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He’s so fucking tight.
That’s all Stede can think, his head a ringing blank; Edward, his lovely Edward, clutched around his prick like a vise, slick with oil, so much slicker than Mary ever was, and not a clutch around his whole cock but the vicious, muscular clench of his hole giving way to soft, wet heat, like Stede’s run him through, pushed past all his hard edges to the sweetness within.
He knows, he knows what it feels like, now, to want it — to want to come, to want to claim, to need and desire and lust for the body of another, for the body of a man. He’s become familiar with Edward’s skilled, nimble hands, with the soft-hard planes of his belly, with the heat of his tongue and the tight channel of his thighs. But this. This is —
God.
Edward’s making a noise, a soft, eager moan, breathy like he’s trying to relax, to let Stede in further. His hole flutters around Stede’s prick and Stede can’t help himself. His hips jump. He slides in. Shoves, hard, and buries himself inside Edward’s body. “Fuck,” he wheezes, lightheaded. His thighs, his pelvis, every part of him goes tight with pleasure, balls pulling up like he’s going to shoot too soon —
Like he’s going to fill Edward up —
Trembling, blinded, he leans down to knock their foreheads together. Edward smells like fresh air and sea salt and honest sweat and lavender, beautiful, perfect, and Stede kisses him; he misses, gets the corner of his mouth, but Edward turns into him, lets Stede clumsily mash their lips together, lets Stede go at him like a fucking animal, all tongue and teeth and instinct, and Edward responds in kind, slinging his arms up around Stede’s neck like a maiden on her wedding night, pulling Stede closer, pulling him deeper in. Stede groans. He’s never felt like this, not with Mary, not in any frantic fumblings with other schoolboys back in Britain. He feels insane. He feels hungry.
“’M taking you,” he says into Ed’s cheek, eyes slipping shut. “I’m fucking you, darling.”
“I noticed,” Edward laughs, breathless.
“I’m — God,” Stede says, and draws out just a little; he means to go slowly, means to make it sweet and good for Edward, because Edward deserves to be pampered, to be treated gently, but something in the back of his brain can’t stand it, can’t hold back — he pushes himself back in, back into Ed’s warmth, and Edward makes the most delicious noise he’s ever heard. “Need to, need to have you," he says, and, "That’s it, open up for me, let me," and he rolls his hips, grinds deeply, thinks wildly of how Edward said there was a spot in men just like in women where it felt good to touch and Stede had never known women had a good spot in the first place but Edward showed him, slipped his rope-calloused fingers inside and proved it, and now Stede wants, deliriously, to make him feel how good it is, to make Edward understand how fucking perfect he feels.
“Oh, shit, mate,” Edward says, head rolling back, “fuckin’ fuck, Stede, you’re — oh, shit, thought you wanted to take it slow?”
“No,” Stede snarls, and sinks his hand into Edward’s hair, yanking hard just how he likes, and is rewarded by a high, choked whine and a brief squeeze around the middle of his shaft. He bullies himself back in, rolls out, slick-smooth, every fold of Ed’s skin burning-hot and vivid against Stede’s prick, Stede’s cockhead rubbing up against hot-smooth-wet inside him, inside Edward. “Want to have you.”
“You’ve got me—”
Half-mad, Stede growls low in his chest, a hissing breath, and scrapes his teeth over Edward’s jaw, mashing his face against Edward’s cheek, rubbing up against his smooth skin, where he’s been clean-shaven lately, where Stede can rub the newly-soft curls of his beard over his lover, his darling, his own — his beautiful partner — the wife to Stede’s husband —
Ed yelps as Stede picks up speed. “Oh, fucking — Christ — oh,” he lets out, every word punched from him by a thrust of Stede’s hips, and he curls his good leg up around Stede’s waist, pulls him closer, like he needs it just as badly as Stede does.
Heart pounding, Stede grabs at Edward’s thigh in the dodgy side, hoists it up, yanks Ed down the bed until he’s curled up under Stede and Stede’s curled up over him, staring greedily at the way Ed’s eyes go wide as saucers and he slaps a hand over his mouth to muffle a shout. “No, love,” Stede says into his ear, “don’t you dare — let me hear you, pretty thing.”
“M’not,” Ed tries to say, but Stede fucks the words out of him, sends them spiralling away into a stream of choked curses and sweet, hot moans, every noise cranking the tension in Stede’s core higher, hotter, sharper.
“The prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Stede says. He pushes up onto his elbow, looks down and — God above — watches his cock slip in and out of Ed’s gorgeous body. “Look at you, you’re — oh, fuck, you’re so good, feel so good on me. You’re so fucking sweet, my pretty thing, my love, I’ve never had a cunt so good.”
Ed makes a noise like he’s been stabbed.
Stede’s head jerks up. “You like that,” he says, not a question; it races through him like wildfire on a sinking ship, a burn of ecstasy, utterly inescapable. “You like when I take your — your sweet c-cunt.”
“Jesus,” Ed chokes out.
