Archive of Our Own

Stede wishes he could be fierce like Ed.

In his burlap onesie, bell jingling as he swings in on a rope with his hair in the sea breeze. Ed thunks onto the deck with heavy boots, knife out, shouting, “Fuck you all, you ratshit fuckers! Where the fuck is Stede!" Oh, he's positively radiant! Beautiful, like he always is. Scary, like everyone else seems to think he is, running about and screaming as they are. Stede's, definitely.

But, no. Sadly, Stede is not so intentionally fierce like that. Stede is hiding in a barrel with the lid shut, knees tucked up to his chest, just sort of... peeking out through the little hole there. Vibing with the pickled herring juice sloshing up to his chest.

Maybe Ed is a bit scary right now. Stede can also see right through it, though. He can see those wide, scared eyes behind all that aggression. He can see the fear blossoming from being apart from Stede again. Ed's got a rope around a man's neck as he runs another one through with a stolen sword. And eugh. Ed might actually choke that guy to death. His head's turning a rich shade of dahlia, a haunting blend of pink and ghost white. Perhaps now is the time to make an appearance. Bad things happen when Ed thinks Stede's left him.

Stede chooses then to pop through the top of the barrel, flinging the lid away. “Hi all!” he shouts as if bursting from a fake birthday cake. The scene freezes to gawk at him, all except the man choking. He's still very much choking. It's very noisy, his choking. Bit of a vibe killer. “Ed, could you— perhaps?” Stede says, gesturing to the near-dead man.

“Oh, yeah, 'course mate, sure,” Ed says, all casual-like, releasing the rope. The man gasps through narrow pipes for air. Will he... is that...? Oh, he'll be alright.

Ed steps over the man as he holsters his knife, then looks over his shoulder. “Fuck you all starin' at?” Ed says to the rest of the shell-shocked crew. “Back to work.”

The shouting resumes. Roach chops at a man with his cleaver, narrowly misses, and prances away laughing. Pete hauls some men overboard. Swede— having recently rejoined for a brief pleasure cruise— hangs from the mainstay, singing out high operatic notes.

“Aw, mate, you smell like shit. Fuck happened?” Ed asks, stepping close enough to put one hand on Stede's shoulder. Ah, Stede could die by those hands and not shed a tear. Ed's big doe eyes are doing a lot of work, more work than the whole crew combined. Wide, concerned, kind eyes that glitter at him with barely-held-back tears.

What happened?

Oh, great question. The answer requires some thought. Mostly, things didn't happen. Wee John rowed Stede over to the British naval vessel on a foggy night, as planned. Stede snuck aboard and John rowed away undetected, as planned. Stede found a great hiding place... not quite as planned. Great, in the sense that no one ever found him! Not so great in the sense that it was a bit hot and now he reeks of pickled vegetables and salted herring. It did give him something to snack on, though, so he's feeling good about that aspect of things.

“Stede?” Ed urges softly. Even Stede can barely hear it among the shouting and the screaming and the crying and general mayhem of the whole invasion and pillaging presentation going on around them.

Stede clears his throat. “I've secured the vessel!” Stede announces triumphantly. “We've full control of the situation, as you can see!” Stede gestures to the mast, where some of the British naval crew is already tied up and gagged.

“Yeah, mate, 'cuz they took one look at my stubbly beard and dropped to their knees,” Ed says with a little laugh. His smile is kind, though, when he pats Stede on the back and looks at Stede like there haven't been so many road bumps along their relationship. Looking like he kissed Stede under a waxing gibbous moon only a week ago, because he did, truly, it was wonderful. But he's also looking like he doesn't regret it, even given Stede's current... predicament.

“You get the map?” Ed asks.

“What?” Stede asks, affronted. “Of course I got the map! The covert solo-infiltration was my idea!”

Ed's smile goes a little crooked at that, hand still on Stede's shoulder. “Knew you could do it,” Ed says, so warmly it's like the sun is in his lungs. Then Ed tsks fondly, turns around, and rejoins the fight.

Stede maybe steals the lid from a different barrel nearby, re-closes his barrel, and watches the battle unfold.

He maybe gets back to the Revenge feeling bad for making Ed have to play pretend as Blackbeard again. They're past that, obviously, entirely, it's been weeks. So Stede pretends everything is normal, and Ed pretends everything is normal, and they're both in the Captain's Quarters they've been sharing since Ed's return when Stede steps from his clothes and says, “Yuck. I'll need a thorough washing.”

