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There was a crick in his neck. Stede had remembered that from the last time the pain had roused him from sleep.
He rolled his head to the side, stretching out the muscles and tendons that traced the pain, but to no avail. The movement only provided him with the realization that he was sitting up.
Odd.
As Stede lifted his head, its weight sought to pull him back. A soft thunk sounded as his head fell back to hit metal bars. The pain of it radiated down his spine, reminding him he had a body.
Wincing, Stede opened his eyes.
A cell came into focus around him. It was overwhelmingly small. The darkness and the smell of must muted the sensations that would reveal the space. The only things Stede could make out with any certainty were metal bars, wood walls, his reflection in the mirror, and a swinging lamp—unlit.
He was on a ship.
Stede closed his eyes again. Sleep felt so near, and his body wished to return to it. Staying awake would likely yield no more information, not while the lamp stayed unlit and his cell stayed his own. Stede could sleep.
Except he couldn’t. There was something he couldn’t identify. Was it his surroundings, was it himself? Stede opened his eyes again.
As the room came into view, he was met with the same information he’d gathered from before: metal bars, wood walls, his reflection in the mirror, and the swinging lamp. He ran a hand over his face, rubbing over his eyes and his—
When did he grow a beard?
Stede looked toward the mirror, hoping to place the look of his beard into the memory of its context.
His reflection did not move.
Stede sat up. Still, his reflection did not move. He stood. His body ached as he rose, limping to meet the bars on the wall opposite him. The mirror remained unchanged.
Stede gripped the metal, holding himself steady as he looked at the figure before him.
It was him. It was Stede. The coat was as much his own as the sleeping face. It had been torn and fouled by all matter of dirt and grime, but it was his. Stede felt this in his body as strongly as he felt pain: the man before him was his own.
Whether it was the unsteadiness of the sea or his spiraling thoughts, Stede felt dizzy. He closed his eyes and pressed his head against the metal bars, their firm coolness grounding him.
He was in that glossy space between sleeping and waking, he tried to convince himself. He had hit his head—hard—he attempted to believe. At least that would explain the pain.
Then he opened his eyes.
Where his hands should be, it seemed there were another’s. A right hand masked by black leather, and a left uncovered and exposed. They trailed up unknown arms draped in black linen, stark in color despite its wear.
As Stede’s eyes drifted from black shirt to black waistcoat to black trousers, he wondered how he could have possibly had the misfortune of wearing something so unbelievably dour! That was of course, until he saw that the bottom half of his left leg was no longer there—replaced by a gold-painted wooden hoof.
The scream that left his mouth was not his own. He screamed again.
“Wha—What?,” the Stede-shaped figure across from him awoke with a jolt, seizing all attention, “For fucks’ sake!”
It sounded like Stede, it looked like Stede, but it also sounded like—
“Izzy? Is that…are you?” Stede said, very taken aback by the addition of a growl to his voice.
The figure opened their eyes and stared. Stede watched his own jaw drop.
“What the fuck?!” the figure returned, shaking their head and bringing a hand to their face, “Who the fuck else would I be?”
“Well,” Stede gestured to the rest of the body that Izzy inhabited.
Izzy looked down at his new body, a storm of emotions brewing in his face—expressions Stede had never seen on his own. It seemed to stir something in Stede, quite possibly terror, especially as Izzy abruptly pushed himself up and marched toward the bars that separated them.
Izzy reached through the bars and grabbed Stede by the collar.
“You’re going to tell me exactly what is happening, Bonnet” Izzy spat, his voice low and unrecognizable as distinctly either man. Stede's eyes grew wide and his face warm. Izzy gripped him tighter, bringing Stede’s face to his own, “Or so help me, I will not hesitate to slit your fucking throat.”
“Th—that’ll be a bit of a challenge without your knife, now won’t it?” Stede managed to get out, nearly choking. Even in this state, he enjoyed the ease with which he feel himself could slip into one of Izzy’s self-satisfied smiles.
Izzy let go of Stede and he fell backward, stumbling over his wooden leg. The force of it sent pins through his spine.
