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”Think that’s enough presents?”
Ed quirks an eyebrow at Izzy, who secures the last bag onto the overflowing roof of the cab and hops down, scowling.
”Half of that’s Bonnet’s clothes.”
”Yeah, ‘course. But the entire other half is presents for Alma. You’re spoiling her.” Ed takes a bite out of something sweet and freshly baked that he’d stuffed in his breast pocket before they left the ship.
”You’re spoilt,” Izzy retorts, soft and ineffective. ”What’re you eating.”
”Lussekatt,” Ed says, mouth full, and Izzy can’t tell what the word is trying to be. ”Roach made ’em for the Swede this morning. ’S nice. Want some?”
”Come on, boys!” Stede sing-songs from inside the cab. ”We don’t have all night!”
Izzy nods to the driver – a trustworthy girl from town, won’t sell them out to pirate hunters, Mary had promised – and holds out a hand to Ed, unable to hide his smile. Ed’s leather-gloved palm finds his as he climbs in, his grip tightening when he turns around to pull Izzy up after him. The carriage lurches forward and Izzy, still finding his land-legs, stumbles. Two pairs of arms catch him and pull him in, so he’s sitting half on Ed’s lap and half on Stede’s.
”Let me go,” he protests, weak and pleased with the way Ed’s arm snakes around his waist and Stede’s chin finds its way onto his shoulder. ”I’ll sit opposite.”
”And risk getting travel-sick? Not gonna happen, mate.” Ed’s hold of him tightens and Izzy sighs, allowing himself to relax into the familiar press of their bodies as the carriage takes them towards the Bonnet family home.
They’d had a fight about this, of course. Multiple fights, truth be told – small grumblings and dismissive eye-rolls from Izzy at first, then furtive arguments, and eventually an all-out screaming match where Izzy tried to back out of their Christmas holiday arrangements. He’d called the idea stupid and dangerous and just not for people like them, and Stede, frustrated to the brink of tears, had eventually yelled but I love you at him, for the first time. Izzy had been stunned into silence and then pounced on Stede, shutting him up with a biting, violent kiss that ended with both of them blinking back tears and with Izzy whispering, ”love you too,” feeling like his heart was going to explode. Ed had walked in when their clothes were already mostly off and plans had been made to join Mary, Doug and the kids for the last week of December.
”So Christmas is on or off?” Ed had murmured, slipping behind Stede and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his neck while looking at Izzy.
”On,” Izzy had breathed, and Ed’s grin had warmed him all the way to his toes.
Now the carriage is taking them at a brisk speed towards the house that used to be Stede’s home. A full moon throws a bright silvery stripe across the carriage and Stede pulls the blind down, falling silent.
”Alright?” Izzy asks, tilting his head so his cheek rests against Stede’s golden curls. He feels him nod, hears the soft noise he makes to confirm.
”It’s okay if you’re not.” Ed crowds closer to Izzy, reaches over to touch Stede’s knee. It’s still bizarre to see Blackbeard like this, supportive and gentle and kind. It’s bizarre that Izzy loves him more for it, loves him more with every new soft side that Ed reveals and with every quiet moment the three of them share.
Loves Stede, too.
”I am,” the blond says quietly into the darkness. ”It’s just a lot. Not in a bad way. But it’s… a lot.”
Izzy finds Stede’s hand and takes it. Stede squeezes his fingers softly and exhales.
xxx
The front door of the mansion opens as their carriage comes to a halt in the driveway. (Stede had called it a house but it’s definitely an entire goddamn mansion.) A golden rectangle of light spills out onto the silver, moonlit porch.
Mary stands in the light, and it’s the strangest feeling. A posh lady and a fancy fucking mansion should have Izzy sneering and turning his back – a life like that isn’t for him, so he’s decided he doesn’t even want it – but the light looks warm and inviting, he’s drawn to it, he suddenly fucking longs for it, like a moth blindly pressing its frail little body close to a flickering lantern.
”Was this a mistake?” Stede whispers, looking remarkably pale and a little bit sweaty in the moonlight.
”Hey. You don’t get to have second thoughts about this.” Izzy looks to Ed for support, and Ed immediately slips his hand into Stede’s.
“We’re doing the right thing, mate,” Ed says, with a quick kiss to Stede’s cheek. Izzy watches Stede visibly relax, and keeps his distance as they make their way to the door. Here, Ed is The Boyfriend and that’s fine.
Ed nudges Stede gently with his shoulder and Stede smiles nervously.
