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Too Late, You're Taking Me Over

Summary:

“I would love to, dear.”

“Don’t call me that,” Izzy mutters. It does something to him. Makes something stir, every time. Something he doesn’t want to think about.

Stede is Izzy's captain, not his friend. So when he starts this nonsense with gifts and candles and rose petals on the bed and talk of making love, Izzy sets the record straight.

Still fucks him, though.

Notes:

As usual, canon divergence from s2e5. Stede is continuing to better his skills as captain with Izzy as his first mate. Let 'em have more time than a day or two, c'mon.

Words used for trans man Izzy: cock, prick, cunt, chest.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

He wouldn’t call Bonnet his friend, really. A friendship takes time to build, and given Izzy’s line of work that’s a challenge at the best of times. The fact that most of the crew would call Izzy a friend is irrelevant; they were ready to throw him overboard at the first possible chance less than half a year ago, and the fact that they’ve all apparently forgiven him for his many misdeeds and personality flaws is really just as sign that they’re idiots. Unfortunately, Izzy also fucking loves them all.

Bonnet’s different. He’s—well, he certainly fucking is, isn’t he?

Their mutual rivalry crumbled almost instantly once they had bigger things to worry about—it had been silly anyway, immature, mostly on Bonnet’s part—but Bonnet still likes to bicker with Izzy, to challenge him, to irritate him. The whole thing is strangely nostalgic; Edward had been a prankster when he was younger, no thanks to Jack, and Izzy had always been straight-laced in comparison, so they took pleasure in riling Izzy up.

He doesn’t hate it. But given how well things have gone with Ed over the years, excuse him for not calling it friendship.

Though he spends more time than ever in the captain’s cabin, Izzy still has his own small room where he sleeps. It’s late, and the night watch is set, so it’s time to turn in.

There’s something on his bed: a small parcel of some kind, tied up with ribbon. There’s a tag, too, with his name on it, as if the parcel could be for anybody else. The handiwork is obviously Bonnet’s, excessive even now that their resources are more limited. He’s not sure what to make of it; there’s something strange and new fluttering in his chest as he tugs, curious, on the ribbon. (It’s a good ribbon. Nice texture. Seems expensive. He’ll hang onto it.)

Izzy pushes back the paper. His heartbeat speeds up a little as he reveals the things inside.

There’s a scarf. Teal, with an intricate design. It’s not to his taste, too gaudy, but it’s obviously expensive.

A chain, the kind you might hang a ring on. Gold, for sure.

A book. The Gentleman’s Guide to Manners.

“What the fuck,” Izzy says aloud, to nobody in particular.

When he picks up the book, a note falls out: I thought you could use this. :) Stede

A fucking smile drawn there and everything.

Izzy tosses the book into the corner of the room, and it makes a satisfying noise as it falls to the floor. Fuck Bonnet and fuck everything. For a minute Izzy’d thought that maybe he’d given him a nice present out of whatever kindness exists in his heart, but these are things that Bonnet would like, and that he thinks Izzy should enjoy too.

It shouldn’t be a surprise, given their history. They’re getting along now, but it’s not like Bonnet’s ever really liked him.

He’s just—

He’s just Bonnet. Just an idiot. Who’s let Izzy be his first mate after his last one turned into a bird.

 

“Did you get my presents?” Bonnet asks, bright and early the next day. He’s smiling his normal big, stupid smile, like he’s so fucking proud of himself.

Loyalty to his captain, Izzy reminds himself. But also, he’s not exactly about to roll over and show his belly and start mooning over Stede fucking Bonnet just because the man found the generosity in his heart to give Izzy trinkets to remind him that he could do better at being his first mate.

“I did,” Izzy says, mildly. He’s working on a carving, and focuses his attention to that, trying to keep Bonnet as background noise.

“Did you like them? I see you aren’t wearing the scarf.”

“Nope.” Izzy pops the p for emphasis. “I like mine.”

Bonnet’s face falls a bit. “Ah. Well, then! I just thought you might enjoy a change.”

Izzy pauses his whittling.

“Got this one on a particularly challenging raid a few years back,” Izzy says. “I’ll be wearing it until it’s tattered, not that you’d know much about that. Did you know clothes can fray, Bonnet? Ever worn something enough to get a hole in it?”

“I see that it means a lot to you.” To his credit, Bonnet’s not taking the bait this time. “That’s fine. I don’t have a problem with it.”

“Better not.”

Apparently not deterred, Bonnet looks around, shifting his eyes back and forth for a moment, before lowering his voice to whisper conspiratorially. “Are you free this evening?”

