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1
“A hundred and twenty—” Stede starts, affronted, before he lowers his voice when he catches several other customers turning around to stare at him. He puts his hands on his hips instead, then almost immediately thinks better of it, and moves one to rest on the hilt of his sword. “Good sir, you must be aware how unreasonable a price it is you’re asking for.”
The shopkeeper glances down at Stede’s sword, eyes lingering, licks his lips, and finally looks back up again. “Hundred and ten, then.”
“This is absolutely outrageous!” Stede tells him, because it is. The wares he’d ordered ahead of making port are worth ninety, at most, including the tax, and Stede is not about to back down without a fight. Preferably not a physical one, if it can be avoided at all, but he’s more than ready to deliver a good tongue-lashing. “Now listen here—”
“Sixty.”
The gruff voice startles Stede, and going by the smug curl to Izzy’s mouth, that had been the other man’s intention all along. Stede bristles, partly because Izzy’s managed to sneak up on him yet again, but mostly because he’s determined to resolve this issue by himself, thank you very much.
“Sixty,” Izzy repeats, ignoring Stede entirely, “and an additional five if your boys haul the lot down to the ship without breaking anything.”
Stede expects the shopkeeper to protest—sixty is half of his original asking price, and probably not much more than he paid to acquire the wares—but when Stede moves his glare away from Izzy to be ready to argue further, the shopkeeper, well.
He definitely isn’t protesting. In fact, he isn’t saying much of anything, his mouth slack and his cheeks flushed as he stares at Izzy in—fear, perhaps? It’s not usually how people look when they’re scared of the pirates in their shops, but everyone reacts differently to threats, Stede supposes.
“Hugo.” Izzy sounds amused, of all things, as he snaps his fingers in front of the shopkeeper’s face. “Eyes up, there’s a good lad.”
Stede almost swallows his own tongue at that. The shopkeeper can’t be much younger than he himself, and he has at least a head on Stede, which means he’s practically towering over Izzy, twice as wide as either of them. He is, though, Stede notices now, looking very intently at Izzy’s mouth for a moment longer before he manages to tear his gaze away, face flaming up even more as he mutters, “Apologies, Mr Hands, sir.”
Izzy smiles, a little mean and a lot satisfied, and goes as far as reaching out to pat the shopkeeper’s cheek with his gloved hand. “There you go. I expect everything to be down by the docks before dusk.”
And then, without so much as acknowledging Stede, Izzy turns and strides out of the shop. He only pauses on the threshold to add, voice deceptively neutral, “Oh, and Hugo? If I find so much as a grain of salt or sand in the coffee, I’ll take my business elsewhere next time.”
Somehow, impossibly, the shopkeeper’s face turns even redder at that. “Yessir.”
“I suppose your reputation precedes you,” Stede says, only panting a little, when he eventually catches up with Izzy halfway down the market street.
It makes Izzy huff out a laugh, a real one as far as Stede can tell, for some unfathomable reason. “Something like that,” he mutters under his breath, and then, before Stede can ask for clarification, taps the notebook in Stede’s hand with an arched brow. “Where to next, then, Bonnet?”
Stede perks up immediately. “The perfumer’s closest, I believe.”
Izzy rolls his eyes hard enough that Stede is genuinely worried he’ll hurt himself.
2
The chances of Bellamy agreeing to their latest, admittedly somewhat mad and improvised scheme had always been slim, what with the man having just retired from his life of piracy, but Stede’s nonetheless glad that they’ve tried.
Because Bellamy is a legend in his own right, yes, and Stede had been excited to get the opportunity to have a chat with him, Captain to Captain, and just maybe pick his brain a little. But even more so because, the longer they all sit around Bellamy’s table together, their mostly empty plates long since abandoned, the more Ed opens up, calm and comfortable like Stede only rarely sees him, even amidst their own crew.
They’re friends, above all else, Ed and Bellamy, and watching them together is fascinating, setting something warm aflame in Stede’s chest.
Ed had talked about Bellamy, a little, on the journey to the tiny speck of an island Bellamy’s decided to spend his twilight years on. About serving together under Hornigold, still more starving boys than hardened pirates; about sneaking rations, hiding from the unpredictable moods of the older men, curling up together on deck during the coldest nights, looking for strength in numbers when their Captain’s eyes had lingered on one of them for a bit too long.
