Chapter Text
“Can I come on your face?”
Stede’s on his knees, and fuck, Stede was born to be on his knees. All those years of compulsory heterosexuality wasted, when he could have been doing this. Could have been stretching those pretty pink lips around Ed’s cock. Stede blinks at him, tipping his head up to see Ed’s face. He looks so good from this angle, Ed can hardly stand it. Those eyelashes, pale and golden, fanned across freckled cheeks. The evidence of muscle poking through his soft tummy, enough time spent doing manual labour since he’s been at sea that even Stede is starting to look like a pirate. And yeah, that does it for him, really fucking does it, and he can’t wait another second.
Ed uses the hand in Stede’s hair (so fucking soft, just long enough that he can take it by the handful when he wants to) and pulls his head away, Ed’s cock releasing from his mouth with a wet, smacking pop, and then puts his right hand to work immediately, stripping his own cock, wet with saliva, and he’s close, he’s so fuckin’ close—
He holds Stede’s head as he comes hard over his cheeks, painting the pale skin. Splashing up over his nose, a little in his eyebrow, and Ed lets out a breathy laugh, sated and calm and soft with it. Wipes a little drip of it off Stede’s chin with a thumb, pushes it into Stede’s mouth, dies a little when he laps it up, eyes lidded.
“Fuck,” Ed says to the love of his life kneeling at his feet. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”
And Stede hums at that, lets Ed wipe his face clean and giggles with it, and if there’s a little disappointment visible underneath all the come and saliva, a little annoyance, Ed sure as fuck doesn’t notice it.
“God, Stede, fuck, you feel amazing—”
His legs are thrown up over Stede’s shoulders, bad knee ably supported by Stede’s forearm to make sure he’s comfortable while he gets railed so hard he sees stars. Sometimes Stede likes to open him up slow and thorough, generous with the oil and his fingers until Ed’s so ready for him that Stede can slide right in, smooth as butter, but that’s not today. Today he can feel every fucking stroke, the drag and pull of getting fucked with only the minimum prep and oil to get by, and he’s ragged with it, gasping and shuddering as Stede fucks into him over and over. He’s ruthless, precise, and as Stede pounds against Ed’s prostate, the feeling is so sharp and glorious and right on the edge of pain and pleasure. He can feel the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, hardly able to fill his lungs as Stede knocks the breath outta him, and it’s good, it’s so good, it’s almost too much and yet it’s not enough—
“Stede, fuck, please, I need—”
“Not yet, my darling,” Stede murmurs, wiping sweaty curls off of Ed’s forehead. “You can hang on for a few more minutes for me, can’t you?”
And Ed nods and then shakes his head and oh god, if he doesn’t get a hand on his cock soon, he thinks he might die.
And then relief, the rough jerk of skin on under-lubricated skin, tight and hot and perfectly in time with Stede’s thrusts like he’s trying to wrench an orgasm out of him, feels so fucking good, god, Stede, yeah, fuck, I’m so close, I’m gonna—
“Ed, wait—”
But it’s too late, Ed falling loose and boneless as he comes over his own fist, fucking himself in time with Stede, and then Stede stutters to a halt, still buried in Ed’s ass but not moving any more. “O-Oh,” he says, looking…? Ed can’t read him. There’s a little furrow in his brow, step one on the way to a… A pout, maybe?
“No, it’s fine, fuck, keep going, please, I wanna feel you,” he insists, and after a second Stede starts again, and Ed nearly screams, the burning rush of overstimulation, his spent cock twitching feebly as Stede rocks into him. The tears are falling now, the best kind, and Ed can’t wait to wake up and feel this, the way Stede ruins him, the aching numbing pain he knows he’ll carry with him for at least a couple of days after getting railed this hard. He’s sobbing with it by the time Stede gasps out his name and cries out, an animalistic whining grunt that Ed wants to hear on loop.
Stede lowers Ed’s legs carefully, rubs away the tension in his muscles with oily, come-slicked fingers. Takes a cloth and wipes carefully at his dripping hole, getting the worst of it. It’s much too late to avoid the sticky wet patch, but fuck if Ed cares. Wipes away the come streaking his stomach too, tender and delicate around the mess of scar tissue. Knows which bits are sensitive and which bits have almost no sensation at all.
