Chapter Text
“What the hell is this, Edward?”
Ed looked up from his desk in the cramped office. Izzy stood glowering in the doorway, brandishing one of the many poster’s Ed had spent his morning hanging up inside and outside of Blackbeard’s Bar and Grill. He held back a smirk as best he could at Izzy’s outrage. Honestly he was surprised it had taken this long, almost a full day.
“It’s a poster, Iz.”
Izzy glared, slamming the poster down onto the desk. Ed made a show of looking down at it like he hadn’t been the one to design it and have it printed the day before.
“Huh, ‘Halloween at Blackbeard’s, 29th October. Party like a pirate. Free rum and coke on entry for every pirate’...” Ed read aloud. “Great idea, Iz. Love a dress up night.”
“When the fuck did I agree to free fucking drinks?”
“Pretty sure it was you who said we needed something to pull customers, Iz.”
“Which is why I let you go along with this stupid fucking Halloween night shit. We need to make a fucking profit, Edward, not give away free fucking drinks.”
“Hm,” considered Ed, “If only there was some kind of way to limit the amount of free drinks each patron got. Oh wait, there is. One each to get ‘em in the door. Then they gotta pay. And Fang’s already reworking some cocktails to be fucking orange and spooky and shit, and we can charge fucking double what they’re worth cause its fucking Halloween. We offer people a good time and they’ll stay to get pissed. It’s win-fucking-win, Iz.”
“I didn’t agree to this.”
“Good thing I’m the owner then isn’t it?” Ed shot back, all mirth dropped from his voice.
“I’m the fucking manager.”
“Yeah, bar manager. You’re in charge of bar stock, and rosters. You manage the fucking staff, not me.”
Izzy looked for a moment like he would argue, maybe try and throw a punch or a chair or something else that would leave Ed wondering -not for the first time- why he kept putting up with his old friend. Instead he turned on his heel and stormed away, and Ed artfully ignored the slew of curses he muttered under his breath as he went.
Fuck it, he thought, that was enough work for the day. It was late and he was exhausted after another Saturday night. The bar had closed half an hour ago and the chairs were already stacked on empty tables except for one or two groups of stragglers. Fang and Izzy could close up. He gave Fang a warning and headed out the back to his car.
It was a short drive home and before long he was climbing the stairs and walking into his dark and empty apartment and dropping his keys on the side table. He flicked on the light and let the door swing shut behind him. Ed shucked off his jacket, chucking it in the vague direction of the sofa, and pulled his black work shirt over his head, letting it drop to the floor. Running Blackbeard’s Bar and Grill had been a dream come true, something he’d first wanted as a child when his mum was at work and his dad would drag him out to Hornigold’s and tell him to sit down and shut up while he spent the night drinking and gambling away any money they had. The second he was eighteen he’d got a job at the bar, and over the years he worked his way up the management ladder until one day Hornigold jumped ship and Ed had taken over.
But somewhere along the way the old place had lost that spark of excitement. These days it was all staff infighting, regulations and checklists, just barely making a damn profit. And on top of it all was fucking Izzy breathing down his neck any chance he got, ‘what’s the plan Edward’, ‘how are we going to afford that Edward’, ‘need to cut down on costs Edward’, ‘need to bring in more cash Edward’. He was fucking sick of it.
He sat heavily on the bed, raising each leg one after the other to pull at the buckles on his boots and throw them to the floor with his socks. He groaned, his knee aching familiarly after a shift of standing at the bar then squeezing himself under a too small desk. He’d have a hot shower later, loosen it up before he rubbed his Tiger Balm into it, but not yet.
It was Saturday -well, Sunday morning now- and that meant one thing. Ed bent over and pulled his laptop out from where he kept it under the bed. He opened it and waited for it to wake up enough that he could open his browser and type in the familiar website. He bit his lip in anticipation as the page loaded, and he saw exactly what he’d been waiting all bloody day for, waiting ready for him in his subscriptions.
The Gentleman Pirate.
