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Ed’s out in the garden gathering flowers.
Him! Gathering flowers! He imagines what people who knew him back in his Blackbeard days would say about this, and laughs a little at the thought. It’s fucking wild, how people change over time. And given the right environment, of course.
Because he’s not just gathering any old flowers for any old occasion, no. He’s gathering a bouquet to give to Stede, because it’s their anniversary today.
Honestly, before he’d met Stede, he didn’t know that was even a thing people celebrated. Maybe rich people on land who didn’t have anything better to do with their time kept track of when they got married, sure. But the idea of keeping track of when you started dating someone… He’s always had plenty of more important things to keep in his head, thanks. (And besides, he’s not sure he’s ever “dated” someone before. It was always fuck, marry, kill, or be killed for Blackbeard, and there’d been little in the way of marriage in his life.)
But Stede? Stede wants to keep track of everything. First meeting, first fuckery, first kiss. At Ed’s insistence, the calendar has both their first fuck and their first proper fuck—though Stede had insisted with a blush on changing the latter to “first lovemaking.”
Anyway, this one is a big one. This time, it’s the anniversary of them moving into their inn, starting their new life together. Stede has some big surprise planned that he isn’t telling Ed about, so he’s a little worried that flowers won’t be enough, but Stede had said airily that Ed didn’t need to give him anything at all, so he figures the thought is probably what counts. (He’d also considered something from the back alley dildo whittler in the nearby town, but he thought that maybe that should be a couple’s purchase.)
Stede had insisted that Ed leave for at least an hour while he “made preparations,” which is equal parts intriguing and concerning. Just to be safe, Ed has given him an hour and a quarter, which means that his hands are full to bursting with flowers by the time he heads back to the house.
Stede isn’t in the main room when he gets there, so he grabs the vase he bought in town—bought! Him!—from its hiding place inside Stede’s spring wardrobe (which he undoubtedly won’t open until at least next March), and drops the flowers in. Adding some water, he centres it on the table, and looks at it with satisfaction. They look awesome. He’s absolutely killing it on the anniversary presents front.
Some small part of him chafes at this being the coolest gift he can think of for the love of his life, and wonders if their lives here are already becoming too boring, but he shoves the thought aside. This is what he wanted, after all, and he’s never been happier.
There’s still no sign of Stede, though, and Ed’s getting mildly concerned. He’s no expert, but surely anniversary preparations shouldn’t take this long, no matter how intricate they are. He’s just considering peeking into the bedroom to investigate, when he hears a strangled cry, and a thump.
In one swift motion, he vaults over the back of the couch and dashes for the bedroom door—only to be rebuffed as his shoulder bounces off the wood. Good hinges on this; great ones, in fact, not to mention the lock. He was super proud when he put them all on, but now he’s cursing himself for being so naturally gifted at carpentry.
“Stede?” He pounds on the door. “Stede, you in there? Everything okay?’
“Yes! Yes, everything is fine!” Relief floods through Ed at the sound of Stede’s voice—still alive and conscious then, at least. But something is definitely wrong. He’s all high-pitched, the way he gets when something is wrong and he’s trying to pretend he isn’t panicking.
“Doesn’t sound like everything is fine, mate,” Ed says, jiggling the handle again for good measure.
“No, don’t come in!” Ed stops fiddling with the handle, but keeps holding it.
“Why not? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong! Why would anything be wrong? I’m just not done getting your anniversary surprise ready yet, that’s all. Just give me a minute to—oh, damn!” Ed hears a few more thumps, the swish of fabric, and… was that the crinkling of paper?
“Stede, if you don’t open this door to show me that you’re not being held captive by the British or turning into a seagull or something in the next ten seconds, I swear I will break this door down and undo all my excellent repair work in the process. Bet you don’t want that on your conscience, do you?”
“Oh, for—” Ed hears movement, then the sound of the lock sliding back, and Stede tugs the door open. His hair is messy, and he’s flushed, redness spreading down from his face and neck, across his broad, uncovered torso. “Why would I have turned into a seagull, Ed? Honestly, that’s ridiculous. Don’t know why you would even suggest such a thing.”
Ed gives him a quick once over, to check for any obvious harm, then a twice over, just for the joy of being able to ogle the man whenever he wants. Stede looks both fine and fine, so Ed relaxes slightly. Still, though…
“Not sure why you’re being so defensive about the seagull thing, given that a) someone we know turned into a fucking seagull via actual magic, and b) you’re clearly not a seagull.”
“Wouldn’t know anything about magic,” Stede says, aiming to lean against the door frame in what Ed assumes he thinks is a nonchalant manner, missing both the mark and the frame, and almost falling over.
Ed cranes his neck to look past Stede into the room, and sees a very old, weathered-looking scroll lying half-unfurled on the bed. He can’t make out the writing well from here, but it doesn’t seem to be in English. Stede follows his line of sight, shifting over to block the doorway, and Ed needs to take a second to appreciate just how well Stede manages to block a doorway, particularly at shoulder height.
“You’re the worst fucking liar I’ve ever met. What’s going on?” Upon closer inspection—a third over, if you will—Ed notices that Stede seems a little… stilted, almost, his movements uneven. It reminds Ed of a dog he once saw in a tavern, where the owner had made it a little coat. Cute as fuck, but the thing walked like it had forgotten how to have legs.
“No idea what you’re talking about. Oh, do you smell that? I think dinner might be burning.” Stede goes to move past Ed into the main room, but Ed pushes him gently back.
“You’re not cooking dinner, love.”
“Well, in that case we should probably get dinner started, shouldn’t we? I’ll just—”
“Come on, Stede. We’re not supposed to be keeping fucking secrets from each other. ‘Talk it through,’ right? So whatever it is, just tell me, man.”
Stede tells him.
“Bullshit,” Ed says.
“It’s true!”
“Absolutely fucking not.”
"Maybe you'll believe me if I just show you." Without waiting for an answer, Stede pulls open his trousers, tugging the front partway down. Where Ed is used to seeing a rosy pink cock, nestled in golden curls, he sees a twisting mass of…
"Holy fuck," he murmurs. "You weren't lying."
"No," Stede responds, far more primly than the situation should allow. "I most certainly was not."
The tentacles aren't like anything Ed has ever encountered, though they have a similar warm hue to a fuck-off huge squid he saw in port once. Maybe his imagination is running away from him, but the colour is surprisingly similar to what he's grown accustomed to seeing under Stede’s trousers, complete with a curling golden pattern. As he takes in the mingled reds and pinks, he's reminded nonsensically of a sunset over the ocean.
Red sky at night, sailor's delight, he thinks to himself absently, before hauling his shocked brain back on track.
“So, you said you got these from a—”
“A magic scroll. Yes.” Stede blushes as he says it, and Ed can’t help but notice that his flushed skin is almost the same shade as the gently writhing things between his legs.
“Right.” Ed isn’t sure what to ask next, honestly. Doesn’t really know where to start, and the feelings he’s having about what he’s looking at are raising further considerations that he’s never, well… considered, before. “Where—” he begins, then stops, because that doesn’t feel like the most important place to start. “How—” Then finally, the kicker: “Why did you want a magic scroll that would give you tentacles instead of a dick?”
“Well, obviously I didn’t want tentacles instead of dick, Edward!” Stede all but shouts.
“Then—”
“Clearly the shopkeeper misled me! Or maybe he didn’t understand what I was asking, it was like he was speaking in riddles the whole time all ‘the pleasure thou shalt give to thine partner shall be eightfold, or thy money back guarantee.’ Terrible customer service, I should leave a strongly worded review.”
“Okay, but what were you looking for?” Ed asks, because he’s not sure how any salesperson could’ve gotten something this wrong.
(Or this right? He refuses to allow himself to finish the thought.)
Stede flushes, looking away with embarrassment. “I wanted something to…” the rest of the sentence is so quiet Ed can’t hear him.
“What was that, love?” He moves forward, resting a gentle hand on Stede’s arm, tilting his face back towards Ed again.
“I said, I wanted something to… spice up our sex life,” Stede mutters, still not looking at Ed.
“Oh.” Ed takes a step back, feeling a weight in the pit of his stomach. “Has our sex life gotten boring to you?”
Stede looks stricken. “No! No, darling, not at all. I just… well, I was worried it could—that is, it’s not that I thought I’d get bored of you, because I wouldn’t. Not ever. But I thought that maybe you might get bored of—”
Ed can’t stand to see Stede looking so upset, can already tell he’s working his way up into a panic, so he closes the distance between them and silences Stede with a kiss. It’s a gentle one, intended to be reassuring. He feels Stede relax as their lips meet, and he makes that little mmph noise of surprised pleasure that Ed wants to hear every day for the rest of his life.
But he also feels something else.