It’s fine.
Mary waves at them from the doorway.
It has to be.
xxx
They eat a simple, late dinner with Mary and Doug, chatting quietly and superficially about what they’ve been up to since the summer. It’s a little awkward, when one party talks about art commissions and village fetes and the other about ships they’ve raided and storms they’ve sailed through, but there’s enough goodwill around the table to make it work. Izzy’s still glad when dinner is over – the beginnings of a headache are clawing at his skull and the culture shock is teetering on the edge of too much. There’s so much fucking cutlery, too much firm land under his feet, and the vastness of the house surrounding them makes his jaw clench.
Mary stands up, and the four men follow suit. She hesitates, gesturing vaguely upstairs.
”We prepared two guest bedrooms, the nice ones facing south. I wasn’t sure if… Anyway, there’s two rooms.”
”Oh! We actually –”
”Thank you, Mary,” Izzy says, shooting Stede a sideways look. Stede snaps his mouth shut in a way that makes it obvious to everyone present that he’d been about to let something slip. Mary looks at them curiously but merely says,
”You must be tired. I don’t want to keep you.”
Ed wraps his arm around Izzy’s shoulders – a platonic gesture, Izzy decides – and lets Stede lead them up the wide, polished staircase. They pause at the door of the first guest room.
”You’re coming with us though, right, Izzy?”
”Keep your fucking voice down, Bonnet. Yes.”
And then Ed’s body is a warm weight pushing him through the open door, mouth on his neck and hands on his body as soon as they enter.
”Randy bastard,” Izzy says, fond.
”You need to relax,” Ed murmurs. ”Doesn’t he, Stede?”
Stede steps close, sandwiching Izzy between his two captains. His newly calloused fingers tilt Izzy’s chin up.
”Hmm. You do seem very tense. When was the last time you used your personal time off, Mr Hands?”
”The fuck’s – ah – that?” Izzy stumbles over the words and it’s all Ed’s fault. The bastard is groping at Izzy’s chest through his vest and shirt, while Stede is doing his condescending benevolent-captain routine. Izzy can’t decide which one he finds hotter. Stede grabs his cravat, pensively twists the ring on it between his fingers.
”Has Ed not given you adequate time off? Ed –” Stede looks up, past Izzy, giving Ed a stern look that Izzy knows will drive him fucking wild. ”You know how I feel about the welfare of my crew.”
”Could take care of the welfare of this particular crew member.” Ed’s grabby hands travel further down Izzy’s front. His voice is like molten steel trickling down Izzy’s spine. Izzy wants to drown in it.
“Personal time off is very important, especially around the holidays. I’ve always believed that,” Stede stays, hand still on Izzy’s throat, eyes on Ed. Izzy is sure both captains can feel his frantic heartbeat thrumming through his body.
“Uh-huh,” Ed says, and pulls Izzy back by the hips. “Guess I’ve been bad then. Neglectful.”
"We'll have to think of a way to reprimand you."
"Oh, by all means."
“But," Stede muses, finally turning his attention back to Izzy. "It’s not too late to make it up to the crew. How would you like some personal time off with your captains?”
As far as dirty talk goes, this human resources roleplay is atrocious. Izzy knows he’s blushing from the tips of his ears all the way down his chest. Jesus.
“Yeah, alright. You fucking lunatics.”
“We’re all yours, Captain,” Ed purrs, close to Izzy’s ear. And Christ alive, that does it for Izzy – being claimed by his captain, then offered to Stede like that. He’d say yes to anything, and it’s a particularly easy yes when Stede says,
”I was rather hoping I could get a good shag in this house, for the first time in my life. Would you be amenable to that?”
xxx
As usual, Izzy wakes up at the crack of dawn. As usual, he’s the first one. The house is quiet, apart from the unfamiliar sound of birdsong trickling in through the window. Christmas Eve, Izzy thinks. For the first time in years, it almost feels like that matters.
It can sometimes be worth it to stay in bed until his captains wake up, whether it’s for Stede pulling him sleepily on top of him, half-hard as he murmurs him good morning, or for Ed, grumpy and sluggish, insisting that the only way he’ll wake up properly is if someone gives him head and then brings him breakfast. It can be worth it just for the chance to watch his lovers sleep, tangled up with each other and breathing softly, so vulnerable and so safe in their shared bed. If Izzy hadn’t been a morning person before, those quiet moments would definitely have turned him into one.
