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They get done with the whole mess with Iz, wrap him up in a bit of sail and stick him off to the side til morning, and then Ed’s standing around with everyone else on deck, busy thinking about the past, and the sea, and the fleeting nature of life and the permanence of death, and what’s the point of being a pirate anymore anyway, and—and—and would Stede maybe like to have sex again tonight. That one’s important. Time-sensitive.
And then someone’s pulling out a mouth organ and someone else a lute and before you know it it’s a party and you’re stuck in the middle of a bunch of happy people because it’s not like there’s anywhere else you can go except off the side of the ship.
“Well,” says Stede with one of those big smiles that says this is the way he’d been hoping it would go. Stede’s an odd bloke sometimes. The smile is a nice one though and his hand is solid and sure in Ed’s. “I think this has turned out rather well, don’t you, Edward?”
The smile travels from the musicians to the newlyweds to the roll of sail, where it falters.
“Mmhmm,” says Ed, which is almost a yes, and lets go to grab Stede’s elbow and pull instead of following his gaze. “Let’s have sex.”
;;
They don’t pull the curtain this time. There’s nothing left to hide from, nothing to keep out. Or in. They’ve stuck themselves together now, they’re it for each other. And let’s be real, who else would have them anyway.
“Ed,” Stede whispers as his cock goes in, slick with butter, cos that’s all they find after rummaging around in first the bedroom, then the galley. Fine with Ed, he’s had a lot worse stuck up there. The first time they didn’t have anything, just spit and fingers and crying and the knowing that there was no way back from tonight, and that it would be better the next time. Which it already is. It’s slower, warmer, and no one just got their favourite tattoo ruined by a brand on their chest, and no one got tortured by Stede getting tortured on the sofa next to them, and things can’t get worse than they are now so really the only way is up. “It’s easier this time.”
Ed tips his head back in the pillow. It’s a good pillow, better than most of the others he’s ever had to make do with in the rest of his sorry life. Soft, mostly. Annoying bit of feather sticking through one corner. Still better than the sack of rice Pot-Pot gave him to rest his head the second night on land. “Yeah mate. Always is.”
Not that there isn’t something to be said for an impulse fuck. Love giving into an impulse, the relief of sliding in and doing, not just thinking about it. But the first one’s always a bit of a letdown. Too quick, too wanting. No time to touch each other, too busy having each other. And not that Ed’s had all that much experience with second times, hard to find the same prostitute or sailor twice, what with the pox and the hangman and all the royal navies of the world all getting in the way.
But the second time’s where it’s at.
“I suppose you’re right,” says Stede, and then he really starts to push in. His cock is enormous, big enough to break Ed. Ed doesn’t mind being broken, he already is, lots of people have said so and now it’s easy to just take it as fact and deal with the consequences. “Like killing people.”
It should have been enough to make Ed go soft from one word to the next. It should have made him freeze and roll away and say what the fuck, Stede. Except that Stede’s dick lands in just the right spot inside to perk him right back up again. Ed is literally getting harder thinking about Stede killing people, there is something fucking wrong with him. “Like—”
“Killing people,” Stede says again, takes a breath to make his fuck harder. His cock is getting bigger the harder he fucks, is that even possible? Well, if it’s not, it’s happening. Stede’s cock is getting bigger and they’re talking about killing people. And Ed is getting closer. “That was easier the second time, too.”
Ed grasps for something to say. Anything. He scrambles. Words. His feet are prickling, his palms, the backs of his knees. “The time where you threw the—”
“The burning bottle of rum, yes.”
Stede’s cock punches inside Ed harder. Ed moans a bit, dies a bit, lets his legs fall loose from Stede’s waist as he comes.
;;
Ed brings it up the next time. The next time is the next morning. Strike while the iron is hot and all that. Ed’s mum used to say that before she died. One of the few people Ed loved and didn’t kill. Except maybe by leaving.
Also Ed figures that if they’re talking about it, they’re talking about it. He sighs at the feeling of it all.
“Just like killing people,” he tries, testing it out, right when Stede presses another finger inside. The extra finger isn’t really necessary after last night but Stede goes right for the good bit, pressing in and crooking up and setting off little fireworks inside him. If Stede wants to set fires, Ed isn’t going to tell him no.
“Hmm?” Like they’re at dinner and Ed interrupted Stede’s book to ask him to pass the fucking salt.
“Getting the trick of it. You. Fucking me. Killing people.”
“Oh.” Stede looks a bit glowy about it. Bit sick, maybe? Fleetingly like he’s going to throw up on Ed. That’s not good. Might just be the sex sweat. Or maybe he really doesn’t feel so well. Ed gets the same sheen on his forehead when he throws up last night’s drink. And when he wakes up panting into the dead of night with the bedclothes strangling his limbs. And when he gets stuck on the wrong end of a pointy thing and shrugs and says go on then, and when he pulls on a flintlock on his way out of some other guy’s hold packed with gunpowder, and when he swings himself up to the masthead and leans out over the waves and lets go.
