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One night in 1717
It’s Roach's turn to tell the crew their bedtime story tonight, and he finishes it with relish. “And then, Hansel and Gretel shoved the evil witch into the oven, and the heat burned her all up. Right to a crisp.”
“And the kids smelled like burning forever, just like my hair, ever since that time you burnt the bread,” snipes Lucius.
Roach flips him off. “Any more feedback? Remember, I’ve got an oven too. And a cleaver.”
Jim stirs from their spot against Olu's side. “What did happen after they killed the witch, do you think?”
Roach shrugs. “They buried her in the garden behind the house. She made great fertilizer, so they planted a couple of orange trees.” He thinks about the forty-orange cake, which was perfect, no matter what Stede says. “Then, they built a new oven and became famous bakers. People came from all over the world, just for their cakes.”
He loves that story. It’s got hope for the hopeless, justice for the wicked, even a little fun violence. Those two kids are survivors, just like him.
As Olu and Jim head off to bed, Jim murmurs, “Good ending,” with a friendly pat to Roach’s shoulder.
Roach drops down from the capstan and does his evening stretches. It looks like almost everyone else is ready to sleep. The co-captains have been in their cabin since before sunset, no doubt fucking, just like everyone else on this ship; finding new hiding spots for the cooking oil is a constant hassle.
Before Roach strings up his own hammock, he notices Fang's not resting yet. He can’t make out his expression from here, but he’s alone, arms crossed over his chest. As Roach draws close, he sees that Fang’s face is a picture of misery. Oh no. Roach sits next to him. “What’s wrong?”
Fang blinks rapidly and a few tears glimmer on his cheeks. “You’re a good storyteller. B-but. But.”
“But what?”
“She was just a lonely old woman!” he wails.
Several voices shush him, but Roach pays them no mind. He touches Fang’s knee. “You mean the witch? She was gonna eat those kids. What else were they supposed to do?”
Fang sniffles and brushes his tears away. “Yeah, I know. I would’ve done the same.”
“Right.” Roach doesn’t doubt it; he’s seen Fang in action, and he’s fierce.
“It’s such a sad story, though.”
“I'm not following you. What do you mean?”
“Maybe her parents sent her out there to die too, just like the kids. Maybe nobody ever had enough to eat in that place. She had to figure out a way to survive, didn't she?” He wipes at his face again. “Just like anyone else.”
“Huh. So it's a story about three survivors.” He pats Fang's thigh. “That makes me like it more.”
Fang nods, but he still looks glum. His heart is so soft, so warm. Roach doesn’t want to leave him alone right now. “Can I sleep next to you?”
At that, Fang's face clears into a sweet smile. He lays down on his side and pats the empty space next to him. Roach arranges himself facing him. Would Fang like a distraction, or should Roach only share his space? He can’t tell, so he just asks. “You want to cuddle? Or something else?”
Silently, Fang pulls him close, and Roach nestles his head on Fang’s broad chest, between his solid pecs. He sinks into the comfort and falls asleep.
The next morning
Fang wakes up with his arms around Roach, inhaling the scent of his hair: coconut, tobacco, and sea salt. Gently, he strokes a hand down Roach’s back, and even though the air is humid, Roach burrows closer.
Fang lets out a sound of happy surprise, and Roach's eyelashes tickle his chest as he blinks awake.
“Morning,” says Roach, and his sleep-rough voice rumbles right through Fang. That feels good. He'd love to keep him right there all day. It’s too bad they both have duties. He loosens his hold and Roach sits up with an adorable sleepy grin.
To prevent himself from reaching for another cuddle, Fang folds his hands behind his head and watches Roach as he runs a hand over his hair, smooths down his mustache, and fiddles with the six points of his cute little beard. Then, Roach stretches out both legs and bends to touch each toe in turn, humming a sweet, unfamiliar tune.
His movements are like a dance, and Fang's mesmerized. “What are you doing, mate?”
“Morning stretches. You want to try? It's healthy. It'll make you even tougher.”
In the mornings, Fang always just forces his body into action, even if he’s a little achy. Stretching first is a novel idea.
He sits up and mimics Roach's posture, spreading his legs apart, then holds his breath and puts all his effort into reaching for his right foot. But it's much more difficult than it looks. Just a little more—he'll manage. He strains the muscles in his lower back, but that doesn’t matter; he needs to impress Roach.
But no. He doesn’t even come close, and his heart sinks with disappointment. He blows out a big sigh. “Sorry. I’m not cut out for this.”