Today, though, he’s feeling a little nosey, curious about this mansion and honestly a little hungry. He crawls out from underneath the warm legs and arms pinning him down and gets dressed in the lavender light of early morning. He thinks he can hear Ed mumble his name, liquid with sleep, but when he turns, the man is lying face-down and snoring into his pillow. By the time he slips out of the bedroom, Stede has already starfished across the bed to claim the bit of mattress vacated by him, and Ed has moved with a sleepy sigh to curl up against him. Izzy tamps down the ridiculous urge to blow them a kiss and closes the door.
The hallway outside their room is hung with dark paintings of white people in fancy clothes. There’s one of Mary and the kids, and an experimental piece that Izzy assumes to be Mary’s self-portrait. The brushwork is somewhat vague, deep greys and pale pastels, but it leaves the impression of a dark-haired woman looking fondly at a little model ship.
(The sails are completely fucked and it doesn’t have the right number of cannons, but otherwise the ship looks a lot like the Revenge would if Izzy let the crew get sloppy with the rigging.)
It’s weird, the idea that someone here could be thinking of them while they’re at sea. Izzy hasn’t had that since he left England for the last time; his whole world has existed solely on ships for as long as he cares to remember. He wonders if Stede has seen the painting, or what he thinks of it. He wonders, too, about the absence of Stede in any of the paintings. A dandy like him would definitely have had his picture painted and if Mary doesn’t want those up, well. Maybe Izzy would. Briefly, he even daydreams about a portrait of all three of them: Ed and Stede sitting on a loveseat with Izzy standing next to it, a hand on Ed’s shoulder and a sword at his hip. Defiant and happy and proud, immortalised in oil and expensive pigments, staring down anyone who dares to look at them. Izzy shakes his head and descends the stairs.
He’s just reached the bottom when a girl’s voice pierces the morning stillness.
”Izzy!”
Alma flies down the stairs in a rush of white nightgown and blond hair and crashes into Izzy at full speed. Izzy gets knocked back half a step and then he’s being hugged by skinny little arms, so tight he’s worried she’ll hurt herself.
”Alma,” he says, and all’s right with the world.
When the rest of the family comes downstairs, Izzy and Alma are crouching over the dining table, a map of the Caribbean spread between them. Alma stands on her chair and moves a salt shaker over to the coast of Cuba.
”And this is where you met Captain Vane, right?”
”Right,” Izzy says. He’s kept his promise of sending Alma little missives of their adventures, censored to a point where they’re nearly unrecognisable. But yeah, they did run into a colleague there.
”We talked about pirates in school, you know. Mr Smith – that’s our teacher this year, he suuuucks – showed us a picture of Blackbeard and I was like, that’s Uncle Ed! I didn’t say anything of course,” Alma adds, earnest. ”You can trust me. But I wanted so badly to tell them that he doesn’t look anything like the picture.”
She looks thoughtful. ”They had a bunch of others too, like Captain Kidd. Do you think they’ll draw pictures of Dad next? Or you?”
Izzy shrugs. ”I don’t know. Maybe.”
”I don’t mind that you're not as famous as Uncle Ed,” Alma says, chin in hand. ”I still think you’re pretty cool.”
Izzy laughs. ”Thanks, Alma.”
“Being famous isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be,” Ed says, tousing Alma’s hair and flopping down into the chair next to her. “Bet they showed you that stupid picture with the nine guns.”
“Yeah. Who even carries nine guns?”
Ed laughs. “That’s what I said.”
”Who wants pancakes?” Doug asks.
Ed joins the kids in raising his hand as high as it’ll go. Izzy grabs the coffee pot and pours himself a fresh cup. On the other side of the table, Stede sits down and pushes a coffee cup towards Izzy. He fills it, leaving a little bit of room for milk the way Stede likes it, and pushes it back across the table.
Before he can withdraw his hand, Stede’s fingers have snuck up to cover his. The porcelain is warm against his palm but Stede’s hand positively burns. Mary is right there, and the kids, and everything they’re not allowed to know is like an invisible grip around Izzy’s neck and – Izzy pulls his hand away with too much force. The cup tips over, spilling black coffee on the white tablecloth.
“Fu – I mean, sorry –”
“That’s okay.” Mary’s already mopping up the mess with a napkin. Her gaze stays on Izzy though, and Izzy tries to control the urge to get up and walk directly into the ocean.
Act normal, he tells himself.
