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."
The last few strokes and thrusts keep Benedict in a state of blissful release. It's not until Silver moves away and Benedict's skin suddenly feels the slight chill of air that he comes back to his senses. He takes the cloth wordlessly but puffs out a laugh when Silver finally breaks the silence.
"Yes," he says, still a bit breathless, "I think I shall."
He shifts himself a bit so he's propped up a bit against the wall behind him before wiping himself clean.
Benedict looks breathless, and wide-eyed, and maybe Silver is reading far too into things but he seems, just for a moment, that he's truly alive. Silver takes pleasure in that, cleaning himself next.
Perhaps the other is nervous about what comes next. Perhaps he isn't--Silver doesn't quite care after the mind-blowing orgasm he's just had. What he does care about is offering the rum to Benedict and taking careful note of the bruises and marks on his neck.
Admittedly he's a bit uncertain as to what happens now. Should he take his leave? The thought of getting dressed in all those layers in a hurried manner seems daunting, and usually the women desire to languish a bit. He's uncertain of the protocol when with another man, and how it differs, or why it should differ at all.
Either way, Benedict gladly accepts the rum and takes a much heartier drink than before, needing something to help himself regain composure.
"Well - This has been a very ... Enlightening evening, Mr. Silver." Benedict decides maybe he ought to go. Silver doesn't strike him as the cuddling sort, so he pushes himself up a bit more properly as he moves to stand.
Silver's carefully moved himself so his bare back is against the wall, both of his legs on the mattress, languid, still breathing somewhat heavily, taking the bottle from the other as he rises.
The flustered sort. Of course. Silver's lips curl into a half-smile, watching the other and tilting his head to the side. He knows it's enlightening--he knows that even if Benedict is for some reason only curious about other men, that he'll remember it for a while.
That's all Silver really needs. As much as he'd love for the other to stay. "There's a girl next door," he says after a moment. "Knock on her door. She'll escort you out."
"Will she, or is it some sort of entrapment you've had planned for me all along?"
Benedict looks amused as he gathers up his clothes. He's joking, of course, though now he's said it out loud he wonders if maybe that's true. It seems like an awfully long game to play when Benedict could have easily been overthrown, but also, really, if Silver can get more than just money out of it then why not? But something about Silver strikes Benedict as too upfront for something like that. Maybe not entirely honest - one can't likely survive the pirate life for too long with honesty - but if it was money they were after, then there were women (and men) decorated with far more expensive things than Benedict himself.
Silver glances down at his leg--he's naked, and if Benedict wants to go, he's not going to spend 20 minutes trying to get dressed in front of him.
"Anne Bonny will be the only one saving you from entrapment," he says simply, and chuckles to himself. It's not an entire lie--she heard her bounding up the stairs while they had been fucking, a distant yell at some crew member in the distance.
"Unless you'd prefer to take your chances with Rackham's crew below on your own?" He's teasing. Mostly.
He wonders if Silver would mind if he dropped his clothes and crawled back on to the bed. Would they go a second round or just drink and talk until falling asleep? Regardless, Benedict’s cheeks flush a bit at the thought so he continues to dress, layering each article of clothing.
“No, I suppose I’d rather not.”
Would they threaten him, knowing he’s just been with Silver? Not a risk worth taking. Benedict pauses once his hand is at the door handle, wondering if he should offer some opportunity to see one another again.
“I do hope you enjoy the rest of your time in London.”
"A bit too cold for my liking," Silver answers honestly, "but I assure you I will try my best." He hopes to see the other again, though he doubts it. He's not sure the other would be prepared to, and he's not sure how long this fucking trip will take, anyway. What he wants is to be back in Nassau.
A shame Benedict is done.
Benedict, following Silver's advice, gets a door yanked open and an incredibly annoyed woman--the same one that was glowering at them earlier in the bar--opens it, clearly unimpressed.
"Fuck you want?" She says plainly, and then glances at the room Silver's in, sneer widening the moment it's explained that Silver told her to. "Lazy piece of shit," she mutters, and without waiting does what she's told, walking him downstairs and not saying an entire word.