He’s so fucking loved.
Ed has no idea how he ended up here, but he’s so glad he did.
“Ed?”
He nuzzles his head into Stede’s chest a little further, breathing in salt and sweat and the sweet-smelling soap he uses to wash his clothes, Stede. He can’t get enough of it. He never will. “Hmm?”
“You awake?”
“Yeah.” He rolls onto his back so he can see Stede better, and, oh.
Something’s wrong.
He sits up, winces at the pressure it puts on his ass — god, he loves it, loves the ache, loves knowing Stede put it there, loves that he’ll be walking with a limp today. Hates that Lucius and Izzy will notice immediately and roast him because of it. Loves that he has a crew now where he doesn’t need to pretend he’s not exclusively fucking men, where no-one thinks he’s weak because of it. Hates that he has a crew who aren’t too scared of Blackbeard to not give him shit about getting fucked sideways the night before.
“Stede? What’s up, babe?”
“It’s not… It’s silly.”
Ed adjusts his position so he can see Stede better. Ed’s still naked from last night, but Stede has his nightshirt on, a robe over the top. He’s got up and bathed and made tea and come back to bed, and he’s sitting there worrying his lip between his teeth waiting for Ed to wake up, and now he’s saying it’s silly.
Fucking Stede Bonnet.
“S’not silly if it’s bothering you,” says Ed. “C’mon. You fucked me so hard last night I saw the face of God himself. You can tell me anything, mate.”
Stede twists the bedsheets between his fingers, and doesn’t look at Ed.
Oh. It’s about that.
It’s about the sex.
“Did you… Did you not enjoy it?” Ed says gently. “You know we don’t ever have to do anything you’re not enjoying, babe. Like, I don’t care, you can be mid-fucking my brains out and if you change your mind or just aren’t feeling it, we just stop. I’m never gonna be mad about it.”
Stede won’t look at him. And he doesn’t want to push it, because he doesn’t want to make Stede feel any more vulnerable, but also Stede won’t look at him, and that sits in his chest like a cannonball. Drags him down to the ocean floor.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he adds, even though it’s a fucking lie. He needs to know. He needs to know what he’s done wrong so he can never fucking do it again, will bend himself any which way to make sure Stede is comfortable. “But if I knew, I might be able to help. Make things better for you.”
Stede sets his jaw. Stares out the window beside the bed nook. Doesn’t look at Ed. “You always get yourself off when we have sex.”
“What?”
“Whenever we have sex, you always jerk yourself off!” Stede says again, the words coming quicker like he’s desperate to be rid of them. “Like, last night. I was… Making love to you—”
“You were fucking me, babe. You can say ‘fuck’.”
“I was fucking you,” he agrees, “and it was great? I thought it was great, you were having a good time, at least you looked like you were having a good time, but what do I know, I—”
Ed interrupts before the spiral sets in. “I was having a great time. Fucking loved it.”
“Right.” Stede looks relieved for the shortest moment, and then frowns again. “But then you got yourself off.”
“I just— I don’t know. It felt amazing. I needed to come. Wasn’t stopping you taking all the time in the world. You know I love getting fucked after.”
Stede nods, tight-lipped.
“It’s not because you’re doing a bad job of fucking me, if that’s what you’re worried about. I just… I don’t know. Instinct took over.”
“It’s not just last night though. The night before, when I was sucking you off and you came on my face? You got yourself off then. And the other day, when I was eating your ass. And the time before when we made love — fucked — behind that bar on the Republic of Pirates—”
He pulls out one of his leather-bound journals, flicks through a few pages, runs his finger down the paper like he’s checking an index. “The last time I made you come myself was four weeks ago.”
“Sorry, do you keep a sex journal?”
Stede Bonnet is a fucking lunatic. And Ed Teach loves him about it.
“Edward.” He sounds desperate, and Ed feels guilty for the tangent. Focus, Ed. Matter at hand.
“I… I didn’t realise.”
“It’s not—” Stede snaps his sex journal shut and turns another shade of red darker. “I’m not dissatisfied with our sex, Ed. I just… It feels like… Maybe you are? Like I’m not enough for you? And if that’s the case, that’s fine, but I’d… I’d like you to tell me what I could be doing better. I’m not as experienced as you, in these things. I’m sure your ex-lovers all knew lots of fancy tricks and techniques that I could hardly dream of, and I’ll never catch up to that, but… I want to be able to make you feel as good as you make me feel.”
