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Izzy is not privy to it, but the conversation goes something like this:
“He’s an angry little guy, isn’t he?” Stede says, rubbing a hand against his rear. Izzy had smacked him quite hard with the flat of his sword. “Really stings, that does.”
Ed smiles lasciviously from the bed. “You want me to rub it for you?”
“No,” Stede pouts. “Well, maybe.”
Ed rises from the bed with a slow groan and a wince. He gets halfway up when Stede crosses the room and pushes him with a gentle, firm hand back down. “Sorry,” says Ed.
“Oh, hush, you,” Stede says. He sits on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on the curve of Ed’s cheek. “You should be resting. How’s your knee?”
“Better,” Ed sighs. He leans into Stede’s hand, the warmth and familiarity of it. Stede’s been developing calluses lately, determined to learn the ropes (literally). “Just need to… Need to take a moment.”
Stede tuts. “Take all the moments you need, darling.” His thumb runs along Ed’s cheek absentmindedly, as Stede frowns to himself, deep in thought.
“Are you really that upset about Izzy?” Ed asks. “Y’gotta stop accepting his duels, mate.”
“A gentleman cannot besmirch his honor by leaving a challenge untended to,” Stede says, although it’s a tempting thought.
Ever since his return to the Revenge, along with the rest of the crew, Izzy had been acting out, for lack of a better term. He challenged Stede to a duel nearly weekly, usually by tossing a blade at Stede’s feet without comment, and they were beginning to get tiresome.
Ed hums a questioning note, and Stede realizes that he’s pulled his hand away from his lover in thought. He rests it back in Ed’s hair, stroking softly.
“The thing is,” Stede says, “he hasn’t actually tried to kill me since our very first duel.”
Since Stede had taken Izzy’s cutlass through the left side. In their many, many duels since, they usually stopped at first blood. It made the results unpredictable as well, each of them as likely to hit the other. Stede thinks he’s rather gotten good at the art of sword-fighting, in between Ed’s private lessons and Izzy’s numerous gauntlet-throws.
“And that time with the English,” Ed says.
“Are you still upset about that?” Stede asks, mirroring Ed’s own words back to him.
Ed grumbles something unpleasant, and at Stede’s quirked eyebrow, repeats himself more clearly. “I said, the fucker still hasn’t properly apologized.”
“You did make him eat his own toe, love,” Stede says, scrunching up his nose at the thought. Ed had told him the whole grisly story, and it was one of those things that Stede had decided he just… wasn’t going to think about. Ever. If he could help it.
“Little shit enjoyed it too much for it to be a punishment,” Ed whines. “Do you know how fucking hard it is to discpline him without him getting off on it?”
“Mm.” And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Izzy was a glutton for punishment, in seemingly any manner that it came. Stede had caught the man burning his own hand on a candle flame the other night. When Stede had politely questioned what the hell he was doing, Izzy had thrown the candle at him.
“He gets this way sometimes,” Ed says. “All pent up and shit. Just watch — it’ll get worse.”
“I don’t want it to get worse! Last week, the man was throwing our marmalade out!”
"You did call him an irritating wasp with daddy issues."
"Still! Our marmalade, that's just cruel."
Stede and Ed look at each other, and a gleam comes to Ed’s eye that Stede has since meant that Blackbeard is lurking somewhere beneath the surface. It sends a pulse of desire shivering down Stede's spine. "Well,” he says, scratching at his still-growing beard. “You know what you gotta do, then, right?”
“No,” says Stede. “What?”
Ed shifts, leaning up on his elbows. “You gotta give him what he wants. A little beating, spit on him, whatever, and he’ll go right back to simpering up to you.”
“Up to you, maybe,” Stede says. “He’d never do it for me.”
Ed’s grin is toothy. “What a sight that would be, huh? The high and mighty Izzy Hands, first mate to Captain Blackbeard, on his knees for the Gentleman Pirate?”
A hot flash of arousal curls in Stede’s gut. He tries hard to squash it down, but it lingers. “Ed… You know you’re the only one for me.”
“I know that,” Ed says. “But it would be something, wouldn’t it?”
“It would,” Stede says, groaning. Izzy is a proud man, only ever willingly conceding to Blackbeard, and the image of him coerced into giving Stede the same devotion is undeniably erotic. “Oh, God, it really would be. Bugger all, Ed. But—”
“But?” Ed’s hand moves over Stede’s trousers. Stede hisses as he makes contact with his cock through his clothes, now hard as he’s ever been in his life. That was something about Ed — he could get Stede ready to go with merely a look if he so desired. Zero to a hundred in no time flat.
“But,” Stede says, trying to focus, “if I tried to… tried to beat him, Ed—he’d never let me!”
“Worth a try, innit? Think he'd beg as pretty for you as he does for me?” Ed asks, pressing a kiss into Stede’s neck.
"Let me," Stede gasps, leaning into Ed. “Let me try it my way first.”
"Killing him with kindness, my Gentleman Pirate?"
"Yes," Stede breathes. He scratches his nails down Ed's exposed chest and moves one of his own hands under Ed's trousers, making a soft moan fall out of him. "Yes, you think that would work?"
"I'd like to see it," Ed says shakily. He tosses his head back, hair fanning out. "Your version of kindness in bed is certainly—certainly something else— yes, Stede—"
"Very well," Stede says. "I shall endeavor to seduce the man."
Ed laughs, delighted, which is quickly followed by a long, drawn-out moan. "Stede, please!"
Stede kisses him hard as Ed falls apart in his arms. Stede's own arousal feels secondary to this: Ed so beautifully laid out, pliant and willing.
Ed sighs into his hair. "Tell you what," he says, "I'll tell you what Izzy likes as you fuck the shit out of me."
And, yes , Stede is quite amenable to that plan.
*
Izzy does not know any of this, naturally. What he does know is the following:
First, Stede Bonnet is alive and back to taming Blackbeard like a fucking housecat. It leaves Izzy spitting mad, the way he'd nearly had his Captain back, and then comes along Stede fucking Bonnet once more, braiding flowers into everyone's hair and reading bedtime stories. God damn it.
Second, Blackbeard is happy. Like deliriously happy, singing fucking songs while he raids merchant ships. It's disconcerting. Back in the day, when it was Blackbeard and Izzy versus the world, they had been happy, right? Sure, not singing-happy, but they had had something good, something real. Maybe… Maybe Edward had been getting bored — and that was Izzy's fault, for not being entertaining enough — but it wasn't like they were unhappy.
Right?
Third, It's his job to make sure Blackbeard stays happy. Or at least not bored.
Which is harder than it looks. It used to be easy, set some ship on fire or torture some sadsack, but these days, it's as if everything Izzy does is wrong. He doesn't get the proud half-smiles Blackbeard used to send his way anymore. Now it's all frowns and Really, Izzy? The Marmalade?
And well, fuck it, you know? If the only thing Izzy can do to keep Blackbeard from getting bored is to make him angry , then fine. Izzy will keep doing that. Better something than nothing, he thinks. He can't afford not getting a reaction, even if it's negative. At least Blackbeard pays attention to him this way.
Plus, there's the added benefit of annoying the ever loving shit out of Bonnet. If he can't get rid of the twat, he can at least make his life miserable.
The fourth and final thing Izzy knows is this: For some unfathomable reason, Stede fucking Bonnet is being nice to him.
What the fuck.
"What the fuck," Izzy says. He shouldn’t have answered the knock at his door. Edward wouldn’t have knocked.
Stede smiles at him, holding out the tiny cup and saucer. "It's tea! I wasn't sure how you took it, but I can add sugar and milk, if you like."
Izzy looks at the tea. It's a light brown, not overly steeped, and the china looks antique. Easily breakable. "Did you poison it?"
"Did I—no!" Stede has the gall to look offended. It's not an unreasonable question. Izzy would poison it. A little. Not enough to kill him, just make his day a little worse. "It's just tea, Izzy. I thought you could use some. You seem awfully tense."
