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Stede should have known better than to wander the streets alone after his ship had been ransacked, but he was in no state to be reasonable. His pockets were empty, his patience was thin, and the one item he truly cared about, his first and favorite embroidered jacket, was missing.
And now, by some cosmic joke, there it was. On some hairy man who was incredibly incapable of styling it correctly, paired it with leather pants and an excessive amount of leather accessories. The bastard didn’t even have the decency to button it properly. Slinking through the streets in Stede’s beloved finery.
Stede followed.
Ed, as it turned out, noticed almost immediately that he was being followed. The brightly dressed blond stood out enough on his own, but his attempt at sneaking only made it worse. He led the man following him on a winding chase through the city, letting him get just close enough before slipping away again, until finally, they found themselves in a very secluded alleyway.
Stede’s breath was heavy with exertion and righteous indignation. Ed, by contrast, looked utterly at ease, lounging against the stone wall as though he belonged in Stede’s coat.
"Alright, love?" Ed drawled, amused. "You've been tailing me like a lost puppy. What do you want?"
To Ed, this was foreplay—an intricate game of cat and mouse, winding him up with every step. Whether it ended in a brawl or a fuck, the result would be the same, both of them will end up sweaty, breathless, and spent with one of them walking not quite right—or at all—by the time it was over.
"You know what I want." Stede jabbed a finger at him, his mind only set on getting what belonged to him. "That jacket. Take it off” he demanded.
Ed’s grin stretched wide. "Ooh” he bites his inner cheek “I see, that’s what this is about"
Stede lunges forward and grabs for the coat, tugging at the lapels, trying to shake it off of Ed’s shoulders. The man didn’t resist—at least, not in the way Stede expected.
Instead, Ed’s hands found Stede’s waist. His mouth found the side of Stede’s neck. He kissed his way up, hot and teasing, his beard scratching along sensitive skin.
"Stop kissing me!" Stede sputtered alarmed at this so-called defense mechanism, still yanking at the coat. "I’m trying to undress you!"
"Yeah… I know," Ed replied, deadpan and matter-of-fact, his face scrunching as if Stede were the one being ridiculous.
Ed’s hands slid lower, one moving to the small of Stede’s back, the other—
Stede froze as fingers brushed over his crotch. Heat flared down his spine, but he lurched backward, putting space between them. "What are you doing?!"
Ed tilted his head. "What are you doing?"
They stared at each other, both breathless, Stede realizing at that moment what was happening and even more shocking that he wasn’t as opposed as he should have been to what was happening.
And then they crashed together.
The kiss was hungry, messy—all bared teeth and heat, like two men who had just realized they’d been starving. Their hands roamed, gripping, pulling, desperate to claim. One was soft and smooth, the other rough and scratchy, a contrast that only made the friction between them all the more intoxicating.
Stede meant to end it quickly—just a brief indulgence, surely—but when he tried to pull back, Ed chased him, keeping their lips locked longer than Stede had intended.
Shorter than Ed wanted.
When they finally broke apart, Stede’s jacket was still on Ed’s shoulders.
Stede exhaled sharply. "This is not how I expected this to go."
Ed grinned, adjusting the coat as if it were his all along. "Then we’re off to a good start."
Stede stood there in his mismatched outfit, barely dressed—at least, it felt that way. No three-piece ensemble, no accessories, no jewelry. Just a shirt and a pair of pants. It was indecent and it was all this thief’s fault.
Stede was hot and appalled. How dare he?
Did he still have his second secret closet? Yes. Did he dare risk wearing anything from it right now? Absolutely not. His current predicament had nothing to do with a lack of options and everything to do with restraint. If he so much as brushed against fine silk or the gentle weight of embroidery, he might just combust at the thought of what he lost.
Lost to bastards like the one panting in front of him.
But the real issue—the real indignity—was happening below the waist. His fabric was fighting a valiant effort, but it was losing the battle. Every shift, every breath, every twitch of a muscle only made things worse, and the last thing he needed was for this creature to notice.
The outline apparent and viciously throbbing at Stede.
He forced himself to stand stock still, hands clenched at his sides, willing his body to behave. This is temporary, he told himself. Mind over matter. You are a gentleman of refinement, not some—some beast ruled by impulse!
Ed smirked, tilting his head as he let his gaze drop, slow and deliberate, down the length of Stede’s body.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, voice smooth as aged rum. “I’ll give you this precious jacket… if you give me that.”
His eyes settled on Stede’s waist; his meaning unmistakable.
Stede felt his entire body seize up. His skin flushed hot, a prickle of something—offense and desire spiking through his chest.
"Excuse me?!"
Ed lifted a brow, far too pleased with himself. "You heard me."
