Gregory is enthralled, but Benedict sits up a bit again, because he shouldn't be encouraging his youngest brother to hear stories of getting legs hacked off by axes.
"Gregory, perhaps you and Hyacinth can play some cards until mother calls us in for dinner, hmm?"
Gregory is, of course, ready to protest, but he sees the way Benedict's eyebrows are raised and understands that Benedict must be listened to, so he walks off (sulking a bit) to go entertain himself in other ways.
"Now he'll be pretending he hasn't got a leg for days, I'm sure." Though the gaze Benedict lets fall on Gregory across the room is full of love and fondness. "I'm certainly not looking forward to carting him around on my back because of it."
Silver spares a glance over at Benedict, mostly to see if he's crossed a line, but it seems to be less of that and more some sort of social propriety angle. It's enough that he leans back, having no desire to finish his tea, watching as the boy all but sulks.
"I'll be sure to tell him about the intense pain one feels when moving it improperly," he says solemnly, and it's hard to tell if it's serious or not. "Or perhaps I should mention the difficulty getting into carriages."
He doesn't seem too upset about it. There's a twist of something he does feel when he looks at Benedict. Envy, or something close to it. Not for money or fame--he has fame, even if it's infamy--but for family. For bonds.
He's been very careful to keep to himself after Flint. He should probably say something, though. How much time has passed? Is it awkward now? Silver's much better at this whe it's not high society.
Benedict can't really deny the way he looks a bit proud at the compliment, whether or not it's a sincere one or just something Silver is saying to make small talk. He sips at his tea.
"Thank you. We have our little fights, but at the end of the day, we're all quite close. Normally, the children would have already eaten and been sent to bed, but mother quite enjoys spoiling them."
He turns his gaze to Silver, his smile becoming more amused.
"I have to admit, I hadn't been certain our paths would cross again, much less in these circumstances."
"I wasn't sure you wanted us to," Silver says simply, no malice in his voice--just a simple fact. Benedict's collar, he realizes, has bees on them. Sharply embroidered, something Jack would wear for a few days before it gets utterly destroyed by piracy and other acts.
But Benedict was yearning. That's good, and a pleasant surprise from what he'd intend.
"I'm not one for all of this," Silver agrees. "I'm a simple man--this is beyond me." He's not ashamed to admit it.
"I imagine it's quite different from what you're used to."
There's no judgement in Benedict's voice. It's no different, he thinks, than him feeling out of place in Silver's world. He'd likely find it much harder to adapt, honestly, than the pirate is, because Silver is a man conditioned to adapt while Benedict is not.
Before they can continue the conversation, Anthony is arriving home and they're all being called in for dinner. The table is laid out marvelously and each place has a name with it, and Benedict wonders how many times his mother has switched seating assignments. He's equal parts glad and flustered to find that Silver has been seated beside him. Glad because he doesn't have to stare into Silver's eyes the entire night, but flustered to have Silver so close. It turns out he has a right to be flustered, because part way through, Silver's hand goes to his knee and rests there. But the dinner, as a whole, is as lovely as any. It's hard not to be caught up in the charm of both of their guests and their manners are quite lovely.
After Dinner, Gregory and Hyacinth are sent to bed, and everyone returns to the sitting room, as is usual for dinner parties. There are small drinks passed around and conversation eventually turns to Francesca playing something for them on the piano and that the Bridgerton sons are quite adept at singing. And since no young man can really deny their mother in front of company, Anthony and Benedict reluctantly have their sister accompany them while they sing a lively tune.
Afterwards, Benedict takes a sip of his drink.
"I think I'll excuse myself a moment for some air," he says, hoping perhaps that Silver will wish to accompany him so that they might be alone for a moment.
Silver charms. Not as much as Max, but they both have a way with words, and it's an unwritten rule that they behave. Silver has no interest in being rowdy just because he can, and Max has an agenda. He makes conversation, hates it, and somewhere along the line puts a hand on Benedict's knee to weigh himself through the absolute tedium. Mostly, he feels strange jealousy about it all.
He's thankful for the drinks afterward, although the glasses are far too small. He winds up drinking his in nearly one go and refuses to be repentant about it, though his need to say fuck it and leave is gone the moment the brothers sing. It's beautiful--so much so that Silver is genuinely taken aback. He finds himself smiling genuinely, and even Max is sincere when she compliments them.
