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“God, mate, come on—" Edward's voice is rushed, urgent, "feel like if I don't get my mouth on you I'm gonna fucking die."
Edward's always been pretty dramatic, so Izzy can't imagine Bonnet's anything special. Maybe he's got a bit of a generous endowment, judging by the low drag of Edward's groan a moment later.
Izzy's been doing this for a while now. He’s right outside the Captain’s quarters, leaning on his cane with bated breath. He implores any powers that be to be left alone. He’s hovering there, blatantly fucking visible on the main deck by the cabin’s entrance. No one has caught him yet.
It’s likely that Edward and Bonnet already made certain that the crew knew not to climb up from the gundeck, with how much of a racket they made buggering every night with the door open.
The first time, it was an accident.
Maybe Izzy’s reason for seeing Edward was horseshit, just giving him a report on the vessel they were tailing when it could’ve waited until morning, but it was a reason.
A reason that he forgot as soon as he heard his Captain unleash a sound unmistakably vulgar, a long howl of “Stede”, and Izzy’s hand flew to the laces of his leathers with the same speed it might fly to his sword’s handle.
The way Edward always acts, like he fucking worships Bonnet, is laughable, at best.
Maybe he’s got a nice build: stocky, not the worst on the eyes. Still, Izzy can’t grasp what in Bonnet’s pants is so remarkable that Edward feels compelled to sing its praise nightly. His traitorous body aches to know what Bonnet would have swinging and hitting his belly if Izzy were to grab hold of his hips, fuck him stupider than he already is, and have that blonde head of curls in his fist.
Beyond ogling his boyfriend daily, eyes lustful enough to make Izzy feel like he shouldn’t even look at him, Edward also gasps, loud, and there’s this staccato rhythm of skin hitting skin, too short to make sense.
And it doesn’t help Izzy’s growing curiosity that Edward also always reacts like this.
“Oh my God, mate,” moans Ed from inside, hardly audible, “you look—fuck.”
Maybe if Ed wasn’t so hot for Bonnet, Izzy could get a genuine description.
Anything at all would help, but it seems that Ed’s always debased to incomplete sentences the moment Bonnet’s ridiculous satin breeches come off, so he’d yet to get anything beyond him occasionally calling Bonnet’s prick pretty or lovely.
Izzy can imagine it well enough, with the sounds Ed made accompanying slaps of flesh, with the knowledge that it’s always imbeciles who are packing over six inches. Izzy can imagine Bonnet being modest, maybe, from what he says, the surprised sounds when Ed sucks him off, ardent and sloppy. He’s watched Ed get dicked by a man with much less modesty, far less care.
It’s not hard to imagine Bonnet in Rackham’s place, recalling the memory of stepping up onto the quarterdeck and finding his Captain getting his insides rearranged, as he described it to Izzy later in vivid detail that he seemingly didn’t know got Izzy hot under the collar.
All of Ed’s bedmates were similar in endowment, but even in his own cock weighing in above average, Izzy never assumed he’d qualify. Even if he did, even if he wanted to, which he fucking does, he’d not disrespect his Captain enough to act on it.
Even if he wasn’t much better in standing outside his Captain’s quarters while he and his boyfriend were buggering, slowly bringing the heel of his palm down to his pants-front, that’s nothing Edward ever has to know about.
“Do you wanna fuck me with it?” Ed asks.
Yes, Izzy thinks, please.
Bonnet’s answer is a noise, incomprehensible, but Izzy can see the gesturing accompanying it, a pathetic display of incompetence. Edward deserves better. He deserves a screaming, enthusiastic yes. Izzy finds himself indignant at the hesitance, enough that his breaths come heavier, fuck, they would hear him, maybe, if they didn’t have their heads so far up each other's asses.
In fact, if he were to turn the corner and enter, they’d likely not notice.
So he does, stepping gingerly past the entryway, cane unused in his hand. He presses his body to the side of a bookshelf, careful not to lean too much weight on his bad foot, and rests the cane there so he can free his right hand for where the demand is highest. He peeks around its corner to where the voices are coming from and finds they’re in the bed nook, curtain open.