Edward, Bellamy, Rackham, as loath as Stede is to so much as think of the man.
And Izzy.
Izzy, who’s lounging back in his chair, a cup of wine in hand, looking as loose as Stede’s ever seen him as he chuckles lowly at Ed’s enthusiastic reminiscing, while Bellamy is laughing and yelling tipsily about Ed remembering himself more favourably than he should.
It’s late when they eventually turn in, but Stede still wakes before dawn, at the insistence of his bladder. Grimacing, Stede climbs over Ed’s sleeping form, pressing a kiss to Ed’s head and murmuring a quiet, “I’ll be right back, love,” when Ed stirs and hums in question.
After relieving himself, Stede decides to take a detour through the kitchen for a pitcher of water. They’ve both indulged enough that they’ll be glad for it come morning.
There’s a soft hum of voices coming from the lounge. Bellamy and Izzy, of course, and Stede moves closer curiously.
“—would you do, if he was asking you?” Bellamy sounds tired, but like he genuinely wants to know.
Izzy’s reply is surprisingly soft and open. “You know what I’d do, Sam.”
“You’d follow him to the ends of the world, and probably beyond, we all know that. I mean, what would you do, if you were me? If you weren’t Eddie’s—” here Bellamy pauses, and Stede feels somewhat gratified that he isn’t the only one who has trouble putting a name to what Ed and Izzy are to each other, “—if you weren’t his?”
“Tell him to fuck right off, probably,” Izzy says, and they both laugh at that, before they fall quiet again. Then Izzy continues, “And then I’d remember all the absolute shit we’ve been through, together. The countless fucking times he’s saved my neck from the noose.”
Bellamy groans. “Damn you, Israel.”
“Or,” something changes in Izzy’s tone, his voice growing even deeper than usual, a little playful, “I’d remember the good times we’ve had together, the two of us.”
Stede’s nosiness takes the better of him, and he moves closer so he can peek his head into the other room. Izzy and Bellamy are sprawled in the armchairs by the fireplace, facing each other. Close enough for Izzy’s foot to be easily propped up on Bellamy’s chair, between his knees, and that Bellamy’s hand can easily reach out to wrap around Izzy’s ankle.
Bellamy’s got his free hand over his eyes, but his mouth is twitching. “You absolute fucking menace,” he says, around another, softer laugh, and peeks at Izzy through his fingers. “You really don’t play fair, do you?”
Izzy touches the tip of his tongue to his bottom lip. “Never have, Sammy.”
Stede isn’t sure what he’s seeing, but it suddenly feels too private for him to witness. Foregoing the water, he tiptoes back to his and Ed’s room, and slips back under the sheets to curl up against Ed’s chest.
“I really am too old for all of this,” Bellamy tells them the next morning, over breakfast. “But my fleet’s still out there, and my name still has some pull with most of the Captains. I’ll see what I can do, all right?”
His eyes flicker to Izzy as he says it. Izzy inclines his head ever so slightly.
Stede watches them both, confused but intrigued.
3
“And it seems I was right!” the Captain of the vessel that’s boarded them finishes gleefully, spreading his arms wide. “A skeleton crew at best, no Blackbeard in sight! Easy pickings, wouldn’t you say so, boys?”
His crew hoots and hollers, sure of their victory, and Stede, unfortunately, has to agree that it doesn’t look particularly good for his own crew, currently. Ivan is firmly standing his ground, Jim is undoubtedly ready to strike out at a moment’s notice from wherever they’re hidden, and Wee John provides an imposing picture as always, but Stede counts at least fifteen hostile pirates on board, which means they’re outnumbered fairly solidly.
With most of their crew incapacitated by a rather nasty bout of what they all hope is only a particularly stubborn type of the common cold, Stede and Izzy have decided that hiding out somewhere secure is the best course of action. And for most of the last week, that’s been proven true, with half a dozen ships cluelessly sailing past the Revenge where she’s tucked away into a partially foliage covered rock alcove.
Tonight, however, they’ve got a full moon plus an uncharacteristically cloudless sky on their hands, and it seems their luck has finally run out.
“So!” the other Captain continues, now clapping his hands together, “what will it be, Gentleman Pirate? Short and painful, or long and, well, more painful?”
Everyone on deck tenses at the unmistakable sound of a gun’s hammer being pulled back.
