Archive of Our Own

"Do you ever just want to give up control?” Ed asks one evening on the deck of the Revenge as they’re watching the stars wheel overhead. 

They’ve been lying on their backs staring up at the sky for the better part of two hours. The rest of the crew has long since retreated to their bunks, or whatever space they can sling a hammock in. Ed had intended to use the time alone to teach Stede how to read the constellations, but, as usual, the conversation has tapered off into something else. Random ideas, bits of memory, rehashings of their day, a funny story. Ed isn’t sure what compels him to say this thought of his out loud; his only excuse is that it’s quiet, and he’s tired in the good way that comes from a hard day’s sailing, and it’s Stede. 

Stede picks up his head and looks over at him. “You mean, control of the ship? Give up captaining?” He’s upset by the notion, but Ed can see he’s trying not to show it.

“Nah, not like that. I mean—” Ed waves a hand through the air. “Don’t you ever feel like giving up the job of—of being in charge all the time. Being the person that everyone thinks has his shit together.”

Stede frowns and lays his head back down, his eyes now trained up at the stars. “Honestly, I’m not sure I’ve ever been that person, so I can’t say I’d be willing to give it up.” He turns his head and quirks a smile at Ed. “But I wouldn’t judge you for feeling that way. Different people need different things.”

Ed turns his attention back to the sky. Orion is moving overhead tonight. It’s Ed’s personal favorite; feels like seeing an old friend. When he was a lad, he’d made up a little rhyme and would repeat it in his head every time he spotted it. Orion was flung across the sky/his belt too big for you or I.

Wasn’t Shakespeare but, you know. He still likes it. Stede would probably think it’s shit. 

Different people, he thinks to himself. They just need different things. 

Stede sits up and turns, leaning on his elbow as he addresses Ed again. “Do you think I could help in some way?” he asks.

Ed glances at him. “Like how?” 

“I don’t know. You seemed to enjoy our little gag of trading places that one time.” Stede shrugs a shoulder. He’s wearing his pink satin waistcoat and matching breeches, no overcoat—too fucking humid tonight. Ed can see the shape of his arm through the thin linen of his shirt. “What if you pretend you’re the one who isn’t in charge, and I can pretend I’m the one who is. That would be fun, wouldn’t it?” 

Ed grimaces. “I don’t know. Crew was a bit confused last time.” See, this is what he’s talking about. Ever since he came aboard the Revenge, his captaining has taken on a little of Stede’s style. He’s starting to think of the crew as a bunch of rowdy children who are under his care, not a band of bloodthirsty pirates. He’d never given a fuck before whether his men were confused or upset, and now he gives quite a few fucks. Like he’s responsible for their well-being.

As if the job wasn’t already too much responsibility, some days.

“It wouldn’t have to be in front of the crew,” Stede says. “It could be…private.”

That catches Ed’s notice, the way Stede rolls that last word in his mouth. Privacy is still a fascinating luxury to Ed, who never had so much as a door that locked when he was lucky enough to have a cabin to himself. Stede knows this. Blackbeard was always available to his eternal audience, always sleeping with his boots on.

Maybe a change would be nice. 

“So, what, like, playacting? Just the two of us?” Ed sits up, his forearms balanced on the upright points of his knees. This seems like the kind of conversation you shouldn’t have lying down.

“Why not? If it’s silly, no one has to know we gave it a go.” 

Ed tries to imagine it, he and Stede locked away in that great cabin of his. Surrounded by the fine, ridiculous things Stede has populated his quarters with. Leaving all his cares and worries at the door and just—putting himself in Stede’s hands for a bit. He doesn’t even know what Stede would do if given the chance, and he finds he really doesn’t care. So long as he’s not the one making every fucking decision for once.

There have been very few times in Edward Teach’s life where the thing he wants has been handed to him without a fight. If this is one of those rare times that doesn’t require bloodshed, he’s not about to let it slip through his fingers. He’s scrambling to his feet before Stede can change his mind.

“Right. Yeah. Reckon that—that might be good,” he says. “Let’s give it a try, then.”

“Oh, now?” Stede blinks up at him, still lounging on the deck. “Tonight?”

“Yeah, why not.” Ed’s about to shake out of his skin, he’s so tightly wound. His body is hissing at him to hurry. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, and he shifts from foot to foot in his impatience. “No sense in putting it off.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Stede says, and lifts a hand toward Ed. 

For a moment, Ed just takes him in, the delicate, pink satin sprawl of him, reaching for Ed’s hand and wordlessly expecting help in rising. Like he just assumes the infamous Blackbeard will pay him the courtesy that any gentleman would.

God, he’s weird. Ed is devoted to him. 

He takes Stede’s hand and hauls him up. He holds on just one breath longer than necessary before letting go. Stede leads the way below deck, and Ed follows. 

[==]

“So, erm.” Stede lights a few more candles so they can see what they’re doing. “How should we begin?”

“Fuck if I know,” Ed says. He takes the chaise for himself, kicking up one foot onto the fine upholstery. “Was kind of hoping you had some idea.”

“Makes sense. Seeing as I’m supposed to be acting as leader here.” He turns from the sideboard where all the tapers are now lit. The candlelight shimmers along the folds in his satin clothes. He’s like sunlight, Ed thinks. It hurts to look directly at him. He looks anyway and sees that Stede is fidgeting with the lace of his shirt cuff. “I’ll be honest,” Stede says. “I’m a bit nervous.”