But what the fuck does that mean in a place like this?
xxx
The house is decked out with a frankly ridiculous amount of decorations for the holidays. It’s superfluous, and silly, and Izzy grumbles a little for appearances’ sake while he helps Alma and Louis hang colourful paper garlands along the balustrade.
”Didn’t you decorate the ship at all?” Alma asks, incredulous and a little worried.
Izzy scoffs. ”Course not. It’s a pirate ship.”
”That’s dumb. I can teach you how to make stuff.”
There are only two people on God’s green Earth who can and will look Captain Blackbeard’s First Mate Hands in the eye and calmly tell him he’s dumb, and expect to live. Like father, like daughter, Izzy supposes.
Ed walks past them carrying an easel on his shoulder, sleeves rolled up and gait easy like he owns the place. His free hand pats Izzy on the shoulder and slips up to caress his neck.
”Hey, Iz.”
His touch is so warm Izzy wants to lean all the way in. But someone might see, Mary might see her ex-husband’s boyfriend canoodling with someone else in her house and that’s… not okay. So he draws back with a bashful smile, like a blushing fucking maiden.
”Do you wanna help us, Uncle Ed?” Alma holds up a garland. ”I can teach you how to decorate.”
”Sorry, mate.” Ed gestures to the easel. ”I promised to get Mary all this painting stuff.”
Alma sticks out her tongue. ”You’re boring.”
”What’re you going to do about it? Duel me?”
Alma’s eyes light up. ”Yes?”
Ed looks to Izzy as if asking for permission. Izzy nods.
”Alright then. After lunch?”
”Hell yes! Thank you, Uncle Ed!”
”Alma! Watch your language, you fucking animal.”
”Sorry, Uncle Ed.”
xxx
As promised, Alma and Ed have a duel in the garden after lunch. Izzy and Stede sit in the shade with Doug, sipping tea and watching the two of them bow, then ready their weapons. Ed is a little clumsy with the small wooden sword and the opponent he’s trying to keep safe – Izzy has had more practice with her and would probably fare better. But it’s nice to see Ed make an effort. Stede cheers them on, offering some incredibly misplaced advice that they both know better than to take. Ed shows off, a little, but lets Alma get the upper hand bit by bit.
"Die!!" Alma yells, slashing at Ed's arm with the wooden blade. Ed parries, laughing so hard he almost falls over.
"Is this what you taught her at sea?" Doug asks, looking a little shocked at the blonde little gremlin now using her non-sword hand to try and grab a hold of Ed's sleeve.
"Absolutely not," Izzy replies. "Alma! Bad sportsmanship!"
"Sorry!"
"Aw! Things were just about to get interesting!" Ed moves out of range, steals a glance at Izzy and winks at him before diving back in.
Alma positively glows when she finally disarms him, out of breath and hair falling into her eyes. Ed puts his hands up and Alma lowers the sword pointed at his chest. As soon as she catches her breath, she turns around.
”Izzy! Was I good?”
Ed follows her over to their table, limping and groaning. It’s not his real bad knee though – drama queen.
”Your wrist needs work,” Izzy says. ”But yes, you were.”
”Yeah. Terrifying.” Ed pours himself a cup of tea and looks around for a seat. Izzy can see him considering sitting on Izzy’s lap, which… would be lovely, Ed’s always welcome, his leather-clad body draped over Izzy is all he’s ever wanted, but not here. Izzy gets up.
”Let me show you something,” he says to Alma. Then, to Ed: ”Take a seat and take notes.”
”Alright,” Ed shrugs, briefly disappointed. Izzy sighs and picks up the toy sword Ed dropped on the lawn.
xxx
After dinner that night, Doug and Stede take the kids upstairs. Stede promises them a bedtime story and Alma lights up at that.
”Just like on the Revenge?”
Shit, Stede must have been a garbage father if that’s the only point of comparison his daughter has.
”Yes, just like that. I picked out a rather Christmassy book I thought you might appreciate.”
”Awesome! Night, Izzy!”
”Night,” Izzy says. He watches as the four of them disappear upstairs, tries not to feel bitter as he imagines the bliss of reading bedtime stories to your children. It’s fine. And where are Ed and Mary, anyway? Izzy empties his glass and heads down the hallway.
Izzy finds them in the study, sitting on the floor and giggling helplessly. Mary’s cheeks are pink, her black skirt spread in a perfect circle around her. Ed’s face is hidden in his hands, hair falling from the messy bun on the top of his head. An empty wine bottle lies on the floor behind them.
