Work Text:
The most important thing about sex work is keeping appropriate boundaries. Someone shouldn’t, say, give a client their fucking home address for any fucking reason. It prevents things like the very dickfuck of a situation Ed Teach currently finds himself in.
It’s a Saturday night. Ed is not working. Ed is not out on the fucking town. Ed is, if he’s being fucking honest with himself, fucking pining. As is his right. He has savings. If he wants to take time off to mourn the predictable fallout of violating what is a good fucking set of guidelines for professional behavior, well, he very well fucking can.
What’s important to know here are three things: Ed is naked except for a pink robe with fucking birds on it, he’s just past buzzed to a little drunk on not enough fucking rum, and his heart has been broken by Stede fucking Bonnet.
So when someone knocks on his apartment door, who he does not expect to find, standing there dripping, clothes wet, rivulets running down his face from his soaked hair, is Stede fucking Bonnet.
Who says, “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
Okay, fourth thing…there’s an absolutely balls out, fucking tempest hitting the city at the moment.
And here’s Ed, two fucking paths diverging in front of him. The one where he just shuts the door in Stede fucking Bonnet’s wet face is really fucking tempting. Might even have started to swing the door closed when Stede shivers. Not a little shiver, but one of those big wracking hypothermia incoming shivers. A “gonna die in those wet clothes” shiver.
And Ed is mad at Stede, but probably not “fuck off and die” mad. Besides, letting clients die is bad for business. Ed gestures at him wordlessly to come in, with the hand grasping the bottle of rum. He ignores the way Stede is gaping at his fucking face. Returns to the couch, instead, flopping out on his back.
“Ed?” Stede asks as he steps into the apartment and closes the door behind him with a click.
Ed can’t face this drunk, couldn’t face this sober either, which is, in fact, why he’s still working on getting drunk. All he needs is to keep this fucker alive and get him back out again before Ed says any of half a hundred things he would deeply regret. He focuses hard on the thing he can say.
“Taking off your fucking clothes, mate.”
Stede stands on Ed’s interior doormat, dripping into a little puddle, like a fucking cartoon, and he blinks his eyes and pushes his rain-flattened swoosh hair off his forehead. “You want me naked?” His voice pitches up.
Ed gets the confusion. They were doing something different before—Stede deciding when they got naked, ‘cause he was paying Ed for… Ed giggles. He can’t help it. Sex lessons. Stede was paying him for fucking sex lessons. Ed leans up a bit so he can look Stede in the face.
Manages to say, fucking sensibly, he thinks, “Yeah, so you don’t fucking die.”
Ed lets his head collapse back. If Stede’s too stubborn to not get hypothermia, not his fucking fault. He points over the back of the couch with the hand not clutching the rum to his chest.
“Bathroom’s that way.”
Stede starts stripping on the doormat. Ed doesn’t mean to watch. Anything they had going professionally or unprofessionally is gone, dissolved, fucking done. It’s just that the motion of Stede drawing his shirt over his head is catching his fucking eye, is all. He’s just looking because Stede’s moving, yeah?
It's not for one more glimpse of that solid fucking chest. Not imagining how those fucking tits feel under his hands. Or how the fine hair on Stede’s belly feels against his fingertips. He is not recalling all the ways that Stede’s fucked him, that he’s fucked Stede. Six months of fucking each other in every way he could think of.
Nah, that shit is at the top of the list of things he’s drinking to forget, thank you. He groans, shifts his eyes to the ceiling, and pulls on the bottle. He closes his eyes and listens as Stede mumbles through fighting off his shoes. Hears the wet plop of Stede’s drenched pants hitting the floor.
Then Stede’s moving, his steps audible, bare feet padding over Ed’s laminate floor. He stops at the end of the couch and asks, “Will you give me some towels to clean up this mess?”
And Ed, the universe's biggest fool, opens his eyes to Stede across from him. Lets them linger on those fucking gorgeous thighs, finely furred with blonde hair.
“What the fuck is that?” he asks.
Stede looks down, sees what Ed is looking at, slaps his hand over the bandage on the outside of his upper left thigh and winces when he makes contact. “Fuck, uh, nothing.”
Okay, the fifth thing that’s important to know. Stede Bonnet’s a terrible liar. He wears his feelings right on his expressive face.
So Ed doesn’t believe him, but Stede shivers again, so Ed just waves him on with, “Take a hot fucking shower, you nut.”
Just his fucking luck Stede would decide to wander out in a downpour. Otherwise, he'd definitely show him the door. Ed doesn't need him here looking all confused and hurt. The pile of wet clothes is still on the doormat, with the puddle, and okay, Ed actually cares about his fucking floors.
He sits up with another groan before searching the coffee table for the cap among a scatter of scribbled-on paper and brightly colored pens. He screws it on the bottle, abandoning it there. Goodbye, good friend rum.