Izzy frowns. He spends a lot of time in Bonnet’s cabin, but it’s not like that means he’s going to be there every damn evening. “Depends.”

“As a matter of fact, I’ve got something special for you.” Bonnet raises his eyebrows, for some fucking reason. “Something better than anything I could leave for you in your cabin.”

“Hmm,” says Izzy.

“Edward won’t be there, for what it’s worth.”

“All right.” That makes the choice harder; if Bonnet was trying to stage some kind of intervention to repair his relationship with Ed, Izzy certainly wouldn’t be fucking going.

“Swing by, if you have time! And if you don’t, make time! I swear it will be worth your while.”

 

Izzy’s an idiot, so he goes. It’s not like he has anything better to do; the crew’s actually figured out how to follow the night sailing and watch rotation, so there’s no need to babysit them when it’s not his task, and other than that nobody on this ship does any work after dinner. (Bonnet calls this “work-life balance”.)

The captain’s cabin is dark—of course it is, because it’s fucking dark out—but it’s illuminated differently than Izzy’s used to. Most nights, Bonnet’s got candles in the key areas, usually his desk and the chair he likes to read in now that they’ve managed to get him some books again. Tonight, the candles are spread throughout the room, improving the overall visibility but also creating a path on the floor to the bed. And on that fire hazard of a path, Bonnet’s sprinkled… rose petals.

“What the fuck?”

“Hi,” Bonnet waves from his chair, shyly. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

Izzy sniffs the air. It’s not just fire he’s getting; there’s something else. “Vanilla?” he says, incredulous. “And violets?”

“They’re scented candles! I had to refresh our supply last week anyway, what with you going through so many—not that I mind! Do you like them? Do they smell good?”

“Yeah, they smell good.” Seems pointless, but whatever keeps Bonnet happy. He’s easy to please, comparatively.

Bonnet stands up suddenly, and he walks over to Izzy, taking care to not trip on the candles on the floor, thank fuck. He gets close, almost too close, and Izzy instinctively steps back a little and reaches for his sword. Doesn’t draw it, though, because it’s not like Bonnet’s attacking him. Probably.

It turns out that, Bonnet’s reaching for him.

He slips his hands around Izzy’s waist, pulls him closer, until their chests are flush. Izzy feels his face get warm and his heartbeat speed up, despite his better judgment. “Is this all right?” he asks. “I thought you were more the straightforward sort, and Edward agreed, but he also said I should askto make sure I didn’t get my nose broken. Do you usually break your lovers’ noses, Izzy?”

“Bonnet, what are you doing?”

“Ah, if it’s not clear, I’d like to preposition you. I know it’s not much, but—“

Bonnet’s close. He’s so fucking close. Izzy finds himself staring, automatically, at Bonnet’s lips. He puts some kind of balm on them all the time and he must have done it again recently because they look so fucking soft.

“This is…” Izzy pauses, frankly beyond words. He should pull away; should say no; should break Bonnet’s nose for daring to touch him like this, just like he would if anyone else did it.

He doesn’t want to.

“Yes? This is what?”

Bonnet sounds breathless with anticipation. Doesn’t make any fucking sense, does it? He’s acting like he wants to romance Izzy, and that can’t possibly be true.

“This is bullshit,” says Izzy. He forces a scowl onto his face; anger is a familiar shield.

Bonnet’s face falls. Fuck, Izzy said something wrong—only he didn’t, did he, and why would he let himself think for even a moment that he did? This is bullshit. Clearly.

“Oh,” says Bonnet. He steps back, drops his arms. Looks at the ground, clearly knowing very well what he fucking did and knowing that it’s not going to fool Izzy. “Well, that’s… I must have read the signals wrong. And so did Ed.”

Izzy thinks back to weeks of glances, touches, kind words. Things between them are good, mostly, but it’s nothing like what Edward and Bonnet have, that’s plain to see. No fucking way that Bonnet would ever even consider holding Izzy in the same regard as Edward; this is just some fucking joke. And if Ed’s involved, that means that he thinks its funny, too. The pair of them have decided that Izzy’s so miserable and unpleasant that the thought of Bonnet seducing him is hilarious.

Fuck them. Fuck them both. So what if Izzy’s had passing thoughts of Bonnet kissing him senseless and taking him to bed? Men consider doing ridiculous things when they’re desperate for release.