“Stede,” Ed says. “You make me feel so fucking good. I am, without a single doubt, having the best sex of my life right now. You think anyone was queuing to give Blackbeard a good dicking down?” Stede’s lips twist into an embarrassed smile. “No, they fuckin’ weren’t! No-one wants to see their dread pirate captain begging for cock. I never got to do anything I fuckin’ wanted. For years. And now you’re here with your stupid handsome face and your massive horse cock and the way you look at me like I’m fucking worth a damn, and—” He squeezes his eyes shut, gets back on track. “I’m not dissatisfied with our sex,” he says simply. “You’re doing all the heavy lifting, trust me. I’m just…” Oh, he thinks, as the rest of his sentence clicks into place in his head. Something Izzy said to him once, in a very different context. “Right. Fuck. I’m just barging in at the end and taking all the credit.”
Stede giggles at that, despite himself. He’s holding himself less tensely now, but he still clutches at that sex journal like it’s a lifeline. Ed wants to read it. Ed desperately wants to read every entry, wants to see Stede bend over its pages in those fussy little glasses and write the word fellatio, probably, in his elegant looping cursive.
“Somewhat, yes,” Stede agrees. “I don’t mind, if you prefer it like that. As long as you’re not dissatisfied, that’s all.”
“I’m so not fucking dissatisfied,” Ed confirms. “I think… It’s just what I’m used to?” Stede doesn’t respond, so he keeps going. “Okay, so… You know what it’s like at sea. I mean, actually. Maybe you don’t? Maybe you got an idea from, from CJ, or whatever, but this ship is not normal. Most pirate ships don’t have a whole bunch of committed relationships where people communicate and love each other and aren’t just using each other. That’s fucking weird. Good weird. But weird. Took my lot some time to get used to.” And now Izzy’s got a thing with Lucius and maybe Fang also has a thing with Lucius, though not at the same time, and Archie’s got a thing with Jim, who has a thing with Olu, and he’s not sure whether Archie and Olu have a thing or if they’re just friends who fuck the same person, but— “It’s not like that, on other ships.”
“Well, that was my intention,” Stede says. “Not… Not necessarily all the relationships. But that we’d do things differently.”
“Right. But I’ve been at sea for decades, mate. Plenty of sex in that time, but… Not a lot of people I’d trust to get me off. Everyone’s a bit too preoccupied with their own pleasure to care too much about anyone else’s.”
“Have they never heard of a quid pro quo?” Stede sniffs.
Ed tips his head onto Stede’s shoulder and laughs, because this fucking guy. He’s so in love. He’s so in love, and he’s made Stede feel like crap, and he needs to fix it. “I’m used to looking after myself, is my point. And I love looking after you too, that’s… Fuck, that’s my favourite fucking thing, making you feel good.”
“But you’ve not learned to let anyone else make you feel good?” Stede finishes.
“Yeah. That,” Ed agrees. “Well, that and I really fucking love orgasms. That’s the good shit, you know? Sometimes you don’t wanna have to wait for dessert.”
Stede hums at that, sinks down into him, and the softness of his robe against Ed’s bare skin sends a tingle up his spine. Stede stretches an arm over his shoulders, pulls him in for a cuddle, and Ed thinks for a second that he should be giving Stede a cuddle, really, but he’s too comfortable to do anything about it.
“There’s something to be said, you know,” Stede says out of the blue, hours later, when they’ve just poured a brandy each for an evening drink. “For waiting for dessert.”
It takes Ed a moment or two to catch on. “Yeah, well, I’ve never exactly been one for patience.”
“I’ve noticed.” Stede’s got that look in his eye. The same one he gets when he finds a stash of books or fancy clothes on a raided ship. Something he wants. Something he knows he is going to take, without a fleck of guilt. “I think I’d like you to be a little more patient for me. Not all the time. Just sometimes.”
Ed swallows, the brandy sloshing in his glass as his hand shakes, just a little. “What… What did you have in mind?”
“Well, I think you’re wrong about orgasms as the be all and end all, for one. Sex isn’t just about getting off, my love. It’s about connecting with someone you care about.”