Izzy bristles. "Do I?" And whose fault would that be, Stede Bonnet?
"Yes," Stede says, exasperated. "Look, just take it." He shoves the cup into Izzy's hand, and Izzy takes it out reflex, china rattling.
"I don't want your tea," Izzy spits.
"Too bad," Stede shrugs. He turns, his stupid robe billowing a bit, as he returns back to the room he shares with Blackbeard.
Izzy watches him, dumbstruck, hardly noticing as Lucius saunters up beside him from the other direction.
"Interesting," Lucius says, tilting his head.
Izzy starts slightly at Lucius's proximity. The boy is almost yelling into his fucking ear. He shoves the tea at Lucius, not caring that it spills a little on his hand. “Rude,” Lucius mutters, but takes the tea anyway.
Slamming the door, Izzy grinds his teeth and prays that his ever-growing headache will be gone by the morning. He can hear laughter above him, Stede’s overly cheerful voice as he calls the crew in for their bedtime story. Even Fang and Ivan have taken to joining them these days.
Fuck everyone on this God forsaken ship. Izzy Hands doesn't need tea or bedtime stories or niceness. He needs rapture. Divine goddamn providence, maybe a little damnation, from the hands of his Captain. Not Stede Bonnet.
*
And then it happens again, on the deck.
"No," Izzy says.
Stede pouts. He pouts. A goddamn pirate captain. He's still holding the robe up, dark blue silk with hyacinths crawling up the back. It came off the last ship they raided, which apparently happened to be a trader of fine fabrics much to Stede's delight and Izzy's ire.
"It's in your size!" Stede says. "And this shade of blue would look lovely on you."
Izzy flushes, indignant, and snarls like a feral dog. He's sure he heard Fang laughing. "Unlike you," he says, "I don't need a dress to go frolic about like the prettiest girl at the party. I'm a goddamn pirate."
"Aw, c'mon, Iz," Blackbeard says.
Izzy jerks to attention — fuck. He gets so fixated on Stede's stupidity that everything else goes hazy. He hadn't even realized Edward was out, but there he is, standing outside the captain's quarters in that goddamn red robe.
Edward gestures at the silk robe, and Stede's blinding smile, radiating sunshine and flowers and shit. "He's right. Blue suits you."
Izzy squirms, red for an entirely different reason now. He throws a hand up at the robe. “It’s fucking ridiculous, Edward.”
Edward shrugs, that smug smile still fixed on his lips.
"Nonsense!" Stede says. He throws the robe around Izzy, fixing it around his shoulders. Izzy freezes, and Stede takes the opportunity to fix it slightly, pulling out the wrinkles, and giving Izzy a pat right above his chest, where a purple hyacinth is sprouting. "How's that?"
He wants to throw the thing to the ground and stomp on it, set it on fire maybe, but Edward is watching him in a way that Izzy hasn’t seen since before Stede came along. There’s a twitch to his lips, that smile that Izzy has tried so hard to find, that apparently only Stede could manage to coax out of him these days.
"You look very nice, Mr. Hands," Stede says. "Right, Ed?"
“Indeed,” Blackbeard says. “Crew! Tell Izzy he looks nice!”
The crew, which had been watching with an unhinged sort of glee, suddenly seemed very serious. A half-hearted chorus of compliments comes to Izzy, and Frenchie gives him two thumbs up.
Izzy can feel himself shaking with the humiliation of it all. If it weren’t for Stede’s earnest face, Izzy would think the whole thing was a planned embarrassment.
Stede walks away, satisfied, and begins to dish out the rest of his spoils to the crew, who seem just as eager to get their hands on their own set of fancy robes and shit. Izzy closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in, counts to four, and exhales.
Blackbeard’s hand comes down his shoulder, digging in just a little too tight. “Prettiest girl at the party, eh?” he whispers into Izzy’s ear. His beard scruffs across the side of Izzy’s face. “Say, Iz, you gonna save me a dance?”
“Fuck off,” Izzy mutters. He doesn’t pull away, though.
Blackbeard chuckles, and it sends a thrill straight to Izzy's gut. “Oh, c’mon, Izzy. You know you like it. Maybe you should tell Stede thank you, hm?"
"I'd rather eat my own feces."
Blackbeard gives him a look. Right. It's not a suggestion, his Captain is actually ordering him to thank Bonnet. And Izzy will do a lot of things, but ignoring a direct order isn't one of them. "Fine," he says with a sneer.
"There's a good girl.” He claps Izzy on the back and walks away, leaving Izzy rooted to the spot.
It’s obvious then: Stede might not mean to embarrass him, he isn’t cunning enough, but Edward knows exactly what he’s doing.
Izzy growls as he stalks back to the relative privacy of his own cabin.
He takes the robe with him.
(He does thank Stede, later at dinner. It comes out of him like an angry hiss, dripping with sarcasm, but Stede doesn't seem to care, brightening instantly as he takes the opportunity to tell Izzy about color palettes. Izzy listens, but only because Blackbeard is watching him with that shit-eating grin again, and the dark gleam to his eyes is the same as when he called Izzy a good girl. Fuck.)
*
The third time it happens, Izzy is on deck, yelling himself hoarse at the Swede.
The thing is—Bonnet's merry band of idiots have actually been getting better, largely because Izzy won't accept anything other than perfection. Anything less will end up with the crew dead in the water.
A lifetime ago, Blackbeard would have been riding the crew's collective ass just as hard, but Bonnet's madness must be catching, because Edward seems to be content just to ignore the mistakes that would easily get them killed. So it's up to Izzy, alone, to ensure that the ship still runs.
Even the most patient of men would have broken a long time ago.
"How many times have I fucking showed you this?" Izzy hisses, grabbing the rope of the topsail, which has somehow, I've no idea how, become untied for the fifth time in as many days, leaving the Revenge dead in the water.
The Swede kicks his foot against the ground. "Sorry, Iggy."
" Izzy," he spits, face going red as he tries to keep a hold of the ropes. The Swede keeps his eyes on the un-swabbed deck, which should have been cleaned this morning. "FUCKING HELP ME WITH HIS, YOU FUCKING MORON!"
This— this —is why he had convinced Edward to dump the Bonnet's crew and hire on more experienced sailors. Unfortunately, those sailors had made their departure shortly after Bonnet's return, leaving Izzy to babysit a crew of absolute twats.
Wee John presses up behind the two of them and grabs the rope, and the three of them secure it. Izzy can already feel the blisters forming on his hands, and from the tortured, wet eyes of the Swede, he isn't the only one.
Izzy jabs a finger at the topsail, rage blooming in his chest. "HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO MAKE SURE IT'S FUCKING SECURED?"
The Swede blubbers something Izzy can't make out, and Wee John pats his back. "Ah, come on, Izzy," John says. "I'm sure he'll get it next time."
"Next time? THERE WON'T BE A NEXT TIME!" Izzy is this close to tearing out his own hair, but he settles for grabbing the Swede's, forcing the now sobbing man to look up at him. "If that happens during a raid, or if a fucking privateer is chasing us, we'll all be fucking DEAD! And it will be your fucking fault, you—"
"ISRAEL HANDS!"
Izzy jumps, hand reflexively cinching tighter in the Swede's hair.
Stede Bonnet appears in sight, his mouth set in a firm line. He looks a little like a puffed up kitten, Izzy thinks, trying desperately to be perceived as a threat and mostly looking pitiful.
"Unhand the Swede at once!" Bonnet says, his hand at the sword on his hip.
Make me, Izzy thinks, but he also knows better than to test his luck, because where Bonnet is, Blackbeard isn't far behind. He uncurls his fingers slowly, and the Swede runs away to hide behind Wee John, who is unabashedly watching the shitstorm brewing between Izzy and Stede with small, stifled giggles.