Izzy can’t really see like this, nothing more than Bonnet’s legs, some of Ed’s curls between them, but whatever they’re doing, beyond the obvious, is hidden by the wall surrounding the bed.
Ed gets louder. Izzy recognizes the rippling muscle of his arm, tawny-warm brown inked skin, starting to move under the bobbing sea of silver hair. Bonnet’s leg twitches around Ed’s back to pull him closer in, and his head comes into view as it thrashes against the pillows.
Bonnet's hair is mussed, his lips swollen, kiss-bitten from the ten minutes they’d spent noisily, wetly, deeply making out. His eyes are scrunched shut, eyebrows furrowed, and Izzy hates how easy he looks. Izzy hates how it makes him want to go over there and drag his cock over his stupid pink face until he’s gagging for it. Taunt him until he says please and gives no bitchy backtalk.
“Fuck,” Izzy whispers like an idiot.
“Our elusive third guest speaks,” quips Bonnet in return, then his eyes open and lock right onto Izzy, who just… fuckin’ stands there, hand in his leathers, as Ed hums and turns, lips wet.
“Oh.” Ed sits up on his elbows. “Hey, mate.”
“What?” Izzy wrenches his hand out of his pants, cock throbbing as they just peer at him strangely from the bed, acting completely unsurprised that he’s standing in their cabin getting a good wank in while watching them. It’s perverted and shameful. They don’t even seem to care.
“It was Stede, who picked up on it,” Ed says unhelpfully, “my hearing’s a bit shot from all the cannon fire, but once he pointed it out, I couldn’t fucking not hear you.”
“I’m not that fucking lou—”
“Oh, nowhere near us, no,” Bonnet laughs fondly, “but I hear you, with your grunts at the doorway. Really, I’m surprised you’ve let yourself in. I thought you’d never join us.”
“That’s pretty bold, Iz,” Ed murmurs in agreement, tilting his head in his hand.
“Sorry, did I miss a fucking invitation?” Izzy scoffs at Bonnet, ignoring the scrutiny from his Captain, disregarding how his cock is wetting his leathers.
“No, no invitation.” Bonnet has the fucking nerve to look embarrassed. “We do keep the door open for a reason, though.”
“Why don’t you c'mere, Izzy?” Ed invites, crooking a finger that Izzy can swear catches the chandelier light. Fuck. Izzy theorizes that he was fingering himself open with Bonnet’s dick in his mouth. Izzy’s obeying before he’s even fucking thinking about it, walking with his broken gait right over to their bedside with his eyes zeroed in on the entangled ivory and tawny skin.
“Now, ah—um, hold on—” Bonnet scrambles to cover himself, but Ed forces his legs right back open and he struggles to close them. Izzy comes to a staggering halt at the bedside while Bonnet writhes and whines, “please, don’t laugh at me.”
Izzy pins his other leg open and stares.
And stares.
“Izzy, I know that it might be—um—”
And he moans, guttural, and he touches Bonnet’s spit-shiny tiny little fucking dick.
He wants to grab it, flick it, say something snide and hurtful about it, yet all he does, all he can do when faced with it, is brush his knuckle against it and watch reverently as it feebly twitches.
“You can laugh at him,” Ed says instead, “I don’t know why you would, ‘s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, but I mean, fuck. Think he likes it. Says that just to get you to laugh at him.”
“Ed!”
“Both of you shut the fuck up,” Izzy barks. They fall silent.
Bonnet’s hand, buried in Ed’s hair, encourages him forward. Ed takes Bonnet’s cock back into his mouth, but he’s slow this time, lapping at it and swirling it around his tongue while Bonnet breathes unevenly and stares at Izzy.
They’re both fucking staring at Izzy, eyes following his movements as he steps out of his boots and divests his weapons. He goes slowly as he strips, trying to give them something worth watching while they give each other only half of their focus. As he frees his cock, they both harmonize on equally laughable moans; Izzy’s never wanted to view his Captain as pathetic, but it’s a damn near thing.
When he’s done, Ed’s come hithering his ass into the bed, and Izzy’s not even fucking thinking about it, just clambering in beside Ed like a horny zombie. Bonnet’s stockinged legs, long as they are, just barely manage to sprawl wide enough to accommodate them both sitting between them.