Stede has a very different attitude towards sex than Ed does. He knows that. It’s much more emotional, much less physical. They’ve discussed it once, ages ago. Laughing over a Wanted poster Ed had pilfered from outside Spanish Jackie’z, played Fuck Marry Kill with the sketches. (Ed scratched himself off the poster, because he didn’t want to think about the idea of Stede putting him next to Marry. Didn’t think his heart could take it.)
“Why would I have sex with any of these men?” Stede had asked, running a finger over the inked sketch of Charles Vane.
“Dunno. Might be fun.” Ed had shrugged. “Not him though. Guy’s a fucking deviant.” Pointed at a faint, crescent-shaped scar on the top of his arm. “That was him. Biting. Never again.”
And Stede had laughed and laughed, and then turned serious again, and said, “I don’t think I could fuck any of them,” so sincerely that Ed had been flummoxed. “I don’t know them. I don’t understand why I’d want to.”
“Well,” Ed had pointed out. “Sam Bellamy is pretty hot. Probably show you a good time.”
They came to the conclusion that Stede was equally as likely to fuck, marry or kill any of the men, which was to say, not at all likely to do any of the three.
“Can’t it be about getting off and connection?” Ed challenges.
“Yes, of course.” Stede sounds exasperated. “But maybe we should try… Sidelining the getting off for a while?”
Stede takes a fortifying sip of brandy, and then sets his glass down on the table. They’re together on the sofa, Ed’s feet in Stede’s lap, open, vulnerable. Ed likes being able to be vulnerable. Likes letting Stede see his bare feet. He’s never let anyone see his bare fucking feet before.
“I thought maybe you don’t get to touch,” Stede says. A little flushed, a little embarrassed, maybe, but no doubt in his voice. “So you have to wait, for when I’m ready for you to finish.”
Something beats its wings in Ed’s chest, a dragon maybe, and he has to hold back the noise he wants to make. “Fuck.”
“Is that a… A good fuck? Or a bad one? You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with—”
“No, no, it’s a—” He imagines it, the waiting, the giving himself permission to wait. Letting Stede make him feel good. It’s scary, handing that over to someone else. It’s terrifying. But it’s Stede. “A good fuck. Yeah. Okay.”
“I don’t just mean when we’re together,” Stede says carefully. Quietly. “I mean… You don’t get to touch. Unless I say you can.”
Ed’s mouth is so dry that it’s uncomfortable to swallow. He sips his brandy to moisten it, and Stede frowns. “Oh, I shouldn’t have mentioned this when we were drinking, I didn’t think—”
“Stede, I’ve had two mouthfuls, Jesus, I’m hardly drunk.” Stede’s so sweet, so fucking soft, he doesn’t believe for a second that he’d deny Ed touching himself for long, but the idea of it burns somewhere in his stomach, panic and heat battling it out. He’ll try anything once, and he’ll do anything, move heaven and fucking earth, for Stede Bonnet. It’s a no-brainer. “I… I think I’d like that. Yeah. Wanna try it.”
“Really?” Stede looks bright-eyed and thrilled. Loves seeing a plan come together. “And of course, we can stop at any time, if you’re not comfortable or change your mind, you just say and we’ll stop.”
Ed nods. “‘Course, mate. Always. Can do the colours thing again, maybe? That worked well last time.”
“Sounds good to me,” Stede agrees. “Green is a-okay. Orange, we’ll stop and talk about it. Red, everything stops, no questions asked.”
“Yep. Good. Excellent. Good. Green.”
“I love you.”
It’s so fucking earnest, so sweet, like they haven’t just been discussing who has permission to touch Ed’s cock, and god, yeah fuck— “I love you too.”
Stede leans over and kisses him. It’s gentle at first, just a soft little thing, but as Ed kisses back, rearranging himself on the sofa so he can lean into Stede’s touch, he becomes a little more insistent. Presses his tongue past Ed’s lips, searching out the taste of brandy in his mouth, and Ed can’t help himself whining into it a little. He’s never been kissed the way Stede kisses him. He got more kisses from Stede in the week after they reunited than he’d had in his life up to that point, and that’s not enough. There are tens of kiss-starved years to make up for, and he could live here like his, Stede’s hand cupped against his cheek, holding them together.