He’d found it from a stupid tweet Ivan had tagged them all on. ‘Rule 34: Mature Gay posts 1700’s fancy pirate porn on Only Fans’ . Iz had thought it fucking hilarious when he’d seen it, but when Ed had found the name of the account listed in the comments, along with more than one response of lewd emojis and “but why is this actually really hot?” he got curious and clicked on one of the links. And damn if they weren’t right.
The first photos were close ups of different costumes. Hands tying a cravat tight. Gold buttons on a peach waistcoat. A foot propped up on an ottoman, hands tying big white ribbons on black heeled shoes. Shapely calves wrapped in white stockings, highlighting the swell of an ankle bone. And fuck, Ed must be a repressed mess because this was doing more for him than anything on PornHub had in… way too long.
Paying for porn was something he hadn’t done since the early 2000s, but after seeing the first few images not hidden by the paywall, Ed wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself subscribing if he’d wanted to.
He had paid to unlock just one video at first, and it was an awakening he hadn’t expected. One video turned to two, turned to three, turned to a weekly fucking subscription. Before he knew it Wednesday and Saturday nights were his favourite days of the fucking week.
The man in the video didn’t show his face. Every time he was alone, sitting in a variety of different set ups. An armchair in a library, a rug in front of a blazing fireplace, a four poster bed with a truly ridiculous amount of cushions. He would wear various outfits that looked to be straight off a movie set, all teals, blues, purples, and corals and no matter the colour, always extravagant. He moved in slow, deliberate movements. The frame always just shy of showing the man's face, but never shy from showing his dick.
Tonight Ed clicked on the newest video, his cock already stirring in his washed-out black jeans. He sucked his lower lip between his teeth as the video opened.
The Gentleman Pirate stepped into frame, dressed in the teal number, Ed’s personal favourite. He fanned out the back of his coat before he sat on a sofa or chaise lounge or whatever that fancy fucking couch was called. His sleeves had large lace ruffles, his fingers adorned with signet rings. Ed watched in keen anticipation as those hands smoothed down the front of his brocade waistcoat. They reached the bottom but one kept going, pressing into the crotch of his fancy teal britches. He gasped, the sound loud from Ed’s tiny laptop speakers, making him groan in turn. The man on screen pressed the heel of his hand into the growing bulge underneath, sighing so prettily.
Ed reached for his belt. He pulled the buckle free and undid the top button of his fly and lifted his hips just enough to shove his jeans and boxers down his thighs. His cock sprung up, swinging toward his belly, and he grasped it firmly in one hand and moaned.
On screen the so-called pirate removed his jacket, laying it neatly over the arm of the chair before starting on the buttons of his waistcoat and discarding that too. Ed watched hungrily as next his hands turned to the buttons on either side of the fall front of his britches. Ed had never expected to find pants with a fucking cock-flap alluring, but there he was, biting his lip as that fabric fell and the thin cotton undergarments beneath did very little to hide that beautiful man from view.
Historically accurate, or at least Ed assumed them to be, the underwear had no front closure for a fly, just an open gap the man easily dipped his hand into before pulling out his swollen dick. He stroked himself as Ed watched, his own hand mimicking the movements, but a moment later the anonymous man was standing again, his cock jutting out from his costume and towards the camera. Those beautiful hands draped with frilled cuffs moved the to the buttons holding the waistband of his britches secure above his exposed cock, he undid them deftly, then more on either side of his waist before pushing them down his legs and stepping out of them. The ties on his cotton underwear were next, and soon he was naked from the waist down, save for his stockings, held up with ribbons around his creamy thighs, and his shoes, polished leather and heeled just enough to get that genderfucy part of Ed’s brain to shiver in glee.
He stood before the camera side on, stroking himself a moment longer, teasing a finger across his tip where a bead of precum had collected. He swiped it onto a finger and raised his hand out of frame, humming as he no doubt pressed the wet digit to his lips. Ed groaned, and not for the first time wished he could see his pretty mouth, wished he knew what face to picture wrapped around his dick.