“Right, that’s how this going to be then?” Izzy crossed his arms, his ruffled collar grazing against them. He looked down at the frills and huffed.
Despite the physical gain of yet another leg to stand on, their circumstances had limited Izzy’s usual pool of resources. No knives, no swords, or hell even a gun. Izzy didn’t seem to possess the strength he usually had, and little remained of the stature he usually placed focused pride in. But he still had something that could wield his most piercing and practiced weapon—a mouth for his words.
“It’s not enough to bitch in your body, so you've set up shop in mine, have you?”
Stede regained his balance and breath, returning to the support of the metal bars. He threaded his arms through, crossing them.
“Whatever do you mean, Izzy?” Stede said sarcastically, two could play at words.
“You know exactly what I mean, you twat.” Izzy took the bait. Stede smiled as the man continued, “This has got something to do with you. Always does, the weird shit.”
“As much as you’d like to believe I’m the cause of all this—this weird shit—as you say” Stede briefly uncrossed his arms to frivolously gesture into the air, “I’m just as lost as you are, and quite frankly you should be grateful you’ve ended up in such a fine piece of tailoring—I look positively dreadful, no thanks to you.”
“Grateful?” Izzy scoffed, “I’m stuck in the body of a preening peacock, and you want me to be grateful? Feels like I’ve been stuffed into one of your decorative cushions!”
“Well excuse me! This cushion,” Stede gestured down at his own—well, Izzy’s—chest, “is incredibly well maintained, I’ll have you know. Something you may want to consider yourself.”
Izzy rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Oh for fucks sake.”
“And another thing—“
“Fucking shut it!” Izzy cut Stede off before he could continue.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them was suddenly pulled taut. The silence gave surprising clarity. For what, Stede did not know.
Stede’s gaze trailed across his body, seeing what parts Izzy had made his own. He made Stede altogether tighter. His clothes were torn and disheveled, but Izzy held himself as though this were simply the way things were done.
Stede wondered how Izzy felt, in his body. Did it hurt like his? Was it grounding, was it chaos—was it pleasurable. There was a thought. Stede suddenly realized he quite liked this thought, so did Izzy’s body.
“Rude,” Stede finally muttered, slowly straightening his spine as it ached, “There’s no need to be so hostile, Izzy. We’re in this together, whether you like it or not.”
Izzy glared at him, his gaze narrowing and difficult to read, even on Stede’s own face.
“Together?” Izzy stalked closer to the bars that separated them, his eyes focused on Stede. There was very little space between them and Stede grew warm, “We’re not in this together, Bonnet. I didn’t ask for this, to be here with…you.”
Izzy came to a pause. Stede could’ve sworn he saw a quick flash of Izzy’s eyes to Stede’s mouth. It went straight to his dick. That was new.
Izzy was breathing his air. Stede was breathing Izzy's. The realization of it only occurring once he was close enough to feel the heat of their bodies radiating off of one another. Did Izzy feel it too?
Stede raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into an infuriatingly smug smile, “Then why so close, Israel?”
Izzy stared at him, his face unreadable but there—present.
Then his gaze drifted.
“Fix your fucking face,” Izzy snapped, and stepped away. Stede let out the breath he had been holding. Suddenly very aware of his arousal, and the fact that Izzy was making it all the more problematic by distancing himself, “I’m sick of looking at my body act a fool.”
Stede couldn’t parse through what of his feelings was anger and what was arousal. He decided to lean into both, “Don’t like seeing yourself happy? That’s rather tragic, don’t you think?”
Izzy clenched his jaw. Stede’s face had never looked so insufferable, and yet…
“I don’t think you get it, Bonnet,” Izzy growled, his eyes returning to Stede’s, “This isn’t some game. You’re in my body. My body. Do you even know what that means?”
Stede leaned forward, his arms still threaded through the bars, a spark of defiance dancing in his eyes.
“Well, it means I’m shorter now, for one thing,” he teased, resting his chin on his forearms. “Oh, and your voice—it’s so…gravelly. Quite a pleasurable feeling I must say.”
Izzy’s eyes narrowed, “Stop fucking around.”