“Nah, you can do it. You just have to go slowly, the first time. It's not meant to be torture.” Roach bends at the waist and pats his own knee this time, instead of his toes. “See? That’s how I started, just reaching to there. And you have to breathe along with what you’re doing.”
Roach encourages him to breathe with him a few times, in and out, and that feels strange, but pretty good too. Then, he demonstrates the stretch again. Fang’s more relaxed this time, and his back doesn’t hurt. The muscles tingle pleasantly in each of his legs as he bends towards them in turn.
“Yeah! That’s it. Then tomorrow, or next week, or next month, if you keep up with it, you’ll be more limber.”
They stretch together for a few more minutes, and Fang finds that it’s a great way to wake up. This morning, his muscles and joints are flowers unfurling their petals, not weeds he's pulling out of a garden, roots and all.
“That’s enough for now,” Roach says, then curls his fingers around Fang's ankle. “They get swollen in the humidity, yeah? Stretching might help. And don't forget to kiss your boyfriend, too.”
“Huh? I don't have a boyfriend.” Does Roach think Fang already has someone, or what's going on here? Fang thought they were flirting, but maybe he's got it wrong. “Do you?”
Roach grins at him, and it’s just as warm and tender as everything else between them. Fang wants to pump the air in victory, but instead he just smiles back at his gorgeous friend. “No, Fangy. I meant water. Don't forget to drink water. He always wants kisses from everyone. Insatiable, that one.”
Fang giggles. “So I do have competition.”
Roach tips his head at him. “Competition, huh? Do you want a kiss?”
Fang does. He nods and beckons Roach with both hands, and then, his arms are full of handsome man again. Roach bends to bring their foreheads together, and his springy hair brushes against Fang.
“Only one kiss?” Roach murmurs into the little bit of space between them, and Fang brings their lips together. Just like with the stretches, Fang starts out hard, a lot of force behind his lips, because it’s been ages since he kissed anyone, and he wants to make it count.
Roach meets his kiss with equal force, then pulls back, his long fingers playing lightly on the nape of Fang's neck, making him shiver. “Maybe one more,” Fang says, and Roach draws his lower lip between his teeth. Fang expects a rough bite, braces for it; Roach can be so intense. But instead, the tip of Roach’s tongue darts out with the lightest touch to the lip he's captured. That’s…that's something new. The sweet sensation travels across Fang’s skin. He doesn’t want Roach to stop, so he kisses back with gentle pressure, cupping Roach's shoulder blades in his hands.
“Yeah,” Roach murmurs, then goes right back to teasing at Fang’s lips with his lips and tongue. Fang mirrors him, making his kisses just as playful, and Roach encourages him with soft noises, with a hand to the small of his back.
Too soon, Roach’s lips leave his. “That was nice.”
“Yeah. I could wake up this way every day, mate,” Fang tells him.
And after that, they often do.
During Calypso’s birthday
“Hey Roach,” Fang shouts. “Come meet my kid!”
Fang has a kid? And they're aboard? How did Roach not know about this? Fang’s his best friend, and even though they don’t know everything about each other, this is a surprise. Well, he'd better find out what the little sprout likes to eat.
When he sees Fang, though, he bursts out laughing. The man’s clutching a little brown goat.
“Who's this?” Roach asks. He reaches out to stroke the fur between the goat’s eyes with his thumb. It’s an interesting texture. Bristly. The ears are softer and cooler, but the goat twitches and squirms in Fang’s hold, not used to Roach yet.
“He doesn't have a name. But he's so pretty, isn’t he? My handsome boy.” He drops an easy kiss to his ear and the creature wiggles some more. “Quiet, now. That’s right. I've got you.”
Roach pets the goat's warm side, brushing his fingers against the back of Fang’s hand too. “Maybe a flower name? How about…hmm. Hibiscus?” Roach tweaks the big, showy flower attached to Fang’s headband.
“Nah. Doesn't suit him. He's too stinky. Aren't you, buddy? Stinky little fella.”
“If we give him a sweet-smelling name, maybe he’ll live up to it someday. How about Jasmine?”
Fang giggles, his cute face aglow. “Yeah. Good plan. Jasmine, this is Roach. Roach, meet Jasmine.”
With great ceremony, Roach bows at the waist. “Enchanté, Monsieur Jasmine.”
“Oh, stop. Stand up! What does that word mean? Don't confuse my boy,” Fang tells him, still laughing.
“Maa,” Jasmine protests at all the jostling.
Roach places his hand to his heart. “‘Enchanté’ means he's cast a spell on me with his extraordinary good looks.”
“Oh yeah? I know that feeling. Say it again.”