Izzy became a man in dive bars and filthy hotel rooms and too-small hammocks on ships. Places where you get the pleasure you can, quick as possible, and you’re grateful for it. It’s what he is; what he’s made for. And it’s nothing to be ashamed of, but Bonnet’s the kind of prick who clearly considers himself above that kind of thing. He swaddles Edward in silken robes no doubt, takes him apart slowly, and calls what they do making love. And he thinks it’s fucking funny, doesn’t he, that Izzy will never be the kind of man who has that.

There’s a voice inside him that says: maybe you can.

He forces it down deep inside of him, too deep to come out and risk Bonnet hearing it. Snuffs that candle right out, as it were.

“If you want to hook up, just say so. Don’t need any of this other bullshit.”

“So that’s what you want,” says Bonnet, managing to meet his gaze again. It’s not intense; it’s confused, questioning. The candles flicker around them, somehow now feeling more intense than they are romantic. Then, it seems to hit him fully. “Oh! You’d want that?” he asks, his voice going up an octave in surprise.

Even now, Izzy’s never quite sure what to make of Bonnet. He’s too whimsical, too unsteady, and yet when push comes to shove he’s suddenly shy about taking what he wants. But he’s always chased men who were insufferable, irritating; it’s a weakness of his, one he’s never been able to shake. Bonnet fits the bill, and he isn’t bad to look at, and Izzy generally enjoys his presence. All of that adds up to a decent enough lay, so long as he doesn’t let himself get swept up in Bonnet’s bullshit.

“Might just,” Izzy says. “If you wanted to keep me busy tonight.”

Before he knows it, Bonnet’s got him by the collar, and he’s pressing his mouth to Izzy’s. Either he hasn’t practicing with Edward half as much as he ought to be, or else Ed doesn’t care to correct him when he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. Mostly, Bonnet just mashes their closed lips together, in a way that Izzy doesn’t quite hate, but definitely should.

Bonnet pulls away after only a few seconds, and Izzy’s hands fly to his lapel, keeping him from going far. Fuck. He wants to teach Stede fucking Bonnet how to fucking kiss him properly, so help him.

“You’re an awful kisser,” says Izzy. It’s a challenge. “Do fucking better.”

“Izzy, I don’t want to fight. Not tonight.” Bonnet is breathless and pathetic, practically begging for Izzy to listen to him, as if that will change anything.

It won’t. But, fuck, Izzy needs some relief, so he might as well get it from his captain.

Their next kiss is better, somehow, though the standards Bonnet set with the first are just about at rock bottom. This time it’s less abrupt, and their faces fit together a little bit better. Izzy’s able to guide Bonnet into place with his hands still on his shirt, balled up into tight fists and wrinkling the expensive fabric. That’s how it should be: not soft, not a facsimile of romance, just two men, desperate for something that the other might be able to provide.

Bonnet moans, moving his lips against Izzy’s like he’s trying to figure out how the two of them fit together best. They stumble toward the bed, both of them unwilling to break away. Bonnet does taste like his little tin of waxy balm smells, bittersweet like the rind of an orange, and the flavor of it is fucking addictive.

They fall onto the bed together in a sitting position, Izzy first and Bonnet on top, halfway in his lap. Best Izzy can tell, he’s hard already, and it gives Izzy a little thrill to confirm that yeah, Bonnet desires Izzy. The soft curses that fall from Bonnet’s mouth and into Izzy’s taste sweet on his lips.

It’s insanity that they’re doing this, but Bonnet’s always been insane.

“Fuck, Izzy, you’re so good at this,” Bonnet pants in between kisses.

“I know,” says Izzy. He does know; never gotten a single complaint in all his years. “You hot for this? Kissing your first mate and begging for more?”

“Do you want me to beg, dear?”

Dear shoots right through Izzy like a bullet to the heart. “I do fucking want you to beg,” he says, suddenly dizzy and desperate to hear how much Bonnet wants him.

“Then I shall.” Bonnet’s smile is almost dazzling, like he’s so fucking pleased with himself. “All you had to do was ask!”

“Just—“ Izzy’s cut off by the most chaste of kisses, pressed to his lips. “Fuck.”

“I would love to, dear.”

“Don’t call me that,” Izzy mutters. It does something to him. Makes something stir, every time. Something he doesn’t want to think about.

“Have it your way, Izzy,” Bonnet says, too sweetly. “Do you know what I’d like to do to you, if you’ll let me?”

Actually, Izzy really fucking would, because right now he’s not entirely sure how they even got into this position. “Tell me.”

