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“Edward, darling … Have you seen that dark shirt I had in my winter fineries?”
Izzy bristles as Edward pauses in their review of the latest voyage charts to look towards Stede’s hidden auxiliary wardrobe. His grip on the compass in his hand tightens, but he’s sure that Edward doesn’t even notice.
“Hm? Nah, mate. Can’t say I have. You sure you didn’t leave it in the laundry?”
Izzy knows for a fact that Stede left it in the laundry for Jim and Oluwande to take care of on their laundry rotation.
“Oh! You might be right!”
He watches as Stede practically bounces out of the wardrobe and immediately heads for the door to ask Jim and Oluwande about his shirt.
“Alright there, Iz?”
Izzy’s attention snaps back to Edward who looks partially concerned and partially like they’re about to have the whole ‘you don’t have to force yourself to like him if you don’t’ talk again.
“Iz, you know … You don’t have—”
“Do not finish that fucking sentence, Edward,” Izzy responds with a scowl. “We’ve already been over this.”
They’ve been over it every. Fucking. Day. Since the three of them had decided to try some fucked up (in Izzy’s mind) ménage à trois relationship months ago. It worked, surprisingly well, really … But Izzy still had his issues with attempting to share, well, his issues. Stede, to his credit, hadn’t run off the first time he’d seen Edward beat the shit out of Izzy only to fuck him stupid. In fact, he’d quickly become the comfort part of after care to balance Edward out.
So, yeah. It was fucking weird sometimes and sometimes Stede grated on his last fucking nerves and he might have been three steps away from pushing Stede overboard once or twice, but he hadn’t, and really, that was all that mattered.
Edward’s eyes roam over Izzy’s face and he must have realized that it really wasn’t about their relationship.
“Alright … Okay,” Edward says. “Wanna talk about whatever it is?”
“I’m just fucking tired, Edward,” Izzy confesses. A partial truth is better than the full truth, because he’d definitely been fucking fine before Stede had mentioned that fucking shirt. “We need to get this course charted now, otherwise we’re going to run out of fucking provisions before we can hit land.”
Edward rests his hand on Izzy’s shoulder and he tenses enough that Edward removes his hand, surprise flicking over his face.
“Sure … Yeah, let’s figure it out,” He says.
They spend another fifteen minutes settling on a course for Port-au-Prince and finish just as Stede wanders back into the cabin looking dejected. Izzy cracks his knuckles to soothe the dull ache as Edward glides over to Stede.
“No luck, mate?”
“No … Jim and Oluwande don’t recall it …” Stede says with a pout. “Bugger. I quite liked that shirt.”
“It’s just a fuckin’ shirt,” Izzy adds in, rolling his eyes. “I’m going to fucking bed.”
“You sure you don’t wanna sleep here?” Edward asks, quirking a brow.
The last time they’d been in Barbados, Stede had commissioned a larger bed and swapped things around in the ship in order to accommodate it. Edward had immediately moved in with Stede and Izzy had been welcomed in as soon as they’d agreed to this whole boyfriends, with an s, thing. It was still far too new for Izzy, amongst other reasons, for him to spend as much time as Edward did in here.
“No. I need some fuckin’ space,” Izzy says firmly.
He knows that Edward won’t argue with him about needing space, and thankfully, Stede has caught on to that as well by now, so he doesn’t try to push him. So, Edward simply walks over, grabs ahold of Izzy’s arm reassuringly, causing Izzy to tense once more, before kissing his forehead.
“Sleep well, Iz. Take the morning off.”
“Tch …”
Stede strolls over and grabs his hand, placing a gentle kiss to Izzy’s knuckles, still bruised from a run in with a Spanish sloop a few days prior, before moving up to press a chaste kiss to Izzy’s cheek.
“If you need anything—”
“Yeah, yeah … I fuckin know,” Izzy responds. He hesitates before pressing a quick kiss to each of their cheeks and retreating with all the speed of a ship with a tailwind.
As soon as he’s in his private bunk with the door secured, he waits for a moment longer, until he’s positive the coast is clear. He yanks off his glove before stripping his waistcoat and shirt to reveal a secondary shirt hidden underneath. It had taken him way too fucking long this morning to make sure the shirt had been perfectly concealed under his usual shirt and his fucking cover had almost been blown as soon as Edward touched him.
He hadn’t expected Stede to actually look for the fucking shirt. He’d nicked it a couple days ago when he’d gone down to the laundry to grab some soap. It had been so fucking soft, as all of Stede’s fabrics were, that Izzy had immediately stolen it from the laundry pile. He’d carefully washed it in his room until it was clean and today had been the first chance he’d had to wear it.
The fabric seemed to swallow him, but there was no way for him to really tailor it to fit him since he was only “borrowing” it. So, he’d relished in folding it this way and that this morning to get it just right to be hidden under his shirt. It was fucking bizarre to have such soft, gentle fabric rub across his torso all day rather than the rough linen he typically wore.
He blames it on Stede, really. Not just for owning the fabric, but because the first time he’d really managed to understand what came with the aftercare Izzy craved, Stede had wrapped him in the softest fucking robe he’s ever felt in his life. Izzy might have gotten into a habit of stealing it every chance he gets post-sex, always with some excuse about needing it as part of his routine or some other half-assed excuse he thinks they just tolerate.
From there, Izzy had stolen a few shirts.
Never more than one at a time. It was easier to steal them from the laundry, if he managed at just the right time, but he’d nicked at least one straight from Stede’s auxiliary wardrobe when Stede and Edward had gone into town a few ports ago.
