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Can we take it slow? he’d asked.
And they had. For weeks, it’s been nothing but hand holding during strolls on the deck, curling up next to each other on the settee at the end of the day, perhaps a chaste yet lingering kiss before they bade each other goodnight. Ed has never been good at slow, but when it came to this, he’s been willing to give it a shot.
Which is why now that he finds himself in Stede’s bed, watching the muscles of his back ripple as he pulls the bed curtains closed, he feels—conflicted.
It isn’t that Stede’s pressured him into this. Sure, he had grabbed him by the lapels and shoved him against the wall, gaze clearly hungry. Wanting. But Ed knows if he would have stuck to his guns, insisted that they had to keep it slow, Stede would have backed off immediately. That’s the kind of person he is, after all. A goddamn gentleman, not the Neanderthals Ed’s used to fucking. But Ed wants this. Wants him. All of him. He’d be lying to himself if he said he hasn’t spent the past two weeks holding himself back, keeping his fingers from wandering, pawing, grasping at whatever bit of Stede he can get his hands on. Going slow was a shit ass idea, in retrospect. Slow sucks.
But there’s a pang in his chest as he listens to those iron rings slide across the curtain rod, a finality to the sound. A sense that there’s no turning back.
The only reason he suggested going slow in the first place was because it was still raw between them. A burn mark raised and pink, healing but ever present. Stede had come back, had all but confessed his undying love to Ed, promised to never leave him again. But if there’s one thing that Ed knows about Stede Bonnet, it’s that his words are pretty and not always true. So when he had twisted his fingers into Ed’s hair, reeling him further into him as they kissed in the moonlight, Ed had to pull back.
Can we take it slow?
Fast was what chased Stede away in the first place. It’s what left Ed with a gushing wound where his heart had been, bloody and tender enough that he wanted it all to end. Everything. The ship, the world. Him.
The thought of diving head first into this again feels like tying a noose, handing it to Stede, and praying he won’t loop it around his neck and drop him from the highest mast. It’s foolish. It goes against everything he’s learned to survive this long.
And yet, here he is.
Stede pauses, his fingers still clutching the gossamer curtains. His bare shoulders heave with a deep breath before he slowly turns around. Broad shoulders give way to a broad chest, a soft stomach, littered in freckles and silvery scars. Just moments ago, Ed had put his fingers to that skin and urged himself to memorize the texture, the constellations of moles and nebulous formations of wiry golden hair. It wasn’t enough. Ed needs more. He needs to wake up every morning with the feel of Stede embedded in him, the ghost of his soft skin written in his fingertips and etched down into his knuckle bones, even if that’s an absolutely terrifying thought.
Clenching his fists at his side, Stede swallows hard before taking a few cautious steps toward the bed. Toward Ed.
And Ed’s heart pounds in his ears as Stede stands over him, hazel eyes already blown dark. There’s clear hesitation there—Stede is no stranger to hesitation, Ed knows. Even prone to whims, he talks himself out of so much. But there’s also a determination in his expression that Ed has never seen before. He leans down and takes Ed’s face in both of his hands, putting his lips against his again.
Ed is butter in a pan, liquifying under the gentle heat of Stede’s mouth, mushy and pliant as his tongue pushes past his lips, skims his teeth. It coaxes a sigh out of him, his breath and Stede’s becoming one continuous thing as they move against each other. And it’s achingly sweet, at first. Tender. Slow, even.
But Stede’s fingers soon find their way into Ed’s hair, nails scratching against his scalp, and fuck. It’s lightning, thunder, summer rain in one touch. His blood sings, rushing through his ears, racing through his limbs, gathering in his—
Stede pulls back.
Ed has to consciously force down the whine bubbling up in his throat.
Stede, though, is still right there. Lips just inches away from Ed’s, forehead resting against his, eyes shut in what could either be agony or bliss. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Maybe—maybe we should stop.”
And the part of Ed’s brain that isn’t complete goo agrees. They had been doing so well. They had been doing things the right way. There’s still time to go back to that, isn’t there?
The rest of him, though, wants. Needs. And to stop now might actually kill him.
“I don’t want to stop,” Ed breathes, skimming his fingers featherlight across Stede’s chest, feeling his whole body shiver beneath his touch as he brushes one of his raised nipples.