It's at the need for air that Silver rises as well, reaching for his crutch. "I shall accompany you," he says simply. "Please--Max, I know you have some endeavors you were meaning to ask the Bridgerton family."
Max nods, and Silver follows the other, keeping at a surprisingy steady space. He speaks only when they're alone. "You want for nothing," he says at last, and there's the barest trace of bitterness in his voice. "And a beautiful singing voice? I should be lucky to know you."
The air outside in the garden is warmer than it has been recently, for which Benedict is thankful. He puffs out a laugh as he pulls some cigarettes from his pocket.
"I want for nothing only because I happened to be born to a viscount and through no feasible effort of my own," he says. He detects that touch of resentment. He can't entirely blame Silver. Benedict is alarmingly aware of his charmed life - even among society, the Bridgertons seem to be a notch about the rest. Making an acquaintance with Silver has really shown him just how fortunate he truly is. "But you flatter me about the singing."
He slips a cigarette between his lips and offers one to Silver.
Silver decline is with a polite shake of his head, curls bouncing as he does so.
"At least you're aware of it," he muses, and wonders if perhaps he's coming across as too harsh. He doesn't mean to, it's just a completely different world--one he finds both entranced with and abhorred by at the same time.
Benedict, though, Benedict is a beacon. A soft, polite light who's aware of his privilege and, smoking that cigarette, looking positively ravishing.
"I suppose it's useful, one being able to have a skill one can drag out at gatherings." He's talking as he moves, making his way to a railing and sitting. The crutch is leaned next to him, and he grunts as he gets a little more comfortbale. "Damned entrancing."
Benedict lights up his cigarette and moves to join Silver, leaning back to exhale smoke and stare up at the sky. He's more comfortable now with Silver, knowing that there's nothing expected of him in the other's company.
"It must seem so quaint to you, but properly entertaining guests is something we're taught to do from a young age. Truthfully, the duty falls to the woman of the house, but my mother always felt it important for her sons to be skilled in something beyond riding horses and shooting hares."
"I'm not so sure quaint is a word for it," Silver confesses, and there's a hint of a smile on his face, though. There's no need to be a dick to someone who doesn't deserve it. Besides, Benedict's pleasant company.
Benedict supposes he has two options here - be embarrassed or just go with it. But the fact is, he'd enjoyed it, and it's happened so why be precious about it now? And while his cheeks do turn a bit pink, he's turning his body to better face Silver.
"Though perhaps not in the ways my mother hopes I'd be."
He grins a little, taking another drag from his cigarette.
"Is it common, where you're from? For men to find such ... Entertainment with each other? You seemed to think so little of the notion, whereas it might ruin a man entirely here."
Silver's brows raise, watching the other's ears turn pink. He's easy to read--Silver's talent at noticing the little things, the micro-expressions, the things that you can flip to your favour if the time comes. Benedict might as well be an entire beacon of knowledge with just a single ord and glance alone, regardless of how astute one must be.
"It's not a matter of what's common or not," he says after a while, brows furrowing. "It's a matter of being powerful enough to not care. Of course the odd fellow would object, but if you can do your job if you're on a crew, what does it matter? I knew a Boatswain that used to fuck the dairy goat." He frowns. "...Although the crew was rather upset about that."
"I'm not certain all the power in the world could save a man from the scrutiny in London."
How nice it must be, though, to not have to really concern yourself about it. Of course Benedict is just dipping his toes into this pool, but perhaps what's been holding him back is as much the fear as it was not really knowing it's what he wanted. What might a society like Silver's mean for the men that Benedict knows that hide themselves in plain sight?
"One of the mates broke the offender's nose, if I recall correctly. There was a lot of blood." HE chuckles at that, as if the memory brings up fond moments, and after a while looks over at Benedict.
"Why you?" he asked. "Second or not, you certainly have a reputation to uphold, and yet you let me make you moan so loud Anne Bonny could hear it."
"I was at a party recently, and in an attempt to find a room for myself and a lady, I in fact stumbled upon another friend of mine with another man. And rather than be scandalized by it, all I wanted in that moment was to continue watching. Perhaps I could be perfectly content with only women, but I don't think that I would be perfectly happy."
Benedict takes a long drag, and then he exhales the cloud of smoke, letting the pause stretch out.