Ed twists his face a bit. “Can't disagree with you, there.”

Stede drops his fishy, pickled shirt to the floor and Ed races to pick it up. “Don't leave 'em there, fuck! Place is gonna reek for days!”

Stede hmphs defiantly, then drops his trousers in much the same place he'd dropped the shirt. Ed dives for it.

“I'll be out there,” Ed says, holding the clothes away from his torso. "Throwing these overboard."

“And I'll be in here,” Stede parodies the emphasis, just to be a dick. "Washing." Ed snorts, then leaves the room.

Well, at least the whole herring and vinegar situation is a great excuse for an extravagant cleaning session. The preparation is simple, given how many times Stede has gone about preparing his own clyster. After he feels squeaky clean inside, he heats himself some bath water with Roach's help, adds a tower of bubbles, then dips right in with a sigh, inhaling sage and flowers as he daydreams.

“Stede, love,” Ed says, with two little taps on the washroom door. “You decent?”

Stede shrugs and lets out a little hum. “Decent enough.”

The door creaks open, just a crack. “Where'd you put the map?”

“Oh, in my locking drawer. The key is just over by the—”

“By the coat rack, yeah,” Ed auto-fills, then hesitates, door swaying just slightly. “You gonna come look with me?”

The warmth that spreads in Stede is unrivaled. Water trickles and drips as he stands in the tub, then reaches for his towel. “You get a head start, dear. I'll be just a moment.”

The door sways again, like Ed is debating between opening it further, closing it all the way, or just staying there on the other side, close enough to still hear Stede sloshing out of the tub. Take it slow, Ed had requested.

Then, quiet and quick, Ed says, “'Kay,” and tugs the door shut.

What an absolute madman. Precious, absolutely precious. Stede's smile is still tugging at his face, wide and impossible to suppress. Not that he'd ever try to suppress it. What would be the point, really? In pajamas and his golden battle jacket (one of the only surviving garments from B.A.— Before Abandonment), Stede steps from the washroom feeling like a new man.

Ed is standing in front of the desk, two hands down on a map that curls at the corners. The sun is setting over the ocean's horizon, casting in from the windows over the little daybed. The curtains are open— as they always are, because Ed likes them that way and that's Ed's bed now. The light streaks far enough into the room to cast little strips of white and orange on the canopy of Stede's newly acquired bed across the room.

Take it slow.

Next to Ed is a collection of candles, flickering brightly. The ship rocks on choppy waves, tossing the room about. Ed's hair is down, blocking his face, rocking with it.

“Well, what've we got so far?” Stede asks. “Afraid I haven't had a chance to look yet. The lighting in my previous dwelling was sub-par.”

“Yeah?” Ed prompts for more, not looking up from the map.

“Terrible natural lighting in a barrel, it turns out. Bit tight for a candle. Could not dis-recommend more firmly.”

“Mm.”

Stede leans in. The map is stained and weathered with a more recent bold-inked “X” in the lower right-hand corner. Which would be rather helpful, Stede imagines, if he knew where any of the rest of it was.

“Lots of... written bits on this one,” Ed mumbles, still looking at the map. One leg is bearing most of his weight as his troubled knee is bent in momentary rest.

Stede picks up one of the candles for better lighting and leans closer until his head is right up next to Ed's. Every line of Ed's body shifts until they're pressed hip to hip.

“There we are. That right there says Plan de la Barbade, which... oh, wow,” Stede breathes a bit strongly in his surprise. The smell of gunpowder and grit and blood fills his nostrils, lifting right from Ed. “It seems there's treasure buried right on my home island. Imagine that!”

“Pff. Sure you didn't bury it yourself?” Ed grouses, but it's playful as he knocks his shoulder against Stede's. “Not just takin' me for another nature walk?”

Stede sets the candle back down, grinning. “Not that I can recall.”

Ed looks up from the table, candlelight dancing on his face and— oh, heaven. Ed is looking at him with those doe eyes.

It's a moment. They both recognize it for that, it seems, when they both pause. They've shared many quick kisses, held hands during story time, but... slow. They both agreed they need that— to move slow— but what does that mean? How much is too much? How soon is too soon?

The boat still moves, moaning and swaying. The crew knocks about and laughs on the other side of the creaky walls, but the air between Ed's body and Stede's is caught in time.

“Need a bath, I think,” Ed grunts, pushing himself back from the table and catching himself as the boat rocks with him.

“Water's still warm for you,” Stede offers, sweet as he can manage. “Hope I didn't get it too dirty.”

