Chapter Text
Ed stands in the corridor, takes in a deep grounding breath. Beneath his fingers, he can feel the wood grain, shiny and polished smooth; in his mind, Izzy’s echoing voice. First kill’s always a mindfuck.
Another breath, the kind that reaches all the way down to the depths of his gut, the parts of himself that feel the most out of sorts right now. Like if he could breathe in just the right way, he could reorganise his messy internal organs into something reasonable and manageable and fucking understandable.
Stop standing here, he tells himself. Get on with it.
He needs to do this. He needs to show up for Stede. He’d made a promise to himself—even if he hadn’t voiced it out loud—that he’d try and be more like Stede had always been: patient, steadfast. Those things don’t come particularly naturally to him, but he’s trying to work on them goddamn it. Stede needs his help, even if just for somebody to talk to. Talk it through, and all that.
He can be that person. He needs to be that person.
He knocks three times on the door, a gentle rap of knuckles. He doesn’t want to startle him; the man’s probably had more stress and startle than any one person can handle in a day. Fuck, and what a day. What a mindfuck of a whole fucking day. If he thinks too hard about it, he might just find himself spiraling too, and no that’s not the point. He’s here for Stede. He’s here for St—
The door opens in front of him and Ed manages to maybe make it look like he didn’t just jump half out of his skin. “Hey,” he says, softly. “You okay?”
On the other side of the threshold, Stede’s face is troubled. There’s something cloudy in his expression, something Ed can’t quite read, and maybe Ed’s not particularly good at saying the heartfelt things out loud, certainly not to Stede. But he tries anyway. “Look, I was a wreck after my first kill as well,” he begins, yes, fucking nailing it. “I mean, well, it was my dad, so there’s that—”
Stede’s hands fist in his shirt and drag him over the threshold, into the Captain’s cabin.
Ed’s heart catches somewhere in his throat as he’s pulled through the room, holding onto Stede’s upper arms like a lifeline. There’s some kind of fucking pivot and a half and then he’s pushed back against the far wall, and there’s that shadowed look in Stede’s eye again, never quite gone away. Pain? Heartbreak? Something in it feels just this side of desperation. Ed knows the general taste of it, at least.
He knows what it’s like to need to bury hard feelings in something easy. He understands that sometimes all you need to feel a little better is something to fill that void in your chest that won’t seem to go away but sure does like to consume.
Ed can be that for Stede. He’d come here to be a comfort. Steadfast. He can hold them both together, he can kiss Stede and hold him close and fill up that bottomless cup and maybe, maybe, he’ll find where it ends and that would be enough, right? That’s his job now. This job where he is Stede’s and Stede is his.
Here, in the moment, Stede looks at him, a question in his gaze, and Ed knows the answer is yes. The answer is always going to be yes, when Stede’s the one asking the question.
So Ed nods, and drags him in, mouth against mouth, arm around his shoulders. Like if he just pulls him in tight enough, he could tip right into that void and fill that space so neatly. Ed’s never been particularly good at filling spaces, always too big or too small or not quite shaped right, having to hack off pieces of himself to fit, but he thinks he could fill this one pretty good, and maybe then Stede would smile and neither of them would be thinking about splashes and spiders and—
The kiss is searing, the pressure of Stede’s lips and teeth holding Ed solid. He wants to melt into it, but things aren’t quite the right temperature, too burning hot. Stede’s fingers trail down Ed’s chest, one hand on his waist, and then those fingers are coming up to fist into his hair and hold him even tighter, if that were even possible, and maybe Stede’s on exactly the same page as Ed. Maybe Stede’s doing his best to pull Ed into that gap in his chest himself.
Ed’s willing. Ed will go. Ed would go anywhere Stede asked right now, blindfolded.
“I want,” Stede says, breathless against Ed’s lips, “I want you.”
I want you, just like that. The fucking madman.
Ed doesn’t even have a good reply. I always want you? That sounds fucking stupid. Plus, he’d been very clear before about how he’d wanted to take things slow. But he hadn’t really counted on a near-death experience, never mind Ned Low’s very real-death experience and too many feelings to contain within one body just waiting to burst out.
So instead he kisses up Stede’s jawline, sucks at his pulse point to remind himself Stede’s heart is still beating, he’s still right here, and real, and precious. When Stede moans softly and twists Ed’s hair round his fingers even tighter, tangling in the piece of cord tying it, it feels easy. It feels so fucking easy to say, “Alright. Alright, you have me.”
Things move quickly after that.
They don’t stop kissing. Kissing seems like the one very important thing tethering them to each other. Stede’s lips are a fucking lifeline, the pathway by which Ed can be here for Stede, can show up in the moment. No words, they’re past words, but he can kiss really fucking good, so good that both of them are gasping between presses of lips. So good that Stede is heating up, neck and chest flushed. So good that when they part again, Stede’s eyes are a little softer and he cups Ed’s face in his hands like Ed is something precious.