Stede swallows again, forcing his eyes open to look into Ed’s. “You said you wanted to go slow.”
He did.
He does.
But he brings his hand up to Stede’s jaw, tracing his thumb along Stede’s chin until it meets his rosy, kiss-bitten lips.
“Fuck slow,” Ed growls.
Stede’s breath is shattered, a shuddering thing that almost sounds ripped out of him. Ed feels his grin beneath his thumb before he sees it. “Is that a statement,” Stede asks, “or a request?”
And that…
Well, at that, Ed is just gone.
They crash together again, and there’s nothing slow about it. It’s teeth and friction and heat, building and pulsing as Stede pushes himself up onto the bed and throws his knees on either side of Ed’s hips, straddling him. Ed’s hands are in his curls, and he falls back against the cascade of pillows behind him and brings Stede with him with a gentle tug, refusing to break the tangled hold their mouths have on each other for even a moment. There’s push and pull, clawing and clenching. They both still have their pants on, but Ed can feel Stede’s cock through the layers of leather, grinding against his own in what feels like desperation. A moan escapes him as Stede angles his hips in just the right way, pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth.
He thinks back to just a few weeks ago, being in this bed alone, curled in a ball and sobbing until he couldn’t stay awake any more. The Ed from back then wanted nothing more than just this—just Stede here, his lips and his hands his, all his. To want anything more would have felt selfish to that Ed. But this Ed’s nerve endings are blazing, craving every last bit of Stede he’s willing to give.
He feels Stede pull away again, but not in a way that suggests hesitation. “What do you want, Ed?” he asked, his lips still brushing against Ed’s as he speaks. “What can I do to make you feel good? Tell me.”
Me? Ed wants to say. You’re the one who needs comfort, who needs to feel good. You’re the one who just killed a man for the first time. That was why he came to Stede’s room in the first place, after all. He wanted—wants—to be the one to make Stede feel good. To make him forget anything else about tonight except this. That’s what he deserves. He’s a good man who had to be a captain, show up and protect his crew, even if it meant killing a bit of his gentleness in the process. Ed isn’t good like him. He doesn’t deserve to be taken care of. That’s not what this should be about.
But Stede’s eyes are on him, expectant and attentive.
And if there’s one thing Ed hates more than himself, it’s letting Stede Bonnet down.
“I want to feel you inside me,” he groans, sputtering out the first thing his jumbled mind can come up with. “Want to come on your cock. Please.”
Stede shivers again, and the kiss that follows is blinding, enough to shoot another wave of heat and need through Ed’s body. “Yes, yes,” Stede says in the breaks between kisses. “I’d like—god, Ed, I want that—I’m just—I’m not—”
Ed’s the one to pull back now. “Not what?”
The light in the bed nook is low, shadowed enough where it’s hard to make out all of the details of Stede’s expression. But Ed can at least see how his cheeks flush as he says, “Well, I’m not—I’m not terribly experienced in this.”
“Stede,” Ed says, trying very hard not to laugh, “you have two fucking children.”
Stede does actually laugh. “All right, outside of one woman who I was certainly not attracted to, I’m not experienced in this.”
Shaking his head, he pulls Stede back in, tongue desperately sliding back inside Stede’s mouth. He manages to pull back enough to say, “I don’t care. I’ll show you. We have time. We can take all the time we need.”
“I don’t want to disappoint you,” Stede says, almost so quiet that Ed can’t even hear him from inches away.
You could never disappoint me. You’re you. You’re here. The only way you could disappoint me is if you weren’t.
“You won’t,” is what he says out loud. “I promise.”
He sighs, his breath against Ed’s face sending another rush of desire through him. “Can I…” he says, hesitating. “Can I undress you?”
Ed pauses, swallowing back something tough that’s forming in the back of his throat. He nods.
Up until now, Stede hasn’t touched any part of Ed that isn’t already exposed. The feeling of his soft fingers skating under his shirt, across his stomach and up his chest as he lifts it over his head sends all the sensitive muscles in those areas twitching. He doesn’t even have time to think about it before Stede’s hands are on the buttons of his pants, fumbling as he undoes them. And if Ed’s mind had gone a bit fuzzy at the feeling of his hands across his chest, the slide of his fingers beneath his waistband and the drag of leather against his painfully hard cock makes it go completely blank.