“About?” Ed picks some dirt from under his blunt fingernails, trying to appear casual and unbothered. If he starts showing his own nerves, Stede will bolt, he’s sure of it. He’ll call the whole thing off and then Ed will always wonder—

“Well,” Stede says, “I know that oomph of yours doesn’t come naturally to me. If I’m meant to be intimidating, I’m afraid I’ll make a mess of it.”

“So don’t be intimidating.” Ed lolls his head over the back of the chaise to get a better look at him. 

The candlelight glows in his hair. “Then what shall I be?” he asks.

Ed can’t help the half-smile that crosses his lips. “Whatever you like, mate. Seriously, you can do whatever strikes your fancy.”

The words are light but the sentiment behind them is not. Ed means it down to his marrow. Stede could do whatever he wants to him, and Ed would let him.

“Right.” Stede shakes out his arms at his sides like he’s preparing for a daring leap. “It’s up to me. I’m the one in charge, after all.”

“Yep.”

“All right.” A devilish little smirk curls at the corner of his mouth. “I’m going to enjoy this.” He snaps his fingers at Ed’s boot, still propped up on the chaise. “Off, please.”

For a moment, Ed feels bad—actually, gut-churningly bad. Stede’s never shown any distaste for the way Ed sits on his expensive furniture, has never told him to keep his feet off the cushions before, and now Ed wonders if he’s just been waiting for a moment like this to vent spleen. He moves his boot onto the floor.

“Sorry, I—” 

But the apology is not allowed to come out of his mouth. Stede crosses the room to seat himself in a stuffed armchair by the fireplace—unlit tonight, in deference to the heat. “No, off the chaise entirely,” he says. He spreads his legs and points to the slice of floor between them. “You may sit here.” There is an imperious note to his tone, almost bitchy, that gives Ed a little thrill. 

He rises from the chaise with the bemused slink of a ship’s cat. “You want me to kneel at your feet?” That was quick. He hadn’t dreamed Stede would be this bold, not on the first go-around. 

“No, just sit. Cross-legged, if you like. Whatever’s most comfortable.” Stede glances down at the spot again and then looks at Ed. “Well?”

Ed jolts into motion, rump hitting the floorboards with all due speed. He wonders if Stede is worried about his bad knee and that’s why he said— 

“Ah, not facing me, please.” Stede twirls his index finger in a little circle. “Turn around, would you?” 

All the blood that had been pooling low in Ed’s belly rushes to his face. Had he really misunderstood so fucking badly? He’d been moments away from pressing his face directly into Stede’s lap. Shit. Fuck. Shitfuck. 

“Ed?” Stede’s voice is as gentle as the touch to Ed’s shoulder. “Can you turn around?” 

Ed looks up at him, expecting to see cruel mockery or disgust on Stede’s face, but Stede looks how he always looks. A little worried, maybe, and very kind. And beautiful, there’s no escaping that bit.

Ed swallows the lump in his throat. “Yeah.” He moves slow and unsteady, dragging his legs along for the ride as he spins in a circle so his back is to Stede. He stares straight ahead at the bookshelves stuffed with stories he can’t read. His face is burning. They’ve barely begun and he’s already cocked it up completely. 

“No need to hunch.” Stede’s hands are on Ed’s shoulders, pulling them towards himself. “Come on, lean back. There you go.”

Ed goes willingly, but bewildered. He finds himself snug, surrounded on either side by Stede’s legs, which are spread wide so as not to crowd him. They’re nice legs, Ed thinks, now that he’s got a very close look at them. The pink satin of the breeches ends at his shapely knees, and then the brilliant white of his stockings flow down his well-turned calves to his ankles, which, if he’s honest, are better than any other ankles he’s ever met.

His head tips back and touches the plush edge of the chair cushion. He’s practically cradled between Stede’s thighs, and he isn’t even doing anything, and he can’t see what Stede’s face is doing, which is the definition of torture. 

“Hey.” Stede’s palm slips into the V of his shirt, down his chest to press against the thunderous hurricane of his heart. “Are you all right? You’re breathing like the cart horse I hired to transport my effects to the port all those months ago.”

It’s true, he’s practically panting. It’s loud in the quiet of the room.

“I’m sorry—” Two apologies in as many minutes. Ed hasn’t been this penitent in his whole life. 

Stede shushes him. “It’s perfectly understandable. You’re probably not accustomed to letting your guard down, hm?” 

Any port in a storm, any excuse to stay between Stede’s legs. He ducks his head, hair curtaining around his face. “Yeah. Suppose so.” 

Stede’s hand rubs at Ed’s chest, right over the tattoo of the tall ship, of the bird with its wings outstretched. Soothing circles over his sternum. “Why don’t we just breathe for a moment? Get ourselves relaxed before we get started.”

Ed’s eyes, unseen by Stede, go wide and disbelieving. This isn’t even it? He’d thought they’d started ages ago. 

“Breathe in,” Stede says, and takes a deep, audible inhale. Ed rushes to copy him. “And out.” Twins whooshes of exhalation. They do that three more times before Stede seems satisfied that Ed isn’t going to faint. 

“Now then.” His palm leaves Ed’s chest, which makes Ed want to whine like an animal, but it doesn’t leave him entirely. Instead, it slips into the fall of his loose hair. Ed can’t help the moan that spills from his lips at that touch. His head tips back as Stede scratches at his scalp. “I’ve been wanting to do this for some time,” he whispers. 

“Do what?” Ed murmurs. His mind is sliding beneath the waves, bobbing away like a piece of driftwood. He’s convinced this is some dream, because it feels too good to be real. 