Ed rambles into the kitchen and downs a glass of water, trying not to feel irritated that his fucking wallow now has taken a necessary detour into sobriety. Guess Stede doesn't care about anyone else's plans. Certainly not Ed's. He sets a pot of coffee to brewing wondering if it's bad to have caffeine when his heart is already pounding.
Balancing an armful of tattered towels, he rummages for the hefty reusable grocery bag his assistant Ivan had dropped off a couple of days ago when he’d requested more rum. It had been filled with easy-prep ready meals, judgment fucking implied, thank you. If he’d known he’d be doing this for three weeks, he’d have bought more liquor at the start and skipped the sad look on Ivan’s face when he opened the door.
The texture of the wool pants is fine under his fingertips, good quality, like all of Stede’s fucking fancy clothes. He drops them in the bag, followed by the shirt and Stede’s socks and underwear. It’s the fucking moth boxers, the ones that always made him say he wouldn’t have insects that close to his dick. He stands on a couple of towels, soaking up the puddle, whimpers in protest when the cold water, fucking predictably, seeps through to the soles of his feet.
Ed carries all the wet things to his sink to wring out the water and leaves Stede’s shoes to drain. Grabbing a mug from the drying rack, he fills it with coffee, adds an entirely reasonable amount of sugar, and drinks with grim resolve. Stede comes out a few minutes later, bottom half wrapped in a towel, nipples rosy from the hot water. Not that Ed is looking, ‘cause he’s not.
“You can have some coffee, if you want. I’m gonna get you some dry clothes.” Ed waves at the pot on the counter and the spare mug beside it. He goes into the bedroom and wonders why he didn't get clothes for Stede while he was in the shower. Fucking hard to poke at his intentions when he's buzzed and sad and his fucking floorboards might be warping. Doesn’t matter anyway. He selects a t-shirt that’s too big on him and a pair of sweatpants and carries them into the kitchen.
Stede’s eyes trace down his body as he steps back into the room, which is when Ed remembers that he’s not wearing anything except the fucking robe. That definitely was not intentional. It’s fucking comfortable, and he’d planned on being fucking alone. Which means it’s probably fine that his fucking dick is out because he didn’t tie it closed.
Stede’s is too, because he’s dropped the towel to put on the dry clothing. Yep, just two men standing in a kitchen on a stormy Saturday night with their fucking dicks out. Totally normal, non-concerning shit. Ed doesn't feel sad when Stede pulls on the sweats, doesn't care if he ever sees Bonnet's dick again.
Ed grips his robe closed and ties it with all the dignity he can muster, watches as Stede tugs the shirt over his head, fabric stretched taut over his chest, which now advertises a bar crawl from several years ago.
They both sit at the kitchen table, drinking their coffee and listening to the storm rumble outside. Stede keeps moving his mug, his thumb and then forefinger pressed against the handle. He’s rotating it one direction and then back the other, like maybe if he keeps at it, he'll find the perfect angle. Ed sighs, and Stede picks it up and takes a drink. He sets it back down, and Ed shifts in his chair and takes a drink from his own mug. He thunks it back onto the table.
“Why are you here?”
“The storm,” says Stede, gesturing at the window on Ed’s outer-facing wall.
“Sure, but why are you here?”
“Oh, uhhh…” Stede’s eyes slide around the kitchen as if the answer might be on Ed’s fridge. Ed watches his fucking face flush. “I was in the neighborhood.”
Stede does not live near Ed. He doesn’t work near Ed. The only time he’s been in Ed’s fucking neighborhood is giving him a ride home. The only reason he knows Ed’s specific fucking address is that he insisted on making sure Ed got home safe after a particularly vigorous session. At the time, at that moment in their relationship, their business relationship, it had seemed like a completely reasonable request. Even if it was one that Ed had never considered for a client.
Because he’d let the fucking boundaries blur. When he’d met Stede, he couldn’t have dreamed of this outcome. Ivan forwarded what he termed “a pretty unusual request” via their secure chat. Ed was…fuck it, be honest, Ed was bored out of his fucking skull and thinking about packing it all in.
As Blackbeard, he could command sums large enough to make people balk, and he was known for his discretion and care in handling unusual requests. It was just that rich guys were some of the least imaginative people possible. Most of them just wanted a little degradation and shame, and Ed did it. Called them names, stepped on their balls in his heels, whatever the fuck was their specific flavor of getting off. But after years of it, he couldn't even pretend he was having fun. No chaos, no drama, no fucking life. So, when Ivan said “pretty unusual,” he knew what Ed’s work was and knew that this request was not that.
Ed could hardly contain his curiosity, feeling a rush at just the idea of something different, which should have been his first warning. He opened the request to find something that was unique. Stede, very newly out, middle-aged, and desperately worried about “getting it wrong,” wanted someone to teach him how to have gay sex. It was…fucking weird. But also a little sweet, since he was apparently doing it out of concern for his future partners. Ed agreed to the meeting, enchanted by the possibility of something new.
