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Izzy wakes in the rented room with a mouthful of Edward’s hair and a smear of drool on his neck.
“Ugh,” he grunts, trying to pick the hair out of his mouth before he inhales it and chokes. Ed sleeps like the dead, especially after a heavy night of drinking. They’d been celebrating last night, after selling the spoils of a huge raid that had yielded a frankly disgusting amount of coin for them. Ed and Izzy had stashed half of their shares in their discreet accounts, and had blown the rest at the tavern, buying round after round for everyone.
Usually Izzy values discretion with a windfall like that, but everyone’s spirits had been so high. Izzy remembers singing raucously along with some local musicians, swaying arm in arm with Ed to the old shanties. He must have been truly shitfaced to have been singing in public, he thinks. The rest of the details are a bit fuzzy. He remembers Ed pulling him up on top of a table, stomping and dancing with such abandon that Izzy had clung to him for fear of the wood splitting clean in two, the two of them nearly falling over each other with laughter. Everyone had been cheering, and Ed had said something to the crowd–
“–my mate Izzy! Izzy Hands!” Ed’s arm around Izzy is mostly responsible for keeping him upright at this point, though Ed’s own situation is just as precarious. Izzy laughs in delight. “This man right here,” Ed slurs, punching him in the tit, “is the greatest bastard what ever sailed under me!” He leers at the crowd, mimes telling a secret behind his hand. “And when I say under me…”
A shriek isn’t the most charitable description of the sound Izzy makes, but it’s not that far off. The crowd erupts with noise while Izzy flushes and pretends to push Ed off him, the both of them howling with laughter. It’s no secret that they’re together, not with the way Ed flaunts him when he’s got enough drink in him. Izzy doesn’t love to be the center of attention like Ed does, but he loves to be the center of Ed’s attention.
“Is Blackbeard a good fuck, Hands?” someone shouts up at them.
“Ask your mother,” Izzy yells back, to another good-natured roar from the room. Ed thrusts his hips suggestively as the man’s friends razz him.
“I’m seriously serious, though,” Ed says. He puts one hand around Izzy’s hips, while the other gestures dangerously with his bottle. “This handsome piece of shit here–” One of the barmaids whistles and winks, making Izzy grin. “Is the reason you’re all drinking on my doubloons tonight.” The crowd cheers and raises their drinks to him. “My best mate. My first mate! Fuck, if he was a girl I’d marry him!”
The crowd likes that, bursting into hoots and heckles.
“Marry him anyway!”
“Make an honest man of him, Hands!”
“Call the priest!”
Obscenely drunk on liquor and riches and Ed’s adulation, Izzy thinks this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Call the priest!” he echoes.
“Fucking do it!” Ed yells at the room, and by God, it looks like someone is making an effort at it. Ed pulls Izzy close to him and tilts his bottle to his lips, pours him a mouthful. Then a second one, which mostly runs down Izzy’s chin until Ed kisses it off. The crowd goes truly wild, and everything after that is a bit of a blur.
He’s standing with Ed on the table.
There are flowers stuck at random into their buttonholes and their hair.
He’s happy.
The crowd has gone quiet and someone is talking at them, but he’s just looking at Ed. Fuck, he loves him.
“Aye, Captain,” he says slyly, because he thinks it’ll be funny, and it is.
They’re pushing rings onto each other’s fingers and they can’t stop kissing and laughing and smiling. Izzy never wants to stop doing this with Ed, never wants to be apart from him and this impossible dream of a life they’ve created together.
He’s so happy.
Izzy stares at his left hand.
Ed snorts and wakes himself up.
“Jesus Christ,” Izzy mutters.
“That’s Ed Christ to you,” Ed groans. “Jesus Teach. I don’t fucking– what time is it?” He struggles to lean up on his elbow, barely makes it halfway.
Izzy pushes Ed’s hair out of his mouth again. “Do you remember last night?”
Ed chuckles blearily and stretches out on his back. “Good party,” he says, shoving his hand down his pants to scratch his balls. “Closed out the bar.”
Izzy waves his left hand in front of his face. The green stone sparkles merrily from the gold band. “Anything else?”
Ed squints. “Hm,” he says, taking his hand out of his pants and reaching to inspect Izzy’s.
Izzy snatches it away. “Don’t fucking–”
“Do you want me to look or not?” Ed stares at him until Izzy relents. “Hm,” he says again. “Think we got married.”
Izzy lets out a long groan and pulls his hand back. God, they’d been so drunk. What a matched pair of madmen they were. The entire island will be telling stories of their little lark for the next year. “Fucking fuck,” he says meaningfully.
“Mm, I dunno,” Ed says. “I think we passed out before we could consummate.”
Izzy starts. “Consummate?” he asks incredulously.
“Confiscate?” Ed mumbles. “No, it’s definitely consummate. You know.” He makes a circle with one hand and gracefully pokes his index finger through it several times. “You fuck, and then it’s official.”
