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Weird

Summary:

This ship is weird, Ed thinks. He’s been here about a week now and he’s been paying attention. It’s odd. They’ve got a bit of down time today so Ed has situated himself in the crow’s nest sharpening his knife and enjoying the long view to the horizon, just having a think.

So, firstly, everyone is shagging, and that shouldn’t be weird - it’s not like Ed hasn’t taken some pleasure in a crewmate now and again, but this isn’t just people getting off with someone willing to lend a hand out of a small number of choices. Ed doesn’t think anyone would ever accuse him of being a prude, but there’s honest to god relationships going on here like they’ve met at a fucking dance or something. And that’s the least disturbing aspect of what he’s learned about this crew’s sex life.

----

In which Ed muses on all the things which are just fucking weird about being on the Revenge, especially the cute, strange, lunatic captain.

Notes:

So this is my second fic in this fandom, and a bit more cheerful than my last one! I hope people enjoy this, it has been a very long time since I wrote anything quite so explicit. Have fun I guess!

@skrifores on twitter

(See the end of the work for other works inspired by this one.)

Work Text:

This ship is weird, Ed thinks. He’s been here about a week now and he’s been paying attention. It’s odd. They’ve got a bit of down time today so Ed has situated himself in the crow’s nest sharpening his knife and enjoying the long view to the horizon, just having a think. 

So, firstly, everyone is shagging, and that shouldn’t be weird - it’s not like Ed hasn’t taken some pleasure in a crewmate now and again, but this isn’t just people getting off with someone willing to lend a hand out of a small number of choices. Ed doesn’t think anyone would ever accuse him of being a prude, but there’s honest to god relationships going on here like they’ve met at a fucking dance or something. And that’s the least disturbing aspect of what he’s learned about this crew’s sex life.

In a way it’s been helpful for learning names. Oluwande is the guy who’s clearly got a discrete thing going with Jim, Black Pete is the guy loudly doing the scribe, Lucius, at every opportunity, and Wee John is the guy who makes a cursory effort to pretend he isn’t watching them. Buttons is the guy with the weird exhibitionist thing going and Wee John ‘pretends’ not to watch him as well. Wee John seems to get about a bit, now he thinks about it.

Roach is the cook, and he has a…thing, with Frenchie. Ed isn’t sure what it is exactly, but he’s fucking sure it’s sexual. They just stare at each other with this unsettlingly intense expression while Frenchie eats something Roach has prepared, and then Roach walks around for hours afterwards with a shit-eating grin like he’s just been fucked 6 ways from Sunday. There’s nothing going on under the table; Ed’s checked. 

Last week, they stopped at a decent sized town for supplies and repairs, and Ed fucking swears not a single one of them went to a brothel like a proper pirate. Just…hung out, in their little couplings (and voyeuristic throupling, where relevant). Now, Ed’s never particularly been a fan of paying for it himself, but a whole crew of pirates and not one of them goes to the brothel? 

And there appears to be complimentary coconut oil stashed in strategic locations around the ship. There’s some kind of complex marking system on the jars - little lines this way and that, different on each one - which must mean something but Ed can’t fucking figure it out. 

So there’s all that, but then no one is doing the captain. Ed knows; he’s asked around. He’s not bothered being subtle about it because it’s not like any of them have been subtle about any of their other activities. The answers have been resolute though. No one’s hooked up with Stede, and Lucius is the only one who even made a pass, which was apparently knocked back with blank confusion. Normally, Ed would shrug his shoulders and just assume he isn’t into guys, but when they were ashore Ed watched a barmaid flirting with him pretty brazenly, and nothing. 

Maybe he’s just not into sex, full stop, Ed thinks. Which would be fine, but Ed does feel a little pang of disappointment thinking about that possibility. ‘Cause the guy is this weird flighty little bird of paradise in his posh clothes, with all those cool knick knacks and bloody secret rooms and there is a certain appeal to the idea of ruffling his feathers. 

Anyway, that’s beside the point. Weird ship. Ed hears Izzy griping out some shit down below, and goes to join him on deck. 

 

 

This is a fucking weird ship, Ed thinks. 