“You’ll see,” Stede says. He reaches over—Ed bites down on the growl as he loses the sensation of those fingers, but he stops himself when he sees the reason. Stede’s wash basin is close at hand, and he plucks an ivory-handled brush and a little bottle of something from it. Ed hears the tiny pop of a cork and smells flowers.

“Hair oil.” Stede’s fingers are back, unraveling Ed’s hair from its half-up bun, discarding the leather band that had secured it at the back of his head. His fingers, slick with the perfumed oil, start combing through Ed’s long locks. Ed fights the shiver that wants to run through him. He hasn’t properly styled his hair since they crashed that fancy party with all the Frenchmen, and that was weeks ago. 

“With a head of hair as magnificent as yours,” Stede says in a low voice, “one should take the time to properly maintain it.”

Ed’s cheek twitches. Right, here it comes. “I don’t maintain it very well, yeah?” he says. “I’m shit at that sort of thing.” He expects Stede will wrap the length of his tatty, salt-sprayed hair around his fist and pull until tears spring to Ed’s eyes. He expects to be punished. 

What he gets is a soft scratch at his temple and the smell of frangipani. “You’ve been busy, haven't you?” Stede whispers. “Things like this tend to fall by the wayside. That’s all right; I’m here now. I can do it for you.”

Tears spring to Ed’s eyes regardless. What the hell? He dabs at them with the back of his hand, covering his sniffle with a rough cough. What is this? What are they even doing? They’re supposed to be playacting, aren’t they? Stede as the boss and Ed as—someone else. But Stede isn’t acting like any boss Ed’s ever had. He’s acting like he wants to take care of Ed, like it’s a pleasure to do it, like he’s something worth taking care of. 

Stede works the oil from root to ends, then starts pulling the brush through Ed’s hair. It catches on a knot. Ed can’t stop his hiss of surprise at that. The pain comes in a burst of light behind his eyelids.

“Ah, that was my fault. Just a moment.” Stede puts down the brush to work out the tangle with patient fingers. “Are you doing all right there, Edward?”

“Mm.” He nods jerkily, not trusting his voice. He will not get hard, he will not get hard, he will not—

“A shame I’m no good at plaiting. You’d look quite fetching with a plait down your back, don’t you think?” Stede just keeps up an endless, soft stream of chatter, going on and on about how lovely Ed’s hair is, how the twisty texture of it is a delight under his fingertips, how the salt and pepper coloring suits him so well. 

By the time his hair is brushed out, tears are streaming down Ed’s cheeks. They fall silently onto the leather of his trousers. They can’t seem to stop, and Ed is nearing the precipice of his panic. If his crew could see him now, blubbering about his rat’s nest being combed out by gentle hands—

“Edward.” Stede’s fingers leave his hair and alight on his shoulders. “Are you listening?”

He nods again, a frantic bob of his head, even though it’s a lie and he has no clue what Stede’s been saying for the past few minutes. 

Stede’s hands push at his shoulders. “Would you turn and face me, please?” he says, and Ed is going to die. He is going to expire from the extreme embarrassment of whatever the fuck is happening. 

Still, he turns. Because Stede asked him to, and because he has no excuse. 

It’s not the first time Stede’s seen him cry; that evening of fuckery that ended in the bathtub holds that distinct honor. So it’s not like it’s new. He is worried, though, that Stede will be disappointed that their lovely evening’s been ruined. 

No point in delaying it. Ed keeps his eyes on the floor and doesn’t bother trying to wipe his face. The tracks of his tears are cooling on his skin. 

“Oh, my word.” Stede’s hand touches his face, gentle as a breeze, and wipes away the latest tear with his thumb. “What’s wrong? Ed, why are you crying?”

“I don’t know,” he says, and it’s true. His voice is waterlogged and strained. He chances a glance up. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?” Stede looks as heartbroken as Ed feels. “You said I could do what I liked.”

“And you like this?” Ed can’t help the note of incredulity in his voice.

“Well, yes.” Stede blinks. “Oh. You hate it, don’t you?”

Ed shakes his head as hard as he can. “No, I—”

“You do. You think it’s awful.” Stede sits back in his chair with his hands on his thighs, like he needs to keep track of where they are. “You could have said. I could have tried something else if this wasn’t working.”

“It’s not not working,” Ed insists. 

“Really? Because you don’t seem very relaxed at all. You seem upset! That’s the opposite of relaxed.” Now Stede’s agitation is bleeding into the air, and Ed feels the need to staunch the wound.

“I’m not upset!” Ed says. “I’m just—I wasn't expecting you to play with my bloody hair.” He runs a nervous hand through the strands at the back of his head. 

“What did you expect?” Stede asks. “Maybe I can do that instead.”

Ed opens his mouth. Closes it. He’s not going to tell Stede what he thought was going to happen. The hair pulling—it just seems bizarre now, with Stede’s eyes on him, and his face doing that thing where he’s not quite smiling but he’s trying his best to get there.

“I thought you were going to hurt me,” he finally says. The words don’t do justice to the idea, and he makes a face as soon as he says them. He wishes he knew better ones.

“Hurt you?” Stede sounds as horrified as Ed feared he would.

“Not, like, too badly. But—something.”

“Is that what you want?”

“No. Maybe? I don’t—you asked what I thought you’d do, and I’m telling you, aren’t I?” He’s speaking in a panicky rush now. “Someone tells a guy, hey, all right, do whatever you want, mate, what do you think he’s going to do? He’s going to have a go, isn’t he? In my experience, anyway.”