“I’d suggest quick, on your part.” Izzy steps out from the shadows with his dagger against a man’s throat, and his gun against the man’s temple. He turns them both to face the other Captain. “By which I mean, hurry up and get the fuck off Blackbeard’s ship.”
Stede, heart hammering in his chest, glances from Izzy to his captive, to the other Captain, then back again, for once too frazzled to protest Izzy’s deliberate misdeclaration of ownership. He notices the similar features of the other Captain and the man at Izzy’s mercy a moment before Izzy ads, a cold smile curling around his mouth, “If you’d like who I’m assuming is your brother back in one piece, not splattered across the deck.”
The other Captain takes a step forward. Izzy flexes his finger on the trigger.
Stede is holding his breath.
And then the other Captain says, voice full of disbelief, “Baz?”
Izzy’s eyebrows shoot up, but Stede’s glad to see that his hands stay steady. “Long time since I’ve gone by that name.”
“It is you,” the other Captain breathes in wonder, then barks, “Lower your weapons!” There’s a murmur of confusion from his crew, but they all, even if somewhat reluctantly, put away their weapons when their Captain hollers, “Right fucking now, boys!”
Izzy does not lower his own weapons, even as he acknowledges, “Armand.”
Captain Armand’s face breaks out into a blinding smile. “How’ve you been, Baz?”
“Order your crew back over to your ship,” Izzy says, ignoring Captain Armand’s question. He pointedly taps the barrel of his gun against his captive’s head. “And then get the fuck out of my sight.”
Izzy doesn’t move an inch as the other crew, grumbling and muttering disgruntledly, climbs back over to their own ship. He waits until all of them have made it over before he shoves his captive away violently, making the man stumble over to his brother.
He points his gun at Captain Armand, then. “Leave.”
“You know,” muses the brother, a teasing glint in his eyes as he looks Izzy up and down, seemingly unbothered by the weapon aimed in their direction, “you’re not what I expected.”
“Sylvain,” Captain Armand sighs, sounding exasperated. “Please.”
“What?” Sylvain clicks his tongue, still grinning. “You’ve been talking about Basilica,” he sing-songs the name, clearly teasing, “for the last two decades. Makes a man wonder, is all.”
Stede knows Izzy well enough, by now, that he can tell he’s enjoying how Captain Armand squirms at that. He sounds completely casual, though, when he asks, “Been talking about me, have you?”
Captain Armand actually pouts at that. “Not that much,” he insists, but from behind his shoulder, Sylvain pipes up again with, “All the fucking time.”
He cackles when his brother pushes him away, but does finally grab one of the ropes to swing back over to their ship. Captain Armand hesitates, however.
“We’re planning on making port in Tortuga, two weeks from now if the winds hold,” he says after a moment, worrying his cheek between his teeth. “‘Case you’re headed in the same direction?”
“Really?” Stede blurts, incredulous, at the same time as Izzy demands, “Are you fucking serious, right now?”
From above them in the rigging, Jim lets out a choked little laugh.
Captain Armand grins, unrepentant. “Hey, asking’s free, right? Worth a shot.”
“If I ever see you again,” Izzy says as he curls his finger a little tighter around the trigger, “I’ll cut you open from neck to stomach, and let the gulls make a fucking feast of you.”
That is finally enough to get Captain Armand moving as well, though not without a cheerful, “Can’t wait, Baz!” and a rather salacious wink thrown over his shoulder at Izzy.
Stede whirls around towards Izzy as soon as the other ship’s lifted anchor. “Basilica? What—”
He’s interrupted by the door to the Captain’s quarters creaking open. Lucius pokes out his head, glancing around the deck. “Everything resolved up here, then? Great! Because Ed’s fever has broken, he’ll probably wake up soon.”
Which is good enough news to thoroughly distract Stede from asking Izzy just what in heaven’s name that had all been about.
4
Stede steps back from the bars with a defeated sigh. No luck bargaining with this guard, either, it seems. He crosses the cell back to the small window, and plops down on the ground beneath it with a huff.
“This one won’t even talk to me.”
Stede frowns when there’s no reply to that—not even a sarcastic, “I wonder why,” or anything along those lines—and glances over at Izzy, who’s slouched against the wall next to him. Breathing shallowly, and looking even more pale than yesterday.
The tight ball of worry Stede’s been carrying around in his belly ever since their arrest grows a little bigger. “Izzy?” he asks softly, and touches a tentative hand to Izzy’s shoulder, “Are you—”
“Fine,” grunts Izzy.