Not that Benedict can say anyone's ever really asked it of him. There's Anthony, who sacrifices his own happiness for all of them to have theirs, and of course they would all fight however they could to ensure the happiness of their sisters and of little Gregory. Even Colin, it seems, falls on the radar more than he himself does. Second son that he is and all.
"If I were to tell them of my newfound proclivities, I know in my heart they wouldn't turn me out. Perhaps they might not understand it, or they might not even approve of it, but they'd never let me suffer for it. And I'd never let them suffer for it, either."
Silver shakes his head, as if the entire thing was prepostrous. While he understands it's not, it seems far out of reach for him. In a world where someone cared enough about that...
Something Benedict says earlier, it still eats at him. 'It might ruin a man entirely here.' That's what happened to Flint, hadn't it? His entire life in flames because he loved someone not of his status, that he fought and the world tore them apart, so much so that an entire island think that Long John Silver is responsible for the death of one of the best pirates in the colonies.
"I never understood wanting to be a part of a world in which you're not free." His voice is soft, contemplative.
It seems so strange saying it out loud, to Silver no less. He’s vaguely discussed it with Eloise but he’s never been so blunt about it.
“It’s not the idea of it I mind so much. I like the civility, of men behaving with honour and respect. But I go to these parties where there’s every class and no one gives a damn, and I’m so envious of the artists that get to create what speaks to them, with no worry of gossip or scandal. Some proper gentlemen create just fine under the constraints of society but I wonder if that’s what’s truly stifling me.”
Benedict takes one last puff and puts out cigarette.
“I realize I must sound petulant. I’m not ungrateful for what I’ve got, I’m just not entirely sure how I’m meant to fit into it all.”
Silver understands that. If Silver understands anything, it's that, and as Benedict speaks he looks at the other, eyeing his profile, and he finds he's not reading the other's facial expressions analytically but instead catches himself thinking of how damnably impeccable the other is.
"There is no civility in Nassau," Silver confesses. "But there is freedom. You choose who to follow."
"I'm no lord," Silver reassures, the kiss warm and pleasant. He finds Benedict's words still somewhat confusing. Is this what it's like, to be truly naive? To believe there is the best of both of their worlds?
... Hadn't Thomas Hamilton, according to Flint? Hadn't he believed there was, and hadn't that been one of his downfalls?
"For a man with civility, you certainly conduct yourself with wild abandon. Perhaps you're going to be the one to kidnap me and sell me for ransom." He's amused, and strangely flattered.
"I'm not pretending to be anyone but myself," he reasons. "And neither are you. Perhaps that's the difference."
“Mr. Silver, if there were some way for me to successfully kidnap you, I’d certainly prefer to keep you for myself. It’s not as if I need to profit off a ransom.”
Benedict wonders how much he might be able to keep kissing the pirate. He isn’t sure if they’ll call for them or send someone to fetch them, or if they ought to go back in themselves sooner than later.
“Might I be able to come to you later this evening? Once you’ve returned to your tavern and everyone settles here for the night.”
It's Silvers turn, with a quick glance around the place until he takes the other's wrist in a soft, loose grip.
"You may have to play a round or two of cards before the men will let you up the stairs. Is it the thrill?" He asks, pulling him just a little closer, making sure the other leans from where Silver has been hunched over, and because he can, he kisses the other softly. "Or is it the difference in our worlds?"
“I would perhaps argue that any entanglement presents a thrill that can’t be ignored,” he counters, taking another kiss for himself.
Benedict certainly doesn’t think there’s an attachment forming. As Silver’s pointed out, there’s from vastly different worlds, and eventually Silver will return to Nassau. But there’s no reason they can’t take pleasures while they’re presented the opportunity.
“Must there be some excuse beyond the reason that I enjoy your company, or that you’re undoubtedly the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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"Gregory, perhaps you and Hyacinth can play some cards until mother calls us in for dinner, hmm?"
Gregory is, of course, ready to protest, but he sees the way Benedict's eyebrows are raised and understands that Benedict must be listened to, so he walks off (sulking a bit) to go entertain himself in other ways.
"Now he'll be pretending he hasn't got a leg for days, I'm sure." Though the gaze Benedict lets fall on Gregory across the room is full of love and fondness. "I'm certainly not looking forward to carting him around on my back because of it."
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"I'll be sure to tell him about the intense pain one feels when moving it improperly," he says solemnly, and it's hard to tell if it's serious or not. "Or perhaps I should mention the difficulty getting into carriages."
