Chapter Text
It’s a balmy Caribbean evening. The fresh smell of the sea, tinged with the smells of food. It’s familiar. Settling. What’s becoming more familiar is the sight of Steve in his cabin. He’s at ease currently, boots off, and bare feet on Bucky’s desk. He seems to notice Bucky looking at them and wiggles his toes, which snaps Bucky’s attention back to the present and Steve’s words.
“So, we attack tomorrow? He’s been sighted north of Cuba. With a fair wind and an early start, we’ll arrive as the day breaks.”
Bucky nods, feeling the throb of adrenaline jolt through him. They’ve been planning for weeks, assessing the relative strengths and weaknesses of their crews and ships. Steve has a working knowledge of how the Zola was armed, and a conversation with the well-rewarded boatmaker who last fixed her holes, has filled in gaps in their knowledge. “Are your crew ready?”
“Ready as they’ll ever be,” Steve replies. “They understand that this needs to be done, that there’s prizes to divvy up too between both sets of crew if we do this right. He’s been ravaging the seas for over thirty years now, he’s amassed a pile.”
Bucky shakes his head in wonderment. “And you truly know where his bounty is kept?”
Steve huffs a soft laugh at Bucky’s skepticism. “Well enough. After all, I was nothing more than a boy. They never intended for me to live so their speech was rarely censored.”
There’s a knock on the door and Nat pokes her head through the door, once Bucky’s called ‘aye’ back. She’s dressed in her usual garb, shirt tucked into her breeches and hair tightly braided. Instead of her usual tricorn, she’s sporting a bandanna. Her eyes practically sparkle as she spots Steve looking so relaxed; Bucky internally groans.
“Captain— Oh, Captains. I didn’t mean to disturb anything.”
Bucky rolls his eyes and gestures for her to come in. “You’re not disturbing anything, Nat. We were merely discussing things.”
Nat looks pointedly at Steve’s disarray and his lounging posture. Steve stares back evenly, not moving an inch. “I told the men to be abed early tonight. I thought we might be leaving in the morning, with the wind blowing as it is.”
Bucky nods, raising his goblet to his lips for a sip of grog. “As always, you’re correct. We leave tomorrow.”
Her lips twitch into a small smile, pleased at being right. Bucky has had his crew prepared for days, all of them waiting for the right weather conditions to sail. “And Captain Rogers, your crew are below deck?”
“Aye, Sam will have made sure of that.”
Nat’s smile morphs into a decidedly wicked grin. “He’s a fine fellow.”
“Then flirt with him ashore,” Bucky cuts in. “None of your bedroom eyes in the heat of battle. We have a job to do, and we intend to do it properly.”
“Spoilsport,” Nat replies, flashing him an amused look. They both know that Nat will ensure she’s near enough to Sam tomorrow for him to notice how well she fights. Her gaze then settles on Steve. “Do you mind me asking a question?”
If Steve is surprised at another question, he doesn’t show it. “I don’t. I reserve the right not to answer, however.”
“That’s a fair compromise,” she agrees, perching on a chest near the door. “Bucky—Captain has told me why he’s doing this. I know Winifred, being from Port Royal too. But… This is personal for you too, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“And you’ll fight to the death to ensure it?”
Bucky holds his breath, knowing the answer. He’s seen some of how Steve fights from Santa Maria. However, it’s their conversations from the past couple of weeks that have revealed the real Steve to him, week by week. Bucky had called him a bold fellow upon meeting him and he was not wrong in his first assumption. Steve is passionate about all that he does, brave, a little headstrong.
“I will.”
Nat cuts a look at Bucky, before responding. “I understand. Though that would make our Captain very sad.”
Bucky nearly drops his goblet, cheeks flaming. “Nat! Insubordinate doxy—”
She continues as if Bucky isn’t in the room, glaring daggers at her. “I’m just saying. It’s good to have somebody to come back to—”
“Meddling wench.”
“—and to remember what’s important. We’ll get the job done tomorrow. The Winter’s guns never miss.”
Bucky can’t argue with that. His crew are drilled beyond what most boats do, not a rabble like so many others. With a limited supply of ammunition, most Captains on smaller vessels try to sweep in and out, and not use their cannon at all. Bucky has taken an alternative approach; invest in more ammunition to be able to practice, and understand the range of their guns and cannon before they engage in battle.
Steve looks like he’s struggling to conceal a laugh, hiding his smile behind his hand instead. “I appreciate your point of view.”
