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There’s something rather mature, Stede thinks, about being able to recognise a whim-inspired decision, even if the recognition comes with the benefit of hindsight. Something even more mature about naming it as such, recognising the whim, declaring it a whim, acknowledging that something may have been an error in judgement, and moving on from it. Mature. A mature decision.
Not a failure, or a bad omen, or a mistake, or any of the alternative negative phrasings that he shoves into a box at the back of his head, locked up and hidden away. A mature decision.
It was a mature decision to recognise, three weeks in, that the dilapidated shack Ed had selected to renovate into an inn was not at all suitable for the job. Mature to recognise it, acknowledge it, and divert their plans into something a little more realistic.
A home for two instead, with a bedroom, a small kitchen, a little bathroom, and a living room big enough for a dining table, a couple of comfortable chairs, and a small log burning device tucked into the corner for the colder nights, when the sea breeze picks up and whistles through the house at just the wrong angle.
A realistic venture. One that was easier to develop a plan for, a list of jobs that needed to be done, the order of them, and the materials they’d need to complete them successfully. Tiles, for the roof, old sails tacked beneath them for additional weatherproofing during the more challenging storms the coast suffers the brunt of. Replacement window panes, and curtains to cover them at night. New floorboards, ceiling boards, and panels to cover the holes in the walls. Doors to separate the living, sleeping, and cooking spaces. Rugs, so it’s easier to walk around without boots or shoes on.
A pair of chairs out on the refurbished porch, candle lanterns hanging from the edge of the roof overhang. A splash of paint on the door, a rainproof varnish on the walls, and a path leading down to the beach, paved with the flattest stones they could gather from the coastline stretching either side of them for miles.
Months of work, in the end. Months of work, and sourcing materials, and running down a decent chunk of the wealth they’d brought with them from Ed’s stash. But worth it, for the evenings spent playing card games with glasses of brandy, for the bickering when cooking dinner, and the gentle, flirty foot touches under the dinner table when everything is served up. For lazy mornings in bed and sunrise walks along the beach, and the afternoons where their old crew come to visit, dropping off provisions and staying for dinner and fighting over who gets to tell the stories of their recent adventures.
All of it was worth it for this: Ed, in the same teal robe he’d draped himself in the first time they’d slept together, his feet bare against the smooth boards of the porch, hair floating in the breeze, catching the last of the late summer sun on his face.
There are still times that Stede worries about how isolated they are out here. Isolated, and very much static, save the times they take a jolly back out on the Revenge, for old times’ sake. Times where Ed seems to pace restlessly, where even a multiple-mile hike along the coast or a trip over to the small harbour village on the west of the island can’t seem to soothe his spirits. They’re becoming fewer and further between over time, as he picks up new hobbies and finds new purpose, his fear of being recognised waning with time, a slight haircut, and a gradual change in wardrobe.
Today though, Ed’s as calm and content as Stede’s ever seen him, half asleep in his chair like a man twice his age. There’s a half empty glass of water by his feet, and Stede replaces it with a cup of wine, pressing a kiss to Ed’s warm temple, smiling when he leans into the touch like a cat.
“Dinner?” Ed asks, voice gravelly with disuse.
“Five minutes or so,” Stede says, kissing his cheek, just above the soft line of his beard. “We could eat out here, if you want.”
“Might be nice,” Ed says. “S’warm this evening.”
“Worth making the most of it while we can,” Stede murmurs. “I’ll bring it out in a moment. Wine is by your feet, don’t knock it over.”
“Won’t,” Ed says, sounding like he’s drifting straight back off again.
“You always say that.”
“Always mean it.”
“It’s the thought that counts, I suppose.”
“‘Xactly.”
Stede heads back into the kitchen, gives the rice one more stir and taste, lifts the cloth protecting the roasted fish fillets from the flies, and carefully serves up only slightly over-charred vegetables from the little ridged pan he’s had sitting over the fire. All assembled, it’s not going to win any kind of awards for food presentation, but he’s ninety percent sure it’s going to taste good, and almost one hundred percent sure Ed’s not going to say a word otherwise.
