people spending time in close proximity.
In the case of the Krakens, they all went to high school together, starting as a garage band. Eventually, Jack was romantically linked with both Blackbeard and Anne Bonny. Between drama over that and so-called “creative differences,” the band was torn in half. There are plenty of rumors as to what had happened, but no one involved had ever spilled the beans. The others are touring, while Blackbeard (Edward Teach) and Jack retired and opened their club.
Stede wonders what makes a man like Edward Teach stay with a man like Jack. While Stede thought Jack was cute enough, Blackbeard—Edward—could surely have anyone he wanted. Even if he’s as temperamental as the internet suggests he is.
Stede sighs. These romantic machinations are beyond Stede’s reckoning, and they’re just plain exhausting to read about. He closes his phone browser and texts Lu:
Stede: I need to go to the Revenge again.
Lu: ?????
Lu: Blackbeard THREW YOU OUT. He’s not someone to mess with
Lu: He didn’t say not to come back but I think you can assume you shouldn’t
Stede: I just want to apologize to Blackbeard. Do you think Fang can get me in?
Lu: I’ll ask but don’t blame me if Blackbeard murders you
Stede: Thank you, and that’s fair
Stede decides that he won’t yet reveal to Lucius that he wants to find a way to take Jack down.
Lu calls a little while later. “Fang will get you in tomorrow night,” Lu says. “Come by at 11:45. Blackbeard’s usually in by then. But Fang’s only doing this once. If you get thrown out again, he won’t help you get back in.” Lu sighs. “Hey, it sucks that this happened to you, but maybe you should just let go? Move on? I doubt Blackbeard wants your apology.”
“It’s the right thing to do,” Stede replies. He’s convinced that much is true. He’d hurt someone, however unwittingly on his part. He doesn’t just want to let it stand without trying to make some kind of amends. If he can find a way to stop getting Jack to prey on people, and soothe his own bruised pride in the process, so much the better.
Not for the first time, Stede ponders the name of the club: The Revenge. How fitting.
🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃
After agonizing all day on Saturday, Stede decides to wear his new aqua silk button-down shirt to the Revenge, with white slacks and brown oxfords. He knows he’s going to apologize, not dance, but he can’t help wanting to look nice. It feels like armor, in a way. And he had bought a whole separate closet’s worth of clothes after coming out, after all.
He supposes there’s a metaphor in there somewhere, like with the supply closet.
As instructed, Stede arrives at The Revenge at 11:45 pm on the dot. He shows his ID to Fang, who gives him the nod but whispers, “Be careful. He’s been in a horrible mood. He’s in the VIP booth in the back. Ivan won’t throw you out unless Blackbeard asks him to—then you’re on your own.”
“Thanks, Fang. I owe you one.”
Almost the moment Stede steps inside the hallway by the coat check, Lu and Pete collar him. “Guys! What are you doing here?”
“We couldn’t let you go in there alone.” Stede’s heart swells—no one’s ever had his back before. “Are you sure you wanna do this, Stede?” Pete asks. “Blackbeard seems pretty grouchy right now.”
Lu pats Pete’s cheek. “Yeah, no, that’s a massive understatement. Pete is Blackbeard’s biggest fan. He’s sitting alone and snapping at everyone who goes near him. He’s probably going to have you thrown out on sight.”
Stede takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “No, I can do this. I have to. I am adequate.”
“We’ll be here to pick up the pieces, Stedey,” Lu says. “Good luck.”
Stede heads towards the VIP booth in the back, adjacent to the bar. As he walks into the main area of the club, the thumping of the bass fills his entire body, relentless and irrevocable as his heartbeat. His eyes need a moment to adjust to the dim lighting offset by the vivid purple and pink neon. The dance floor is already a mass of writhing, sweaty bodies.
Stede dithers for a few minutes now that he’s here. A few sets of eyes are on him. He doesn’t know if it’s because he looks good or because they remember his humiliating ejection from last week. For a moment, Stede falters. He also considers going to the bar for liquid courage.
But, no. He needs to do this with a clear head. He wills his feet to head towards the back.
As he slowly approaches the VIP area, he’s both relieved and hesitant at the same time—Blackbeard is there, heavy black boots and long leather-clad legs crossed and propped up on a little table with a half-empty drink on it. He’s reclining against the seat, arms folded, staring off into space. His hair is down around his shoulders, and it’s magnificent; Stede wants to bury his fingers in it. He’s wearing a black mesh tank top, revealing an expanse of tattooed torso, and—oh, fuck, are those nipple piercings?