“Out,” Bucky points to the door, still glaring. “You’re lucky that we’re sailing tomorrow or I’d have you lashed.”
“Promises, promises,” she says, winking at him. He won’t lash her but she will get some of the more unfavourable duties for a week; she hates cleaning the bilges. “Goodnight, Captains.”
A silence descends as she leaves. Bucky looks across at Steve who, now Natasha is out of the room, doesn’t bother to hide his amusement at all. He’s openly grinning at Bucky, revelling in his discomfort.
“I… She was wrong to assume,” Bucky starts but Steve shakes his head, eyes pinning Bucky more effectively than his gun had in jail.
“I don’t think she was.”
Bucky knows he’s blushing. He can feel the hot prickling in the tips of his ears, spreading across his cheeks. He’s glad that his hair covers his ears, down loose around his shoulders this late at night. “Steve,” he says, voice low.
“If— I will fight to the death for this. But that doesn’t mean—” Steve is uncharacteristically tongue-tied, his own cheeks glowing pink under his pale skin. He huffs lightly. “I enjoy your company too, Bucky.”
Something in Bucky loosens; it’s a warm, hazy sensation. Steve likes him. “I gathered that. Seeing as you keep coming around here like a stray cat.”
Steve snorts at the insult. “You have the nicer cabin.”
“Oh?”
“Aye,” he admits. “Room is tight on the Revenge. Mine is barely more than a berth.”
It’s not surprising. Steve doesn’t dress like a Captain so it’s no surprise his living quarters don’t reflect his status either. “I half-expected you to have a hammock amongst your men. You’re a disgrace to Captains, Steve.”
Steve grins unrepentantly. “And yet you still deign to bed with me.”
Bucky shrugs, picking up his goblet for another drink. The grog is sweet on his tongue but it’s not what he wants to taste. He wants to taste Steve. “It’s slim pickings on these islands.”
Steve nods as if he understands. “Nothing to do with my ass then?”
“Without doubt, that’s an additional benefit.”
Steve hums as if in grave contemplation, but his eyes dance. “Well, would you care to take advantage?”
“Now?”
“No time like the present.”
It’s a stark reminder that this time tomorrow, things could be different. Either of them could be dead, maimed, or worse—Imprisoned on Schmidt’s ship. Bucky tries not to think about it, not to let his thoughts go down that path.
“Come here then,” he offers, watching in satisfaction as Steve stands without hesitation. He pads around the desk towards him, footsteps muffled on the rug. Bucky likes seeing him here, amongst fine things.
“You like watching me,” Steve comments as he moves to straddle Bucky, arms looping around his neck.
Bucky’s arms wrap around his waist, hauling him up close. Steve moves willingly but not without a roll of his hips against Bucky’s growing erection, showing Bucky that he’s more than interested in this. “As much as you like seeing my reaction to your words.” Steve laughs and Bucky nips at his chin. “I’m no fool, Steve.”
Bucky feels a tug as Steve wraps his hair around his fist, pulls his head back instinctively so he looks up at Steve. “What do you want?” Steve asks. “Tell me.”
He doesn’t hesitate, not with Steve such a solid weight in his lap. “For you to ride me. Right here.”
Steve’s eyes go dark and his thighs tighten around Bucky’s own. Bucky smiles and leans forward to kiss at his throat, Steve’s stubble a rasp against his skin. “Bucky—Will the chair hold us both?”
Bucky has no idea. It’s a large and solid chair, something he took aboard from a Dutch ship a few years back, but he’s never tested the limits of its durability. “Are you too craven to try?”
Steve tugs at his hair, causing Bucky to hiss, before releasing it. “Never.”
“One day you’ll back down from a challenge, Steve.”
“Doubtful.” Steve is already on his feet, shimmying out of his trousers and kicking them to the floor. He looks pointedly at Bucky’s crotch and Bucky chuckles, undoes his own trousers and slides them off over his hips. Steve doesn’t give him time to pull them off completely, slides back onto his lap like he’s made to be there. “It’s not in my nature to back down.”
“Clearly,” Bucky mutters, watching as Steve leans back to grab the grease. He slicks Bucky’s cock and then lifts himself up. “You’re—Oh fuck.”
Because of course he’s lowering himself onto Bucky’s cock, thighs trembling with the sensation as he takes it. It can’t be pleasurable, not yet, but the sensation for Bucky is indescribably tight and warm, and his head spins with how much he wants this man.
