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It had been a wonderful day at sea. The sun was shining, the crew was laughing and jovial as they performed their daily chores, and only one of Blackbeard’s men tried to trip Stede as he made his rounds. All in all a banner day.
Now if only Stede could figure out where Ed’s gotten himself off to… he’d looked everywhere for the other man for hours to no avail. Even that awful right hand man Izzy had admitted he had not seen Blackbeard for many hours. Stede had spent the better part of an hour deliberately looking for the other man. It’s a ship, for heaven’s sake! What did the other man do, crawl down the side of it? Ah, well. It’s getting to be late in the evening and Stede figures that Ed detests missing a meal in his company, so he gathers himself to change into his evening clothes and figures Ed would make his way to his cabin eventually.
Upon entering his quarters, Stede thinks, at first, he has been robbed and ransacked. His usually impeccably kept cabin appeared as If a gale had swept through—books were strewn about on the floor, some with – oh heavens—pages curled and bent. A few boxes of accessories were overturned on the settee-- pins, brooches, a hankerchief or two. Stede moves further into his cabin, all but creeping on tip-toe, in case a burglar indeed lurked about. What would he do then? He has no sword upon him. Stede supposes he could shout for help and hope for the best. As he bends to pick up some of the wayward books, Stede notices a crack of light spilling from the back of his boudoir space. Ah, the hidden wardrobe.
“Ed, dearie, is that you?” Well, it better be, now that he’s made his presence known.
Palpable relief washes over Stede as a familiar voice answers.
“Sorry mate, was looking for something to wear for supper and got a bit carried away!” Ed’s voice booms from the auxiliary closet space.
“Ah! Well, so long as you set it right in good time, my friend!” Stede calls back, cheerfully. He’d much rather Ed had asked permission to, well, completely discombobulate his belongings, but he had to admit something warm bloomed in his chest at the thought of Blackbeard feeling comfortable enough to just walk into his quarters and treat the place like home. Like a very, very messy home.
“Shall I help you decide on something? I’ve got some lovely emerald brocade that would suit you just so.” Stede scrambles to his feet, eager to play his favorite game of dress-up. It’s such a shame that Edward regards himself so lowly in terms of attire—the man is a tailor’s dream. All broad shoulders, trim waist, thick forearms corded with muscle… what was Stede doing? Oh yes, heading to the back closet.
“Oh no no don’t come back here just yet I’m still in my knickers. ‘Taint polite.”
“Pish posh!” Steve shouts gaily, all but skipping his way into the wardrobe towards his dear friend. “Nothing I haven’t seen befo—”
Stede enters the auxiliary wardrobe.
Blackbeard, scourge of the seven seas, the mad pirate lord himself, is standing in Stede Bonnet’s dressing room clad only in lacy underwear. Stede’s lacy underwear. The ones that were sewn, especially for him, as a final somewhat cheeky gift to himself in leaving his former, stifling, life behind. They sit low on the hips with a wide band of lace and fluffy crepe. The fabric at the front is a lace pouch, deliberately meant for the male form (hence the custom-design) that loops in the back into a tanga thong. They are skimpy. They are oh so daring and sexy, something Stede dared try on only in the utmost privacy. And now, here and now, they are on Blackbeard’s body. The red fabric is hugging Edward Teach’s every curve, every nook and cranny, every bulge of his…. oh goodness. Stede is suddenly quite aware he is perspiring heavily.
“Wherever did you find those?” Stede manages to squeak out around a thick swallow of what is certainly not a mouthful of drool.
“They were in the uh, closet in a box. In a trunk I mean. They were in a box in a trunk. I opened it and they were there.” Ed says, matter of factly and not without a tinge of childish guilt, his words choppy and imprecise. His eyes dart away from Stede’s gaze, down towards the floor. The last bit gets mumbled altogether. “Figured I’d try ‘em out.”
Given the fact that Blackbeard had been rifling through not just his material goods but his very private material goods, Stede found himself at quite an impasse. To chastise the other man from rummaging might stifle his newfound comfort in colors, finery, and frippery. But to say nothing… well. It was rather ungentlemanly to loot another’s belongings like this. Though, Stede supposes, it was quite piratical.
“I can take ‘em off, I’m sorry.” Ed reaches down, skims his fingers at the edge of the crepe waistband.
“Don’t.” Stede replies, excruciatingly aware of how forcefully it had been said.
Ed looks at him, mouth slightly agape.
“Leave them on.” Stede steadies himself, takes a step closer to the other man. “They, ah, they suit you very well.” Stede licks his lips, feels like his mouth is suddenly a desert.
“You really think so?” Ed’s voice is quiet, contemplative. The air in the room feels thick somehow, heavy with a stillness that Stede cannot describe. Ed’s looking at himself in the large ornate mirror that sits along the back wall of the room.