And Stede shifts his position, flips them so Ed is lying flat back on the sofa, head on one of Stede’s lovely plush cushions, and Stede straddles him, still just kissing, but he can feel the hardness against his thigh, and oh, they’re doing this.
Right now.
Ed’s cock twitches to attention, and he tries to remind it, hey, no, we’re going slow today. No touching. Giving himself over to Stede, that’s the deal. Let Stede make him feel good. Breathes in, breathes out, Stede’s still kissing him and he’s starting to feel a little light-headed about it, until Stede breaks away and murmurs, “This okay?”, and Ed nods, nods so enthusiastically.
Feels counterproductive then, when Stede pulls away, tips himself off the sofa and pulls his shirt over his head. Ed sits up, eyes fixed on the broadness of his chest, that golden dusting of hair over his chest, trailing into the waist of those damn leather pants that show off the bulge of his hard cock. Stede pulls him up, hand in hand, chest to chest, kisses him hard again, snakes his fingers under Ed’s shirt and over his chest, then pulls Ed’s shirt off too.
“I want to fuck you,” Stede says. “Really take my time with it. Get you trembling underneath me until you think you can’t stand it any more and then fuck you some more.”
Ed can hardly breathe. “Jesus Christ, Stede,” he whines. Wonders how long Stede can resist. An hour, maybe? Two? The idea of Stede keeping him on edge and waiting for two fucking hours buzzes something under his skin, feels electric, thinks how good it’ll feel when he finally gets to let go. “You planned this!”
“Maybe I had an idea or two,” he admits. “You want that?”
Ed nods, and Stede starts working on the buckles and straps of his leather trousers, undoes the laces and pushes them down his thighs. Stede gives Ed his hand to help him balance as he steps out of them, one leg at a time, and then shoves down his underwear too. He stands in front of Stede, naked and already hard and already wanting to touch, to play with himself a little while Stede gets him into position, but he doesn’t. He’s good. He clenches his fists at his sides instead, and Stede sees the motion and smiles.
“I’d like to fuck you over my desk,” Stede says, skirting his fingers down Ed’s side, digging in at his hips while Ed’s brain cycles through don’t touch, don’t touch, don’t touch, nails biting into the palms of his hands. “Make that pretty cock a little harder to reach.”
Ed nods furiously, already thinking about the rough wood under his chest, his cock trapped between his stomach and the desk-top. The pleasure-pain of it. The not knowing which will win out.
“Also, and please say no if you’re uncomfortable at all with it,” Stede says, picking up a strip of fabric from the pile of clothes waiting to be washed. “I’d like to tie your hands out of the way. Just… Just in case you’re tempted.”
The fabric catches the light, a purple silky bit of ribbon, an inch wide and at least a foot long, and Ed shudders out a breath. “Stede, fuck, what the fuck—”
“We don’t have to! Forget I even—”
“God, no, please, yeah, fuck, tie me up,” Ed says. “Wanna be so good for you, don’t wanna fuck it up, this is, fuck, yeah, no, I want that, want that so much.”
Stede helps him over to the desk, folds him carefully over it, adds a little cushion under his head so he’s not straining his neck, because fuck Stede Bonnet and his infuriating ability to be considerate while he’s ruining Ed’s fucking life. And once Ed is in position, knee supported, head comfy, cool press of polished wood under his sternum, the press of Stede against his ass, the back of his thighs, he takes Ed’s wrists and holds him in a firm grip behind his back, enough that he can feel it, the pull on his forearms. “Is that okay?” he checks. “Not too much straining on your shoulders?”
“Yeah, that’s good, that’s fine.”
“Ed, I’m not trying to hurt you,” Stede says quietly. “I want you to be comfortable. Could you keep your arms like his for… For an hour, say? Without it hurting?”
Ed grits his teeth. “No, probably not,” he admits. Stede loosens his grip immediately, and Ed rolls his shoulders, lets his wrists settle in the small of his back. “There, yeah. There is good.”
The ribbon is so soft against his skin. A little cold, which surprises him. Stede wraps it around his wrists until he runs out of ribbon, and Ed feels his movement gets more restricted with each pass. By the time Stede is finished, stepping back with a satisfied hum, Ed can wiggle his fingers and lift his hands from his shoulders, but his wrists won’t budge. Any attempt to pull his hands apart and break the binding only causes the material to dig into his skin. He relaxed his arms. “Look at you. So goddamn pretty for me. All wrapped in ribbon and tied in a bow.”