He doesn't seem too upset about it. There's a twist of something he does feel when he looks at Benedict. Envy, or something close to it. Not for money or fame--he has fame, even if it's infamy--but for family. For bonds.
He's been very careful to keep to himself after Flint. He should probably say something, though. How much time has passed? Is it awkward now? Silver's much better at this whe it's not high society.
"You have a lovely family," he says at last.
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"Thank you. We have our little fights, but at the end of the day, we're all quite close. Normally, the children would have already eaten and been sent to bed, but mother quite enjoys spoiling them."
He turns his gaze to Silver, his smile becoming more amused.
"I have to admit, I hadn't been certain our paths would cross again, much less in these circumstances."
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But Benedict was yearning. That's good, and a pleasant surprise from what he'd intend.
"I'm not one for all of this," Silver agrees. "I'm a simple man--this is beyond me." He's not ashamed to admit it.
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There's no judgement in Benedict's voice. It's no different, he thinks, than him feeling out of place in Silver's world. He'd likely find it much harder to adapt, honestly, than the pirate is, because Silver is a man conditioned to adapt while Benedict is not.
Before they can continue the conversation, Anthony is arriving home and they're all being called in for dinner. The table is laid out marvelously and each place has a name with it, and Benedict wonders how many times his mother has switched seating assignments. He's equal parts glad and flustered to find that Silver has been seated beside him. Glad because he doesn't have to stare into Silver's eyes the entire night, but flustered to have Silver so close. It turns out he has a right to be flustered, because part way through, Silver's hand goes to his knee and rests there. But the dinner, as a whole, is as lovely as any. It's hard not to be caught up in the charm of both of their guests and their manners are quite lovely.
After Dinner, Gregory and Hyacinth are sent to bed, and everyone returns to the sitting room, as is usual for dinner parties. There are small drinks passed around and conversation eventually turns to Francesca playing something for them on the piano and that the Bridgerton sons are quite adept at singing. And since no young man can really deny their mother in front of company, Anthony and Benedict reluctantly have their sister accompany them while they sing a lively tune.
Afterwards, Benedict takes a sip of his drink.
"I think I'll excuse myself a moment for some air," he says, hoping perhaps that Silver will wish to accompany him so that they might be alone for a moment.
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He's thankful for the drinks afterward, although the glasses are far too small. He winds up drinking his in nearly one go and refuses to be repentant about it, though his need to say fuck it and leave is gone the moment the brothers sing. It's beautiful--so much so that Silver is genuinely taken aback. He finds himself smiling genuinely, and even Max is sincere when she compliments them.
It's at the need for air that Silver rises as well, reaching for his crutch. "I shall accompany you," he says simply. "Please--Max, I know you have some endeavors you were meaning to ask the Bridgerton family."
Max nods, and Silver follows the other, keeping at a surprisingy steady space. He speaks only when they're alone. "You want for nothing," he says at last, and there's the barest trace of bitterness in his voice. "And a beautiful singing voice? I should be lucky to know you."
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"I want for nothing only because I happened to be born to a viscount and through no feasible effort of my own," he says. He detects that touch of resentment. He can't entirely blame Silver. Benedict is alarmingly aware of his charmed life - even among society, the Bridgertons seem to be a notch about the rest. Making an acquaintance with Silver has really shown him just how fortunate he truly is. "But you flatter me about the singing."
He slips a cigarette between his lips and offers one to Silver.
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"At least you're aware of it," he muses, and wonders if perhaps he's coming across as too harsh. He doesn't mean to, it's just a completely different world--one he finds both entranced with and abhorred by at the same time.
Benedict, though, Benedict is a beacon. A soft, polite light who's aware of his privilege and, smoking that cigarette, looking positively ravishing.
"I suppose it's useful, one being able to have a skill one can drag out at gatherings." He's talking as he moves, making his way to a railing and sitting. The crutch is leaned next to him, and he grunts as he gets a little more comfortbale. "Damned entrancing."
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"It must seem so quaint to you, but properly entertaining guests is something we're taught to do from a young age. Truthfully, the duty falls to the woman of the house, but my mother always felt it important for her sons to be skilled in something beyond riding horses and shooting hares."
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"You were quite entertaining the other night."
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"Though perhaps not in the ways my mother hopes I'd be."