The tentacles are moving against him as Stede grips Ed’s arms, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. The motions are gentle, almost exploratory, but it’s still a little disconcerting. He firmly reminds his snake phobia that Stede’s dick has been replaced with tentacles, not snakes, however they may feel when he’s not looking at them. Then something tickles against the soft skin under the edge of his shirt, and he pulls back with a start.
“What—” Stede begins, then looks down. “Oh. Gosh. I was wondering what I was feeling. I’m so sorry, let me just—”
He reaches to do up his pants again, but Ed stops him.
“No, it’s… uh. Fine. It’s fine. We’ll figure this out together, yeah?”
Stede nods, the wrinkles in his forehead shrinking, but not disappearing completely. He moves willingly as Ed guides him to sit down on the bed, and Ed sits next to him.
“Okay, walk me through it. You went to try to buy some magic shit to help spice up our sex life, yeah?”
“Yes,” Stede mutters, looking embarrassed again.
“Because you thought I might be getting bored?”
Stede doesn’t say anything, which is answer enough.
“Well, first of all, that’s never going to fucking happen. Never,” he says again, firmly, as Stede opens his mouth to respond. “But second of all, we’re here now, so let’s try to figure out what went wrong, yeah?”
Without waiting for Stede to answer, he turns around, grabbing the scroll off the bed. A brief skim shows a lot of tightly cramped writing which he now recognizes as Italian, though it looks archaic as fuck compared to what he’s picked up in his travels. Unlike his glance from the doorway, however, he can see the illustrations now as well. They’re faded with age, and quite small, but the positions and expressions on their tiny faces clearly show that the little guys are having the time of their lives. As he looks closer, one detail jumps out at him, though.
“Stede,” he says cautiously, because Stede is clearly fragile right now and any perceived criticism might make him bolt like a skittish horse. “Did you notice that there are markings or holes everywhere on this that scroll where their junk would be?”
“I…” Stede begins falteringly. “Well, I suppose I just thought that maybe it was damaged. From age. Or that someone had tried to censor it in the past to keep future generations from experiencing the ecstasy that the Bacchanalians of old—”
“Hold on, Baccha-what?”
“Bacchanalians. Devotees of Bacchus? Apparently Bacchanalian celebrations were quite the thing in ancient Rome, and it seems they continued on in Italy.” He flushes. “I may have seen a few words at the top and assumed it was Latin, which I can read fairly well, but it turns out it’s in Classical Italian.”
“Ecclesiastical Latin,” Ed recalls with a nod, and Stede lights up like the sun, the way he does every time he realizes that Ed remembers something he’s said or done. The way that makes Ed want to skin everyone from Stede’s past with a snail fork for making him feel like that’s somehow a remarkable thing for someone to want to do.
“Anyway, there’s enough similarities between the two languages that I was able to decipher the important parts.” Stede pauses, and they both look down. “Or at least, I thought I had.”
Ed thinks about offering to do a more thorough read of the thing; his Italian is rusty and probably not “Classical” (whatever the difference is), but that feels like maybe adding insult to injury right now. Or insult to tentacle, at least.
“But now I’ve gone and ruined our anniversary,” Stede continues morosely.
“Hey, no!” Ed rests a comforting hand on Stede’s knee. “Nothing’s ruined, love. We can still figure this out.”
“What’s there to figure, Ed? What am I supposed to do with these… these monstrosities?” He gestures down, and Ed imagines he can almost see the tentacles wilt slightly under Stede’s critical glare.
Ed recognizes that some weird little corner of his brain is thinking very hard about what Stede can do with those monstrosities, but he pushes that aside, because Stede is clearly in distress now and probably wouldn’t take too kindly to the suggestion.
“...just wanted to do something fun and exciting,” Stede says, having continued talking during the small skirmish between Ed’s brain and his dick. “And now I’m hideous,” Stede finishes, flopping back on the bed and covering his eyes with his arm.
“You’re not hideous!” Ed protests. Stede lifts his arm to shoot Ed a skeptical look.
“I’m a monster, Ed.”
“Stede—”
“From the Latin monstrum. An ill portent. A bad omen. An unnatural thing.” Stede sits back up, his pitch spiralling higher in agitation. “Which I know, because I speak Latin, but I don’t speak Italian, and I’m an idiot—” his voice breaks on the last word, and Ed has no choice but to grab him, yanking him into a tight hug.
He feels a huff of warm air against his neck as he squeezes as much of the air out of Stede’s lungs as he can, on the theory that if Stede can’t breathe, he can’t keep saying mean shit about himself.
It seems to work, and Stede subsides after a minute or two. When he thinks it’s safe to let go, Ed pulls back. “First of all, you’re not an idiot. Or a monster. Or any of the other things you said.” He holds up a hand when Stede tries to protest. “No, shut up. Listen. If anything, I think they’re kinda cool.”
Stede scoffs. “Ed, you really don’t have to—”
Ed puts a hand over Stede’s mouth. “What did I fucking say? Listen. I think they’re cool. Nice colour. Really suits you, mate. Very ‘autumn vibes.’” Stede rolls his eyes, but Ed can see that same light there, because he knows Stede remembers saying those exact words to Ed in a tiny, impractical closet on a tiny, impractical ship a million lifetimes ago.
“Second,” Ed continues, “I bet there’s something about how to reverse it in this scroll somewhere. If we just—”
Stede pulls his face back from Ed’s hand. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea, Ed. My translation of the first part wasn’t great, who’s to say I wouldn’t just give myself more tentacles by mistake? Tentacles for hair? Tentacles for a mouth? It could be tentacles all the way down, for all we know.”
Ed does not think about Stede with tentacles for a mouth. He doesn’t, not even for a second. (Okay, maybe for a second, but he’s only human.)
“The thing is,” he begins, resting his hand on Stede’s thigh, “I actually—” He’s about to tell Stede he can read Italian, he really is. Even if it might hurt Stede’s feelings a bit. But then he feels something soft and slightly textured on his arm, and looks down to see one of Stede’s tentacles glide across the back of his hand, and wrap loosely around his wrist, the tip of it settling right over his pulse point. He shivers at the feather light touch of it, simultaneously utterly alien and deeply intimate.
“I’m sorry!” Stede gasps, reaching down to remove the thing. “I don’t know why they seem to like you so much.”
Ed stops him with his other hand. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “It’s not hurting me. Just seems curious, is all.” He turns his arm, showing Stede that he can still move freely. A thought occurs to him, and it floods him with warmth. “And maybe they like me so much because… because you like me so much, too?”
Stede blinks at him, then flushes. “I—well, I was just thinking about holding your hand,” he admits. “But I wasn’t doing it on purpose. At least… I don’t think I was.”
“You don’t really think about moving your arm when you want to hold someone’s hand though, do you? Like, consciously? You kinda just do it.”
“I guess…” Stede’s brow furrows.
“Maybe they’re just friendly.”
Ed gives the tentacles a closer look over, now that he’s not trying to help Stede calm the fuck down. At first glance, they seemed fairly short and narrow, not like any sea creature Ed has ever seen (and he’s seen a lot of sea creatures). Now, though… The one holding him looks like it might be bigger than the others, and all of them look longer than he thought. An optical illusion, maybe, from how Stede’s sitting?
He feels a soft motion against the inside of his wrist, and looks down to see the tentacle wrapped around his arm rippling slightly, shifting to hold him a little tighter. He runs the forefinger of his other hand down the rosy pink back of it, tracing the golden whorls, and he hears Stede gasp.
“What’s wrong?” he asks immediately, pulling his hand back. “Can you feel that?”
“I can,” Stede breathes, looking at Ed wide-eyed.
“Does it hurt? Should I stop?”
Stede shakes his head, and Ed notices that his pupils are blown wide, his gaze dark.
“Should…” Ed pauses, hoping he’s reading the situation right. (His cock especially hopes he’s reading the situation right, because apparently this is a thing now.) “Should I keep going?”
“I think so.” Stede shivers as one of the tentacles twists to run itself between Ed’s fingers. “That is, yes. Definitely yes, keep going.”
The words are soft, breathy, catching Ed’s ear with a familiarity that sends a bolt of electricity coursing through his veins. Keep going, keep going, oh fuck, Ed, keep going. He’ll never hear it enough, not from Stede.
He trails the fingers of his free hand down the length of the tentacle that grips him, from where it’s wrapped around his arm to where it meets Stede’s body, and a quiet moan escapes Stede’s lips.
“Feels good?” Ed asks, half for confirmation, and half to hear Stede’s voice.
“God, it’s…” Stede trails off. “It feels like—” He gasps as Ed’s hand reaches the root of the tentacle and he lets his fingertips brush across several of the others. Two twist under his touch, the tips weaving in the air before turning towards him as well.
“Does it feel like when I touch your cock?” Ed asks, half mesmerized by their movement as he strokes more firmly back up the tentacle to where it’s wrapped around his wrist.
“Kind of? It’s more—fuck—more intense than that, I think. Especially when you’re touching more than one of them at once. But just with the one, it’s like I can feel everything.”
