the pearl

Oh You New York Girls Can You Dance The Polka

It felt like they had been playing the same song forever. It didn't cease, the same drum beat, the same jangling lute chords, the slightly off-key singing that kept on coming up with more and more verses, just to crash into the chorus every minute or so.

It should have been irritating.

The beat, however, was fantastic.

Stede wasn't sure if he was feeling the drums or if it was his heartbeat or if it was the thrusts that were perfectly in time, or all three thudding together, taking him further, filling his ears and his hole and his entire self thudding slick and sharp against all of him.

He groaned and opened his eyes again, looking up at Ed, muscles gleaming with sweat, the faintest of flushes against the tattoos, not like the full rosy glow against his own unmarked skin. Gold rings gleamed and swayed against Ed's chest, his nipples small and tight against the metal, catching Stede's eyes and giving him something to focus on.

The crew crashed into the chorus again and Ed shifted slightly, changing his thrusts to match the beat, and Stede groaned and looked into his eyes, dark with lust. Tendrils of hair curled damp with the sweat on his forehead, frizzing in the heat between them. He was beautiful, primal, and Stede closed his eyes tightly as Ed shifted again to match the drumbeat, hitting him perfectly with each thrust.

"You close?" Ed growls, his hands tight against Stede's hips.

Stede gasps as Ed hits him right there, and keeps hitting him there with each drum beat. "Ed..." he whispers, one hand scrabbling against the bed linens while the other flails, sliding against Ed's body until he manages to grasp a bicep, running up it to his shoulder and pulling Ed down against him.

Ed groans as the movement makes him shift position, his thrusts going shallower and faster. His stomach is slick with sweat and growing slicker with every slide of Stede's cock against it. Stede's hand scrabbles up from Ed's shoulder up to his neck, sliding underneath his hair, pulling his face closer to his.

The crew has apparently begun to tire of the song because the beat shifts, it changes, gets louder and stronger even as the sensation of his cock against Ed's stomach and Ed's cock in him gets too much and Stede moans, pulling Ed even closer for a kiss, all sloppy and unfocused and lost as he comes, shuddering against him.

Ed growls against his mouth, his hands tightening even harder on Stede's body as his body jerks against his, finishing with one final deep thrust that makes Stede moan softly even in his afterglow.

The ship is silent. Ed lies on top of Stede, sweaty, filthy, breathing heavily, as Stede kisses the top of his forehead.

This Our Flag Means Death story was written by Kate Bolin. If you liked it, there's plenty more at And you can feedback her at