“Your experience.” Stede says this like it’s a chilling line from one of those ghost stories Buttons is always going on about. 

Ed wants to sink through the floor and down into the sea until he reaches the sandy bottom. He wants to be anywhere but here in this room where Stede Bonnet is staring at him, silently waiting for him to explain who exactly has hurt him in the past. They don’t have that kind of time.

“This was a mistake,” he says, and gets to his feet. He’ll leave, and Stede will be too polite to mention this disaster tomorrow, and everything will go back to the way it was, which was fine, except for the way that Ed’s blood itches under his skin and his heart pounds too hard and his fucking lungs—

“Edward. Stop.” Stede stands too, and before Ed can make good his escape, Stede’s got his upper arms in a vice grip. “Breathe,” he says. It’s an order. It’s unmistakable. 

Ed listens to the roar of his breathing, echoing through the cabin again. If a man can’t get any air, he drowns, and Ed feels like he could drown here without even touching the water.

“In,” Stede says, and breathes in as a demonstration. Ed follows suit. “Out.” The sound of the tide going out, both of them in tandem. “Again, in—”

After a few long minutes of that, Ed feels less like a drowning man and more like a shameful one. “I liked having you brush my hair,” he says in the quiet between their breaths. “Don’t know why it made me—react that way. Shock, I suppose.”

Stede runs his hands up and down Ed’s arms. His leather jacket has been laid aside like Stede’s coat, just wearing his shirt now, and his bare skin goes all prickly with gooseflesh at the touch. “Shock can do the strangest things,” Stede says. He takes a stray lock of Ed’s hair between his fore and middle fingers, pushes it off Ed’s brow and tucks it behind his ear. 

Ed stands completely still for fear that any movement might put an end to Stede touching him like that.

Stede’s hand lowers to rest on the plane of his chest instead. He’s got that thoughtful look on his face that Ed likes so well. “I had no idea the pressure you feel—it’s really quite bad, isn’t it?”

Ed wags his head side to side. “Could be worse,” he says. Before he met Stede, there were some days where he was just barely keeping his head above water. No sleep, no appetite, no desire to do anything because everything was a tedious fucking chore. He’s had worse, he knows it.

“It could also be better.” Stede’s hands leave him and start working at the knot at his throat, undoing the slim length of black silk that ties his stocks into place. “I have a thought, actually.” He slips the neck tie off. It slithers away from his throat, pooling in his hand. “May I?”

Ed remembers the moment Stede took his tatty old piece of red silk and fashioned it into a pocket square for him. May I? He hadn’t known then what Stede had intended, just like he doesn’t know now. And just like then, he would hand over any precious thing Stede asked for, no questions asked. 

“Sure,” he whispers, and freezes as Stede wraps the black tie around his own bare neck. Once around and then a simple knot between Ed’s collarbones. Ed stares down at it in wonder. His fingers brush the softness of one of the ends. 

“When we’re alone, you can count on me to keep tabs on you,” Stede says. “But when we’re out there in the world, and you’re busy co-captaining and making decisions and being the person everyone thinks has his shit together—” He gives the ends of the tie a playful tug. The silk tightens around Ed’s throat, making him bite down on a gasp. “Maybe this will remind you to breathe.” 

The frangipani scent of the hair oil is overwhelming, so there’s no reason to think this little scrap of fabric holds the smell of Stede’s skin, but Ed imagines he can sniff it out anyway. He touches the silk where it lays innocently atop his Adam’s apple. The thought of wearing this piece of Stede like a brand, like a collar—it’s enough to calm his racing heart. 

He swallows and feels the tie move with his throat. “Yeah,” he says. “Can’t hurt to try.”

Stede’s smile is brighter than all the candles in the ship. 

[==]

A week or so later, the sky is covered by clouds and the rain is coming and going as it pleases. There’s no way to continue Stede’s lessons on deck, so Ed finds himself tucked up with Stede in his cabin, looking over a detailed illustration of the night sky as seen from their slice of the Caribbean at this time of year. The book is Stede’s, of course, and is bursting with drawings, each attempting to capture the stars at a different time and place. Ed is relieved to find there’s not much writing on the pages, and what there is, he doesn’t need to read. The stars are guideposts enough. 

“Right, so there’s your North Star,” he says, pointing to the end of the little dipper. “And you know that’s it because…?”

“Because there’s that fuzzy W over on the right!” Stede taps the drawing of Casseopia excitedly. “And if I can find north, I can find anything.” 

“Almost anything,” Ed hedges. 

“I think I’m getting the hang of this.” Stede looks up from the book with a wide grin. “Imagine: me, navigating by the stars like a real sailor.” 

“A real sailor still keeps a compass handy,” Ed reminds him. “You never know when the clouds will move in.”

“Yes, of course, but this way is so romantic.” Stede sighs and examines the pages like a lovestruck schoolboy. “Thank you for showing me, Edward.”

“It’s fine. ’S nothing.” Ed doesn’t know what to do in these moments when Stede is heaping on the gratitude, so he pretends he doesn’t care. He stands straight for the first time in many hours, hands on his hips while his back pops and creaks. 

Stede perks up at the sound of Ed’s spine, the lunatic. “Ah, that reminds me: any interest in a bit of playacting this evening?” 