“What’s everything?” Ed teases a finger along the underside, feeling the tug of dozens of tiny suckers against his skin, and Stede falls back onto the bed, barely catching himself on his elbows.
“Yes, fuck… I can feel you touching me, but down to the whorls on your fingerprints. And it’s like I can feel where you’ve been, almost? Not taste or smell or anything, but I can tell that you were out in the garden, and that—oh, you scratched your hand on the euphorbia milii, didn’t you? I can feel that as well.” He looks up at Ed, eyes wide and slightly hysterical, but also dark with pleasure. “That doesn’t make any sense, does it?”
Ed shakes his head. “Not really, but don’t stop telling me about it, love.” It’s fucking fascinating; everything Stede is telling him, but also the realization that the flesh under his hand kind of feels like the soft skin of Stede’s cock, even if the resemblance ends just past there, with the soft pink colouration. It even twitches at his touch like Stede’s cock does—like it did just last night when he was hot and hard and begging for Ed’s mouth.
The memory rushes over Ed in a wave of arousal, and he licks his suddenly dry lips. He’s always liked sucking dick; always been good at it. But there’s something about the weight of Stede’s cock on his tongue that’s fucking intoxicating to him. Maybe that’s just Stede, though. Maybe everything about him is enough to get Ed high.
He strokes faster now, and registers the growing slickness under his hand as he works the length of the tentacle. Stede’s head tips back with a moan, the sound such a close echo to the evening before that Ed is dizzy with remembered pleasure. His cock is hard in his trousers, just from the thought of it. He feels like his skin is fizzing everywhere he’s touching Stede, under his hand and in an ever-tightening ring around his wrist.
Stede’s hands are fisted in the sheets on either side of him, his bent arms barely holding him up off the bed, and soft, hungry noises are dropping from his lips in a wordless stream. There’s warmth radiating out from everywhere Stede’s tentacles are touching Ed’s bare skin, like the feeling of the sun on his skin in summer, and—
Only, that simile is maybe getting a bit too accurate, because he feels like he’s burning up, like that previously pleasant fizz is the sizzle of meat on a hot griddle, and Ed is what’s for dinner.
He pulls back with a gasp, and the tentacle around his wrist retracts immediately, hanging in the air between them. Stede pulls himself upright, hair dishevelled and looking utterly debauched, staring at Ed in concern.
“Ed? Are you—what’s wrong?”
Ed wipes his hand and arm on the bedspread—because suddenly they’re soaked with whatever slick stuff was accumulating on the surface of that thing—his mind racing. How could he be so fucking stupid? Sure, he’s never really believed in magic, but that doesn’t mean that magic doesn’t believe in you. And even without all that, there’s shit in the ocean with tentacles that’ll kill you in the most horrifying ways possible; turn your insides to soup or make you puke yourself to death. Shit that’ll leave a man screaming in agony and begging for the sweet release of death.
His skin looks the same, no angry red marks or rash, just the pinkness from rubbing against the blanket. The feeling hasn’t gone away, though. If anything, it’s worse. A tingling spreading across the surface of his skin, making it feel hot and tight, like overripe fruit ready to split open in the sun. And yet somehow, inexplicably, he’s still painfully hard, his cock so sensitive that the drag of his soft trousers across it as he moves sends ripples of pleasure through his body.
He glances down at the mass of rosy tentacles writhing gently—almost innocently—between Stede’s legs. Maybe this was more of a ‘sailor’s warning’ situation after all.
“What’s happening? Are you hurt?”
Stede reaches for Ed’s arm, pulling it close to look at the seemingly undamaged skin. Ed’s eyes are squeezed shut against the overwhelming sensations, and he can barely bring himself to speak. How does he even answer a question like that, anyway? Yes, everything hurts so much that I think I’m about to fucking die, but also everything feels so good that I think I’m about to fucking come, and right now I barely care which happens first?
“God, you’re burning up. Ed, talk to me, please!” Stede’s voice is tinged with panic, and Ed can’t have that. Even if he’s about to come to death or fucking whatever.
“Don’t worry, love. I’m fi—” the rest of the reassurance gets lost in a groan as a new flare of heat spreads across his skin, and okay, maybe he isn’t actually fine, not even a little bit. It’s bizarre, though. He knows it’s probably just his brain dying or his organs failing or whatever is happening, but some insistent voice in the back of his head is telling him that what he really needs right now is for Stede to fuck him.
“Is it heatstroke from being out in the sun? Here, let me just—” he tugs Ed’s shirt partway up, then pauses. “Unless it’s a fever, because you’re supposed to feed a fever, aren’t you? So maybe I should—”
He reaches up to pull Ed’s shirt back down, and Ed opens his mouth to try to tell Stede that the shirt doesn’t fucking matter, and he’d far rather Stede take his pants off, if anything. But then, as Stede leans across Ed’s body to get the hem of his shirt, one of the tentacles (when had they all gotten this long, they’d started off barely the length of Ed’s hand and now some of them are longer than his forearm) falls across his bare stomach. Ed is finally able to draw a full breath for the first time in what feels like eternity, as the coolness of whatever viscous substance coats the tentacles briefly calms the overwhelming, tingling fire playing across the surface of his skin. It only lasts for a moment, though, and then Stede’s pulling back with Ed’s shirt in hand, and the pain rises up in Ed again.
“Leave it,” he grits out, and Stede freezes at the words.
“Leave what? Ed—”
“My shirt. Fucking… leave it. Or take it off. Pants too.”
“Your… pants?”
“Please, Stede. This is going to sound insane, but I need—” he bites back a curse at a new wave of pain-pleasure coursing through his body.
“What do you need? Tell me, Ed. Anything!”
“Need you to fuck me,” he manages, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Oh.” Stede has just pulled Ed’s pants down, and presumably come face to face with what Ed is reasonably sure is the biggest hard-on of his life. When Ed manages to open his eyes, Stede is staring at him like Ed has lost his mind, and he’s honestly not entirely sure that he hasn’t.
“Ed, if this is some kind of… roleplaying thing you’re trying to do, I wish you’d told me. You look very concerning, all… writhing and sweaty like that. I thought something was wrong.”
Stede does seem to be considering Ed’s writhing and sweating form closely, Ed notices, and the look on his face doesn’t look entirely like one of concern.
“So if this is all some kind of anniversary scenario you’ve cooked up, I’d love to know what our roles are, at least! Am I the nurse and you’re the cholera patient, or—”
“Yeah, Stede,” he all but snaps, because the near-death experience is getting to him a bit. “I’m roleplaying ‘my boyfriend has surprise tentacles that might be kind of his dick, and one of them oozed goop on me, and now I feel like I’m either going to die or come so hard I pass out, or maybe both.’ I’m surprised you didn’t recognize the scenario, it’s such a fucking common one!”
“Oozed—” Stede looks down at the tentacles extending from between his legs in shock. “God, why are they so wet? And when did they get so big?” Not just Ed’s feverish imagination, then. All of them are even longer and thicker than they were mere minutes ago, and several more are coated with the same clear substance that Ed got on his skin.
“Dunno, mate. They’re your—fuck—tentacles.”
“Oh god. Okay. Well, I’m obviously not going to… to put one of these inside you—” Ed can’t hold back a groan at the thought, and the noise makes Stede stutter to a stop momentarily. “No, Ed. I can’t. That would be extremely dangerous, especially with the state you’re in! Let me just look at this scroll, I’m sure something on here describes any, uh, side effects like this, and what to do about them.”
He grabs for the parchment, and—fucking hell, he’s actually reading it, nose an inch away from the paper and squinting as he tries to make out the archaic handwriting.
“‘Doglie’, that means… Jar? Barrel?” he mutters to himself, as if Ed isn’t squirming out of his skin less than a foot away on the bed. “No, wait. That’s wrong, I think that’s ‘doleum.’ Or maybe—”
“Give it here,” Ed grits out.
“What?”
“I can read Italian, now give it fucking here.”
“Really? When did you—”
“I’ll tell you all about my time sailing with the Pirate King of the Tyrrhenian Sea if I don’t die, I promise. Now either fuck me or give me the scroll.”
Stede hands it over wordlessly, but Ed can’t miss the way his gaze rakes down Ed’s body, and he’s fairly certain he feels the soft movement of a tentacle, curling against his bare hip. He scans down the thing a little frantically, jumping over passages that are too archaic or too technical for him to understand. His Italian is pretty rusty, to be fair, but he knows enough to get the job done.
“It says you have to fuck me,” he says after a moment, his arm falling to the side as a shudder runs through his body.
“Edward—”
“No, really. Here, your Latin should be enough to understand this, look.” He points to a paragraph below a particularly detailed illustration of two figures lying together, one with its face contorted in what could be ecstasy or agony (or, as Ed is becoming more and more certain is the case, both).
Stede’s lips move as he reads the sentences, then his eyebrows fly towards his hairline. “Goodness. Well, that’s certainly… evocative.”