“Nah, mate,” Ed's over by the washroom door now, looking down at his feet. “Sure it's fine. 'M gonna...” Ed says, pointing to the washroom door.

“Yup,” Stede agrees.

“Yeah.”

“Enjoy yourself!”

Then Ed slips into the washroom and Stede is left pursing his lips and looking down at the map. Thinking, listening to the soft sounds of sloshing water.

Sometimes, the dirt just doesn't fuckin' come off. Ed can scrub and scrub and rake his nails all over his skin until he's covered in fresh raised lines and still feel dirty.

Not Stede's fault. Seems like most of the stench was coming off of Stede's clothes because the water is still warm and it still smells nice. Ed does add more bubbles anyway, though, because they're fun.

So then why does he feel so dirty he wants to peel his fuckin' skin clean off his bones?

Doesn't make sense. And it really, really, fucking sucks when Stede calls him dear and stands close but never... never...

Ed remembers a hand in his hair, tugging him closer. Stede's tongue briefly between his lips.

Fuck, doesn't Stede wanna talk about what slow means? Boundaries?

Ed's really just going to stand by and let Stede call him dear and read to him and share a room and pretend he's FINE with all that?

It's been a week so apparently fucking so.

His fault, anyway. Self-inflicted pining.

“Ed?” Stede calls through the door. Ed melts at the way Stede says his name, with that sweetly posh accent. “Thought you could use a change of clothes.”

Fuck, right, yeah. Yeah, he could. Would be nice to change outta the itchy sack for the night.

“By the door's fine,” Ed calls back, then dunks into the water until only his eyes peek over the surface. The door opens and Stede's arm appears and disappears a few times, leaving a small pile of clothes, lit only by the dull flicker of the candles around the room.

“Left a few options,” Stede says softly, then eases the door shut.

Fuck Stede Bonnet. Why's he have to be such a sweetheart?

Once Ed's skin is puffy red from scraping at it, he takes a look through his... options. The red robe is there and oh, fuck, Stede can't know about the red robe, can he? No, 'course not, he wasn't there for it. Ed picks it up, debates, then throws it across the room. He chooses the pajamas instead— wine-red silk trousers that hang a bit loose on him and a light off-white shirt. He takes a deep breath, runs his fingers over the raised bumps running the length of his arms, and steps from the washroom.

The room is dark, save for Stede reading by candlelight, flickering pure and golden. He's leaning back against his headboard across the room with a book open in his lap. When the floorboards creak under Ed's footsteps, Stede looks up and smiles.

“Feeling better?” Stede asks, chipper in a private way. Soft-spoken, but delighted. He slots a bookmark between two pages and closes his book with a soft thump.

What's he supposed to say to that? Could lie. That's always an option. Doesn't like lying to Stede though, so he just sighs, climbs into his small bed, and pulls the covers over himself.

“Not so much better, then,” Stede says conclusively. Ed rolls over so he can't see Stede, instead looking out at the moon cutting white over dark waves. The sea has calmed now, no longer keeping pace with Ed's pounding heart.

“Not s'much,” Ed says quietly. His voice is high and tight, like he could be about to cry. He pulls his blanket over himself and snuggles in. Stede is stepping about the cabin, footsteps silent but wood floors creaking under his soft slippers.

“Sorry to hear that,” Stede says gently, speaking in a low tone that feels so fucking safe. He sounds not far off. Maybe sitting at the desk or hesitating near it. Ed doesn't want to look.

“Sack's kinda itchy,” Ed says, his voice more level this time. He scratches at his arm. “Still feel kinda dirty. Doesn't ever wash off.”

Stede hesitates, then asks, “Ever? Or just tonight?”

Fuck, okay, maybe they're finally going to talk about something substantial. Ed rolls over and Stede is sitting on the floor an arm's length from the bed. There's a candle burning by his side that Stede must've carried over from his reading session. His eyes are a supportive kind of concerned, fixed on Ed across the flickering candlelight.

“I'dunno,” Ed admits, gazing down at Stede cross-legged on the floor, attentive and handsome. His thighs fill his soft trousers. Fuck, Stede's really stacked these days— wide chest, broad shoulders, shapely biceps. Legs for days. An all-around solid man.

“I have something that might help,” Stede offers. “Or— maybe. I don't know. It helps me, sometimes. It's good for the body.”

Ed hides his smile behind his blanket, but he doesn't look away. “What's that?”

“Oh, it's— hm. Well, I was thinking a clyster might help you feel a bit better.”