“Oh, Izzy,” Stede purred, and somehow sent shivers of pleasure down his own spine. He wondered what it had done to Izzy, “I’m not ‘fucking around’,” he teased, working the leather glove off his right hand, “I’m just trying to make the best of a rather…peculiar situation. Isn’t that what you’d do?”
With a flourish, Stede dropped the glove to the floor. Izzy launched himself towards Stede.
“No!” he hissed, his hands gripped the bars at either side of Stede. His face returned to the closeness they had shared before, “What I’d do is find a way to end this madness before you manage to make it worse!”
Stede tilted his head slightly, his breath nearly ghosting over Izzy’s as he looked into the man’s eyes. Stede grew heady with it, “And here I thought you might be enjoying yourself, just a little.”
Again, Stede saw as Izzy’s eyes flicked to his lips before snapping back up to his eyes. This time, Stede saw the look of recognition in Izzy’s eyes. He had been seen.
“Careful, Izzy,” Stede said, his voice dropping lower, “It almost looked as though you were interested in what I have to say.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Izzy whispered, closing the space between them.
“Oh,” Stede sighed into his lips, “I think I will.”
And then they were kissing. Each pressing into one another, staking claim, as though being inside one another was not nearly enough conquest. Everything within them demanded more.
They gripped at one another through the bars, their hands daring to leave the safety of where they landed to venture further. Stede slipped his hands under the lapel of the coat Izzy was wearing, running exploratory fingertips over his former body.
Every touch amplified the desire to be subsumed, making it burn within them. The blaze devoured the coat and cravat. Stede once supposed these were his. Now he was reduced to nothing but the rawness of want—how little consequence mattered anymore. Ashes to ashes, he shed himself upon the floor, granting Izzy dominion in silent hope that he might cast himself into the same flame.
Stede once again cursed Izzy’s dreadful taste in clothing. The stiff leather of his vest and trousers clung too tightly, unyielding and impersonal. It denied him sensation and dulled every brush of contact. He ached to feel something more.
Overcome by need, he let go of Izzy and began to thumb at the buttons of the vest. Izzy kissed him through each one, every press of his lips growing with want. Breath was made all the more precious by how it was stolen; flesh too, valuable only because it could be claimed.
Izzy’s vest fell to the floor, and Stede’s fingers found the fastenings of his trousers. Just as he worked them loose and began on his small clothes, a sharp breath was pulled from his lips.
Izzy released himself from Stede with a groan and took a step backward. Stede mourned the loss of contact, he’d just reached somewhere of purpose—a hand still down Izzy’s trousers. Izzy simply stared at him.
“What, you surprised I’ve got a cunt?” Izzy stated matter of factly.
“No,” Stede replied. He dipped his hand lower in between his legs. A smirk bloomed across his face, “I’m just surprised you’re so wet.”
Izzy paused in the darkness, presence small and tight. Then all at once he unraveled. The tension that held him together, every knot, every cord, splintered as he returned to the bars. He pressed his body into himself, grasping for purchase. The heat of his kiss held all the want and fear of anchor me.
As Izzy kissed him, Stede realized Izzy was shaking. At first, Stede didn’t understand. But in a single breath, the weight of what had just transpired settled over him. The gravity of it, the meaning, the trust it carried—it had left Izzy shaken.
Stede withdrew his hand from his trousers, lifting it to Izzy’s face. His fingers traced the curve of his jaw before cupping it gently, grounding them both in the warmth of his touch. He pressed one final, lingering kiss to Izzy’s lips before slowly pulling back, his gaze searching for Izzy’s eyes within his own.
Stede breathed, searching for words with a sweetness Izzy would find tolerable.
“Don’t,” Izzy held the air taut between them, but within moments relinquished to the task of learning to breathe again alongside Stede, “Jus—don’t.“
In Izzy’s body, Stede could feel the want. It settled in him like an unexpected kindness, a quiet refuge amidst the weight of everything else that tethered it.
Hatred, for better or worse, had always been a kind of passion. Stede had come to see that. For much of his life, it had been the closest thing to love he ever received. But this was something else entirely. A want that was not his to name.