“Yeah, and it’s what will happen to me if you don’t fuck me right now.”
The message appears to have finally landed for Stede, because he pushes himself up off the bed, turning to face Ed. “How, uh… how would you like me?” he asks as he fumbles out of his pants, doing his best to keep the increasing amounts of clear liquid from the tentacles off of the fabric. Even in the face of death, Ed feels a brief, inexplicable rush of fondness for this absurd, fastidious man.
“Don’t care, literally dying here,” he growls, his muscles spasming as a new wave of overwhelming feeling rushes over him.
“Right.” Stede squares his shoulders, giving Ed a quick, appraising glance. The look of deep focus always does something for Ed, especially when it’s fixed on him, and this is no exception. His cock twitches where it lies, flushed and aching, on his stomach, and he’s fully about to start begging when Stede appears to make a decision.
“Just like this, then, I think,” he says briskly, as if he’s directing the arrangement of furniture, and maybe it’s just the tentacle goop, but even that is doing it for Ed, right now (and if it wasn’t, then Stede’s hand on his chest pressing him gently but firmly back onto the bed would definitely be doing the trick).
Stede slides his hands down the insides of Ed’s thighs, and Ed spreads them so quickly that it’s possible conscious thought doesn’t even enter into the equation. When Stede runs his thumbs over the sensitive creases where Ed’s legs meet his body, Ed can’t hold back a whine. Normally he loves this kind of soft touch and gentle foreplay; loves to feel like Stede really wants to worship every inch of him. Right now, though…
“Stede, please!” He imagines he can feel his blood fizzing in his veins, like water simmering in a pot just before it comes to boil.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” He feels the tip of Stede’s finger circle his hole, and whimpers. “Should I get the oil, or…?”
“I think your new friends have that covered,” Ed groans, and imagines he feels his skin pulse in response where the tentacle was wrapped around his arm earlier.
“My—oh. Oh, they certainly seem to, don’t they?”
Ed gasps as he feels the soft movement of one of Stede’s tentacles sliding up between his ass cheeks, and Stede pulls his hand away, resting it back on Ed’s thigh instead. The slick tip circles his entrance, and the motion is so similar to Stede’s fingertip moments before that Ed immediately feels comforted, in spite of the alien uncertainty of the situation. He trusts Stede to look after him, no matter what.
Then the tentacle breaches him, and he suddenly forgets how to breathe.
In some ways, it feels just like every other time Stede’s fucked him; the firm presence of Stede’s body, his scent filling Ed’s nostrils, the way his breath stutters when he’s concentrating. It’s familiar, right up until it isn’t. Because as much as Ed loves Stede’s cock—and he does, with his entire being—it’s not prehensile. He’s able to feel the tentacle bend as it slides into him, following the contours of his body, shaping itself to him. As it sinks deeper, he feels it getting thicker as well, not just closer to the base, but inside him, swelling to fill him perfectly. A cry punches its way out of his chest at the first thrust, because it’s just—
“Incredible…” Stede breathes, and Ed’s gaze snaps up to look at him. His eyes are screwed shut and his mouth is hanging slightly open. He looks the way he did the first time Ed fucked him, as if he hadn’t known pleasure could be like this. “Oh god, Ed. This is—I can’t—are you feeling this?”
All Ed can do is nod, because he is feeling it. Whatever Stede means, he’s feeling it. He’s feeling fucking everything, and he’s afraid he’s about to fall apart at the seams from it, after only a few moments of having Stede inside him. But he doesn’t have words for it, because what words could the English (or Latin, or Italian) language possibly have for what he’s experiencing right now? So all he can do is tangle one hand in the bedsheets and grab Stede’s arm in a vice grip with the other, then let the sensations wash over him.
And there’s just so many sensations washing. Sex—or at least sex with Stede—is always at least a little overwhelming for Ed, even after who-knows-how-many times. He’s had plenty of sex in his life, would’ve said in the past that a lot of it was pretty good sex, but nothing compares to… this. To the strange combination of coquettish and eager and downright filthy that Stede Bonnet becomes in bed.
(And beside bed, and above bed, and once even under bed.)
So you take all of that… everything, all of that Stede-ness, and you add eight extra limbs-slash-dicks into the equation? Well, that would be enough to make anyone lose their fucking mind, as far as Ed is concerned, never mind whatever mystery goo has got him feeling like he’s about to go fizzing off into the sky like a firework—and liable to explode like one too, if Stede doesn’t get fucking moving.
Ed’s not even sure if he says it out loud, or if Stede just knows his body well enough by now, or fuck, maybe these things can also read minds, who’s to know. Either way, it’s barely crossed Ed’s mind that getting railed into next week by one of Stede’s new appendages might actually be just what the doctor ordered, when two more tentacles wrap around each of his legs. Before he can so much as process the alluringly alien feeling of those tiny, undulating suckers against his sensitive inner thighs, the tentacles tighten their grip, pulling him roughly towards Stede at the same time the one inside him begins thrusting deep inside him, hard and fast and relentless.
He manages one gasping oh fuck yes before even single syllable words are beyond his abilities. Anything he tries to say gets shaken loose from his chest as a low groan or a gasping whimper as the steady, pounding rhythm of Stede inside him supersedes even the feeling of his own heartbeat pumping the blood through his veins. He barely registers when Stede’s hand wraps around his cock, just another instrument in the symphony of sensation Stede is playing on Ed’s body. He’s not sure he even needs it. He’s never been one for coming untouched before, but right now it’s like every fibre of his being is focused on his impending orgasm, pointed directly at the approaching precipice like a compass points north. It’s burning him up, desperation and pleasure radiating in equal measure out from where Stede is buried at the heart of him.
Still, Stede’s hand helps, as does his voice, now that Ed registers what he’s saying. Honeyed, nonsensical words of praise slipping off his tongue in a torrent, all yes that’s it, and taking me so well and god, Ed, I wish you could see yourself like this. It’s those final words that send Ed over the edge; the mental image of himself wrapped up in Stede’s sunset pink tentacles, skin slick with fluid and dotted with tiny sucker-marks. He thrusts up into Stede’s grip with abandon, and comes with a shattered cry as the tentacle inside him redoubles its intensity, seemingly feeding off his pleasure.
It’s fucking overwhelming. It’s more than he can handle. He needs it to stop. He never wants it to end. His skin is too tight, and arousal is still flooding his body. If he didn’t know better, he’d think that he hadn’t come at all. He doesn’t even know what the end of this kind of sex might look like, whether Stede’s new appendages can even—
“Oh, Ed!”
Stede’s voice breaks, and Ed feels the tentacle pulse inside him. Once. Twice. Relief hits him like a tidal wave, a cool, soothing sensation flowing through him like a long drink of water after a hot day in the sun. Finally, he’s able to relax enough to loosen his grip on the sheets—and on Stede, though he decides he’ll hold on there for a little longer.
“Are you… alright?” Stede pants after a moment. “You aren’t hurt, are you? You’re—oh my god.”
With difficulty, Ed manages to prop himself up on his elbows to see what prompted that reaction. He feels the alien (though not entirely unpleasant) sensation of a now much smaller tentacle sliding out of him, but then Stede’s fingers touch his sensitive hole, and he hums in combined pleasure and overstimulation.
“Not sure I’m quite ready for that—” he begins, then stops short as Stede lifts his hand into view. The tips of his fingers are coated in a viscous, deep indigo liquid, the colour of the water in the last light of day. “...Huh,” he finishes after a moment.
“I don’t know if this is particularly hygienic,” Stede says distantly, turning his hand and letting the sunlight streaming through the window catch the iridescent shimmer on the fluid.
“Stede, love. Your dick turned into tentacles and infected me with some kind of poison that made me so horny I nearly died. Hygiene is currently the least of my concerns.”
“Hmm. Point taken, I suppose. But you’re feeling better now?”
Ed takes cautious stock of his body. His nerves still feel like they’re humming, but that might be the truly life-altering orgasm he just had. “I think I’m—” He loses the rest of the sentence in a gasp, because one of Stede’s tentacles has just slid its tip through the fluid dripping from between his legs, caressing gently across his balls and up the length of his cock.
“I—I didn’t tell it to do that. I didn’t, I swear!”
Ed tries to respond, but the feather-light touch ignites a new wave of heat inside him, sudden and overwhelming. Like a match to a fuse, arousal races across his skin with sparking intensity, and he can’t hold back the whimper that claws its way up his throat and out of his mouth.
“Oh god, Ed? What’s happening?”
He squeezes his eyes shut against the pleasurable agony crackling through his veins, and tries to focus. “Don’t think it’s—fucking shit—don’t think it’s done, love.”
“What? No, that can’t be right. I thought you said that the scroll said that if I—That is, if we…” Stede trails off, looking confused and a little panicky. “Are you going to…?”