"What in the hell are you thinking?" Bonnet asks, putting his hands on his hips like an angry mother.
"I'm thinking that your stupid fucking crew is incompetent and going to get us all fucking killed!"
Stede doesn't look any less indignant, face puckered up like he's been sucking on lemons. Izzy bristles, ready to attack, because it's the fucking truth, even if Bonnet doesn't want to hear it, and Izzy is not about to let himself be reprimended by a ponce who doesn't get that.
But Bonnet doesn't respond at first, merely flattens out the lapels of his coat and takes a deep breath. "Mr. Hands, my cabin. Now."
He turns and struts off without bothering to see if Izzy is following him.
"Oooh, you're in trouble," Wee John snickers.
Izzy gives him his best Shut Up Now Or I'll Gut You glare, which does as it's intended, and Wee John pretends to play with a scrap of fabric in his hands as if that's been his job all along.
He thinks about ignoring Stede's command, but the threat of Blackbeard looms behind him. Fucking git would run off crying to his precious Ed about Izzy, and then Izzy would end up getting another midnight snack.
Plus, there's the thought that Bonnet seemed properly upset this time, and that he might actually do something befitting of a pirate captain. Which is just interesting enough that Izzy follows after him.
He arrives at Bonnet's cabin about a minute after the man himself and raps on the door.
"Enter," Bonnet says, and Izzy does as he's told.
"The tie for the fucking topsail was undone," Izzy's already saying, when his mouth catches up with his eyes, and he goes quiet.
It's not Blackbeard's presence that shuts him up—although the stormy expression he's wearing is not great —but it's Bonnet, who's standing by the table, piled high with desserts and sweets, with three obvious placemats sat down.
"I'd thought you might like a treat," Bonnet says with a frown. "But now I'm not sure you deserve it."
"What."
It's fucking ridiculous. But there's no mistaking it: Bonnet has sat down plates for the three of them to eat tiny fucking cakes and drink tea, like a bunch of schoolgirls.
"I was actually on my way to get you," Stede says, "when I found you accosting the Swede."
"Not cool, mate," Blackbeard chimes in.
Which—hold on, now. "You literally grabbed me by the beard last week," Izzy says, a little recklessly by the way Ed's eyes flash. "And I'm not allowed to do it to Bonnet's idiots?"
"Edward!" Bonnet says.
Edward's face goes from appropriately menacing to chastised in an instant. "Aw, Stede, he was being really annoying!"
That's fair. Izzy was being annoying. It was something he was quite good at, actually, and Edward had hardly looked at him in the week prior. Izzy didn't regret a second of it.
"I don't care if he's being annoying, Ed," Bonnet sighs. He rubs at his temple. "We can't set an example and then get upset when Izzy follows it, can we?"
Blackbeard mutters something under his breath that sounds like sure I can, but Stede chooses not to comment on it.
"Well, in the future, please do not grab your fellow crewmates by the hair, and Edward—" Stede gives him a pointed glare. " — won't grab yours. Fair?"
Izzy's traitorous heart gives a tug in his chest. Bonnet doesn't fucking get it. How is Edward supposed to put him in his place if he can't even tug him around a little? But he can't quite put that thought into words, just stares at Stede with a sneer.
Blackbeard, the absolute bastard, frowns like it's just as confusing for him when he says, "But what if he wants me to?"
Izzy chokes on air. Just because it's true, it doesn't need to be said. It's one of those things he and Edward have come to learn about each other over the years, something better left unspoken.
Bonnet goes pink, eyes darting around the room uncomfortably. That alone makes Edward's embarrassing bluntness about Izzy's desire worth it.
"Well—well, then he can ask! Politely," Stede says, nodding to himself as if he's come up with a brilliant solution.
"The fuck I will!" Izzy says, heat rising to his cheeks. It's one thing to want to be hurt, it's another to fucking ask for it like some wanton tart.
From his position laid out on the couch, Blackbeard lets out a delighted burst of laughter.
Motherfucker, Izzy thinks. Goddamn shit fuck.
Because he knows that look in Blackbeard's eyes, the one that says he's just stumbled into some great idea. He knows damn well that asking politely will put Izzy is a foul, shameful mood, all the more amusing for Blackbeard to fuck with.
"Iz, Iz," Edward says between laughs. "Ask me to pull your hair!"
"Fuck you," Izzy spits.
It's not a fucking joke for him and Bonnet to laugh about over crumpets. The truth is, Izzy has never known how to operate without someone telling him what to do. And there are times where it's like something comes untethered in him, sends him into fits of rage like no other, and the only fucking thing thay brings him back to heel is a firm hand. It's not something that Izzy is proud of, and asking politely for something that he needs—well, the word please has never been in his vocabulary.
At least Bonnet looks as uncomfortable as Izzy feels.
"Edward," Stede says, putting a hand on Blackbeard's shoulder. "I think you're upsetting him."
Blackbeard goes quiet, giving Izzy an inscrutable expression.
"I'm not some fucking girl who gets her feelings hurt," Izzy growls, even though his feelings were a little hurt. But he certainly doesn't need Bonnet sweeping in like some fairytale knight to protect him, when this is all his fault to begin with.
Blackbeard must see something in the terse line of Izzy's shoulders, or maybe his clenched fists, because he sobers up quickly. "Sorry, Izzy," he says. "You can… If you need, you can ask, though. Promise I won't tease."
Stede gives him a proud smile and claps his hands together. "Great! Now, Izzy, what do you say?"
"Suck a dick and choke on it."
"Ah," Stede winces. "Not quite what I had in mind. Nevermind that. Anyway, Izzy, would you like a cupcake?"
Izzy gives him a flat stare.
"He arranged all this for you," Blackbeard says, waving at the table. "You should sit down. He's got raspberry filled ones."
Shit. Izzy's stomach growls. Blackbeard knows those are his favorite.
"Fuck you," Izzy says again, for lack of anything better. "I've actually got work to do, you know, since your men don't know how to keep a ship from running aground."
Stede sighs but nods. "Very well, Mr. Hands. Another time."
Izzy looks at Blackbeard, who gives him a subtle nod. Dismissed, he turns, giving the table another critical glance. Quick as a thief, he snags one of the raspberry cupcakes. "I'm taking this," Izzy says, like a challenge.
But it only makes Stede brighten, a chipper, "Of course! They're for you."
Whatever. Izzy storms out of the cabin, intent to give hell to the first person he sees. Of course, it doesn't really go to plan when Black Pete tells him he's got a little something there—no, there— on his cheek.
It's a damn good cupcake.
*
It keeps happening. Stede keeps doing things, and Edward keeps being right there. He brings Izzy food, he compliments Izzy on his swordwork, he tells Izzy he’s doing a great job for the most mundane of tasks. And no matter how much Izzy goads, or the number of times he’s smacked a plate full of food onto the floor, or told Stede how terrible he is at being a captain… It doesn’t seem to matter.
And God forbid Izzy do any real damage to the man, because Blackbeard is somehow always right around the corner when this kind of thing happens. Blackbeard’s limits on how much ire Izzy can send Stede’s way are hard to distinguish. An insult is fine, apparently, but when Izzy spits at Stede’s feet, Edward is suddenly behind and squeezing the nape of his neck.
That alone makes Izzy’s knees go weak, and he seriously contemplates how he can get Edward to do it again.
The worst part is that the entire crew seems to have caught on, like some sort of hivemind. Now, Wee John has volunteered to help do Izzy’s laundry (no), Frenchie is asking him what kind of songs he’d like to listen to (none), and even Roach is asking him if he has dinner suggestions (eat shit and die). Lucius is perhaps the worst out of them all, prancing around with his sketchbook and Black Pete, as if the world being nice to Izzy is the funniest thing that’s ever fucking happened.