Ed didn’t care if he was attracted to his clients or not; found it easier if he wasn't. The kind of people he worked with? They weren’t there for his pleasure. He was a conduit for theirs. Which was why his second fucking warning should have been that Stede was his type. It was like someone had ordered him out of the “things Ed Teach is fucking into” catalog. He was all wavy blonde hair and bright hazel eyes, and a fucking dimple. Freckled skin and a broad chest and fucking magnificent legs. Handsome as all get out, fucking hot. Ed hid it well enough when they met, the huge beard giving him a buffer on his expressions. ‘Cause everything was muted under all that hair. Used to be muted under all that hair. Wasn’t anymore, was it? Because he was the fucker who shaved it off.
And here was the third warning, the mortifying thing, Ed liked him. He was earnest and sweet and funny, and that thing about him caring about other people? It was real. Stede remembered Ivan’s name and asked after his partner’s dog. Ed couldn’t even remember the beast’s breed, but Stede had drawn it all out of Ivan in a ten-minute chat that should have been about fucking Ed. Ed, if he were being sensible, should have fled. He should have turned down the job with sweet, attractive, weird Stede Bonnet. But he didn’t. He took it, and he fucked himself up.
A sixth thing that’s important to know? Ed didn’t know to watch out for falling in love with Stede Bonnet ‘cause it wasn’t something he did. He was a consummate professional. His feelings did not fucking come into it. Ever.
It was just the first time that Stede made Ed come with his mouth, cheeks flushed and eyes lit with joy, something shifted. Ed didn’t even feel it at the time—one butterfly flapping its wings on the other side of the world. Stede’s pleasure in his pleasure was the first tiny pebble that started an avalanche, and Ed couldn’t even hear the rumble of the mountain coming down.
No, he was pleased that the lessons were going well, that Stede was gaining confidence. He was delighted to see Stede blooming under his guidance. He didn’t need to be taught to be a generous lover, he was that by nature. His stubborn streak meant he kept at each lesson until he was perfect, until he was bringing Ed off with stunning grace and ease. Ed should have known that all those sweet, exhilarating orgasms would come with a price, but he was so fucking proud of Stede that he didn’t see it. He didn’t stop.
Ed, fool that he was, suggested they do more together. One act, then another, helping Stede expand his repertoire and sliding ever deeper in. He was lost in a world of sensation and dulled to sense, and he’d never had better sex in his entire life. Stede fucked him, and it was lovely—sweet and gentle and tender. He was so fucking attentive.
Then Ed fucked Stede. Moisture gathered at the corners of his eyes as he kept his grip on Stede's waist, taking him from behind. Stede was coming, and there were tears on his cheeks, and he knew.
He finally understood how badly he’d fucked up. His interest in Stede was not professional, and he wasn’t doing this for money. He was in love with Stede Bonnet.
There were so many choices open to Ed. He could have told Stede. He could have ended their arrangement. He could have been honest with his crew. Izzy, who was in charge of the books, had been bitching about how he’d scaled back on regulars to focus on “that prick.” He’d chosen to keep going.
He told Izzy it was a ploy. Stede Bonnet had buckets of money from his late father, and Ed was dragging this out in a successful bid to transfer some of that excessive wealth into his own pockets. Quality over quantity or some shit. Pull this off, and he could retire. It was a lie. To Izzy, to himself. He already had enough money to retire, and he would have said or done anything for more time with Stede Bonnet.
Stede was oblivious to the whole thing, more than happy to keep at his lessons. And Ed could have cried at the absurdity of it because Stede Bonnet was a sex god. One that Ed was keeping all to himself. So when Stede mastered the basics to both their satisfaction, Ed suggested he learned some more advanced moves. They tried out every position Ed could think of, each time Stede worked to perfect it, while Ed moaned and came and begged for more.
Kink was the next logical step. Obviously, when Stede did find someone out in the world, it would be good to know what he was into, right? And Ed was so helpful. This was his expertise.
He wasn’t prepared for Stede. Stede, who was down for anything, who tried everything, and who giggled with joy when something didn't work. Ed had forgotten that sex could be fun, but it was. They were having the best time. Every time he thought he’d reached the peak of his love for Stede, he found he was wrong—his heart just expanded, more room for Stede to fill into every space.
It was a world of delights, open only to them, but with so many borders to lock them in. They didn’t go on dates, didn’t eat together. Ed had stayed in Stede’s bed a single time, so worn out that he’d heedlessly slipped into sleep afterward. He woke up alone, Stede on his couch in the living room, and a series of pissed-off messages from Izzy waiting on his phone.
The whole situation was fragile, a mess, untenable. It only needed a single touch to shatter. But Ed was so happy that he refused to see it until it was too late. Until it was Stede telling him they were done. He didn’t cry.
He was too numb to cry. Just stood there while Stede gently explained their time was at an end. What was Ed supposed to say? But I love you? This was never about love. He was the professional in this situation so he kept his cool while Stede smashed his heart.