Ed isn’t going to anything, thank you very much. At least not anything that would have Stede talking in that hushed, scared voice. With effort, he wills his body to move, flipping over onto his stomach to grab the parchment.
Come se prendesse fuoco dall'interno, okay, he got that part, and he sure is. But is there anything else? Ognuno degli otto, that means… oh.
“...Ed?” He feels the bed shift as Stede kneels on the mattress beside him, resting a hand on Ed’s back. “Talk to me, please.”
“It needs to be all of them,” Ed says faintly, hearing his voice from a long way off.
“All of them? All of them wh—oh. Oh.” He can’t see Stede’s face from this angle, but he can imagine the expression on his face. It’s probably similar to the one on Ed’s own.
Though… maybe not entirely similar. On one hand, he’s a little concerned he might actually die, whether from pleasure or exhaustion or dehydration or whatever literal poison is coursing through his veins, who can say. His ass is already a little sore—though mostly in the pleasant, just-been-absolutely-railed kind of way—and he doesn’t know if he can do this seven more times. On the other hand, just the thought of doing this seven more times has his recently spent cock perking up a little, and it’s been fucking years since he had that kind of energy or stamina, so maybe Stede’s weird tentacle goop will see him safely through this.
Or maybe he’ll get fucked to death by his boyfriend’s cursed tentacles, and what a way to go that would be. Put that shit in his obituary. Put that shit on his tombstone. He chokes back a slightly hysterical laugh.
“What do you want me to do?” Stede’s still at his shoulder, his hand moving up from Ed’s back to rest softly on his hair. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—I never should’ve tried anything like this. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”
Ed winces as another wave of overwhelming pleasure-pain washes through him, and okay, his cock is definitely back in the picture now. He appreciates Stede’s concern, appreciates him asking. But there’s only one thing he can do now, and they both know it.
What a way to go, indeed.
“Fuck me.” His voice is already hoarse to his own ears, and he imagines he can feel a faint shudder run through Stede beside him.
“Are… are you sure? The scroll—”
“There’s nothing in the scroll, Stede. I’m positive. Fucking just… come on, I know you want to. Your new friends are—fuck—giving you away.” He feels the tentacle that’s been slowly coiling across his upper thigh just above the curve of his ass freezes and pulls back minutely. The gesture reminds him so much of Stede when he’s been caught doing something he thinks he shouldn’t that it almost makes Ed laugh again.
“Well, if you’re positive, I suppose…” Stede says. His tone is hesitant, but he’s moving back behind Ed even as he talks, and Ed shivers as he feels several curious tendrils weaving through the hair on the backs of his legs as Stede moves past. “Do you want to turn over, or do you, uh… want me just like this?”
The pressure is building under Ed’s skin, crackling through him like static. “Like this. Fuck, just… please—” the rest of his sentence is lost in a moan as a tentacle glides between his ass cheeks and presses slowly into his still slick hole. He hears a low groan from behind him as Stede sinks into him, pressing impossibly deep and with less restraint than before.
“How do you feel even better this time?” Stede murmurs from above him, once he’s fully buried and moving inside Ed with a kind of slow exploration that’s driving Ed out of his fucking mind. “Still so tight, so hot, so ready for more…and god, I can feel all of you.”
Ed shudders at the naked want in his voice—and at not getting railed into next week the way he, the tentacles, and this stupid fucking curse all clearly want. He arches back and up to meet Stede as much as he can—which isn’t much, given that he’s lying flat on his stomach, legs stretched out and spread to bracket Stede’s knees. Even what minimal movement he can manage seems to be enough for his rapidly hardening cock, though, and he gasps as the soft sheet beneath him rubs against his sensitive head.
“Oh!” Stede stops short with a noise of concern, and Ed could fucking cry, he’s so turned on. “Ed, are you alright? Did I hurt you?”
“Not nearly as much as you will if you don’t keep going, Stede,” Ed all but growls, because now everywhere that either the clear goop or the indigo stuff have been is tingling, and the only thing that has brought him any relief so far has been Stede… coming? (inking?) inside him.
Stede makes a small noise of distress. “I said I was sorry—” he begins, but Ed doesn’t have time for more apologies; perhaps literally. He reaches around behind him with some difficulty, grabbing at two additional tendrils that have been twining around his thighs and leaving tiny, suckered kisses across his hips. They respond to his touch immediately, and he tugs. Not hard enough to hurt, he doesn’t think, but Stede lurches forward in surprise, hands landing heavily on either side of Ed’s shoulders to keep himself from falling.
“Don’t apologize,” Ed gasps. “Please stop fucking apologizing. Apologizing isn’t going to keep me from—” he gestures in the vague direction of the scroll, “—but you fucking me with every single one of those things until I look the floor of a candlemaker’s workshop will!”
“Sorry, I know. I know!” Stede huffs, his breath warm against Ed’s shoulder. “I just hate doing this to you when you literally need it to keep from—”
“Now really isn’t the time to go into this, love, but I’m pretty sure I’d be into this even if I wasn’t dying.” Ed’s cock twitches against the bed, as if in agreement, and he bites back another profanity-laden insistence that Stede get back to fucking him now, because he doesn’t have the time to have this conversation between each of the six—holy fucking shit, six—of these that they’ve got left to go after this.
“You would? Really?” He hears the surprise in Stede’s voice, as well as something that sounds enough like relief to make his heart hurt even in his state of distraction.
“Wouldn’t have thought so before today, but pretty sure, yeah.”
“Even—”
“Stede. Love. I will talk through all of my newly discovered cephalopod-related kinks with you at our earliest possible convenience, but right now, I would really, really love it if you railed me into this mattress.”
“Right. Yes. I understand,” Stede responds, tone suddenly matter-of-fact. Then he braces himself more firmly on the bed, body still blanketing Ed’s, and proceeds to rail him into the mattress.
Ed’s had a lot of good railings in his life. A lot of them. Many of the best have been at Stede’s hands (or other parts of his anatomy). But he’d never had reason to consider the leverage that would be available if the appendage in question was muscled and prehensile. It’s kind of like being fingered, but on a far, far greater magnitude. And if someone is fingering you, they generally don’t have the limbs to spare to be pushing your thighs apart, grabbing your hips, spreading your ass cheeks wider, and still holding your hand up next to your face, their own very human fingers intertwined with your own. That part is almost… romantic, actually. But it makes sense; Stede Bonnet makes everything else romantic, why not this as well?
This time, Ed notices the switch more clearly. The tingling, prickling pain that was coursing through him the whole time he was arguing with Stede turns into something greater as Stede pounds into him; a sensation equally intense but far more enjoyable. It’s like all his nerve endings have gone into overdrive, with the sinuous, sliding movements of the tentacle inside him sending wave after wave of pleasure through his body. The rhythmic motion and Stede’s weight press his now painfully hard cock down against the sheets again and again, the wetness of his precome mixing with his previous release and making the sheets stick to his skin.
An unintentional movement on Stede’s part brings a small cluster of suckers directly across Ed’s prostate, and he practically screams into the mattress, the combination of old and new sensations sending his thoughts spiralling away from anything resembling coherence. He clenches hard—or at least he assumes he does—and that’s enough to tip Stede over the edge as well, as the second tentacle releases its flood of ocean-dark fluid into Ed, bringing with it another soothing wave of relief.
Stede stutters, dropping to his elbows to avoid crushing Ed beneath him. Ed can feel him trembling with the effort of holding himself up as he presses kisses to Ed’s shoulders, murmuring barely audible praise into his skin. Just the weight of Stede’s body and the butterfly brush of his lips are enough stimulation to make Ed shiver, and he wonders—equal parts thrilled and terrified—how he’s going to do this six more times. Perhaps he won’t have to, though. Perhaps his translation was wrong, and twice was enough. His cock is still hard, trapped between him and the mattress, but that could just be a regular old hard-on, not weird sex magic bullshit.
“Are you alright? Was that… too much?” With a small noise of effort, Stede pulls back and lifts himself up, and Ed feels the tendril slide free of his body.
“‘m fine,” Ed manages, with some difficulty. “‘s good.”
Stede rests a cautious hand on Ed’s lower back. “Fine as in ‘that was okay,’ or fine as in ‘I don’t think we need to do that another six times?’”
Ed opens his mouth to tentatively suggest that it might actually be fine-fine, but all that comes out is a strangled gasp, as the fire crackles to life in his veins again. Is it worse than last time, or is he imagining that? It can’t be getting worse, can it?
“That’d be a ‘that was okay’ then, I assume?” Stede asks, his wince audible in his voice, and it’s all Ed can do just to nod. “On to number three, then?” Ed would laugh at how prim Stede sounds about it, like some kind of high society lady at a cake tasting, except all he can taste right now is something sharp and almost coppery, like the feeling he gets on his tongue right before a lightning strike.