Bonnet kisses him again, just another peck, before he answers. “I’d like to lie you down on my bed—the sheets are very soft, marvelous thread count, you’ll love them—and get a good look at you.” A peck on the cheek. “I’d like to take your clothes off slowly, take in every inch of your skin. Do you know how I feel, watching you all sweaty and half-nude while you practice your swordplay?” Another one, pressed to his temple. “Drives me half to insanity. All that beauty, and I’m never allowed to touch.” A kiss behind his ear, and there Bonnet lingers, sniffs like he’s trying to take in Izzy’s scent. Weirdo. “And when I’m done touching you, I’d like to make love to you, however you’d like it best. May I please, Izzy? Will you tell me how you’d like it?”

Izzy’s throat is suddenly dry. He’s never… nobody’s ever wanted to do that kind of thing with him. Pirates don’t make love, they find places and times to steal quick relief in between raids. Of course, Bonnet knows that; Edward would have told him as much. And he knows that Izzy’s no exception.

He’s still fucking mocking Izzy. That’s all there is to it. Bonnet thinks it would be funny if he can trick him into swooning into his arms, and the he’s going to laugh tomorrow about how he pulled off a fuckery that made Israel Hands think he was being made love to.

“Fuck off, I’m not doing that.”

Izzy’s got to regain some sense of control here. He’s already lost his leg because of his stupid fucking emotions; he’s not about to lose his pride.

“Please?” Bonnet bats his eyelashes a little. Twat.

“Not asking you to beg, I’m saying fuck off.”

“Oh. I see.” Bonnet shifts in his lap, still obviously hard over this even if his scheme isn’t working as well as he’d hoped. “You want to go slower?” A beat, then: “Can I kiss you again?”

It’s disarming; Izzy is unmoored. Foolishly, he wants to melt into Bonnet’s stupid fucking strong arms. Only that’s exactly what Bonnet wants him to do, and then he’ll gloat about it after.

“Yeah, you can,” Izzy says, despite his better judgment.

Bonnet does. Feels good, even though Bonnet’s still not quite sure what he’s doing with his tongue.

He kisses Bonnet back, and he’s rewarded with a surprised sound. Fuck, Bonnet’s actually cute like this, Izzy could fucking wreck him if he wanted, and maybe he does. Coaxing Bonnet’s mouth open with his tongue is easy, and when Bonnet eagerly lets him in, Izzy’s cock throbs.

“You’ll be the one lying back on your stupid fancy sheets,” says Izzy when they pull apart, a small line of drool trailing from Bonnet’s mouth where they’d parted. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Having me do all of the work and showing you what to do, like always?”

“Oh!” Bonnet blinks, an undeniable flush on his cheeks. “I think I’d like that too, if that’s what you’d prefer. I’ve not—I mean, I’m very open to suggestions! This is a collaborative process.”

“Good. Lie down.”

It’s easier said than done. The bed’s bigger than most on pirate ships, but it’s still not meant for two fully grown men, and on top of that Izzy’s still adjusting to his new leg, so moving around is awkward. To Bonnet’s credit, there are no complaints from him; he lies down dutifully, big empty head on his big soft pillows, and folds his hands on his chest while he waits for Izzy to join him.

Izzy decides to take the leg off first, and set it to the side. The thing is built for function, not comfort when you’re riding cock. This will be the first time he’s fucked after getting it, and he feels strangely naked without it, but Bonnet’s seen him at his worst already.

A part of him—most of him—can’t believe he’s about to fuck Bonnet, but the captain’s pull is undeniable, and Izzy needs to get fucking laid already. Good stress relief, good for morale. And good to rub in Bonnet’s face afterward, every time he tries to get too cocky and needs a reminder that one night he was begging for Izzy to let him have some more kisses. As Izzy strips down, Bonnet’s eyes widen, and his hungry gaze goes straight to Izzy’s aching cunt.

“Izzy—“

“Like what you see?”

“You’re very, um, forward. I like it.”

“Yep,” says Izzy, climbing onto the bed and on top of Bonnet, straddling him. He’s naked as the day he was born, and his exposed prick brushes tantalizingly against Bonnet’s clothed one.

Bonnet’s cock is obviously straining in his tight breeches, practically about to burst out, and as tempting as it is to make him wait and squirm a while longer, that seems a waste when Izzy could be pleasing himself on it. It’s massive, so Bonnet’s good for something. Izzy decides to have mercy on him and free it. He’s rewarded with a sigh of relief from Bonnet and the sight of his prick, uncut and rock-hard and framed by ginger-blond hair, that is indeed bigger than any man needs to have on him. Christ. Izzy’s taken bigger, but only barely.

