Work Text:
“Welcome aboard,” said the pirate with a distant look in his eye, and extended a hand to steady the young wide receiver in his route up the gangway. Jaxon was a sturdy lad, and not so much shorter than the dreaded Edward Teach, and yet was grateful for the captain’s help in this matter. On the gridiron, he was sure he could show Edward a thing or two, but here he had not yet developed his sea legs and would need all the help he could get.
Step by step they made it to the deck. The bosun, a large sweaty man with a foul odor to him, was yelling at the seamen as they scurried to unload the Queen Anne of her plundered treasures. Bath was a prosperous port, though lacking in most of the amenities Jaxon could remember from his time. He looked away from the bosun and towards Ed’s hands as they pulled him toward the captain’s chambers.
Going through the time rip at the club after an away game against the Panthers had been a frightful experience. Being spat out inside that dingy tavern had been even worse. The only pleasant sight had been Edward, and after a long night of drinking with the man they came to an understanding. Jaxon knew little and less of the details, but he knew of Blackbeard by reputation and a proto-fascination he’d sustained in his youth. And so as long as he was stranded in 1718, he was more than happy to sail with the pirate out of North Carolina to the legendary isle of Tortuga, setting themselves upon any merchant vessels they should encounter along the way.
For his part, Edward seemed fascinated with Jaxon’s stories of being a seahawk—a bird the captain knew well and had even consumed when the situation demanded such. The high stakes, tremendous salaries and lavish lifestyles, the battles fought upon the gridiron—these were all topics a man of any time could relate to or else be impressed by. Occasionally Jaxon would stumble upon some detail which unexpectedly astounded the captain, such as the magic by which he made himself pre-workout protein shakes in mere seconds with his Vitamix, and the seahawk would have to take the time to explain all the mechanics, which proved increasingly difficult as they consumed round after round of ale.
There had been flirting that night, he thought he remembered. His teammates told him he often got that way after his third or fourth drink, and the subject of his idle talk’s gender didn’t seem to matter. Of course, that’s all it was. Idle talk. He seemed to remember Edward giving as good as he got, but surely even he understood that such intimations couldn’t possibly survive the light of day? Could they?
The light of day scarcely touched the captain’s chambers. Here it was all candlelight, gleaming low against the backdrop of boards held firm by rusted nails. Ed settled into a well-cushioned armchair, likely stolen from one of the queen’s most favored sea-faring subjects. He patted his lap, motioning for his guest to join him.
Nervously, Jaxon tried to squeeze himself into the tiny space between Edward’s lap and the chair’s arm. He felt Edward’s hands guiding his waist from behind, and was soon sitting upon the enormous pirate.
Jaxon had never felt so small. Surrounded as he was by the older man’s pleasing bulk, he could settle his head easily into the hollow beneath Ed’s chin and settle himself against the man’s chest. Jaxon Smith-Njigba became suddenly aware of the unique comfort a man’s body can provide to that of another man, and it overwhelmed him. He felt Edward’s hand against his cheek, tilting his head lightly left and upwards. Edward’s lips brushed against his own and he felt the warm blood rush through his body.
Jaxon felt the captain growing hard beneath him. Slowly, he eased himself back against the prow of Ed’s pants and felt them stiffen further.
Edward’s hands fumbled at Jaxon’s shirt. “Where are the buttons?” the captain whispered, his voice heavy and strained.
“Here,” said Jaxon, and pulled it up and over his head. Then he doffed his pants and boxers as well. By then Edward’s member was pushed through his breeches. It stood in stark relief against their dyed black hemp. Jaxon gave it a tentative brush with his fingers.
“Don’t be afraid of it now, lad,” said Ed. He cupped his hand deftly around Jaxon’s jaw, popping his mouth open, whereupon he worked about half of his girthy piece inside. It was all Jaxon could do not to choke; when the captain saw that the younger man was less than adept with his mouth, he began thrusting himself in and out of it. “You’re such a pretty lad. I’ve thought so since I first saw you in that tavern. Are all men from your time so fair, I wonder? Oh hell, Jaxon, I’m fit to bursting—here.”
Jaxon stared, confused. Edward had pulled out of his mouth, and for the moment he had forgotten what else men do when caught in such intimate moments with one another. Ed had to twirl his finger in a little circle before Jaxon thought to turn around. He felt hands, rough and strong, cradle his waist, and heard the glugging of some liquid. A splash of oil covered his inner folds—it felt pleasant, not unlike the warm water of a bidet he’d once tried at a hotel in Vegas.
Jaxon felt the captain’s prow poking into him. It worked its way through the oil, just enough for the seahawk to widen a bit. The sensation was alien, and almost unnerving. Jaxon felt his breathing quicken. The captain placed one oily hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, lad. You’re going to be alright.” Slowly, Jaxon relaxed, and the captain guided his hips inch by inch down his shaft until he was once more seated flush against Ed in the chair. “When you’re ready, you can move your arse for yourself,” said the captain.
“O-okay,” said Jaxon. He took a deep breath and pushed himself up, gripping the arms of the chair. He heard Ed’s subtle exhale, full of lust. It excited him, motivated him to push himself further. Once he was almost freed of the captain’s pillar, he pushed himself satisfyingly back down and felt himself become fuller than he had ever been before.
The captain let out a moan. Jaxon felt his glistening hazel cheeks jiggle as he committed himself to the task, working Ed in and out of himself, building up his pace. Before long the captain groaned, “Hold on lad, I’m going to burst—I’m going to burst in ye,” but Jaxon would not relent. He felt the captain grow incredibly still beneath him, and then relax into soft jelly. Jaxon laid back, felt Ed’s arms wrap themselves around him.
They smiled, held safe in the Queen Anne’s bosom, their cradle rocked gently in the waters of Bath. Blackbeard slept. Jaxon studied the storied wrinkles of that face, those gray beard and whiskers, and yawned deeply. He soon came to know a deep sleep; a restfulness known by those who lived in a world not fully charted, which might have perished long ago and never been known by such as he save for that rip in time.