Tentatively, Stede asked, “Do you…want this?”
Izzy didn’t answer at first. Stede saw the war behind his eyes, the instinct to snap, to deflect, to push away before he could be abandoned first.
But then, Izzy swallowed. He exhaled through his nose, sharp and slow, steadying himself for a fight.
“I shouldn’t,” he admitted, voice rough. His gaze drifted downward, as if searching for a way out that didn’t exist, “But I do.”
“Yeah?” Stede returned with a gentle smile. He searched for Izzy’s eyes, but his gaze remained fixed on the floor. Stede brought his hand to rest under Izzy’s chin. With a softness, he directed Izzy’s face towards his own. Their eyes met at last, and Stede held him there, steady. He repeated himself, “Yeah, you want this?”
“Yeah, I do."
Stede’s lips twitched, a quiet snicker building before he could think better of it.
"You want me,” Stede teased, his voice lilting in singsong. His thumb traced over Izzy’s bottom lip. Stede hummed. He hoped Izzy could taste himself—how much Stede wanted him.
Izzy’s moan slipped into a groan, “Oh fuck.”
Stede slipped his arms through the bars and began to undo the buttons on the trousers Izzy wore. He could see the hard outline of his cock straining against them, and knew the sensation all too well to keep Izzy waiting.
“And you’re really aching for it, aren't you? For me,” Stede continued. Izzy let out something between a moan and a groan—Stede was more than satisfied.
With the last of the buttons, his cock sprung free.
“Holy shit!” said Izzy, looking between his legs.
Stede had always considered himself sizable, but it wasn’t until meeting Edward that he came to understand the significance of his dick—the presence it could command at attention. Stede now reveled in the effect.
He wouldn’t yet give Izzy the satisfaction of knowing this, however. Stede ignored him.
“Oh, so you are!” Stede ran his fingers underneath his cock, from base to tip. It bobbed with the release of his finger, and Izzy let out a deep groan, “Going to have to do something about that.”
Stede shifted, bracing himself against the bars as a sharp wave of pain lanced through him. He hissed but didn’t pull away, pressing himself as close as he could—desperate to close the space between them as he began running his fist over his cock.
If he were simply a gentleman, Stede would have been thinking something deliciously apt about the intimacy of learning to love oneself. If he were simply a pirate, his thoughts would have been consumed by plunder, all the ways he could blow the man down. But as the gentleman pirate—or rather, the man getting the gentleman pirate off—Stede wanted nothing more than to savor the paradox of it all: to take and be taken, to conquer and surrender, to map out the contours of himself with Izzy’s hands as his guide.
Izzy moaned as Stede worked. Stede tried desperately to kiss at Izzy’s neck, to not just hear but feel the sounds he could pull from his own body.
But it wasn’t enough. Izzy wasn’t close enough. Stede pressed forward, seeking, wanting—aching for Izzy to close the unbearable sliver of space between them. He needed him nearer, needed to feel every tremor, every shudder. But it wasn’t enough.
Slowly, with calculation, Stede began to draw his fist away, easing back just enough to make Izzy chase the sensation. Izzy shuttered with a sharp intake of breath, and Stede reveled in the way Izzy instinctively followed him, hips seeking what was slipping from his grasp.
Stede’s lips brushed against Izzy’s ear as he murmured, low and full of amusement, “Closer, Izzy—don’t you want to know why they call you Hands?”
Izzy rolled his eyes and groaned, but nonetheless moved closer to thrust into his fist.
“You—twat,” he mumbled between drags of air.
Stede chuckled softly, the sound low and pleased, his breath warm against Izzy’s neck—his neck. The familiarity of this place pulled at his heart with an unexpected fondness, as though remembering the smell of the sea only at its shore.
Want surged over him, crashing like a wave, dragging Stede under. It drew him closer, made him greedy. He nipped at Izzy’s neck, skimming across its surface as he descended.
In the slow pull of heat and breath, their moans spilled like pearly shells in the wake of the tide.
