Chapter Text
"Don't worry about Iz," Ed tells Stede, a few short weeks after they've finally reconciled, when both he and Stede have recovered from their mutual stab wounds. They're eating breakfast at the table in the captains' quarters. It's early enough that the sunrise casts a rich, ruddy light, making the air in the room seem soft, out of focus. Stede's and Ed's crews have reached a wary détente for the most part–the only holdout is one Mr. Israel Hands. He spends his days stomping around the deck, yelling til he's red in the face and even hoarser than usual. He eats alone, and rarely, gnawing hardtack in the darkness of the little room he's made his own.
"Honestly, Edward," says Stede, "I don't know what to do with him! I asked him perfectly politely to join the crew for dinner and he spat on the deck, told me to go fuck myself, and made some distinctly presumptuous comments about my mother. It was just a dinner invitation, for Christ's sake! Roach had made a lovely stew!"
"Well, see, that's your problem there, mate," Ed says, waving one hand vaguely in the air and taking a long drag from his pipe. "You can't just invite Izzy to do anything. He can refuse an invitation, so he always will, just to remind you he can. All he really needs is a firm hand. Don't invite him, order him. And make sure you sound, you know, confident when you're giving him an order. That's all it takes, really."
"Oh, is that all?" Stede asks, with more than a touch of passive aggression, stabbing his fork into his scrambled eggs with a bit more force than necessary. Ed just rolls his eyes.
"Trust me, babe," he says, placing one hand over Stede's. The coals burning in his pipe reflect in his eyes, flaring orangey red, and he smiles at Stede. Ed lets smoke drift from the corners of his mouth and snake up to obscure his face. Stede licks his lips, mouth suddenly a little dry. Ed's smile widens and he leans forward, lowering his voice like he's telling Stede a secret. "Izzy just likes a tough guy. Get the tone right and it'll all fall into place "
Gosh , Stede thinks. Figuring out how to get Izzy to respect his rank suddenly sounds like quite an interesting project, though he couldn't quite say why. He stands abruptly, abandoning his rapidly cooling eggs, and drops a kiss on the top of Ed's head.
"Where are you going, love?" Ed asks, pushing Stede's leftover eggs onto his own near-empty plate.
"There's no time like the present," Stede says, "I'm going to figure out how to get Mr Hands to treat me like a captain, or else I'll die trying."
Ed winces a little at that, taking a large bite of lukewarm egg.
“I mean, fair enough, love, but don’t let Izzy hear you say that. He can be a bit literal, honestly."
Stede nods, setting his mouth in what he hopes is a firm and confident line. He tugs his jacket down, and then strides out the door, and up onto the deck of the ship. All around them, the ocean glitters in the golden light of the just-risen sun. Izzy is already on deck, his voice croaking harshly as he shouts something about the mainsail at Frenchie and Oluwande, who look about as confused as Stede. It’s a strange contrast to the peaceful lapping of the waves against the side of the ship. Stede clears his throat and squares his shoulders.
“Mister Hands!” His voice is louder than he expects in the early morning hush. His eyes widen just a touch as Izzy whirls on his heel and glares at him.
“Oh, what the fuck do you want?” Izzy demands, and Stede finds his mouth has gone dry again. Damn , Stede thinks, I probably should have had an order prepared before I did this. Poor planning on my part, really. Nevertheless, he holds his ground.
“A word, Mister Hands,” he says, and then turns and walks back into the darkness of the hallway. He doesn’t look back to check if Izzy is following. Confidence , he reminds himself, Ed said it was all about confidence. He hears Izzy’s footsteps on the steps behind him and he allows himself a tiny sigh of relief, still half expecting to be stabbed in the back the instant they’re alone. Stede’s heart is pounding and he feels his ears burning red, and he hopes he can brazen through without Izzy realizing he doesn’t actually know what he’s doing. This early in the day, the jam room will be empty–Stede opens the door and steps into the dimly lit room, then turns to face Izzy.
“Close the door, please,” says Stede, wincing internally at the “please”. Well, surely a confident captain can be polite, as well as firm. Izzy’s arms are crossed, his face half-hidden in shadow as he snorts derisively.
“You’re wasting my fucking time,” Izzy says, turning to leave. Stede feels the flush in his cheeks deepen, this time as much from anger as embarrassment.