He thanked him for their time together. He made it back to his apartment, somehow, and he shaved off his fucking beard. Normal fucking thing to do, he thought, as he stared at the black and gray curls in his trash can.
Blackbeard was the professional. He was the lie that kept Ed from telling Stede the truth. Ed was a wreck, and it was Ed staring back from the mirror, eyes huge, face bare, defenses stripped away. His face was as raw as his heart.
He blocked Izzy after the first week. Fucker kept sending all-caps messages demanding that he get back on the grind. Ed had a brief moment of amusement when Ivan texted him to make sure that Ed was ignoring Iz on purpose. He confirmed that he was and added that he was taking a fucking break. That Izzy was welcome to fuck Ed's clients if he wanted the work done that badly. Asked Ivan to remind Izzy that Ed was the boss and could do whatever he felt like.
What he felt like was rotting on his couch. Time maybe got a little loose between the sleeping and the crying and the drinking. He spent yesterday morning on a long sad wank after failing to torture out a lyric that captured the exact color of Stede's hair. The fucking point is that it’s all fucking pining ‘cause he’s still fucking in love.
He loves Stede Bonnet right now, at the kitchen table, dressed in Ed’s clothes and lying to Ed’s face. Which Ed wouldn’t let stand.
“In my neighborhood…in a fucking storm?”
Stede sighs. “There wasn’t a storm when I got here.”
Ed thinks it over. That was hours ago; the clouds started gathering in the early afternoon. “So you were, what, just walking around?”
“Yes, Edward, I was just walking around.”
Ooh, full name, now they were fucking getting somewhere. “So you didn’t have anywhere you wanted to go?”
“Let’s say I’m there, actually. I need to talk to you. I was figuring out what to say.”
“Ah, no, mate. We’ve said everything we need to say,” Ed says, because he can't do this. If Stede says anything other than “I need you,” he’ll never recover.
“We can’t have.” Stede shakes his head, hard negation. “We can’t have because I never told you that I love you.” And, fuck, if Stede doesn’t just fucking say it, easy as.
“Oh.” Goosebumps erupt on his arms, and Ed can’t grasp a single thing to say. Stede leans in, doesn’t touch Ed, but brings them close, breathing the same air.
“I love everything about you. The last six months have been the best of my life because of you. We may have gotten an unconventional start, but Ed, I need you.”
I need you. Like Stede has peeled open his brain and plucked out the very thing he most needs to hear. It’s been that way from the start, both of them in sync with each other, minds in harmony, desires in line. Why hadn’t he guessed that Stede might feel the same way?
“Why?” Ed’s voice sounds creaky, like he hasn’t talked in hours, but he’s barely holding himself together, hands trembling and heart pounding in his chest.
“Because you’re it for me. Please say you’ll have me.”
Here’s the seventh thing that’s important to know—Ed’s all in. He doesn’t care about the reasons right now; he just wants to soothe the ache of this loss. He just wants Stede back. He’ll take him on any terms at all.
“I’ll have you,” he says, nothing else. It’s enough.
Stede pushes back his chair and tugs Ed into his arms. “I can't tell you how much I've wanted this,” he says.
“Show me,” Ed demands. Stede’s fingers are warm against the skin on Ed's nape, and he's angling Ed into a kiss, arm firm around Ed's back, holding onto him so fucking tight. Ed wants to cry because it’s everything he needs. Stede returned to him. Stede in love with him.
Instead, he kisses Stede back, brushing their lips together, feeling the pressure and warmth of Stede’s mouth against his. Stede’s tongue teases over his lip and he opens to him. They deepen the kiss together, Stede sliding into him, and Ed wants.
Stede bumps him into the edge of the kitchen table, one hand sliding under the robe, trailing over bare skin to rest over Ed’s heart, the other hand is now pushed into his hair, cradling his head. Stede is panting against his mouth but doesn’t stop kissing him. It’s hungry and sweet, and the robe's open front does nothing to contain his reaction to that. The head of his cock nudges against the soft fabric of the sweatpants, and he shifts so he can drag it along the length of Stede’s cock.
Stede moans and drops his hand to Ed’s hip, pulling him closer to better rub them together. He’s seeking friction, rolling his hips in a delicious slow grind that has Ed pushing up to meet him. Stede keeps working over him, maneuvers him back like he might fuck him right here on the kitchen table. Ed would be into it, really he would, but he hasn't showered in the last two down days.
“Mm, Stede,” he says, “I'd like a bath.”
“Of course.” It’s another moment of being known, because Stede doesn’t argue with him, knows that Ed prefers to be clean. He releases Ed from his arms, but takes his hand, pulling him away from the table and leading him into the bathroom.
He flicks the drain closed, starts filling the bath, and then stands in front of Ed, studying him. He strokes a loose strand of hair from Ed’s face and then runs the hand over his cheek and against the stubble on his chin.
“The beard?”