Okay, so today, it’s been a busy one, and now Stede is reading everyone a story while Ed sits in the second nicest cabin, which he’s claimed as his room. Ed can hear muffled voices above him. Ed’s never quite got on with fiction; he prefers travelogues, the occasional book about freaky animals in far flung places.  

Anyway, not a single person on this ship is scared of Izzy, which is fuckin’ unbelievable. Ed is scared of Izzy sometimes - not that he’d ever let him know that - the guy’s a freak. If he weren’t too loyal to ever really do anything of consequence to Ed, Ed would strongly encourage someone to kill him in his sleep. He likes the guy; he’s much more professional than your average pirate and he can be a laugh in the right context. But Ed’s seen him properly fucking go off and it’s brutal. Not vicious, not bloody-thirsty, no - business-like. Efficient. Izz could kill an innocent father of 3 while reciting the ports of the Caribbean in alphabetical order, and he wouldn’t even stutter. 

Do they just not see it? Izz does this angry little ferret thing with his face sometimes when he’s trying to get people to respect him without doing them bodily harm to earn it, and these weirdos have started rolling their eyes and taking the piss. And it is kinda funny, Ed’s not denying that, but surely they realise they’re gonna get themselves killed if this continues. 

And fucking Stede. Izzy hates him more than anyone Ed’s ever seen, he’s not shy about it, and Stede just calls him an asshole and ignores him. That first day on the Revenge , “Ed, do you know this guy, ‘cause he’s a complete asshole,” like the murder wasn’t apparent in Izzy’s eyes. 

Honestly, the fucking balls on Stede. The man seems to be simultaneously scared of everything and nothing. They go on raids and he stands in the middle of the violence peering around like he’s at an avant-garde play and bloody narrating to Lucius, but then Ed forgets to knock before walking into his quarters and he shrieks like he’s had a knife drawn on him. Only, not like he’s had a knife drawn on him, because that happened today when he pissed Izzy off about something or other, and Stede just asked him where he got it because oh, that looks like a nice inlay. 

Anyway, this isn’t about Stede. Maybe Izz is losing his touch and Ed can’t see it because he can still visualise the time he stabbed a dagger into someone’s open mouth and out the back of their skull. Whatever. Storytime sounds like it’s over; he’s gonna go see if Stede’s got any nice brandy he fancies sharing for a nightcap.  

 

 

This is a really fuckin’ weird ship, Ed thinks. 

So, basic tenet of piracy - don’t be nice. Nice is weakness, nice gets you all stabbed up. And Ed has already got the idea that things are done a bit different around here, because everyone’s into each other or Roach is microdosing the food or whatever the fuck is going on. But he looks down at his boots, which he’d left on the deck alongside his clothes while he went for a quick dip to freshen up. And. Someone’s fucked with his laces. 

Only, not what the usual way would be with some schoolboy shit - tie them together, put grease on them to mess up his hands, put tacks inside, yeah? Hilarious and all that. But no, Ed has hauled himself out of the sea and grabbed his stuff to dress, and someone has replaced the worn and tangled leather ties on his boots with fucking velvet laces.

And yes, it’s obviously Stede, or someone instructed by Stede. Stede was looking at his boots just a coupla days ago when Ed had his feet up on the chaise and Stede was too polite to remind him that feet belong on the floor even though he could see him thinking it. It’s fun, sometimes, giving Stede a little push, see if something which would piss him off when someone else does it still annoys him when Ed does it. Usually it doesn’t, which is interesting to learn. Probably still a bit scared of him, which, yeah, fair. 

Still, velvet laces. They are soft and smooth, a nice deep black, and it looks kinda cool to be honest. Though they will go to bits in salt water pretty quick. If anyone did this to him a few years ago - shit, a few weeks ago - he’d assume they were taking the piss, but Stede’s just being nice. Everyone here is so nice, it’s bloody dangerous.  

Well, Stede’s nice. And Oluwande is polite and Roach is actually a bit of a laugh when he’s had a drink, and Buttons is respectful in a surprisingly boundaried way for a man who can’t tell the boundaries between man and bird. Mostly it’s Stede that’s really nice though, Ed supposes. 