Ed, to his credit, is sitting significantly more upright when Stede steps back outside, robe tugged a little closer around his body, cup of wine already half drunk.
“You started without me,” Stede says, handing him a bowl.
“You give me wine, I’m going to drink it love,” Ed says simply, taking Stede’s free hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Thank you for dinner.”
“You haven’t tried it yet,” Stede says, laughing softly. “Might not be thanking me in a moment.”
“You cooked for me,” Ed says, shrugging. “Reckon that’s worth a thanks all by itself.”
It’s not worth arguing, Stede’s learnt that the hard way. Instead he just pulls his chair closer to Ed’s, settles in next to him, and looks out over the coast at the sunset now settling in at the horizon.
“I feel very lucky here, with you,” he says quietly, fishing around his bowl for a good chunk of fish. “What we’ve built here. I feel lucky, and proud.”
“Hey,” Ed says, balancing his bowl in his lap and turning slightly in his chair. “I love you.”
“I love you,” Stede replies. “Very much. God, so much, Ed. I think sometimes it blindsides me just how much.”
“Nice when it's like that,” Ed says softly, digging through his dinner. “All new and fresh, even when it’s not.”
“Mmm,” Stede hums, smiling over at him.
The sun sets fully over the course of their meal, through two generous cups of wine each and little cocoa biscuits Stede prepared and secreted away earlier in the day.
“Time to head in?” Stede asks, catching the tail end of a gentle yawn that looks like it’s working its way down Ed’s entire body.
“Dishes,” Ed says feebly.
“They’ll wait,” Stede says, waving him off. “They can soak in the basin, they’ll be fine to be done in the morning.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
Ed shrugs, then uncurls himself from his chair, standing straight and raising his arms above his head in an exquisite looking stretch. The motion causes his robe to fall open and expose the fact that beneath it, he’s been sitting around entirely nude.
“Edward!” Stede says, shaking his head. “All this time?”
“I like the breeze,” Ed says, the beginnings of a smirk forming in the corner of his mouth. “Keeps me feeling fresh.”
“I’m sure it does.”
“Like what you see?”
Stede pulls the robe back, taps him gently on his bare backside. “You're incorrigible.”
“You love me.”
“I do, but you’re still incorrigible.”
“C’mere,” Ed says, beckoning him forward.
Stede places the pile of bowls and cups on his chair, steps into Ed’s space and allows himself to be pulled close. When Ed kisses him, it’s slow and sweet, but there’s a heat behind it that Stede is well practised at recognising now.
“Starting to think there might have been an ulterior motive to the nudity,” Stede says, pressing his palm to the small of Ed’s back, his skin warm where it’s been wrapped in velvet.
“Don’t need any ulterior motives,” Ed says, pulling him into another kiss, this time with a little tongue. “I’m charming enough without them.”
“That so?”
“Mmhm.”
“Then I’ll meet you in the bedroom, once I’ve cleared all this away?”
“Sounds very promising, love.”
“Leave your robe on,” Stede murmurs, pressing one last kiss to his cheek. “Don’t want you catching a chill.”
“Yes, sir,” Ed says softly, pulling it tight around him.
Stede watches him head back into the house and follows him in, cupping the outside lanterns and extinguishing them all before stepping inside and latching the front door closed. Never too careful, never lulled too far into a false sense of security. They’re still incredibly wanted men, and while a wooden beam across an equally wooden door isn’t going to stop a man on a mission, it will give them time.
And since he got Ed back, alive and well and intact, that’s all Stede has asked the gods and the fates and the universe for. Time.
He deposits all the dinnerware into the kitchen basin, fills it with water and adds a little grated soap to help soak the food off. Pulls the curtains in the living space, extinguishes the rest of the lanterns, and makes his way through the dark to the bedroom, where there’s still light spilling out from under the door.