“Tired of it. Wasn’t me anymore. Do you hate it?”
“Love your chin, naked or otherwise,” Stede says before kissing the corner of his mouth. “Nice to see your face, and I’m going to enjoy all this access to your lips.” Then he’s kissing him again, hands on his shoulders, lifting away the robe. Ed shrugs his shoulders, and Stede pulls it free, hanging it on a hook.
He returns to Ed, kisses him again, lips, chin, and neck, kisses up the line of Ed’s jaw, and tongues the soft skin underneath Ed’s ear. Ed’s hands are on Stede’s waist, clutching against him, trying to keep Stede right where he is, ‘cause actually, fuck bathing.
Stede draws back with a laugh and steps to the tub, bending over to check on the temperature. He smiles warmly and tells Ed it’s ready, offering his hand as Ed steps into the water. Ed looks over his shoulder at Stede.
“Get in with me?”
He can see Stede eyeing the entirely standard-size bathtub. They’ve done this before, but it was at Stede’s apartment. His space is a luxuriously-decorated maximalist spread with a fucking bathroom to die for, a roomy custom tub with plenty of fucking space for both of them. This is not that. But it’s like Stede can hear what Ed’s really asking for—the craving for closeness overriding practicality.
Stede strips off the shirt and sweatpants and gets into the bath, leaning forward to turn off the water before positioning his legs against the sides so that Ed can sit down inside them. Ed draws his legs to his chest, curling in on himself and dropping his head onto his knees.
What if he’s imagining this? No one has ever come back for him before. He feels the brush of fingers on his neck, Stede sweeping his hair out of the way before he starts washing his back. The careful brush of his hands is making it all real again. Lips on his neck and gentle circles against his skin. Ed releases his hands from their grip on his knees and drops them to Stede’s legs, caressing over them, feeling the texture of the hair, the lovely firm shape of his calves. He holds on, and Stede carefully washes every part of him, caressing soap over his skin and rinsing it off.
“May I wash your hair?”
“Hmm, yeah.” Ed snags his shampoo and a cup and passes them to Stede. Stede touches his shoulder, and then he’s pouring water into Ed’s hair, being careful of his ears. Ed can hear him opening the shampoo. Stede shifts, fingers massaging over Ed’s scalp, and it’s fucking heaven. Each careful stroke sends pleasure arching through him, and if it were humanely possible to melt into a puddle, he would be a puddle under Stede’s hands.
“Oh, fuck, that’s so good,” Ed says out of habit. He’s been teaching Stede what he likes for months, it’s not like he’s going to remember to stop now.
“Yeah?” Stede asks, rubbing his thumb along his hairline.
Ed’s whimpering with pleasure, gusts of air and raw need. He can’t help it. It feels marvelous, and he’s completely lost in how easily Stede stirs him.
Stede laughs behind him. “Holy shit, Ed, you cannot make those sounds, or we’re not going to get to the conditioning steps.”
Ed shifts back just enough to bump into Stede, to feel the hard press of Stede’s cock behind him. “You could do both.”
“No, darling, I couldn’t.” Stede takes the cup and begins rinsing out the shampoo, tilting Ed’s head back with a touch, smoothing over it as he pours.
It’s fine, Ed doesn’t mean it, probably. Likes it better when Stede isn’t trying to multitask. It’s just Stede Bonnet’s fucking hands. Since he can’t have what his body is aching for, he changes the subject, asks the fucking question that will otherwise haunt him.
“Why did you leave me?”
Stede sighs behind him, hands delicately gathering up the ends to work in the conditioner. “So many reasons, all of them wrong. I didn’t know if it was real or if it was because you’re my first. I didn’t think you’d want me. I thought that I would mess up your work. Iggy saw that I had requested to take you to dinner. He asked for a meeting and suggested that my feelings had crossed a line and that I was taking up too much of your time.”
“Izzy,” Ed corrects automatically, and he finds he’s glad they’re not talking face to face, that he doesn’t have to watch the worry and sadness that he can hear in Stede’s voice play over his features. Fucking Izzy. Never afraid to get directly involved if it served fucking Blackbeard. “You were going to take me out?”
“I wanted to, but I was scared that I was wrong. That I was hurting you, that Izzy was right, and that I was a distraction. I thought with space, I would see it was infatuation. But every day was worse. I didn’t feel better or less in love. I felt like I was trying to pull out my own heart.”
Ed knows Stede can’t see it, but he’s fucking smiling. A fucking date. Basically irresistible Izzy bait. Blackbeard doesn’t go out with clients. Ed might. He’ll have to address that shit with Izzy, perhaps boundaries aren’t just for clients. Still, he heard the other thing that Stede said, that Izzy wasn’t creating a new weakness, just exploiting one that was already there, Stede’s uncertainty.
“You’re sure now?”
“I’m sure now.” He sounds it too. “I thought I couldn't deserve you, that I'd hurt you more by staying...ruining you, was what Izzy said.”