“Mister Hands,” Stede says sharply, again startled by the loudness of his voice in the otherwise silent room. Izzy freezes halfway through the door. Tension hangs in the air between them, and Stede realizes in a sudden rush that this is it. Whatever’s happening, if he doesn’t see this through now, he won’t get another chance.
“I believe I gave you an order, Mister Hands,” he says. He barely recognizes his own voice. It sounds cold, arrogant. He never speaks to his crew like this. “Step back into this room and close that door.”
The moment stretches out. Stede’s blood is pounding in his ears. He can’t see Izzy’s face properly–the half-light from the corridor casts his face in deep shadows, his cheekbones standing out starkly, his eyes utterly concealed. And then Izzy turns, slowly, steps back towards Stede and closes the door behind him. His arms are still crossed in front of his chest, but there’s something in his body language that Stede hasn’t seen before. He’s hunched forward, his head down. The turn of his mouth is a little sullen, lower lip jutting out, and Stede feels a sudden, perverse urge to kiss him or… or slap him, maybe. Maybe both. Stede swallows hard, takes a deep breath.
“There now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he says. Izzy’s lip curls into a sneer.
“Do you actually have anything to say, Bonnet, or are you just taking the piss? Because I’m busy keeping your fucking pleasure cruiser afloat and your fucking crew alive, actually.”
Stede steps forward, crowding Izzy against the closed door. Maybe he imagines it, but Izzy’s breath seems to come faster than usual, too. Confident , Stede thinks again, though he’s not quite sure if confidence is really the word for what he’s doing right now. He hadn’t really noticed before how much smaller than him Izzy is. Now, looming over him, he feels heat coiling in his belly.
“Now that’s exactly the attitude we need to talk about,” says Stede, his voice a little huskier than usual. "I am your captain."
Izzy interjects with a small scoff. Stede reaches out for the man, not entirely certain what he intends to do. His hand grasps the hair at the back of Izzy's head firmly, moving almost of its own volition. Stede steps forward, his body pressing up against the smaller man's. He realizes he's pushed his leg between Izzy's, pressing firmly enough that Izzy teeters a little, off balance, his groin pressed against Stede's thigh. A little whimper slips from Izzy's lips. Stede almost can't believe what he's seeing–he grips Izzy's hair harshly, yanks his head back so his face is turned up towards the light. The whimper becomes a moan, low and unmistakable.
"Well, look at you," Stede whispers. There's a hint of awe in his voice. Izzy's eyes are half lidded, glistening, and his mouth hangs open. This is the first time Stede's seen him without his brow furrowed. Stede keeps hold of his hair, gripping far more cruelly than he ever has with Ed. He feels Izzy grinding down onto his thigh, feels his hard cock even through his leather trousers.
"Oh, Israel," he whispers, and this time Izzy's moan is almost a sob. Stede thinks for a moment of Ed–surely he can't have meant for things to go this far?–but words are tumbling out of him before he has a chance to think, and his body is still pressed against Izzy's. He knows, with abrupt and shocking clarity, exactly what Izzy needs from him. He wraps his free hand around Izzy's throat, keeping the other tangled in his hair, still pulling his head back, still pinning him against the door as he pulls his leg out from between Izzy's. This time the sound Izzy makes is undeniably a sob, a desperate, gasping little sound.
"Look at you," Stede says, his voice once again sounding cold and arrogant, "Rutting against your captain's leg like an animal. Is that any way to behave?"
He tightens his grip in Izzy's hair once again, and Izzy lets out another desperate little sob. Stede leans in, squeezing Izzy's throat firmly. The sound of Izzy's laboured breaths, forced past the pressure of Stede's hand, goes straight to his cock. Stede doesn't think he's ever been harder in his life. He presses his lips up against Izzy's ear, whispering.
"I asked you a question, Israel," he whispers. "And I expect an answer. Is that any way to behave?"
"No.. No Captain," Izzy gasps the words out, voice barely recognizable.
"And?" Stede demands, "don't you have something else to say to me?"
He watches Izzy search his face for a clue. Izzy's tongue darts out, wetting his lips as he looks down at Stede's mouth.
"I…" Izzy begins, before pausing with another little gasp. Stede sneers down at him.
"Well, come on man, out with it. I haven't got all day to waste here with you, you know."
