“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.
After all, he's here, why not sit down for a drink? Maybe it endear him a bit to the men who otherwise think so little of him, and maybe, most importantly, it will endear him more towards Silver.
"I do think you're far too delicate," Silver teases, but he's already putting his crutch up on a nearby table, bracing himself against the back of the chair to ease himself into it. He's extremely aware of the odd looks Benedict has been getting on and off--not bad, but he's with Silver and that has some of Rackham's man curious--Idelle has spotted this already, one of the very few women in the room, and is already sliding some ale their way. The bartender looks overworked and more than just a little scared, the tavern serving girl as well, even though there's no overt violence or any leering. It's part and parcel for having a crew of "former" pirates who also have a tendency to be very loud and very uncaring towards anyone but themselves.
"That," Silver says once Idelle drops off their pints, "is Idelle, Mr. Featherstone's wife. Featherstone is the Governer of Nassau." His lips quirk. "Technically."
Benedict sits as well, letting his gaze sweep the tavern but not letting his eye contact linger too long. He wraps his hand around his jug of ale, looking at both Idelle (in thanks) and at Featherstone.
"Which would explain why Max is making the rounds with London's elite and not Mr. Featherstone."
The corner of his mouth quirks up and he takes a sip of the ale, and the taste is awful. Not at all like what Benedict is used to, but he knows he'll get used to it after a few more tastes. He hopes.
Silver's smile grows fond. Benedict only has a small sip, but while he's talked, Silver has completely drained his drink as if it was a warm day and it was a cool glass of water.
"Max... There is never a more terrifying force on this earth," he says simply. He means it, too--sincerely. "Most of the crew Rackham has is fairly decent," he says simply. "He has a good crew." Silver, Max, Idelle and Featherstone had simply hitched a ride for their own agendas. Silver most of all, which brings him to a slow thought.
"How involved are the Bridgertons in the politics about the colonies, by the way?" Is he fishing as he waves the serving girl down for another drink? Absolutely. A game of cards has broken out at the able nearby, and though Silver holds Benedicts' gaze, he's listening intently.
He tries the ale again, taking a much bolder sip and forcing it down. He thinks he prefers the burn of the rum over this, but he's loathe to look a fool - less in front of Silver and more in front of all the men who keep glancing his way.
"Truthfully? I don't think it crosses our minds much. Anthony, of course, knows many men at the club and it's likely he's spoken to those with interest. Of course we enjoy the imports much like everyone else." The tobacco, for one thing, which is in Benedict's cigarettes. "Our wealth comes primarily from more local business, and our acquaintanceship with the royal family is simply nothing more than that."
It was worth a shot, though a part of Silver finds himself relieved. He's come to like Benedict in their few interactions, and having to use him to further his gain seems like such a waste of a perfectly good fuck buddy situation.
Instead, he finds himself wondering if Benedict is aware that the vast majority of tabacco and sugar and rum he's had are most likely stolen or fought over with blood. How a simple barrel of goods can make or break someone like Silver, if they're not careful.
Maybe there are some things he'd be better to find out. He leans back.
"You want to ingragiate yourself towards this crew, correct?"
Benedict looks amused as he tries more of the ale, wanting to simply get through it.
"Rather, I simply want to not cross them somehow. For the sake of my own self-preservation."
Since he's certain that no matter how much they respect Silver, one accidental move could cause him significant harm, and he can't entirely count on Silver coming to his rescue. Though maybe, being a gentleman of London society, the governor and Max might have some say in keeping him unharmed. For the sake of the colony.
Benedict is smart, Silver will give him that--he's not even sure if the other realizes that the crew Silver is currently with isn't his. But he leans over to the table next to him, and with a few charmed words the card game moves over to Benedict and Silver's table, mostly because Silver can't be fucked to stand again. The crutch is cleared away, however, propped on the side of his chair instead of on the table like he usually likes to have it.
"I do hope you can play cards properly. Gambling is strictly forbidden the moment we hit water, so when the gentlemen like to let loose..."