They both know it’s a lie. One does not get run through with a sword and simply be fine, Stede knows as much from very painful, personal experience.
After a moment, Izzy amends, “I’ll live.”
He doesn’t shake off Stede’s hand, so Stede takes a risk, and moves it to cup the back of his neck. Izzy’s skin is cold and clammy, but his pulse, when Stede finds it, is steady and strong. Which is a vast improvement over last night, when Izzy hadn’t been able to stop shivering, even after Stede had practically curled himself around him in a helpless attempt to keep him alive.
They might not be the best of friends, but they’ve grown more civil with each other over the last year or so. Finally getting to know Izzy as a person, not just Blackbeard’s first mate, getting to see him through Ed’s eyes, has gone a long way towards erasing most of the resentment Stede had still been harbouring towards him. Turns out, it’s vexingly difficult to hate someone the man you’re desperately in love with is rather desperately, even if unknowingly, in love with in turn.
Besides, Izzy is an incredibly talented sailor and even better swordsman, and definitely someone Stede prefers to have on his side instead of as an enemy. He’s got a not so surprisingly dark and dry sense of humour, is a very gifted teacher if one’s content to ignore the casual insults, and even if Stede would never dare voice it out loud, Izzy isn’t too hard on the eyes, either.
And on top of that, Izzy had been injured while saving Stede, after Stede had, rather foolishly, he’ll admit, lost his own sword early on in the fight. And Stede is grateful, obviously, and—well, Stede is simply glad Izzy isn’t going to die, is all.
“We’ll have to find a way out of here first. Sooner rather than later,” Stede points out. Going by the reddish light spilling in through the window, it’s close to dusk again. “I don’t think what they’ve planned for us come morning is a mere slap on the wrist.”
Izzy snorts at that. “Probably not.”
Stede finds himself smiling back. It only lasts for a moment, however, before the direness of their situation catches back up with him. “Looks like the new guard won’t be any help, either, unfortunately. He didn’t even tell me to shut up like the last one. Though, now that I think about it, maybe he doesn’t speak English? Actually, he might not be able to speak at all, what with that dreadful scar—”
“‘Cross his mouth?” Izzy interrupts, suddenly more lively than Stede’s seen him in hours. “Missing a chunk of his lower lip, right side? And the top of an ear?”
At Stede’s stunned nod, Izzy smirks.
“Help me up,” he demands, “we’re getting the fuck out of here.”
Izzy doesn’t share his plan, but he does tell Stede to, “Stay out of my fucking way, Bonnet, and don’t to anything stupid for five fucking minutes,” which probably means he’s starting to feel better, at least.
When the guard comes back around on his next rotation, Izzy’s leaning against the cell door with his vest discarded and the top few buttons of his shirt undone, arms draped casually through the bars. The guard stops in his tracks at the sight of Izzy, eyes widening, and Stede can’t see Izzy’s face from where he’s standing, but Izzy’s voice is low and husky when he greets, “Tiago.”
“Israel?” the guard, Tiago, asks in clear surprise, followed by some Portuguese that, curiously enough, doesn’t sound angry. And, much to Stede’s utter disbelief, he does step closer to the bars, to Izzy, until he’s within arm’s reach.
Both Stede and Izzy might’ve been relieved of their weapons before being unceremoniously thrown into their cell, but Stede doesn’t doubt that Izzy disarmed is still just as dangerous as Izzy with a sword in hand.
Tiago, apparently, doesn’t share Stede’s concern for his safety.
He’s still talking, close enough now that Izzy has to tilt his head back to keep looking him in the eye. Izzy says something back—How hadn’t Stede known Izzy spoke Portuguese?—that makes Tiago glance down at where Izzy’s fingers are toying with the hem of his shirt. When Tiago doesn’t protest, Izzy pushes his hand up, under the loose fabric.
Stede stands frozen to the spot, unsure what to do. Surely, Izzy wouldn’t—he can’t mean to—
But Izzy doesn’t move away when Tiago reaches through the bars to splay a hand over his thigh. Or when Tiago leans in as close as possible, gaze flickering down to Izzy’s mouth, and—
And then Tiago’s mouth opens, but all that comes out is a strangled string of gibberish, followed by rather a lot of blood. Izzy steps back, then, pulling a dagger out of Tiago’s chest. He wipes it carelessly on his own shirt before shoving it into the waistband of his trousers.