To her credit, she waits until the other's safely aboard a carriage.
Benedict is taken aback, out of his depth and worried she's going to run him through. But she (begrudgingly) escorts him out, and while some of the men in the tavern jeer at him, the woman seems to keep them at bay. Benedict thinks that Eloise would love her.
The next couple of days pass. There are other parties, and Benedict makes it a point to attend them, only to be disappointed to not see Silver there. He sees his female friend - not the one who'd shown him out of the tavern, but the other, and he thinks he sees her speaking to his mother on one occasion. He thinks, too, about going back to the tavern. Were Benedict bolder, he'd do it.
But he's not. So he resigns himself to the reality that he will never cross paths with Silver again, and maybe that's for the best.
Tonight there's no party. Instead, there's to be something of a dinner party, his mother positively excited over their guests. (She mentions, too, that it's glad that Benedict's apparent reaction to something has cleared up - though he wasn't about to tell her it was his face being rubbed by stubble and whiskers.) The marks still mottle his neck, though, and he can't help but feel some pride over them as he hides them away. It's not until he hears the arrival of their guests that he makes his way down the stairs, only to stop at the top of them and stare in disbelief.
Of all the people for his mother to invite for dinner, she has to invite Max and Silver.
He composes himself quickly and introduces himself properly to Max before offering a quick, "A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Silver." At his mother's behest, Benedict shows them into the parlor as supper isn't quite ready yet and to keep Gregory and Hyacinth from overwhelming their guests before they've even had a chance to relax.
Rackham and Anne are doing something Silver has purposely chosen not to acknowledge--mostly because it sounds an awful lot like they're dealing with something on their own. A blowout, perhaps? A crewmeber falling out of line? Silver's quite content to not get involved with any of those things, not when it involves Anne in the inn with a knife coming close to stabbing someone else if Rackham hadn't spotted it first.
It's why Max asks him to go, hovering in the doorway where he's been perfectly content to drink and read one of the books Flint had left behind. Perhaps he's reminiscing, too.
"Come," she says, and Silver looks over.
"To further my detest off the aristocracy?" he asks, and his laugh is musical. "There far better entertainment in this work of fiction than there is in a stodgy place where they will do nothing but look at me in disgust."
"Then let them look, and prove them wrong."
He's still not sure how she did it, convincing him to be her date, though as they drive up to a house he can only describe as insufferable, he realizes it's because it's unbecoming of Max to not have a male companion, like Benedict had stated those few nights ago. The wealth, it drips down like the lilacs and the flowered vines, and he's acutely aware of the beggar boy he's seen just down the alley.
The servants give him looks as he limps in, and he purposely ignores them--he notices one of the children eyeing his missing leg with wild curiousity and a touch of fear, and Silver finds he minds that the least.
What he's not expecting is Benedict.
Those Bridgertons, it seems. He nods at the other's short, curt words. "I should hope so," He says simply, keeping eyecontact with the other. "How's your neck?"
"What's wrong with your neck, Benedict?" asks his youngest sister while she follows him. "Is it to do with your allergies?"
"Yes," Benedict replies, "and it's quite better, thank you." He says it to both, but rather pointedly to Silver.
There are plenty of places to sit in the parlor, mostly because the home is massive and there are really endless places to put furniture, but Benedict likes to think that the Bridgerton house is rather tasteful. He makes sure Max is comfortable before taking a seat beside Silver. With Colin still on his European tour, and Anthony running late as usual, it's up to Benedict to keep an eye on things while his mother likely fusses with the maids over the lay of the table.
Luckily, Eloise and Francesca immediately gravitate to Max, both entranced by the idea of a self made woman. But before Benedict can say anything to Silver, his youngest brother has to ask, "How did you lose your leg? Was it in a fantastic fight, via canon ball?"
"Gregory," Benedict admonishes (though quite fondly), "we musn't be rude."
The place is huge, far bigger than the Guthrie estate-turned-opium-den-turned-Rackham's salon, and what's more is that everything's clean. That's the true cultural difference, as it were--that there's no sand, no heat, but everything is actually in a place annd undamaged.