No, focus, Bonnet. Finding this man hot doesn’t help matters.
Pete’s right. Blackbeard looks grouchy. Angry, even.
But more than that, he looks lonely.
Stede can relate. Maybe he can talk to this man after all. He approaches slowly, but Blackbeard doesn’t see anything until Stede is about five feet from his booth. He swallows and asks, “May I join you?” Thankfully, this area is sheltered from the noise of the main club area—Stede doesn’t have to shout to be heard.
Stede’s words have Blackbeard immediately snapping to attention out of his haze. “What the—You. Thought I threw you out of here.” He signals to Ivan, who’s hovering near a wall about twenty feet away.
“Wait!” Stede holds out his hands in supplication. “Please, my name is Stede Bonnet, and I would like to apologize. I understand if you don’t want to hear it, but once you hear me out, I will leave and never come back if that’s what you want.” He pauses for a moment. “I owe you this much if you’re willing to hear it.”
Ivan appears next to Stede. “You okay, boss? Want me to get rid of him?”
Blackbeard considers for a moment, stroking his chin. He sighs and looks at Ivan. “It’s alright. I’ll talk to him. Get the fuck outta here.” Ivan vanishes.
Blackbeard gestures at a seat in the booth across from him as he sits up, pulling his legs off the table. “You have two minutes,” he tells Stede. “Say your piece, and then I never want to see you again.”
Stede slides into the booth, checking his watch—11:57. He’s rehearsed what to say, but looking into those huge, sullen brown eyes and apologizing is another matter entirely. “Yes, right. Well. Thank you for hearing me out. I’m sorry. I didn’t know about you and Jack. But I’m still sorry I hurt you—it wasn’t right, and it wasn’t fair. I take full responsibility for my own actions.” Stede can’t resist adding, “Even though Jack’s an asshole.”
Blackbeard chokes out a bitter laugh. Then he frowns. “You came here to apologize to me for Jack’s actions, even though I told you to fuck off. You’re a lunatic.” He pauses. “I don’t like it. But fine, whatever. Jack’s an asshole, you’re right. I can’t believe you didn’t know we were together, but fine, apology accepted if it will get you to fucking leave. I don’t want to see you around here anymore.”
“That’s fair!” Stede rushes to say. “Just, if I can have another moment of your time….” Blackbeard huffs a breath but makes a gesture for Stede to continue. “I’ve heard since last week that Jack sort of—well, is known for going after younger men.”
Blackbeard’s eyes narrow. “Who the fuck told you that?” he spits out.
Stede holds up his hands. “Just rumors. Around town.”
The other man grabs his drink and downs the rest. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He always did like ‘em a little younger. Not sure what he saw in you,” he adds, cuttingly.
“Me either,” Stede admits. It’s honest enough. “But that’s neither here nor there. I was just thinking—well, he shouldn’t keep getting away with that, should he?”
“So, what, you want, like, fucking revenge on him or something?” Blackbeard laughs bitterly. “You’re taking the name of this place a little too seriously, mate.”
“Yes, that’s what I want,” Stede says.
“Why tell me that?”
“I thought you could help, maybe let me know what might hurt him?”
Blackbeard’s eyes, which have been so expressive until now, go dull. “Nothing. Nothing can hurt him.” He looks out across the club, and then his eyes widen. “Fuck, there he is, coming this way. I told him to stay the fuck away from me for a while.”
Stede follows Blackbeard’s gaze—Jack’s crossing the dance floor, heading in this direction with a guy who must be fifteen years younger, who’s wearing neon pink hot pants, of all things, with sneakers and nothing else. Jack looks over at Blackbeard, raises his eyebrow, and smirks.
Oh, how had Stede found him cute? He has the most punchable face on the planet.
Stede glances back at Blackbeard—he’s gone frozen staring at Jack. “Unfuckingbelievable,” he mutters. He looks over at Stede for a moment. Something passes through his face—Stede is scrambling to try to interpret what it might mean.
But there’s no time for that because the next thing Stede knows, Blackbeard has moved to his side of the booth and draped himself across his lap, arms around his neck. “Play along,” Blackbeard whispers in his ear.
Then Blackbeard kisses him. Hard.