Izzy gives it an experimental tug, and Bonnet makes a ridiculous little sound of pleasure. “Do you have lubricant handy? Oil?”

“Whale blubber,” Bonnet says, picking up a box on the windowsill. “Works a charm, in my experience.”

“That’ll do.”

“Where can I touch you?” Bonnet asks, his gazed fixed on Izzy—Izzy’s chest, mostly—as he scoops some up with his fingers and slicks it over his own cock.

Izzy wonders if Bonnet’s ever been with a man who has a cunt, and then decides he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s going to take his pleasure from Bonnet either way, so it’s not like Bonnet actually needs to know what he’s doing. “Nowhere,” says Izzy. “I don’t trust you.”

“To touch you?”

“To do it right. Is that all right with you, dear?”

He adds venom to the endearment, to make sure Bonnet knows that he sees right through his condescending little names.

Bonnet takes a deep breath and gives him a shaky nod in response. If he’s disappointed, good.

When Izzy’s satisfied with how wet Bonnet’s gotten his prick, he positions himself above it and grinds against it. Pleasure rushes through him immediately, and Izzy’s reminded of how fucking long it’s been since he’s fucked anyone. If he’s reacting like this to Bonnet, he must be truly fucking desperate.

It’s fine, he decides. Easy enough to use Bonnet here for his pleasure. Best as he can—he’s not as young as he used to be—he moves his hips to rub against Bonnet’s length, a sigh escaping his lips.

“They’re kissing,” remarks Bonnet as Izzy moves faster. “Oh, that feels marvelous.”

“Don’t say that,” Izzy grumbles.

“They are! You’re spectacular, Izzy.”

It does feel good, grinding against Bonnet like this. With plenty of slick between them the glide is velvety smooth, and pleasure’s quickly building in Izzy’s core. Bonnet’s a receptive partner, eager, naturally submissive. Izzy can rub himself off on his cock as long as he wants to. He wonders how he must look from Bonnet’s point of view, whether his face betrays how much he really needs this.

Bonnet’s moaning, wanton, as Izzy pleasures himself with his cock; at this rate he’ll come soon, and then probably roll over and take a nap and leave Izzy to figure himself out and have his own little walk of shame.

Izzy stops. Bonnet makes a small nose of protest, grabs at Izzy’s hips and tries to move him to start back up again. But Izzy’s not about to let Bonnet use him as his personal toy. Not today; not ever. He pushes Bonnet’s hands away, and Bonnet, to his credit, doesn’t try to get another greedy handful of his first mate.

“Did I tell you that you could fucking touch me?” asks Izzy.

“Noooo…” Bonnet moans, rather miserably. “Please move, I’m going to die.”

Izzy shrugs. “Then fucking die, I guess, nobody’s stopping you.”

“Please?” Bonnet’s voice is more strained now, in a way that in other circumstances Izzy might actually think he was about to pass away. He sounds absolutely pathetic—which, as it turns out, really does it for Izzy.

“Please what?”

“It feels so good, pleasure yourself on me, please.” He’s absolutely whining now, face flushed to practically scarlet, curse the fact that Bonnet is actually really fucking hot.

“Only if you don’t come ‘til I’m good and done with you.”

“Yes, yes—“

“Now, sit still. Promise you won’t fucking come.”

“—please, dear, yes, I promise.”

The place where their cocks meet is so wet, so hot. He’s throbbing there himself, eager to fuck himself against Bonnet again. Thing is, Bonnet keeps babbling, more and more as his pleasure builds.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous,” he gasps. “I so wish I could touch you.”

“Can’t,” Izzy grunts.

“I know, I know—“

“Be good. Even you can be good if you put some effort into it.”

“Lovely boy, you feel so sweet, I love the way you feel, I adore you— ah, damn—!”

And with that foolish little tirade, Bonnet’s coming beneath him, shaking, milky-white come hitting Izzy’s stomach and his own. His expression is one of utter bliss, flushed and mouth open wide in a scream so loud it’s become absolutely silent. He looks ridiculous, and so fucking beautiful. Frustration rises in Izzy, grabs at his chest. How dare Bonnet continue his silly little game even now? Izzy’z not gorgeous, not lovely, not good. It’s so utterly ridiculous a description that Bonnet must think he’s come up with the most clever prank.

“Of course you can’t follow fucking directions,” Izzy grumbles, breathing heavily.

And the worst of it is, there’s a part of Izzy that wants to listen to Bonnet. Of course he’s full of utter shit, always has been and always will be, but what if he wasn’t? What if there was someone out there who looked at Izzy—rough and wrinkled and tatty—and saw something worth treasuring?

