He eases the sword out of the other's grasp for simplicity's sake, and once it's firmly on the bed while they kiss, Silver leans in fully. Benedict's receptive, and a surprisingly good kisser--that hand on his thigh and the way the other isn't pulling away means he can continue.
He takes his time, beard scraping against the other's cheek as he shifts his weight to position himself a little better, moving so he's closer to facing the other. his hand slides down the other's jaw as he bites the other's lip a second time, thumb grazing over jawline, guiding Benedict to lay his torso down. His other hand props himself up for balance.
It's dizzying, in a good way. Benedict feels a soft sigh escape him at the way Silver's teeth tug at his lip, and he's lying back he finally finds some sort of sense returning to his head.
Though not much sense, as Benedict has no desire to leave, even if there's no telling when the bedding was last cleaned or the way the mattress lumps uncomfortably under the press of his back.
"I've not done this before," he admits, a bit breathlessly between kisses. "With another man, I mean." Lest Silver think he's entirely new at sexual encounters all together, which is wholly incorrect. "But I've been wanting to."
That sigh causes shivers down his spine, pleased the other seems to enjoy it as much as he does. He takes his time once Benedict lays back, finding it easy to shift his weight and maneuver so he's practically ontop of the other, hair spilling down and nearly curtaining Benedict. He begins kissing his way down his face, nipping at his jaw, fully aware his beard is rubbing against pale, soft skin as the other talks.
"You were thinking it when I was talking with the woman we arrived with," he murmurs, breath hot against the other's ear as he begins trying to undo the godforsaken fashion that is London's tops. He's glad the other took his fucking jacket off.
This hadn't been what Benedict had intended to do with his night when he'd gone over to talk to Silver and his friend. It's a fantastic turn of events that makes his skin prickle with delight, and he tries his best not to squirm too much under Silver's attentions.
"I'm not certain I wanted to be sly."
Benedict can't resist the mass of curls falling around him. He reaches up to push his fingers into them, then turns his head to try and catch Silver in another kiss.
"No one ever pays me enough mind to notice who I might be looking at."
Silver's response, for once, isn't words--at least not right away. It's a hand that finally gets his top free and moves immediately down to cup at the other's cock through his breeches, squeezing through the fabric as his teeth graze the other's ear.
He silences the rest of Benedict's words with kisses, each more hungry than the last, allowing the friction of his clothes work against Benedict's needs.
"If I hadn't noticed you, I would be telling you to take your pants off," he murmurs, and after a bit of trouble shifting himself into a sitting position he begins taking off his own shirt. He's covered in scars--not as many as some of the others, not nearly as many as someone like Flint had been, but the battle of Nassau has done damage: a sword cut here, a bullet graze there. He's looking at Benedict expectantly as he loosens his own belt, keeping firm eye contact with the other.
For all the heated kisses, Benedict’s mouth feels dry. He forces himself not to press into Silver’s touch, lest he appear desperate, but there’s no denying the pleased sound that escapes his lips. As Silver draws back, Benedict sits up, too, hastily working at the rest of his layers - shrugging aside his vest, pulling his cravat loose, moving his suspenders down. It’s almost as much of a production as undressing a lady.
For his trousers, he has to sit up on his knees to manage the buttons that hold them in place, though he’s admittedly distracted by looking at Silver while he undresses. Beautifully golden tan with his defined muscles, and even something about the way his body is marred is endlessly attractive. Benedict suddenly feels almost embarrassed, glad that his own pale and soft body is mostly covered still by his shirt and his flannels.
There's far too much clothing in London, Silver decides, and he's not so sure that it's just because it's fucking cold and dreary here. He's managed to twist his pants off easily, his belt and trousers clattering to the floor, and he pauses only to look at Benedict.
He's beautiful, pale and untouched, unspoiled by the horrors of the world and Silver fights the urge to even think he's something to be protected. This is a one night stand, most likely, which means Silver has one small window to absolutely wreck any chance of Benedict being able to think of anyone else in bed for a while.
He likes a challenge.
Silver doesn't bother to hide his grin, his look predatory as he begins trying to undress the other properly, letting his hand run down the other's bare skinn when he gets a glimpse.
Benedict helps along, fingers moving deftly over buttons and brushing against Silver’s as he fishes for more kisses.
Soon enough they’re equally undressed and Benedict feels emboldened enough to lean in and press their bodies together, fingers surging back into Silver’s hair.