They’ve been indulging in ‘a bit of playacting’ practically every night since that first time with the hairbrush. Ed’s had his nails trimmed and buffed, his shoulders massaged, his head in Stede’s lap so he could doze while Stede read from a book of poetry that he didn’t really get but that sounded nice on the fuzzy edges of his consciousness. There was one evening where Stede had dressed him like a doll in a fancy outfit of grayish blue, the same color as the sea before an eastward gale. Ed had stood in front of the full length mirror in the auxiliary closet while Stede tweaked and fiddled with the fall of his hair over his shoulders and the folds of his cravat, saying, “Very handsome indeed. Not that your usual leathers aren’t dashing already, but I thought you might enjoy this for a change.” 

It’s not—there isn’t a hint of perversion in these moments, as far as Ed can tell. Even the night Stede had him in the bathtub, tipping warm water over his head and scrubbing his back for him, he’d never made a move for Ed’s cock. Maybe Stede is so innocent, the thought would never cross his mind, or maybe he doesn’t go in for that sort of thing. If buggery isn’t on the table, Ed would like to know. It seems bizarre, for anything to be this chaste while still getting him hot. It’s got him so bothered, he’s beating off twice a day when he can find the time, and for a man his age, that’s saying something.

“I thought I might soak your feet,” Stede is saying, “give them a bit of a rub if that’s something you’d—”

“You could choke me,” Ed says. The words just spill out of him. No excuse except he’s curious what might happen, and his stomach is already leaping with anticipation, and it’s Stede. “If you’d like.”

Stede closes his mouth with a click. His eyes are wide though he’s attempting to look not shocked; Ed’s seen him do this a dozen times. “Oh?” he asks with all the politeness in the northern hemisphere. “I thought you were enjoying the, ah, painless bits.” 

“I am. I do.” Ed twiddles with the ends of the black tie he’s still wearing around his neck. He hasn’t taken it off, except for the bath. “Just wondered if—” He gives the tie a harsh tug. “For a change.” He’s been doing that more often, these days. Tightening Stede’s little black scrap of silk around his neck when his head feels too full. Or when he’s pulling himself off. It reminds him to breathe.

Stede moves around the table so that he’s standing close, his hands folded behind his back. Ed’s gaze flicks to his arms, his face, the set of his shoulders. He looks worried again.

“I was hung, you know,” Stede says. “You were there, remember? I can’t say it was a very pleasant sensation.”

Ed snorts. “Well, of course you can’t. You’re not meant for rough treatment.” He rolls his head to the side, baring his throat.

“Neither are you.” When his voice is that steady, Ed could almost believe him. 

He ducks his head, shoves his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers. “Come on, mate. All this—?” He gestures to the cabin, at the chesterfield where Stede read him poetry, at the wash basin, at the door that leads to the bath. “This stuff we’ve been doing? The pampering and the pansy…whatever? It’s nice, I’m not saying it isn't, but it’s not—” He sighs, his shoulders slumping. “It’s not real.”

Stede rears back like he’s been struck. “Not real?”

Ed winces. “I meant—”

“No, no.” Stede’s face has gone pink and prissy, his lips pursed like he’s tasted something sour. “You’re absolutely right. A firmer hand is required, is it? Would that make it more real, Edward?”

“Look, forget it.” He backs up a pace. “I’m just running my mouth; it’s not important.” 

“I should say it’s very important.” Stede steps into his space. “Listen to yourself! I go out of my way to—” His mouth snaps shut, and he looks as angry as Ed’s ever seen him. Funnily enough, it’s not fear that snakes through Ed’s limbs at the sight, it’s pure need. He wants Stede so much, he’d do anything. Including, apparently, blowing a cannonball-sized hole into any chance he might have of being touched gently again. 

He stares down at his boots and prepares for the real pain. He’d asked for it, hadn’t he?

“Right,” Stede says, quiet. “Get on the bed, then.”

Ed’s eyes snap up to Stede’s face. “You serious?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” 

In the candlelight with the rain battering at the windows, Stede looks like a man who would burn down a ship and everyone on it. Ed takes another step backward, then another, then one more until the backs of his legs hit the side of Stede’s bunk. He sits down heavily on the feather-stuffed mattress. 

“On your back,” Stede snaps. He shrugs off his coat and drapes it over a chair. 

Ed lays down, staring up at the ceiling instead of at the way Stede looks in his teal waistcoat. His hands itch for the piece of black silk around his neck, but he stays still. He might not be allowed anything more.

Stede strides around the cabin, his shoes loud against the floorboards. Ed can hear him blowing out the candles, can smell the sulfur tang of the extinguished wicks. Soon every light goes out and the room is as dark as pitch. Ed’s eyes adjust to the point where he can just barely make out the indistinct shape of Stede looming over him. 

“You want to give up control that badly?” Stede asks. The mattress dips with the weight of his knee. 

Ed isn’t sure he’s meant to respond, but after a heavy pause between them, he chokes out, “Yes.”

“Fine.” There’s a whisper of fabric, and Ed nearly jumps out of his skin when something brushes against his face. “Nothing to be frightened of,” Stede says, not unkindly. “It’s only my sleeping mask.” He fits the piece of velvet over Ed’s eyes. The softness of it presses over the bridge of his nose, the ridge of his brows. Stede lifts his head and ties the mask’s narrow ribbon tight. “Can you see anything?”

Ed blinks his eyes under the mask, his lashes catching on the fabric. It’s total blackness. “No.”

“Good.” The word is clipped, cold. Stede’s hands leave him, and his weight leaves the bed, and then Ed is alone.