When he steps over the threshold, Ed looks up from a book, his back against the head of the bed, robe still wrapped tight around him. He’s taken his hair down from his half-bun, letting it sit around his shoulders, and he looks content. He looks warm. He looks so fucking happy to see Stede that his heart beats double time in his chest.
“Hey,” Ed says softly, and Stede wishes, only for a moment, that the world could see this. This man that sits beneath the legend and the myths and the stories. This man, this very human, very delicate man, in his robe, with his book, eyes all sleepy and soft.
This man, finally getting to live the life he never thought he was capable of having.
“Hi,” Stede says, pulling his shirt over his head and tugging off his boots, socks, and trousers in quick succession. Down to his smallclothes, he crawls onto the bed, positioning himself so his face is level with Ed’s stomach and running his hand up his thigh, dipping under the hem of the robe and listening to Ed’s breath catch. “I want to take care of you tonight, if you’re amenable.”
“So amenable,” Ed breathes. “Whatever you want, love. Fuck.”
“I was hoping that would be your answer.”
“Great fuckin’ minds.”
“Mm,” Stede hums, carefully lifting one side of Ed’s robe and tucking it to the side of his thigh. “Were you thinking about this while you waited?”
“A little.”
“I can tell.”
Ed’s half hard already, cock swelling against his thigh, thickening and lengthening under Stede’s gaze. He runs a palm up Ed’s leg and watches it twitch and rise.
“Oh, you’re so good, aren’t you?”
“I try,” Ed whispers. “Stede, please.”
Stede presses a kiss to Ed’s belly, rubs a thumb along the crease of his thigh, and takes Ed’s cock in a loose fist, lifting it from his leg and giving it a few gentle pulls.
“I want to use my mouth on you,” he says, pulling Ed’s foreskin back with his thumb and letting Ed’s soft gasp roll down his spine. “I want to use my mouth on you, I want to make sure you’re all loose and open inside, using that wonderful slick Lucius brought us, and then i’m going to fuck you. Slow, and deep, and so, so thoroughly, my love. And whenever you need to come, you can. No restrictions on that. In my mouth, or when I’m inside you, once I’ve finished, or not at all. Whatever feels best for you.”
Ed just lets out a strangled moan, which Stede takes as full and enthusiastic consent for all of the above. He tucks the other side of Ed’s robe away to his side and squeezes Ed’s knee, his thigh, and the soft little roll of fat just above his hip. He’s become so deliciously soft now that the stress and physical exertion of ship life has worked its way out of his system, and it makes him so wonderful to hold, to worship, to admire. The entire contrast of firm muscle and wonderfully soft fat. Stede kisses the curve of his belly, just below his navel, and takes the tip of his cock into his mouth, humming low in his throat as Ed’s hands immediately fly to the crown of his head.
Nothing in the world quite like the weight of his lover on his tongue, Stede thinks. The smell and the taste of Ed, the velvet soft of his skin, the overwhelming pleasure he gets from hearing Ed moan, and gasp, and sigh as Stede licks and sucks and swallows so carefully around the head. He works Ed over slowly, savouring the gentle thrusts Ed can’t help but make into his mouth and the short bursts of pre-release that spill periodically over Stede’s tongue.
He tastes wonderful, and he feels wonderful in Stede’s mouth, and there’s something about being out here in the middle of nowhere that’s allowed Ed to be so vocal with his pleasure, with his low, long moans and his higher pitched sighs and the gentle, persistent repetition of Stede’s name that gets louder and more insistent the closer to climax he gets.
Stede pauses briefly to reach for the jar of slick, letting the head of Ed’s cock drag over his bottom lip as he moves, and he chances a look up at his love, taking in the damage he’s inflicted so far. Ed already looks wrecked, his eyes blown wide like a cat, nipples dark and pert, a delicate sheen of sweat covering his chest.
“I fucking love you,” he murmurs, letting his head fall back against the railings behind him. “You’re so fucking good to me, Stede.”