His head fell lower, kissing the man’s chest through the thin fabric of his shirt. He reveled in the feel of warmth just below his lips, the way it paired ever so nicely with the heat of his cock—now the first mate's. Whether it was the disorientation of getting his former body off this way or the continuing build of his arousal, Stede was blissfully heady with sensation.
He desired nothing more than to move lower, to be closer. To be enveloped entirely by the man before him. To let himself sink to his knees and—
“Oh—god! Nope!” Stede winced, whining in pain, “That’s—“
Izzy rolled his eyes and groaned.
“Were you really about to suck my dick?” Izzy couldn’t believe the man.
Stede was doing his best to gather himself together, grasping at the bars to bring himself upright again.
“My dick, I’ll have you know,” Stede retorted, before sucking in air between his teeth. He did his best to move the leg of the unicorn back into its supportive place.
“My god you are insufferable,” Izzy spat, his expression as hard as his dick—giving Stede a much clearer understanding of the phrase hot and bothered, “Are we going to fuck or what?”
Stede was taken aback a moment. Did Izzy mean? Oh yes.
The thought had crossed his mind before: fucking Izzy. Plenty of times he’d thought of fucking Izzy. Especially at Ed’s behest, the notion of fucking Izzy had never quite left his mind. Though he’d never treated it with any seriousness, beyond fucking with Izzy.
He supposed now, he could do both.
They were already in each other’s bodies. What was to stop Stede from pressing his face close, just above Izzy’s neck—his neck. To stop him from feeling the heat of his body, knowing Izzy could feel it too. From feeling the gentle echo of his breath back against his own lips, a reminder of how little space remained between them.
In one final movement, Stede closed the gap, lightly brushing against Izzy’s dick. With a smile, just to see him squirm, he returned Izzy’s rhetorical, “Or what”.
Izzy took in a sharp breath of air, releasing it slowly to center himself, “Bonnet, please, don’t make me ask”.
“What do you need, Izzy?” Stede asked, in earnest.
“I need—to be inside you,” came the man’s answer.
Stede stopped thinking all together, perhaps he’d even stopped being. He couldn’t be certain. He hadn’t the slightest clue where conscious mind and physical body met and ended. All that mattered, directionally speaking, were any actions that would draw Izzy deeper into him.
They were so close, so nearly and already inside one another completely. What a revelation Izzy had had come to: an action to consummate lust.
Stede returned to his cock, working his practiced fingers over the head—just as he knew he liked—slipping into deeper and deeper strokes as he kissed at Izzy’s neck.
Izzy drew back through the bars, bringing his arms through to strip off the rest of Stede’s clothes. Getting his pants down the wooden leg took momentary patience. It was perhaps the most cooperative action the two had ever engaged in, and well worth the wait.
When they once again found each other, heat poured through their veins in ways that breath had left them hungry for.
Izzy wrapped an arm around Stede, pulling him close before maneuvering him around to face the other direction—backside pressed to the bars. Momentarily, Stede lost himself to the feeling. He could rather get used to relinquishing control like this.
Izzy brought a hand to Stede’s ass, palm tentative under its curve.
They stood there, a moment. Reminded of their vulnerability as the sounds of the ship around them temporarily joined their bodies in consciousness.
“Oil,” Stede said, breaking the silence and the tension built by the breaths between them.
“Hm?”
“There’s oil in the lamp, just behind you,” Stede finished the thought, gesturing with his head to the space behind Izzy.
Izzy turned to see it there, a lamp swinging with the gentle tilt of the sea.
Izzy unwound his arm from Stede’s body, and made his way across the cell to investigate the lamp. In a quick but careful movement, he removed it from the wall and opened its reservoir. Experimentally, he dipped a finger in.
“Stupid fucking Stede Bonnet,” Izzy muttered to himself. He was in awe of how bewilderingly hot Stede’s quick thinking had been. There was indeed oil in the lamp. It left him absolutely fuming to realize he’d have to fuck him about it now.
“What was that about fucking Stede Bonnet stupid?” Stede joked, pressing his ass to the bars as Izzy stomped toward him with determination.
Izzy roped an arm through the bars. It reached across Stede’s chest to pull him in with force, lashing him in to protect against the brewing storm. Izzy could feel the rise and fall of Stede’s chest as it heaved with want below him. His body ached to be there too, in that space Stede currently occupied—the eye of the storm.