He wonders if Stede will leave the room entirely, if he’ll lay here all night waiting for something that will never come. Fuck, his eyes are watering again. Calm the fuck down, he tells himself. Nothing’s even happened yet; what are you so worried about? 

But he’s lost, his beacon gone. A fine tremor works into his limbs. He can’t tell the coastline from the water, his frantic thoughts from reality.

“Stede?” he says into the dark. A pathetic sound.

“Sh, I’m here.” A warm hand grips him by the wrist. Ed melts a little into the sweet smelling sheets. Some of that coldness has seeped out of his voice. He’s Stede again, or at least, the Stede Ed has come to know in their evenings of playacting. “Would you like me to put a pillow under your knee?”

Always thinking about Ed’s bloody knee. The tears are coming, and Ed can’t stop them. He takes a shuddering breath, wet and salt-laced. Damn, and he’d been so successful in keeping them at bay lately.

“How can you be so good to me?” he sobs.

“Oh, Ed.” The bunk creaks as he sits beside him. Soft, fine hands stroke at his jaw, his cheeks. Fingertips wipe away the tears that manage to escape from under the mask. “I can’t help it, I’m afraid. You deserve to be treated sweetly.”

“No.” Ed shakes his head, nearly dislodging the sleeping mask. “I don’t. Stop saying that.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Stede says, prim and teasing. “You’ll recall I’m the one in charge here.” 

Ed can’t see a damn thing, and he doesn’t know what Stede’s face looks like, and he can’t sense what his hands are going to do next, and he’s a mess of tears laying in the softest bed he’s ever known, and he can’t seem to catch his—

“Ed?” Stede’s hand slips from his face down to his throat. It settles like a bird over the black tie, fingers on one side of his neck, thumb on the other. Holding Ed like he’s breakable. “Edward. Breathe.”

Ed breathes in. He breathes out. Stede’s fingers tighten the slightest bit around his throat, just enough so Ed can feel him. Fingerprints making impressions in his hot skin. Just knowing Stede is there is enough.

“That’s it,” Stede whispers. “Just breathe.”

They stay like that for a long time, or maybe a few minutes. Ed loses track. It’s not like he has anywhere to be. He just breathes and drifts under Stede’s hand. The tears subside after a while. A storm passing, leaving calm skies in its wake. He feels like he’s been dipped in a barrel of fresh rainwater and scrubbed clean. 

“That’s very good.” Stede’s voice is low, like they’re sharing secrets. “You’re doing so well.” His fingers stroke down the column of Ed’s throat until they meet the leather of his jacket. “You know,” Stede says, conversational and light, “I always thought I wasn’t comfortable with violence. I don’t like the idea of hurting anyone—although sometimes….” He trails off. 

“Like with the French?” Ed murmurs. 

“Yes, for example. But in that instance I told myself, well, they were cruel to Edward, so perhaps they deserve it. And anyway, it’s not like I set them on fire with my own hands. They did it to themselves, really.” Stede’s fingers find the catch on Ed’s jacket and toy with it idly. “A bit like how you avoid the big job yourself, hm? Self defense, maiming, that’s one thing. It isn’t the worst a person could do.” He lapses into silence. His hand stills on Ed’s chest. 

“Not the best, either,” Ed says. 

“Hush, I’m trying to marshal my thoughts.” He breathes, and Ed breathes with him. “I think you may have become so used to pain that you consider it a byword for something else. Nothing wrong with that. Different people need different things.” He adjusts his seat on the bed, moving closer. “Ed, I’m going to tell you something and I want you to know I am not playing a role right now. All right?”

Oh, so that’s it. Ed needs this, and Stede needs Ed to leave and never speak of it again. They’re too different, two different people. The strange calm that’s settled in Ed’s bones turns cold. He expected this, so he’s not sure what the problem is. 

“Yeah, all right,” he says. He tries to sit up because it’s better to leave of your own free will than to be tossed out, even if it means he’ll have to grope in the dark for the door. But Stede’s hand presses at his chest, keeping him pinned to the bed.

“Stay there for a moment.” Stede licks his lips. Ed can hear the sound loud as a pistol shot in the quiet room. “These last few nights, I’ve been more content than I can ever remember being. I feel more myself when I’m like this, even though I’ve never been like this before, if that makes sense. It’s been a great privilege for me to be allowed to—to see to you like I have.” He takes Ed’s hand in his, his palm damp and soft. “Ed, I don’t know what I’m doing, but I want to give you what you need. I can be rougher if you like, but I can’t bear the thought of hurting you. Actually hurting you, I mean, in a way that isn’t welcome.” 

“Stede.” He clutches the hand in his. “Can I take this blindfold off, mate?” 

“Oh, yes, of course. Sorry.” Stede picks his head off the pillow and unknots the silken thread with a quickness. “I suppose it was easier for me to say all that without having to look you in the eye.” He gives a nervous laugh, and the sleeping mask falls away. 

Ed blinks in the gloom until he sees the vague shape of Stede’s face hovering above him. He wets his lips. There was no way he could have said this to the dark, without seeing Stede in front of him. “The only thing I really need,” he says, “is you.” That last word falls out of his mouth before he can think of some cleverer way to put it. 

Stede’s eyes shine. “Ed—”

Ed tips forward the barest inch and kisses him. It’s as chaste as a hand in his hair, or a touch to his waist as he’s being dressed, or poetry in his ear, and at the same time, it lights him on fire. Because it’s Stede. It’s always and irrevocably Stede.