Wouldn’t be Stede fucking Bonnet, that’s for sure.

“I’m sorry,” Bonnet says. “But it was so delicious, how could any man possibly resist?”

Delicious. Fuck him. Or don’t, because now Bonnet’s going soft, and at their ages nobody’s going to get it up twice in a row so easily.

But why keep grumbling about it? Izzy’s still hard, and he’s got Bonnet under him, so it’s not like Bonnet’s stupid giant prick is going to be completely useless.

Bonnet seems surprised when Izzy starts to move again, sliding his cunt up and down the length of Bonnet’s softening cock, but he doesn’t object, just watches.

Izzy takes his own pleasure from Bonnet. Might as well; that’s the only fucking pleasure he’ll ever get from the awful man. Pressure builds in his cunt as frustration flares: the thought that Bonnet wanted to do this as a fucking joke makes Izzy burn. Is he really so fucking ridiculous in Bonnet’s eyes that he can’t even imagine wanting to fuck him?

He should have killed Bonnet when he had the chance, he thinks—and then decides no, this is better. Here, he can enjoy Bonnet looking on as Izzy uses his cock, their groins grinding together wetly. Not much use for a dead man in that regard.

“Feel good, Bonnet?” Izzy pants. If Bonnet could have stayed hard and been a good boy, maybe Izzy would have even ridden him, but now he doesn’t get the honor. “Bet you’re not happy you couldn’t stay hard long enough to fuck me properly.”

“You’re always so crude,” Bonnet says, grumbling. He looks a bit frayed at the edges. “It’s really a shame that I like you so much.”

“You don’t fucking like me.” Izzy grinds against him—hard—for good measure. It has the opposite effect as intended, eliciting a groan out of his own mouth because fuck, he’s actually pretty close and Bonnet’s dick is really a marvel, even if he’s just about fed up with the man who’s attached to it. “I asked you if it feels good. Answer me.”

“I already told you that it’s good. Obviously it’s good! Though now that I’ve climaxed, it is a bit…” A whimper. “Fuck, Izzy, does it always—“

“Dunno about always. But I know how to get what I want.” That’s not always true, strictly speaking, but he’s pretty damn sure he can get what he needs from Bonnet. “And I want to get off on your cock.”

A long, strained noise escapes Bonnet’s mouth as Izzy continues to rub their slick cocks together. He can’t say he hates the view. Pity that Bonnet’s such a handsome man when he’s got nothing in that pretty little head of his, but at least Izzy can enjoy the sight of him, panting and pathetic and still somehow eager for more even when he’s spent, with nothing left to give.

“Christ, Izzy,” Bonnet moans.

“Too much?”

“Yes, yes, too much, don’t fucking stop.”

“Good. Wasn’t going to.”

Even soft, Bonnet isn’t small. Plenty for Izzy to enjoy himself with. He tries not to imagine how it would feel to have Bonnet fuck him properly—maybe he’d let Izzy ride his cock, or maybe he’d just turn him on his back and have his way with him. Shame Bonnet wouldn’t know what to do if Izzy sat on his face, since he certainly wouldn’t say no to riding that tongue of his instead. Probably the strongest of Bonnet’s muscles, what with how he never learned how to shut up.

Even aching and empty, screwing Bonnet like this feels fucking amazing, and it’s not long before he feels himself nearing climax. Pleasure washes over him, filling every crevice of him with utter bliss, more than he could have ever imagined Bonnet was capable of giving him. It’s been such a long time that his orgasm is long and hard, and a noise escapes his mouth, untethered by common sense and his general preference to not let the entire fucking ship know when he’s getting laid.

“Oh, Izzy,” Bonnet whispers, sounding practically reverent. “You look spectacular when you’ve in the throes of pleasure. Is that all because of me? I adore it, my little star. I adore you.”

Izzy certainly can’t find it in him to tell Bonnet to shut up now. It’s an ambush, these fucking… nicknames. Like he’s a fucking ship’s cat.

When the last of his orgasm is wrung out of him, Izzy’s left on top of Bonnet, sweaty and panting.

“Can I touch you now?” Bonnet asks.

“No. Shut up.”

“You’re really all business, aren’t you? I was hoping for something at least a little bit more romantic.”

He’s stricken by a sudden clarity: this wasn’t fucking worth it. Bonnet’s going to be weird about it for the rest of his life if he can’t figure out a way to save face.