Like, ok, so there’s the laces. But now he’s thinking about it as he’s getting dressed, Stede does a bunch of nice stuff. He put a few jars of marmalade in his room the day before yesterday, when Ed hadn’t even asked. That would’ve pissed him off in the past as well, someone going in his room without permission, but it was just to be nice. Picked some of Ed’s junk off the floor and arranged it on the dresser too, while he was in there.

And there was that time when Ed was in one of those moods, y’know, where everything is just shit and ashes all day no matter what you do, but Roach made this fuckin gorgeous salt fish and coconut and chilli thing for dinner, and Ed was only telling Stede the day before about how much he liked food that makes his tongue hurt. Like he noticed. 

Too much noticing is a dangerous thing in the lives they lead. Notice enough about someone and you start to notice all the little ways you could fuck them up. It’s impolite to pay the kind of attention Stede has been paying. And it’s fucking odd to use all that noticing to be nice rather than to plan a murder. 

Ed’s not planning a murder anymore, never really was if he thinks about how little effort he was putting in, but this noticing thing seems to be catching, ‘cause he knows Stede’s been a bit twitchy these past couple of days. Ed’ll go see if he wants a combat lesson, get some of that energy out. That’d be a nice thing to do, Ed thinks. 

 

— 

 

Look, the point is this boat is really fucking weird as shit, okay? Enough bollocks about the weird, nice, kinda good looking, probably straight or still in love with his wife or whatev Captain. There’s fascinating shit going on here.

On quiet days, Ed’s started to pick a crew member to keep an eye on. On account of not seeming to be shagging anyone or talking to animals, the Swede has escaped his notice much of the time so far, but my god, what a mistake. 

He’s a dark horse, that one. 

Firstly, he talks to himself. Not a big deal, right? Who doesn’t, Ed has a constant stream of consciousness about endless nonsense in his head and he’s known more than a few people who get so squirrely at sea that they just stop keeping it in. But the Swede, oh, when he talks to himself, he uses a different voice. 

Yeah. Fucker isn’t Swedish. Ed’s not the best at accents, but he’s pretty sure what he’s hearing is French, it’s got that sing-song quality that soft French accents sometimes get, like rural, not Parisian nonsense. 

Ed has made some enquiries on a hunch and it turns out Frenchie - who is decidedly not French, never even been to France - joined the crew first. Did the Swede just decide he had to pick a new nationality, and accent to match, because there was already a guy called Frenchie? Does he think he has to have a country-linked identity? But then why hasn’t he noticed that no one else is doing that? Maybe he heard there was a guy called Frenchie and was like ‘oh, this is a boat where everyone is named after their country of origin, French is already taken so I’ll say I’m Swedish’, and then when he met everyone else it was just too late to walk it back? 

Or is he on the run from something and his disguise is being ‘Swedish’? 

‘Cause what he says when he’s talking to himself in his not-Swedish accent is serial killer shit. It’s this happy sing-song of different uses for body parts. Ed’s pretty sure most of them aren’t too realistic; domestic duties aren’t exactly his in his wheelhouse, but washing windows with blood seems like it would be pretty ineffective. 

It is oh so fascinating. The Swede won’t do it if he’s got the slightest inclination someone might be nearby so Ed’s gotten pretty good at sneaking around the ship, because he really doesn’t wanna miss this. There’s some good spots he’s found; there’s this little nook where the hall with the galley and the jam room imperfectly connects up with the hall to Stede’s room, real shadowy at night, and if he gets there at the right time he can melt into the shadows and listen to the Swede in the jam room, tapping a drum in a solid, steady beat and reciting uses for shin bones, or tendons, or on one occasion some very illuminating thoughts on the versatility of powdered teeth. 

Last night, the Swede didn’t show, but Ed’s got sharp ears, and he heard these little whimpering, gasping noises from Stede’s cabin. That was also rather illuminating, and effecting, and hot as fuck to be entirely honest. Oh, he knows it was creepy to stay and listen, but. Well. He did. Anyway, not interested in sex can probably be scratched off that list of what might be going on with Stede, Ed thinks. God, he better not still be in love with the wife. Very little wiggle room there. 