Ed sits up a little in bed, intrigued. “This some new fancy man hum drum?”

Stede smiles bashfully. “Could be. Would you like to try?”

Ed has no idea what he's getting himself into, but he's saying, “Fuck yeah,” before he even thinks.

Stede stands up and the candle goes with him. Ed just watches as Stede moves, collecting various items and laying them near the bed. He lights a few candles around them, moving sticks short and tall to light up their little corner of the room. They're getting the light from the moon, too, so Ed's not really sure what Stede's gonna need all that light for.

“Would you like me to do it for you, or just explain?” Stede asks, holding a syringe-looking-thing in his hands, voice tight.

“Sounds like you'd rather I do it myself,” Ed says with a little bit of attitude.

“Oh, no. I'd much prefer to do it for you,” Stede says, then adds quickly, “Only if you're ready. If it isn't too... fast.”

This is exactly the problem with Stede. He's so earnest it's hard to not go fast as swift wind behind the sails of a ship fresh from port, free from heavy riches.

“Go on, then,” Ed says, blood buzzing through his veins. He's alight with anticipation, practically shaking at the thought of Stede touching him again. Stede has touched him a dozen times this past week, but never like this. Whatever this is about to be.

“Alright,” Stede says quietly. “Remove your trousers for me.”

Oh.

Oh, fuck. Stede is going to— with that? He's gonna just put that right... yup. Ed is following Stede's instructions regardless, slipping his trousers down his thighs, still under the blanket.

“Turn around for me,” Stede instructs gently and Ed does. He flips around to look at the rippled white ribbon of light over the ocean.

“Stede, what's...”

“A clyster,” Stede repeats. “A medical procedure for purging the colon.”

“Fuck's a colon?” Ed interrupts, but Stede keeps going.

“It's all the rage in France and there's a good bit of research out now touting the health benefits.”

Okay. Wow. Stede is going to put something up Ed's ass and clean his... his colon? Whatever that thing is.

“You're still onboard?” Stede checks, hesitant.

“Yeah, mate, still onboard the revenge and the clyster and the, uh, that thing, yep.”

“Wonderful,” Stede says delightfully, then lifts the blanket and bares Ed's naked ass.

Not exactly the way Ed's imagined Stede touching his rim for the first time. Ed's blessed to be turned away, because his cock is full-mast and leaking obscenely. Stede's hand on his cheek is firm like a health-care provider, pulling him open to slip the slick tip of something right up his asshole. He's careful about it, just easing in a bit at first, loosening up his rim with oil before slipping it further inside.

Nothing like a cock. It's cold and thin inside him and Ed immediately knows it's the syringe-y thing. Yeah, definitely the syringe-y thing as Stede says, “Breathe normally, Ed. Try to relax,” then warm fluid fills him.

Yeah, definitely nothing like cock. Ed feels... heavy inside. Bloated, like he has the belly of a whale. He feels his muscles spasm and contract. His bowels start moving.

Ed panics.

“Stede, fuck, I can't—”

“Ed.”

“Fuck, Stede, I changed my fuckin' mind ohmygod,” Ed is saying, scrambling to sit up but Stede is holding him down with a firm, steady, strong hand.

“Ed!” Stede says sternly. Ed goes perfectly still. “You cannot move like that, Ed. You could seriously hurt yourself!”

“I can feel it, mate. I'm gonna— fuck, I'm—” Fuck fuck fuck Ed is gonna shit himself in front of Stede.

“Expel?” Stede supplies.

“Yes!” Ed shouts.

“Oh, dear, I should have been more clear. That's sort of the point,” Stede informs him plainly. “To get it all out? I've a pan and some towels—“

“Don't wanna shit on your fuckin' hand, Stede!”

“Oh, it wouldn't be the first time,” Stede attempts to soothe him and does nothing but. “I wouldn't mind.” What the fuck does Stede mean with it wouldn't be the first time? Does he do this with many people? Is this just a normal fucking Thursday for Stede Bonnet?

Fuck, Stede is so fucking weird. Ed's erection, thankfully, has fully flagged. His muscles spasm again and Ed practically sobs into the pillow.

But then Stede's hand is on his lower back, rubbing a soothing little circle. He can feel Stede shifting, reaching for something, then there's a towel under his thigh as the syringe slips out and the first bit of something slips out of Ed behind it.

It's fucking mortifying, but Stede doesn't seem to think so. Weird, nasty Stede is shushing him like a scared animal that needs rescue, rubbing his back and wiping away anything that comes out of him with a silky fabric.