Izzy drags in another painful sounding breath.
"I'm sorry, Captain. I'm sorry, sir. Please sir," Izzy speaks like the words are being pulled out of him.
"Good boy, Israel," Stede whispers, and some distant part of him can hardly believe that Izzy doesn't stab him for it, but instead there's another sobbing little breath as Izzy's hips buck forward into his own. Stede releases Izzy's hair abruptly, grabbing hold of Izzy's hip and holding him still.
"Come now, my boy, I think you can show more self control than that. And I don't think you've quite finished your apology, have you?"
Stede steps back suddenly. His body feels abruptly bereft, deprived of the warmth of Izzy's, the feel of his throat, the rhythm of his pounding heart. Izzy slumps forward, only just catching himself as he almost falls to the floor. Stede realizes there are tear tracks along Izzy's cheeks and wonders for a moment what it says about him that the sight of another man's tears makes his cock throb almost painfully in his linen drawers. Izzy is looking at him, face crumpled in confusion and, Stede thinks, almost desolation.
"On your knees, Mister Hands," he says, his voice just loud enough for Izzy to hear. Somehow, it still seems to echo in the little room. Well, Stede supposes, he did have it built with acoustics in mind. Izzy's face goes slack again, and the moan that he lets out as he sinks to his knees at Stede's feet is the filthiest thing that Stede has ever heard. Izzy reaches out for the front of Stede's trousers, whimpers in disappointment when Stede knocks his hands away.
"I'm afraid you're going to have to use your words, Israel," he says. "This is part of your apology, yes? I think you should tell me exactly what you're apologizing for."
Stede raises a finger, presses it to Izzy's lips before he can speak.
"And think carefully, my boy. I want to know exactly what you think brought you here, on your knees, in front of me.
Izzy licks his lips again, and it's all Stede can do not to simply pull out his cock and shove it down Izzy's throat.
"I'm…I'm sorry for disrespecting you, Captain," Izzy says, his voice higher than usual, "I'm sorry I haven't minded your orders, I'm sorry I haven't looked after your needs, I'm sorry, I, please…"
Izzy trails off with a broken little sob. Tears run freely down his cheeks now as he stares up at Stede, his face completely open, perfectly vulnerable. Stede reaches out to cup his cheek and Izzy presses his face into Stede's hand, gasping for air. Stede barely contains a gasp of his own as he feels Izzy's lips, soft and wet and hot, pressed into the palm of his hand.
"Please what, my boy? What were you going to ask me?"
Izzy doesn't look at him as he answers, and even in the dim light of the jam room, Stede can see Izzy's face flush with humiliation and desire. Izzy sucks in a breath and chokes out his response.
"Please, Captain. Please let me suck your cock," he says, a fat tear rolling down his face and onto Stede's hand. Stede wipes his face tenderly, brushing the tears from his cheeks.
"I think I should fuck your face, Israel," Stede says. "How do you feel about that?"
"Please," Izzy whispers, mouth slack with need. "Please sir."
"Well," Stede whispers, reaching down and pulling his cock free of his smalls and out through the flap at the front of his trousers, "how can I say no when you beg so prettily?"
Stede sees Izzy's eyes widen slightly as he catches sight of Stede's cock, long and thick, likely one of the biggest he's ever seen. And then Stede's fingers are in Izzy's hair again, pulling him forward and pushing him down. Izzy's mouth opens willingly, welcoming Stede in. Stede shoves forward, pressing Izzy up against the door again, feeling a dark sort of satisfaction as he feels Izzy's throat spasm around him, hears him gag as Stede forces his cock all the way in. Stede stays there for a moment, resting his forehead against the cool wood of the door as he catches his breath. He feels Izzy's throat spasm around him again, feels Izzy swallow as he adjusts to the presence of Stede's cock in his throat. Tears are still streaming down Izzy's face, though Stede supposes that's to be expected with one of the biggest cocks in the Caribbean filling his mouth. It had even taken Edward a few tries to get this deep. But now, he feels Izzy starting to move beneath him, hips thrusting uselessly at the air, hands pressing against his hips, pulling him forward, trying to make him fulfill his promise of fucking Izzy's throat. Stede laughs breathlessly.