Izzy climbs off of Bonnet, trying to be stern as best as he can manage when he’s just had a frankly mind-blowing orgasm. “You think I’m an idiot, don’t you? What’s your fucking game, anyway, Bonnet?”

“What?”

“What?” Izzy repeats, mocking. “What, you thought you might get one up on me? Make yourself all smug because you managed to seduce Izzy Hands and trick him into fucking you? I know you take me for a fool, Bonnet. You think it’s fun to humiliate me.”

“What!” Bonnet replies, clearly taking offense. He untangles himself from the sheets and sits up straight on the other side of the bed. “No! Izzy, when have I ever humiliated you?”

“I can make you a list.”

“Yes! Please!”

“You called me by the wrong name. Made a fool of me during our duel. You make fun of my leg.”

“That’s—that’s ancient history, Izzy. I’ve changed. We’ve changed. We’re—friends now, certainly, even if that’s all that you want.”

“You keep giving me things. Because the things I already have aren’t good enough. Because you want me to act like you.”

“Izzy—“

“And now—all of this? Your candles and your flowers and your stupid—and what would you do if I took you seriously, Bonnet? What then? What if I did fall for you? It’d feed your ego for a while, until you realized.”

Bonnet glares, huffs, and it makes his blood fucking boil. Who is he to get pissed at being called out on his bullshit? But then, that’s exactly how Bonnet has always fucking been. “Realized what?”

That his love’s a burden, heavy as a cannonball, weighing people down. It wouldn’t be quite the same with Bonnet as it has been—as it is—with Edward, but Bonnet still wouldn’t like it. Even now, his captain is still naive; he’s like a child, who still hasn’t learned just how much love can hurt you.

Not that Izzy would ever actually fall for Bonnet. The thought of it’s ridiculous, even as something big and heavy tugs at his chest.

“Bonnet. This isn’t funny. I know you don’t feel that way about me, and that’s—fine. We’re not lovers, we’re captain and first mate, and sometimes these things happen. No need to make up stories about why you’re doing it.”

“Oh,” says Bonnet. “You really think that.”

All at once his face softens into something softer, more vulnerable, and a weight falls heavy into Izzy’s stomach. He can’t think straight like this, with Bonnet so close. Can’t relax; can’t breathe.

“Let’s just drop this,” Izzy says. He looks away at his crossed hands in his lap. No point in having this fucking conversation.

Bonnet does not. “Izzy, has anyone ever romanced you?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Answer me,” says Bonnet, his voice even. “Please?”

“You know the fucking answer, yeah? I’m not anyone’s darling, or sweet boy, or little star, or whatever else you want to call me. I’m an old, miserable asshole, and you think it’s funny to fucking… pretend to seduce me.”

“Izzy, I would like very much to seduce you, for real.”

“I don’t believe you,” says Izzy.

“That’s all right. I do like a challenge.”

Izzy’s throat is dry. It wasn’t supposed to be like this; he was supposed to get over Edward and give his blessing to him and Bonnet, to give them advice they wouldn’t listen to and sing at their wedding and then fade into the background as they grew older and more mature. They would stop needing him, and then he’d retire alone and never bother them again; the fact that he’d even consider retirement now was more than a happy enough ending.

He wasn’t going to be romanced. And certainly not by Bonnet. It’s an insane thought.

But Bonnet’s looking up at him, his expression soft. It’s the way he looks at Edward when he’s bringing him tea in the morning; the way he looks at Izzy when they’re sharing a drink. The same.

“Hmm,” Izzy says, looking away.

If Bonnet is truly sincere, that changes everything.

“That’s not a no, then?” Bonnet says. He sits up, taking no care to cover himself up, so his barrel chest and soft cock are in easy view.

Izzy continues not to look at him, because if he does he’ll probably forget himself entirely.

“Do what you want,” says Izzy. “You will anyway.”

His legs are still weak, between the position they’d been in with so much of his weight on his knees, and the intensity of his orgasm. It should worry him—always being able to get away from danger is important, and sometimes that danger is your own captain—but it doesn’t. With Bonnet around he usually, God fucking help him, feels safe.

 

Izzy stays the night.

 

Somehow, Bonnet’s already up and out of bed by the time he wakes up; the first time Bonnet’s gotten up before him maybe ever. He ends up staring at the ceiling and wondering where Bonnet is, calming his confused heart by focusing on the familiar, gentle sway of the ship on the calm water.

“I’m so fucked,” he groans, when he’s had quite enough of his quiet meditation. The captain’s cabin is still covered in rose petals and snuffed-out candles, reminders of the night before. Bonnet’s right; nobody’s ever tried to romance him, and that means that Izzy didn’t see it coming. He still doesn’t believe it.