With a face of stone and fingers slick, Izzy turned to touch his lips to Stede’s ear. His breath was hot, filling the room with a haze of all that burned within him.
“Do you ever shut up?” Izzy asked, in earnest.
“Make me."
That was all that he needed.
Izzy pressed a single finger to Stede’s entrance, circling the edges slowly before slipping into the depths. Stede moaned with this new sensation, allowing himself to revel in the simple pleasure of being worked apart.
Izzy clearly had a practiced hand. His finger worked at the band of tension, coaxing it wider with the curl of a finger. The pressure came with unexpected ease, as a second finger slid in behind the first, matching its pace.
Stede wondered how often Izzy had done this. Alone in his room on the ship, with another member of the crew—with Ed. Stede had known they had history, but the specifics were left to the occasional titillating comment. If his ass was anything to go by, Izzy clearly had experience.
Izzy pressed his fingers in further, deep pressure building into pleasure. Any sense of composure was worked away, melting into moans as Izzy opened him. Izzy’s hand drew away to reapply oil. He ignored the expectant sound Stede made. As he returned to him with a third finger, the expected whine turned into a deep, guttural groan.
Stede was overcome with his hardness, with how deep sensation could run. He desperately wanted to touch himself. If he could just reach his cock—Izzy’s cock. If he wasn’t held so tightly, pulled so taut against the bars. He could grasp himself, hold tension there and find release.
“Please,” Stede finally managed, his breath ragged, body pained.
“Look who’s talking,” Izzy returned, removing his fingers from Stede, reveling in how the man shuttered beneath him. Stede whined, gaining no sympathy from Izzy, “If I’ve got to beg so do you, out with it now”.
Stede rolled his eyes, and brought his head up against the bars.
“Will you please fuck me?” Stede breathed, his body ached for Izzy’s return.
“Will you please fuck me, where?” Izzy continued in sing-song. The man deserved to suffer as he had—though only so much. Izzy took this moment to apply oil to his cock, stifling a groan.
“In the ass, you ass! My god you are insufferable, will you please—“ Izzy pushed the head of his cock in, Stede groaned, arching to take in the fullness of himself, “fuck me”.
The room filled with mutual groans of pleasure. As Izzy pressed into him, Stede struggled to parse through the boundaries between pain and pleasure. Though two distinct sensations, they were now impossible to prise apart. Did they oppose each other really—or was their tension always meant for the purpose of making them a pair?
Izzy began moving in and out of him, slow at first. He took his time to get a feel for the space. He felt heady with the power of it, not only watching but feeling himself fuck another man. Each pull dragging forth something of himself. He could chase this feeling forever, so he did.
Stede moaned as the pleasure of being filled quickly replaced discomfort. The pressure of it made him irrevocably hard. He desperately wanted Izzy to touch him, wanted to touch himself. Though his knee twinged with the stress of Izzy's movements, the building desire within him was insatiable. For everything Izzy gave him, he wanted more.
Stede began to thrust alongside Izzy, pressing back to rut against something—anything—but he found his leg to lack the capacity needed. Fuck!
Izzy took this as a cue to bring a hand to Stede’s hips, supporting more forceful thrusts. With each movement, Stede’s moans turned to whines. Izzy remembered this feeling, every moan making him all the more hard. He wasn’t sure how long he’d last.
Izzy remembered nights stowed away in storerooms. Breaking from watch to find any place that suggested privacy, arousal heightened in the thrill of the search. A tentative hand at his dick, he’d hold himself through his leathers—the dullness of the layers providing something to work at.
He’d always find himself wanting, holding desires that called both his dick and his anxiety to attention. He would give in. Always, he would give himself this. He’d drop his trousers, his vigilance would fade, and his fingers would slip in.
Now his fingers were at his hip, at his chest, bracing his body as it held Stede. As Izzy’s arousal continued to build, he couldn’t help but find himself still tethered to the memory of his body. The way it must feel to be held like this, fucked like this. Stede must ache.