Roach's face heats as he obliges, and Fang repeats it a few times until Roach assures him he has it just right.
“Enchanté,” he says, winking, and Roach has to kiss his cheek for that.
“Enchanté to you too.” He nudges Fang. “It really just means it's nice to meet you, though. It isn't fancy or flirty.”
“You should teach me some more French,” Fang says, and they smile at each other.
Roach leans in closer, and possibilities bloom, each petal a different delight. A caress. A kiss on the lips. A lot of kisses, down Fang's neck, between his pecs, all across his plush belly. Fang can hold him in his arms just like he’s holding Jasmine—damn, Roach forgot about the goat. Fang’s too busy to fool around right now.
Fang yelps, startling Roach. “Ow! That really hurts!” While Roach was lost in Fang’s eyes, the little goat stuffed his face full of Fang’s beard, and now, he’s gnawing away.
Biting back a laugh, Roach grasps Jasmine’s head between his hands, trying to tug the goat free. “Urgh, no!” Fang howls. “You’re making it worse!”
Roach lets go. “We should bribe him with some real food. I’m sure I’ve got something he’ll like in the galley.”
“How about some rum?” Fang says.
“Mm, I don't know. Just a little.”
“Lots of rum. Got you.”
Soon, the goat’s fast asleep, and Fang covers him up with a blanket.
After that, they dance together, Fang’s closeness igniting fireworks in Roach’s heart; Ned Low interrupts, damn him, before Roach and Fang can move things below decks; there’s subpar torture, during which Fang and Jasmine hide; and then, Roach sets off fireworks for real. All in all, it’s quite a night.
One morning in 1718
Fang and Roach stand on the beach. “Do you see how each wave curls before it breaks?” Roach asks.
Fang has been watching waves break since he was big enough to toddle to the shore. It’s nothing new, but admiring the sea with Roach at his side will never get old. “Yeah. I like it when they have more than one whitecap. Then the foam joins up, and they travel all the way to the shore together. Just like you and me.”
“Maybe like you. My beard’s not white yet,” Roach teases, and Fang giggles.
“Shut it. You’ll be old someday too.” He winds an arm around Roach’s waist, and Roach curls into him. Fang savors this tender peace. Soon, Frenchie will whistle for everyone to head back to the ship, and the afternoon will be full of work.
The sea is pretty calm today, though not so calm that travel will be difficult. “It’s like a big blanket, and all the little fishies are under it, safe and cozy,” says Fang. “There could even be mermaids under there.”
“It is like a blanket, isn’t it?” Roach says. “But I’ve never met a mermaid. Have you?”
Fang hums, remembering. “I thought I did, once. It was a long time ago, when I was barely grown. Like you.”
Roach punches his arm lightly, and he catches his fist and kisses the knuckles.
“No, but it was about ten years ago, I guess,” Fang says.
“What did the mermaid look like?”
“She swam like a person. A little bit like a person, anyway. But she was far out, nowhere near the land.”
“So it wasn’t a woman? What was she?” Roach asks.
“Some type of sea creature, I reckon. She had a big, wide face and a flat snout with lots of short whiskers. She came right up to my fishing boat, looking for treats.”
“Yeah? Did you…” With his free hand, Roach mimes stabbing.
“Aww, nah. She was a cutie. And gentle, like. I gave her a fish and she took it in her mouth, just like a dog. And she dove back underwater.” He hums again. “It felt like a blessing. I didn't want to hurt her.”
“I can understand that,” Roach murmurs, and he squeezes Fang tight. Then, he steps away, turns, and sets his hands on Fang’s shoulders. “I'm glad I'm here with you.”
Fang smiles at him. “Me too, mate.” He pecks Roach's lips, and Roach holds him close. Fang’s as safe in his arms as all the little fishies living their lives in the depths of the ocean, far away from any fisherman’s hook or net.
“Would you like to be mateys someday?” Roach asks, casual as anything.
Fang thinks about that. They already are a team, helping each other not only to survive, but to grow. His answer is as easy as everything’s always been between them.
“Yeah, of course,” he says. “But I remember what you said at Lucius and Pete’s wedding. Do we have to slash each other’s faces up?”
Roach laughs. “It’s tradition! You have to do me, for sure. But I don’t have to slash you. We can do what we want.”
“Maybe you can do just one or two careful cuts, yeah?”
“Yeah. That sounds just right,” Roach says, and bends to kiss him deeply. Before things can get too interesting, though, they hear the sound of Frenchie’s whistle.
They pull apart, and arm-in-arm, they walk back to the ship, ready to greet the rest of their days together.