Work Text:
Edward Teach had never been much for possessions. What he loved, he set ablaze, and that had been enough to build a life; to build motherfucking Blackbeard. There were tools, naturally — objects to ensure that the right shit got done.
Guns and knives and swords did the dirty work. The collection of leather, if he was being honest, was probably chiefly responsible for the reputation he had now (you’d think it’d stop looking badass after decades at sea. You’d be wrong). His bit of silk, battered and old, had long served as a crucial reminder of the things Ed would not, could not have; if nothing else, it had helped him keep clutter on deck to a minimum.
Stede Bonnet was something else entirely. It wasn’t a thought that had occurred to him before, not consciously. As he watched the tailor measure Stede, though — lingering a little too long around his shoulder, and standing a little too close —- he found himself with teeth clenched hard enough for a bit of molar to chip right off.
On a normal day, he’d have Izzy stab the guy a thousand times with his own needles, and leave his eyes in the register for good measure. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been a normal day of his fucking life since Stede crawled into his heart and ripped the whole thing wide and raw and vividly open, the bastard.
“Alright, Ed?” Stede, attentive and kind and was this robe fucking beautiful on him. Long and flowy, it left Ed in a daze — light blue with white florals, bringing every perfect angle and dip of his body into stunning detail. He could have stood there forever, taking in Stede’s mouth and eyes and his hips (oh his hips).
“Perhaps your visitor should excuse himself until we’ve finished,” the tailor interrupted, letting his hand rest on Stede’s chest and throwing a bitchy smile — passive aggression! —- Ed’s way. “There are some other pieces I’ve got in stock that would look absolutely dashing on you.” The man had the nerve to rest a hand on Stede’s face —-
“That’s quite alright,” Stede blurted, growing a steady shade of pink as he jerkily returned the man’s hand to his shoulder. He had, apparently, only just picked up on what any sane person would have caught as flirtation ages ago. Innocence would be the death of this man, Ed realized, his feet moving before his brain to lodge himself comfortably between Stede and the tailor.
“Interesting choice in sales tactic, man." Ed didn't hesitate to growl, guttural in the way that usually meant someone was about to die in front of him (still very much on the table). It was hard, hard to hear himself speak over the blood boiling through his head and stomach and just about any other thing that existed on or near his body.“I think he looks pretty dashing as is.”
He couldn’t be sure — was far too focused on staring the tailor down, on showing that he’d seen into his soul and back again and was entirely unamused — but Stede’s breathing seemed to grow a bit heavier behind him. All three men were tensed.
The tailor’s eyes shifted, staring from one pirate to the other and back again, before taking a step back. “Sorry. Didn’t realize.”
Satisfied, Ed turned to face Stede again, entirely vindicated in finding his eyes — soft and kind and deep deep deep — gazing adoringly into his own. Normally, he’d have controlled himself, had a modicum of self-respect in public. Life with Stede Bonnet is never fucking normal, he thought as he twisted a hand into Stede’s hair, bringing their faces to meet. The man's mouth opened for him instantly, wildly, obediently, taking his tongue with the slightest moan as Ed’s other arm slinked around his waist —-
“Still a…public place of business, though,” the tailor interrupted, arms crossed. Stopping for only a moment with a (only partly exaggerated) sigh, Ed pulled just slightly from the kiss. He drew his dagger and pointed it at the tailor in one fluid motion, never once breaking from Stede’s wide-eyed stare (and yeah, it did feel very badass, thanks for asking).
“Give us the shop for an hour or two, yeah?” Stede’s knees buckled just slightly at that, and the sudden rubbing of his erection against Ed’s thigh —- even through the robe and thick leather —- confirmed he was making exactly the right call. “And lock the door behind you.”
The tailor scoffed, hesitating in place for just a moment before booking it.
“Not how I would’ve done it,” Stede whispered, and a pang of fear that this had all been wrong –- that he’d thought with his dick and made a…dick of himself, not for the first time but certainly one of the worst — shot him straight. Before he could apologize, run away in shame, or rob some guy of his jewelry to make up for it, Stede wrapped his arms around Ed’s shoulders and kissed him again, even deeper and somehow even fucking needier than before. The knife fell from his hands with a clatter, entirely forgotten.
Running his tongue against Stede’s lip and biting it elicited another whimper — louder and whinier, skipping Ed’s brain and going directly to his cock — he figured he was probably okay to push Stede against the nearest wall. He shot his hand to the surface, just next to the man's face, allowing himself a moment to take in his warmth— the smell of tea and sugar on his breath, fucking all of him —- before burying his face deep in the crook of his neck.
“Kinda glad he had you in this robe,” Ed muttered between licking at Stede’s neck, sucking just longer enough to leave a nice purple mark. “Easier to get to you.”
“Do that again.” Stede’s voice was already wrecked, Ed realized with a puff of his chest. He raised an eyebrow, smirking as he shoved his leg between Stede’s two, grinding directly against the man’s noticeably hard cock.
“Do what?” Ed reveled in the grasp Stede had on his hips as he keened against him.
“The - leave marks. Please." Ed had trained him well; he was very aware of the punishments that came with demands made without begging.