Ed breathes as he hears his clothes hit the floor. Stede hovers over him, mouth slightly open as his eyes scan every exposed inch of him. He keeps his hands on Stede’s hips as he examines him, but his gut flips with each silent second of it. He’s not exactly an Adonis or anything. He’d lost a lot of weight during the Stede-less days, and the weight he’s gained back is gathering around his middle in a way he isn’t entirely fond of. That’s not to mention all the scars, the stretch marks, the particularly shitty tattoos that he’s always regretted. He worries that clothed Ed is much more appealing to Stede than naked Ed.
That all evaporates, though, as Stede swears in a tone that one might reserve for prayer. “ Fuck , Ed. How are you real?”
The painful lump in Ed’s throat returns. He manages to push it back before hooking his fingers gently in Stede’s belt loops. “You next,” he says.
Stede fingers are just as clumsy and rushed as he undoes the ties on his pants, pushing them down his thighs in a frenzy and tossing them onto the floor with Ed’s clothes. And Ed’s breath hitches as he gets a good look at the work of art before him, hazily outlined in candlelight from the room outside the sheer curtains surrounding them.
He’s not some god carved from marble either. Ed has a better look at the softness of his stomach, the jagged scars from his various stabbings. But god, what does that matter? He’s perfect. Arms that he wants to dig his nails into. Legs he wants wrapped around his fucking head. And his cock—fucking hell. It’s full, standing at attention, already wet at the head.
“Not much to look at, I’m afraid,” Stede comments with a weak chuckle.
Ed shakes his head, pushing himself up and wrapping a hand around the back of Stede’s neck. “Fuck off,” he breathes, “you’re everything.” And he drags him forward to claim his mouth again.
Without clothes, it’s all so much more . The searing heat of their bodies as they kiss, the rough glide of skin against skin. It’s more intoxicating than any drink Ed’s ever had, more visceral and raw than any wound he’s ever received. He’s had sex before—dozens of times with dozens of people—but it’s never been this. There’s never been the overwhelming feeling that he’s never going to be the same afterward. There’s never been the nagging idea that this means something. Something more than just mindless pleasure seeking.
A hand wraps around his cock, and it’s like he leaves his body for a moment. He gasps as Stede works him in slow, agonizing strokes, an unholy moan climbing out of his mouth with every movement. He grips Stede’s shoulders hard enough where he knows he’s leaving imprints of his fingernails in his flesh. “ Fuck, ” he sighs. “Fuck, Stede, I—fuck—"
“Is this all right?” Stede says, his lips latching onto his clavicle as he works him.
“Yes, fuck yes,” Ed whines. “I’m—you’re—” He keeps starting and stopping every sentence, all his words half-baked and crumbling apart as Stede touches him, twists his wrist in a way that sends shockwaves into his very core. Stede’s response is to smother him with his mouth again, lapping up every word on his tongue before he can utter it, and Ed’s so grateful for it. Hopes he can taste what he wants to say without having to speak it.
Ed eventually does break away, panting as he says, “I need you. Your fingers. Now.”
“My fingers…” Stede repeats, his breath also heavy. “You mean—”
“Uh huh,” Ed says with a desperate nod, hips involuntarily snapping up into Stede’s grip as he strokes him. “Inside me. Please.”
Stede pauses, his hand releasing Ed as he braces both arms on either side of him. “Right,” he says, eyes flitting back and forth in thought. “How do—oh.”
He stops as Ed clumsily reaches over to the ledge by the bedside window, opening the jewelry box that sits there and rooting around before producing a crystalline vial. Stede goes pink with recognition.
“I didn’t think—I would have thought you’d gotten rid of that.”
Ed squirms a bit at the implication. Gotten rid of it like you got rid of everything else of mine. “I dunno,” he mutters in response. “It’s proved—useful.”
He feels Stede’s cock twitch against his thigh. “I see,” he says.
Reaching over and plucking Stede’s hand from its anchored spot, he pushes the vial into his palm. “Nice and slick, one finger at a time,” he explains. “I’ll tell you when I can take more, okay?”
Stede nods, sitting back on his haunches. “Okay, yes. Yes.”