As it stands, all he can do is grit out a pained noise of affirmation. There’s no hesitation from Stede this time, at least. No discussion of position or asking Ed if he’s sure he wants to keep going. The bed shifts as Stede rearranges himself (sitting back on his haunches now, if the press of his knees against the insides of Ed’s thighs are any indication), then Ed feels the already almost familiar sensation of the tip of a tendril teasing at his entrance.
If he’d thought the last entry was smooth, this one is nearly frictionless. The wet noise the tentacle makes as it opens him up is enough to send a bolt of pure, wanton need through him, and he moans as he rocks back against it, desperate to be filled quicker than the fucking stroll-in-the-park leisurely pace Stede is setting.
“Relax.” The single word is both a reassurance and a command, as Stede’s hand finds its way back to the base of Ed’s spine, pressing him firmly down into the mattress. Ed lets out a whine of protest, which changes to an inarticulate sound of pleasure as Stede buries himself deeper. The tentacle inside him undulates, the still-foreign sensation pushing the static pain to the edges of his awareness, as Stede begins to fuck into him, his motions slow and deep.
Stede is rolling his hips in time with the thrusts now, and the movement is rubbing Ed’s cock mercilessly into the sheets. It feels incredible; overwhelming and overstimulating in the most pleasurable way, but Ed doesn’t think he’s going to come from it, Bacchanalean tentacle fuck magic or no. He’s just trying to get his thoughts in order enough to say as much to Stede—though whether to ask for more or beg for less, he’s not sure, because five tentacles to go is still a lot—when the decision is taken out of his hands. The tendril shifts, tiny suckers rippling across his prostate again, and pleasure washes over him like the tide on a beach, pulling him towards some deeper ecstasy with all the strength and inevitability of an undertow current.
It’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced before, utterly alien and completely overwhelming and so fucking good he feels like he’s going to die. He manages one or two aborted movements of his hips against the bed in spite of Stede’s pressure on his lower back, before his second orgasm crashes over him, ripping a wordless cry from his throat as his hands clench so hard in the sheets that he can feel his knuckles creaking. Stede doesn’t stop, barely even slows down, as Ed passes the crest of his climax. He doesn’t come down, not really. It can hardly be called that, when that thing inside him continues to press against that bundle of nerves, sending shocks of pleasure-pain through his system with every thrust.
His cock is making its displeasure known, though, from where it rubs ceaselessly through the increasingly sticky sheets. Even as some dim part of him realizes with inevitable uncertainty that he’s already hardening again, he knows that he’ll rub himself raw in the wetness in no time.
“Stede,” he manages to gasp out, managing with a herculean effort to push himself up onto his elbows and turn his head so he can be heard more clearly. “I need—oh fuck—need to be up off the sheets. Turned or moved or some—”
He barely has time to process two of the tentacles grabbing his hips with rows of tiny suckers before they’re being pulled up off the bed, while another two tentacles push his legs forward until his body and brain catch up with proceedings, and he winds up on his knees and elbows. Somehow, all of that happens without Stede breaking the rhythm of his thrusts for a single beat, and Ed wonders dizzily if maybe getting fucked to death like this would be worth it. If maybe this is how he’s actually always wanted to go, and he just didn’t know it until right now.
He’s just weighing the pros and cons of the matter (pro: this would literally just be the rest of his life, however short that may be, con: Stede would be really sad and probably feel incredibly guilty), when he notices that the tentacles on his hips have begun moving up his body. The tips tease their way up his sides, sliding across his ribs in a way that would probably be ticklish if they weren’t leaving wet trails of fizzing overstimulation in their wake. Then, without warning, they latch onto his nipples and he actually does scream.
It’s too much. It’s more than too much. It’s so far beyond too much that he can’t even find too much with a map. But he also never wants it to fucking end. His grip on the sheets tightens as his arms convulse towards his body in a vain attempt to protect himself from the overwhelming sensation, and he hears the fabric tear.
“Edward! The silk sheets!” Stede surges forward, the movement pushing Ed even further off-balance, and two tentacles fly out to wrap around his wrists. He releases the sheets in shock, and hits the bed hard face-first as his wrists are pulled sharply back.
“Fucking hell, Stede!” he snaps, voice muffled by the sheets and doing his best to pretend that the move hadn’t brought him abruptly back to full mast.
Stede’s thrusts stutter to a halt. “Oh god, Ed! I’m so sorry, I didn’t—I just was thinking that I didn’t want you to rip the sheets any more, and then they sort of—”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Ed growls, but almost immediately he can feel the pain creeping back in without the intoxicating movement of Stede inside him as a distraction.
“I’ll just—”
“No, don’t,” Ed says quickly, as the tentacles around his wrists loosen. Perhaps too quickly, based on the quiet, curious sound Stede makes. Ed can’t see his face, but he can picture it anyway; the little head tilt and knowing smile. Fucking bastard. And the worst part is, it just makes Ed want him even more.
“You want me to keep going like this?”
Ed’s having too many feelings to hang onto. He loves that Stede keeps asking. He hates that Stede keeps asking. He especially hates that Stede keeps asking when he’s tentacle deep in Ed’s ass, with Ed’s face pressed into sheets that are already wet with their combined fluids, because Stede’s got Ed’s damned arms pinned behind his back, when they both know that it’s turning Ed on like nobody’s fucking business.
“You really gonna make me beg for it when you not fucking me could kill me?” he snaps back, before burying his face back in the sheets and hoping for the best.
Another tendril—how many are unaccounted for? He’s too turned on to do math right now—insinuates its way up his back, marking its progress with a slick, tingling trail. It deftly weaves its way through his hair, tangling around the roots of the messy half-bun he’d pulled it up into when he went out into the garden and tugging sharply back. Ed barely manages to turn his whine into a gasp at the sharp sensation, a delicious pain that Stede knows is enough to put Ed in his place at the best of times.
“What was that, darling?” Stede asks, all sugar and fucking spice. Ed wants to stay silent, just on the principle of the thing, but his skin is starting to get that too tight feeling again, and it feels like maybe his blood is starting to simmer a tiny bit, and also… fuck it, Ed does want Stede to keep going. He’d want Stede to keep going even if Ed wasn’t maybe about to die horribly.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, as quietly as he can (because it’s the principle of the thing). “Yeah, I want you to keep going like this, fuck, Stede.”
“Thank you. Was that so hard?”
Before Ed can so much as formulate a retort—because he has a reputation to maintain, even if he’s only lying to himself—Stede drives back into him, pushing all complex thought out of Ed’s head as the pleasurable hum washes away the painful static.
The tendril holding his head up lowers him back to the bed, though it stays tangled up in his hair; whether as a warning or a comfort, he’s not sure (though it’s doing a pretty good fucking job at both). The tentacles that were teasing at his nipples had dropped off during Stede’s brief moment of worry, and Ed’s not sure whether to be pleased or disappointed that they don’t return. It’s probably for the best, though, because Stede picks up the pace after that, and Ed’s barely holding onto the last shreds of his sanity as it is. Now that Stede’s got Ed’s arms behind his back, he’s using them as leverage as well as his hands on Ed’s hips, and Ed’s never felt so thoroughly manhandled in his entire life (even if hands are only part of this particular equation).
Stede doesn’t have the exact same tells as he does usually—or did before, Ed supposes, and isn’t that a question for later—but it’s not long before Ed hears his breath catching in his throat, through the overwhelming haze of sensation.
“Fuck, yeah…” Ed grits out, managing to turn his head enough to speak, and feeling the thrill of pleasure as his hair is pulled tight in the tenta—in Stede’s grip. He may not know much of anything in the entire world right now, but he knows that Stede loves when he runs his mouth, and he’s suddenly got an overwhelming urge to wrest back at least a little control over the situation. “Feel so good inside me, love… Want you to come for me again.”
Stede whimpers quietly, and Ed feels a thrill of satisfaction under the static, frenzied hum of need.
“Bet I’m a mess, aren’t I?” Ed murmurs, feeling Stede’s movements inside him growing erratic. “Can feel you dripping out of me, love. That’s it, fill me again—”
Stede comes with a choked cry, tentacles spasming in Ed’s hair and around his wrists, and fingertips digging into his hips. He slumps forward, pressing his forehead against Ed’s back as he catches his breath. He releases Ed’s arms, and Ed is able to push himself up off the bed again.
“Love your filthy mouth,” Stede pants against Ed’s skin. “Some of the things that come out of it, god Ed, do you have any idea what listening to you talk like that does to me?”
“I have a few ideas.” He feels more than hears Stede’s soft laugh, and he can’t help but join him, enjoying the brief reprieve from feeling like he’s about to fucking explode.
Very brief, it turns out. By the time Stede is sliding out of him, Ed can already feel the prickling returning. He’s only barely distracted by the trickle of liquid he feels down his thighs as the tendril pulls free, though he spares a thought for the sheets Stede was so eager to protect.
The need to have Stede back inside him is rising rapidly, but even with the supernatural lubrication Stede’s new appendages provide, he’s getting a little sore, and he can’t hold back a wince as the tip of a new tentacle plays around his rim.