”I can’t believe,” he gasps. ”I can’t believe you fucking married him.”
Mary hiccups. ”I know!”
A floorboard creaks under Izzy’s boots and the pair falls silent, looking up. Like two kids who know they’ve been up to no good. Honestly, Izzy’s whole week is just going to be babysitting, isn’t it?
”Sorry,” he says. ”I’ll go.”
”No, nonono Izzy, Iz,” Ed’s caught his breath and gestures at him to come closer. ”You have to fuckin’ – check this out mate.”
On the floor in front of them is a painting, sloppily unwrapped from the rough cloth covering it. The painting…
”Oh my god,” Izzy says. Mary and Ed burst out laughing again.
The painting shows a younger Mary and a younger Stede, dressed up in their Sunday best and posing in the stiffest, most awkward way Izzy has ever seen. Stede’s hand is barely touching Mary’s shoulder, in fact it might not even touch. Neither of them is smiling.
Unexpectedly, Izzy’s heart aches for Stede. All that suffering, all that self-denial, the wasted time. He runs the math in his head. When Stede was pretending to want to touch his wife-to-be, Izzy was worlds away, pretending just as hard that he didn’t want to touch the man who’d swept him off his feet and made him his First Mate. The man who now looks up at him, eyes shining in the low light, and Izzy is allowed to touch him - he reaches out and traces a feather-light fingertip over Ed’s shoulder.
”That’s sad as fuck.” He nods at the painting.
Mary shrugs, gaze lingering on Ed. ”Every painting tells a story. This one had a happy ending, so.”
”Yeah.” Ed’s voice is soft and his body loose and warm with wine, so it catches Izzy off guard when he suddenly grabs his wrist and presses a kiss to the bare palm of Izzy’s hand. Izzy tugs his hand away, shoots a worried look in Mary’s direction.
”I hope you treat Stede with kindness,” Mary says into the suddenly strained silence, eyes meeting Izzy’s. ”He’s soft. He should be allowed to be.”
The memory of Ed’s kiss burns the soft flesh of Izzy’s palm. Again, he wants to walk into the ocean.
”I – we do. He is.”
”He wanted to hold your hand this morning,” Mary says, like it’s an accusation. ”You didn’t let him.”
What the fuck?
”It was… We were in public.”
”You were in my house!”
Mary is so fucking tiny, sitting on the floor at Izzy’s feet. And yet, Izzy feels something like fear twist in his gut. This is Alma’s mother. He’s tried his best to not seem monstrous in her eyes, and here they still are. She’s still looking at him like he’s not good enough. Izzy takes a step back.
”I’ve been supportive,” Mary points an angry finger at him. ”I invited him to spend time with his children, and I invited you. What more do you want? Am I really that bad?”
God. Fuck.
”No,” Izzy says. ”I–”
”Mary.” Ed says it softly, but there’s a hint of his captain’s voice in it. Mary turns her head. No no no, Izzy thinks.
”Last time a fancy rich lady caught me holding hands with a man she spat on us and told us we’re going to hell,” Ed says matter-of-factly. Izzy wants to cover his stupid mouth with both hands. What the fuck is he doing? ”In fact, never met a fancy rich lady who wasn’t a bigoted fucking asshole, one way or another.”
Mary frowns.
”Stede is soft.” Ed leans in for emphasis. ”And he’s safe because Izzy’s keeping him safe from people who’d do us harm. That’s, fucking, kindness. I think.”
He looks up and Izzy is speechless, breathless, burning up with shame and fear and love. They’re in a posh person’s house with Ed’s boyfriend and all the soft lovely things Ed’s always wanted, and he’s looking at Izzy like he’s the only thing that matters.
”I’m sorry,” Mary says, sounding more pissed off than apologetic.
Izzy finds that he doesn’t care, suddenly. He leans down and kisses Ed, tasting cinnamon and smoke and the echo of safe. Ed’s hands find his shoulders, his cravat, his hair, and pull him down until he’s kneeling next to him. Izzy holds onto his shoulders like he might drown.
When they break the kiss, Ed stays cradling his head, smiles and says,
”Hey.”
”Hey,” Izzy replies.
”Hey.” Mary kicks Izzy in the shin. ”What the fuck.”
Clumsily, a little kiss-drunk, Izzy turns to face her.
”I fucking love him, Mary. Both of ’em. That good enough for you?”
Mary’s eyes shine wetly. She nods, then shakes her head. ”Yes. Of course. Of course it is.” She looks down at her hands. ”It’s just a lot. Not in a bad way, but it’s… a lot. I worry about that stupid man.”