Ed feigned thought. “Maybe,” he whispered, bringing his thumb across the man's soft, warm, impossibly arousing mouth and letting it close and suck and bite, ever so lightly. He liked to hold stares, liked to make sure Stede wasn’t looking at anyone or anything but him. This time, though, his eyes had to flicker away for a moment, cleverly disguised as a glance towards his own too-clothed cock. Stede looked at him with such adoration, such tenderness, even as he shoved his other thumb between his lips, cupping the man’s face as he continued to rock against him, proving desperate for any friction. He pushed down, thumbs still held in Stede’s beautiful wet mouth, until he brought the man to a kneel in front of him.
“Wait.” Stede groaned at the order, running his hands all over himself — every part of himself he was allowed to touch without permission. Ed made an effort to drag his fingers, slicked with saliva, as slowly across Stede's face and down his chest as humanly possible. There was no rush, not really, not as he delighted in working on particular jacket buckle for ages on end as Stede work himself into a frenzied, frustrated mess. Only when he audibly moaned at the sight of Ed’s bare chest did he begin to move things along, rushing to bare himself in front of a desperate, still-robed Stede. Finally, he brought his leaking cock level with Stede’s mouth, dragging it across his flushed, sweaty cheek. He ran a hand through blonde hair, ruining the style Stede spent hours on each morning — make that one up later, Ed noted as he pulled hard against his scalp.
“Make me fuckin’ cum,” he drawled. Stede’s lips were around him in an instant, hot and slick and setting every inch of him on fire. With each bob, he took more of Ed’s cock, waves of pleasure building in his core almost immediately.
“Fuck." His mouth and hands and just about everything moved faster than his brain could keep up with. “Fuck!” A particularly well-timed use of Stede’s tongue against the head of his cock had Ed reeling, hips thrusting deep into his throat. Stede grew yet more frantic, hands searching to scratch every part of Ed they could reach before resting firmly on his ass. Ed bucked again, feeling himself throb as he picked up a steady rhythm to fuck Stede’s face silly. The thought of it — the thought that this man, so gentle, so dignified, would let Ed debase him like this without hesitation was enough to send him into overdrive, grip tightening in Stede’s hair.
“Whose are you?” Ed cried. Stede couldn’t respond, but moaned against him, gripping his thigh hard with nails digging into soft flesh — and it was enough, more than enough, it was so fucking perfect everything everything perfect as he came, hot and hard, into Stede’s throat. His ears started ringing as he rode out the throes of his climax, mouth agape — something no one but Stede was ever able to do. Pulling away with a hum and a smirk, Stede rested his head against his waist, trailing kisses all along the scarred flesh that Ed normally preferred to ignore.
“Good. You did good." Ed crouched to become level with the man's face. “Fucking fantastic.”
“Please,” Stede breathed, throwing off what little clothing he wore and splaying himself against the floor in a decidedly un-gentlemanly fashion. Ed crawled over him — slowly, prowling, allowing Stede to snap his hips up into the air for a few more moments — before coming down hard, crashing their mouths together, tongue and teeth and nonsense mumbling as he brought his hand around his dick. Stede yelped, hands once again searching to pull, to scratch (and yes he chose the hair, Ed fucking loved it when he chose the hair). His lips came back down to Stede’s throat, the usual floral smell replaced with something sweatier, something far filthier, as he bit against the soft, insanely sensitive skin (this fact has quickly become one of Ed's most abused — and people thought Stede wore too many cravats before. Heh). He left three hickeys in all, each more intense than the last, each eliciting noises more fraught. Stede was close — his eyes were rolled halfway into his skull, and he was bunching Ed’s hair into tighter and tighter grasps as he brought his tongue slowly, firmly across his nipple.
“Yours.”
“What?” Ed stopped moving, causing Stede to fuck his hand in something greedy or desperate or fuuuuuck Ed wished he was twenty and raring to go every five minutes again.
“I’m yours.” With that, the man grabbed Ed's free hand, bringing it to his own throat. His grasp around the man’s throat tightened as he vowed to keep this mental image — Stede flushed and absolutely wrecked by nothing but Ed’s own hands — on-hand for the foreseeable future. Stede's thrusts swelled as he came against his hand, warm and sticky and that fucking tailor’s cleaning whatever fluids got on the floor.
Neither man moved at first, both too comfortable, too warm, and too spent to do anything but lay gentle, instinctual kisses against each other’s bare skin.
“Sorry,” murmured Ed, suddenly aware of how wildly embarrassing this whole thing must have been for someone so soft, so perfect, so not him and not for him —
Stede drew him into another kiss, gentle and deep, broken only by his eventual smile. “Don’t be.”
“Even thought you mighta liked it,” Ed grinned as he pulled himself off of Stede, using the robe to clean his stomach. "Pervert."
“We’re going to have to pay for that, aren’t we?”
“Nah. Let’s just steal it. Was thinking of burning the place down anyway.”
“Don’t you dare,” Stede grinned, helping Ed to get dressed before worrying about himself. “That tailor was a bit of a prick, though, wasn’t he?”
Ed stiffened, hesitated. "Life with me will never — it’s not normal.” He felt very suddenly compelled to hold onto Stede and never, ever let go, not if the world was burning to ash in front of their eyes.
“Could say the same about myself,” Stede smiled, wiggling into a hug.