Ed doesn’t want to move from where Stede put him, so he looks off to the side as the sound of Stede unlacing his trousers, stepping out of them, folding them up and placing them on the back of the sofa fills the room. There’s the clink of a glass bottle of oil being pulled out of a drawer, the quiet pop of the cork stopper being removed, and Ed starts as the cold oil trickles down the cleft between his ass cheeks.
He is so aware of his cock, trapped out of reach, nothing even to rut against. Maybe at one time in his life, coming untouched may have been an option, but it’s beyond him now. Now, he serves entirely at the pleasure of Captain Stede Bonnet, and that thrills him and terrifies him in equal measure.
Stede spreads the oil down his crack, so generous with it that Ed can feel the excess trickling down his thighs. He presses against Ed’s hole with one slick finger, his body yielding to Stede immediately, like he is made for this. “Hmm, you take me so well,” Stede says, sliding his finger a little further on each thrust until he’s knuckle-deep. “You’re so good for me.”
He’s already moderating his breathing. Focusing on the breath in, holding it for a few seconds, letting the breath out. Focus on that. Don’t think about how hard he is with only one finger curling inside him, don’t think about how long Stede might choose to drag it out for, to keep him suspended in rolling pleasure.
The single finger lasts longer than Ed thought could be possible, and he’s bucking and squirming for another long before Stede is willing to give in to him. “Shhh, come on now,” he says, places a hand over Ed’s bound wrists, holding them still. “That’s it, you’re supposed to be letting me take care of you, darling.” Ed slumps against the desk again, wincing at his cock trapped with nowhere to go and no source of relief, and focuses on the feeling of Stede and the one fucking finger and the not enough, and wonders what the fuck he’s let himself in for.
Stede adds a second finger, slipping right in alongside the first without any warning, and Ed moans so loudly he’s half-surprised Lucius doesn’t barge in and ask who’s been stabbed. Not that Lucius would dare come into their quarters without extreme caution given the last time it happened, but still. It’s the kind of noise that would, in other situations, cause concern. “That feels so good,” he gasps, bucking his hips back to get more, find more, fuck himself onto Stede’s fingers harder, faster than the excruciatingly slow pulse that’s all Stede will give him. All that does is make Stede withdraw entirely, give him a sharp swat on the ass as a reminder to behave himself, and Ed’s short-circuited. “Shit, was that okay? Sorry, I know we’ve, you know, dabbled with spanking before but I should have—”
“No, it’s fine, I’m fine,” Ed reassures him, though fine is, as ever, a relative measure. “Maybe not, uh, today, though? Kinda got a lot going on today already.”
“Right, yeah. Sorry, darling,” Stede says, slips his fingers back inside, curls them against Ed’s prostate in some twisted fucking apology that has Ed choking for breath. “That better?” Once he’s found his target, he brushes up against that bundle of nerves on every leisurely stroke, and Ed’s legs no longer hold any weight, entirely being held up by the desk as his muscles shake and spasm, his neglected cock trapped and aching and burning hot against his stomach, his balls tight and drawn and sticky with dripping oil. “Gonna give you a third one, okay? Get you nice and opened up for me.”
Ed nods, an awkward motion with his head propped on a cushion like this, and squeezes his eyes closed as Stede breaches him with three thick fingers, and it’s so much and not nearly enough, that same relentless rhythm against his prostate driving him towards an edge that Ed knows he won’t be allowed to tip over. There’s no chance in hell of him coming without a hand on his cock, no matter how much he wishes that weren’t true. He’s entirely at Stede’s mercy, and he has no doubt that Stede will drag this out, because Stede is not one to pass up any opportunity to be a menace. “Babe, please, fuck, I need you to fuck me.” Ed can hear how breathless and desperate and whiny he sounds. It’s hard to believe, really, that he found someone he’s willing to let bring him to this point.
“Maybe if you ask nicely,” Stede says. The rhythm of his fingers doesn’t falter, that agonising pace, slow and torturous and too much and not enough, and yeah, he’ll say anything at this point if it means he’ll get fucked. Pride be damned.