“Little help here, Bonnet?”
Stede starts, and quickly moves where Izzy directs him, kneeling down to pull Tiago closer to the cell door. Izzy crouches next to him with a pained wince, and goes about removing the ring of keys from Tiago’s belt.
“Did you have this on you the entire time?” Stede can’t help but ask, nodding at the dagger.
Izzy rolls his eyes. “Would’ve gotten out of here hours ago if I did. Tiago’s just a predictable old cunt.” At Stede’s frown, he clarifies, “Always used to carry his knives in a holster at his side, under his shirt.”
Before Stede can ask how Izzy knows that, Izzy sits back on his heels with a pleased, “There.”
He tosses the keyring to Stede, and only scowls a little when Stede quickly gets up and offers him a hand again. Stede pulls him to his feet as well before he goes about finding the right key for their cell.
Izzy takes point once they’ve got the door open. Stede wrinkles his nose as they have to step over Tiago’s corpse. Izzy doesn’t appear to be bothered by the still growing pool of blood on the floor.
“You, uh.” Stede hesitates, not sure how, exactly, to phrase what he wants to ask. “How do you know a Portuguese prison guard, then?”
Izzy shrugs. “I get around,” he says, then chuckles at his own words, as if he’s just made some sort of joke.
“What does that mean—”
Which is when another four guards round the corner towards their cell block, discover their comrade dead on the floor, and start yelling and sounding the alarm.
Izzy grabs Stede’s wrist, presses his other hand over the wound in his side, and barks, “Run, Bonnet!”
And, well.
Stede figures that’s probably a good idea.
5
“Oh, shit.”
Their conversation grinds to a halt at Lucius’ muttered curse. In the chair next to him, Jim tenses ever so slightly, their eyes narrowing. Stede turns in his seat in an attempt to see what’s got them distracted, and can’t help but scowl when he spots the source of discontent pushing his way into the tavern.
“Thought he was dead,” Jim says, as Stede watches Jack Rackham move towards the bar.
He’s surrounded by a gaggle of men who, by the looks of them, are already well into their cups. They’re loud, laughing and jostling each other, and Rackham seems to be revelling in it, a huge, smarmy grin on his face as he claps one of them on the back.
“He won’t cause trouble.”
Everyone turns to stare at Izzy, at that. But Izzy’s already gone back to flipping through the papers they’d been discussing, a little frown of concentration between his brows. “Everything looks to be in order, but I won’t trust it until I’ve had a chance to check for myself.” He pushes one of the pages towards Jim and Lucius. “Tell me what you make of this. I’d rather not risk making the trip twice, so we’ll need to figure out what’s worth taking.”
Jim and Lucius share a series of looks that involve a lot of raised eyebrows. After a moment, though, they both glance down at the page.
Which means neither of them see Rackham notice their little group. Or the sneer that pulls at his mouth at the sight of them. Or the instant he spots Izzy, and promptly walks into the edge of a table, almost stumbling over his own feet before one of his men rights him with a snort and tugs him away.
Huh. How strange.
Reluctantly, Stede moves his focus back to their planning session. They only have the one shot at pulling this off before they need to meet Ed and the rest of the crew on the other side of the island in order to make a clean escape.
Stede won’t let Rackham’s presence ruin their evening, he decides, humming approvingly when Izzy starts explaining how they’re supposed to sneak into the party tomorrow. They manage to figure out most of the details over the next quarter of an hour before they’re interrupted by the bored looking owner appearing next to their table.
“Courtesy of the twat with the moustache over there,” he says, as he plops a mug of ale down at Izzy’s elbow. “Probably poisoned. He looks like the type.”
Then he wanders off again, apparently unbothered by the possibility of murder in his tavern.
“Uh,” Stede hears Lucius say uncertainly, “did you not hear the man just now telling you about, you know. The poison?”
Izzy, to Stede’s horror, has already downed most of the drink. He rolls his eyes as he sets the mug down, wiping the back of his gloved hand over his mouth. “Jack’s not that smart.”
This time, Stede joins in in the exchanging of confused looks between Lucius and Jim.
Izzy doesn’t drop dead over the course of the next half hour, though, and bats Lucius’ hand away when he goes to feel his forehead for the third time. “Fucking Christ, I’m fine. It was ale. Just ale. Fuck’s sake.”