Not into guys would be better. In Ed’s experience, that often includes the occasional exception, and it’s not exactly healthy but Ed’s pretty sure he could at least convince Stede to let him suck his cock even if he is straight. 

What the fuck, where did that thought come from? Point is, the Swede’s a fuckin’ french serial killer and he’s probably gonna shave everyone’s hair and use it to garrotte them in their sleep soon. 

Ed should probably head down to the shadowy nook tonight to keep an eye on things. 

 

 

Fucking fine, Ed likes Stede, alright? Shut up about it already. It’s this weird as fuck ship messing him up, making him think stupid stuff. Like how nice it is when people notice stuff about you and do kind things, and how fun sailing is when you aren’t trying to manage Izzy’s relentless bitterness and just kinda enjoy it as an instructive display on the dangers of repressing the desire to fuck pretty men (he’s seen the way Izzy looks at Lucius’s lips; you can’t fuckin’ tell him that’s not what’s got him wound so tight). 

It’s not that Ed is finding it weird to want to fuck (touch, kiss, stroke, suck, rub up against, tie up and finger until he cries) Stede. He’s got nice hair, deep eyes and surprisingly strong arms, and he generally walks around wrapped up like a very fancy gift waiting to be ripped (coaxed, stretched, slicked, licked) open. 

But it’s weird how much he likes him. As a general rule, Ed finds members of the upper class insufferable. But, Ed thinks, as he watches Stede practice his sword fighting moves alone  - waiting for Ed to show up for their next lesson, not having noticed he’s already there, sitting cross-legged on the quarterdeck in the dark - Stede isn’t insufferable. He’s…sweet. 

He’s just so earnest, is the thing. Ed’s met one or two posh fanboys in his time. They insist on saying ‘Blackbeard’ in every sentence and then wax lyrical about how the dagger their family blacksmith custom-made would be oh so good at stabbing. For fuck’s sake, as though the fancy-ass nature of dagger matters, so long as it’s sharp enough to go in, it’ll fuck shit up. Stede’s not like them, though.

Ed watches Stede do this cute little flourish with his sword - which would totally leave him open to being run-through if he actually had an opponent - and smiles. Nothing about Stede feels like he’s taking the piss, or that he thinks he can just buy his way into a life Ed’s earned through years of fighting to get off the bottom rung. More like, he enjoys fun. 

What a fucking weird thing to be a personality trait, Ed thinks. But it is refreshing to be around. Ed finds he can’t really think of anyone who’s so open, or willing to actually try to be happy. Life is pretty shit most of the time, and then there’s Stede, who thinks he’d be happy if he were a pirate so just goes and becomes a fucking pirate. 

And sure, Ed doesn’t know a lot of people who have the option to put money and time and energy into trying to be happy. But Ed also doesn’t know a lot of people who, if they did have the time and money and energy, would use even a little bit of that to replace his shoelaces with velvet. 

So, the way Ed sees it, there’s two options. One, leave the ship, call this little adventure off, get back to his normal ship with normal pirates and try to forget this little foray into the weird world that is piracy aboard the Revenge , or, two,  he can seduce Stede Bonnet. And, well, he’s learned that repressing your desire to fuck pretty men can be dangerous; he wouldn’t want to turn out like Izzy Hands. 

Ed watches Stede make a mess of fencing his invisible opponent and thinks it’d probably be a good idea to teach him how to take a blade. It’s time for their lesson. And, maybe it’s time to do something weird. 

 

 

He wants to talk about it. The weird little sexy strange cute lunatic idiot wants to fucking talk about it. 

For fucks sake. 

Is nothing done normally on this goddamn vessel? There’s a way of doing things and none of it includes saying yes but then saying perhaps we could discuss it tomorrow and then Ed going back to his room without getting off. Ed is pacing in his room, half-hard in his leathers, and trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.

Fine, Ed thinks, if Stede didn’t want it, that’d be disappointing given how much time he’s put into imagining it, but then he should just bloody say so. Don’t say yes, I want this, but let’s have a bloody chinwag on the topic in the cold light of day before we take our pants off and do the fun bit. 

God, if you have to talk about it then you have to either look each other in the eye or awkwardly not look each other in the eye and both of those options sound fucking awful. 