“Please. Please, Stede, I need you to fuck me. I want to feel you inside me.”
“Are you going to be good for me?” Stede asks.
“So fucking good. The best.”
“And good boys don’t touch their cocks, do they?”
Ed wants to cry. “N-No,” he stammers, face burning red, feeling about two inches tall. Doesn’t point out he couldn’t touch his cock even if he wanted to. Which he does, so badly, but also? Doesn’t?
Because he wants Stede to be proud of him.
He’s so fucking whipped.
Stede draws his fingers out, taking the time to scissor them open as he does, making sure Ed’s hole is stretched out and slick, ready for him. He traces a single finger around his rim, hooking the tip of it over the edge, pulling it a little wider, the other hand braced against where Ed’s wrists lie bound in silky ribbon in the small of his back. “I’m going to fuck you now,” Stede promises. “Nice and slow, really enjoy myself, and you’re going to lie there and take it, aren’t you?”
“Yes, god, Stede, yes, please—”
“Going to use your lovely little hole for exactly what it was designed for.”
He almost chokes on his tongue. “Stede, what the fuck, where the hell is this coming from—”
“Colour?”
Ed stops, shuts his goddamn mouth. Takes a deep shuddering breath. “Green, yeah, fuck, green.”
The blunt pressure of Stede’s cock slides along his slick crack, the head of it rubbing at his abused hole without Stede trying, yet, to push inside. “You’re such a lovely, sweet little thing. Take me so well, don’t you?”
“Y-Yes, fuck, Stede, please—”
“You wouldn’t even believe how pretty you look from here,” he continues, while Ed fucking hyperventilates, can’t stop himself shunting his hips back, desperate for something, grinding his erection on the hard wooden desk, tears pricking his eyes as it’s far more pain than it is pleasure. Fucking desk. At least over the sofa, he’d have had something to rut against, but no. “You don’t really believe it, do you?”
“Believe what?” He can hardly think straight. Doesn’t have the energy for Stede speaking in riddles.
“‘Trust no-one’,” Stede quotes. “That’s not true, is it? You trust me.” And as Ed babbles, yes, yes, fuck, Stede, yes I goddamn trust you, you fucking lunatic, fuck, Stede pushes in with one smooth thrust, and Ed crumbles.
Nothing feels as good as this feels. Doesn’t matter how many fingers Stede uses to open him up, it still burns in the best possible way as Stede sinks into him, not stopping until he’s pressed with his thighs against Ed’s ass. One hand is on Ed’s hip bone, the other at his wrists, and as he pulls out, inch by inch, taking his time, he rubs a thumb over the purple silk holding his hands out of the way. Ed can feel it, dulled by the layers of fabric but he can feel it. Stede pushes back in, just as fucking slowly, and Ed screws his eyes up to stop the tears falling. It’s so much, the cock lazily pumping in his ass, the soft caress of Stede over his bound wrists, his cock so hard it aches, smearing pre-come between his stomach and Stede’s antique fucking desk. Maybe it’ll stain. Maybe next time Stede sits here to work, he’ll see the mark of this torture left behind in Ed’s wake, and that’s enough of a notion for the choked sob he’s been holding back to escape.
“You okay, darling?” Stede checks in. He mutters out a yeah, m’good, green, yeah, and Stede’s hand leaves his hip to stroke through his hair, sweaty and matted against his forehead. Leans right over, wipes his index finger over Ed’s bottom lip, where a puddle of drool has gathered without him really noticing. Slips it into Ed’s mouth, and he sucks without thinking, swirling his tongue around the digit.
That’s the first time Stede shows signs of cracking. The finger thing. Ed would file it away for later, but he’s not sure he can handle the cognitive load, so instead he focuses his attention on sucking Stede’s fingers into his mouth, letting Stede fuck them past his lips, speeding up his hips to match until he’s fucking into Ed at pace, groaning his name, clenching his hand around Ed’s wrists, and he’s coming with a shout.
Ed stays so still as he shakes through it, the feeling of being filled with Stede’s spend never not taking his breath away, the way he can feel the pulse of it inside him. He winces as Stede pulls out, the trickle of come that escapes with it, and Stede’s running hands down his sides, stroking down his bound arms, telling him how fucking good he’s been, and Ed’s openly sobbing as Stede releases the bow he’s tied in the ribbon and unwinds it from Ed’s wrists, helps him up off the desk.
