Chapter Text
Stede has spent his whole life empty.
His childhood. His marriage. Even at sea, before he was tricked into a noose at the hands of the Spanish navy, he was plagued with a hollowness. A sense that he'd eaten but not had his fill. Consumed only for survival, not for the pleasure of eating.
But he soon met Ed. And their first morning together had been indulgently licking orange marmalade off their fingertips, basking in sunrise, their lips sticky and tart. And that's what every morning with Ed has felt like since. Syrupy slow and sweet. Warm. Content. Full.
He thought there was no sense of fullness more all-encompassing than when Ed had pressed his lips against his for the first time, only for the daybreak of his true feelings for him to show him, no. He really could be more full. Typical. Stede never could figure anything out on the first try. And since then, he's only been shown that he has no upper capacity for the unconditional love Ed gave him. It's grown with each step they took. The moment Stede saw Ed's lifeless body breathe again after he was sure he'd lost him. The first time they made love, peppered in the light of fireworks. When they cut their way through a sea of naval soldiers to grasp each other again, Ed muttering, "I love you" against his lips, something Stede knew, but god. What a thing to hear spoken. What a voice to speak it.
Ed fills Stede so well.
Though, he never quite expected it to be so literal.
They've been together now for a few months—just them in their inn by the sea. Their time has mostly been spent making their home something a bit more home-like and a bit less termite food-like. But when they aren't attending home renovation, they're almost definitely fucking. Stede has never cared about sex. He'd had it before Ed, of course. You don't get two children from pats on the back, after all. Even he's not stupid enough to believe that. Still, it was utilitarian until Ed. A task. Not a leisurely activity, not something he craved. Now that he's taken a bite out of Ed, though, he's found it rather difficult to curb his appetite. Indeed, he's spent nearly every free moment he has bringing Ed pleasure, and Ed has been generous enough to reciprocate.
It's filthy. Hedonistic. Gluttonous.
Stede revels in it.
Revels in the way Ed's ass pushes back into his cock while he's asleep, making it so he wakes nearly every morning hard and aching. In the way Ed sighs, melts like butter against him when Stede decides to do something about that ache, rutting up against him like a dog in heat.
In the gasps that escape Ed's mouth when he pushes himself inside Ed's hole, almost always loose and ready for him these days. In the slick, tight, burning hot feel of him, of gripping his leg and prying him open so he can have his way with him. So he can make love to him. So he can fuck him. He's never known what it's like to fuck. Having sex with his wife was—not making love. Having intercourse, he supposes. Even when he was alone and made himself spill over his fist, it was a quick, rigid affair only meant to relieve tension. Maintenance, as it were.
He's only ever fucked Ed.
And fucking Ed is—god, it's transcendent. It's raw and sweaty and deep and overwhelming, every single time, no matter how many times they do it. Each time, his mind goes blissfully blank. All that's there is unending pleasure, fire in his veins, and Ed Ed Ed Ed Ed—
When he comes, he sometimes loses track of who he is. Because when he spills himself into Ed, it feels sometimes like they're merging bodies. Like they're becoming one writhing thing, and his pleasure is Ed's, and Ed's is his, and it lasts forever before it eventually, unfortunately, ends. But the aftermath is just as good. Almost better. They remain that singular thing, tangled in a knot of limbs and fluids and hair and laughter, muscles strung out, their bones gooey like taffy.
And Stede gets to see his favorite thing in the universe: Edward Teach's smile.
So, yes. Sex is pretty cool, actually. Who knew!
And he's perfectly content to keep it like that, of course. It never gets boring.
Tonight, though, he gets a new taste. One he's pretty sure he's going to have to eat a whole meal of. Just to make sure he likes it.
They're making out in bed after working out in the yard all day. Ed put up a new fence, and Stede managed to assemble something that could be a chicken coop. One day. Maybe. They're scrubbed clean, bellies full of fish, and utterly exhausted. Still, they always have time for this. And it could very easily turn into more, even though they did it just this morning. And afternoon (but that was just a quick handy behind the shed. Stede hardly thinks that counts.) Still, his body is taut like a bow string ready to snap, even after just kissing and lazy grinding. He follows the rolling tide of Ed's hips, falling into the practiced rhythm of their tide that they've cultivated these past few months.
Except, Ed makes a move Stede's not quite expecting.
When he grabs his ass, his fingers—well, they travel.
Down. And in. So far in that they—
Stede jerks at the feeling. Nearly bites down on Ed's lip out of surprise and—
Well, it's like touching a candle flame. But to his asshole.
Okay, it's nicer than that, actually. It's just—fuck, he doesn't know how else to explain it!
Perhaps it's more like being struck by lightning. Just that hint of pressure against that tight little point, and it's like his body has been shot through with a wave of electricity. He tries to resume kissing Ed, but all he can do is pant into his mouth, moaning, "Oh fuck, Edward. Fuck."