“Izzy,” Stede whined through breathy huffs of air and the slap of skin on skin, “Please—”
Izzy felt Stede’s arms move underneath his brace, trapped, but only just so. Stede could have fought his grasp, Izzy thought, found release. The fact that his arms were constrained to his sides was secondary to his need of an anchor, something to hold him there. All it would take to move from this was a little force—was he that far gone?
“Izzy,” Stede breathed once more, Izzy paused his movements, “Please, can I?“
Finally, it registered, permission.
Izzy released Stede’s arm, moving to rest his hand at the man’s collar—below his kerchief and ring. Izzy watched as Stede lowered a hand to press at his own dick. Sensitive to the touch at first, Stede took a beat before beginning tentative movements. His fingers circled the head, gaining confidence with each stroke, taking in where his touch fell and needed to be.
Izzy was nearly lost to the memory of sensation. The twitch of his cock inside the man before him brought Izzy back to this body. He followed the feeling into thrusts of his hips, thighs meeting skin. The pressure that surrounded his cock overwhelmed him, deliciously taut.
Izzy gripped at the kerchief around Stede’s neck, making Stede groan as he was momentarily pulled from attending to his own dick. Stede spread his fingers wide in desperation, moving his arm down further in search of release. Izzy was overcome by the sight of it, the need. He fucked the man harder.
Stede’s fingers slid to either side of his cock, a single digit at the head. As his hand moved, he felt the sensation of his hardness run deep within him, meeting the pressure that rocked him from behind. His rhythm found Izzy’s, the pleasure of it building with every staggered breath.
Their bodies moved in tandem like this. Paired breath, sound, movement beat between them—the systoles and diastoles of a single heart, pumping. Tension and release.
Warmth began to bloom low and deep from within Stede. Every pulse of their bodies developed the sensation further, diffusing heat into flesh to give life.
Slick with arousal, Stede's hand quickened it's work of his cock. Strokes grew faster, deeper. He was now nothing more than need, the raw want of it.
What a beautiful thing it was to be consumed.
As Stede came, his body buckled. Izzy gripped at the man's kerchief, hip, and chest as he continued to fuck into him through the spasms of his orgasm. A guttural moan left Stede's throat, yet climax remained. The waves of it pounding, slowly blurring into the press of Izzy at his behind.
Izzy reveled in the sight of it: himself undone. The feel of Stede's orgasm on his cock edged him closer to his own, dick achingly hard. He would have this. In a single movement, he hoisted Stede up and lowered him down to the hilt—driving himself in and out to feel every inch.
As Izzy felt the pressure build, he thrust into Stede faster, deeper. Below him, Stede whined—his hand had returned to his dick—nearly bringing Izzy to ruin.
His movements turned frantic as weakening hips and knees made the space between their bodies all the more viscous. Izzy thrust his hips with abandon, chasing every honeyed feeling.
He watched himself bury into the man again and again, arousal pooling in his spine as Stede shuttered beneath him. The pressure tight, his length glistening.
"Izzy, I need—" Stede exhaled, breath hitching as Izzy kept his pace, "I need you to—oh god—inside. I need you to—"
That was all it took. Everything inside Izzy spilled over. He came, unbound. Waves of ecstasy poured over him, warm and electric. His cock pulsed as Stede writhed. Izzy slowed his movements, mind blissful and reeling.
He had this.
Dazed, the room slowly returned to their senses. The sound of their breath occupied much of the space, save for the creak of boards and the gentle lilt of the sea. Izzy eased himself out of Stede with a low groan.
Hands shaking and sticky with sweat, Izzy still held onto Stede. He moved to bring his lips to the man's neck, but stopped his movements to stay in the warmth of the space between them, just to breathe.
His fingers lightly fiddled with the ends of his kerchief around Stede's neck, before his hand moved from his chest. In a slow dance, Izzy guided Stede back toward him, toward the bars.
He gently took his hands and brought them to the metal, wrapping his fingers around them. He held the man like this a moment. The pad of his finger brushed lightly against the crease of a finger, just to feel it.