Someone opens the door, and Izzy contemplates climbing out the window. Fortunately, it’s Bonnet. And yeah, something is deeply wrong with him if he thinks that Bonnet’s presence is fortunate. But at least Bonnet already expects him to be waiting here, still completely naked and smelling of yesterday’s sex.

“Oh!” says Bonnet, when he’s close enough to confirm Izzy is awake. “Good morning! I brought breakfast.”

He’s holding some kind of tray, which Izzy eyes with some trepidation. “You can cook?”

“Well—a little? But it’s nothing fancy. Some fruit, and leftover scones, and coffee—no milk, but Roach said your stomach is sensitive to it and you wouldn’t want it—“ He points to each item on the tray. “Ed did this for me once, and I thought it was very nice of him.”

There’s a flower there, too. Bonnet likes flowers, though it’s hard to imagine where he got it in the middle of the fucking ocean.

“Don’t talk about Edward,” Izzy grumbles, reaching for one of the mugs. He takes a big sip; hot, but fuck, that tastes good. Roach was definitely helping to make sure that Bonnet didn’t fuck it up.

“All right,” says Bonnet. “We can talk about that later.”

Izzy nods. The topic of Edward is too big, too complicated. He’s Izzy’s family, but right now they’re neither coworkers nor friends. It’s a tangled bit of twine that he’s barely starting to unravel.

“Ed’s all right with this, you know,” Bonnet adds. “Us.”

“Later,” Izzy says.

“Whatever it ends up being, just having relations or—“

Later.”

Bonnet falls silent. There’s a second mug of coffee that he helps himself to, apparently not bothered by the bitterness. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I stole them, by the way, if you even care.”

Izzy scowls. “What?”

“The gifts! I stole them! The chain and the scarf were from a raid and pilfered the book from a seller in port! I thought you’d appreciate them more that way.”

“Christ. I had to know that, didn’t I? Suppose you’re going to say that book was something you honestly thought I’d like, too.”

“It was. Did you read it? It’s a gag book, hilarious.”

Izzy hadn’t bothered. Why would he? “No,” he admits. Fuck, was Bonnet actually not mocking him for his background? It was one of those books that made light of the upper class? “Not a big reader, outside of maps and wanted posters.”

“I’ll teach you if you’re not good at it,” Bonnet says, chipper. “Most of the crew aren’t big readers, you know.”

“You have an answer for everything.”

“You keep me on my toes. That’s why I like you.”

There had been a time when Izzy couldn’t fathom why Edward would have ever fallen for a man like Bonnet. Now, it’s harder to imagine why anyone wouldn’t, when everything that comes out of this man’s mouth is more insane than the last. “Don’t talk about toes,” Izzy grumbles.

“Oh, shit. Sorry.”

“Didn’t know you knew that word.”

“I’m working on it. And I am sorry.”

“I don’t forgive you.”

“Ugh, fine.”

“I’m fucking with you, Bonnet.”

“You’re making it very hard to seduce you Izzy.”

“Yeah,” says Izzy. He takes another swig of coffee, contemplating whether he wants to do something weird. “Good.”

Bonnet leans over, their faces suddenly very close, and Izzy very nearly drops his coffee onto the nice sheets, though they do need a wash anyway after last night. “I like a cha—“

He’s unable to finish that thought, promptly cut off by Izzy’s lips meeting his in a chaste kiss. It feels good to get one up on him, but soon Bonnet will probably have the upper hand once more, and Izzy finds that he doesn’t hate the thought like he used to.

“Shut up,” says Izzy, so sweetly. “I can’t stand you. Can you get it up again, or do I have to wait for tonight?”

“Gosh, I don’t know. Want to find out?”

There’s a lot that Izzy doesn’t know, and he’s always hated the not knowing most of all. Bonnet’s turned out to be the biggest unknown of all—and yet, Izzy realizes as he climbs on top of him, panting into his mouth, for once he’s not afraid. Overwhelmed, baffled, thrilled, but not afraid.

He decides to let himself like it.

Notes:

all the little lover-things you do to me / your soul ignites the fire that sets me free

This one took a bit of wrestling to make sense. Fun fact, Sharp Teeth, Crumbling Walls was made up of ideas and words that I had for this fic, but didn't quite fit the intended vibe.

Thanks and love to Peaches for the encouragement and looking this over!

I've got a fanfic twitter for however long twitter still exists.