A soft noise of surprise flutters against his lips, and for a moment he thinks he’s really done it this time. But then Stede kisses Ed back, as sweet as sugary tea, and moves into him. Ed’s hands cup his warm face, and Stede touches his chest, where the ends of his black neck tie dangle. 

When they part, Stede leans his forehead against Ed’s and breathes hard against his face. “Is this real?” he says. “Is it real enough?”

“Reckon it is,” Ed says, and kisses him again. 

[==]

Ed is naked in record time. This is a fairly new sensation, as far as buggery goes. In the past, he’s only had to get his cock out, or shimmy his trousers down his hips. Being naked from the waist down was a true luxury. But Stede insists on Ed being completely bare. Except for the black tie, of course. He pats it where it sits wrapped around Ed’s throat and says, “This bit can stay. Looks too good on you to remove it.”

Getting Stede in the altogether is more tricky. When Ed’s fingers grapple with the thousand buttons on his waistcoat, Stede bats them away. 

“No need to do all that on my account,” he says. “It’s you who needs to be taken care of, isn’t it?”

Ed feels like the ship is tilting ninety degrees under him. “And what if what I need is to get these fine clothes of yours off?” he asks. 

Stede looks embarrassed by the notion. “Really, the view is nothing special. Not like—” His hand smoothes down Ed’s chest and stomach, scars and tattoos alike. “I mean, you’re a work of art, Edward.”

The praise makes Ed feel giddy, but he pushes down the sensation so he can concentrate on the task at hand. He puts his hand to Stede’s cheek and kisses him, hard and deep. A string of spittle connects their lips when he pulls back after a moment, both of them panting. “Look at you, though,” he says. “You’re gorgeous, mate.” His nose rubs a line alongside Stede’s. “Please?”

Stede smiles softly against his wet mouth. “If you insist,” he says, and helps Ed with all the buttons. 

The clouds must have pushed off because a faint trickle of starlight now spills through the windows, and it catches Stede’s hair and the curve of his chest, his belly, his hips. Ed stares at him in fascination, hauling him into his lap so they can finally get all their naked skin to meet. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Stede says. His eyes are pleading, his hands searching along Ed’s ribs. 

“Sure you do,” Ed says. “You’re Captain Stede Bonnet of the pirate ship Revenge, and you make the decisions here because you’re a fucking force of nature. There’s nothing you can’t do.” 

Stede clicks his tongue, his hands digging into Ed’s hair. “I didn’t know we were still playacting.” 

“I’m not acting.” Ed kisses him in the center of his soft chest, where the light dusting of hair tickles his nose. “It’s the truth. Just tell me how you want me.”

“Oh,” Stede laughs shakily, “there’s not enough time in the world to go through all that.” 

“Give me the broad strokes,” Ed says with a cheeky grin. “Just five or six would be enough, probably.”

“Edward!” Stede’s cry is part-scandalized, part-delighted. He gives Ed’s hair a playful tug, which is—very nice. “I must insist on no further punnery during our lovemaking. It cheapens it.”

“Cheapens? Didn’t know you planned on paying.” Ed laughs. 

Stede rolls his eyes. “Oh, really. And after I asked nicely.”

Ed grinds his hips up against Stede’s bottom, eliciting a high squeak. “Maybe you should ask more meanly if you want me to listen.”

“Oh! You—!” Stede’s hand strikes out and connects, inexplicably, with Ed’s cheek. The loud crack of it echoes through the cabin. It’s the shock of it more so than the actual blow (which is minimal; Ed’s had worse) that has Ed’s head whipping to the side. His cheek stings, and his cock, trapped beneath Stede, twitches helplessly.

“Dear god,” Stede whispers. It’s a bit muffled since he’s got his knuckles pressed to his mouth in horror. “Ed, I’m so sorry, I misjudged—in the dark, I couldn’t tell—”

Ed turns back slowly to stare up at the man fretting in his lap. He didn’t think it was possible, but he’s more devoted than ever to this captain of his. 

“Think you could do it again?” he asks, his voice gone into a husky growl. 

There’s a moment of silence where he worries he really has offended Stede’s delicate sensibilities, but then Stede starts to giggle behind his fist. Ed starts up too, helpless at the sound, his shoulders shaking with mirth. Within moments they’re both roaring with laughter. Stede tips his head back and clutches at Ed’s forearms to keep himself from falling over, and Ed uses the excuse to grab his hips. He can feel Stede’s cock dribbling over his belly, and knowing that he’s as turned on by this ridiculousness as much as Ed is makes him feel warm all over. 

“I believe I want you just like this,” Stede finally manages to say once their laughter subsides. He wiggles until he’s crouched between Ed’s legs, a hand gentle around his bad knee, keeping it well out of the way. “I can see your face like this. That’s important; it’s a very good face.”

Ed is pleased that he didn’t need to spell out how badly he needs to have Stede inside him. He wouldn’t mind the other way ‘round, of course, it doesn’t matter to him, especially if Stede’s the one making requests. But this way— Yeah, this way. 

He hooks his good knee around Stede’s waist and pulls him closer. He’s so clever, his Stede.

“Got any of that fancy oil of yours?” he asks.

Stede has oodles of oils, it turns out, and he blushingly explains that there’s a special one—unscented, mild—that he reserves especially for “nocturnal self-massage.” And it’s conveniently located right under the bunk in a little earthenware pot. He retrieves it, chattering all the while. Ed could listen to him all night. 