“What changed?” Ed asks, so scared that Stede is going to admit that nothing has changed.
“Ivan called. He said you were ‘doing kind of shit.’ I was willing to believe that I deserved to suffer, but you? You've never deserved anything but good things.” He leans in and kisses the crown of Ed’s head. “I’m done with your hair.”
Ed sighs and reclines, his back to Stede’s chest, moving his head to rest against Stede’s shoulder as Stede’s arms come around him.
“I love you,” Ed says and then adds with a laugh, “recklessly. I have never felt this way about anyone. I didn’t know how to move on.”
“I couldn’t let go either. I love you.” Stede squeezes him and then leans forward enough to flick the drain open.
Ed kisses Stede’s neck, listens to the water drain, and then offers, with clear amusement, “We’ve never done this before.”
“Hmm?”
“Fucked in a standard-size tub.”
“For a reason!” He can feel Stede shaking with laughter behind him. “It would be a disaster.”
“You don’t know that, could be hot. Would be fun to try at least.”
Stede laughs again and then agrees with a sigh, “Yes. For you, always yes.”
Ed stands and angles out of the tub to grab condoms and lube from a nearby shelf, feeling Stede secure him by hooking an arm around his leg. Ed slides back into the water, sets the items on the side of the tub, and then recloses the drain on a tub now only a third full.
“Legs together?” he asks, resettling himself with his legs to either side of Stede’s thighs, still facing away from him. It’s admittedly a little tight, but they can make do.
He can hear Stede behind him, hand on his own cock working himself to full hardness. It’s not something they have to discuss at this point, fucking practice makes fucking perfect or whatever. He passes a condom behind him, watches over his shoulder as Stede puts it on, and slicks the lube over himself.
Ed wants, so when Stede’s done, he shifts up, hands on the sides of the tub giving Stede space to line them up. He moans when he feels the press of Stede’s cock against him, rocks down a bit to help him push the head past his rim, and fuck, fuck, he has missed this. He cannot begin to process how right it all feels, Stede slowly pushing inside him. It’s good, fucking perfect.
Then Stede wraps his hand against the front of Ed’s throat, no pressure, not choking, possession. And here’s the thing that fucking kills Ed—Stede’s doing because he knows Ed likes it. He’s the only person to have ever discovered this thing about Ed because he’s the only person who ever asked. Every other fucker that tried it going right in to choke Ed, like of course it’s on the table—excellent way to get a lifetime ban from his client list. But no, here’s Stede cradling his throat, and with that gentle hand saying “mine.” Ed is wrecked by it, he moans, sits back, and takes Stede’s entire cock.
“Ed,” Stede groans behind him. “Ed, love, you feel so good.” Stede slides his hand down over Ed’s chest and to his hip to hold him steady.
It’s everything he’s been missing—need and pleasure and fulfillment. It’s Stede. He gasps, rolling his hips to ride him. Stede’s pushing up to meet him, both of them pursuing it with a kind of starved desperation to the sounds of water splashing in time against the sides of the tub.
Stede holds still so Ed can rise and slide back down, teasing them both by nearly pulling off before rocking back. He can feel Stede’s breath panting against his back, gasps interspersed with words.
“Please, oh, fuck—”
“Got you,” Ed says, rising up to give Stede the ride of this life.
Which makes the leg cramp all the more annoying, Ed’s thigh muscle spasming from the tight positioning necessary for the narrow bath. He yelps and pulls off entirely, his hand clutched over the ache. He sits back, trying to stretch out the leg in front of him but there isn’t room to unbend it. Stede quickly moves out from under him, standing with a hand braced against the tile, so Ed can push out the leg.
“Oww, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He works his hand against the cramp. He can feel Stede still looming over him. “Don’t say I told you so,” Ed grouses.
“Wasn’t about to,” Stede says. “How else were we supposed to find out? And now we know. I’ll let you ride me next time we’re in mine again.” He grabs a towel, which he holds out to Ed.
Ed takes it and then says, “Ride you right fucking now. There’s a bath mat right there.”
“Hardly looks more comfortable than the bath, but needs must,” Stede says agreeably, dropping onto the bath mat.
Ed giggles because he’s joking. Both their bodies will thank them for not finishing on the floor, but “needs must” indeed. He drops over Stede, this time facing him, his legs straddling his chest. He takes the lube from the edge of the tub and glides it onto Stede's cock before lining them back up again.
“Oh, fuck, you are so good for me,” Stede praises as he pushes inside, and that’s fucking intentional too, Stede having learned during the kink exploration, that nothing softens Ed up like a little praise. “Will you show me how good you are at taking me?” His hands are on Ed’s ass gripping into him as Ed resumes fucking, and the words make his whole body feel like he’s glowing. “That’s right, you’re fucking incredible, sweetness.”
“Stede, fuck’s sake. I’m gonna come, and you’ll have to finish yourself.”