“Still loose?” Steve pants as he takes another inch, rough nails digging slightly into Bucky’s shoulder. “Enough.”
“You need to be able to walk tomorrow,” Bucky grits out, even as his own hands move to Steve’s hips, to steady him, and stop him from doing this too quickly. “Fight, even. I shall not have you injured because of this. What did you tell me about reputation?”
“Touché,” Steve parries with a choked-off laugh. Some of the tension drops out of him and then it’s smoother and slower, Steve’s ass flush against his groin. “How does that feel?”
Bucky responds by pulling Steve into a kiss, fingers threading through his hair and keeping him close. With Steve plastered to him, he can feel that he’s softened, and he slides his other hand from Steve’s hip to his cock, running his thumb up the underside. “Though I feel as if I should make it up to you, sweetheart.”
The effect of his hand and the name is instant. Steve jolts in surprise and he looks Bucky in the eye before looking away, down, anywhere that stops Bucky from seeing how affected he is. “You—Oh,” he breaks off, groaning as Bucky wraps his hand around Steve’s cock properly, coaxing him to a full erection. “You can do that.”
His thighs tighten around Bucky’s as he lifts himself up and drops back down, setting up a rhythm that has them both panting. His hands slide down to Bucky’s pecs and when he grabs a handful, squeezes some, Bucky isn’t complaining. “That— That’s right, show me how much you love this. So fucking good..”
“Only…. Uh. Only good?” Steve leans back some, changing the angle, and instantly clenches. His lashes flutter, mouth opens slightly, and this—this—is how Bucky wants to remember him, using Bucky’s cock to get himself off.
“You—God, Steve.” Steve tightens again, a whimper escaping his throat, and Bucky growls. He jacks Steve off with more pressure, feeling pleased when he moans, biting on his own lip to stop the noise. “Do that again and I’ll embarrass myself.”
“Spilling—oh!—your secrets?”
“Spilling a damn sight more—” He cuts himself off as Steve does it again, and it’s a race to the finish line, both of them wanting the other to finish work. Steve’s a blur of motion, stomach and thighs flexing as he moves. “You look so good. C’mon, darling, come for me.”
The pet name works but Bucky doesn’t have a chance to be smug about it. Steve stares at him, almost blankly, before he shudders visibly, and his cock spurts over Bucky’s hand and his own groin, covering them both. It’s the sudden tightness that has Bucky fucking up into Steve, unable to hold on with that rippling pressure.
It’s a minute before either of them can speak. Bucky hasn’t whited out, not exactly, but he’s very far from making any sort of sense. When he starts to become more cognisant, he realises that Steve is still pressed against him and has made himself as small as he can, his head tucked into the side of Bucky’s neck.
Bucky strokes a hand down his back, ignores the rumbling protest. “So… endearments?”
“Shut up.” It’s said with a clear layer of embarrassment but Steve doesn’t move an inch.
He grins and turns his head to kiss Steve’s hair. “I had no idea, mon petit chou.”
“Shut up,” Steve reiterates, clearly knowing enough French to know that particular compliment. He reluctantly comes out of hiding in Bucky’s neck, sitting upright and glaring at him balefully. “Maybe I should run myself through right now, put myself out of my misery.”
“Don’t you dare,” Bucky warns, reaching up with one hand to cup his cheek. “You only had to say. I’d have showered you with honeyed words long before now.”
Steve blushes pink and glares harder. “I…” He clears his throat. “I can’t say I was aware of a predilection for compliments until just now. And, for that matter, you usually insult me.”
“That’s just foreplay,” Bucky replies flippantly. He’s rewarded by Steve rolling his eyes and leaning in to kiss him. “I believe we’re past judgements, and have been since we eschewed going with women upon dropping anchor in Tortuga.”
He’s not sure what it means, or indeed if it has to mean anything at all. Men being with men isn’t new, although usually not when there’s a willing woman around. But when all is said and done, sodomy is towards the bottom of their list of crimes.
If Steve had been about to say something, it’s forestalled by the whistle above, signifying the changing of the watch. Instead, he murmurs, “It’s late.”
Bucky nods and squeezes Steve’s thigh. “Late enough that we should sleep—”
“On separate ships.”
He’s right. Both ships have to set off early in the morning and the two of them are nothing less than ravenous for each other. He sighs unhappily anyway as Steve tips himself off his lap, watching him dress. “I dislike it.”