”Yeah. Me too,” Izzy says. ”All the fucking time.”
Mary gives him a tight little smile. ”Yeah. Sorry.”
”You gotta trust us, Mary,” Ed adds, pressing warmly against Izzy’s back. Izzy lets him. Mary reaches out tentatively, smoothing out her skirt and then brushing her fingers against Izzy’s. Izzy takes her hand.
”I’m trying,” Mary says. ”That good enough for you?”
”Yeah,” Izzy says. ”Yes.”
xxx
On Christmas morning, Izzy stays in bed. He stays until Ed starts stirring, pulls him close and sighs contently into the crook of his neck. He stays until Stede blinks his eyes open, says something about having slept like a baby in a manger which is quite fitting given the festive occasion isn’t it, and Ed asks him the fuck are you on about mate, and Izzy grabs his golden curls and tugs him in for a kiss before he can elaborate. Stede moans – he doesn’t ever fully shut up, and Izzy finds that he loves it – and Izzy takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into his mouth, rub it along the slick wetness there, until he feels lips press against his ear and Ed’s voice trickle like warm syrup directly into his brain.
”I wouldn’t mind getting some of that.”
And so Izzy lets Stede go, turns his head just enough to meet Ed in a lazy kiss, his captain crawling on top of him and pinning him against the mattress. It’s sweet, and slow, with Ed dragging his teeth along Izzy’s bottom lip until Izzy’s hips jerk up and Ed kisses the whimper back into his mouth. Izzy’s eyes are closed, his senses overwhelmed by Ed’s body and his scent and his mouth on his, until the kisses get suspiciously breathy and Izzy blinks to find Stede kneeling behind Ed, arm wrapped around his hip and his hand, presumably, stroking Ed off where he’s hovering above Izzy.
”Ah,” Ed says, eyes pinching closed. ”Oh, Stede.”
”You like that, lover?”
Ed shivers. Izzy cradles his face in his hands, alight with second-hand pleasure. Stede leans over, breathing out a –
”I’m gonna – I want to fuck your thighs, darling.”
And Ed groans, adjusting himself on his knees and panting slightly, arms bracketing Izzy’s shoulders as he’s thrust forward, face so close to Izzy’s. Izzy’s cock twitches against his own stomach, but all he wants to do is watch as Ed’s mouth falls open, his ragged breath hot on Izzy’s face.
"Stede," Ed repeats. "Ah, fuck! Please, fuck -"
"Shh." Stede slows down his movements - Izzy can tell by the impatient noise Ed immediately makes on top of him. "No need to wake the whole house."
Stede takes his sweet time with it, even though it doesn't take long until Ed is completely gone, biting his own lip to stop himself from whimpering. Izzy runs a thumb over his cheekbone, over his soft eyelids, his sweaty, pinched brow, and the praise he mutters – unspeakable things, like how much he loves him, how much he wants him to feel good – mixes with Stede’s stuttered endearments as he pleasures them both.
Izzy wishes he could stay here forever, listening to Ed’s moans get high-pitched and desperate, watching as Stede plasters himself over Ed’s back and fucks them both gently towards the edge with his hand over Ed's mouth. Izzy’s own release is something he’s not really thinking about, not even when Ed comes with a strangled shout and Stede follows him soon after, their seed mixing with sweat and oil and making a mess of everything when they both collapse on top of Izzy, boneless and out of breath. Izzy skates gentle fingertips over warm skin, and it’s hard to breathe under the weight of them both but it’s fine, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
Ed stirs first, pressing a chaste, smiling kiss to the corner of Izzy’s mouth and wiggling his hips where Izzy’s half-hard cock is digging into the softness of his stomach. ”Want me to suck you off, Iz?”
”No need.”
”Sure?”
”Yeah.” He’s already coming down, he doesn’t want that, he just wants Edward looking at him like this and melting against his body like this, pleasure-soft and still a little sleepy.
”Stede,” Ed groans. ”I’m pretty squished here, mate.”
Stede rolls to the side with a dazed apology, flops down smelling of sex and lavender and Izzy draws in a lungful of that, now that some of the pressure is off his chest. Ed stays draped over him and it’s… unfair, obscene, that he should ever get to be this happy. His fingers, tracing the ridge of Ed’s spine, tangle with Stede’s and they’re simply breathing, wrapped in the soft calm of the platinum-bright morning light.