For a moment, Stede stood frozen, caught in the unbearable push and pull of wanting and not wanting—of the indignity of having his coat stolen versus the indignity of wanting the thief.
This is ridiculous, he thought. He’s a thief. A menace. An absolute cad.
And yet.
The ghost of fingertips on his collar lingered like a brand. The air against his now-bare neck felt too cool, too exposed. And worse. Far worse, was the undeniable fact that part of him liked it. That part of him thrilled at the audacity, at the attention, at the way his breath had hitched before the outrage fully settled in.
His mind raced to assemble the proper response, something scathing yet sophisticated, the kind of remark that would reassert his dignity and put him back in control. But nothing came. His body, traitorous as ever, was still tangled in the sensation.
He straightened his shoulders, steeling himself against the pull of Ed’s gaze. “its not worth my dignity” he huffed, spinning on his heel.
He started to walk away, determined, his pulse hammering against his ribs.
But he didn’t get far.
Ed caught up in three easy strides, stepping in front of him, cutting him off with a lazy sort of confidence, as if he’d always known this guy would try to run.
“Oh, come on, love.” Ed’s voice was a little softer now, coaxing, teasing. "You sure about that?"
Ed tugged at the lapels of the coat, letting it slide just slightly off one shoulder—enough to tempt, to taunt. His grin was wicked. "You came after me, remember?"
Stede swallowed hard, refusing to look at the open collar of his jacket draped over his thief’s shoulders, refusing to acknowledge how unfairly good HE looked in it.
"I came for what’s mine," he said stiffly.
Ed's smirk deepened. "Yeah? Then take it."
Stede paused, anger and lust building in his body ready to boiler over. Without warning he grabbed Ed with a force that surprised himself
"You bastard," Stede growled against his lips. "Thief." Another bruising kiss.
Ed only laughed, low and knowing, as if he had won something Stede didn’t yet understood.
Stede was a man possessed, tearing at this scoundrel’s clothes with none of the careful precision he usually reserved for fine garments. He would never treat his own jacket like this, but right now, he didn’t care. He wrenched the stolen coat from the man’s shoulders, yanking it down hard enough to trap the theif’s arms at his sides.
Ed let out a sharp breath—more amused than alarmed—his grin only widening as he struggled against the fabric. And yet, even restrained, his hands still found Stede, pawing at his waist, his hips, his ties.
Stede breathing heavily, the heat of Ed’s touch setting fire to his already crumbling resolve. This is a battle of dignity, he told himself, but with each tug and shift, the line between reclaiming what was his and claiming something else entirely blurred beyond recognition.
Stede turned Ed around, using the stolen jacket to his advantage. It was tailored for his body, meant for his frame, his posture—not for this broad, lean and maddeningly fit man. The fabric strained against Ed’s shoulders, tightening around his arms, still keeping him trapped.
And yet, even bound, Ed had the audacity to lean back into him, his weight pressing against Stede’s chest, his breath warm as he chuckled.
Stede’s fingers flexed at Ed’s waist, digging into his hips—not gentle, not teasing, but with the intent to hurt, to bruise, to cause discomfort. All it did was make Ed moan into Stede’s ear.
"You think you like that," Stede chided, his voice sharp and frustrated.
Ed tilted his head, eyes dark. "Mate," he rasped, grinning. "You think I don’t?"
Stede’s pulse thundered in his ears. His grip tightening. A furious, helpless heat surged up his throat as he leaned in close, his mouth ghosting the shell of Ed’s ear.
"I’m going to make you hate this," he sneered.
Ed only laughed at this challenge. As he was shoved forward against the stone wall.
Stede’s pants were lowered just enough to feel the breeze and in one swift motion using one free hand and a foot, Stede stopped Ed’s trousers down to his ankles, the fabric pooling at his feet, tangling him further. Now his legs were just as useless as his arms, leaving him trapped and unsteady.
For a fleeting moment, Stede felt victorious — controlled, composed, in charge.
And then Ed shifted, testing the limits of his newfound restraint, grinning like a man who'd just won everything.
This tore through Stede. He was enraged now. This man! This RAT! Had the gall to steal from him, to parade around in his stolen jacket like some kind of prize, the bastard was enjoying this.
Stede’s breath came sharp, ragged as he spat in his hand spreading the saliva over the tip, just enough to give him access but not nearly enough to ease the entry. Stede wasted no time pressing through the threshold and entering fully.
Ed's breath was knocked from his lungs, his eyes wide with shock. His smirk vanishing, replaced by a pain that was sharp but good—a sting mixing with pleasure, as if Stede was pushing and stretching him to a limit he hadn’t known he wanted to reach.