The way Bonnet writhes under any ghost of touch, gasping like his useless little prick is so affected by it, opens Izzy’s eyes to how Edward has become seduced by this imbecile.
“Isn’t he just fucking lovely?” Ed sounds fucking besotted.
“Is he open?” Izzy grabs one of the gaudy, ornate pillows from the top of the bed with one hand. He uses the other to give a little more pressure around Bonnet’s puny excuse of a prick.
As he expects, Bonnet bucks his hips up.
He’s arched for long enough for Izzy to shove the pillow underneath his ass, getting his hole up properly, grabbing and spreading to see what work Ed’s fingers have done.
“Actually, Izzy.” Ed grabs Izzy’s wrist. “Think you could do something else?”
Izzy unhands Stede at once. He places his palms on his bare thighs, feeling really fucking naked even with the other two in the same state of dress. He nods, eyes locking with Ed’s.
“Stede, window.”
Clearly, whatever the fuck this is, they’ve done it before, and Izzy’s hardly given warning before Ed is crawling right over him, off of the bed, maneuvering his co-Captain.
Izzy’s eyes settle on Bonnet.
Bonnet stares, dazed, repositioned with his head laid out on another fancy fucking pillow at the windowsill. His sheer white stockings gradually slip down his legs without garters to hold them.
Izzy wants to rip them off, to destroy them with his teeth, to ruin him. That useless fucking prick, leaking down itself, looking even fucking tinier with the weight of his balls, twitches uselessly.
It’s probably good that Bonnet grabs his hands, otherwise, he probably would’ve snapped and started rubbing his and Bonnet’s pricks together like a fucking animal to watch how his size trumps Bonnet’s by miles, how that pink little cock would just get eaten in his gripping hand.
“Iz.”
Bonnet’s hands shake around his, so warm it’s a miracle they don’t burn him. Izzy stares at his hair, falling in his face, disheveled, though the curls are still relatively intact, even with sweat beading on his forehead. Shame, that. Must not’ve been pulled on enough, Izzy gathers.
“Iz!”
Izzy’s focus snaps back into place, a dog submitting to his master’s call.
He immediately turns and says, “yeah, boss?”
“That’s my Izzy,” Ed says fondly. Izzy’s eyes are drifting down until he sees Ed holding his cock, heavy in his hand, rubbing its slick tip against Bonnet’s hole. No wonder his sweaty hands are shaking. Ed pushes in, knocking sound out of them both before he manages, “come here.”
“Where, sir?” Izzy grinds his teeth together in restraint. He knows where Edward wants him.
“Behind me. Get the oil. I was already, uh. Should be good to go.”
Yet it’s still a punch to the gut and he’s looking around, head jerking side to side until he finds the oil right fucking next to him in a small, corked container. Izzy’s about to fucking stand with it, too, oil his cock and prove his devotion, when Ed intercepts him.
He, still thrusting, reaches over Bonnet to grab Izzy’s cock. Stiff and aching, a goddamn cannon ready to fire, it twitches of its own accord. “God, I’ve wanted this for fucking ages.”
“Why didn’t you take it?” counters Izzy, trying to push away from Ed’s hand so he can stand and do what he’s told, rather than succumb to the interference. “You know I would’ve.”
“Wanted to make sure you wanted it,” Ed shrugs, the movement jostling his hair further and sending curls over his face, “Done some pretty fucked up shit to you, Iz, I know, it’s just. That was a line I wasn’t gonna cross.”
So cutting off my toe is better than ordering me to fuck you; Izzy bites his words back and stands before Edward can feed him more bullshit. “Doesn’t matter, boss. Here we are.”
“Here we fucking are,” Ed groans in agreement as Izzy presses the blunt head of his cock up to Ed’s hole where, evidently, he has fingered himself open. He doesn’t press in more than an inch, breaching the slick ring of muscle, but he doesn’t have to because, with his slow thrusts into Bonnet, Ed’s effectively fucking himself on Izzy.
Predictably, his effort ceases altogether once Izzy starts to put in a bit of work on his own.