It's the only cue Silver really needs, those hands in his hair, that body pressing up against him. He grunts in appreciation, his own hand going to Benedict's hair and pulling, forcing him to tilt his head so Silver can kiss the other's neck, bruising and biting. His other hand moves to the other's cock, rough hands beginning to stroke it, pressing his own body against Benedict.
There’s a brief, hazy thought where Benedict is silently thankful that his collars go up so high. It’s followed by a much more delighted thought that he alone will know what his collars are hiding.
The warm, rough hands against him make his breath catch and he moans, allowing himself to move against the strokes of Silver’s hand.
Benedict's enjoying himself, and Silver finds himself pleased with how the other rucks him against him, moaning, causing Silver himself to grunt into the other's ear. His hand is still in the other's hair, tugging roughly as he grazes his teeth over the other's collarbone.
His head moves up sharply to kiss the other hungrily, still jerking him off at a steady pace, twisting his wrist as he gets to the other's head and making sure the other slowly unwinds, finding pleasure in watching it unfold--though his needs are needing to be met, and it's a matter of time before he needs to fuck him. He needs to fuck him, some primal part of him dying to claim the other as his own.
Benedict grips at Silver’s shoulder. He’s had women touch him but never quite like this, and each twist of Silver’s hand makes him feel like it’s going to be the end of it all.
There’s a moment somewhere in the hard kiss that Benedict’s heady gaze meets Silver’s, and it’s undeniable what they both really want. Any reservations he may have had seem so far from his mind as he swallows, trying to catch back some of his breath.
“Please,” is really all that he manages to get out, because any other words he thinks of seem too demure for the situation. He supposes that Silver will understand just what he’s asking.
Silver's voice is low, raw, as his hand finally untangles itself from Benedict's hair just long enough to press down on the other's shoulder, rough and wanting, thumb pressed just below his clavicle.
"Say that again," He states roughly, eyes alight as he's already positioning himself over the other as best as he can.
Silver's voice rumbles right through Benedict, tingling at the base of his spine. Benedict licks his lips as he looks up at the other man.
"Please."
He's always enjoyed it when women have said it to him, but he's never realized the thrill there is in being the one to ask it. It's enough to make the corner of his mouth quirk up in a sort of smirk as he starts to feel more comfortable and certain of himself.
It's the way the other licks his lips, the way the other says that one singular word that causes Silver to actually growl, noise low in his throat as he takes the other's waist and forcefully pulls him closer and in a better position with one sharp, swift tug.
Benedict is light despite his frame, easy to maneuver, much to Silver's delight--he looks down at him, pleased with how pale and untouched the other is. It's rare he sees a man without scars.
He licks his lips, spitting quickly onto his fingers, his dry hand gripping Benedict's shoulder to steady himself.
Benedict, thankfully, doesn’t have a mind to disobey. Even if there was a sensible part of his mind telling him to run far away, he’d ignore it, too caught up in the way Silver looks at him like he’s never wanted anyone more. And, of course, the thrill of doing something all together taboo.
The initial movement is awkward. Benedict isn’t sure how, exactly, to move his legs, and he has to think about what the ladies he’s been with have done. With a bit of help he figures it out, Silver adjusting him to his liking, and then a sudden feeling of trepidation settles in.
It can’t be that bad, he tells himself, not when other men clearly enjoy it.
Silver guides him, and while his movements are rough and confident, he's paying very close attention to Benedict--he wants to fuck the other raw, but he knows it's the other's first time. There's no need to make it an unenjoyable experience. He puts Benedict's hand on his shoulder so the other knows to brace himself, leaning down so his hair curtains Benedict and he can kiss the other roughly.
The hand he'd spit on is as wet as it can be, and Silver slides his hand down the other's thigh and to his ass, circling his hold before gently pressing in, swallowing the other's noises with his mouth on his.
Benedict is glad for the kiss. It muffles his initial sound of surprise and gives him a vague distraction - not that it’s entirely unpleasant. The sensation is new, yes, but (thus far) not as bad as anticipated. Though he’s moderately aware that a finger is incomparable to what comes next.
He gives Silver’s shoulder a squeeze, letting him know that it’s all right.
To his credit, Silver continues kissing him and waits until the shoulder squeeze before guiding himself inside of Benedict. The other is tight, virginal, and Silver's grip on Benedict tightens in spite of himself, eyes closing and moaning loudly.
"Relax," it's murmured, surprised at just how much he enjoys the other, but once he's fully inside Benedict he waits for the other to let him know he's okay to continue, brow furrowed with pleasure.