“To the bed?”
Ed nods. They’re moving together, taking the same steps. Ed undoes his hair, lets it fall around his face. Stede strips off his shirt, tossing it to the ground like it offends him, and well, when it’s keeping Stede’s broad chest and shoulders from his sight, it offends Ed too.
He lets his hands explore, just for a moment, a pressing touch over Stede’s freckled skin. His thumb skirts the harsh burn on Stede’s chest and he’s conscious not to aggravate it. It’s right there, at the forefront of his mind, but he doesn’t want it at the forefront of Stede’s. So he doesn’t linger, just lets his hands continue to graze and explore as his mouth finds Stede’s again and kisses him in what he hopes is an acceptable echo of Stede’s own need.
I want you. I always want you.
Stede nudges him onto the bed, allows Ed space to toe off his boots and shuffle back so he’s closer to the window. He’s still in his leathers, but he doesn’t mind one little bit. He knows from experience how good it feels to have someone undress him, and he thinks Stede will be particularly good at it, all careful touches and needy little kisses.
Fireworks crack up on deck and the noise draws Ed’s attention for a moment as Stede slides off his own boots. There’s something so pretty about the lights out there, cascading in the brightest of colours. It makes inside the bed nook feel small, somehow, but maybe that’s a sort of intimacy. A small moment, condensed, close and quiet and soft.
The effect is only made greater by Stede shutting the curtain behind them. It’s just the two of them and the bed nook now, insulated from the world. That’s a nice idea. The world’s on the other side, where it can’t hurt them. And in here, Ed can be everything Stede needs. He can kiss him and keep him safe, from the villains out there and the monsters in his head.
Stede kneels on the edge of the bed when he turns back to face him, and something finally softens in his face. That softness feels important. It feels like something Ed should catch and hold sacred. Stede’s meant to be all kinds of soft, not rough at the seams like Ed. When they move towards each other again, it’s on a shared inhale of breath and they collide with open mouths.
Ed skirts his palms up Stede’s thighs and back as he climbs into his lap, practically straddling him. Those fingers are back in his hair, a gentle tug that curls with pleasure down Ed’s spine. Stede kisses him deeper, leaves him fucking breathless. His heart’s beating a million miles in his chest, frantic like it could explode out of him, a reflection of the manufactured starlight outside.
He lets his fingers roam. He drags Stede in a little closer by the waist, pressing their torsos together, and he becomes very aware that Stede is only wearing his trousers but Ed’s still in all his fucking leathers like an absolute fool. “Stede. Stede,” he manages to say, barely breaking their kiss. “Get me out of these.”
Stede leans back a little, the better to look at him. Hungry, wanting. Yes. Yes.
His fingers undress Ed roughly, shaking as they tug at buckles and buttons. He’s biting his lip like he’s frustrated and when his thumb slips, he hisses out a quiet, “Shit.” It’s okay, Ed wants to say, you’re perfect, but then Stede’s solved the puzzle with a self-satisfied little hum and he’s shoving the jacket the rest of the way off, then shirt, then pants.
Ed thinks he’s never been stripped so fast in his life, but if that means Stede wants him that badly, he can’t really complain. He wants Stede badly too. Has since the first time he laid eyes on him. Doesn’t matter that for a while there he thought he’d never have him. Doesn’t matter that it feels like a little bit too much, all at once. Doesn’t matter that he’s a little bit terrified it’s all gonna get ripped away.
Stede wants him. Stede wants him so much, and he wants Stede.
The moment Stede’s pants are also gone, they're kissing again, all teeth and tongue and hot breath. They’re fantastic kisses really, even if Ed wishes a little bit that Stede would slow the fuck down. They survived, they did it, they got through it, and sure everything feels fucking tense and hard to carry, but they’re not on a deadline. They can still take things slow. They can still kiss sweetly.
They shuffle on the bed, Stede holding himself up with a hand on either side of Ed’s shoulders. Ed grazes his fingers along Stede’s cheek, his jaw, uses that grip to tenderly pull him in again, soft, soft. Stede sucks Ed’s bottom lip between his teeth, meeting Ed’s wordless request for slow but not giving him even a moment to cool down. He’s kissing him like Ed might be his final meal.
And there’s something precious in that too, right? Like Stede wants to fucking devour him. Ed’s never had someone want him like that before, all hungry and eager. Desperate, sure. Plenty of desperate fucks to be had at sea. But not like this. Not with Stede’s hot skin against his, chest to chest, thighs slotted together.
With a sudden lurching of something in the vicinity of his heart, Ed finds himself wanting to look. He wants to look at him, this beautiful man. His. Right here, right now.