Bonnet’s legs wrap around Ed’s waist and his hips shimmy, his face squinching in focus until Ed drives in and his eyes flutter shut, his lip falls from between his teeth. It looks that in one glide of Edward’s prick, Bonnet’s gone and lost his bearings. Typical.
Izzy’s thrusts are sharp, punctual, and electrifying. His hips power the rhythm they create, quickening frenetically until they’re just one constant, thoughtless pendulum, slapping into one another, driving cock into hole, gripping flesh, all one primal animal apparatus, of which the cause and effect is lust, love, and fucking lunacy.
Bonnet must’ve done something to Izzy’s brain, too, somewhere along the line; as much as his efforts are for his boss, they’re just as much to watch Bonnet. He writhes underneath the weight of them. Each thrust, each synchronized motion, lands dangerously close to driving him into a window skull first. That’d be fine. Izzy at least wouldn’t then have to deal with all of the impulses spurred by the man’s small dick.
Izzy holds Ed’s hips with one hand, then brushes Stede’s cock between two fingers of his gloved one, doubling down. “This thing is a fucking joke, Bonnet.”
“Well—aware!” Stede replies. Each of his words is followed by a gasp of air as Izzy’s thrusts push Ed’s cock to the hilt.
Izzy doesn’t know what reaction he’s going for, and maybe he won’t know until he gets it, but it isn’t that, so he persists. “Can’t believe you think you’re worthy of Blackbeard, with that stupid fucking thing. You couldn’t ever satisfy him, dog.”
“Well, holdon now, wouldn’ say he—”
“Shut up,” say both of them, though Bonnet’s statement is punctuated with “dear,” as an afterthought.
Something disgusting stirs to wakefulness within Izzy at that, something that craves easy affection, and he damns it back to Hell with thrusts that beat more like punches, and Edward starts to fall apart with them.
“God, you’re both fucking lunatics,” he groans. Izzy’s not sure it’s prompted by anything. Maybe it’s the sounds leaving them, or the way Izzy keeps flicking Bonnet’s useless cock to watch him twitch around, or just the maddened bucks of his hips into the heat of his Captain. “Fuuucking Hell, Izzy! Hurt him more!”
“Oh, so you can’t, but I have to?” Izzy asks dryly, but he’s in service, Blackbeard’s loyal First Mate before he’s anything else. He lightly slaps the tiny thing where it’s jutting out, wet and pink, from his heavy balls. Bonnet buries his face in his hands to muffle his shout. Izzy hits him again, locking eyes with the pathetic excuse for a Captain, who watches through gaps in his fingers. “You always this wet, Bonnet?”
Or am I doing a good job, lies underneath his words.
“Answer him, Stede,” Edward warns, swapping out their rhythm for something faster with powerful thrusts of his own that remind Izzy of the unrelenting force he first devoted himself to, pious though he is to the man harboring that monstrous power. Izzy slaps the pitiful little thing again, watching it move, so hungry, and he’s starting to get what all the fucking fuss was about.
“It’s—no, I’m not—that is to say, I don’t usually—”
Izzy hits him again, mostly to shut him up, and he breaks off with a cry. His eyes roll back to his skull behind his shaking fingers. Izzy wonders if he’ll find his fucking brain in there somewhere, or if they’ve already fucked him hard enough to strip the chances.
Not caring if he gets his hand cut off for presuming, Izzy starts to lift the flat of his palm from his hips to his boss’s torso, rubbing from his soft stomach to his firm sternum. He traces his fingers faintly over where he knows a sloop is drawn, then twists a nipple between his fingers just as he does Bonnet’s cockhead.
“Iz—”
“Do you like it, sir?” Izzy intervenes, his words panted, cut short, and fuck, he’s really in it now, getting bold about it, but he knows his Captain. He knows the ins and the outs of him, the grooves and divots, the parts that are tender, and the parts that aren’t. He knows what Ed needs.
So Ed’s grunted, “fuck, yeah, Iz,” isn’t a shock, but still he makes an inhuman sound in answer, burying himself in the long, torturous tresses of his Captain’s hair and breathing in deep. He doubles down to compensate for how his cock’s already pulsing inside of the tight heat, snapping his hips, rubbing his thumbs in circles over Ed’s nipples, Bonnet’s crown.