Max seems to be living it up, in her own calm and restrained way, although Silver swears he sees just the tiniest bit of resentment. It's gone the moment the crowd around her, and she answers their questions calmly and honestly, not holding back. Silver isn't one for kids but he knows what he was like at that age, much-preferring honesty. Not that he's had that luxury.
Ah. That's what it is. Silver resents luxury, even if he doesn't resent Benedict. Currently, the other is a sight for sore eyes, despite the teasing--and mostly that had been to get a rise out of conservative Benedict without the others knowing.
He's pleased when the other sits next to him, even moreso when someone hands him tea, though what he really wants is rum. He feels awkward even holding a small cup like this, something that would have been traded for a song back in Nassau.
It's the small child that peers up at him, curious, that gets Silver's attention. The pirate king looks at the child--Gregory, it seems--and leans down so he's as eye level as he can be, looking the other dead in the eye.
"Are you quite sure you're prepared to hear tale?" He asks, and while he seems deathly serious, there's a glimmer of playfulness in the corner of his eyes, the way he seems to barely hiding a smile.
He does love to tell a good story, and what better audience then children?
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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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"Yes," he says, still a bit breathless, "I think I shall."
He shifts himself a bit so he's propped up a bit against the wall behind him before wiping himself clean.
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Perhaps the other is nervous about what comes next. Perhaps he isn't--Silver doesn't quite care after the mind-blowing orgasm he's just had. What he does care about is offering the rum to Benedict and taking careful note of the bruises and marks on his neck.
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Either way, Benedict gladly accepts the rum and takes a much heartier drink than before, needing something to help himself regain composure.
"Well - This has been a very ... Enlightening evening, Mr. Silver." Benedict decides maybe he ought to go. Silver doesn't strike him as the cuddling sort, so he pushes himself up a bit more properly as he moves to stand.
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The flustered sort. Of course. Silver's lips curl into a half-smile, watching the other and tilting his head to the side. He knows it's enlightening--he knows that even if Benedict is for some reason only curious about other men, that he'll remember it for a while.
That's all Silver really needs. As much as he'd love for the other to stay. "There's a girl next door," he says after a moment. "Knock on her door. She'll escort you out."
...But also, he could be a bit of a prat, first.
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Benedict looks amused as he gathers up his clothes. He's joking, of course, though now he's said it out loud he wonders if maybe that's true. It seems like an awfully long game to play when Benedict could have easily been overthrown, but also, really, if Silver can get more than just money out of it then why not? But something about Silver strikes Benedict as too upfront for something like that. Maybe not entirely honest - one can't likely survive the pirate life for too long with honesty - but if it was money they were after, then there were women (and men) decorated with far more expensive things than Benedict himself.
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"Anne Bonny will be the only one saving you from entrapment," he says simply, and chuckles to himself. It's not an entire lie--she heard her bounding up the stairs while they had been fucking, a distant yell at some crew member in the distance.
"Unless you'd prefer to take your chances with Rackham's crew below on your own?" He's teasing. Mostly.
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“No, I suppose I’d rather not.”
Would they threaten him, knowing he’s just been with Silver? Not a risk worth taking. Benedict pauses once his hand is at the door handle, wondering if he should offer some opportunity to see one another again.
“I do hope you enjoy the rest of your time in London.”
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A shame Benedict is done.
Benedict, following Silver's advice, gets a door yanked open and an incredibly annoyed woman--the same one that was glowering at them earlier in the bar--opens it, clearly unimpressed.
"Fuck you want?" She says plainly, and then glances at the room Silver's in, sneer widening the moment it's explained that Silver told her to. "Lazy piece of shit," she mutters, and without waiting does what she's told, walking him downstairs and not saying an entire word.
To her credit, she waits until the other's safely aboard a carriage.
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The next couple of days pass. There are other parties, and Benedict makes it a point to attend them, only to be disappointed to not see Silver there. He sees his female friend - not the one who'd shown him out of the tavern, but the other, and he thinks he sees her speaking to his mother on one occasion. He thinks, too, about going back to the tavern. Were Benedict bolder, he'd do it.