And Ed, the beautiful lunatic, laughs. Presses a little harder but doesn't breach him, and goddammit, that has Stede's balls drawing up already. "Yeah, you want it?" he whispers against Stede's lips. "You want it inside you? You want me in there?"
All Stede can do is shudder. Nod.
"You've never had something inside you, have you, baby?" Ed chuckles, massaging his finger in slow, agonizing circles.
"No," Stede groans. And it's true. He's thought about using his own fingers before, but—eh, he could never get past the cleanliness factor. It's different when it's Ed.
He doesn’t ease up as he shushes him, keeping that finger pressed against his entrance as he reaches beneath his pillow and pulls out the small vial of oil he keeps there. (The “In case of emergencies lube,” as he’s dubbed it.) “I’m gonna take care of you, okay? Just relax.”
And when Ed tells Stede to do something, he does it. He’s helpless to it. He draws in a breath as Ed’s finger briefly disappears before returning, slick and far more insistent.
“Take a breath, love,” Ed murmurs, “and let me in.”
So, Stede does.
And.
Oh.
Oh god.
Stede thought he knew what full was. Really. He did.
That wasn’t anywhere close to full, though. No, it’s obvious now. This is full.
It’s—he doesn’t quite know how to feel about it at first.
It’s a lot, he knows that. There’s something in him. In a place where—well, not to be blue, but where things usually go out, not in. When he lets out that breath and realizes oh, it’s Ed that’s in him…
The lightning comes back.
“Fuck, love,” Ed growls, lips hot against his ear. “You’re so tight. Can’t believe I’m the only one who gets to feel you here. Fuck.”
Stede whimpers. The idea that, yes, it’s really only ever going to be Ed here cascading over him like a torrential downpour. And just before the thought overwhelms him to the point of tears, Ed’s finger moves.
In. Out. In. Out. Languid in its pace but decadent and luxurious and fucking hell.
“Oh my god,” he moans.
“Most folks just call me Ed,” the cheeky love of his life snickers.
Stede grasps Ed’s shoulders as his finger speeds up, twisting, pulling at his rim from the inside. Stede thinks about how wild it drives him when the head of his cock catches on Ed’s hole, how crazy it seems to drive him, and fuck, he gets it now. He might have been underselling it, actually.
"Want another?" Ed asks. His voice is going ragged now too. Stede knows where he's at. He's usually in his position—knuckle deep and watching every microexpression at the flick of his wrist.
From the other side of things, though, Stede can hardly form words to answer. Another? Can he handle another? Well, on a good day, he's gotten three in Ed, so of course he knows it's possible. But he also might have a fucking stroke if he gets split open any further, so—
"Yes, please," he pants. "God, give it to me."
Ed's grin goes a little wicked. "Insatiable," he snarls. He takes a nip at Stede's lower lip before nudging another finger at his rim, easing it in beside the first in a way that Stede knows is gentle but it feels like...
Fuck, he's a log being split in half by an ax. He throws his head back as all his little splinters peel away from each other, forcing him open so his bristly core is exposed and ready for carving beneath Ed's deft fingers. That in and out and in and out speeds up. He can feel his knuckles from the inside, and—and—
Ed's fingers curl.
Stede's nails burrow into his shoulders as his entire body ignites.
So. This is what it's like when he finds that spot in Ed.
He finds it almost funny how they first did this underneath fireworks, seeing as he knows now Ed had fireworks bursting beneath his skin.
"Fuck!" he exclaims. Doesn't have to think about it. Just screams it. "Fuck. Oh fuck, Ed. Don't—don't stop. Please."
"Not gonna stop," Ed murmurs, pressing more insistently on that spot inside him. "You're doing so good, baby. Taking me like a fucking champ. Like you were made for me."
Stede's pushing his hips back onto his fingers now, swiveling them so Ed gets pressure on every possible point within him. "Was made for you," he babbles. "You belong here."
"Yeah? Well, just wait til I give you my cock."
That's enough to do it.
Stede comes. Hard.
Harder maybe than he ever has before. He's not quite sure because it's different. Not the same sensation of being cut up and sauteed in a pan with Ed, but being forced into him. Pushed closer so that he melds into him, gets caught in his bones. He spills over Ed's stomach, his cock untouched but still hard and twitching as he comes. It feels like ages. Minutes, at least, but his brain is goop now, he's sure, so it could be hours. Days. Years, even.
Eventually, he stops.
And his head is blank.
Maybe he did have a stroke, oh shit.
Ed's voice is the thing to bring him back into his body. "Fuck, did you even touch yourself?" he asks. His vision comes back into focus, and Ed is looking down between them in awe at the mess that Stede's made of them. "That was so fucking hot. Jesus."
"Most folks call me Stede," he quips.
That's enough to break Ed out of his astonishment, meeting his gaze and chuckling. "You okay? Didn't break you, did I?"