“Are you alright? Is it too much?” Stede asks, because of course, he notices immediately.
“Hurts a bit, but—” he hisses between his teeth as a new wave of static desire washes over him. “Not sure there’s much of an alternative.”
“Hmm.” He hears Stede’s thoughtful hum, feels his hands ghost across his ass and down his thighs, fingers dragging wet trails behind them. “Here, let’s roll you over, this long on your knees isn’t going to do you any good.”
“Thought you—fuck—liked me on my knees.” That gets a small chuckle, but he gives in to Stede’s gentle but insistent tug and pushes, rolling gingerly onto his back. From this vantage, he actually has a view of what’s going on again, and… fuck.
He was right, the insides of his thighs and (increasingly) the sheet below him are stained with inky blue fluid, ever-so-slightly iridescent in the afternoon sun coming through the window. There are streaks of it across his torso too, trails left by the tendrils that touched his arms, his shoulders, his nipples (his cock twitches at the memory). Then he looks at Stede, and he forgets everything else.
Stede is flushed, his hair a mess, with an alluring sheen of sweat across his chest that Ed can practically taste. Between his legs, though… Ed’s gaze is drawn down, and he’s reminded of exactly what they’re dealing with. Three of the tentacles lie small and soft against Stede’s body, all also smeared with midnight blue-purple. The remaining five, though… He’d been able to tell that they were larger than they were when he’d first seen them; had been able to feel them growing and lengthening even inside him. But that hadn’t prepared him for this. The five hover freely in the air, the tips making lazy circles as they undulate softly, but somehow he can tell that they’re all… well, obviously looking isn’t the right word, but their attention is focused on him completely. Or maybe it’s just that Stede’s staring at him with dark, hungry eyes, glance flickering across the mess he’s made of Ed’s body, and clearly starving for more.
“What now?” Stede asks him softly, the words simultaneously sensuous and caring—an honest question even if they both know exactly what he wants.
Ed thinks for a moment, even if it’s difficult as the painful need fills him again. He knows his hole can’t take more right now, he needs a quick break at least. A breather. But whatever these things have infected him with doesn’t care about Edward Teach’s sore asshole.
A breather.
“Well, you were just saying how much you like my filthy mouth,” he begins, hearing the rasp of desire in his own voice. It’s met by a flare of heated interest in Stede’s eyes.
“You mean—that is, you’d want to…?”
Now that it’s occurred to him, Ed can’t get the thought out of his head. The smell of sex is filling the room, along with a salty tang that reminds him of the ocean. Not the scent of it from land, the smell of tide pools and washed up seaweed, but the smell of the deep, when you’re miles from land and surrounded by nothing but blue.
He wants to know what that tastes like.
In response, he props himself up on his elbows so he can see Stede more clearly. He gives a slow, decisive nod, then lets his mouth fall open, tongue resting softly on his lower lip like an invitation.
Stede doesn’t need a second one. He surges forward, straddling Ed’s chest in one swift movement, knees planted on either side of his rib cage so his weight isn’t fully on Ed.
“Is this okay?” he asks, tendrils already playing through the hair on Ed’s chest and running across his shoulders. One slides sinuously up Ed’s neck, the tip resting just below his jawline, and he can feel the suckers moving against his skin like a kiss.
“Yeah,” he manages through another shudder of arousal. “More than okay.”
The tentacle lifts from his neck (the soft feeling of release tells him that it’s likely to leave a mark, and it’s maybe unsurprising at this point to notice how much that idea turns him on as well) and comes to rest on his lower lip. It traces the shape of it, then across his cupid’s bow, reminding him of Stede’s teasing tongue when he knows that all Ed wants is to be kissed breathless. He flicks his tongue out to catch the tip of it—he was right, it tastes like the deep sea smells, with a strangely familiar musky hint of what his brain simply categorizes as Stede-ness.
Stede gasps at Ed’s tongue on him, and Ed can practically hear his self-restraint snap. The slick tip of the tentacle pushes past Ed’s lips, shoving roughly into his mouth until it hits the back of his throat. He chokes a little at the suddenness of it, and is grateful for Stede’s slight withdrawal, but brings a swift, reassuring hand up to Stede’s hip when it feels like he might pull all the way out. It feels incredible. It feels right. The weight on his tongue feels perfect, maybe even better than Stede’s cock, and having Stede’s cock in his mouth is truly one of Ed’s favourite things.
He sucks at it, careful to keep his teeth out of the equation in spite of it being thicker than he’s used to. When he laves across the bottom, tongue playing between the tiny suckers, Stede’s head drops back with a groan. This time when he pushes forward, Ed is ready for him, swallowing around the tentacle as it hits the back of his throat, and meeting Stede’s gasp of pleasure with a muffled moan of his own. His cock is painfully hard again, even overstimulated and sensitive as he is, but he doesn’t want anything—doesn’t need anything—other than the feeling of Stede inside him.
As he swallows again, he feels a tingling spread down his throat, the pins and needles more pleasure than pain. They also bring a slight numb feeling, like a limb that’s gone to sleep, and a shudder runs through him as he realizes what that means. He wraps a hand around the tentacle in his mouth, feeling the slick surface move over sinuous muscle, and tugs it deeper. Stede looks down at him, eyes wide in surprise, and Ed gives a tiny nod. His eyelids flutter shut as the tendril moves further into his mouth, tip pushing slowly down his throat. Only when he’s worried it’s about to cut off his air does he tap Stede’s leg. He opens his eyes and meets Stede’s gaze, shivering slightly at the dark, ravenous heat he sees there.
“God, you always look good with your lips wrapped around me, but I wish you could see yourself now.” Stede runs a gentle hand down Ed’s cheek, tracing Ed’s lips with a thumb in an unconscious echo of the path of his tentacle mere minutes ago.
It’s tender, and loving, and hot as fuck, but Ed’s skin is on fire and right now he needs more. He tightens his grip on the tentacle and on Stede’s leg, staring up at Stede and hoping the unspoken message gets through as he clenches the muscles in his throat as hard as he can.
Stede gasps, then gives a low chuckle. “Understood, darling.” He takes Ed’s hands, tangling their fingers together, then leans forward to pin them above Ed’s head.
Ed lets out a whine of delight as a fresh wave of arousal surges through him and the tentacle in his mouth withdraws slightly, then the sound is cut off as Stede thrusts forward into his throat again. Ed’s eyes roll back in his head as the prickling pain under his skin becomes pleasure once again, and opens his mouth as wide as he can to let Stede take what he needs.
Things get fuzzy for a bit; the minimal oxygen he can get between thrusts is enough to keep him out of danger, but not enough to encourage higher thought. Not that he needs higher thought at the moment, not with his cock twitching every time Stede hits the back of his throat. He’s more than halfway into some kind of sex-poison-throat-fucking-induced trance when two tendrils find his nipples again.
The suction is as overwhelming as it was the first time, and he lets out a strangled shout around Stede. His body twists of its own volition, bucking against Stede’s weight and arms straining against his grip, but to absolutely no effect. Stede’s greater weight and leverage—along with Ed’s comparative lack of oxygen—keep him effectively pinned in place, completely unable to do anything but whimper as he tips over the edge of overstimulation in a disorienting tumble, like falling overboard during a storm.
His orgasm takes him entirely unawares, slamming into him like a ship on the rocks. He’s almost never come untouched, and definitely not just from nipple stimulation and a cock (or tentacle) down his throat, but whatever goop those things have coated him with inside and out might be a blessing just as much as it is a curse, because he almost goes fucking blind with the force of it. His neck muscles strain in a silent scream as Stede continues to fuck into his mouth, then he almost chokes as a stream of hot, sea-salty liquid spills down his throat, leaving yet another wave of cool relief in its wake.
Stede pulls free immediately, surging downward to claim Ed’s mouth with his own the second the tentacle is out of the way. It’s rough, desperate, all teeth and tongue and growled praise every time their lips part. Ed catches perfect and filthy and use you and all for me, but mostly he’s just trying to kiss back, sucking in gulping breaths of air every time Stede speaks.
The relief has barely even started to fade when Stede pulls back, lips smudged blue-black from kissing his own fluid off Ed’s tongue. He climbs off Ed’s chest, pressing up between his thighs instead, and lifting Ed’s legs over his shoulders in one smooth movement. He leaves a row of hungry, sucking kisses up the inside of Ed’s thigh, while one of the tentacles does the same on the other leg. Then, leaning forward, he runs a ravenous tongue up Ed’s stomach through the streaks of his last release, and Ed nearly comes on the spot, no supernatural intervention required.
When he feels another tentacle circling his hole, he gasps out a desperate “Please Stede, fuck!” and then it’s sliding deep inside him and he’s arching off the bed as fireworks explode under his skin. Stede’s hips are pressed up against his ass, and it’s so fucking good it’s unreal, so good that Ed almost forgets his life is on the line, because his entire world has narrowed to the two of them in this bed and Stede twisting and thrusting inside him.