But he's not. So he resigns himself to the reality that he will never cross paths with Silver again, and maybe that's for the best.
Tonight there's no party. Instead, there's to be something of a dinner party, his mother positively excited over their guests. (She mentions, too, that it's glad that Benedict's apparent reaction to something has cleared up - though he wasn't about to tell her it was his face being rubbed by stubble and whiskers.) The marks still mottle his neck, though, and he can't help but feel some pride over them as he hides them away. It's not until he hears the arrival of their guests that he makes his way down the stairs, only to stop at the top of them and stare in disbelief.
Of all the people for his mother to invite for dinner, she has to invite Max and Silver.
He composes himself quickly and introduces himself properly to Max before offering a quick, "A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Silver." At his mother's behest, Benedict shows them into the parlor as supper isn't quite ready yet and to keep Gregory and Hyacinth from overwhelming their guests before they've even had a chance to relax.
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It's why Max asks him to go, hovering in the doorway where he's been perfectly content to drink and read one of the books Flint had left behind. Perhaps he's reminiscing, too.
"Come," she says, and Silver looks over.
"To further my detest off the aristocracy?" he asks, and his laugh is musical. "There far better entertainment in this work of fiction than there is in a stodgy place where they will do nothing but look at me in disgust."
"Then let them look, and prove them wrong."
He's still not sure how she did it, convincing him to be her date, though as they drive up to a house he can only describe as insufferable, he realizes it's because it's unbecoming of Max to not have a male companion, like Benedict had stated those few nights ago. The wealth, it drips down like the lilacs and the flowered vines, and he's acutely aware of the beggar boy he's seen just down the alley.
The servants give him looks as he limps in, and he purposely ignores them--he notices one of the children eyeing his missing leg with wild curiousity and a touch of fear, and Silver finds he minds that the least.
What he's not expecting is Benedict.
Those Bridgertons, it seems. He nods at the other's short, curt words. "I should hope so," He says simply, keeping eyecontact with the other. "How's your neck?"
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"Yes," Benedict replies, "and it's quite better, thank you." He says it to both, but rather pointedly to Silver.
There are plenty of places to sit in the parlor, mostly because the home is massive and there are really endless places to put furniture, but Benedict likes to think that the Bridgerton house is rather tasteful. He makes sure Max is comfortable before taking a seat beside Silver. With Colin still on his European tour, and Anthony running late as usual, it's up to Benedict to keep an eye on things while his mother likely fusses with the maids over the lay of the table.
Luckily, Eloise and Francesca immediately gravitate to Max, both entranced by the idea of a self made woman. But before Benedict can say anything to Silver, his youngest brother has to ask, "How did you lose your leg? Was it in a fantastic fight, via canon ball?"
"Gregory," Benedict admonishes (though quite fondly), "we musn't be rude."
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Max seems to be living it up, in her own calm and restrained way, although Silver swears he sees just the tiniest bit of resentment. It's gone the moment the crowd around her, and she answers their questions calmly and honestly, not holding back. Silver isn't one for kids but he knows what he was like at that age, much-preferring honesty. Not that he's had that luxury.
Ah. That's what it is. Silver resents luxury, even if he doesn't resent Benedict. Currently, the other is a sight for sore eyes, despite the teasing--and mostly that had been to get a rise out of conservative Benedict without the others knowing.
He's pleased when the other sits next to him, even moreso when someone hands him tea, though what he really wants is rum. He feels awkward even holding a small cup like this, something that would have been traded for a song back in Nassau.
It's the small child that peers up at him, curious, that gets Silver's attention. The pirate king looks at the child--Gregory, it seems--and leans down so he's as eye level as he can be, looking the other dead in the eye.
"Are you quite sure you're prepared to hear tale?" He asks, and while he seems deathly serious, there's a glimmer of playfulness in the corner of his eyes, the way he seems to barely hiding a smile.
He does love to tell a good story, and what better audience then children?
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