Izzy looked up to find Stede's gaze met his. His eyes were soft, lids heavy with fatigue. Stede looked at him and gently sighed, then a smile. He was seen.
They stayed like this, together.
"Thank you, Izzy" Stede said, surprising the man. It took Izzy a second to process, and when he did, he softened.
"Er, yeah," Izzy replied, looking away before going to sort out his pants.
Stede joined him in redressing, little pained breaths dotting the silence as he attempted to work his trousers back on. Izzy arrived to help him.
"It's a shame it didn't work," Stede remarked, pulling up his pants the rest of the way.
Izzy froze, looking up at Stede, "Excuse me?"
"The sex. Your body in mine. Really seemed like that might be the answer here," Stede stated matter of factly. Izzy's mind swirled, a typhoon building.
"Excuse me!?" Izzy stood up, hands gripping at the bars. Stede's eyes grew wide, his head shaking to center himself.
"I-I don't know. We were in this together—in each other together. I felt flush when you got close. It seemed a possibility," Stede explained, as Izzy fumed.
"Do you solve all your problems by fucking them?!"
"Not—" Stede began.
"Don't answer that!" Izzy couldn't believe the man. Izzy turned away from Stede, anger spiraling into feelings adjacent to grief, "I really…I—FUCK!"
Izzy stayed turned away from Stede, looking at the oil lamp overturned on the floor. Shame.
"I did enjoy it. More than enjoyed it, I…," Stede returned, trailing off.
Izzy remained unresponsive, the space empty except for the gentle creep of his bindings. They would return to him, hold him as no one else could.
Stupid fucking Stede Bonnet. He couldn't believe he'd really had sex with Stede. Felt things for him. He was too close for comfort; it was too comfortable with him close. Had he really grown this pliant?
Izzy felt himself grow tighter. Being this exposed made him a danger to the crew, to the captain. Oh god, what would Blackbeard think of this. The last time Bonnet had gone and fucked off he'd—
"Does it always feel like this?" Stede asked into the silence.
Izzy's mind went blank. It took him a moment to even consider entertaining the question. Exasperated, he returned, facing the man, "Like what, Bonnet?"
"You. Do you always feel this much?"
"Fuck off."
The quiet stirred at the feelings that ran between them, the little eddies perhaps suggesting movement.
"It's a lot. I'm not used to it," Stede continued, making himself vulnerable the best he could, "The whole…," he paused, looking to Izzy in want of words, "Being. Being whole"
"Being hole?" Izzy looked at him incredulously, arms crossed.
Stede grimaced and shook his head, "My word! Please attempt to let me express something genuine towards you, you awful man!"
Izzy rolled his eyes and sighed, uncrossing his arms and allowing his hands to rest in one another. He wanted to shut down, shut out, fuck off—be anywhere but here—and instead he stood still. He would hear himself say this.
"You hold yourself together so tightly," Stede began, hands releasing to thread his arms through the bars. He would reach the other man, "Which really is a shame because it feels so good to be held as you falling apart".
Izzy couldn't parse his emotions well enough to discern a response. He shifted his feet in search of place. The space between Stede's words was not silent, it disquieted him.
"It's worth the experience, Izzy. Solving your problems by, er…fucking them. So to speak," Stede continued, relaxing into a stretch, his arms sliding up the bars, "I think you'd agree one of my special skills is fucking things up. And you know Ed—loves a fuckery. Whatever this is, we're fucked, and if I'm not mistaken…you like it too".
"Well enough," came Izzy's reply.
"Good," responded Stede, nodding, "You should do more of it".
Izzy lightly chuckled to himself, "More fucking?"
"Yeah mate, more fucking," Stede returned, as Izzy began to walk toward Stede and meet him at his lean against the bars.
Izzy looked into his eyes, searching for something more to pull out of him. Upon finding a piece of himself, he smiled. He hated the very the act of it, the very thought of it—but from within him it drew up a ruinous feeling he had to follow. He would have this.
"You just want me inside you again," Izzy stated, gaze fixed on Stede, unmoored.
"Who's to say it wouldn't work the second time?" Stede replied, with attempted nonchalance, "The third?"
He was so fucked.