He grins a little, taking another drag from his cigarette.
"Is it common, where you're from? For men to find such ... Entertainment with each other? You seemed to think so little of the notion, whereas it might ruin a man entirely here."
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"It's not a matter of what's common or not," he says after a while, brows furrowing. "It's a matter of being powerful enough to not care. Of course the odd fellow would object, but if you can do your job if you're on a crew, what does it matter? I knew a Boatswain that used to fuck the dairy goat." He frowns. "...Although the crew was rather upset about that."
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How nice it must be, though, to not have to really concern yourself about it. Of course Benedict is just dipping his toes into this pool, but perhaps what's been holding him back is as much the fear as it was not really knowing it's what he wanted. What might a society like Silver's mean for the men that Benedict knows that hide themselves in plain sight?
"My sympathies to the dairy goat."
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"Why you?" he asked. "Second or not, you certainly have a reputation to uphold, and yet you let me make you moan so loud Anne Bonny could hear it."
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Benedict takes a long drag, and then he exhales the cloud of smoke, letting the pause stretch out.
"I'd let you do it again."
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He looks over at the other, smile forming, blue eyes amused he watches the other smoke.
"Your family cares about it? Your happiness."
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Not that Benedict can say anyone's ever really asked it of him. There's Anthony, who sacrifices his own happiness for all of them to have theirs, and of course they would all fight however they could to ensure the happiness of their sisters and of little Gregory. Even Colin, it seems, falls on the radar more than he himself does. Second son that he is and all.
"If I were to tell them of my newfound proclivities, I know in my heart they wouldn't turn me out. Perhaps they might not understand it, or they might not even approve of it, but they'd never let me suffer for it. And I'd never let them suffer for it, either."
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Something Benedict says earlier, it still eats at him. 'It might ruin a man entirely here.' That's what happened to Flint, hadn't it? His entire life in flames because he loved someone not of his status, that he fought and the world tore them apart, so much so that an entire island think that Long John Silver is responsible for the death of one of the best pirates in the colonies.
"I never understood wanting to be a part of a world in which you're not free." His voice is soft, contemplative.
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It seems so strange saying it out loud, to Silver no less. He’s vaguely discussed it with Eloise but he’s never been so blunt about it.
“It’s not the idea of it I mind so much. I like the civility, of men behaving with honour and respect. But I go to these parties where there’s every class and no one gives a damn, and I’m so envious of the artists that get to create what speaks to them, with no worry of gossip or scandal. Some proper gentlemen create just fine under the constraints of society but I wonder if that’s what’s truly stifling me.”
Benedict takes one last puff and puts out cigarette.
“I realize I must sound petulant. I’m not ungrateful for what I’ve got, I’m just not entirely sure how I’m meant to fit into it all.”
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"There is no civility in Nassau," Silver confesses. "But there is freedom. You choose who to follow."
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Benedict flashes an amused sort of smile. Then, maybe feeling emboldened by their earlier admittances, he leans over to press a kiss to Silver’s lips.
“For a man without civility, you certainly conduct yourself better than some of the refined lords I’ve met.”
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... Hadn't Thomas Hamilton, according to Flint? Hadn't he believed there was, and hadn't that been one of his downfalls?
"For a man with civility, you certainly conduct yourself with wild abandon. Perhaps you're going to be the one to kidnap me and sell me for ransom." He's amused, and strangely flattered.
"I'm not pretending to be anyone but myself," he reasons. "And neither are you. Perhaps that's the difference."
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Benedict wonders how much he might be able to keep kissing the pirate. He isn’t sure if they’ll call for them or send someone to fetch them, or if they ought to go back in themselves sooner than later.
“Might I be able to come to you later this evening? Once you’ve returned to your tavern and everyone settles here for the night.”
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"You may have to play a round or two of cards before the men will let you up the stairs. Is it the thrill?" He asks, pulling him just a little closer, making sure the other leans from where Silver has been hunched over, and because he can, he kisses the other softly. "Or is it the difference in our worlds?"
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Benedict certainly doesn’t think there’s an attachment forming. As Silver’s pointed out, there’s from vastly different worlds, and eventually Silver will return to Nassau. But there’s no reason they can’t take pleasures while they’re presented the opportunity.
“Must there be some excuse beyond the reason that I enjoy your company, or that you’re undoubtedly the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.”
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