“It’s not fucking funny,” Izzy says, after Buttons has apparently hand-crafted him a set of sharp wooden teeth (for the munchin’ when things get dire, he said, eyeing the Swede). Izzy doesn’t need fake teeth. Izzy has teeth, thank you very much. It's something he's rather proud of.
“It’s kinda funny,” Black Pete says as Lucius crows.
Izzy clenches his fist around the teeth. “Shut up. Or I’ll tie you to the flagstaff and let the gulls eat your kidneys.”
Neither of them seem to find this appropriately threatening. “Yeahhh,” Lucius sucks through his teeth. “Good luck with that, mate.”
“Don’t test me, Spriggs. You think your pansy Captain is gonna protect you? Give me a stern talking to, maybe?”
“Pretty much,” Lucius says with a shrug. “Or at least, your Captain will. He owes me one.” He and Black Pete share a fist bump before walking away, not paying any attention to the way Izzy sputters profanities after them.
This is truly Hell, Izzy thinks.
He spends the rest of the day coming up with a plan. It’s not a good one, not even a particularly clever one, but he’s desperate and willing to do whatever it takes. The crew is unbearable, Stede Bonnet is a menace, and Blackbeard is seemingly content to sit back and watch the storm brew.
It’s been a while since their last impromptu duel, and Izzy is itching for a fight. The niceties have done nothing but rile him up, as if he were a cat someone was petting backwards, and the only way he knows how to get it to stop is to do something that will piss everyone off enough that they’ll leave him alone.
Dinner on the Revenge is a family affair, according to Stede, so it’s a requirement that everyone eats together. Izzy has made it known that this is highly inefficient, stupid, and alltogether a waste of time, but he still shows up every night. He’s hungry, all right?
He’s standing in the corner, arms crossed, as he waits for everyone else to clear out before he grabs his own plate from Roach, when Stede walks up to him. Stede’s smiling, like he does when he’s about to do something nice , and for some reason, it’s enough to make him furious.
“There you are, Izzy!” Stede says. “ I was looking for—”
Izzy throws out a fist before he thinks better about it, aiming for Stede’s nose.
It doesn’t land. In fact, it takes a moment for his mind to catch up to his body, which is now been shoved hard against the wall, the wood grinding into his cheekbone, with his fist turned up behind his back in a tight hold.
“Fuck,” Izzy says.
Stede had caught his punch and used the momentum to pin Izzy to the wall. The mess hall is silent, as the two of them breathe heavily. Izzy doesn’t move, too stunned, and Stede’s grip goes tighter around his arm, and his other arm is firm against Izzy’s neck.
“Now, Izzy,” Stede says, voice dark and raspy in a way that should not be affecting Izzy like this, “that’s no way to greet your Captain.”
Not my Captain, he wants to say, but he bites his tongue. It’s so unlike the Stede Bonnet that Izzy thought he’d sussed out that it leaves him reeling. He flexes against Stede’s grip, but it does nothing. His face is burning, and all Izzy can do is take it.
Finally, after an aching long moment, Stede’s grip finally relaxes, and he steps back. Izzy turns his neck enough to see Stede out of the corner of his eye, but keeps his body turned toward the wall. For personal reasons.
Stede brushes his hands against his jacket. “Well,” he says with a grin. “Let’s not do that again, hm?” And then he’s moving off, back towards Roach, who’s watching with his jaw slack. The rest of the crew seems similarly surprised, and Izzy is relieved to not be the only one who was taken aback by the sudden show of competence.
Lucius pushes up from the bench and meanders towards Izzy. Voice low and playful, he asks, “Is there a reason you’re still standing against the wall?”
“No,” Izzy lies.
Lucius raises an eyebrow and glances down. “Might wanna rethink all the leather, love.”
Izzy exhales through his nose slowly, and Lucius gives him a quick pat on the shoulder before sauntering off. The good news is that the wall he’s facing is the same wall that has the door, so he only has to side-step to get out of the room. No turning around necessary , even as the crew watches him curiously.
He’s got his hand on the door when it opens. Blackbeard meets his eyes, and Izzy feels the heat in his cheeks suddenly blister. “You already ate?” Blackbeard asks, taking up the whole door frame so that Izzy can’t leave.
“Not hungry,” Izzy mutters. “Excuse me, Captain.”
Blackbeard looks dubious, and then his eyes move down, and — fuck. He smiles at Izzy. “Ah,” he says. “Gotcha, mate.”
“Edward,” Izzy growls. A warning.
Blackbeard holds up his hands and scooches to the side so that Izzy can pass, but only by brushing past Edward on his way. He catches Izzy’s elbow. “Hey, Iz.”
“What?”
He leans in, whispering. “You know that robe? The silk?” He waits for Izzy to meet his eye and nod before continuing. “Use it when you jerk off.”
And then he’s moving into the mess hall, pushing Izzy out the rest of the way. He shuts the door with a wink. Izzy, still hard in his leather pants, is once-again left dumbstruck. He can hear Edward say, “Did I miss anything good?” and the rest of the crew rushing in to tell him about Stede manhandling Izzy so effortlessly.
Izzy leaves before he can hear anything else, not wanting to hear Blackbeard’s reaction to that little tidbit, and retreats to his room. The robe is there, draped across the back of his chair.
“Fuck me,” Izzy says.
He grabs the robe and follows his orders, and thinks about being a good girl, and thinks about Stede Bonnet presses up behind him and twisting his arm, and it’s not long before he’s coming into the silk wrapped around his dick.
*
It’s a couple of weeks after that when Stede seeks him out. Izzy’s been avoiding him, slinking back into the shadows whenever he thinks Stede is up to something. Thankfully by the time Stede finally corners him, they are without an audience.
Izzy is leaning over the railing, knuckles turning white. The pale moonlight isn't enough to illuminate Stede fully, but Izzy is hyper-aware of every creak and groan that the ship is making, and Stede's presence is unmistakable. The scent of lavender follows the man like a curse.
He's about to tell Stede to fuck off, or something equally devestating and original, but the bile rises in him before he can, and Izzy clamps his mouth shut in an effort to save his own dignity.
"You're up late," Stede says as the boat rocks.
It's not fair. Izzy has been at sea since he was he was a child, and Stede Bonnet, landed gentry and pirate by fucking hobby, is better at keeping his dinner down during a rough night.
Izzy opens his mouth without thinking, and there it is. He vomits over the side of the ship, coughing and eyes watering. He keeps his head bowed over the side.
Stede clicks his tongue, but instead of the laughter he expects, there's now a warm hand pressing into Izzy's back and rubbing circles. It feels…. It feels—
"What're you doing?" Izzy slurs, too weak-willed to pull away.
"Ah, something I did for Mary, when she was often ill." Stede says. "Her second pregnancy with our boy was especially hard on her."
Izzy squeezes his eyes shut. The world seems to be tilting all around him, in the direct opposite of the way the ship is moving. "M'not your wife."
"No," Stede concedes. "But it's nice, isn't it?"
It is.
"Stop it," Izzy says, and he hates how it comes out, how it sounds like a plea for mercy rather than a demand.
Stede retracts his hand, and Izzy immediately misses the motion. The breeze sends a chill racking through him, and Stede's shoulder brushes up against his as he comes to rest beside him.
"You've known Ed for a long time," Stede says.
Izzy grits his teeth and makes an affirming noise. He can barely hear himself over the pounding in his head. "So?"
"Sooo," Stede says, drawing out the word as he thinks of what to say. "I just wanted you to know that I, er, respect that."
Izzy looks at him, vision swimming. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
Stede's face, as dim as it is in the moonlight, goes a bit pink. "I know that I might not exactly understand the nature of your relationship, but I know you and Edward have had dalliances in the past…"
No, Izzy thinks with a growing horror. He'd rather the ocean open its mouth and swallow him whole than have this conversation now.