For a moment, Ed was silent. Finally, Stede thought with a glimmer of pride said “about time you shut your mouth” Stede hissed through the immense feeling of being fully engulfed and wrapped in tight heat. His own breath ragged from the immense feeling roiling within him.
"don’t act all cocky now?" Ed stutter out, but his voice was batting with a dark satisfaction.
With a quick hard slam, Stede knocked that attitude from Ed’s brain for a moment. Followed by another and another, if Ed was going to be kept silent Stede could not stop.
The unforgiving power behind Stede’s jack-hammering was unyielding, each movement driven by the echo of everything that had been taken from him. His jacket. His dignity.
The very sight of this tattooed scarred man in Stede’s stolen jacket, was an embodiment of how he had fallen. The fabric already fraying from careless treatment, made his blood burn. It was the visual representation of the situation. He was a gentleman. He had been a gentleman. Yet here he was, reduced to this, fighting fucking and entangled with the very man who had caused it all.
Stede’s grip tightened and with his stance adjusted. This thief was at his mercy, and he wasn’t going to let him go until he had what he wanted.
Stede shoves them both against the cold wet stone wall. Ed’s face pressing into the moss and rock, his body barely keeping upright with the sensation threatening his weakening knees. A steady stream of drool escaped Ed’s mouth has it hung open. His breath came in jagged gasps, the only sign of life as he fought to stay conscious.
Each pounding blow sent tingles rippling through Ed’s body, a shivering pulse of sensation rolling his eyes back, leaving him utterly undone. When he manages to catch a breath, it come with a gasping moan , the only sound cutting through the clapping grunts from behind him. Like an alarm marking his tenuous grip on reality.
The speed of it, the overwhelming size, the binding of his limbs—there was no escaping it. Ed was being used, reduced to nothing more than a body with a hole in a struggle he couldn’t control. The loss of power was suffocatingly intoxicating. No need to be in charge anymore, no space to fight back. He was helpless, utterly at the mercy of what was happening.
He was getting fucked senseless
Ed came in waves, the first orgasm ripped from him as he was slammed against the wall. It was too fast, and too unexpected to feel fulfilling—just a shock to the system, a fire set alight before he could brace for the heat. Stede anchored them both, fists twisting into stolen fabric and shirt alike, keeping Ed upright and keeping him exactly where he wanted him.
The wall became leverage, an unyielding brace against the force of it all, as Stede pressed in deeper, preventing Ed from slipping, from crumpling and from escaping. The second time Ed came was a powerful full body release that dragged him in between the jagged edges of pleasure and pain.
Then the world tilted.
A shift, a stumble—Stede’s relentless momentum sent them both tumbling forward. Ed barely had time to register the change before he landed on his knees, his hands pinned to the side catching nothing. He was on the ground, dazed, his ass in the air, and Stede…
Stede was still going.
He was a rag doll in the hands of a stranger, at their mercy, with no control over what was happening. The thought burned through him—someone deranged enough to do this to Blackbeard. Yet, in his helplessness, this stranger was unknowingly giving him everything he’d ever wanted. The lack of compassion, the submission, the feeling of being taken—all of it crashing into him as he came a third time into the ground that he was getting drilled into.
Behind him, Stede’s anger began to fade, replaced by an almost intoxicating thrill—the sheer power of rendering a man like this into a trembling, drooling husk. The sounds Ed made, the heat of his skin, the scent of sweat, dirt, and musk—each element stirred something deeper in Stede. It was all alluring, addictive. His pulse quickening, his face tingling as that rolling pleasure built and bellowed throughout his whole body.
With primal grunting moan Stede finishes deeply into the man on the ground, pulling out as he does. Everything spilling over, drenching the stolen jacket in a mix of sweat and desire. The silk absorbed every drop, the fabric now marred with decorated splatter, an undeniable mark of what had just transpired. The jacket, once pristine, was now a reflection of the chaos between them, the evidence of control, submission, and the rawness of their tangled power.
Staggering to his feet, Stede left the mess behind, the stolen jacket crumpled and discarded like its wearer, still sprawled on the ground, gasping for breath. Adjusting his pants and shirt, he conceded with a cold, detached finality, “Keep the damn thing.”
And then, just before he strode off—his swagger unseen—he added, almost fondly, “As a gift.”
Ed, still prone, manages to roll onto his back, his gaze fixed on the sky as Stede's footsteps faded into the distance. He didn’t bother trying to cover himself, the moment too perfect to interrupt. His body throbbing, aching and satisfied with the aftershocks still pulsing through him. He stroked his stomach absently, fingers tracing circles around his bellybutton, lost in the reverberations of pleasure.
And in that quiet, lingering haze, one thought settled deep in his chest—
He did not know who that man was...
but he was in love.