He stands, levelling all of them with a flat stare. “No,” he says, when Jim moves to get up as well, “I can piss by myself just fine, thank you and fuck off.”
“This is weird, right?” Lucius speaks up, as soon as Izzy’s out of earshot. “No, yeah, never mind that, it is totally weird.”
Jim nods in agreement. “Extremely weird.”
They sit in somewhat awkward silence after that, none of them sure what to do. And then, again, Lucius says, “Oh, shit.”
When Stede looks, Rackham’s got Izzy cornered by the back entrance of the tavern, and is crowding him against the wall. He’s leaning in close to whisper in Izzy’s ear, a finger hooked between the buttons of Izzy’s vest, his other hand trailing up Izzy’s side.
Izzy smacks it away. Rackham presses it against his own chest instead, feigning hurt, which only makes Izzy snort. Then he quirks a brow up at Rackham, and Rackham steps back reluctantly. Stede can’t hear what Izzy says in response to all of that, but he doesn’t seem angry or upset as he leaves Rackham where he is, staring after him with big eyes, as he trails back to their table.
“What the fuck was that,” Lucius blurts when Izzy’s sat back down.
Izzy tilts his head back at him. “Told you he wouldn’t be a problem. Now,” he taps a knuckle against the last few papers they need to go through, “what’re we gonna do about the damn dogs?”
They finish up in short order, despite the air of general, Rackham shaped confusion hanging over them, left with a plan Stede is fairly optimistic will work out well. Buoyed by the promise of some sizable loot with minimal risk of injury, Stede treats everyone to one more round before shooing them all up the stairs to their rooms above the tavern.
But, try how he might, Stede fails to fall asleep, tossing and turning for what feels like hours. He’s nervous about tomorrow, yes, and worried about his crew like he is before every raid or fuckery, but mostly, Stede realises, he’s just not used to sleeping by himself anymore. Ed tends to cling, wrapping himself as tightly around Stede as he can manage, and while it leaves them sweaty and sticky most mornings, Stede’s also come to find it immeasurably calming and reassuring.
“Darn it,” he sighs, when it eventually becomes clear that sleep won’t be coming anytime soon.
He’s reluctant to wake Lucius or Jim, especially for something as trivial as a bit of elusive sleep. He could go back down to the tavern, where, by the muffled sound of it, people are still enjoying the night, but the prospect of surrounding himself with inebriated strangers isn’t exactly appealing.
Which leaves him to go out for a spot of fresh air, which he doesn’t need anyone to tell him is a dangerous idea, keep lying awake by himself, or, well.
It probably won’t hurt to go over the plan with Izzy one last time.
Only feeling a little guilty about his flimsy excuse to cover up his need for company, Stede redresses enough that he won’t utterly scandalise anyone he comes across, grabs the candle from the nightstand, and moves out into the dimly lit hallway. Izzy’s room is around the corner, closest to the stairs. Stede suspects he’d put himself between the rest of them and any potential danger on purpose, though Izzy definitely wouldn’t admit to it if Stede asked.
He’s only two doors away from Izzy’s room when Izzy’s door opens, and Rackham stumbles out, hair dishevelled and missing his shirt. Which hits him in the face a moment later, before Izzy appears in the doorway in a similar state of undress.
“You’re kicking me out?” Rackham whines, hands settling on Izzy’s hips. “C’mon, gorgeous, don’t be like that.”
“What,” Izzy mocks, though it’s almost gentle, “you expecting a fucking cuddle?”
Rackham grins widely. “Wouldn’t say no. Or,” he ducks his head and sets his teeth against Izzy’s neck, “how about round two, sweet cheeks?”
Izzy puts a hand on Rackham’s chest with a huff and a roll of his eyes. “How old do you think I am, you stupid twat?”
Rackham turns his head to press his lips to Izzy’s. The most shocking thing about this series of very shocking events, Stede thinks absently, is that Izzy actually kisses Rackham back. Even if it’s only for a few seconds, before he shoves a distracted Rackham away, and slams the door in his face.
“Aw, babes!” Rackham drops his forehead against the door with a thump. “Don’t be like that!”
“Fuck off, Jack.”
And that’s apparently that.
Rackham turns away from the door. If he’s surprised to see Stede standing there, rooted to the spot, he doesn’t show it. He only smirks, in that infuriating way he usually does, and tips an imaginary hat at Stede.