But Stede's still talking, even though there's a high pitched ringing in Izzy's ears, and then the world is tilting, and then the ocean is suddenly in the sky. Fuck , Izzy thinks. Don't think that's supposed to happen.
And then Izzy hits the sea, and everything goes dark.
*
Izzy wakes up with a start. Everything is too hot, too much, and he pushes himself up, head spinning. He can’t—can’t be taken by surprise, won’t go down without a fight—what the fuck is happening—
And then someone’s hands are on his shoulders and pushing him back down, and Izzy sinks into the bed, already shaking and exhausted from moving as much as he did. Stede comes into focus, and he pulls the blankets back up around Izzy. Struggling, Izzy tries to push them back down, he’s too fucking hot, but Stede smacks his hand and Izzy relinquishes his grip.
“Stop that right now,” Stede says sternly. His eyes are lined by dark shadows. “Good God, man, you gave us all quite the scare!”
“Too hot,” Izzy says weakly.
Stede rests a cool hand against Izzy’s forehead, and Izzy can’t help but lean into it, sighing. “You’ve got a fever, I’m afraid. How long have you been sick?”
“I’m not sick,” Izzy mutters, closing his eyes and focussing on the gentle chill of Stede’s hand. A broken, soft moan falls from his lips when Stede moves away. Under any other circumstances, Izzy would be shooting himself by now, but everything feels hazy and far away and not important, except for the bits that hurt.
The blankets around him, while suffocating, are also much softer than he remembers. His fingers twitch along the seam, and when he finally has the energy to open his eyes again, he realizes they’re softer because they’re not his.
“Oh, fuck no,” Izzy says. He’s in Bonnet’s bed, the one he shares with—
Blackbeard’s face comes into view, as he leans over Izzy with a smile. “You’re awake! Fuck, man, I thought you died.” He looks up, and there’s Stede again, handing him a cup of water. Blackbeard moves the cup to Izzy’s lips, and Izzy drinks greedily.
"There you go," Edward says softly, once Izzy has finished and is gasping. "That's a good pet."
Izzy flinches. He's not good. He's a right bastard on the best of days, and Edward knows it. And Izzy knows he's a dog, Ed's loyal anklebiter until the day he dies, but he doesn't have to rub it in like that. The impermanence of it all, the way Izzy knows deep to his core that he'll have to be put down one day by his owner. It's ship policy, after all.
But Blackbeard is still cooing over him, calling him sweetheart and good, while Stede fusses with a cool rag to lay over Izzy's forehead.
"Went right overboard," Stede says. "Scared me half to death."
Blackbeard brushes Izzy's hair back and huffs. "Always told you not to stand on the edge like that when you're feeling sick, Iz."
"Sorry," Izzy says. He wishes they would both shut up, let him sleep a little, but he can't bring himself to snap at them to leave. Weak.
"Yeah, yeah," says Edward. "It's alright, though. We can talk about it later. You just get some shut eye, alright?"
Thank fuck. "Yes, Captain."
"Good boy." Blackbeard pets Izzy's hair again, and it's as though everything Izzy has been fighting is suddenly right there, clawing at his throat and eyes and heart, until he can't fight it off anymore.
Blackbeard's face goes from soft to concerned in an instant. "Hey, Iz—Iz, sweetheart, what are you crying for?"
And fuck, Izzy hadn't even realized he was crying, but now that Blackbeard's said it, it's as if he's given Izzy permission. Sobs wrack his body, making him feel all the more miserable. Stede joins Edward at the side of the bed, equally alarmed by the breakdown.
"Israel," Stede says, "take a deep breath."
Izzy does, or ties to, at least. It comes in hitching and moves out a fraction smoother. Blackbeard's hand is still in his hair, and he gives Stede a helpless look.
"Okay, Izzy," Stede says, as calm and gentle as ever. "Do you think you can use your words, darling?"
"Stop—stop making fun of me," Izzy says.
"Making fun of you?" Stede asks, sharing a confused look with Ed. He puts a hand on top of Izzy's and squeezes. "Darling, whatever do you mean?"
"That! Darling, and s-sweetheart, and all that shit!" Izzy shouts, voice breaking. "Stop being fucking nice to me!"
Understanding floods Stede's eyes, which is maybe worse than him not understanding at all. Stede looks at Ed, who says in a whisper that Izzy can still hear, "I told you this would happen."
Stede gives Ed a stern look, gesturing towards Izzy. Edward sighs, and then the hand that had been in Izzy's hair slides down until it's gripping his jaw, forcing him to meet Edward's eyes.
Edward levels him with a steady gaze. "Listen, Izzy. Stede is not making fun of you. I am not making fun of you. As it stands, you're very sick, and we're gonna wait until you're feeling better, and then we're gonna have a conversation, the three of us, about everything. Understand?"
No.
Izzy nods, but it's clear that's not enough from the unimpressed quirk of Blackbeard's eyebrows. "Yes, Captain," he amends. "I understand."
Blackbeard releases his hold on Izzy's jaw. "Alright," he says. "Get some fucking sleep."
Stede gives Izzy another beaming smile, although his eyes still sheen with worry, and before Izzy realizes what he's doing, Stede is pressing a kiss against his brow.
He and Blackbeard leave the room. Izzy fights the urge to crawl back to his own room, but it would be crawling, with the way his stomach is still churning.
Sleep pulls him away once again, blissfully, where he doesn't have to think about the way Ed and Stede were looking at him just then.
*
Izzy takes four days to recover. He's pretty sure Edward and Stede are taking turns sleeping on the couch, but they refuse to let him go back to his own cabin. It's got Izzy's stomach in knots, sick with fever and foreboding, but he knows he can't avoid it forever.
The dreaded conversation finally rears its head at dinner. Stede and Ed have been bringing Izzy food and eating with him in the room, rather than with the rest of the crew. After being bedridden as long as he has been, Izzy is grateful for the company only because he spends most of his time bored out of skull.
Stede and Ed keep sending each other little glances, communicating in some unspoken language that leaves Izzy glaring at both of them. When they've finished dinner, the three of them stay around the table, each one willing the other to speak first.
It's Stede who finally breaks the silence. "Izzy, I think the three of us need to have a chat."
"I'd rather die," Izzy says.
Stede frowns. "Izzy, you can't mean that."
"Sorry," Izzy says with a tight smile. "I meant to say I'd rather you die."
To his surprise, Stede doesn't look hurt or shocked by the statement, merely disappointed. Izzy bares his teeth, ready to spill vitriol until Stede gives up on this pointless conversation, but Ed picks up one of the bigger knives and then slams it point-first into the table.
"Right, then," Ed says. His expression is mildly pleasant, voice light, but it sends a thrum of desire shooting through Izzy. The friendly tone, paired with the obvious threat, is pure Blackbeard.
"That's Brazilian cherrywood," Stede grumbles, but Izzy doesn't pay any attention to him, completely absorbed with his Captain's grip on the knife handle.
Ed pushes himself up from the table, the chair dragging on the floor behind him. "We did it your way, Stede," he says. "But obviously Izzy here isn't ready to listen."
He walks as he talks, crossing around the table. Izzy tracks him without moving, feeling a little bit too much like prey, caught in a wild animal's gaze. Ed stands behind Izzy's chair and leans over, his hands on Izzy's shoulders, keeping him seated.
Izzy's eyes glance toward Stede — are they really doing this, in front of him? — but is caught off guard by Stede's enraptured expression, his mouth slightly agape as he watches Blackbeard move.
Blackbeard kicks the legs of Izzy's chair. Not enough to topple him, but it pulls him out from the table, easier to access. One gloved hand finds itself wrapped around Izzy's neck and begins to constrict, slowly and steadily.
"You're gonna listen," Ed whispers.
Izzy stays perfectly still, eyes flicking towards Stede again. Ed's grip tightens, all of his air now restricted, making Izzy's cock throb.
"Right, Iz?"