It’s been a while, but Ed did all the steps right, he’s sure. 

Step one: establish a reasonable likelihood of interest, so the other guy doesn’t freak the fuck out. He’d paid attention and figured out that Stede might be into it, because when Stede was cleaning him up after stabbing him the other night there was a bit where he kept glancing down at Ed’s lips. And a bit where he shifted uncomfortably while Ed’s shirt was off, trying to hide what was almost definitely the start of an erection. 

So, Ed figured, either he’s into me or he’s into stabbing, and being into stabbing is unusual enough that Ed felt confident to play the odds. 

Step two: ask if he’s down to fuck. Which, Ed did, quite politely, and in a straightforward way since Stede seems so bloody odd that leaving room for confusion with flirty nonsense would be an obvious error. “I want to fuck you. Do you wanna do that?” Ed had said. 

Step three: Get a clear yes or no, then you either do it or you go back to your room and have a bit of a self-pitying wank about it and get on with your life. 

Those are the goddamn rules. 

There is no step four. There is no variation of this process which includes getting a yes, then still going back to your room to wank, with the ominous threat of bloody well talking about it hanging over you. 

The yes felt pretty fucking clear. Stede dropped his glass of brandy on the floor and stared at Ed open mouthed, eyes all dark and lips slack, and practically breathed the words ‘oh, yes, please.’

And Ed had groaned, because fuck that was hot, and started opening the buckles on his suddenly very tight leathers, and Stede had gone, ‘Perhaps we could discuss it over lunch tomorrow, if you’d be free.’ 

If you’d be free . Like Ed might have an important appointment at the fucking bank, like they weren’t living on a fucking ship in the middle of the fucking ocean with nothing to do but whatever they fucking wanted. 

He’s not going to that lunch. Ed’s put up with the weird shit on this ship long enough, he’s not getting drawn in to talking about shagging over sandwiches and tea, he’s not dignifying the ridiculous culture of niceness and relationships on this stupid boat by participating any longer. It’s been entertaining to observe, like the anthropologists who write cool books about freaky bits of nature, but he will absolutely not be part of it. 

Ed finishes his pacing and gets in bed, decision made. Enough of this. No more humouring the weird goddamn nonsense happening here. 

Ed takes his cock out and comes hard within about 5 strokes, thinking about Stede’s face and that breathy little, ‘ oh, yes, please.’ 

Great, now I’m not even masturbating right, Ed thinks. Not even thinking about being fucked or sucked, just ‘oh, yes, please.’ Three words in his head and he’s spilling into his hand quicker than when he was a teenager. For fucks sake.

Well, of course he’s going to go to lunch.

 

 

If Stede wants to talk about it, they’re going to fucking talk about it, Ed decides. ‘Cause right now, they’re eating lunch in Stede’s cabin and making small talk about routes and trades and the weather and Ed is going to just fucking die. Stede is staring at his neck while he talks, eyes tracing the line of the cravat Ed nicked off of him over and over, and talking some shite about the mechanics of a sea anchor versus a drogue.  

“So, yesterday. I raised an issue you wished to discuss further,” Ed says. “Fucking,” Ed says. Just warming up, he tells himself, noting the frankly embarrassing buzz and flutter of nerves in his chest. “Do you have an agenda you’d like to go through, or…?” 

“Ah, right, yes. Not exactly an agenda.” Stede folds his napkin on his lap and takes a sip of wine. “I was mainly wanting to, uh, seek some clarity as to, how?” 

Ed blinks. Is this some sort of upper class ettiquette he didn’t know about, where you have to pretend to be all demure and virginal, pretend you don’t know about sex, before you have it? That does seem like the kind of thing posh people would do. Ed’s not on board for that, he’s learning he likes a lot of fine things from the upper class world, but this is a bit much. “Stede,” he says. “Stede. You have children. You live on one of the most active pirate ships in the Caribbean. You know what sex is.” 

Oh, that’s nice, Stede’s got a little blush climbing up his cheeks. And are his ears going a little bit red, too? Hmm. 

“I - yes, that’s correct. I do know what sex is. I rather meant, specifically between us. What you - you like. What you might envisage this element of our relationship being. Expectations. You know.” 