“Steve,” he says, sauntering away, still half naked and entirely unbothered by it.
“It’s Stede,” Stede tells the empty hallway.
Once he can make his feet move again, Stede returns to his room in a daze.
He doesn’t sleep a wink.
+1
Stede has no idea how he ended up in his current, eh. Position.
Or, well, that’s not entirely accurate.
Stede knows he’d been avoiding Izzy, as much as anyone could avoid anyone on a ship in the middle of the ocean, unable to meet Izzy’s eyes without blushing ever since the incident in the tavern. And Izzy had noticed, of course he had, and eventually he’d bullied Stede into an empty corner of the hold to demand, “What the fuck’s going on with you, Bonnet?”
Squirming under Izzy’s mulish stare, Stede had hemmed and hawed, until Izzy’d poked him in the chest, hard, and hissed, “Spit it the fuck out!” at which point Stede had burst out with, “I saw you with Rackham!”
They’d both jumped at Ed’s deceptively casual, “You were with Jack?” suddenly coming from behind them.
Then there’d been some tense and angry shouting between Ed and Izzy, which had turned into a teary-eyed confession of feelings from Ed that had prompted some very flustered mumbles of reciprocity from Izzy, which had then turned into tense and angry—and slightly bloody—kissing. At which point Stede had tried to subtly edge away and make himself scarce, which clearly hadn’t worked too well because now, Stede finds himself lying back on his and Ed’s bed, entirely nude, with Izzy nudged up between his legs, his mouth hot and wet around Stede’s cock while Ed rocks into Izzy from behind as if he’s trying to prove something.
His movements push Izzy further down on Stede’s cock, and Stede has to fight not to let his eyes flutter shut. Stede’s not, well, small. Down there. And he can feel the head of his cock being clutched tight by Izzy’s throat, but Izzy takes it all in stride without so much as a hint of discomfort.
A particularly harsh thrust of Ed’s hips makes Izzy moan around Stede’s cock. Stede lets out what he has to admit might be a squeak. Ed huffs out a breathless laugh, and winks at Stede over Izzy’s head, a knowing curve to his smile.
Izzy, for his part, can’t actually smirk with his mouth full, but his eyes sparkle with self-satisfied amusement. Stede lifts a shaking hand to sink his fingers into Izzy’s hair, and something low in his belly flips when Izzy leans into the touch.
Before he can examine that particular feeling more closely, however, Izzy does something positively sinful with his tongue at the same time as he swallows around Stede and scratches a sharp nail along the crease between Stede’s thigh and groin, which effectively renders Stede incapable of most higher brain function.
His hips move automatically, without his say-so, pushing his cock even deeper down Izzy’s throat. Izzy looks absolutely beautiful as he takes it all, face flushed and tears glittering at the corners of his eyes.
“Look at you,” Stede hears himself whisper, voice full of awe, “absolutely beautiful, the both of you.”
He thumbs over the X on Izzy’s cheek, and Ed groans, the sound punched out of him, hips stuttering as he reaches his peak. Izzy moans shakily, but doesn’t lose his rhythm; he takes Stede deep again, swallows around him once, twice, three more times, brushes a finger behind Stede’s balls, and then there’s nothing else Stede can do but follow Ed right over the edge.
Stede’s still trying to catch his breath when Ed tugs Izzy up onto his knees, tightly against his chest, and wraps a hand around Izzy’s red, flushed cock. He strokes him hard and fast, Izzy’s head lolling against his shoulder, and puts his teeth to one of the many fresh bite marks on Izzy’s neck. Izzy comes with a shudder and a whisper of Ed’s name on his lips, before he goes completely limp in Ed’s arms.
Ed keeps licking and sucking at Izzy’s neck for a few moments longer before he carefully lowers Izzy back down, draping him across Stede’s chest. Stede looks up at Ed, wide-eyed and unsure. This, somehow, feels more intimate than the sex itself, and he expects Izzy to push himself away with a snide comment at any second.
When he doesn’t, only arches his back into the hand Ed is petting along his spine, Stede risks curling an arm around Izzy’s shoulders. Izzy blinks up at him, expression as open and relaxed as Stede’s ever seen it. Unable not to, Stede leans down to brush a peck of a kiss over Izzy’s mouth.