Ed pulls back from the kiss a little, uses his hand on Stede’s face to hold him steady. “Let me—” he whispers and he means to finish his sentence, but Stede’s already sitting back on his heels. The broad stretch of his shoulders, the downy fluff of that golden orange chest hair that had been teasing him through the low cut of Stede’s shirt all fucking day. His waist feels built just for Ed to grip, so he does, thumbs digging into the soft skin just above the V of his hip bones.
And his cock, already most of the way to hard where it sits flush against the soft rolls of his belly. Ed feels fucking mesmerized. Like a fucking snake being charmed by Stede’s fucking cock, but there’s something the wrong way round about that metaphor. He wants to touch, wants to press his thumb along the curve of the underside, brush his fingers along the velvety softness of Stede’s balls.
He’d thought about Stede naked more times than he could count, but the reality is so much more than his previous passing glimpses had allowed him to imagine. He’d never accounted for the weight of Stede’s body against his legs, the solid feel of his presence here in this tiny barely-a-room. Ed wants to pull Stede closer, whisper all kinds of words of praise into his skin: how fucking pretty he is, how strong and brave. And maybe Ed’s stomach was roiling at the idea of the kill, terrified of what it might do to Stede, but there’s also something else there too, some twisted sort of pride.
Ed’s fingers skim up Stede’s naked sides, silently asking the question, what do you want? Stede’s eyes are dark as they look down at him, pupils blown wide, but his expression is soft, like Ed is everything he could ever want right now. Fuck, Ed wants to be everything Stede could ever want so fucking badly. What do you want?
“I want to fuck you.”
And it’s not I want you, like he’d said earlier, but it’s the same shape. It fills the same space within Ed and he’s nodding frantically even as everything feels a little bit too much. “Okay.” Another nod. “Okay.”
Stede takes off his rings, placing them carefully on the windowsill. His movements seem so much slower than before, like time has slowed to honey. Each is delicate, careful, and Ed can’t look away from his hands. Those soft delicate hands that had encapsulated his so gently on the deck that night, those fingers that had tangled with his own. He bites his lip, a little nervous suddenly, but reaches for Stede to entwine their fingers together again. This, at least, feels familiar. Comfortable.
He watches Stede gaze at their hands, his thumb tracing a little line across Ed’s knuckles. When he looks back up at Ed’s face his expression is tender. He tips forward, far enough to kiss Ed again, just a quick little brush against lips and fuck that feels perfect. Stede’s asking for something, the answer to all his troubles, and when he kisses like that, Ed thinks he could solve them all just by kissing back.
He slips his free hand to the nape of Stede’s neck and pulls him back in. It’s no surprise that the tenderness turns to hunger. Ed’s no stranger to that feeling. He feels it himself, in the way his cock fills further and twitches when Stede moves above him, pressing them closer together, the way it coils in his gut. He’s feeling it now, he’s deep in it, he wants, just as much as he wants to be wanted.
And Stede must feel it too because he takes charge again, wriggles his way down Ed’s body until he’s between Ed’s thighs and takes Ed’s cock in his mouth. It’s intoxicating, that warm, wet heat. Ed can’t help but close his eyes against the sensation, tipping his head back til it smacks against the wall.
Stede seems a little surprised, but he doesn’t slow down his movements. His fingernails dig into Ed’s thighs as he licks unsophisticated patterns along the length of Ed’s cock, as he hollows his cheeks, sucks him deeper. There’s not really much finesse to the whole thing, but Ed’s honestly always thought finesse is a bit overrated when it comes to sucking cocks. What matters is suction and enthusiasm and Stede has both those things in spades.
The way Ed writhes in the bed seems to spur him on. It’s a perfect kind of feedback loop, the kind that circles pleasure higher and higher and tighter and tighter in Ed’s gut. He’s got a hand now in Stede’s hair, not tugging, just loose. His toes curl as his thighs fall further apart and he feels like he could stay here forever. He could let Stede suck his cock and lose himself in the moment of it and he really thinks it maybe might just fix him.
But then his eyelids flutter open and he catches Stede’s gaze again. Those pupils are still blown wide and he’s looking at him like he’s searching for something. And then he does something different with his tongue on the head of Ed’s cock and Ed thinks that if he doesn’t stop him, doesn’t speak up, he might just come from this and that’s not the fucking point is it?
“You wanted—” he manages to gasp out, suddenly aware of how fucking breathless Stede’s made him. “You wanted to fuck me?”
Stede pauses, Ed’s cock slipping free of his mouth to settle back against his stomach in an obscene movement. Ed can’t help but stare at the flushed colour of his lips, the surprised ‘o’ of his mouth.
“Yes,” he manages to say after an awkward pause. “Yes, sorry, I got carried away.”