And it begins. Two crew members--Janson and Mulroony--sit a little too close to Benedict, and Silver throws in a small bet and a small amount of coin. The other pirates do the same, and they look at Benedict expectantly.
"It seems like I wouldn't have a choice either way."
Benedict looks amicable enough, because them being pirates doesn't make them the scum of the earth - though some might argue that. Benedict is perfectly fine to give them the benefit of the doubt, though he does shift himself a bit away from the men sitting a touch too close for his liking. He's only just vaguely concerned one of them might find their fingers in his pocket, is all.
He looks at the coins on the table and realizes that even one of the buttons on his trousers is worth more than the sum of them. He has some notes on him, of course he does. Benedict doesn't leave home without at least a bit of currency, in case he should have to hire a cab to take him home or something of the like. He's cautious to not make it seem like he's carrying much money around - he's not, not by a long shot, but even just seeming like he is could make him a target. But having no coins himself, he has to place a note (just one, and thankfully not one worth too much) on the table, which is probably what was expected of him.
The first round is a bit of a flop, but soon enough Benedict relaxes, and it turns out the men they're playing with are quite funny and Benedict himself is quite good with jokes or a quick turn of phrase. It also turns out that Benedict is quite good at cards. It's what men usually do after dinner parties, or when they're at one of their clubs and drinking and smoking, or even at Henry's artist parties. Benedict doesn't even realize he's on to a new ale as they play.
For the most part, Rackham's crew seems to enjoy Benedict, mostly because he has money, but after a few awkward moments they're shouting and swearing and drinking and Silver finds himself joining in, too, treating Benedict like he's one of them, though at some point the foot on his good leg briefly touches the other's ankle under the table.
Silver's quite good at cards--he made a lot of money in the past doing so, mostly it's a matter of keeping a good poker face and talking while you count. Benedict, he finds halfway through the game, must be counting cards, too, and he'd be lying if he thought he wasn't just a little bit impressed. Perhaps Benedict's got a little bit of a wild side in him. Just a little. So Silver drinks--far too much for polite company, but he barely makes a dent in his sobriety--Silver enjoys Benedict fleecing other people until he starts losing to him. A crowd's started to gather, too.
Before he can attempt to win any of it back, Mulroney has seemingly had enough, accusing Janson of something-or-other, and Silver manages to anticipate the other's actions quick enough that he sticks the end of his crutch straight up, hitting Mulrony square in the chest before he can leap over the table, across Benedict, and punch Janson.
It only half works, because Janson takes a swing instead, and Silver looks at Benedict immediately.
If asked about it, Benedict will argue that it's not a wild side and more putting himself on the same level as his fellow players. Not that it seems to matter much anyway, because they're all having a good time, until an offence happens that Benedict doesn't quite catch. All he does know is that Silver has remarkable reflexes and Mulroney's face makes an odd sound once Janson's fist hits it.
Upstairs, indeed.
It's not until Benedict stands that he feels the effect of the ale hit him (he's had - what, three? four? He can't say, it seemed like his cup was never empty). He sways a bit and stumbles, unable to hide the laugh at himself as a fight starts to erupt. Someone defending Mulroney and someone else mad now that the scuffle's made him spill his drink. Benedict, fortunately, doesn't care about the winnings on the table as he finds his way to the stairs, gripping the railing to help him navigate them.
Inside Silver's room, Benedict laughs again, collapsing on to the bed.
"He punches like my sister," he says, looking too amused. "That's a compliment."
Silver, of course, between the scuffle and making sure Benedict got out of the way, has grabbed the cash--he's looking at Benedict fondly as the other tumbles back and laughs. He's drunk, or at the very least, incredibly tipsy. It's endearing. Benedict is endearing.
He limps his way to the other, sitting on the bed with a grunt. That's when he takes the money from his pocket and begins to count, talking as he does so.
"You are very good for my financial situation," he remarks, and because he can, he leans over to kiss Benedict on the cheek.
"You of all people shouldn't be surprised at what women are capable of."
Benedict moves a bit, less gracefully than usual since the lack of sobriety weighs him down, so he's kneeling on the bed next to where Silver is sitting.