“Oh, but first…” Ed trails off as he sits up a bit and grips the wrist of Stede’s right hand. Easily—slowly, one might say—he works Stede’s ornate rings off his fingers, setting them with delicate thunks on the ledge next to the jewelry box. In the candlelight, Ed can see gooseflesh bloom up and down Stede’s arms with every scrape of metal across his knuckles. When his hand is bare, Ed massages his thumb into his palm. “There we go. Perfect.”
“Perfect,” Stede repeats in reverence.
There’s a bit of awkward fumbling as Stede uncorks the vial, drizzles a bit of the sweet smelling oil from inside over his fingers. Ed never did figure out what it smelled like. Lavender? Chamomile? Whatever it is, the room now smells of it, and Ed’s whole body vibrates in the anticipation it brings. When his fingers are sufficiently coated, Stede moves himself to sit between Ed’s legs, skimming his clean hand along the insides of his thighs, pressing kisses to his bad knee. “God, you’re a vision,” he whispers. “I can’t believe I get to have you like this.”
Ed hadn’t thought it was possible for him to get any harder, but those words and the breath that follows them caressing the sensitive skin of his thighs prove that really anything is possible. “Fuck, Stede,” he says, his eyes fluttering shut with the intimacy of it all.
Soft lips press against the inside of his thigh, a tongue laving at the crevice where his leg and hip meet. “Mine. All mine,” Stede murmurs. And Ed has no time to react to that––to the idea that he’s his, Stede’s—before gentle fingers are working upward, traveling from thigh to rim, caressing in gentle, teasing circles. His body is light and electricity as Stede skims his entrance, somehow too much and not enough all at once. The idea that he’s even here, that this isn’t just something Ed’s lovesick psyche has concocted out of hopelessness, is almost enough to send him to the edge. And just as he’s about to break from the maddening suspense of it all, Stede’s finger presses forward and breaches him.
He’s gentle—so achingly gentle—as he works into Ed, one knuckle at a time, sluggish yet deliberate. With every movement, he glances up at Ed, clearly looking for approval. And Ed gives it to him as he moans, head thrown back, babbling, “Yeah, yes. Good, so good.” His hips move of their own volition, chasing more of what Stede gives him, and Stede takes the hint, gradually working his finger in and out of him in agonizingly slow pumps.
“More,” Ed cries, a word he doesn’t even have to think about before it leaves his mouth. And Stede’s response is immediate, a second finger pushing into him with the same care and tenderness. Ed cracks his eyes open just enough to see how lost Stede is to the ritual of it all, watching his fingers work in and out of Ed like he’s participating in the sacrament. Slack-jawed, eyes wide and dark. He’s never been revered like this before, treated as though he were some holy object in need of worship. The thought shivers through him, and fuck, he’s ruined for this now, isn’t he? Nothing is ever going to feel as devastating and delectable as being fucked by Stede Bonnet. He can tell even now. He knows that the very fabric of his soul is being rewoven and made into something completely new with every thrust inside of him.
Stede’s fingers curl slightly, and Ed swears as ecstasy shoots through him, his back arching off the bed and whimpers escaping his mouth.
“Shit, are you okay?” Stede says, his fingers instantly freezing. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, fuck no. The opposite. Do that again,” Ed pleads. He sounds on the edge of hysterics, his voice reedy and thin.
Ever the listener, Stede does what he says. He pushes back in, crooking his fingers against that same spot, and Ed ascends to some higher plane of existence for a split second. “Yes,” he whines. “There. There. Right there. Fuck.” And Ed’s obvious pleasure seems to spur Stede forward, his movements losing all caution as he works inside him, his own breathing growing heavy and laden with obvious desire.
Ed can only take so much of it all before he says with a desperate hitch to his voice, “I’m ready. Need you. Please, Stede. Please.”
He blinks at Ed, as though he’s high on some powerful drug, functioning in slow motion. But he soon nods, withdrawing his fingers and going back to the vial on the windowsill. Ed moans again as he watches Stede coat his hands with more oil, slicking his own cock up with ginger strokes that elicit some unbearably delicious sounds from his own mouth. Crawling back over to Ed, he anchors himself above him, hitching Ed’s legs around his waist. “Tell me if we need to stop, all right? If I’m hurting you?” Stede requests.