There’s a bit of an awkward moment where Ed has to instruct Stede on the best way to finger him open. Ed would do it for expediency’s sake, but Stede insists on doing it himself. “It’s a skill I need to learn. And anyway, I’m the one taking care of you, got it?”

Ed has never thought sticking your fingers and cock in someone could be an act of care, but then again, he’d never seen Stede Bonnet do it before. The man is the picture of consideration, mindful of every jolt and twitch of Ed around his middle finger and adjusting for his comfort. He’s as hard as iron; Ed can feel him against his thigh every so often, but Stede ignores it in favor of Ed. 

“Right.” Stede takes a shaky inhale. “Now, tell me honestly, Edward: do you need longer, or—?”

“If you don’t get in me right now, I’m going to fucking lose it,” Ed says companionably. He’s slick and relaxed, opening easily around Stede’s fingers, and it’s good in a way it’s never been before. 

Stede removes his fingers with a little huff. “That’s a bit bossy for someone who claims to love giving up control,” he says. 

“Every man has his limits.” Ed hikes his leg higher around Stede’s waist, hoping he looks enticing. “Come on, don’t you want me?”

Stede looks at him like he’s the madman in this situation. “There is nothing,” he says slowly, “absolutely nothing I want more.” 

Ed doesn’t know what to say to that, but Stede doesn’t demand any response. He just oils his cock and starts to slide in. His eyes never leave Ed’s face the whole time. 

That’s a lot of eye contact, even for Ed, and he finds himself shutting his eyes and turning his head into the pillow with a choked off sound. Stede’s fingertips find his chin and turn him back.

“Can you keep your eyes open for me?” he asks in a voice that’s shaking with self-control. “I’d like you to try.”

Ed can’t deny him anything, even the impossible, so he keeps his eyes trained on Stede and breathes like it’s keeping him alive, which is bullshit—it’s Stede keeping him alive now. It’s his soft touches to his face, brushing his hair away. It’s the way he rolls his hips, not at all graceful or calculated to impress, but wonderful all the same. It’s the shivery way he’s moving against Ed, the scratch of his fingertips through the hair on Ed’s chest and his stomach, like he’s mapping it all out. Ed watches the progress down the trunk of his body and wonders if anyone has ever touched him like they were enamored of all that he is. 

He hears a sniffle and looks up to find Stede weeping. Tears are falling down his face to drip from his chin, and he’s smiling all the while. 

Ed sits up, careful not to dislodge Stede from inside him. “Hey. You all right?”

“Yes, sorry,” he says, wiping at his face with the back of his wrist. “I didn’t intend to steal your thunder. This is your special talent, isn’t it? Getting overwhelmed like this?” 

“Stop it, you’ll get me going too if you keep that up.” Ed touches his face, brings it closer so he can kiss the tears from Stede’s chin. 

“You’re just so—” Stede lifts his face so Ed can better kiss a line down his neck. “You’re the loveliest thing, Edward. I’m so lucky to have you.” 

Ed tucks his face against Stede’s shoulder. They’re still moving together, slower and more shallow, Ed sitting in Stede’s lap. His breath shudders through him. Stede’s the lucky one? He’s never heard such—

“Ah, what did I say about seeing your face? Come on.” Stede wraps his hand around the ends of the black tie and uses it like a leash to tug him upright and into another kiss. The pressure around Ed’s neck does not abate, just stays steady as Stede keeps pulling. His cock is sticky between their bellies, pulsing with every upward thrust that Stede gives him. 

He tears his mouth away from Stede’s. He needs it deeper. “Lay me down?” he asks. 

Stede hurries to give him what he wants. Oh, he’s beautiful when he’s giving Ed exactly what he wants. His golden hair is sweaty and sticking to his forehead, and he’s got a smile teasing the corner of his mouth because he’s close, Ed can tell he’s close, and he knows Ed is too, and he’s delighted to have brought them there. 

“That’s it,” he says between their panting breaths. “Let go, Edward. It’s all right, I’ve got you.” His hand, oil-slick, wraps around Ed’s aching cock and pumps it less than five or six times. 

Ed does as he’s been told. He falls apart in Stede’s arms, and he doesn’t mind being in pieces. So long as it’s Stede. 

[==]

Much later, Ed awakes to find Stede slipping out of bed and into a bright yellow banyan robe. A different Ed might have a sinking feeling at the sight, might assume that Stede was leaving him for good. But the current Ed has enjoyed being curled up more or less on top of Stede for hours after their—Christ, he’s really going to think of it as lovemaking, isn’t he?—and he has faith that Stede will come back. 

“Mmph?” he asks, barely lifting his head. His back aches a little and his joints are stiff, but he feels pretty good, all told. Must be the feather bed. Or Stede’s slow caresses as they fell asleep. Or the fact that he’s been well fucked and can feel the dampness of Stede’s seed between his legs still. 

“I realized we skipped dinner,” Stede says in a hushed whisper. “I’m going to get you something to eat. And some water; you really need to stay hydrated after the night we’ve had.” It’s dark, but Ed can tell from the tone of his voice that he’s blushing.

He’s so totally, eternally devoted to him. He burrows back under the mussed sheets. “Get something sweet,” he mumbles into the Stede-smelling pillow. “Keep my energy up.”

Stede presses a kiss to the crown of his head, the only exposed part of him. “I adore you,” he says, so quiet Ed thinks he may have imagined it, and then disappears from the cabin.

Ed inhales the smell of flowers and Stede. Exhales all his troubles. He falls into another doze, half-dreaming of the stars they both can read.