"Most of that is mine, Mr. Silver," he teases. He knows he's been told to call him just Silver, but adding the mister before it adds a layer of coy playfulness that Benedict quite enjoy.
He plants a kiss to the corner of Silver's mouth (mostly because he misses the mouth entirely) and sits back on his heels with a pensive look.
"You left the table," Silver counters, and once he's satisfied he sets the money on the small water basin. He snatches the bottle of rum he usually keeps next to it, and is about to offer it to Benedict before he thinks better of it and takes a large swig himself.
Ale is fine, but he much prefers rum. He can't really imagine much of a life without it anymore. He does, however, find it in him to get a little more comfortable where he sits, placing his free hand in the other's hair, idly looking down and running is hands through it.
Jesus, Benedict looks good like this. Silver quirks a smile.
"Something's just occured to me," he says softly, and his hand moves from Benedict's hands to the other's jaw, gently tilting his head up. "I think you're the most dangerous man in in this very inn."
Benedict gazes up at Silver, an amused and easy grin spread across his face. He reaches out his hand to run along whatever part of Silver he can easily reach. His fingers toy absently with the buttons on Silver's shirt before he decides his hand is too heavy to hold up, so he lets it drop, which means he's brushing the intricate detail on the pirate's belt.
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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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After all, he's here, why not sit down for a drink? Maybe it endear him a bit to the men who otherwise think so little of him, and maybe, most importantly, it will endear him more towards Silver.
"Or do you think I'm far too delicate?"
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"That," Silver says once Idelle drops off their pints, "is Idelle, Mr. Featherstone's wife. Featherstone is the Governer of Nassau." His lips quirk. "Technically."
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"Which would explain why Max is making the rounds with London's elite and not Mr. Featherstone."
The corner of his mouth quirks up and he takes a sip of the ale, and the taste is awful. Not at all like what Benedict is used to, but he knows he'll get used to it after a few more tastes. He hopes.
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"Max... There is never a more terrifying force on this earth," he says simply. He means it, too--sincerely. "Most of the crew Rackham has is fairly decent," he says simply. "He has a good crew." Silver, Max, Idelle and Featherstone had simply hitched a ride for their own agendas. Silver most of all, which brings him to a slow thought.
"How involved are the Bridgertons in the politics about the colonies, by the way?" Is he fishing as he waves the serving girl down for another drink? Absolutely. A game of cards has broken out at the able nearby, and though Silver holds Benedicts' gaze, he's listening intently.
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"Truthfully? I don't think it crosses our minds much. Anthony, of course, knows many men at the club and it's likely he's spoken to those with interest. Of course we enjoy the imports much like everyone else." The tobacco, for one thing, which is in Benedict's cigarettes. "Our wealth comes primarily from more local business, and our acquaintanceship with the royal family is simply nothing more than that."
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Instead, he finds himself wondering if Benedict is aware that the vast majority of tabacco and sugar and rum he's had are most likely stolen or fought over with blood. How a simple barrel of goods can make or break someone like Silver, if they're not careful.
Maybe there are some things he'd be better to find out. He leans back.
"You want to ingragiate yourself towards this crew, correct?"
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Benedict looks amused as he tries more of the ale, wanting to simply get through it.
"Rather, I simply want to not cross them somehow. For the sake of my own self-preservation."
Since he's certain that no matter how much they respect Silver, one accidental move could cause him significant harm, and he can't entirely count on Silver coming to his rescue. Though maybe, being a gentleman of London society, the governor and Max might have some say in keeping him unharmed. For the sake of the colony.
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"I do hope you can play cards properly. Gambling is strictly forbidden the moment we hit water, so when the gentlemen like to let loose..."
And it begins. Two crew members--Janson and Mulroony--sit a little too close to Benedict, and Silver throws in a small bet and a small amount of coin. The other pirates do the same, and they look at Benedict expectantly.
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Benedict looks amicable enough, because them being pirates doesn't make them the scum of the earth - though some might argue that. Benedict is perfectly fine to give them the benefit of the doubt, though he does shift himself a bit away from the men sitting a touch too close for his liking. He's only just vaguely concerned one of them might find their fingers in his pocket, is all.