Ed knows that even if it hurts, he won’t tell him to stop. He wants Stede in any circumstance. Whether it’s pain or pleasure he gives him. It’s always been like that, before they ever touched each other like this. But he nods. “I will,” he lies.
Stede nods back. And he lines himself up with Ed’s entrance and pushes in. Inch by inch. Slow.
The edges of Ed’s vision go black as he’s overtaken by the feel of it, sounds he never thought he was capable of forced out of him with every incremental push. Stede sounds similar, a guttural groan escaping between his gritted teeth. Ed is vaguely aware of his hips going flush against his own as he bottoms out, but the feeling of being full, of being the same continuous thing as Stede after feeling so far away from him, even as he stood right next to him, consumes him wholly. It’s as though he’s never understood what it means to be complete—to be alive—up until this moment. As he lays there, legs wrapped around the man who made him feel again for the first time in decades, his body full and open, he feels right. And that hard lump in the back of his throat returns, his eyes stinging. He doesn’t know if he’s ever felt right. Doesn’t know if he’s ever felt good. Not until right now.
“God, Ed,” Stede says, breath hot against his ear. “This is—I didn’t know this could be—you’re just so—fuck.”
The edges of Ed’s eyes burn. He skates his hands down Stede’s back, caressing his ass. “Need you to move. Please. I might die if you don’t.”
So, Stede moves. Hips rolling in languid, fluid motions, sending jolts through Ed’s spine, heat and all encompassing pleasure soaking into every last cell of his body as he does. Ed is immediately lost in the movement of it all, pushing his own hips forward to meet Stede’s thrusts, his fingers weaving back into his curls and gripping tight with every push. Time stops, moves faster, unravels completely as he lets himself be overtaken by this, allows himself to be pulled under the waves and let nothing but Stede fill his lungs.
“Do I feel good?” he hears himself say.
Stede swears. “God, yes. So good, Ed.”
“Tell me,” Ed says. “Tell me how good I make you feel.”
Ed is used to being told how good he feels during sex. It’s always the same sort of sentiment. He hears echoes of Calico Jack in the back of his mind, his growls of “ Fuck, Eddie. You’re so tight. You’ve got such a perfect little asshole .” Not exactly refined, but enough to get Ed off in the moment.
Of course, Stede doesn’t say anything like that. Of course, he opens his mouth and absolutely shatters him.
“You feel—you feel like eternity. You feel like the cosmos and the constellations and every—every heavenly thing that’s ever existed. Like—fuck—like your body is what the makeup of the universe was based on.” His thrusts pick up in pace as the words pour out of his mouth, and his hips snap just a bit harder as Ed tugs on his hair. “You feel like—oh god—like the reason everything exists. Planets were formed, stars were hung in the sky, humanity was created and brought to this moment just so you could be. Just so I could have you.”
That thing—whatever it is—inside Ed that he’s been worried about breaking finally cracks. A sound comes out of his mouth that he doesn’t recognize—a cross between euphoria and agony. A moan and a sob. The burning in his eyes gives way to cool tears streaking down his cheeks, and he pushes his face into Stede’s shoulder as he buries himself further inside Ed.
Ed is no longer in control of anything. The sounds coming from his mouth are high-pitched, desperate things. Almost as if from far away, he hears Stede say, “Ed, I’m—I’m close. I’m—”
“Touch me,” Ed says, and his voice sounds ragged, like it’s the rough edges of a torn in half piece of parchment paper. “Touch me while you come inside me. Want to feel it all. Please, Stede.”
And that’s all he needs to say. A hand is back around his cock, and it’s all so much—so goddamn much. He bucks up into Stede’s grip to match the rhythm of his thrusts—climbs, reaches, pushes—muscles in his body contracting—the pulses of pleasure and heat radiating from his hips up into his stomach, his chest, his throat, until—
It hits him like a punch to the sternum. One of the three things he has to live for.
Well, four.
The release of it all rumbles through his body in crashing waves as hot, sticky spend pulses over his stomach. Unrelenting tides of bliss shudder through him, and there’s only a few more thrusts from Stede before he stills and cries out, the feel of his come pulsing inside of him as he clenches down around him. The Earth stops rotating, at least in Ed’s mind. The steady routine of life halts in place, and it’s just them. It’s only Ed and Stede, melding and blending into one heartbeat, one body, one joint collective.