“Nothing less than you deserve,” Stede says, dipping the tips of his first two fingers into the slick and running his tongue around the crown of Ed’s cock. “Lift this leg a little for me please.”
Ed obliges, leaving Stede with just the right amount of access to press his fingertips behind Ed’s balls and start pressing in slowly, watching Ed’s face for any signs of discomfort. Ed’s nose scrunches at the intrusion, but his expression quickly fades into slack pleasure as his body relaxes and Stede works what he knows is something akin to magic with his fingers.
“I don’t want to come,” Ed groans, rolling his hips as Stede presses a third fingertip alongside the first two. “Not yet.”
“When do you want to come, darling?”
“I don’t know. Not yet.”
“Okay.”
“Feels good. Really good.”
“Want more?”
“Want you.”
“In my lap?”
“Fuck yeah,” Ed breathes, his toes curling in the sheets.
Stede rolls onto his back, kicks off his smallclothes, and shuffles until he has his back against the bars of the bed, shoving a pillow behind him for comfort. He tugs and manhandles Ed until he’s straddling his thighs, robe spread out behind him.
“You want this off?” Stede asks, wrapping one of the tassels around his fingers.
“On, please,” Ed says quietly. “Feels safe.”
“On it is.”
Ed watches as Stede slicks up his cock, wraps his hand around Stede’s to slow him down, leans in for a kiss, slow and filthy. Stede loves the laziness of kisses during sex, all languid tongue and dragging lips and short little gasping breaths. Loves the way Ed always pulls Stede’s bottom lip through his teeth before quickly kissing it better, loves the way Ed’s thumb always manages to find its way up to run down the shell of Stede’s ear. Loves the repetitive familiarity of it, the things he always knows to expect.
A small element of predictability in an act that is, by nature, so unpredictable at times.
“You ready?” he breathes.
Ed nods, shifts up on his knees, waits for Stede’s answering nod before sinking down and taking Stede slowly, inch by incremental inch.
“Absolutely stunning,” Stede says quietly, running a thumb across one of Ed’s nipples and leaning up to press a kiss to his throat. “Let me know when you’re ready to move.”
Ed nods, settles for a minute or so, his weight on Stede’s thighs, then taps his shoulder twice.
Stede tucks his hands underneath Ed’s thighs, lifts him up a couple of inches, then lets him drop. Ed moans, buries his face in Stede’s neck, and allows the pleasure to take him entirely, his body lax and Stede’s for the taking.
It’s so easy, from here, to bring Ed to climax. He holds Ed up a few inches, thrusts up into his body, and lets Ed’s punched moans reverberate down his neck and through his chest. He’s so free with his pleasure, so willing to let it take over and become all encompassing during sex. He’s so willing to give up control to Stede, to let his body be used, in a way.
Instead, Stede has learnt exactly how to play him like a well tuned instrument. Where to press and hold and kiss and touch, which combination of movements and sensations will give Ed the precise type of pleasure he’s seeking in the moment.
He knows when to work Ed hard, and fast. When to be a little rough with him. When to manhandle him and roughhouse with him and push him up against walls, onto his knees, over a chair or desk or with his fingertips gripping a windowsill.
He knows when to drag everything out so Ed feels like he’s dragging his body through honey, how to make his thoughts go a little drifting and hazy, how to make an orgasm feel a little bit like the brink of death.
Ed sucks a bruise into Stede’s throat, and he rolls Ed’s left nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and angles Ed’s body so he’s able to repeatedly strike the spot deep inside that leaves Ed boneless and a little incoherent, and it’s no surprise to Stede when Ed comes without a word of warning, moaning long and low into his collarbone as his body shakes and his cock pulses wet between them, only the slight friction of Stede’s stomach for encouragement.
“Do you want me to keep going?” Stede asks, conscious of the fact that Ed is shivering in his embrace.
“Please,” Ed breathes.