He nods, a barely-there movement, and Ed releases him. Izzy gasps for air, coughing. When he looks back up, Stede's cheeks have gone red, but the gentleman makes no move to stop what's happening.
Ed clears his throat, that pleasant demeanor once more slipping onto his countenance like a glove. He sits on the table. "Here's the deal, Izzy. I'm your Captain, yeah?"
Izzy nods, rubbing at his throat.
"He's your Captain too, yeah?" Ed points at Stede, who flushes even deeper.
Izzy's blood boils. "The fuck he is."
He's half expecting Blackbeard to lunge, choke him out until he agrees, but the man merely sits there and looks at him. "There's the problem," Ed says mildly. "The dueling, the disrespect to Stede and the crew, that's gotta stop, mate."
Izzy glares at Edward. "No."
Ed smiles, as if that was the answer he wanted. It's unsettling, and Izzy can't help but shift in his seat, belatedly adding a sir to his response.
"Right," Ed says. "You know, I don't recall you being quite this difficult when I first became your Captain."
That was a lifetime ago. "Back then, you actually deserved it," Izzy says and feels victorious when Ed narrows his eyes dangerously.
Passive aggression. Stede's not the only one who can pull it off.
Edward leans in close to Izzy, so that they're nose to nose. "Izzy, know that I will never take what you don't willingly give. If you want to walk out of here right now, you can. We don't ever have to talk about it. But if you stay, you will be calling Stede your Captain by the end of the night."
The thing is—Edward once said something very similar. I won't take what you don't give me. Izzy had been but a boy when he was stolen from the docks to serve as a cabin boy on Hornigold's ship. He doesn't like to spend time thinking about what all happened then, but he tends to think a lot about what happened after.
He had been sixteen, a handful of years later, when Hornigold had hired on some new crew, and among them was a dark-haired boy named Edward Teach. He was sixteen when Edward convinced him to help mutiny, and he had been sixteen when he had killed Hornigold in his sleep, and he had been sixteen when the new captain had made him that promise. He had been sixteen when he decided there wasn't a single thing he wasn't willing to give. Body and mind.
His pulse races. He can't look away from Edward's eyes, but he imagines if he did, he'd see Stede there, watching him with pupils dilated. He does think, briefly, about leaving, but it's fleeting.
But Izzy bares his teeth, leans in to meet Edward and says, "Make me."
Ed grins, wide and feral. He pulls the knife out of the table and holds it to Izzy's throat. And if Izzy cranes his neck a little, gives Ed some room to work—well, no he doesn't. Shut up.
"Up." The knife pricks under his jaw, moving him out of his chair. Izzy can feel it press in, gently, the slightest sting which means he's been nicked.
Even being fully clothed, Izzy can't help but get the impression he's on display. Standing with his cock tenting his trousers, making no move to cover himself. Without looking away from him, Blackbeard calls out to Stede. "Come here. Wanna show you something."
Stede rises from his chair and joins Blackbeard. "Ed, are you sure this is the right way to do it?"
Ed barks out a harsh laugh. "Yeah, mate. Look at him."
And Stede does. Izzy knows the exact moment Stede realizes just how aroused Izzy is by the way his eyes go wide and hungry. "Get on with it," Izzy snaps.
Blackbeard snarls at him, but to his disappointment, the knife at his throat doesn't sink in anywhere. Instead, Ed uses his free hand to pull Stede closer. "See, Stede," he says. "Every now and again, Izzy gets in his head a little. He won't ask for it, but he needs to be put in his place before he spins out of control."
"I see," says Stede. His lips twitch. "And are you going to do that, then?"
Yes, please, Izzy thinks, while another part of him is rallying against the way the Captains are talking about him like he's not even there.
"Nah," Ed says, and Izzy's stomach swoops, "you are. Watch."
Like a snake waiting for the right moment to strike, the knife is pulled away from his neck, and Edward backhands him hard. Izzy's ears ring, and the shock of it sends him stumbling, raising one hand belatedly to protect the side of his face that's now radiating warmth. His eyes water, and before he can do anything, Edward's knee is slamming into his stomach, sending Izzy straight to the ground.
He curls up, gasping and choking, while Blackbeard watches him. Izzy's eyes go up, meeting Ed's cruel smirk and Stede's shocked expression.
"Oh," Stede says.
Izzy wants to grin, spit and say, see? That's Blackbeard, Bonnet. That's who he is. And he's expecting Stede to back out, sick from the violence, but instead, instead—
Stede's fingers, soft and warm, grip his chin. He's crouched down in front of him and forces Izzy's head up, so that the two of them are making eye contact. "Oh," Stede says again. "You really do enjoy it."
"Told you," Edward says. He laces his fingers through Izzy's hair, and even though Izzy keeps his hair short for this exact reason, Ed still manages to get a good enough grip to drag him upwards.
Izzy could give in now, if he wanted. The temptation is there, but it's been so fucking long since he's had this, since he's had Edward's attention on him, divided though it may be.
He grabs Edward's wrists, trying to untangle it from his hair, but Edward only tightens his grip and wrenches his head backwards.
"Stede," Edward says. "Choke him."
Stede starts. "Me?"
Izzy bucks, kicking back, but Blackbeard is stronger than he is, holding him tight. Stede edges closer, hands twitching.
"Maybe hit him first?" Ed suggests, not sounding like he's bothered by Izzy's struggling at all.
Stede looks unsure, but he raises his hand anyway and strikes Izzy across the face. It's nothing like Blackbeard's slap, hard enough to leave him dizzy, but it stings. "Pathetic," Izzy spits at the ground. "You're a fucking disgrace, Bonnet, can't even—"
Stede hits him again, and this time it makes Izzy's teeth rattle. Izzy relaxes into Blackbeard's grip, minutely, but enough that Ed has obviously noticed by his chuckle.
Stede's hands are wrapped around his throat, not yet constricting, but Izzy can't help the desperate, shaky moan.
"There you are," Ed says, as if the whole situation is amusing.
"Fuck off," Izzy groans, and then Stede's hands are squeezing down, while Ed is counting, saying, good, a little harder, 6, 7, 8—
Stede lets go, and Izzy wheezes.
"Did I do it right?" Stede asks.
"Fuck yeah. Look."
Blackbeard half-drags Izzy across the room, until the backs of his knees are pressed up against Stede's tiny bed. We won't all fit, Izzy thinks, half-delirious from the throbbing in his head and the anticipation of what was to come.
"Strip," says Ed, and Izzy does. He kicks off his boots and winces as it grazes the still healing wound where his toe used to be, and from there he makes quick work of everything else.
He's naked, fully erect, while the two co-captains stand clothed before him. Mortifyingly, Izzy can feel a bead of precum well up at the tip of his cock. The implicit power imbalance is almost too much to bear.
Ed smiles, and he reaches out with just his first finger to catch the bead. He barely brushes against Izzy, but Izzy is moaning for it anyway, pushing up against Ed's hand. Ed retracts quickly, though. "On the bed," he demands. "On your knees."
Izzy crawls onto the bed, as Edward slips off his leather jacket, tossing it onto Stede's desk. He can't see behind him, but he can hear the soft slide of clothing and a gentle sigh.
"You get it now?" Ed murmurs, just loud enough that Izzy can hear.
Stede hums. "Yes, I think so. Do you mind if I…?"
"Go for it," Ed answers. "It's your show now."
A soft hand rests on Izzy's lower back—and it must be Stede's, just a touch too unfamiliar, a little too warm, whereas Izzy would know the feel of Edward's hands from six feet under. He tries hard not to move, but his arms are already starting to tremble.
"You require a firm hand," Stede says, fucking petting Izzy's lower back, right above his ass, like he's a startled mare in need of comfort. "You want to be punished. But, Izzy, can't you see that you deserve nice things as well?"
Izzy can't goddamn do this shit. "Just fucking do it," he says. "You're killing me, Bonnet."