And Ed never wants it to end.
Of course, it does. The high fades, and all those tight muscles within him go limp, the pleasure replaced by—he’s not sure. Peace? Relief? Whatever it is, it’s foreign. Nice. And even nicer as Stede follows suit, collapsing on top of him while trying not to crush him with all his weight.
There’s silence, save for their heaving breaths. Time hasn’t quite restarted, and Ed takes advantage of it, tracing circles into Stede’s back as they pant. He’s aware they’re both sweating like pigs, stuck together with the come on his stomach. He doesn’t give a shit. He commits it all to memory, the discomfort and the absolute elation. Ed wants to treasure it all, keep it close, save it for a rainy day like that silk his mother gave him all those years ago.
After a moment of catching his breath, Stede grunts, goes to move, but Ed wraps his legs back around his waist. “Don’t go,” he whispers. “Not yet.”
“We’re a mess, Ed,” Stede chuckles.
“Don’t care. I want you as long as you’ll have me.”
Pushing himself onto his hands, Stede says, “Oh darling, I—Edward. What’s—oh god, are you all right?”
Ed frowns at him. “What do you mean?”
He doesn’t reply with words, instead taking his thumb and wiping it under Ed’s eye.
The cool feeling of tears smearing across his skin reminds him. “Oh,” he says.
“I told you to tell me if I hurt you.”
“You didn’t.”
“You’re crying.”
“It’s not—” Ed pauses. He knows how it looks. He doesn’t even know why he’s crying himself, so trying to explain it to Stede is going to be next to impossible. “It’s good. I promise. You didn’t hurt me. Not at all. Good tears, love.”
Stede’s concerned expression melts away at the word.
He stays inside Ed for as long as he can, wiping away the remnants of the tears sliding down his face. When he’s finally too soft to stay in place, he pries himself away, running quickly into the other room and coming back with a wet cloth to clean themselves with. Ed doesn’t think he could move if he wants to, so he lays there and allows Stede to take care of him, wiping away their collective spend, making sure he’s acceptably clean before tossing the cloth to the side and climbing back into bed with him. He pulls the covers around the both of them and snakes an arm around Ed’s waist.
Ed turns to face him so they’re both on their sides, nearly nose to nose. He’s so—he’s exhausted. Spent. But god, he’s also—
“Happy” is not a word Ed deals in. He doesn’t know if he wants to dip his toes that far into the deep end, even after this. Especially because the last time he used that word, it had all come crashing down around him very shortly afterward.
But this is at least close to it. As close as he’ll allow himself.
Stede brings a hand up to his face, brushing a long strand of grey hair out of his eyes. “You’re incredible, you know that?” he says.
I love you , Ed thinks.
It takes him by surprise, even though he knows it already. There’s no way he’s not in love with Stede, no way he hasn’t been in love with him since that morning they woke up in the crow’s nest and ate orange marmalade for breakfast. But it’s the first time the feeling has taken that shape, the first time he’s felt that particular phrase dancing so close to the edge of his lips while looking at another person. In a way, it feels right. Ed was sure that sex with Stede would change him. And he’s pretty sure it has. Speaking those words out loud, though, letting them out into the open with nowhere left to hide––that might actually fix him. Fix everything he’s kept so close to him for months that’s been rotting and festering. It might actually set things fully back on course.
But he keeps them to himself.
“You are too,” he says, pressing a kiss to his lips, snuggling into him closer.
Ed contemplates it as they lay there. He thinks about saying it—just three words. Not hard at all. But something holds him back, and eventually, Stede’s body goes lax, and Ed hears soft snores sawing in and out of his nose. He closes his own eyes, but sleep doesn’t take him for much, much longer.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Three words. So simple. So healing. He knows it. Stede loves him too. To say it out loud would mean they’re on the same page. Finally, truly together.
His own voice echoes around in the caverns of his mind, however.
Can we take it slow?
And tonight—tonight was fast enough.
Slow, he tells himself. He can’t take the physical part of this slow any more. Oh well. But the emotional—the emotional part is the thing that hurt the last time. And is he ready to hurt like that again?
Slow, he tells himself as he falls into a fitful sleep. It’ll all be okay as long as they keep it nice and slow.