“No, you won’t. Because I am…so fucking close, oh, Ed. God, you look so amazing on my cock.” He breaks off into a moan, his feet against the floor giving him leverage to thrust upwards, and that’s better than the bath too.
Stede is close, and it’s exquisite watching the pleasure on his face, maybe Ed’s favorite thing in the world, making Stede feel good. He focuses on that, shifting his hips to take Stede in the motion that pulls involuntary sounds from him, too lost to hold back, and then he’s coming, cock jerking inside Ed as he rides him through it.
Stede lies flat on the bath mat, breathing hard, before he manages, “You didn’t come.”
“No. I was waiting, so you could watch me come on your chest.”
“Oh, that’s really generous of you.”
“I’m a fucking magnanimous guy,” Ed says as he takes hold of his cock, stroking over himself. He’s still entirely close from watching Stede come, from the cock still buried inside of him. He meets Stede’s eyes as he fucks into his own fist, holding his gaze until the pleasure is too intense. His eyes slip closed, and he sinks into it—the glide of his hand, the cock still stretching him open. He tries not to rock his hips, and Stede notices it.
“Take what you need. Can you feel the way I’ve filled you up? Show me how much you need me.”
Ed groans and gives in, pushing down and taking Stede’s full length. Then he’s coming, thighs trembling as he releases onto that fucking glorious chest. He moans and Stede moans with him, both of them together in his ecstasy.
Ed stays there, coming down from it before he finally picks up the towel he dropped and wipes over Stede’s chest. He pulls off and collapses down against him, appreciating the automatic way Stede's arms come around him, holding him close.
“You. I don’t want anyone but you,” Stede whispers against him, hand stroking over his back, and Ed rests in it, feeling wanted in a way he so rarely has. They stay there for a few minutes before Stede groans and suggests a bed might be great too.
They move apart, cleaning up and properly drying off. Stede mentions with delight that they’ve managed to not get his borrowed clothes wet. It’s only when he’s pulling the sweatpants back on that he moans in horror.
“I messed up! Shit!”
“What’s wrong?”
Stede looks at him and gives a little sound of dismay before gesturing at the bandage on his leg. “It’s a tattoo! That I just got in a bath!”
“Shh, you’ll be okay. How long?”
“Two weeks, today.”
“Hmm, it’ll probably be okay, you were mostly out of the bath. I’m going to take that off and clean it. That okay?” Stede nods, and Ed turns around to dig his new tattoo supplies out of his cabinet, Stede stares at him, and Ed gestures at his body, golden brown skin covered in black ink, his dozens of tattoos. “Keep it fucking on hand, don’t I?”
He carefully peels back the bandage. It’s his name, two letters, in a fucking heart, right on Stede’s fucking leg, classic, ridiculous, permanent. Also, now that they’re both standing, Ed understands that it’s right where his palm rests when he kisses Stede, just below Stede’s hip, a place where Ed has held Stede again and again. His. Stede was just making it visible to everyone else.
This fucking man. Ed loves him. He cleans and recovers it, and then gently tugs the pants the rest of the way up Stede’s legs. He kisses him, and then says softly, “Kind of fucking presumptuous, isn’t it?”
“No. Even if you didn’t want me, it would still be true. Even if we couldn’t be together, you’ve changed me forever. I needed a way to make that real. You may have inspired me,” he says with a laugh, fingers smoothing over the snake on Ed’s arm.
“You inspired me too. I’m retiring.”
Stede winces. “That’s what Izzy said you would do, and that it would be my fault.”
Ed grumbles, “Fucking Izzy. That’s all backward. I was already done before I met you, but your joy made me finally see it. I was barely hanging on, and now I’m ready to let go. Gonna do something else. Everything else. I have a fucking list. Cooking lessons, photography, gardening. I’m gonna write you a fucking song.”
“I love that. Whatever you need,” Stede says very sincerely, and Ed giggles because what he needs is Stede’s tits in his mouth.
“Anything?” he asks, amusement bubbling into his tone.
“I think so…”
Ed pushes a hand up Stede’s torso cupping his tit, and then drops his head to lick over one of those sensitive pink nipples, getting exactly the response he hoped for which is Stede moaning above him. Fuck, he’s wanted to do this since the moment Stede pulled off his shirt on the doormat, and the elation of finally getting it is surging through him. He sucks Stede into his mouth, tongue flicking over him, as he matches the motions with his fingers on the other side.
“Ed, fuck, oh…”
Ed’s knees are complaining, and the muscle that cramped earlier is also sending up a protest, so he stands and puts a hand on the center of Stede’s chest. “Please?” Ed asks.
“Bed? My back is letting me know that the floor is not an option.”
“Yeah, got the same message from my knees. Come to the bedroom.” Ed walks to the door, and flicks on the light, grateful that he had a “gonna get my shit together” phase before the downward plunge of the last two days. It’s messy, but not three weeks messy. And whatever, who cares—only it’s the first time Stede will be in his room, and he finds he does care.