"Patience, my boy," he says, running his hands over Izzy's face yet again, using his thumbs to wipe the tears from his face even as new ones flooded from Izzy's eyes to replace them. "Good things come to those who wait."
And then, with barely a moment's hesitation, Stede began to move, his hips pulling back ever so softly, and then snapping forward, fucking Izzy's throat at a punishing pace.
"That's it," Stede murmurs, staring down at Izzy, watching his lips, swollen red and stretched as Stede's long, thick cock shoves forward again and again, filling his mouth, filling his throat, "Take it, Israel, take all of it."
Izzy whimpers and moans around Stede's cock, his hands scrabbling at Stede's hips, drool spilling from his mouth, over his chin and down to soak the the collar of his shirt.
"So eager, Israel," Stede whispers, hunched forward over Izzy. "You should have asked me for this weeks ago, you've clearly been dying for it."
Izzy squeezes his eyes shut, the humiliated glow of his cheeks telling Stede all he needs to know. Stede's hips snap forward again, his rhythm stuttering as his climax builds.
"Fuck," he whispers, both of his hands curling into Izzy's hair, "Israel!"
Stede pulls back again suddenly yanking Izzy off his cock. Izzy gives a small whimper, bereft, and then Stede's cum splatters across his face, dripping down onto his vest, hot and thick. Stede gives a happy little sigh and rubs the head of his softening cock over Izzy's lips, watching as Izzy's tongue darts out to lick at the slit, lapping at the cum that still oozes sluggishly there.
"Well, that certainly was something," Stede says. He runs a thumb over Izzy's cheek, this time gathering tears and sweat and cum all together, and then pops it into his own mouth, staring down into Izzy's eyes. Izzy whimpers again, a high pitched, pleading little sound. Stede cups the side of his face again.
"You've been such a good boy for me, Israel," he says gently. "I think you've earned a reward."
Izzy nods eagerly, his hips bucking forward again, and Stede presses his boot between Izzy's legs.
"Go on, then," Stede says, encouragingly, "Do what you need to do."
Izzy's head falls forward as he thrusts desperately against Stede's boot, grinding his hard cock against it, and Stede reaches down grabbing his hair again and tilting his head up, merciless.
"Now, now, keep your head up. I want to see your face."
Izzy barely seems to understand, but he keeps his face pointed upwards, eyes blank as he meets Stede's gaze, mouth quivering as he rubs himself shamelessly against Stede. Stede realizes with an abrupt start that Izzy is saying something and he leans in closer, listening.
"Please," Izzy gasps with every thrust, "please."
Stede's cock twitches, and he knows that, were he a younger man, he'd be hard as a rock again already. He barely has time to process that thought before he feels Izzy tense against his leg, hips grinding helplessly as he comes, still fully clothed, with a low, broken moan. Stede reaches down and combs his fingers through Izzy's hair, his touch gentle, almost reverent.
"There you are, Israel," Steve finds himself mumbling comforting nonsense as he strokes Izzy's head, "you were so good for me, so good for your captain. Such a good boy."
They stay like that for a moment, Izzy slumped against Stede's thigh, Stede gently petting him as their heaving breaths return to normal. Suddenly, Izzy pushes Stede back, stumbling to his feet like a man still trying to get his sea legs. He wipes his face roughly with the back of his hand and then looks up at Stede, his face tear streaked, eyes still red from crying.
"Will that be all, Captain?" he asks, and Stede thinks he's not imagining it when Izzy's voice breaks on that last word.
"Yes, Israel," Stede says, speaking softly, as though Izzy were a wild animal who might be spooked by loud noises. "Thank you, that will be all for now."
Izzy nods, sniffing loudly as he drags a hand through his sex tumbled hair. He turns and opens the door of the jam room. For a moment, he pauses at the threshold, and Stede almost expects him to turn back, to say something, to ask something. And then, Izzy is gone, closing the door behind him. Stede listens to Izzy's footsteps receding as he heads, presumably, for his quarters.
Stede stands still for a moment, staring at the door of the jam room, trying to process exactly what the fuck just happened. He hears Roach shouting something from the kitchen, calling the rest of the crew to breakfast, maybe. He drags a hand down his face, rakes his fingers through his hair. His attempts to think this through lead him back, again and again, to one unavoidable conclusion:
He needs to talk to Edward.