Somewhere along the line of acting repulsed with it all, of being seen right through by every member of Bonnet’s ragtag crew of pirates that have scarcely proven themselves useful, Izzy’s accepted that the root of his animosity is his desire. With this acceptance, he expected nothing, and it even provided him some contentment, no longer bothering to put up as strong a show at their acts of affection.
He never anticipated anything more than his painful, frustrated wanks, and yet here he fucking is, toying with Bonnet’s prick and watching the man’s face contort as it twitches between his fingers. The words Izzy speaks are unlike him, obscene, answered in sounds of that same ilk.
“Wouldn’t even sit right in—my fucking—hand, would it?” His words are tight, line pulled taut and fit to snap just as the coiling in his abdomen, the tension in his balls. “Too fucking small, I’ve got to use just my fingers.”
He pinches Bonnet’s glans hard enough that the man chokes, bucking up and evidently out of Ed’s cock’s range because Ed sobs as Izzy continues driving into him without Bonnet’s hole to plow into. Izzy’s not done, though.
“Look at you,” he snarls. “Fucking useless, no better than a hole, and you can’t even do that.”
“I’m sorry,” Bonnet cries, eyes bulged wide as he shoots into Izzy’s hand, much more than Izzy even anticipated he could with how small the thing is. “I’mm- sorry, Ed! Izzy—oh—”
Izzy doesn’t stop.
He uses the last of the energy he has to shove them forward.
“Fuck!” Ed groans.
Izzy’s far ahead of him, overcome by the visual of Ed’s cock forcing its way back into Bonnet’s hole, falling apart into his master's shoulder blade. His hands curl into fists around his Captains, Bonnet’s softening prick strangled in his grip. It’s the sob he lets out that sends Izzy careening into the swell of the sea, a man keelhauled as he gnaws on the skin of Ed’s neck and empties inside of him, making no dramatic show of it.
Only a quiet groan escapes from him, lost to Ed’s warm skin just as he is to the mind-numbing sight of Bonnet thrashing with Ed’s cock plowing into him as his own gets crushed in Izzy’s leather hand.
“Gonna cum, Izzy, don’t fucking stop!”
Izzy hasn’t stopped, doesn’t stop, keeps forcing them forward even when he feels the last sporadic spurts of what seemed like fucking endless ejaculation ripped from him, and finally, Ed crumbles.
“You’re perfect, Captain,” Izzy soothes him through it with an alien extinct to keep Edward content through means softer. He can only hope that the fervor is something only his own expecting ears pick up on. “That’s it, boss. Fill him up. Feels good in there, I bet.”
Not the smoothest Izzy’s been, but he’s just had an orgasm that’s left him feeling like death warmed up, and his head’s not all fucking there yet, so he doesn’t catch the words before they leave.
He has no excuse for the, “you’re both so fucking good,” that follows, but they both answer like they’re in an equal amount of disarray.
Izzy allows himself a bit of pride as he slides out, watches Edward collapse on top of Bonnet, and both of them are quiet. He never knew garrulous Stede Bonnet had the ability to shut up, and though Edward's ordinarily sparing in spoken word, Bonnet always brings something chatty out of him.
He only notices they’re staring at him when Bonnet hums at him. "Israel?"
“What?” he prompts the men staring with unreadable, big eyes, laying atop one another.
“Having a cuddle,” Bonnet says, but it’s worded like the beginning of a request. Izzy really should be going. He’d lie about having some shit to do, throw himself out of there with the excuse of being on watch, but all logs and schedules have been a joint effort as of late, so they'd know better than to believe that. He just stands there like an idiot, tongue dry and weighted, and lets Bonnet propose with his stupid posh voice, “Would you like to join us?”
That’s easy. “No.”
A laugh bursts out of Ed, a serious from-the-gut laugh, and Izzy feels himself light up with embarrassment, flushing hot, probably burning as obnoxious a red as the garish curtains pulled back around the bed nook. He doesn’t move, standing there like an idiot, again, even as he starts to get that itch to stomp off, maybe find Pete and slap his bald head. “Fuck. You serious, Iz?”