“I’ll make a mess,” he protests as Stede spins him around so he’s sat on it instead, the come still trickling out his ass. Knowing it’ll leave a fucking puddle on the wood, and why is that so hot?
“It’s my mess, technically,” Stede points out, more preoccupied with rubbing at Ed’s reddened wrists, making sure he can still feel his fingers. “And the desk can be cleaned. It’s fine.”
Ed’s priority is a little further south. His cock is strained and a deep red, standing ramrod straight. Ed clenches the edges of the table-top as soon as Stede lets his wrists go, determined not to touch, determined to let Stede finish this as he started it.
“Look at you,” Stede says, standing between Ed’s legs. He runs his hands up his thighs, thick and hairy and tattooed, right up to the crease of his hip. Doesn’t go near his cock. “You’re so good.”
“Hmm,” Ed murmurs. “Yeah. Good boys deserve orgasms, right?”
Stede hesitates. “Well,” he says.
Ed jolts. “What the fuck do you mean, well?”
“I’ll be right back, my love.” And he throws on a robe, and disappears out the door before Ed can string enough words together to stop him, and what does he mean, ‘well’? He returns a few minutes later with a bucket of water and some clean cloths. Soaks one in the water, pokes Ed until he hops up off the table, and starts to wipe away the mess dripping down his thighs.
The water is fucking freezing. “Stede, what the fuck? Can’t this wait until, y’know…”
“I know what?”
“Until you’ve—” He gestures at his cock. “Let me finish?”
“Did I say I was going to let you finish?”
Ed’s heart crashes into his feet. “What? Stede, you can’t be fucking serious right now.”
Stede soaks the cloth in the cold water again, and presses it to Ed’s perineum, and he jumps at the feel of it, swearing and trying to scramble away. “Stede!”
He puts the cloth down. “I never said I’d let you come tonight.”
“You’re joking, right? Stede, I’m… Fuck!” Ed clenches his fists again, bites his fucking tongue, chases any sensation that distracts from how much he wants to jerk off right now. “You’re really not going to let me come? I thought that’s what this was all about. You getting mad because you didn’t get the chance to get me off?”
“The point,” Stede clarifies, “is that you’re so fixated on the destination that you forget to enjoy the journey. So I thought I’d see what happens when I take away the destination.”
A fucking test. It’s always a fucking test with Stede Bonnet. “Right, well. Point fucking made,” he snaps, and Stede frowns. “Pleased with yourself, are you?”
“Colour?”
Ed stops himself from snapping back instinctively. Properly thinks about it. Turns it over in his mind. “Orange,” he says, eventually. “I’m not… I don’t know. How I feel about it. Like, bad, obviously. Wanna fucking come. Obviously. But I’m… Curious? Maybe? I don’t know.”
Stede puts down the cloth, wraps his arms around Ed in a tight embrace, and Ed melts into it. Stede’s here. Stede loves him. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs into Ed’s hair. “I should have… I should have been clearer. About what I meant. Shouldn’t have sprung it on you. I’d still… I’d still like to discuss it, but I can get you off now and we can discuss it some other time and go from there? Doesn’t need to be now.”
Ed takes a deep breath. “No, I’m… I’d like to try it. I think. Would be good to— To focus less on me.”
“I’m still gonna be focusing on you,” Stede promises. “Just not in the way you’re used to.”
Stede dips the cloth once more, soaks it in cold water again. “Thought this would be kinder than leaving you in this state,” he explains, and Ed nods, braces himself for it this time. Stede presses the cloth behind his balls again, holds it there as cold water drips down his legs and to the floor. Makes Ed hiss, and makes his cock soften a little, taking the edge off.
“Fuckin’ hate you,” he spits, and he mostly doesn’t mean it. By the time Stede has finished cleaning him up, the worst of the come cleaned from his hole and the smears of pre-come cleaned from his skin, Ed’s pretty much soft. Tender as fuck, he learns, when Stede lifts his cock to wipe the remnants of oil from his balls, but soft.
He breathes in deep through his nose, throws one of Stede’s robes over himself because getting dressed is far more than he can handle, and collapses onto the sofa.
Ed has no idea how long Stede can hold out.