Ed doesn’t mind carried away, when it looks like this. He finds the jar of oil, presses it into Stede’s hands and settles back on his elbows again.
Stede works quickly, seemingly unwilling to linger now that he’s gotten started. His slick finger finds its way to Ed’s hole, presses gentle but firm and Ed fucking gasps with it, a shaky exhale. He’d thought the fucking blowjob was overwhelming but here Stede is barely touching his sensitive rim and he’s already losing his fucking marbles.
“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth and Stede pauses for barely a breath, squeezing at his hip.
“You alright?”
“Fine, good, keep going.”
And he thinks he probably meant keep touching him there, keep making him feel like that, making him feel so heady and overwhelmed and like putty in his hands. But Stede keeps moving, keeps pushing them forward, pressing one finger into him now with a careful rhythm. It burns a little, and Ed’s not quite sure if he was ready for that, but when he exhales, he relaxes and things feel a lot better. Each thrust feels like waves against the hull and maybe they sound a little like that too.
Ed lets himself get caught up in it, breathing with the rhythm, chasing those sensations with little rocks of his hips. And then Stede’s adding a second finger, more of a stretch, more fullness. And oh that time it feels mostly all good and he wants to keep chasing those fingers, keep grinding down onto them, letting them spear him deep.
“Stede,” he lets out on a soft moan, squeezing his eyes shut.
He hadn’t known it could feel like this. Like flaying his heart open a little bit, opening up all the most vulnerable parts of himself. Ed’s fucked plenty, he thought he knew the ins and outs, but that’s all his prior experience feels like now: fucking mechanics. This feels like something altogether deeper, infinitely more scary. Like he’s trusting Stede with all these parts of himself he doesn’t think he’ll be able to get back.
He’d lost Stede before, and somehow regained him, and he thinks now it would be its own unique horror, losing him again, now that he’s had Stede’s mouth on his own, on his cock; Stede’s fingers buried inside him and those whispered words: I want you.
And Stede must be feeling something similar because he’s already sliding his fingers free, wiping them on the sheet unceremoniously—who the fuck is this man?—and climbing back up Ed’s body to claim him in another scorching kiss. Ed lets himself get swept up in it, in the shared breath and press of tongues and Stede’s muffled, urgent little noises. He wants him, he wants him and he scrapes his fingernails up Stede’s back, a wordless encouragement. It feels less like an intrusion and more like the void within his own heart being filled when Stede sinks deep within him.
And wait, that’s… that’s not quite right. Wasn’t it meant to be the other way round? Stede’s void, not Ed’s?
He can’t quite seem to follow that train of thought though as Stede fucks into him with long, slow rolls of his hips. His eyelids flutter shut again and Stede’s kissing at his jaw, his throat, his collarbone. He holds himself steady on one hand, the other firm on Ed’s hip like an anchor. And then he really goes for it. Those slow rolls turn into rough thrusts, deep and full and almost painful except Ed kind of likes the pain. He holds Stede closer, meets each thrust with his own rocking hips.
“Ed, are you with me?”
His eyes blink open and he’s aware all of a sudden that he’s had them screwed shut. Stede’s looking down at him, eyebrows turned into an almost-frown, but he doesn’t stop those deep, needy thrusts. There’s something brutal about the way Stede fucks into him, like if he could just dig his fingers into his hip a little tighter, hold him a little closer, Ed wouldn’t leave.
But he doesn’t want to leave. Not for a single fucking moment. I’m not going anywhere, he thinks. “I’m right here,” he says.
Stede’s breath is coming unsteady now, almost hyperventilating, and that frown hasn’t quite gone but maybe that’s just what Stede looks like when he’s close to coming. It reminds Ed far too much of the look on his face as he’d turned away from where he’d killed Ned Low, that same ragged catch of breath, and he doesn’t want that, but he doesn’t know how to make it go away either.
Then Stede groans, “I think I’m close,” and Ed reckons that maybe that just is the way his face looks when he’s on the edge, and it’s an easy enough choice to wrap a fist around his own cock, rough and quick to get himself there too.
He wants to come with Stede. He wants to tip over the edge of pleasure together. That sounds like just the fucking thing to make them really feel connected, more connected than two people joined at the fucking hip—literally—can be. He thinks if maybe they both came together, that for a split second he and Stede could share one body, and he’d know what it was like to be Stede and Stede would know what it was like to be him, and they could breathe the very same air.
It feels obscene, and some part of him knows its unachievable, that that’s not how physics fucking works, but as he rolls his hips into Stede’s, bears down around his cock, strips his own with quick flicks of his wrist, it seems worth it to fucking try.
“Fuck,” he breathes into the hushed echoey quiet of the small enclosed space of the bed nook and then Stede is crying out his own ragged sob and then—