“Good boy,” Stede whispers. “God, you’re so fucking good. You’ve done so well, darling.”
Ed shakes with overstimulation as Stede continues to move inside of him, his moans softening into gentle pants and sighs as he rides out the aftershocks of his orgasm and waits for Stede to find his own.
“I love you,” Stede pants, movements becoming involuntary as pleasure builds at the base of his spine. “More than I ever imagined being capable of.”
“Love you,” Ed slurs, pressing a wet kiss to Stede’s throat. “So fucking much.”
“Gonna come,” Stede stammers, kissing Ed’s temple. ”Fuck, Ed—”
It crashes over him like a wave, unrelenting in its force, and he stills with one hand in Ed’s hair, one under his arse, holding him as close as possible as he comes deep inside Ed’s body.
“So good,” Ed murmurs, finally lifting his head from Stede’s shoulder and kissing him lazily. He breaks off into a yawn, which dissolves into sleepy giggles.
“Think someone might be ready for bed,” Stede teases.
“Reckon you might be right.”
“Gotta do the nasty bit.”
Ed grimaces, then lifts up on his knees, letting Stede’s cock slip free of his body with a wet slap.
“Always seems like a good idea at the time. Seems sexy as fuck at the time,” Ed whines, flopping onto his belly, robe covering his modesty.
“You’re going to get come on the bedding.”
“Gonna get come on the bedding however I lay,” he replies, raising an eyebrow in challenge.
“I’ll fetch a cloth, don’t move.”
“Not planning on it,” Ed says, now face down against the sheets.
Stede presses a kiss to the crown of his head and slips off the side of the bed, picking up a couple of clean washcloths from the cabinet in the bedroom before heading through to the kitchen. The basin of water under the cooking structure has retained as much heat as Stede hoped, and he carries it carefully back to the bedroom, dropping the cloths in to start soaking.
Ed’s already snoring gently when Stede steps back into the bedroom, and he leaves him in peace for a few minutes while he cleans himself down, wiping his now soft cock and thighs clean of the slick and freshening himself up under his arms. He slips into his sleep clothes and carefully lifts Ed’s robe, cleaning him as carefully as possible between his legs where he’s still wet and open from Stede’s cock. Ed wakes enough during the process for Stede to coax him onto his back, robe settling either side of him, and Stede makes quick work of his cock and belly, wiping him clean of his release. He rinses the cloths out, tosses them in a basket for a more thorough wash, and pours the water out of the window, leaving it cracked a little open to let the night breeze in and the distinct scent of sex out.
“Come on,” he says, kissing Ed softly. “Bed clothes and sleep.”
“I’m comfy.”
“You’ll be comfier when you’re dressed, and under the covers. Can’t cuddle you like this.”
“You could try.”
“Humour me.”
Ed groans, then rolls off the bed with a grunt, letting the robe slip from his shoulders.
“You cleaned me up?” he asks, staring down at his stomach.
“While you were sleeping.”
“Fuck,” Ed says, eyes wet. “I love you.”
“I know,” Stede says softly, taking his hand. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Within minutes of the lantern going out, Ed’s snoring again, head on Stede’s chest, ankle hooked over his calf. Stede runs his fingers through the ends of Ed’s hair, gently untangling the worst of the knots at the ends and listening to the rhythm of his breathing as it settles and evens out.
Lets his breathing match Ed’s, listens to the gentle movement of the waves rushing up the beach, the wind whistling through the house, and the late summer insects in the garden.
This life neither of them thought they’d get.
The sacrifices they made to get here.
The love that overshadows it all.
Ed snuffles in his sleep, scrubs his face against Stede’s sleep shirt, snuggles deeper beneath the covers, and Stede loves him.
The house was a whim. Leaving the Revenge was a whim.
Loving Ed is a choice, one that Stede fought for and and waited for, and one he continues to work at over and over again, day after day, week after week.
It was hard earned, and at times it’s hard work.
And it’s still the easiest thing he’s ever done.