Stede had never tried to look for a shirt before like he had tonight. This was dangerous territory. If Stede or Edward found out (or god forbid, the rest of the ship), he just might have to throw himself off the yardarm onto some sharp rocks.
For now, though, it was just Izzy and Stede’s soft as fuck shirt.
He can feel the heat rise in his cheeks at the thought. This was fucking embarrassing but file a fine fabric under things he didn’t think he fancied until Stede’s fucking robe. Stripping down the rest of the way, his eyes flutter closed at the way his dick feels against the soft fabric. Crawling into his bunk, he dips his hips downwards, sliding his dick against the fabric. Choking on a moan, his arms shake from the teasing.
He should have been more ashamed, and he had been the first time he’d done this. His face probably could have burned a hole through paper with how embarrassed he’d been, jerking off because of fabric of all things, but now it was just part of his shameful secret (one of the few actual secrets he had). Now, though, this has become routine. Every so often, Izzy steals a shirt from Stede’s vast wardrobe (and really, thank fuck for that, which makes it far easier to get away with since the idiot has so many fucking clothes), washes it depending on where he’s nicked it, wears it, then rubs his dick against it, and sneaks it back into the laundry as if nothing had ever happened. It had always been there.
Totally normal secret.
Pressing his hips into the fabric, he shudders on his exhale and rocks his hips back and forth. The fabric glides against his skin and fuck, maybe in another life he could have stood being a dickhead who gave a shit about which spoon went with what if it meant his cock got this luxury. He rocks his hips back and forth, lowering himself into the bed as his arms shake and eventually give way. Izzy dares to groan into his pillow, rubbing his face against the rough fabric, marveling in the difference between the texture on his face and the one on his dick.
He thinks about what would happen if Edward and Stede found out. Would they be disgusted? Would Edward laugh and say “told ya, mate”? Would Stede lock his wardrobe and guard his laundry from now on? Or maybe … Maybe they’d wrap him in all of it? Stede would know which of his fineries was the softest and maybe he’d pull it out specifically for Izzy. Maybe he’d wrap it around Izzy’s cock and stroke while Edward sat behind him, another piece of fabric that Stede had selected for the moment over his chest, allowing Edward to pinch his nipples through the fabric.
Maybe they’d use the fabric as a type of bondage; binding him to Stede’s plush bed in order to have their way with him. Or maybe they’d make him stand? Edward could hit him with his belt and Stede could follow with the fabric.
Izzy shudders at the fantasies rushing through his mind and he flips over onto his back. Wrapping his hand around his dick, trapping it under the fabric, he carefully strokes it with teasing touches, allowing the fabric to do more work than his hand really was.
What if Edward and Stede shamed him but in the best ways? Teased him about his newest obsession, but the next time they were on land, Stede took him to one of those fancy shops he usually wouldn’t be caught dead in. He’d learn the difference between silk and cashmere and he’d allow Stede to dress him. He’d be covered head to toe in fabrics of Stede’s choosing, like a visible claim on his body.
They’d come back to the ship and Edward would inspect Stede’s choices and Izzy would allow Edward’s hands to roam, searching to make sure everything fit just right. Maybe they’d be patient enough to take the clothing off, or maybe they’d be so fucking impatient, seeing Izzy there like a dress up doll, that Edward would rip the pants just enough to shove his dick in and Stede would make use of his mouth.
The thought is too much for him and his hips jut forward as his orgasm hits. The fabric in his hands becomes wet and tacky and fuck he hopes that jizz doesn’t stain dark fabric. He reaches down and finds one of his own dirty shirts, carefully wiping at his overly sensitive dick, gasping at the texture difference again.
Izzy lies in bed until his head clears. He strips off Stede’s shirt and throws on a pair of his trousers. Everyone should be asleep by now; sneaking the shirt into the laundry should be easy. He’ll just have to tuck it into a spot that Stede must have “missed” earlier to account for its absence on his previous search.
The ship is silent and he gets to the laundry area with ease, thanking whoever was looking out for them that it was a new moon and the ship was dark. He’s just putting the shirt in a cobweb filled corner when there’s a throat clearing behind him. Izzy grabs the nearest weapon—a wooden spoon to mix the laundry water—and holds it to the voice like a sword.
Or rather, he should have said voices, because there’s not one, but two people staring at him.
Two people he knows intimately well.
“Y’know, mate … Y’could’a just asked … Stede probably would’a given you his shirt.”
“He’s right, Izzy. What’s mine is yours.”
Izzy feels his face heat up and he opens his mouth, “I just— I fucking found it! In my shit! Someone must’ve put it in my pile by accident!”
Edward crosses his arms, nodding his head. “Right … Except you do your laundry … Because last time someone tried to do it, Pete and Lucius teased you about the length of your shirt sleeves.”
Stede steps forward, hands up as if the wooden spoon really was a threat. “Izzy, I assure you … It’s perfectly fine … You are welcome to my clothes at any point …” He lowers his hands and clears his throat. “We … Ahem … We knew. Already …”
The wooden spoon gets lowered. “What?”
“Yeah, man. You weren’t exactly sneaky about it … You wore them under your clothes, mate. We’ve got eyes …” Edward says, shrugging. “We figured you’d tell us one day … But you never did … Figured you might’ve needed a little push.”
Izzy stands in silence before giving a huff. “You fuckers.”
Stede smiles warmly before clapping his hands. “Well … Now that that is out of the way … Izzy! If you think that shirt was wonderful, you should try this other one!”