“I told you that you wear fine things well, and I meant every word.” Stede’s voice is filled with reverence.
“I think I look like a two-bit harlot.”
Stede laughs, steady and soft. “Edward you look incredible.” He moves to stand behind him, his heart thumping in his chest so hard he swears Edward must be able to feel it radiating out of him. He watches the other man watch himself in the mirror for a moment. Ed looks incredible, truly. His tan skin and whorls of inky tattoos play beautifully with the hot red of the undergarment—to say nothing of the way the pirate is, er, filling them out. “I’d pay a fine bit of coin for the pleasure of your company.”
“Oh, would you?” Ed’s lips quirk into a smile. “Who’sta say you can afford me?” Ed bows a bit at the waist and closes the gap between them by pressing his ass flush against the front of Stede’s trousers.
For it, Stede gasps. A jolt goes through him, straight down through his cock, which if it were not already hard as a rod within his breeches would burst right through his clothes. He has never been so aroused in his life. He feels awkward, self-conscious, sure that Ed can smell his arousal on him. Stede looks down, sees that Ed is watching him through his lashes in the mirror, looking at his face, looking at his reaction. Stede decides then and there to throw caution to the wind. He takes a step back, and Edward stands, clearly thinking he’s gone too far, mouth open and ready to deliver an apology.
Stede lunges forward, almost knocking Ed against the mirror. He cups the back of his head, tangles his fingers into Ed’s thick, silvery strands, and kisses him. It’s awkward at first, a clack of teeth, a slight tear to the edge of a lip as one man smiles and the other bites. It’s a push and pull, a tide rolling in and out, cresting and falling. The kiss takes shape, shifts into something deeper. Edward licks into Stede’s mouth, draws a moan from him that seems to come from the very depths of his soul. Edward’s hands are everywhere—down Stede’s arms, his back, kneading against his hips and buttocks. Truly a many-armed thing, Edward is relentless. He kisses like he fights, a furious flurry of movement that Stede cannot predict. A snap of his teeth, a tongue laved against Stede’s freshly shorn cheek. Edward leans in to bite at Stede’s throat, leaves a mark that only his highest of collars will hide. Stede feels overwhelmed in the best of ways.
And oh, that lacy slip of fabric. Stede lets his hands roam lower, lets his fingers skirt the edge. Lets himself grow bold, brushes his thumb against the bulge he knows is there, is met with a moan that spills down his throat like a swig of searing alcohol. Stede flattens his palm, feels the scrape of the beautiful lace—all that separates his hand from touching the velvety skin of Edward’s rock-hard cock. Up and down he lets his palm drag against the fabric, feels Edward writhe beneath him, feels the kisses turn sloppier, wetter, hungrier.
Stede is loath to stop kissing, wants to do nothing more than fall into the plushness of Edward’s lips, the surprisingly soft nest of his beard. But he wants, nay, needs, to see the other man come as undone as he makes Stede feel. Stede Bonnet feels completely out of his depths, tossed to a callous sea that buffets him from all sides with sensations he can barely process. He finds himself clinging to Ed to steady himself, finds himself drinking the kisses from his mouth like fresh water. But no. He wants even more. And if there is one thing that Edward Teach has taught him it is that a pirate takes what he desires. With what is truly a great display of strength, Stede steps back away from Edward.
The other man is panting, his cock fully visible against the taught, lacy fabric, the flushed purple head peaking its way just above the waistband. He is a vision in crimson. There’s a slight wet spot on the fabric where the waistband rubs at Ed’s cockhead and Stede resists dropping to his knees for a taste. All in good time. All in good time.
“Ed, darling. Put your hands on sides of the mirror and bend over for me.”
“I—what?” Ed’s eyes are unfocused and it seems like the words are not sinking in. Sinking in. That gives Stede quite the idea.
“Bend over in front of the mirror, I want you to watch yourself while I touch you inside.”
“Stede Bonnet, who knew you for such a filthy thing.” Edward complies as quickly as his addled self is able. He stands at the mirror bent at the waist, forehead nearly touching the cool glass of the mirror. His hands grip the sides of the heavy, ornately carved wood. He turns his head to smirk at Stede. “Next you’ll be telling me what a fine arsehole I have on me.”
“Now, now, you behave.” Stede smacks Edward’s ass with a slap so audible it reverberates in the small, secret room. He reaches into the trunk that Ed had rifled through, the very one where he had found the delicate slip of lace that now sits upon the pirate’s hips. Stede retrieves a small bottle of oil, something viscous and slightly lavender scented.