Izzy deems it best not to answer to save him from the disparaging belittlement.
It doesn’t work.
“I don’t think he is. Give him a good look, Ed. He’s just dying for a cuddle.”
“Bonnet,” Izzy growls, a bluster of a threat in the face of chagrin. “You just came in my hand with your—stupid, tiny prick, and you think that you can just—fucking—you—”
Izzy, rightly abashed, turns around, set to storm out how he’s been wanting to for a majority of this post-shag interaction, but a string on his sleeve is effortlessly seized by Edward. That strength comes back again, pulling him forward and leaving him reeling as he nearly topples on top of them.
“Izzy. C’mon, mate. Have a cuddle,” Edward suggests, voice light, everything the Izzy from months ago hissed and spit at. The Izzy from now is easy to break down, softened where he once feigned hardness. “Maybe it’ll fix what's wrong with you.”
“The fuck—”
The string is tugged. Izzy is pulled into the berth.
There’s nothing to be done but to let himself be maneuvered around. He’s only half-aware of how he shimmies with them, ring carefully placed on the table beside the cramped daybed. Through his lethargic settling, his head is a sludge, composed of nothing but Edward and, maybe he’d confess with a gun to his head or an anchor tied to him, Bonnet.
“You know, when I met you, I never would have thought you were so perverted,” Bonnet comments, fingers stroking idly through Izzy’s chest hair, and Izzy thinks about biting his fingers off, feeling bone crush between his teeth like a feral animal never taught to accept a loving touch.
He only leans forward into it and reminds him, “I cut your shirt open, Bonnet.”
“Oh, with the Bonnet, can’t you just use my name?” Bonnet bemoans. Or, Stede, if Izzy’s really fucking letting himself go there. “You’ve quite truly just had my semen wiped from your hand, after you’d had my penis in your hand, so I do believe we’re past—”
“That was what you call a penis?” Izzy huffs a laugh, but he’s just as fucking taken with the thing as Ed. He rolls around a velleity in his mind of reaching back and stroking it.
“Shut up,” Stede says, still somehow managing to sound prissy even in his poorly composed comeback.
“Really, Iz,” Edward rumbles from where he lays behind Stede. His hand splays over Izzy’s hip, grounding. Izzy doesn’t think he’s ever known the tactile sensation of anything but the comfort of that work-rough, warm palm on his own sticky skin. “You’re gonna get him riled up again.”
“Fucking seriously? He just came,” Izzy argues. “But, then again. Thing’s so fucking small—”
“—eh, I call it fun-sized—”
“—doubt it takes much to get it hard, does it?”
“Israel!”
“Stede,” Izzy returns levelly, shimmying his hips back just for the sake of driving the man wild, driven by his laughably desperate reactions. Maybe by his own arousal, too, but fuck knows he’ll not be able to do anything for that for a few hours yet. “You’ll make it through the night, yeah?”
“That depends,” Stede says, raising into that posh tenor of his, and Izzy wants to stuff his ears full of cotton lest he accept his enjoyment of that voice. “What might be my incentive?”
“Interested,” chimes Edward from behind Stede, his voice a sleepy drawl that makes Izzy smile at the dark sky outside, private, known by no one but the wrinkled skin of his face and the stars.
“‘Course you are,” Izzy says, this give-and-take so familiar his chest aches from maudlin nostalgia. Which is fucking ridiculous because none of this should be this easy, but he’s laying there, these ridiculously comfortable linens whispering over him like a promise, and he doesn’t care. “Dunno, Stede. Might suck your tiny prick in the morning. Wake you up that way.”
“Oh. Wow.”
“‘E does wake up before all of us,” Ed purrs, words slurred and strung together with the weary inflection of a man who’s shot all his energy through his dick. “‘S’a good idea. Wanna watch.”
“I’m… amenable,” Stede acquiesces. Izzy detects the breathing by his ear grow labored and that settles that. “Think that would be quite... pleasant, actually. If you’re-”
“Wouldn’t have fucking suggested it, otherwise, would I have?”
“Mm, I suppose not, no.”