“You'll feel wonderful once we're done, Ed. I promise you.”

“Nghug,” is all Ed can get out, panting into the sheets as he rides the waves of shame and relief and... something else. Something he's never felt from sex or a hug or a kiss. Something like an intimacy that rings so deep it hurts, like being split open and caressed at his core.

“You're doing beautifully,” Stede affirms as he reinserts that terrible, wonderful thing and Ed is hit once more with that full, heavy feeling.

Ed moans. Stede's breath seems to hitch; it seems to stutter out of him. Ed's belly twists with a heat that settles somewhere between his hips.

They continue on like that for, fuck, five minutes? Twelve years? Ed does start to relax, though. He sinks into the sheets and lets himself be cleaned. It's Stede confidence about the whole thing; it's his firm hands treating Ed's body like it's a non-embarrassing organic mass that needs gentle maintenance.

“Well?” Stede asks after, once Ed's no longer feeling bloated and a calm has washed over him. “How's it feel?”

The emptiness feels good. It's refreshing. But it also makes him need— makes him ache to be filled. It feels... it feels like Stede could take him and it'd be the cleanest Ed's ever felt, spreading his legs for him.

“S'alright, I guess,” Ed says quietly, still facing the ocean. Clouds streak over the stained-white moon, cutting dark patches over the ribbon of light on the water. Ed lets a tear fall right onto the pillow; he hugs his blankets tighter.

“Ah, well,” Stede says a bit regretfully. “It isn't for everyone I suppose.”

It's definitely for Ed. He could go through that every day, every night, every moment of the waking day if only to make room for Stede— to be clean and pretty for him.

There's a breath of air as Stede blows out the candle, then creaks across the floorboards to his own bed.

“Nighty night,” Stede whispers from across the room.

Ed pretends to be asleep.

It's an agonizing night. Seems to be for Stede, too, with the way Ed can hear him up and about. Ed peeks over on occasion to find Stede reading a book, knocking through desk drawers, and frowning out the window.

Eventually, Stede whispers, “Ed?” He sounds close, like he's passing his way through Ed's half of the room as part of his anxious rounds.

Ed steadies his breath and watches the moonlight ripple on the waves.

“I heard you tossing about,” Stede gently accuses. “You aren't really asleep, are you?”

“...m'not,” Ed says, small and just... fuckin' conflicted. They're whim-prone. They're impulsive. They're in love.

“Was what we did today—” The bed dips down by Ed's feet as Stede rests his weight cautiously there. Stede clears his throat. “Did I make you uncomfortable? I swear to you, Ed, it's quite standard in certain circles. I thought you would enjoy it.”

Did he? Well, yeah. Yeah, he fuckin' did kinda. But wouldn't anyone be uncomfortable with their heart peeled open like that? With anyone— even someone they love— poking around in there?

“Ed, I— I didn't mean to... cross any boundaries between us,” Stede says gently. The bed dips again, lower, like Stede's making himself comfortable enough to stay for a longer sort of talk. “I take what you said about going slow very seriously. I admit, I went into it with only your health in mind, as I have on occasion with others.”

Ed laugh-snorts meanly into his pillow.

“I didn't expect it to be so...”

“Gross?”

“...arousing.”

Arousing? No way, no fuckin' way. Ed sits up in bed to look at Stede, poised on the edge of the bed looking more meek than Ed's ever seen him.

“Ah, you... Oh, Christ,” Stede laughs to himself as he runs a hand through his hair, a bit crazed. He looks back at Ed with hair disheveled. “God, Ed. I thought you'd noticed my—“

Ed grins. “Noticed your what, Stede?” he teases.

“Noticed my—” Stede's laugh bursts from him like a bubble popping. “—painfully obvious erection?”

If I had, my hands would've been on it hours ago. That's what Ed wants to say, anyway, but it doesn't come out. He's just staring at Stede, wide-eyed and wanting, the sheet rumpled around his waist.

Fuck it. If he can't talk, he can move. Ed gets to his hands and knees until Stede is right there in front of him, lips parted and breath heavy in the moonlight. It's a challenge. Ed's looking right into his eyes, then looks down at Stede's lips, then bites his own before looking back up.

If this is a fuckin' mistake, might as well make sure it's a good one.

Ed's body moves on its own. Their lips press. He straddles Stede like he's drunk, tongue-first, heart thudding out of control. Stede's hands immediately grip his hair to pull him closer, close enough that Ed's cock brushes Stede's through their clothes.