“I doubt any of it was very official,” he scoffs.
Ed frowns. “There was a priest. That guy who knocked up Jillie at the brothel. Kid’s gonna be a monk.”
“That guy’s a crook. Besides, two blokes can’t get married,” Izzy points out.
Ed holds out his hand next to Izzy’s. “Look pretty married to me. Got rings. We’re in bed together.” He intertwines their fingers.
“That happens all the time,” Izzy argues, though he feels his exasperation fading. Ed has that effect on him.
“Yeah but like, it’s God-approved now. Special God-sanctioned bed. God-sanctioned fucking.”
Izzy rolls his eyes at the way Ed freely reinvents law and doctrine to suit his own whims. “You don’t believe in God.”
“Oh, I do,” Ed says, and he rolls over on top of Izzy, bracketing him with his hands and knees. “I very much believe in a God who wants me to fuck.” He teases at Izzy’s neck with his nose, licks a thin stripe along his neck. Izzy grasps Ed’s arms, squirming under him. Izzy might not believe that God wants him to fuck Ed, but shit, he wants to.
Ed is pushing up Izzy’s shirt – they’d both fallen asleep clothed except for their boots – and then tosses his own to the side, makes quick work of his trousers too. Izzy shimmies out of the rest of his clothes and goes to turn over onto his belly, but Ed pushes him against the mattress, flat on his back. Izzy always likes when Ed puts him where he wants, and there’s a dark heat in Ed’s gaze under his playfulness.
“Since we’re just married,” Ed says, “I want you right here. For our first time.” It’s so stupid, but Izzy shivers at the implication, and fucking hell, Ed can tell. His grin could make the devil blush. He pushes two fingers into Izzy’s mouth, where Izzy eagerly sucks. When he pulls them out, Izzy brings his knees up and wide so Ed can pet at his hole. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”
Izzy laughs, because if there’s one thing they’re usually not, it’s gentle. It feels nice, though, the way Ed’s fingers dip shallowly inside him one at a time, then both at once. Ed spits into his hand for a little more slick, then fucks back into him while his head ducks down to tease at Izzy’s chest. Izzy moans at the suction, at the slight pinch of teeth. “You got such great tits,” Ed says, two fingers now rubbing deep inside. “Such a pretty wife for me.”
Izzy’s back arches even as he’s laughing again, breathy and disbelieving. The nerve. “I’m not your fucking wife,” he says.
Ed pulls back and looks at him mischievously. “Well, I’m not the wife,” he says, pumping his fingers again and making Izzy squirm. “My pretty husband, then,” he says, and again, it’s so fucking stupid but something about it makes Izzy feel… warm? Wanted? It’s got him hard as fuck, that’s for sure. He doesn’t know what to say to that so he grinds down on Ed’s hand and hopes he gets it.
“Ready for it?” Ed asks. Izzy nods and spits into his hand a couple of times, smears it over Ed’s cock and helps him get lined up. “It’s okay if it hurts at first,” Ed says as he rubs the fat head over Izzy’s hole. “It’s gonna feel really good after that.”
It does hurt a little, because they don’t have any oil, but Ed’s word was good about being gentle. Once the tip is inside he rocks slowly, inching the rest of it in. Izzy writhes, feeling speared on it, aching for his own cock to be finally touched. “Come on,” he goads, tilting his hips up until Ed bottoms out. Ed pumps in with tiny motions, spits again and tries to slick himself more. “Come on,” Izzy says again.
“‘S just really tight,” Ed says.
Izzy’s going to die if Ed doesn’t start doing something right now. “Yeah, well,” he says, an insane thought forming in his mind. “I’m a virgin.”
A manic gleam enters Ed’s eye. “Not anymore, you’re not,” he says, and he starts to move.
Izzy grunts with every thrust, filled up just as deep as he needs. Fucking finally. He seizes one of Ed’s hands and puts it on his cock. “Yeah. Fuck me, fuck me,” he urges. Every thrust from Ed feels like it’s nudging him up the mattress, and the thought of being shoved around on Ed’s cock gets him ridiculously hot. “Fuck me,” he chants again, almost begging.
“You want it?” Ed asks. His pupils are blown wide and he’s jerking Izzy’s cock frantically, artlessly. “You feel it?”
“Yeah,” Izzy says. “Yeah, I fucking feel it, come on.” His chest is flushed, sweat beading on his brow, and everything is almost too much to bear, his rough-fucked hole and his swollen cock throbbing in Ed’s hand.
“Izzy,” Ed chokes out, the last gasp of a dying man, and Izzy comes to the sound of his name in his husband’s mouth.
His husband, he thinks, delirious in afterglow, with Ed collapsed over him, his wet cock tugging at his sore rim, and his hair somehow in Izzy’s mouth again.