Sure, sure, Ed knows. Knows that instead of doing what everyone else he has ever had sex with has done - get on with it, figure it out as you go, grab bits and lick bits and see which bits get you best noises - Stede wants to talk about what Ed likes and wants

Well, shit, if Stede wants to talk, Ed can talk. Bloody good at talking, Ed is. If Stede wants to be weird about this, Ed can be fucking weird about this. He’s got this. 

“Let’s move to the couch,” Ed suggests, and Stede nods, follows him over. They sit apart, Ed turns and brings one knee up so that he’s looking at Stede, one leg bent and resting on the chaise, the other foot to the floor. Accidentally, coincidentally, inadvertently, totally unintentionally spreading his legs apart and pulling his leathers tighter across his crotch.  Stede mirrors him on the other end of the seat. Bit more comfy.

Right, talking. No, first, let’s sort out the eye contact thing. Make a decision, Ed. Can’t keep avoiding it, are you looking at this guy or not? A little shy, eyes downcast, a little unsure? Nah, Ed feels like a twat. Look up - confident eye contact, wolfish grin, oh yes, that’s working, Stede’s blush is spreading down his neck. 

Ed takes a deep breath, matches Stede’s careful and respectful communication. “So, just to be clear, you’re asking me to talk about what I had in mind when I suggested we might add a sexual element to our relationship?” Last fuckin’ chance to back out on the talking thing, buddy. 

Stede nods. Looks a bit like he’s stopped breathing.

“Well, I’ve had a lot of things in mind when I’ve thought about fucking you. And when I’ve thought about you fucking me. Because I’ve thought about both. A lot.” There we go - little hitch in Stede’s chest, he is breathing after all, just not well. Perfect. “Probably my fav is: I walk in here without knocking, and you’re sat, well right where you’re sat now, with your cock out, pleasuring yourself, and I drop to my knees in front of you and swallow you down - I’m good at that, I take you all the way down, choke a little maybe, I think I’d like to choke on you until you spill down my throat - yeah, that’s a pretty fucking good one.” 

Stede's erection is very, very obvious, straining the silk of his breeches just a little too far away for Ed to reach. Ed breaks his aggressive eye contact for a quick beat to look. Feels his lip twitch, bites it. Gives Stede a sec to chime in if he’s started to rethink this whole ‘talk about our feelings’ thing. 

Stede says nothing. That’s fine. Ed’s got more feelings he can talk about. “I did say I wanted to fuck though, which has some other implications.” He shifts his hips a little, makes sure it’s obvious he’s as hard as Stede is. “I think for the first time, I wanna fuck you. Tend to like to take it myself - and we’ll get on to what I’d want from you there - but man, I’m fucking desperate to hear the noises you’d make getting railed into the mattress.”

Stede makes a little choked sound in the back of his throat.

“Yeah, Christ, Stede, like that, but louder. I’d spend a long, long time getting you ready, finger you until you were fucking squirming and sweating and aching for it.” In Ed’s mind’s eye, he imagines Stede pushing back on his fingers and moaning his name and oh, shit, he didn’t think this through. He’s supposed to be torturing Stede with this talking nonsense but his cock fucking hurts, pressing right on the seam of his trousers, he can feel his blood throbbing and his breathing is getting shallow.

Ed licks his lips. When did his mouth get so dry? And Stede’s just staring, still, eyes dark with wide blown pupils. Ed presses the heel of his hand to his cock to ease a little pressure, and Stede makes that hitching, choking sound again. 

“You fucking me, though - it’s hard to choose how I’d want that. If I’d want you to grab me, push me up against those fucking bookshelves and fuck me until I’m begging you to touch my cock and let me come, or if it would be better to take it slow, get comfy on that bed of yours and really feel every inch of you pushing into me.”

Ah, god almighty, Stede’s rubbing himself through the front of his breeches now, panting a little, not taking his eyes off Ed. He looks fucking incredible, his lips are red and slick and his hair’s all mussed up. There’s this sheen of sweat on his neck, catching the light in the hollow of his collarbone. And that’s - oh fuck, that’s a little wet patch blooming on Stede’s breeches from his cock leaking, he’s that close and they’ve not even touched. 