Ed isn't drunk, but he is tired. Tired of pretending to himself that he doesn't want to open the sails to high winds and see where they take him, fast as possible. Pretending that he isn't, at the end of it all, an incredibly whim-prone man.

Everything happens very quickly.

Soon, Stede has Ed's back pressed to the mattress. Ed's hip bones jut into the air as he arches his back, offering himself, asking Stede to slip his pajamas down his legs and breathe in the heady scent of him.

“Flip,” Stede breathes, body throbbing to be closer to Ed.

Ed's cheeks are a nice apple shape and Stede rolls them in his palms. He catches a glimpse of that little spread of hair between them and he sighs at the smell of him. Rich, deep musk and gentle soap.

He wants to see it again, so he rolls Ed's cheeks once more, pausing with them open. He pulls apart with his thumbs for a better view and can't suppress the sigh that escapes him when he can see Ed without the clyster. When he sees Ed for no reason other than to look.

Ed has a dark, hairy, cute little hole. A nice brown pucker surrounded by a dusting of curly black between his cheeks. So fuckable, so clean. It greets Stede with a luscious pucker that sends a wonderful warmth rolling in Stede's hips.

“So pretty, Ed. Your hole is pristine,” Stede sighs, pulling Ed open again with his thumbs close to his rim. He likes the way it flexes; he loves the way it contracts. Ed moans and pushes his hips back, ass moving closer to Stede's face.

It's a careful lick. Ed whimpers— a small, pinched noise that sounds more like Stede's cut him than licked him, and so he does it again. And again and again until he's certain no one else in the world could feel as sturdy and raw as Ed does. The oil from earlier has left Ed slick, he finds, as he pushes his thumb just past Ed's rim and Ed lets out a delightful little oh— not unlike the sound he makes while stepping into a beam of sun through the cabin window, soaking up the heat like a pampered house cat, collar and all.

Stede fumbles for more oil in the nightstand. He wants to do things right. Slicked up, he slides a hard finger inside of Ed. A second, and Ed's whole body shudders with delight.

“Stede,” Ed calls, a bit panicked, reaching back. “Stede,” Ed nearly wheezes when Stede's fingers are pushed all the way into him, knuckles thick at his rim. “Hold my hand, Stede, fuck.”

Oh, Stede couldn't have even imagined something as sweet as this. Stede hovers behind Ed, hot cock dragging wet against Ed's backside as he presses their bodies and reaches his free hand to Ed's. He threads his fingers through Ed's as he pumps his other fingers inside of Ed. Ed just grips his hand and keens.

Ed's been keyed up in bed for hours across the room from Stede, and so he's ready in no time. Stede lines himself up and sinks in, sinks forward and wraps his arms around Ed's chest until he can hardly tell where his body ends and Ed's begins.

"Fuck, mate. You fit perfect,” Ed says, breath punching in and out.

Ed is so moist there, so tender. Stede's never known sex like this— his lover peeled open like a soft, ripe fruit. So sweet.

Take me, Stede thinks, delirious. Please, take all of my love and keep it inside of you.

Slow. Right, yeah. What on Earth were they thinking? Whims can be good. Whims can be wonderful. Ed was a whim; Stede was a whim. Look at them now, as Ed throws his head back and rocks his hips back to meet Stede's. A whim can be the best thing that ever happened to a person. A whim can blossom to this.

Stede dips his head between Ed's shoulders, chest pressed to Ed's back as he moves in him. Ed rips his hand from Stede's to hold tightly to the back of Stede's head instead, to ensure he stays nestled up close to the base of Ed's neck.

“Best whim I ever indulged,” Stede whispers, littering wet kisses to Ed's neck as he takes Ed's heavy cock in his hand.

Ed's entire body quakes as he comes. Stede holds him through it, buried deep to feel Ed undulate around him.

They collapse, side by side, Stede still rock hard between his hips.

Ed kisses him. Slow, come-drunk and sloppy.

“Bout you?” Ed pants, pulling back from their kiss.

Stede's keyed up beyond the point of finishing— blown right past that embarrassing state of premature ejaculation right into the realm of too nervous to come.

“Just this,” he says, hand in Ed's hair as he presses his lips to Ed's once more.

“Whims are great. Love a good whim,” Ed says when they part for breath. “Gonna give you a whim that blows your fuckin' mind next time.”

Stede laughs. "I'm sure you will, darling. Can't wait."