Stede moves back to Ed and feels…. Powerful. Truly. Powerful is the only word he can think of to describe this moment. He’s fully clothed, standing beside Blackbeard clad in only his frilly underwear. Blackbeard, a man so feared others flee at the sound of his name, obediently bent over and obeying his every command. It’s a heady feeling, power. It’s something Stede has lacked all his life. And Stede knows this, knows how precious this moment is. Not just in his own power, but in Ed’s lack of it. In Edward allowing this to happen. Because truly that’s what this is—Stede may be an earnest man but he’s hardly so naïve. Ed could have him laid out on his back in a second if he so chose.
Without saying a word, Stede pulls the waistband down under the swell of Edward’s ass. He drags the fabric slowly, lets Ed feel the lace pull at the coarse hair that dusts his rump. Stede wonders if he should pull them off fully, have Ed step out of them but no, no—this is the game. The lingerie, this deliberately sexual garment—this is the impetus for it all. Stede would not dare break the spell.
Stede spreads some of the oil on his fingers. He drags his index finger down the cleft of Edward’s ass, feels the other man tremble just a bit. “Tell me you want this.” He knows Edward wants this, he wouldn’t be here otherwise, but he wants to hear it. Needs to.
“Please, Stede.” Edward’s voice sounds like a man being choked. “Please, I--. Please.”
“You don’t have to beg, darling.” Stede slips his middle finger past the tight rim of Edward’s entrance.
“You are so good to me.” Edward cants his body, chases the feeling of Stede pressing inside of him.
“Look at you, look at yourself.” Stede’s voice is calm, quiet. He lets one finger sink in to the root, a slow drag of in and out, in and out, before sliding a second oil-slicked digit beside it. “Look how well you’re taking my fingers. So good for me.”
Ed sighs, his shoulders dropping just a bit, as if the praise has washed all the tension from his body.
Stede keeps pressing into him, a slick slide of his fingers, scissoring them every so often to keep making room for more. He ads a third, reveling at the way Edward has his eyes on him, watches him in the mirror. He wishes then that somehow, some way, Edward could see what he looks like from the back, stuffed as he is with Stede’s slight fingers. His hands were made for harpsicord, he had been told. Slender and long, with wide powerful knuckles to knock out chamber music.
Ed’s hair hangs in his face, a sheen of sweat across his brow. But still, he watches Stede’s face in the mirror, eyes glassy but transfixed.
“Don’t look at me, love, look at yourself. Look at how you take pleasure.” Stede crooks his fingers, finds the spot he’d been seeking and presses just so. Ed lurches forward, grips the mirror’s thick woody frame so hard it creaks. A thick wet spot blooms across the front of the lace. Stede presses again, a come-hither motion that pushes a full-bodied moan from Edward.
“You are a man of surprising talents.” Edward sounds wrecked, voice thick with lustfulness.
“I’m well read, but not so much with—” he punctuates his words with a twist of his fingers—“hands on experience. So I thank you for this learning opportunity.”
“Ah, well—hhh—” Edward gasps as Stede introduces a fourth finger, curling and cupping them in just the right way as to bludgeon Ed’s prostate. “Glad to be of service.”
The sound of Stede’s slicked fingers fucking into Edward is obscene in the quiet, private room. Edward has done as Stede asks and watches himself as if a newly-born Narcissus first discovering the beauty of his visage. Edward’s face is rosy and flushed, the pink of arousal tickling at the creases around his eyes, showing steadily even with his untamed beard. He is truly a sight to behold, and Stede finds himself brushing his hand against the taut bulge in his own trousers, presses the heel of his palm against himself. No. No this is not what he is here for, not now. He moves his hand to steady on Edward’s hip, lets his fingers dig into the firm muscle there. With his other, he fucks into Edward with enough force to rock the other man forward with each thrust of his wrist.
For a good while, there is no sound but the wet glide of Stede’s hand in and out of the most dangerous pirate on the seas. Edward seems to struggle to keep his eyes open and eventually lets them fall shut, lost to sensation. A litany of curses spills from his lips as Stede keeps dragging his fingers across his prostate with every movement. He moves his hand down, lower, and lets it rest against the front of the lace fabric, feels just how hard Edward is. The front of the garment is soaked with precome, a steady stream of it pulses from Edward’s dick with every brush against his prostate. His mouth falls open and he moans—a broken guttural sound as Stede grips him hard through the lace. He keeps fingering him, keeps his hand pressed firm against him—not stroking, not really, but lets Edward take the lead in rubbing himself up against the offered palm.
“Stede, I. Stede I need—”
“I know what you need, Edward.”
Ed responds to his name with a lovely moan, as if his own name is as sweet as any honeyed pet name in this world. He bucks hard against Stede’s steady palm.