Benedict finds that he can’t even make a sound, voice catching in his throat at the initial push. His own brow furrows, too, though less in a pleasured way. His initial reaction is to reject what’s happening (oh God, is this what it’s like for women?), but Silver’s lips are hot on his own and the man’s voice is low and reassuring.
And, surely, it must feel pleasant eventually.
So Benedict nods, too hesitant to shift his body in case of causing unwanted discomfort. Perhaps the most surprising part of it all is how badly Benedict finds he still wants it. He swallows and nods again, with more conviction.
“A bit easier said than done,” he says once he remembers how to speak.
It's a soft movement, surprisingly gentle, Silver's fingers brushing against the other's lips softly, briefly. His next movements are anything but--he grabs Benedict's waist with one hand, pulling him closer, driving deeper into him and grinding down. His free hand moves around Benedict's cock as he pulls his hips back slowly, and when he begins to thrust in slow, even measures he matches his own pace, brows furrowed, unashamed as he moans.
The first thrust brings up a surprised cry from Benedict. It’s followed by a whimper as Silver starts to move, and Benedict gasps, looking down to see the hand wrapped around him and Silver’s hips meeting his own.
He drops his head back against the pillow, gripping Silver’s shoulder as hard as he can. The discomfort starts to ebb away as the stimulation builds, and soon Benedict’s own moans are joining Silver’s.
Silver's lost in his own haze as he's over the other, and once Benedict is more comfortable he angles himself slightly differently, pushing into the other with a little more force, moving so he's ontop of the other and propping himself up with his forearm by Benedict's head.
He grunts, lips close to Benedict's ear, and now that his hand is free he can grab at Benedict's hair, possessive, wanting. He slows his thrusts temporarily, teasing the other, intent on making him squirm only to pick back up to the hard and fast pace when the other least expects it. The bed has no headboard but is rattling nonetheless, and Silver doesn't seem to care.
He holds on to Silver, needing to feel him closer (which seems almost impossible at the moment). Benedict feels like he can’t catch his breath.
“Oh, God -“
The words are stuttered out with another gasp. Benedict presses the heel of one foot into the bed in an attempt to brace himself as he comes, body shuddering.
Benedict comes, and Silver keeps stroking him for a few moments before picking up his own speed--his hips snap with each thrust, a thin layer of sweat on his brow, and after a few more thrusts the pirate comes inside of Benedict with a shudder, barely holding himself up as he rights the waves of pleasure. He winds up lowering himself, nearly ontop of Benedict entirely, their faces inches apart as he tries to calm his beating heart.
Finally, and he's not sure why, he leans over to brush a bit of Benedict's perfectly mussed hair away from his face before sitting up with a grunt and reaching for the basin of water on the nightstand next to the rum. He grabs the cloth next to the washbasin and dips it in water, squeezing it out, handing it to Benedict wordlessly, grabbing the bottle of rum for himself. It's only after a swig that he decides to talk, voice hoarse.
"You'll want to avoid horseback riding for a day or two."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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He takes his time, beard scraping against the other's cheek as he shifts his weight to position himself a little better, moving so he's closer to facing the other. his hand slides down the other's jaw as he bites the other's lip a second time, thumb grazing over jawline, guiding Benedict to lay his torso down. His other hand props himself up for balance.
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Though not much sense, as Benedict has no desire to leave, even if there's no telling when the bedding was last cleaned or the way the mattress lumps uncomfortably under the press of his back.
"I've not done this before," he admits, a bit breathlessly between kisses. "With another man, I mean." Lest Silver think he's entirely new at sexual encounters all together, which is wholly incorrect. "But I've been wanting to."
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"You were thinking it when I was talking with the woman we arrived with," he murmurs, breath hot against the other's ear as he begins trying to undo the godforsaken fashion that is London's tops. He's glad the other took his fucking jacket off.
"You're not very sly when it comes to staring."
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"I'm not certain I wanted to be sly."
Benedict can't resist the mass of curls falling around him. He reaches up to push his fingers into them, then turns his head to try and catch Silver in another kiss.
"No one ever pays me enough mind to notice who I might be looking at."
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He silences the rest of Benedict's words with kisses, each more hungry than the last, allowing the friction of his clothes work against Benedict's needs.
"If I hadn't noticed you, I would be telling you to take your pants off," he murmurs, and after a bit of trouble shifting himself into a sitting position he begins taking off his own shirt. He's covered in scars--not as many as some of the others, not nearly as many as someone like Flint had been, but the battle of Nassau has done damage: a sword cut here, a bullet graze there. He's looking at Benedict expectantly as he loosens his own belt, keeping firm eye contact with the other.