Stede's hand retreats, then lightning-fast comes back down with a snap. Izzy jerks and curses, can already imagine the ruddy color he's going to take there.
It stings more than he expects, a harder hit from Stede Bonnet than he would think the goddamned Gentleman Pirate would give. It's still less than he wants, though, less than the belly-churning punches Ed is capable of, and Izzy exhales a soft breath.
Stede's hand runs over his burning flesh. "Here's what's going to happen. Ed—"
Izzy can hear the thunk of Ed's boots hitting the ground, the movement that betrays the fact that his Captain is currently getting undressed just out of sight.
"Ed is going to give you what you want," Stede says, scraping his fingernails down Izzy's back.
God, yes, please, Izzy thinks, and then finally, finally, he can feel Edward's hands replace Stede's. Stede shifts, moving to the side of the bed where he can look Izzy in the eye with a pleasant smile that is damn near shit-eating with all of the barely repressed mirth in it.
Izzy watches him, frozen, as Stede cups his cheek. "And I, my dear," he says, "am going to give you what you need."
His breath is caught in his throat, and then it's suddenly blown out of him as Ed rears his hand back and spanks Izzy hard.
He wasn't—damn it, he wasn't paying attention , and Izzy sucks through his teeth and bites his tongue, because Ed is doing it again and again without giving him a moment to recover. The onslaught of blows, each of them hard and furious, making Stede's hit seem like a fucking love tap , don't let up, even as Izzy starts to shake. Stede, all the while, won't fucking stop saying how good Izzy is, how well he's taking it.
Stede's still there, now using both his hands to hold Izzy's head. He uses a moment after a particularly dizzying blow to push in, crammed into a sitting position between Izzy and the top of the bed. He keeps a firm grasp of Izzy's head, so that he can't pull away and hide.
Ed, meanwhile, seems to be growing agitated, annoyed that he hasn't broken through Izzy's barrier yet.
"Fuck, Iz," Ed says. "Gimme—put your hands back here—"
Izzy tries. Without hesitation, he peels his hands from the blankets and tries to hold them backwards, expecting rope or something to secure them, but the blows have left him reeling, and he can't quite balance his position like this.
He topples forward dangerously, and Stede moves his hands so that he has Izzy by the shoulders. "I've got you," he says. And then he's pulling Izzy closer, so that his face is planted in Stede's lap. Stede may still be clothed, but there's no hiding the erection that's now nudging into Izzy's cheek through the fabric. Stede changes his grip, so that his hands are now resting on top of Izzy's head, keeping him there.
Ed grabs hold of Izzy's arms and yanks , and Izzy whines as he's seemingly pulled between them, head in Stede's lap, ass in the air. Ed puts Izzy's hands onto his own ass. "Fucking—hold 'em, Iz. Pull your cheeks apart."
Izzy's cock throbs, and with trembling limbs, he does as he's told. It's mortifying, to day the least, this—this isn't anything Ed has told him to do before, and Stede's presence only adds to the curling, hot feeling of shame.
Stede hums, a high-pitched little noise that turns into a choked moan as Izzy spreads his own ass cheeks. "Good boy," he says. "Look at you!"
"Girl," Ed says, and Izzy squeezes his eyes shut.
"What's that?"
Ed spits, a sudden glob of wetness hitting Izzy's asshole. He jerks, flinching in Stede's grasp, but doesn't let go of his cheeks. "Girl," Ed says again. "He likes to be called a good girl. Or pet, sometimes."
Izzy presses his face into Stede's lap. Fucking God, it hits him all of the sudden: Blackbeard is teaching Bonnet how to fucking handle him, take him apart and unwind him with just a few stupid words, in the same way he's been teaching Stede about sword dueling and fuckery. Izzy is a goddamned lesson .
"Really?" Stede says, a touch breathless. His fingers tap Izzy's head. "Is that true?"
Izzy doesn't answer, just presses his face down and mouths around Stede's cock, because he'd much rather suck cock than explain his fucking kinks. Stede's fingers tighten in Izzy's hair, pulling slightly, but he resists, until—
Until Edward's hand comes down straight onto Izzy's exposed hole. Izzy fucking howls , jerks, and pulls up, but before he can make his body move, Edward has his wrists in a vice grip, ensuring that Izzy keeps himself spread and open.
"Fuck!" Izzy spits.
"When your Captain asks a question, you answer him," Ed states calmly, like he didn't just spank Izzy so hard that it left him momentarily blind.
Izzy whines, and it's as if he can feel the bones in his wrist grind as Edward tightens his grip. "Fuck. Fuck."
"Otherwise," he continues, "you're not being a very good pet, are you? Nah, that kinda disrespect, it just makes you a dog. A bitch."
Izzy moans. This—this is what he's been craving for so long. The visceral, raw feeling of being owned.
"Certainly acting like one," Ed muses. "Like a bitch in heat."
Stede's hands are in his hair still, but now he's petting him again. "No need to be cruel, Ed," he says, although there's an amused tone to his voice that implies he's enjoying this as much as Izzy is. "You're gonna be good for us, aren't you?"
The thing is—he wants to. He wants to be good, always has, but if there's one thing Izzy knows, it's that he doesn't actually know how to be good. No matter how hard he tries, he always finds a way to fall short from perfection.
He can feel Edward shift, releasing his grip on Izzy's hands, and he realizes he's taken too long to answer. There's another sharp crack and Izzy is whining with tears in his eyes.
"Yes!" He gasps out. "Yes—yes—I'll be, I'll be good, please. "
Stede smiles patiently. "Yes, what?"
There's another answer on the tip of Izzy's tongue, but he bites it back and gives in to what Stede is asking for. "Yes, Captain," Izzy says hoarsely.
"Very good, Izzy," Stede says. He looks up, past Izzy at Ed and nods, communicating something in that private language of theirs.
Izzy is as taut as a bowstring, ready for the next blow, but what comes instead is Stede's soft hands on his cheeks, voice gentle as he says, "Pull me out my trousers."
He hesitates for a second, only because his hands are still occupied, but then Blackbeard's calloused grip is back on him and he says, "Go on, pet."
Izzy's hands are shaking as he finds the button on Stede's trousers. Stede sighs as Izzy finally pulls him out and then looks back up.
"Such a sweet boy," Stede says, and god fuck damnit, that does something to him. "Waiting for permission. Suck me."
Don't have to tell me twice, Izzy thinks blithely. Stede has a damn nice cock, thick and ruddy, and Izzy has always been something of a slut for sucking cock. It's easy, he thinks, because when you're sucking cock, it's all you have to do. It's like his whole world—the whole, fucked up, evil world—shrinks to just this: him and a cock in his mouth, giving someone else easy pleasure without having to worry about anything else.
Stede curls his fingers back in Izzy's hair as he licks a stripe up the side and then rests his lips gently at the head, like a soft kiss. "Israel," he chokes out. "Don't—don't tease me."
Fine. Izzy sinks down, swallowing in a way he's spent many years practicing, and takes a vicious delight in the way Stede jerks under him.
"Atta girl," he hears Ed say, and then there's something shockingly wet and warm against his hole.
Izzy chokes, drool collecting at the side of his mouth, as he's caught between the two of them. Stede is shushing him, holding him by the hair and calling him a good girl, all the while Edward has Izzy's cheeks pulled apart and licking into him.
He whines, arching his back, and, fuck , he could actually come from this, if he just—
Stede yanks on his hair, pulling him off his cock and catching Izzy's hand before he could get it around his aching cock.
"Let me, please—"
Stede tuts at him. "You don't need to touch yourself, Izzy."
What the fuck does Stsde know, Izzy was dying—
Stede's fingers curl tighter. "Don't give me that look, Israel. We'll give you what you need, and not a moment sooner."