“Me too but we both have a duty to our crew.”
Bucky finally kicks his trousers off from around his ankles and stands. He leans over Steve, tipping the blond’s head back for a kiss. Steve is sweet like this, gasping wetly when Bucky deepens the kiss, tongue sliding against Bucky’s own.
When Bucky pulls back, Steve swaying forward for more, his voice is hoarse. “Do anything stupid tomorrow, sweetheart, and I will give you cause to regret it.”
Steve smiles then pushes himself up onto his toes to peck at his lips once more. “Goodnight, Buck.”
Bucky snorts, recognising the evasive maneuver for what it is. He’ll just have to keep an eye out for both of them tomorrow—and it’s not only because he needs Steve alive to know where Schmidt’s treasure is. “Goodnight Steve.”
It’s much as Bucky expects. Blood, chaos, noise, injury. Half of Schmidt’s crew fights hard, fights furiously, with little regard to their own safety. They seem content to be cut down, so long as they take others with them.
And they do.
Bucky sees Lang drop, felled by a club. He doesn’t get back up, the arc of blood spraying from his skull putting any hope of that to rest. Bucky heaves a breath, then a second. Lang has— had been a part of the crew for years, picked up from a beach in Cuba.
The other half of the crew had surrendered or jumped into the sea as soon as the grappling hooks hit the Valkyrie. These men were the oppressed crew, the ones forced onto the ship to serve with no pay. Schmidt had never allowed the ship to tie ashore, always keeping it floating further away with a heavy guard.
Bucky’s glad. Glad that they have the chance to regain their freedom. Some of the men bear scars, some bear burn marks. Some are barely out of their childhood. He and Steve both gave orders before engaging that any crew member who surrendered was to be spared. All that he can think of is how Steve suffered on this boat’s predecessor. How he’d been angry enough and brave enough to make the Zola burn.
A running thump behind him has him spinning and defending against a cutlass, using his strength and height to push the shorter man away. It’s the work of a couple of minutes to incapacitate and injure the man, have him on the ground nursing a mostly superficial wound.
Steve is in the thick of the fight. Bucky watches him move, barely giving ground despite his shorter height and slighter build. He’s quick and vicious, eyes cold and dispassionate as he dispatches yet another combatant.
And then Bucky spots something Steve hasn’t.
He’s running across the deck before he can shout to Steve, barrelling into the side of the man about to split Steve in two from above. The man has crossbones crudely tattooed on his forearm, and Bucky belatedly realises it’s Rumlow. Schmidt’s mad dog of a first mate, responsible for much of the pressing that goes on, an incredibly violent man.
Steve doesn’t even show surprise, instead using his strength to lunge. He catches Rumlow in the side and Bucky steps in again to parry the other man’s slash, keeping Steve out of his range. Another feint from Steve, and then his blade is sinking into Rumlow’s stomach.
“He’ll kill you,” Rumlow sputters, through bloodied teeth.
Steve pulls his sword free, and grimaces. “He can try.”
It’s actually Natasha who finally engages Schmidt. She fights in close quarters, edging him closer and closer to the side of the ship. It’s a short knife that pins him where he stands—literally— Natasha throwing it straight down with as much force as she can muster. The blade goes through his foot like a harpoon through water, lodging in the wooden deck below. Schmidt tries to step back and realises he can’t.
Natasha smiles and steps forward to finish the job, short-sword in hand.
If there’s any last words, she doesn’t trouble herself to remember them.
After Rumlow and then Schmidt die, the Valkyrie crew lose heart. Not that there’s much left of it. A score, perhaps, remain on the deck, and it’s a heartening cacophony as their weapons drop to the deck. Bucky and Steve don’t wait around for the clean-up, directing their mates to load the Valkyrie crew on the longboats to drift. With luck, they’ll be picked up before the dehydration and sun kills them.
Instead, they go to Schmidt’s stale-smelling quarters, dark and squalid but seemingly untouched by the fight. Steve uses his small knife to jimmy the lock on a cabinet, and then push a false back out of the way, retrieving the maps they need. He also unearths a red log book, tucked away behind stacks of parchment.
He has a pinched, haunted look on his face that Bucky wants to wipe away, but he knows now is not the time to do that. Now is the time to grab and go, then fire the ship. For all that it’s well-built, it’s ill-fated.