On the screen the pirate had procured a pump bottle of lube, squirting some onto the fore fingers of his left hand and rubbing it together with his thumb. He set the bottle aside then turned his back to the camera. Ed swore, watching as the man bent himself forward, over the sofa, exposing his arse to the camera. He stepped his feet out a little wider, his cheeks spreading, his balls hanging deliciously between plump thighs. His left hand reached back, pulling his cheeks apart further, his fingers reaching for his pink hole.
He teased himself -and by proxy, Ed- the fingers skirting around the outside of his hole for a minute, drawing tiny winding circles. But then he slipped in the first finger, and soon after, the second. Ed groaned, squeezing the base of his cock as he watched this beautiful man fucking himself on his fingers. After a minute he added a third finger, stretching himself, the backs of his thighs quivering as he opened himself up. He moaned, the sound choked off and intoxicating to Ed’s ears.
All too soon he stopped, pulling his hand free and straightening up. From the same place off frame he’d grabbed the lube, the pirate now pulled a dildo. It was black and semi realistic, a distinct head on one end, a suction cup base on the other. He moved back to the sofa and sat down, pumping more lube into his hand and coating the dildo with it. Ed reached for his own lube, shoved into the top drawer of his nightstand, he squeezed some into his palm and when he turned back to his laptop the Gentleman Pirate had suction cupped the didlo to the wooden floor, and was squatting over it, knees spread wide, one hand bracing himself on the seat of the sofa behind him, the other holding the dildo still as slowly he eased it inside himself.
He took it slowly at first, one hand still holding the dildo steady as he pressed his hips slowly up and down, taking it gently deeper and deeper until soon the man was able to bottom out. He pulled his hand away, joining the other braced on the sofa, and began to ride himself on the silicone cock. Ed watched, his mouth dry with pure unadulterated want. Those creamy thighs twitched and muscles clenched, the pirate pushing himself up and down, taking the toy as deep as he could with each bounce, his cock bobbing with every movement. Ed wanted to taste it. Wanted to know if his skin was as sweet as it looked. A man like this probably tasted of strawberries or honeysuckle, something incredibly sweet and decadent and all too tempting. He groaned, squeezing at the head of his dick, picturing his face buried between those thighs.
The Gentleman Pirate was getting close in the video too, Ed could hear it in the whiny little groans he was making. One hand hastily reached up, out of frame just enough to be licked or spit into, then it lowered, fingers wrapping around his straining cock.
“Yes, fuck,” Ed swore again, his own hand moved faster and he pushed himself closer and closer to that edge, trying to time it with the video. “Now, now now,” he pleaded, as if this wasn’t prerecorded. As if the Gentleman Pirate could hear him, or even cared beyond the money that came out of his bank every month. “So close, so close, fucking cum with me.”
“Uhhhh! ” The sharp wail from his speakers pushed Ed that last inch. He came, shooting over his stomach as he watched the Gentleman Pirate do the same.
Ed panted, his body felt wrecked, and he still needed to drag himself to the shower. He didn’t take his eyes from his laptop though. The pirate slumped against the couch, dildo still fully seated inside him as he quivered and huffed for breath. After a long moment to collect himself the stranger stood, the toy slipping free with a little hiss of discomfort. He displayed his hand to the camera, wet and dripping with his own cum.
Like he was answering Ed’s earlier dream the man’s chin dipped into frame, then his lips, no more than that. But he raised his hand and licked at his fingers, sucked them into his mouth and moaned around them, tasting himself. Jesus. If Ed was younger he thought it might be enough to get him going again.
The screen went blank at the end of the video. Ed groaned, and forced himself to move before he fell asleep with cum all over his stomach. Right then. Shower. He pushed himself to his feet, stepping out of his jeans and underwear. He washed away the sweat and cum and general grime of the day, dried off with a towel and pulled on fresh boxers before collapsing into the bed, laptop still open on top of the bedspread, and fell to sleep.