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.”
Silver has promised Max he'd behave, which is exactly why he's not setting Benedict on his lap and running his hand through that short hair, savouring it, lips against the curve of his neck.
He wants to, though, and he's unafraid of the hungry look he gives Benedict. He wants a strong drink and a quick fuck, and he wants Benedict in both cases.
"There's always an excuse beyond the reason, Benedict." He doesn't seem like he's accusing Benedict of having ulterior motives--just that it's a fact of life, and he puts a hand on the other's hip idly, a small smirk on his lips.
"For instance, I'm here because Max apparently needed a gentleman escort, and the only one she could find was one with one leg. But I also came here to see you."
Benedict will hold that with him for a while - that Silver came not only to accompany his friend, but to see him. He's impossibly delighted that he's made some sort of impact on the other man, even if it's purely a physical longing and nothing more.
"And what should it matter? Unless you're trying to deter me from seeing you, which I assure you will only make me long to see you more."
"On the contrary, I think you're the best thing this fucking city has to offer." Silver allows himself to look the other over, pointedly, pleased. It's true. He hates London, hates the weather and the people and the pomp and circumstance, but he finds himself awfully drawn to Benedict. That maybe this whole place isn't so fucking terrible if one person is in it.
Jesus. This had to have been what Flint felt like.
"How long is it customary to stay at a dinner?" He asks.
"Until it feels as though you've overstayed your welcome. And I daresay, I'm starting to feel that you have."
Benedict is smiling as he stands, clearly just teasing because the sooner Silver leaves the sooner Benedict can follow. But it seems to be well-timed, as Eloise's voice comes from the house stating that Max is ready to retire and is waiting for Silver.
It's such a small thing, offering for help--Silver usually denies it, usually has to make a point. His disability is not a weakness, nor does he allow anyone to view it as such. He's fought and fought hard to be viewed as someone of power.
It's different, though, alone. And it's different with Benedict. He finds himself taking his hand, inhaling as he moves.
"Perhaps you should see to it that Max and I get home safely," he states, mischief in his eyes. Of course they'd be able to--crutch or not, Silver has a knife in his boot and another one in his jacket almost at all times.
Benedict's own look in return is just as playful. He takes one more kiss, mindful to keep himself from getting too much irritation from Silver's facial hair (which Benedict quite likes, but if his mother thinks he's taking ill or something, he'll never get out of the house). Heading inside, he tells his mother he'll see to it that Max and Silver get to their lodging all right, as he's got another engagement to get to anyway. It's not really a lie - his engagement just happens to also be at Silver's lodgings.
The ride to the tavern isn't exactly awkward, but Max has a knowing look about her that Benedict both admires and feels unsettled by. There's moderate small talk and the carriage jostles a bit, so his leg keeps brushing against Silver's, but they get there eventually. And because Benedict is with them, he doesn't get accosted into playing cards, though he does pause a moment.
Max is polite enough, small talk being a surprisingly strong suit with her, and Silver's content to join in on occasion. It's when they're at the inn that Silver truly feels some form of relax--maybe it's DeGroot in a heated debate with a younger member of Rackham's crew, or perhaps it's Featherstone and Mulaney in what appears to be a drinking contest, but he feels like home.
The sounds, at least, are almost like Nassau. It's missing some whores, sadly. and the heat. And the smell, although the pirates are doing a fairly good job at it. Anne is in the corner with Rackham, Anne scowling and Jack talking--a normal picture.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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He wants to, though, and he's unafraid of the hungry look he gives Benedict. He wants a strong drink and a quick fuck, and he wants Benedict in both cases.
"There's always an excuse beyond the reason, Benedict." He doesn't seem like he's accusing Benedict of having ulterior motives--just that it's a fact of life, and he puts a hand on the other's hip idly, a small smirk on his lips.
"For instance, I'm here because Max apparently needed a gentleman escort, and the only one she could find was one with one leg. But I also came here to see you."
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Benedict will hold that with him for a while - that Silver came not only to accompany his friend, but to see him. He's impossibly delighted that he's made some sort of impact on the other man, even if it's purely a physical longing and nothing more.
"And what should it matter? Unless you're trying to deter me from seeing you, which I assure you will only make me long to see you more."
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Jesus. This had to have been what Flint felt like.
"How long is it customary to stay at a dinner?" He asks.
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Benedict is smiling as he stands, clearly just teasing because the sooner Silver leaves the sooner Benedict can follow. But it seems to be well-timed, as Eloise's voice comes from the house stating that Max is ready to retire and is waiting for Silver.
"My point stands."
He reaches out a hand to help the pirate up.
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It's different, though, alone. And it's different with Benedict. He finds himself taking his hand, inhaling as he moves.
"Perhaps you should see to it that Max and I get home safely," he states, mischief in his eyes. Of course they'd be able to--crutch or not, Silver has a knife in his boot and another one in his jacket almost at all times.
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Benedict's own look in return is just as playful. He takes one more kiss, mindful to keep himself from getting too much irritation from Silver's facial hair (which Benedict quite likes, but if his mother thinks he's taking ill or something, he'll never get out of the house). Heading inside, he tells his mother he'll see to it that Max and Silver get to their lodging all right, as he's got another engagement to get to anyway. It's not really a lie - his engagement just happens to also be at Silver's lodgings.
The ride to the tavern isn't exactly awkward, but Max has a knowing look about her that Benedict both admires and feels unsettled by. There's moderate small talk and the carriage jostles a bit, so his leg keeps brushing against Silver's, but they get there eventually. And because Benedict is with them, he doesn't get accosted into playing cards, though he does pause a moment.
"Shall we have a drink?"
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The sounds, at least, are almost like Nassau. It's missing some whores, sadly. and the heat. And the smell, although the pirates are doing a fairly good job at it. Anne is in the corner with Rackham, Anne scowling and Jack talking--a normal picture.
Silver's brow raises as Benedict asks.
"Can you handle it?" He teases.
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