“Do you have everything we need?” he asks, as Steve closes the cabinet.
Steve tosses the log book at him. It’s a dark red leather, with an imprinted black star on it. “There’s a cipher in here. Between that and the maps, we’ll work it out.”
Bucky raises his eyebrows as they leave the cabin, walking down the darkened hallway to the ladder. “You trust me with it?”
Steve stops dead and turns, pushing up for a heated kiss before Bucky can even stop walking. However, he responds in kind, pushing Steve against the rough wooden wall and kissing him like his life depends on it. His blood is up and he wants to take Steve right here, pull him apart until he’s moaning like a whore on his cock. He shoves his knee between Steve’s thigh, smiles as he hears Steve’s impassioned gasp. He’s half-hard against Bucky’s thigh and it’ll take just about all of their patience to get back to Bucky’s cabin.
Steve pushes him back, enough for him to catch his breath. “With my life,” he replies, voice rough. “I trust you with my life.”
“Where do you sail next?”
It’s a week later. After discovering the treasure on that spit of an island, both crews had taken their share and set sail, each disappearing to their own hidey-holes to sell, barter and store their goods.
However, Bucky can’t deny that he had felt something in his stomach settle upon seeing Steve’s ship in Tortuga’s harbour as they sailed in, riding at anchor. The ship hadn’t been a hive of activity, indicating that they weren’t preparing to set sail for home just yet. That had eased his stomach even more.
And now Steve is on Winter, both of them up on the quarterdeck. There’s a bottle between them, a fine Spanish wine that Steve had brought with him when he’d appeared a little over thirty minutes ago, and they’re watching the sun sink slowly towards the horizon in a mostly companionable silence.
Bucky wants to know what Steve’s plans are, what this might mean for them, but he can’t find the words to say it without sounding gauche. His stomach is knotted again, with feelings that he’s not supposed to have, let alone act on. Steve is a bloody pirate, one that hails from America no less.
“Well, that’s an idiotic question. Wherever a ship is sighted—”
“No, I meant…” Bucky pauses and tries to phrase it more delicately than ‘are you staying here or going home?’. “You usually frequent the Virginian coast, do you not?”
Great, just… Great. He couldn’t sound like more of a love-sick idiot if he tried.
“Yes… Oh.” Steve looks across at him, making the connection. “You mean, am I staying in these waters?”
Bucky shrugs awkwardly, propped up on his elbows as he is. “I feel it’s a pertinent question to ask.”
Steve is quiet for a moment. “I… I hadn’t much considered it. The plan was always to sail home; my crew hails from there, after all. Some of them have sweethearts, family.”
Bucky’s stomach sinks quicker than the Winter’s anchor at the realisation. He won’t see Steve’s face again. When he sees the Captain’s Revenge leave Tortuga in a few days, it’ll be for the last time.
He hates that thought.
“So it’s a goodbye.”
Bucky can feel the hot burn of Steve’s eyes on his face, but he keeps his own face averted, looking instead up into the rigging. He’s not a coward, never has been, but he doesn’t want Steve to see that this matters to him.
“Do you want it to be?”
Bucky’s head whips to the right as he stares at Steve. He turns the phrase over in his head a couple of times but can’t see how he’s misunderstanding the words. Is Steve— Can Steve be thinking of staying? “No, but I don’t see how—”
“I would need a month or two.”
Bucky’s heart thumps loud in his chest, loud enough that he’s almost fearful that Steve might hear it. “You… Would you truly consider it?”
Steve looks at him, blue eyes bright. Bucky can’t tell what he’s thinking, though the side of his mouth ticks up, which suggests that he’s amused. Bucky wonders when and where he learned Steve’s tells. “Well, there’s richer pickings and more ships crossing to these islands, the weather is warmer even if my damnably pale skin dislikes it.”
“And there’s me,” Bucky adds.
Steve grins. “There’s you.”
Bucky takes a sip of his wine, for courage more than anything else. “And what does that make us? We cannot be… together. People will talk.”
“People already talk,” Steve points. “However, does it really need to be labelled?”
“Perhaps not. Although I’m clearly the more successful pirate— Ouch!” Bucky exclaims, wincing as Steve tugs at the top of his ear, twisting it just enough to actually hurt.
Steve snorts at his reaction. “You deserved that. Did I, or did I not, lead to us Schmidt’s treasure?”
Bucky rolls his eyes. “You did.”