This is a living hell and Ed has never felt so fucking fantastic. He palms himself through his trousers and groans. 

“Ed,” Stede says, and his voice sounds ragged; Ed pulls his hand back or else he’s gonna be taking a serious risk of coming before he gets his hands on Stede.

“D’you think we’ve talked about it enough?” Ed asks, and he had intended for it to be funny, a little sarcastic, but fuck, he sounds as needy as he feels. 

Ed.”  

Ed stands, starts pulling his clothes off, fucking pised at himself for not thinking ahead and wearing something a little easier to get out of, he’s frantic, fucking feral to get Stede’s eyes, hands, body on his skin. “Tell me what you want. Talking’s important, remember?” he manages to growl. 

Stede’s up and helping him, pulling at Ed’s buckles in between shedding his own clothes. “Any of it. All of it. Ed, please , now ,” and he whines, this deep, keening noise in the back of his throat, and Ed’s finally kissing him and they’re dragging each other across the room to the bed. 

Ed’s gone on this man, lost in him, skin to skin, desperate to feel all of it. There’s no way in hell he’s lasting long enough to do half the things he’s talked about, he’s either gonna come or fucking pass out from the heat of this. He shoves Stede onto the bed and follows him down, grabbing hard at his arse, his hips, his back, kissing him fiercely. Stede’s hands are in his hair and when Ed thrusts, grinding himself into Stede’s hip, pushing his thigh against Stede’s cock, Stede fucking moans aloud and bites into Ed’s lip and pulls his hair and fucking hell jesus fucking christ. 

Ed can feel the orgasm building all the way up his spine, but he’s a man of his word and he should do at least one thing he said he would, so he slides down the bed and takes Stede’s cock in his mouth. The sensation of stretch in his jaw, the taste, the smell pressed up against Stede makes him arch his back and whimper and thank the gods the sound is muffled by Stede’s cock filling his mouth. 

Stede cries out and bucks his hips. Ed feels his dick bruising the roof of his mouth, pushing to the back of his throat, and the spill of hot salt into his mouth. Ed thinks he could die happy if he never hears another sound again but the sob of pleasure he’s ripped out of Stede’s lungs. 

Ed moves up the bed, swings his leg over to straddle Stede’s waist, starts stroking own aching cock, and says, breathless, “Stede, I wanna come all over you.” 

The frantic motion of his own hand and Stede’s almost reverent stare, his murmured, “ oh, yes, please, ” is more than Ed can take and he’s shaking, bent double and moaning as he comes in ribbons across Stede’s chest. 

Well, fuck. 

That was. 

Fuck. 

Ed lets himself fall to the bed beside Stede and takes a good 10 minutes to catch his breath, to let his legs stop feeling like jelly. He watches lazily as Stede scoops up his pretty white shirt from the floor and uses it to clean himself off. Shit, he thinks, maybe there’s something to this talking about it thing, even though he’s absolutely fucking certain that wasn’t the kind of talking Stede had in mind. The fucking lunatic has struck a goldmine there. 

Ed stretches, lets out a satisfied, relaxed sound and climbs over Stede to get out of the bed. “Well, that was bloody great, mate, I’d be well up for doing that any time you want. Cheers.”  

“Where are you going?” Stede asks, as Ed is getting dressed. “You could stay.” 

“Back to my room.” Ed shrugs, “I dunno about you man but I’m in my 40s, once a sesh is all I got in me.” 

Stede’s still flushed and looks delicious, so that really is quite a disappointing fact. 

“I didn’t mean-” oh, that little bashful look up through his eyelashes, fucking hell “- I mean, you could stay here, if you want. A little nap, maybe?” 

“Huh.” That’s another one of those things that’s just not done outside this weird fucking ship. You do the deed and then go back to your quarters, or hammock, or your bit of cold, hard deck, depending on status; that’s how it works. Staying over is such a nice, warm, - oh, ok, Ed’s feet have already carried him back to the bed and he can hear himself saying “budge over then,” and Stede’s putting his arm around him and making this little contented purring noise and placing this little kiss on his shoulder and -

 

Yeah, Ed’s loves it on this weird fuckin’ ship.

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