“Thank you.” That’s enough to have Izzy roll his eyes, but he still kisses back when Stede moves in again. “You’re, ah. You’re rather good at. Well. That.”
“So I’ve been told,” Izzy mumbles around a yawn. He peeks up at Stede, mouth curling mischievously. “Repeatedly.”
Stede frowns, not especially happy when his mind automatically brings back the picture of Rackham pressed against Izzy. Really, why does every man Stede lo—likes have to have had some sort of dalliance with Calico Jack Rackham, of all people? What’s so special about—
“Oh.”
Izzy arches a brow at Stede’s soft exclamation, and Ed’s head tilts curiously.
Rackham isn’t special, is he? Not at all, because—
“Bellamy,” Stede says, the pieces rapidly clicking together in his head, “that’s why—you, with him? That’s why he agreed to help us, after all? And, and! There was that one dreadfully rude shopkeeper, as well, oh! The prison guard, and! And! That Captain, what was—Armand, yes! You—”
“Izzy’s been leaving a string of broken hearts and aching dicks all across the Caribbean for the last twenty-odd years.”
Izzy immediately goes tense at the undercurrent of anger in Ed’s voice, fingers twitching against Stede’s ribs. The expression on Ed’s face, when Stede looks at him, is difficult to read; anger, yes, definitely jealousy as well, and a whole lot of hurt. It’s Izzy, however, who looks horrendously heartbroken, though it only lasts for a fraction of a second before he forces his face into an almost scary neutrality.
Before Izzy can do more than open his mouth for an undoubtedly harsh and devastating retort, Stede cards his fingers into his hair, and presses a lingering kiss to the top of his head, successfully rendering him quiet long enough for Stede to admonish, “Edward.”
To his credit, Ed’s already starting to look guilty. He’s still working his jaw, his temper flaring, but he ducks his head just a little in acknowledgement.
“I don’t think it’s fair of you to judge Izzy for the relationships he’s had before you voiced your feelings or your wish for fidelity out loud.” Stede holds out a hand, and Ed sighs, but shuffles closer to take it. Smiling reassuringly, Stede gives Ed’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Is it?”
Ed breathes out harshly. “No.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “Nah, ‘s not. I—’m sorry.”
Izzy, who’s turned around to watch Ed, chews the inside of his cheek, something wary still in his eyes. Ed makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, puts a hand on Izzy’s chest, and says, more intently, “Iz.”
“Fuck off, Edward,” Izzy grumbles, but before Stede can worry too much, he adds, “Possessive fucking twat,” in a voice that’s incredibly, unmistakably fond and so, so full of love, Stede feels himself smile helplessly at the two of them.
Ed beams at Izzy, and Stede wisely moves out of the way just before Ed tackles a grumbling Izzy back into the sheets. He noses at Izzy’s neck, again, and bites at one of the most irritated marks already there. Stede winces, but Izzy’s eyes flutter shut as he tilts his head in obvious invitation, giving Ed more space to work with.
Stede leaves them to it, shaking his head and chuckling to himself, and goes to fetch some water and a few cloths. Ed kisses him deeply once he returns, before cleaning first Izzy, then himself. Stede wipes himself down cursorily, drops the dirty cloths back in the water basin, and puts everything down on the side table to be taken care of in the morning.
When he turns back to the bed, Ed has wrapped himself around Izzy, but his eyes trail Stede, and he murmurs a soft, “C’mere, love,” when he sees Stede hesitate.
It’s a tight fit, the three of them in a bed decidedly not designed with three adult men in mind, but they make it work. Izzy’s head ends up tucked under Stede’s chin, one of his arms draped over Stede, and their feet tangled together under the sheets. Ed is at Izzy’s back, practically squishing Izzy between the both of them, though Izzy seems entirely content to be one step away from getting smothered to death.
Ed finds one of Stede’s hand to curl their fingers together, resting their linked hands on Izzy’s hip.
Stede hides a smile he knows is much too sappy away in Izzy’s messy hair.
He’s drifting, almost asleep, when Ed murmurs quietly, “Hey, Iz?”
“Mmh?”
“If you ever fuck Jack again, I’ma cut off his dick and feed it to him.”
Stede knows he should probably protest. He decides not to.
Izzy doesn’t say anything back for a few long moments.
“Iz?”
“You know that's an incentive, not a deterrent, yeah?”
The ensuing tussle determines, once and for all, that a bigger bed needs to be top priority during their next raid.