“And did I, or did I not, let you have that jewellery for your mother?”
Bucky smiles. “You did, sweetheart.”
“And did…” Steve stops as the nickname registers, looking at Bucky. “You weren’t being serious.”
“No, not at all,” Bucky says, unrepentant in his tone. He leans over and pulls Steve close, kissing him chastely. “I just enjoy seeing you get so indignant.”
Steve scowls, looking mutinous. He looks like nothing so much as a particularly stubborn and angry ship cat, and yet it still doesn’t put Bucky off. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”
“It’s my dashing looks. And my enormous co—”
Steve slaps a hand over his mouth, looking more appalled if possible. “Don’t finish that sentence.”
Bucky bites at his palm lightly, enough to make Steve move his hand back with a muttered curse. “Spoilsport,” he teases. “So… A month. Maybe two. That gives me time to build up a new crew considering some have left now we’ve got gold in our pockets. Perhaps there's a chance for a quick sail to my mother in Jamaica.”
Steve shakes his head fiercely. “And get yourself in jail once again?” he scoffs. “I think not.”
“That was a one-off.” Steve looks unimpressed at the proclamation. “‘Twas!”
Steve shakes his head and moves, dropping himself onto Bucky’s lap. He’s a warm, solid weight even though he doesn’t look like any sort of pirate captain in his loose linen shirt and much patched breeches. A disgrace, really, although part of it appeals to Bucky. “Save the journey for when I return, if you must go.”
That makes Bucky tilt his head, surprised. “You want to sail with me?”
He’s not sure how that will work. He knows Steve well enough to know that he won’t take orders, and it doesn’t matter how nice Steve’s ass is and how prettily he moans when Bucky’s filling it, he doesn’t accept anybody who doesn’t follow orders on his ship. Even Natasha knows when to push, versus when to keep her own counsel.
Steve nods. “Don’t look at me like that. I mean on my own ship.”
“Thank God, we’d likely be drawing swords before leaving port,” Bucky replies. “But, what are we— Are we sailing together from now on?”
He’s never sailed with somebody before. He’s never wanted to. But he does like having Steve around, and it’s a novelty for two pirate ships to descend on a single ship. With both Valkyrie and the Santa Maria, they were away laden with treasure in no time at all.
“Perhaps we could when it suits us.”
“Like just?” Bucky clarifies.
“Like just,” Steve agrees, looping his arms around the back of Bucky’s neck. He traces a hand down Bucky’s face. “But harbour no ideas that we are anything other than partners in this enterprise. I don’t care that you have a number of years on me, or more knowledge of the Caribbean.”
Bucky kisses the side of his hand, and grins. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Steve narrows his eyes. “Why are you smiling so?”
“Because I’m happy,” Bucky replies, splaying his hands over Steve’s ass. Steve makes a surprised sort of groan, and looks at him suspiciously.
“Oh?”
Bucky nods. “And I’m going to kiss you.”
“Oh?” Steve asks although his tone this time is more smug, and he pushes his hips down against Bucky’s own. His fingers slide under Bucky’s shirt, stroking the sun-warmed skin.
Bucky tries not to get distracted by Steve’s sure touch, leaning up to kiss along Steve’s jaw. “And then we’re going to toast our new partnership, as unlabelled as it is.”
Steve tilts his head back, writhing in Bucky’s lap. “We are?”
Bucky nods, lips brushing against Steve’s neck. “We are. How does that sound?”
Steve grins and looks down; it’s reckless, devilish, the smile that Bucky first saw all those months ago in Tortuga. “It sounds interesting. Something I might consider.” Bucky huffs out a laugh, and uses a hand in Steve’s hair to drag him down into a kiss, Steve barely murmuring, “to new partnerships” before their lips meet.
Stories are told of the Golden Age of Sail, legends created. Some mere yarns, some with a grain of truth. And those that are old, too old to have a reliable memory, tell stories of the two ships that sailed together, the two pirates that fought together. They were feared when sighted—merchants all over the European empires would warn captains about the Winter and Captain’s Revenge.
The two Captains were legendary. Legendary enough for working together and—it’s rumoured—bedding together. Some say they sailed until the end, some say that they set up home on a forgotten island. Some even say that they sailed up together to settle in the New World.
There's one detail in all the stories that's always the same. In every iteration, even centuries into the future, no matter the narrator, the Captains—Barnes and Rogers—lived happily ever after.
fin.