“Come for me, darling.” Stede rubs at Edward’s prostate and bends forward, presses a kiss between his shoulder blades.
Edward’s hips stutter, and he obeys, spilling against Stede’s palm, his come bursting against the waistband of the lace underwear, dripping onto the floor of the wardrobe. He cries out, a sound that would be almost pained to anyone but Stede’s ear, a broken sob of a moan.
Edward’s eyes are open as he comes, watching himself.
Stede pulls his fingers out of Edward, wipes them on some nearby discarded cloth (he’ll trouble himself with cleaning it later, of course). Before he can move his other hand, Edward reaches down and grabs him by the wrist, pulling his arm up with him as he rises. He spins to face Stede. He looks dazed, and a wide grin plays across his face. He brings Stede’s hands to his lips and kisses it, kisses his palm right where it is wet with Edward’s on seed. His pink tongue slips past his lips and he licks all of his spend off of Stede’s palm, laves between his fingers, before pulling two into his mouth and sucking them loudly. He swirls his tongue around Stede’s stolen digets and for it, Stede keens. He pulls off of his fingers with a wet pop.
“Lemme get some more of that, yeah?”
Before Stede can process what Edward means, the other man drops to his knees. Stede stands above him, still fully clothed, his cock tenting the fabric of his trousers. Edward makes quick work of his fastenings and draws out his cock, which twitches in the sex-warmed air.
With no preamble, Edward grips him, hands on the back of Stede’s thighs, and takes his cock into his mouth.
This man will be the death of him be it running him through with a blade or sucking the life out of him through his dick but either way, what bliss. Edward sucks cock like he kisses, like he fights—it’s a whirlwind—licking, sucking, moaning and groaning and even a light (and surprisingly not unwelcome) grazing of sharp teeth. Stede finds himself bucking into Edward’s willing mouth with far more gusto than he'd usually allow himself in the bedroom. Well, he supposes, they’re not in a bedroom. And this man—this man! Stede supposes there’s nothing Edward could not entice him into enjoying. Every moment with him is a buffet of new sensations, new situations.
Edward moves one of Stede’s hands to the back of his head and makes a pleased hum when the man above him winds his fingers into his hair. He mumbles something, mouth full of cock, and Stede thinks it had something to do with his hair so he gives it an experimental tug. For it, Edward swallows Stede’s cock down right to the back of his throat. He gags slightly, and the sensation has Stede gripping the other man’s locks in a tight fist. Stede isn’t sure how much longer he can last, not with Edward taking him so deep down his throat, and with such enthusiasm.
“Edward I’m--- darling I—”
Edward hums again, a sound almost akin to a purr, and it melts right in Stede’s belly and pushes him over the edge. His orgasm washes through him, an electric buzz that all but stands his hair on end. He spends himself down Ed’s throat as the man on his knees makes some of the lewdest noises Stede has ever been blessed to hear in his presence.
It isn’t until Stede is shaking, using Edward’s hair to physically pull him off his dick, that Edward releases him. Stede finds his legs can no longer support him and he lets himself sink down to the ground. He slumps forward, resting his head on Edward’s shoulder as he pants, struggling to catch his breath.
“That was…. That was….” Stede’s chest heaves as he speaks. He sits up, moves so he’s shoulder to shoulder with Edward.
“Sucked yer life out through yer dick, did I?” Edward waggles his eyebrows knowingly. This man. So terrifying and bold, brash and unlike anyone he’s ever met. And yet it’s as if he knows every corner of Stede Bonnet’s mind, has swept cobwebs from spaces he’d never known were there.
“My life was already yours.” Stede says, sex-drunk and hardly paying mind to what his heart lets slip.
“Well then.” Ed says, wrapping an arm around Stede’s shoulders. Ed kicks his legs, slides the much misused undergarment from his body.
“I….” Stede opens his mouth, closes it, thinks better of it for a moment. “What say you to a bath before supper?”
“I’d say I’m already dressed properly.” Ed laughs, gesturing to his nude form.
“Yes, well, I think I’ve quite sullied my own garments.”
“Better ah, as you say, um. Divest yourself of them.”
“Quite.” Stede says, already starting to undo the buttons of his brocade vest.
“Here, let me help you.” Edward runs his hands up Stede’s chest, deftly flicking open the ties of his linen shirt. He reaches in towards Stede’s exposed chest, and rakes his nails into the whorls of golden hair. The movement makes Stede shudder, and he gasps as Ed runs a finger over a nipple.
“I don’t think this is going to help us get ready for a bath.”
“No point in taking one if we haven’t dirtied ourselves up a bit first. A proper pirate buggering. All that.”
“You are, as ever, quite the tutor my friend.”
And with that, Stede leans back on his elbows and lets Edward begin his lesson.