Why didn’t he clean up while he was in here earlier? Oh, right, because he definitely wasn’t planning to have Stede in his bed earlier. Which is really fucking shortsighted of him. He turns around to say something only to find Stede studying the room—not the discarded clothing, the dark walls, the stormy seascapes, the general dark vibe.
“Oh, it’s, uh…” Ed flashes a quick uneasy smile and releases a huff of uncomfortable laughter. This isn’t a place he has other people, and he hadn’t decorated it for anyone else’s eyes.
“It’s lovely,” Stede says, reaching out to squeeze his hand, and that’s not so bad, so he keeps Stede’s hand in his, uses it to tug him in and bring their mouths back together. He kisses Stede thoroughly and shoves the sweats down over his hips. He squeezes Stede’s bare ass and then bends down enough to push them the rest of the way down his legs. Stede steps out of them and grabs him by the hips, holding him in place as they continue to kiss.
He has yet to manage clothes for himself this evening. He didn’t even put the robe back on in the bathroom, has maybe been some variety of nude the entire time Stede’s been here. It’s a kind of vulnerability—one he kind of likes, all of him exposed, tattoos and scars, a lifetime of wear on his skin.
“Lie down for me?” Ed asks, and there’s that spike of uncertainty again, a twist in his stomach. He doesn’t bring people home with him, doesn’t invite people into his bed. He’d never even fantasized about Stede like this because it hadn’t felt like something he could have. He doesn’t know how it will feel. He switches off the overhead light for the much gentler one on his bedside table before looking back to the bed.
Stede is there against the dark sheets, and it’s just right, like he’s always belonged there. Ed feels relief equal to the worry that was pulling at him and slides into the bed beside him.
“Hey,” he says softly, leaning in to place a kiss on Stede’s collarbone. He doesn’t blurt out how right Stede looks, just presses more kisses into his skin. He crawls over his body nibbling back down his chest and tracing a hand over his hip. All he wants is for Stede to feel good. He picks back up from where he left off in the living room, sucking one nipple, fingers teasing the other, pleased to feel Stede’s cock pushing against his chest where he’s braced between his legs.
He knows this soon isn’t usual for Stede; relishes that it’s happening now. He switches his mouth to the other side. Under him, Stede is arching into his touch, chest pushed up into his lips and fingers. He takes it as a request for more, mostly because Stede is moaning, “More, please, more.”
“I want to touch you,” Ed says. “Is it okay if I finger you?”
Stede cuts off mid-moan to angle his head up to meet Ed’s gaze. “Yes, I would very much like that.” Ed reaches into his side table drawer and gets condoms, lube, and a finger cot, and then drops back to the bed between Stede’s legs, pushing his knees up and rubbing his lubed finger down Stede’s balls before gliding over his hole. He laughs when the moaning resumes as he teases over and then into Stede.
He braces with his other hand next to Stede’s shoulder so he can resume licking over his nipples in time. He curls his finger up and listens as Stede moans louder with the new motion. He knows that even with this much touch Stede will want more, so he says, “Touch yourself, love. I want to hear you come again.”
He sits back, Stede’s legs draped open over his thighs, and continues to work inside him, as Stede slides on a condom and wraps a hand around his cock. He begins stroking himself. Ed holds his hand against his hip, anchoring him and watching the beautiful way Stede’s chest and cheeks flush as he gets closer.
“That’s it, you’re there, love, just let go.”
Stede’s coming, and Ed is captivated by watching the orgasm take Stede, delighted in his part in sparking it. He watches the pleasure break over Stede’s face, listens to his breath gasping out, loves the sounds he makes, and savors the way his hips arch up.
“You’re so beautiful.” He speaks without meaning to, helplessly honest in the face of the glorious vision that is Stede Bonnet lit up in bliss. He releases the hand on Stede’s hip, running his thumb along his hip bone and taking a moment to relish having this again. He presses kisses to his chest, his belly, and his hip, before finally pulling his hand free. He cleans up himself and then Stede before lifting the sheet up to cover them both.
“Do you need—” Stede starts, but Ed shakes his head.
“No, still good from earlier. I would like…” and here’s a thing they didn’t do, another boundary, because it was something that was too close to real. “Will you hold me?” he asks.
“Mm, want to talk about my most untapped desire, my most out of reach fantasy. Edward, it was having that with you.” He snugs Ed into his arms, pulling him closer and tangling their legs together. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted this.”
It’s quiet, just their breathing and the sound of soft rain, the storm finally passing overhead. Stede tips Ed’s head up for a kiss, gentle but full of longing, and Ed sees how much they had still denied themselves of each other, even as they gave so much.
“Stay with me?”
“Yeah,” and Stede’s smiling, eyes bright.
Ed turns off the light and turns so his back is to Stede’s chest, enclosed in Stede’s arms, and it’s safe. He’s safe, and he’s home.