“Fuck,” Stede snarls, “fucking fuck,” and he pushes harder, fucks as deep as he can go, and for a moment remembers fucking Mary like this, how she turned her head, how even then, when she was bored and they were both so fucking miserable, her cunt welcomed him in, took in his seed, let him fill her and mark her and round her out with child, and it hits him like a blow. “Oh, darling,” he says, pulled tight as a harpsichord string, “you — will you take me? Will you let me fill you? I’ll spill, love, I’ll finish in you, will you take it?”
Ed’s eyes roll back in pleasure and, hoarse and needy, he says, “Yeah, I’ll — what do you — fuck, anything you want.”
Heart blurs Stede’s vision. “Good girl,” he says, and under him, Edward seizes up, hands clutching hard at Stede’s shoulders, tugging at the hair on his back. “Anything I want, yes, you — you’re perfect, a perfect little wife, I’ll give it to you, I’ll fill you with me, fill you up, it can — it’ll take, this way, with you under me, just need to make you come, and once I’m done we’ll finish you again —”
“Stede,” Edward begs, half-strangled.
“You’ll take more quickly that way, the — the paroxysms, they — they'll pull my seed into you —”
“What the fuck are you — oh fuck,” Edward yelps, and gives up on words, gold skin blood-flushed red, sweet lips pink and wet and parted, and Stede leans down again, kisses him, ravishes his perfect mouth, licks and sucks messy and clumsy and fucking wild with it, and Edward lets him, opens so sweetly and easily, and Ed's hole relaxes into it, a sign of his pleasure as he writhes up into Stede’s every thrust.
Stede pulls off him, still fucking hard, leaving a string of spit behind, and Ed is destroyed under him, punch-drunk, fucked out, shining with sweat as the muscle of his chest bounces with Stede’s hips, his every helpless noise in chorus with the slapping of their thighs.
“Are you,” Stede gasps, “going to — come?”
“Yeah,” Ed moans. “Oh — oh, shit, I, Stede.”
Head spinning, dizzy with a surge of vicious lust, Stede says, “Good, good girl, my — my good little wife, coming all speared on my prick, taking me in — doing your duty to me — you’ll be so beautiful when it quickens, darling, your — oh, fucking fuck, your breasts filling up, your belly all round, I won’t” — he grits his teeth, forces himself not to come, not yet — “I won’t be — able to fuck you like this, I’ll have to — take you on your hands and knees, oh God Edward, don’t you touch yourself, be a good girl and come on my prick.”
Edward wails, rasping and desperate, and shoves himself up into every thrust, hauling himself up with his strong thighs, slapping himself against Stede’s hips. “Do it,” he begs, delirious, slurring, “fucking — do it, oh God, knock me up, do it — stick a fucking baby in me, oh fuck, what the fuck, this is so fucking — say it again —”
“Perfect girl,” Stede rasps, ignoring the strain in his back, “going to be the most perfect wife for me, going to let me fill you up, show you off, all full of me, show everyone how well you’ve taken my prick, show them how soft and sweet and delicious you are, how you’re fucking mine, love, I’ll be so deep inside you you’ll never get me out —”
Edward shouts. Convulses. His hole flutters, hard, and a cry rips itself out of Stede, pleasure hitting him like a fist, like a dagger to the gut, overwhelming, and he can’t even see Edward, eyes blind-white with it, hips jackknifing deeper to spill himself as far in as he can go, balls pulling tight, shooting inside Edward again and again and again, and he thinks, utterly mad with it, it’s surely going to catch.
It takes him time to regain his breath. His blood cools slowly, bubbly fizz seeping out to leave behind hard-won exhaustion. He looks down, finally.
Seed stripes Edward’s chest hair, all the way up to his chin.
Ed’s panting like a racehorse, his eyes wide and wild, staring back at Stede. His legs and arms have fallen limp.
Stede carefully kneels up, back protesting loudly. His cock slips out of Ed’s hole and — Christ — a short dribble of whitish seed follows after. Ed makes a soft, struck noise, and his hole twitches like he’s trying to hold it open for Stede to see — so Stede reaches down. Fumbles a bit. Runs the pads of his thumbs over the fucked-tender muscle.
He feels the slick of his own spend and, heat flaring in his gut, carefully gathers it up to push it back inside.
Ed whines, all shock and shaky need. “You’re — Stede, you’re still…?”
“Can’t waste a drop, my love,” Stede says, breathless. “We ought to — to be certain to keep you full for — for ten minutes, at least.”
“So it’ll…”
“Take, yes.”
Ed clenches under him and his cock, so lovely, slow-softening, jumps. “Then you. You should. Uh.”
“What, Edward?”
“You said before, it would — it’ll help if you make me —” He pulls a shaking hand up to his face, flushing red, voice tight and thin with nerves. “If I come again it’ll. Help.”
Stede ought to be used to these rushes of bright, hot lust, but he isn’t. Can’t be. He grits his teeth together. “Lucky thing,” he says, carefully, “to have a lovely cunt like this, so I can tip you over again and again, as much as I like.”
“Fucking fuck, you — you weird fucking — kiss me,” Edward begs, and Stede, unsteady, crawls up to meet him as fast as he can, kissing him as deeply and as perfectly and as wantingly as any husband might kiss his sweet, beautiful wife.