The tentacle in him swells, widening abruptly, and he chokes out a strangled cry because it hurts but the pain is fucking incredible, the stretch everything he didn’t know he’d been missing.
“God, you feel good,” Stede gasps, lips pressed against the inside of Ed’s knee. “Taking me so well, for so long. You’re so full, but I bet you can take even more, can't you?”
Ed can only nod, a desperate moan clawing its way out of his throat as he feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He’s not sure he can take more, but he also knows that he wants more with every fibre of his being. He whimpers as he feels a second tendril stroking around his oversensitive rim. There’s a moment of relief as the tentacle inside him narrows down, making room for the second. Then, the second slides home inside him, and he almost blacks out from the overwhelming rush of sensation. He’s stretched tight around them, teetering on the knife’s edge of too painful for pleasure, but the suckers ripple inside him as the tentacles begin slow, alternating thrusts, one curving to press a tip against his prostate again, and he’s fucking gone.
It’s too much, and he can’t handle it, and he thinks he might die if it doesn’t stop, and also all he wants in the entire world is—
“More.” His voice is almost inaudible, ragged from the abuse his throat has undergone, but Stede hears him. One of the tentacles slams into him, fucking him mercilessly as the other throbs against his prostate, sending waves of toe-curling, agonizing pleasure through his overstimulated body. Stede presses forward, folding Ed nearly in half, and claiming his mouth in another filthy kiss. Ed is nearly sobbing, sure that he’s finally found his limit, that it’s finally enough.
Then one of the remaining tentacles wraps around his cock.
Stede swallows down his whimpers and curses, pulls back as he begs only for long enough to be sure that the words keep going are on his lips more than the word stop is. The tentacle on his cock is relentless, leaving sucker kisses down his length as the tip swirls around his head, gathering up the precome pooling there and coating the whole thing in pain-pleasure static.
He hardly notices when the tentacle thrusting deep inside him spasms, flooding him with still more dark, inky fluid. The relief is lost in the overwhelming pleasure and desperation of the other tentacle inside him, the one wrapped around his cock, and the need for even more. A fresh tentacle joins the one inside him, fucking into him with renewed vigour as the other changes angle to press harder against his prostate, and it’s finally almost exactly what he needs.
The tendril around his cock ripples as it moves, an obscene undulation unlike anything Ed’s ever felt, unlike anything any human body can replicate. The sensation is completely alien, and he’s not sure whether it’s because of that or in spite of it, but his vision goes white as he hurtles over the edge of his who-knows-what-th orgasm with a ragged noise that might once have been a scream.
He just barely notices that he’s sobbing, the relentless thrusting inside him having long since pushed past pleasure into pain, then through pain and back around to pleasure again. He needs more, but he’s not sure what. He’s more full than he’s ever been in his life, and it’s still not enough. He has no idea what to do, what to say, what to think. His mind is an empty void, a night sky filled with pinprick stars of sensation and a static shock milky way.
He realizes that he’s speaking, a mindless stream of please please please oh shit Stede please fucking please, and somehow, Stede hears him. Stede, who’s fucking Ed so well that it just might kill him, all to keep him from dying. Stede, who hears what he’s asking for, when Ed doesn’t even know.
Stede, who slides the last remaining tentacle, still slick with Ed’s own come, up his body and into his wet and waiting mouth.
And this is it. This is what he needed. Every second of his life leading up to now has been for this, to be filled by Stede, fucked by Stede, used by Stede, just like this. It was meant to happen. Finally, this is enough.
He lets himself succumb to sensation, gives the last shreds of his mind, body and soul over to it. All three tentacles are buried deep inside him, thrusting in different rhythms, and he gratefully allows the overwhelming syncopation to drag him out beyond the edge of conscious thought. There’s no Ed here, right now, and no Stede. Just heat and wetness and movement and the dizzying whirlpool of pleasure pulling him down into the black depths of oblivion.
The nearly simultaneous spasmodic release from the two tentacles in his ass is like a bucket of ice water on a stiflingly hot day; a shock to his system that has him choking out a gasp around the tentacle still fucking shallowly into his mouth as his eyes snap open. But close on the heels comes relief, and a feeling of slowly awakening from a heavy sleep or recovering from a long illness. He’s not quite there; everything around him is still hazy with some combination of ecstasy and agony. It’s like he’s surfacing from a deep dive, with the last of his air burning in his lungs, but the light from the surface getting brighter and brighter above him, and—
He feels Stede’s movements stuttering, hears a hoarse, shuddering oh god, Ed from above him. He has just enough time to wrap a shaky hand around the tentacle fucking past his raw, chapped lips and push it deeper, taking Stede to the back of his throat one more time, and then Stede’s broken shout is ringing out in the silence of the room as a final, salty torrent of liquid runs down Ed’s throat.
And then it’s just… over. Like snuffing out a candle. Stede sags back, letting Ed’s legs fall to the bed, and Ed… Ed doesn’t even try to move. He can feel a breeze blowing through the open window, and it flows cool and soothing across his sweat-drenched skin. The burning, the heat, the buzzing, painful static—all of it has disappeared in an instant.
“Ed?” Stede’s voice is sharp with concern, even if he sounds almost as exhausted as Ed feels. “Are you alright?”
“I…” he takes stock of his body, catalogues the throbbing ache of his hole and the raw oversensitivity of his cock away as problems for Later Ed. “I think so.” After a minute, when Stede doesn’t respond, he adds: “Are you?”
“Oh, yes,” Stede replies, sounding slightly distant. “Everything seems to be, uh… back to normal, I suppose.”
Something in his voice makes Ed push himself up to sitting, in spite of the pounding in his head and the profound exhaustion settling into his bones. He looks at Stede at the end of the bed. Later, he swears that it was the emotional and physical ordeal he’d been through that resulted in his first thought being “something is wrong” rather than “something is right,” but it takes him a moment to clock that the tentacles are just… gone. The twisting tendrils of sunset and gold have reverted back to Stede’s cock, lying rosy and soft between his legs. Only the residual smears of shimmering indigo fluid down his legs—and, Ed’s sure, a veritable lake of the stuff all across his own body and the sheets beneath him—remain to prove that what happened wasn’t just the result of some undercooked fish or a fucking… vegetable that had been left in the sun for too long, or something.
“Did that… happen?” Stede asks, voice tentative, echoing Ed’s own thoughts.
“Mate, if it didn’t, I do not want to know what you were fucking me with.” That surprises a snort out of Stede, which sets off a bout of slightly hysterical laughter, and Ed can’t help joining in.
It’s been a fucking day.
“That was… something,” Stede says finally, once the giggles have subsided. “How did—”
“Stede,” Ed reaches out, stopping him gently with a hand on his arm. “I’ll gladly debrief with you later, but right now, I need to find a way to get cleaned up, and then maybe sleep for an entire fucking week.”
“Right, of course.” Ed feels the mattress shift as Stede gets up off the bed. He hears his hiss of dismay as he presumably takes in the utter ruin of the sheets, and probably the mattress under them. “Tell you what, you rest, I’ll heat some water for you to wash in, alright?”
“Mm.” Ed thinks he nods, maybe.
“But first, I’m going to go burn this cursèd thing in the fireplace, and scatter the ashes out to sea.”
Ed’s eyes snap open, and he sees Stede holding the scroll at arm’s length, much the same way he did with the dead iguana he’d pulled out from the kitchen cupboards when they’d first started tidying the place up.
“Wait—” he begins, and Stede looks at him in surprise. “I mean…” what does he mean? He should want the thing sunken into the depths of the fucking Puerto Rico Trench, shouldn’t he? Except…
“Ed?” Stede asks, confusion written plainly across his face.
“What if you just… didn’t get rid of it yet?” Ed hears himself saying.
“Why wouldn’t I get rid of it?” Stede still looks bemused, but Ed thinks he can see some glimmer of understanding in his eye, and he feels himself flush with a heat that has nothing to do with Bacchanalian tentacle sex poison.
“Just… could be interesting, is all,” Ed answers, telling himself that the hoarseness in his voice is just from having it tentacle fucked twice in one afternoon (and what the everloving fuck is his life anymore?)
“Interesting.”
“Y’know, scientific inquiry and all that shit.”
Stede opens his mouth, clearly about to argue, but then Ed yawns so hard that people can probably hear his jaw cracking from clear across the island, and Stede relents. “Alright,” he says. “Let me go get you that water.”
With a smile, he leans down to kiss Ed’s temple, and Ed hums softly, leaning into the gentle press of lips but too exhausted to do so much as turn his head to return it. “Happy anniversary, Edward,” he murmurs.
“Happy anniversary, love,” Ed replies. He opens his eyes to meet Stede’s fond gaze. “And if this is what you’re doing to celebrate one month, I can’t wait to see what you’ve got planned for a year.”