Just kidding. He’s never done that.
The sex, then. Ed hooks his ankle into the pit of Stede’s back as Stede reorganises himself between his legs, and there goes the breakfast tray to the floor with a clatter, and the tin cups, and Ed’s heart. “Jesus—”
Stede pushes in.
"—Christ,” Ed breathes. “You’re big.”
“My wife said the same thing.”
Ed does not want to talk about Stede’s wife. He tightens his legs, pulling Stede in closer, feeling the groan vibrate through Stede’s chest. “Feels like being suffocated.”
Stede gives it another good thrust or two, filling Ed like he’s packing shot before he replies. “Is it?”
“Yeah. From the bottom up.”
Stede hesitates again. He’s nervous. Not about the thrusting, that he keeps going with. Ed wonders in the part of his mind that isn’t getting lost in the hot, heavy weight of it whether Stede had to fuck his wife very often to make the babies or if twice was enough. Ed doesn’t want to be thinking about her but it’s that or the suffocation thing and it’s Stede’s fault for bringing her up anyway.
Stede has found his nerve and is talking again. He doesn’t look sick anymore. “Not a very efficient way of doing it.”
What. Ed’s mouth is hanging open and his legs are shaking and his dick is leaking a slow, messy drip on his stomach. “Beg to differ,” he says in a breathy, posh-sounding voice because—it’s fun. And why not. It sounds stupid. That’s why not. His dick suffers for it.
Stede reaches between them and takes hold, gripping and pulling Ed back to full cock while he fucks him. He doesn’t look away from his own cock fucking Ed. That’s okay. Stede already looks at Ed’s face all the time when they’re not having sex. “I meant suffocating them with my penis. Like this. Not a very effective way of killing someone.”
This is fucking weird. Ed shouldn’t be getting turned on about it but Ed’s body doesn’t always do what it’s told. Someone should do the world a favour and take him out and shoot him. Speaking of efficient.
He waits for Stede to gather his remaining nerve to meet his gaze and then makes another suggestion. “Bottom up’s not the only way.”
Stede takes his fingers from Ed’s cock, walks them up, pauses at the delicate space at the solar plexus, spreads wide and presses down against the beating heart, closes over the windpipe. Dips his fingers into the mouth, pressing down on the tongue, inviting Ed to bite.
;;
Fucking is a good time to have a conversation. No one interrupts and it’s easy to stay on task and if it all gets too much, if the voice in Ed’s head gets too loud, Ed can clench or moan and Stede’s voice drowns it out, or else he can wriggle off and suffocate from the top instead and breathing gets more important. And it means they’re having sex rather than doing something else. Ed likes having sex with Stede. Means no one else is having sex with him.
Ed is bent over the desk today, and Stede is behind him. Taller than normal because he’s wearing heels while he fucks him, and the last remaining pair of stockings, and nothing else. Ed got rid of most of Stede’s shit out of the extra wardrobe cos it wasn’t like he needed more help losing his mind, but the shoes were nice to fuck and satisfying to throw at the door any time anyone tried to interrupt a crying sesh to ask about headings, food, divvying up the loot. What to do with the boy that got stuck on the wrong ship. What to do with the bodies. Shit like that.
The heels scrape the deck as Stede makes himself more comfortable inside Ed. “I quite like this angle.”
“Mm. I like your shoes.” Pretty, lacy little things with froofy ribbons and buckles and nominal come stains. And they get Stede to a good angle.
“Do you?” Stede gives a good, hearty inward thrust. “Last time I wore these was on the party boat, do you remember that?” He shudders. “With those awful Dutch merchants.”
“Prussians.”
“No, I’m sure they were—fuck. Were they really?”
A fun fact about Ed is that he pulled himself off to the memory of Stede on the party boat so many times while he was the kraken that after a week or two he thought he’d actually broken his dick.
- Monday he came twice thinking about the smirk on Stede’s mouth (Ed could stick his dick in and fuck it).
- Tuesday he came thinking about the soot mucking up Stede’s pretty stockings (ditto).
- Thursday there was a raid, but the chaos reminded him of walking in to find the curtains on fire at the party so he was hard the whole time anyway. Everyone definitely noticed so he might just as well have whipped it out.
- Friday he actually came three times because the Thursday night raid turned up a snail fork, promptly confiscated.
- Sunday he accidentally thought about the moonlight and his dick was just a floppy fucking dangly thing between his legs no matter how much Ed tugged on it. He cried because his dick was broken.
- Monday it was bruised but working again. Ed gave it the night off just in case.
- And on Wednesday he thought about Stede fingering the brother-fucker’s dent.
“Prussian,” Ed says, and puts his forehead down on the desk between his arms. It makes the angle even fucking better.
“Where do you think the other guy was from?”
“Probably Prussian too. Brother and sister.”