"Y-Yes, Captain," Izzy says, voice strangled as Edward squeezes a finger into him. He's wet from Ed's mouth, but there's still a tight burn. It's been so long since he's gotten to have this.
"Ed," Stede says. "The oil."
Edward chuckles and pulls out his finger, much to Izzy's annoyance. "Ah, that. Forgot we had that."
"Liar," Izzy mutters. The bed dips behind him as Edward readjusts, and then there's the scraping sound of a jar being opened.
Edward's hands come back, slick, and he presses lightly against Izzy's rim. "Go back to sucking Stede's cock. Make sure he's ready to fuck you, yeah?"
And then he slides two fingers deep inside him. Izzy moans, and Stede catches him by the jaw. "You heard him," he says.
Izzy returns to Stede's cock at the same time Ed pulls his fingers out and tugs at Izzy's rim, sending a delighted thrill down his spine. "One day," he says, "I should see if I can fit my whole hand in here. Fucking gaping for me. Greedy."
He shoves three fingers back in, too fast, too soon, and Izzy can already feel the stretch of it all as Ed curls his fingers and searches. It doesn’t take long—it might have been a while since he and Edward did this last, but Edward finds Izzy’s prostate with practiced ease. He’s relentless, fucking Izzy with his fingers hard.
“Perfect,” Ed sighs. “Look at you, taking me so easily. Stede—Stede, get over here.”
Stede pulls Izzy off his cock. The man must have the restraint of a God, because his cock is weeping, pre-cum running off in thick droplets that has Izzy’s mouth watering.
The bed dips as the two of them switch positions. Edward’s face comes into view as he takes up where Stede had been. His eyes are half-lidded, biting his lip, and then the reality of the situation hits him, just as—
Just as Stede is sinking his cock into Izzy.
All the breath is forced out of him. He gasps, whining high in his throat, as Stede bottoms out slowly. Ed’s hand grips his face. “Look at me,” he says. “I’m going to fuck your throat, while Stede fucks your ass.”
Stede has already started a steady pace, slow, langrid thrusts.
“Don’t try to make me come,” Ed says, and before Izzy can figure out what exactly that’s supposed to mean, he’s pressing his thumbs into the space where Izzy’s lower jaw connects to his skull, forcing him to open his mouth, like he would force a dog to release his grip on something he wasn’t supposed to have.
He feeds Izzy his cock slowly, and Izzy stays perfectly still. Or, at least he tries to, but Stede’s thrusts are coming faster, shaking him to his core, and Izzy can’t help the trembling moan that comes out of him, silenced as he is by the cock in his mouth.
Blackbeard groans, too, eyes fluttering shut, before he starts moving his hips incrementally, barely moving his cock in and out of Izzy’s mouth. The two of them fall into perfect rhythm, Stede pulling his cock out just as Ed is going in and vice versa. Ed hits the back of Izzy’s throat, and even as Izzy gags, he doesn’t let up until he’s ready.
Stede’s thrusts become harder, until he’s hitting Izzy’s prostate on nearly every thrust, and he’s caught between the two of them, rocking and moaning until his vision is blurred.
There’s a moment that happens when Izzy has sex with Edward. It’s only with Edward, and it’s never happened on the handful of times that Edward has shared him with someone else. But there’s a moment, whether sudden or slow, that everything around Izzy goes soft and right. Where nothing else in the world can touch him, where it’s only him and Ed, Ed, Ed, only pleasure and pain and none of the more cerebral feelings. Only belonging, and being owned, being used for the sake of another.
It’s the closest Izzy will ever get to salvation, he thinks.
Sometimes, when it’s really good, Izzy’s pleasure becomes a background hum, second to Edward, more of an afterthought than the driving force behind being fucked.
Izzy can’t say exactly when it happens here, it might have started when he was sucking Stede off, but it leaves him panting and fuzzy when Stede finally, finally, comes. Edward is stroking his hair, fucking his throat with short, shallow thrusts, when Stede breathes his name and comes, filling him up with hot splashes of come.
His eyes are locked on Edward’s when it happens, watches the awe and adoration cross his face when he watches Stede, and then he pulls Izzy off his cock. Izzy’s too far gone for that, chasing after Edward the best he can, but Ed puts a hand on his throat and squeezes.
“Ssh,” he says. “Don’t you worry, sweetheart. You’ll get it.”
Stede pulls out of him slowly, despite the wall that Izzy clenches around him and keens , feeling fucked out of his mind and lost to the rational part of his mind. His cock throbs, but he doesn’t touch himself, doesn’t even try.
“What a good girl,” Stede says. “Oh, you perfect thing. Ed, is he—”
“He’s fine,” Edward says, pulling behind Izzy once more. The bed is empty in front of him, and Izzy yearns for Stede to come back, to give him something, so it never ends.
Izzy can’t think, can’t figure out what’s happening, but then Stede is beside him, kissing the x on his cheek, and he says, “Anytime you need, Izzy.”
It doesn’t make sense, but then he feels Edward’s cock slide home inside of him, into his already fucked hole, and picks up a punishing pace, and then Stede wraps his soft fingers around Izzy’s cock.
Izzy comes in an instant—all it takes is Stede’s fingers twisting around the head of his cock, and one hard thrust from Ed, and then his vision goes white, and he comes, and comes, and comes. He feels like the orgasm lasts forever, wrung out of him by Ed’s cock in his ass and Stede’s hand, and even after it’s done, they don’t fucking stop.
“Please,” he chokes out, the first word he’s managed in at least a little while. “Please!”
Ed chuckles, slightly out of breath, as he continues to fuck Izzy. Stede, likewise, can’t help the amused undercurrent in his voice as he stokes Izzy’s overly sensitive cock and says, “You can give us one more, can’t you, pet?”
Izzy shakes his head, grits his teeth, as the pleasure borders on pain, but Blackbeard growls, “You’ll come when we fucking tell you to.”
Izzy sobs, jerking in their dual embrace, and then Edward’s teeth are at the back of his throat, clamping down hard enough to draw blood. When he lets up, he licks over the wound, and it stings.
“Now,” Edward says, and—
The orgasm crests over him again. His skin feels taunt, his cock feels stripped raw, but it’s so fucking good that he can’t stand it, bucking under Blackbeard, who comes with a yelped curse and groan.
Stede helps him through it and finally lets go of his cock. He feels stuffed, and as Blackbeard withdrawals, he can feel come leaking down his thigh.
“Good girl,” Ed says.
It’s a vindication, and that hazy space Izzy has found himself in seems stronger than ever, floating in his own delirious pain-pleasure, as Edward and Stede crowd around him and praise him.
Izzy’s not paying close enough attention to figure it out, but somehow the three of them end up in the bed, all tangled limbs and soft words, and Izzy trembles between them, wordless and quiet.
“Was that okay?” Stede whispers, petting the top of Izzy’s hair.
“Perfect,” Ed says.
“He’s not saying much,” Stede says. His fingers pause in Izzy’s hair, and Izzy whines, causing it to pick up once more.
Edward chuckles, and he blows on the back of Izzy’s neck, where the bite mark is. “That’s how you know it was good,” he says. “Don’t you worry, Izzy’ll be back to yelling tomorrow.”
Sure, Izzy thinks, on the verge of unconsciousness. If it means I get this.
Stede’s hands curl possessively in his hair. “Good,” he says. “You know, I’m rather fond of the little hellion.”
“Like a barn cat,” Ed mutters drowsily. “Even when they scratch and hiss at you, they’re still fucking cute.”
If Izzy had still been awake, he would have taken offense to the comparison. But he was breathing short, fast breaths on Stede’s chest, relaxed into their arms. Whatever conversation they have next is lost to him.
*
(Izzy is not privy to it, but the conversation goes something like this:
“I think I’d like to keep him.”
“I was hoping you’d say that! Especially considering, you know, me and Izzy entered matelotage, like, twenty years ago.”
A beat of silence.
“You what?”)