"Not sure," Stede says, still kind of hazy. "Check back with me after this." And before Ed can ask what he means, he wraps a hand around his still hard cock and jerks.
It doesn't take Ed long to follow him. Stede watches his face contort as his climax hits him, and he makes just as much of a mess of Stede as he did him. That's familiar. That and the aftermath. The murmured, "Love you so much. So good to me's" that sound so candied coming off Ed's tongue.
Once Ed's limp next to him, he lets himself go lax again. "Gotta get cleaned up. Hang on," Ed mutters, and it's only when he pulls away that Stede realizes his fingers are still inside him.
Not for long, of course. He pulls out, and Stede nearly bursts into fucking tears at the loss. He doesn't, though. He maintains his composure as Ed gets out of bed, rustles around in the bathroom for a bit before coming back with a wet rag to clean them both up with. Stede allows himself to be cleaned off--to be what Ed said earlier, he supposes. Taken care of.
They curl up together in silence for a bit, Ed plastered against his back and arms wrapped around him, stroking his thumb over the back of his hand. After a bit, he whispers, "You sure I didn't break you?"
Stede chuckles. He can hear how tired he is. "Very sure, darling."
"Yeah. Just—know I kind of sprung that on you in the middle of everything, so. You know. Checking in and all."
"I appreciate it," Stede says. "Honestly, Ed, it was—wow."
"Right? Fuckin' aces, isn't it?"
"An understatement."
"Heh."
"But yes. 'Fuckin' aces' will do for the time being."
Ed snuggles into him a bit further. "Good. Glad you liked it."
"A bigger understatement."
Ed laughs.
More silence. Before Stede eventually says, "What you said before I—well, you know. About giving me your..." He doesn't know why it's still so hard to say. Stupid formal upbringing. He's been more intimate with Ed than anyone else, but he still blushes speaking the words out loud outside of them actually doing the act. He's working on it, obviously. But a lifetime of holding your tongue regarding sexual matters is a hard thing to get over. "About giving me—your cock," he manages to get out. He clears his throat, pulls Ed's arms a bit tighter. "I'm—interested."
Despite facing away from him, Stede can practically hear Ed arch his eyebrow suggestively. "Are you now?"
Stede nods. "I think so."
"Have I turned Stede Bonnet into a butt slut?" Ed chuckles into his ear.
Stede laughs too, buries his face in the pillow a bit so Ed can't see how red he's turning, even though there's relatively little moonlight to see by. "I don't know about that. But I am—curious."
"Nothing wrong with that."
"Oh, I know," Stede says. "I'm not saying that. I'm just..." He tries to gather his thoughts, despite them still being soupy from his recent orgasm-induced pseudo-stroke. "It's just—I never felt so—filled up with you as I did in that moment."
"Well yeah. That makes sense."
"No, not just literally. Just—at all." Wiggling around in his grasp, he turns so that he's facing Ed. He can feel his heartbeat through his own chest as they're pressed against each other. And it sends a chill through him knowing Ed can feel his too. "Before you, I was like—one of those wooden dolls, you know? The ones that have smaller dolls nested inside of them? But it was like I was missing all the smaller dolls. I was a hollowed out piece of painted nothing. You helped me find those smaller bits that were meant to be in there too." He shrugs. "I guess I just want to see how many more of those little dolls you can help me find. How many more I can fit inside of me."
Through the dim light, Stede can clearly see Ed's eyes by the way they shimmer. His laugh is a bit watery. "You know that's like a whole other kink, right?"
Stede rolls his eyes but chuckles along with him. "Oh, you know what I mean."
"I do, I do." Ed pulls him closer, close enough where Stede's chin rests on his shoulder. "That's—that's fucking beautiful, mate. And I—yeah, I want to do that too. Help you find all your parts, you know?"
Stede buries his face in Ed's soft silver hair. "You're so lovely."
"I mean, don't really have to twist my arm to get me to fuck you, babe."
"I know."
"And if you do it and you hate it, good news: I love bottoming. You love topping. I think we can make it work."
Stede laughs again. "I had no doubts about that, dear. Also, given how your fingers by themselves felt—I, erm, don't think we'll find an issue with me not liking it."
"Well, it is a bit—more, you know. A little more intense."
"I figured."
"But we can do it up nice. Stop if we need to."
"I know. I trust you, Ed."
Ed somehow squeezes him even tighter. "I know you do."
Stede feels like maybe they should talk about it more—his mind is starting to reform a little. It resembles more of a putty than a soup at this point, so it's whirring with ideas and possibilities. Just as he's about to start rattling off thoughts, though, Ed's breath slows. Morphs into a snore. Stede doesn't blame him one bit. He's just as exhausted, anyhow. He closes his eyes and drifts off right beside him, vibrating in anticipation of yet another thing he and Ed will be able to share.