Stede snorts. It makes his dick jerk inside Ed. “No. The guy on the Republic. With the—” He makes like he’s throwing something over Ed’s shoulder and makes a whooshing noise between his teeth. “The burning.”
The smell of burnt flesh isn’t so bad, once you’ve spent enough time getting off to the memory of it. Not that Ed was strictly getting off to the smell, you understand, but the burning was a fundamental part of the night and there’s no turning off a kink, is there, once you’ve turned that switch up to a hundred. Not when it’s kink on it or walk off the side of your own ship and wait to drown. “Bit late to ask now.”
“It is, isn’t it,” Stede sighs. The fuck gets weird and distracted. “I should have thought to ask. It would have spoiled the joke.”
Ed shifts where he stands, reminding him it’s not too late for more important things. Now’s not the time for Stede to lose focus. The burning bit is getting Ed going.
“Sorry.” Stede sets back to. He grips Ed’s hips, fingers leaving little bruises for tomorrow. “No point living in the past, is there.”
;;
They try talking about something else. Just to keep things fresh. Can’t go letting it get boring before trying out something new.
Ed tells a little story about himself in a pretty gown and Stede on the lookout for a pretty girl to ravish, and all told it’s good, compelling, got some good plotting in there. A sort of best of from the kraken days. Still, by the time he gets to the actual ravishing part of the story, neither of them has much interest in following through.
Stede looks sadly at his own mostly limp dick, then at Ed’s.
“Could put on a dress anyway,” Ed suggests a bit desperately, not really liking the sound of getting fucked in a dress as if it’s some kind of inferior option, but not really liking the sound of no fucking, either. He looks sadly at the pair of mostly limp dicks between them, too, and changes track. “Could put on a uniform. Got loads below. Pick your favourite navy and I’ll put it on so you can rip it off. French. Spanish. There’s a Russian one somewhere, might be a bit small now.”
Stede brightens. His whole face. Just the sight of it makes Ed’s chest go sore. “I saw Lucius hanging those British jackets over the rigging earlier, they must be dry by now.”
Last time they wore those uniforms, Stede pulled him into an empty cell on the way out and reached in and put a big salty wet patch on the first pair of pants Ed had been wearing. The second pair fit better so it was a win/win. Then they went out and killed some more people together. Ed enjoys the sick feeling crawling down his back, curling around his dick at the memory. That’s more like it.
“How long’s it take to dry a jacket anyway? Not that fucking long. It’s not leather,” he says. Dick picking up, would you look at that. They could do a bit of roleplay. “Hey,” he says to Stede’s back just as he opens the door, and enjoys the impatient, fond look on Stede’s face as he turns. “I love you.”
Stede melts. Ed sees it on his face and feels something melt inside himself, too. If he was inside Stede right now he’d be riding a melty wave of body parts sloshing around and crashing into the ones you really can’t live without. Ed isn’t sure which those are but he hopes Stede does.
“I’ll only be a moment,” Stede says, all gentle and relieved. All the sloshy feelings inside that thick, sturdy body making his eyes go all soft and wet. It’s obvious and lovely even from over here on Ed’s side of the room.
;;
It’s weird, being in love. Ed thinks he’s getting used to it but he isn’t sure he’d recommend it.
On the one hand he can talk to Stede about anything. The weather. The sea. How fucking bad it hurt when Stede left. How good he looked as a mermaid. His dad, his mum. Stede’s dad, Stede’s mum. Shit like that.
On the other hand Ed thinks there might be things he’d like to stay buried. Not to mention it seems a bit risky, putting his barely beating heart in the hands of a man who can’t come without killing someone in his head first. Or during.
“Is it weird?” Stede asks, afterwards, on a quiet-enough morning a little while after the second time. It’s just the two of them now. And the hole in the roof that shows the stars and lets in the rain. Bit of sailcloth does the trick well enough til a dead seagull falls out of the sky with a bit of dead fish in its feet, body parts smashing all over the new floor, stinking up the place even worse.
“Is what weird?”
Stede looks sideways, looks along the length of Ed’s sticky, cooling body. And Ed looks back. They’re both naked but Ed’s still got a bullet rolling around his mouth and Stede’s got ropeburn and bruises up and down his neck and just looking at the purple-red colour of it makes Ed’s prick twitch. Stede notices and forgets he’s worrying about stupid shit like normal or not. He reaches over and strokes, gentle like he’s feeling the overstimulation himself. It’s nice. Feels good. Even when Stede stops stroking and just holds him in his hand and says, “I like what we do. I think. But it feels like there’s something wrong with us.”
Ed gives it til it’s too much and then a bit longer. He swings himself up and over Stede’s hips, a bit lower, and gets comfortable. “Don’t care,” he says with a shrug, putting a finger to the ugly bruises coming through under Stede’s jaw, enjoying Stede’s darkening eyes. “Not hurting anyone.” For once.