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For his trousers, he has to sit up on his knees to manage the buttons that hold them in place, though he’s admittedly distracted by looking at Silver while he undresses. Beautifully golden tan with his defined muscles, and even something about the way his body is marred is endlessly attractive. Benedict suddenly feels almost embarrassed, glad that his own pale and soft body is mostly covered still by his shirt and his flannels.
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He's beautiful, pale and untouched, unspoiled by the horrors of the world and Silver fights the urge to even think he's something to be protected. This is a one night stand, most likely, which means Silver has one small window to absolutely wreck any chance of Benedict being able to think of anyone else in bed for a while.
He likes a challenge.
Silver doesn't bother to hide his grin, his look predatory as he begins trying to undress the other properly, letting his hand run down the other's bare skinn when he gets a glimpse.
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Soon enough they’re equally undressed and Benedict feels emboldened enough to lean in and press their bodies together, fingers surging back into Silver’s hair.
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The warm, rough hands against him make his breath catch and he moans, allowing himself to move against the strokes of Silver’s hand.
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His head moves up sharply to kiss the other hungrily, still jerking him off at a steady pace, twisting his wrist as he gets to the other's head and making sure the other slowly unwinds, finding pleasure in watching it unfold--though his needs are needing to be met, and it's a matter of time before he needs to fuck him. He needs to fuck him, some primal part of him dying to claim the other as his own.
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There’s a moment somewhere in the hard kiss that Benedict’s heady gaze meets Silver’s, and it’s undeniable what they both really want. Any reservations he may have had seem so far from his mind as he swallows, trying to catch back some of his breath.
“Please,” is really all that he manages to get out, because any other words he thinks of seem too demure for the situation. He supposes that Silver will understand just what he’s asking.
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"Say that again," He states roughly, eyes alight as he's already positioning himself over the other as best as he can.
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"Please."
He's always enjoyed it when women have said it to him, but he's never realized the thrill there is in being the one to ask it. It's enough to make the corner of his mouth quirk up in a sort of smirk as he starts to feel more comfortable and certain of himself.
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Benedict is light despite his frame, easy to maneuver, much to Silver's delight--he looks down at him, pleased with how pale and untouched the other is. It's rare he sees a man without scars.
He licks his lips, spitting quickly onto his fingers, his dry hand gripping Benedict's shoulder to steady himself.
"Legs up," he orders. And it is an order.
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The initial movement is awkward. Benedict isn’t sure how, exactly, to move his legs, and he has to think about what the ladies he’s been with have done. With a bit of help he figures it out, Silver adjusting him to his liking, and then a sudden feeling of trepidation settles in.
It can’t be that bad, he tells himself, not when other men clearly enjoy it.
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The hand he'd spit on is as wet as it can be, and Silver slides his hand down the other's thigh and to his ass, circling his hold before gently pressing in, swallowing the other's noises with his mouth on his.
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He gives Silver’s shoulder a squeeze, letting him know that it’s all right.
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"Relax," it's murmured, surprised at just how much he enjoys the other, but once he's fully inside Benedict he waits for the other to let him know he's okay to continue, brow furrowed with pleasure.
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And, surely, it must feel pleasant eventually.
So Benedict nods, too hesitant to shift his body in case of causing unwanted discomfort. Perhaps the most surprising part of it all is how badly Benedict finds he still wants it. He swallows and nods again, with more conviction.
“A bit easier said than done,” he says once he remembers how to speak.
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He drops his head back against the pillow, gripping Silver’s shoulder as hard as he can. The discomfort starts to ebb away as the stimulation builds, and soon Benedict’s own moans are joining Silver’s.
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He grunts, lips close to Benedict's ear, and now that his hand is free he can grab at Benedict's hair, possessive, wanting. He slows his thrusts temporarily, teasing the other, intent on making him squirm only to pick back up to the hard and fast pace when the other least expects it. The bed has no headboard but is rattling nonetheless, and Silver doesn't seem to care.
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“Oh, God -“
The words are stuttered out with another gasp. Benedict presses the heel of one foot into the bed in an attempt to brace himself as he comes, body shuddering.
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Finally, and he's not sure why, he leans over to brush a bit of Benedict's perfectly mussed hair away from his face before sitting up with a grunt and reaching for the basin of water on the nightstand next to the rum. He grabs the cloth next to the washbasin and dips it in water, squeezing it out, handing it to Benedict wordlessly, grabbing the bottle of rum for himself. It's only after a swig that he decides to talk, voice hoarse.
"You'll want to avoid horseback riding for a day or two."
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