Eventually, Stede sits up and announces that it’s time for the Bonnet Family Christmas Breakfast. Izzy can hear the capital letters in his voice, can't help but roll his eyes a little.
They get up, clean up, get dressed. Izzy is just tying off his cravat when Stede walks up to him.
”May I?”
Izzy lifts his chin, looks into the hazel eyes of his former rival and let's Stede finish dressing him. The blond smirks at him, looking a little smug.
Izzy frowns. ”What.”
Stede turns him around to face the mirror. ”Look at that.”
Izzy follows his gaze and his breath catches in his throat. Threaded through his cravat, right below Ed’s emerald one, is a new ring. Smooth gold shines against the black fabric, and a deep blue stone catches the morning light. Izzy reaches up to touch it, like he’s touched Ed’s ring thousands of times.
”Merry Christmas, Izzy,” Stede says, voice soft.
”Thought we weren’t doing presents.”
”It’s not a present. It’s a promise.”
”Of?” Izzy’s chest feels tight as he turns around to face Stede. From the corner of his eye, he can see Ed watching them.
”Loyalty. I think – that’s something you understand the value of.” Stede’s hands are warm and a little nervous on Izzy’s shoulders.
”So it is a present.”
”Well, if you don’t want it –” Stede draws up to his full height, a pissed-off edge in his voice as his hands leave Izzy’s shoulders and –
”I do,” Izzy says, and pulls the man into a deep kiss.
It takes them a little while longer to make it out of the bedroom.
xxx
The Bonnet Family Christmas Breakfast involves a frankly obscene amount of food and more gifts than Izzy’s ever seen. The children are bouncing off the walls, high on sugar and tearing through wrapping paper like a horde of rats let loose on a merchant ship.
Despite Ed’s teasing, the presents they got for Alma are really nothing elaborate. Izzy’s just got into the habit of seeing something nice when they’re out and about and thinking hey, Alma would like that. He’s got more money than he frankly knows what to do with, doesn’t like spending it on himself, so it’s not like it’s a big deal to use some of the gold on useful things for Alma. Like a slightly unnecessarily fancy compass (the gold-plating just looked so nice) or a doll with real human hair (horrifying, truly the stuff of nightmares, but Alma loves it). Louis gets presents too, of course, although shopping for him has been harder since Izzy doesn’t know the boy and Stede, incredibly enough, also doesn’t really seem to.
For this festive occasion, Stede is dressed in a crimson velvet coat and breeches, with a frilly silk shirt underneath that shimmers in champagne-gold when he moves. His shoes have little golden ribbons on them, perfectly matched with the silken gold of his curled hair. He should look ridiculous – does – but Izzy notices the way the coat hugs his broad shoulders, the way the velvet caresses his thighs, and his mouth goes a little dry. It’s not quite the all-white outfit he wore for his debut at the Republic of Pirates (Izzy had hot, unsettling dreams about that for weeks) but it’s still rather memorable.
Ed’s in all black, white pearls shining softly against his throat. The pearls should make Izzy afraid – too feminine, too fragile – but when Alma reaches up to touch them admiringly and Ed smiles, big and relaxed, Izzy knows he’s safe.
And Izzy? He wears his nicer shirt, the one not faded in the sun and patched at the elbows, and Stede’s ring, and no one says anything about it, no one makes him feel like he’s not posh enough or man enough or just… not enough, to be here. When he gets a moment alone, he slips the ring off and examines it more closely. He feels tears prickle his eyes when he sees the fine engraving on the inside:
Family.
That night, Stede reads to the whole family in the parlour. Ed has his head in Stede’s lap and his socked feet in Izzy’s, his hands fiddling mindlessly with a colourful cube puzzle that Mary and the kids got him. It’s apparently all the rage in town this year, and Ed has solved it before Stede even gets to the juicy bits of the story. When Ed starts to fidget, Izzy grabs his ankles with one hand, the other moving to his knee. Ed sighs and closes his eyes, his whole body going slack as Izzy begins his massage. The story continues - ghosts, and Christmases, and falling snow.
”Spirit!” Stede cries in his best theatrical voice, “hear me! I am not the man I was. Why show me this, if I am past all hope! Your nature intercedes for me, and pities me. Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me, by an altered life!”
Izzy thinks of the man he used to be, sneering from the shadows as Stede read to his crew. He looks at Alma, sitting on the floor clutching her brother’s hand and holding her breath in anticipation. Altered lives, indeed.
”Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim he was a second father.”
Stede smiles to himself, turns the page and continues.
”He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him.”
Stede finishes the story and closes the book.
”Another one!” Louis insists, even though he’s nodding against his sister, barely awake.
”It’s bedtime for you two.” Mary stands up. ”Izzy?”
”Yes?”
”It’s our turn to put the kids to bed.”
Izzy shoves Ed’s feet off his lap. ”Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
”Will you check under my bed for ghosts?” Louis asks sleepily, taking the hand Izzy offers to him.
”You’re such a baby,” Alma says. "Ghosts aren't real."
"Aren't they? Remember the story Buttons told you."
Alma's eyes go wide. "That was true?"
Izzy smiles. "Maybe."
xxx
The fire is burning low in the fireplace and two wine bottles sit empty on the coffee table. Izzy feels pleasantly warm on the sofa, soft and almost safe. Ed is playing chess with Doug in the corner, heatedly explaining why a strategy like that just wouldn’t work in a real-life battle, man – but still winning, judging by Doug's exasperated groans.
Mary gossips with Stede about mutual acquaintances – Paul’s wife, yes, the one with the cats and the nice rose garden – is apparently having an affair with someone named Evelyn, and Caroline with the annoying kids tried to start shit at Mary’s latest exhibition because she found the nudes ungodly and unbefitting of a woman painter. She’s wearing a black cravat loosely tied around her neck – one of Stede’s, just like Ed. Izzy wonders if Stede knows how loved he is.
”This must be boring for you, Izzy,” Mary interrupts herself with an apologetic look. ”Caroline is… Well. She’s a cunt, but not in a very interesting way.”
”That’s fine,” Izzy replies, and means it. ”If it’s interesting to Stede then that’s fine.”
Stede turns to him, stretches his arm along the backrest of the sofa and pulls him in with a fond smile. ”You’re very lovely, Israel, did you know that?”
Izzy hopes he doesn’t look too much like a doting puppy dog when he settles himself against Stede and laces their fingers together.
”So did anyone actually boycott your exhibition then?” He changes the subject.
”No!” Mary laughs. ”It was an even bigger success because everyone wanted to see what the fuss was about. I quite like the scandalous reputation it gave me.”
She grins, and Izzy can see where Alma gets her mischievous smile from.
”A dead husband and a couple of raunchy paintings – I’m suddenly extremely cool.”
”Glad to be of service.” Stede bows his head.
”Thank you, though, really,” Mary says. ”I think we did good. In the end.”
”Yeah,” Stede says softly. ”Me too.”
”Fuck yes!” Ed says from the corner. ”My horse fuckin’ eats your King, bitch.”
”How are you so good at this, man?”
”We were becalmed for two weeks once. Nothing to do but wait and starve and play chess with Izzy. Stab a mutineer occasionally, then more chess.” Ed shrugs. ”Remember that, Iz?”
”Yeah. I fucking hated it. Thought maybe I’d already died and gone to hell.”
”Aw. It wasn’t that bad.”
”It was.”
”Is that why you’re always insisting that we take extra rations with us, and no chess boards?” Stede is beginning to connect the dots.
”Yeah. I still have nightmares about it.”
”Huh. I thought it was a pirate thing. Like a superstition or something.”
”Nah. Izzy’s just no fun.”
”Alma hates chess too,” Mary says to Izzy. ”Doug’s been pestering her to learn it but she’d much rather practise swordplay. Guess she takes after you.”
Izzy’s heart stutters in his chest. ”Oh,” he says.
Doug demands a rematch and Stede wants to hear about Riley and the six and a half horses he bought at that auction two years ago, and Izzy doesn’t quite know how it happens but the warmth of the fireplace and the wine in his veins must lull him to sleep because he startles awake some time later, neck stiff and spine all kinds of fucked up from leaning against Stede.
”Iz,” Ed’s lips are soft against the tattoo on his cheek. ”Let’s go to bed.”
That night, Izzy dreams of falling snow in his childhood hometown. Of loud voices and carelessly thrown punches, of hunger and yearning and doors locked in his face. He wakes up in a sweaty, breathless panic, vague nightmare shapes chasing him until he eventually comes back to his body. Slowly, he notices Stede’s heavy arm slung across his chest and Ed’s cold feet tucked greedily between his legs. Outside, rain taps against the window panes.
Izzy stares at the dark ceiling for a moment.
Stede starts to snore. Izzy breathes out.
The ghosts let him go.