He looks at the coins on the table and realizes that even one of the buttons on his trousers is worth more than the sum of them. He has some notes on him, of course he does. Benedict doesn't leave home without at least a bit of currency, in case he should have to hire a cab to take him home or something of the like. He's cautious to not make it seem like he's carrying much money around - he's not, not by a long shot, but even just seeming like he is could make him a target. But having no coins himself, he has to place a note (just one, and thankfully not one worth too much) on the table, which is probably what was expected of him.
The first round is a bit of a flop, but soon enough Benedict relaxes, and it turns out the men they're playing with are quite funny and Benedict himself is quite good with jokes or a quick turn of phrase. It also turns out that Benedict is quite good at cards. It's what men usually do after dinner parties, or when they're at one of their clubs and drinking and smoking, or even at Henry's artist parties. Benedict doesn't even realize he's on to a new ale as they play.
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Silver's quite good at cards--he made a lot of money in the past doing so, mostly it's a matter of keeping a good poker face and talking while you count. Benedict, he finds halfway through the game, must be counting cards, too, and he'd be lying if he thought he wasn't just a little bit impressed. Perhaps Benedict's got a little bit of a wild side in him. Just a little. So Silver drinks--far too much for polite company, but he barely makes a dent in his sobriety--Silver enjoys Benedict fleecing other people until he starts losing to him. A crowd's started to gather, too.
Before he can attempt to win any of it back, Mulroney has seemingly had enough, accusing Janson of something-or-other, and Silver manages to anticipate the other's actions quick enough that he sticks the end of his crutch straight up, hitting Mulrony square in the chest before he can leap over the table, across Benedict, and punch Janson.
It only half works, because Janson takes a swing instead, and Silver looks at Benedict immediately.
"Upstairs."
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Upstairs, indeed.
It's not until Benedict stands that he feels the effect of the ale hit him (he's had - what, three? four? He can't say, it seemed like his cup was never empty). He sways a bit and stumbles, unable to hide the laugh at himself as a fight starts to erupt. Someone defending Mulroney and someone else mad now that the scuffle's made him spill his drink. Benedict, fortunately, doesn't care about the winnings on the table as he finds his way to the stairs, gripping the railing to help him navigate them.
Inside Silver's room, Benedict laughs again, collapsing on to the bed.
"He punches like my sister," he says, looking too amused. "That's a compliment."
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Silver, of course, between the scuffle and making sure Benedict got out of the way, has grabbed the cash--he's looking at Benedict fondly as the other tumbles back and laughs. He's drunk, or at the very least, incredibly tipsy. It's endearing. Benedict is endearing.
He limps his way to the other, sitting on the bed with a grunt. That's when he takes the money from his pocket and begins to count, talking as he does so.
"You are very good for my financial situation," he remarks, and because he can, he leans over to kiss Benedict on the cheek.
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Benedict moves a bit, less gracefully than usual since the lack of sobriety weighs him down, so he's kneeling on the bed next to where Silver is sitting.
"Most of that is mine, Mr. Silver," he teases. He knows he's been told to call him just Silver, but adding the mister before it adds a layer of coy playfulness that Benedict quite enjoy.
He plants a kiss to the corner of Silver's mouth (mostly because he misses the mouth entirely) and sits back on his heels with a pensive look.
"Does anyone ever call you John?"
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Ale is fine, but he much prefers rum. He can't really imagine much of a life without it anymore. He does, however, find it in him to get a little more comfortable where he sits, placing his free hand in the other's hair, idly looking down and running is hands through it.
Jesus, Benedict looks good like this. Silver quirks a smile.
"Something's just occured to me," he says softly, and his hand moves from Benedict's hands to the other's jaw, gently tilting his head up. "I think you're the most dangerous man in in this very inn."
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Benedict gazes up at Silver, an amused and easy grin spread across his face. He reaches out his hand to run along whatever part of Silver he can easily reach. His fingers toy absently with the buttons on Silver's shirt before he decides his hand is too heavy to hold up, so he lets it drop, which means he's brushing the intricate detail on the pirate's belt.
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