Chapter Text
These last weeks, he couldn’t take his coffee plain. When he did, it burned his chest for hours after he drank it. So he’d taken to adding an embarrassing amount of milk, enough that his beverages tinted towards blonde. They would have had a big laugh of it, his old crew- Izzy, who had always gulped down black coffee by the bucket, now needing to add sugar and milk like a banker’s spoiled child. He began to chuckle, but stopped, feeling a pang of loss when he thought of the boys- Fang, Ivan, Thompson, Duncan… Ed. Izzy gave his thoughts a hard pull away before they could drift down those well-worn paths again.
Remembrance was an exercise in masochism. He told himself there wasn’t any use burning himself over and over again, dwelling on the past- the Queen Anne’s Revenge, the Revenge- those ships had long sailed over the horizon, leaving Izzy behind.
Ed probably expected for Izzy to return to the Queen Anne, tuck back into business as usual, hold fast and just… Wait.
But Izzy hadn’t- not by choice, though. Things happened. A storm. Washing up on Redshore. Finding that Redshore was now a makeshift naval base. A mad chase for his life, the British, and then just when he was cornered, the sudden infuriating appearance of Sam fucking Bellamy.
He hadn’t intended to sail with Bellamy for long- a temporary job, just a means to jump off at the next port closest to Barbados.
Sam was handsome, though. Sam was handsome, and he liked Izzy, and it had been so long since anyone liked Izzy- much less someone who could have anyone else in the world, someone who didn’t need to settle for scraps with a mangy old dog, a used up old omega in the end of his breeding days.
Even worse, Sam was pleasant about it. Persuasive. Distracting- horribly, horribly distracting, with his sweet words and his freckles and his soft little touches and the claret he insisted Izzy share when him when there wasn’t work to be done, and suddenly Bellamy turned to Sammy and they were sailing up the coast of the colonies and Izzy hadn’t looked back in a long time. And when the sun rose, it was on Sam Bellamy.
His symptoms had started two months ago- the bloating, the nausea, the feeling that something was off. They had been at sea, somewhere off the Carolinas, stalking an English merchant ship, when his vest stopped being able to button. But it was only when they had struck and boarded, in the middle of stabbing some poor stranger in the gut, that he put two and two together, and hauled Sam down to his cabin by the scruff of his neck.
Based on that, he supposed he was probably five or six months along. It was a subject of debate at the big house, with guesses ranging from “eight months with one pup” or “four months with three.”
Sam, the bastard, told him that he was hoping for half a dozen, at least. Izzy, in return, told him to eat shit. But the rate his belly was swelling, Izzy was starting to suspect that Sam, once again, was going to get what he wanted.
And that included bringing Izzy on land, to Sam’s estate, his base of operations, his home on the south Hispaniola. Ostensibly it was so that he could rest in comfortably stuffed beds, nap on the whitewashed porches and quiet, grassy hills, mustering his strength to birth their pups. It wasn’t retirement- so he said, but life on land was just so much more convenient. Not just the clean water and the fresh fruit and baked bread- but life on land didn’t need constant attention and tending the same way keeping a ship afloat did. Life on land meant that when his door was locked, it was locked. Where you went to sleep, that was where you woke up in the morning.
Every day, the earth was steadier under his feet. The sun rose in the same place everyday. But when it went down, the quiet times in the evening, Izzy thought he could still see the shadows of Blackbeard. And when his pups stirred, on the very edges of his senses, he still smelled gunpowder and tar.
Israel was already in bed, leaning against the headboard with his eyes half-shut in the candlelight. His expression was either contemplative or half-dozing off. “You’ve tucked in before me,” Sam observed with some amusement.
Izzy spluttered awake- half-dozing it was, then. “What, was I supposed to wait up for you?” he groused. “Then don’t taking so long washing up.” Despite his annoyed face, he lifted an arm for Sam to come in close, revealing the heavy swell of his pregnancy under his bedclothes.
Sam’s heart sang at this. It was a sight to make any alpha’s loins stir with pride- an omega, his omega, resting comfortably and well-fed, belly round with his pups, safe and sound in his blankets. The primal part of his brain, the parts his gentleman’s consciousness tiptoed around, snarled in victory- this was the height of alpha aspiration- to be powerful enough to attract a strong omega, to provide for him, to protect him. And an even darker part of him whispered in pride: alpha enough to take Blackbeard’s omega. Sam lifted the covers and slid into bed besides his mate. “Sorry. I went out to smoke pipes with Paul, lost track of time.” He relaxed into bed, leaning into Izzy’s side, breathing in his warm, sweet scent- the smell of home.
In return Izzy ran his hand up and down Sam’s waist, melting into the pillows behind him, and let out a pleased huff. Sam hummed low in his throat- there was no feeling like knowing his omega was safe and content.
“May I?” Sam whispered, hand on the long hem of Izzy’s shirt. It was their nightly ritual by now, but it was only respectful to ask.
Izzy grunted in assent.
Gently, Sam pulled back the linen to expose Izzy’s gravid belly, swelling out hard from his body and cradled by brown stretch marks. He admired his handiwork- well, technically it was Izzy’s body doing the work, but Sam had definitely contributed. “Are the babes behaving themselves?”
“Nope.”
Sam waited for Izzy to elaborate. He didn’t. “What’s your guess today?” Sam asked instead.
Izzy pressed his heavy belly gently with a hand, lifting it a gentle inch before giving it a soothing pat. “Still feels like there’s three in there.”
“Pamela thinks you’ve got at least four,” Sam said.
Izzy made a face. “Pamela can fuck off, if I get any bigger I’ll be bedbound.”
“You could definitely fit more than three in there,” Sam said encouragingly. “You know, I-”
“I’m not having half a dozen pups in one litter, Sam,” Izzy warned sternly.
“Don’t blame a man for hoping.”
“My cunt would fall out,” Izzy snapped.
Sam laughed. “But really…”
“I’ll kill you first,” Izzy warned.
“Yes, you might.” Sam pressed a quick kiss to the coarse hair near Izzy’s ear. Not for the first time, Sam wished that they knew how far along Izzy was. He was a gristly old omega, his heats were much more subtle than the ragers of youth. They’d only suspected something was brewing when his belly started swelling, when he had to let out his pants and unbutton his vest. By the time he was showing, he could have been anywhere from three to five months depending on how many pups he was carrying. it would have made coordinating things a lot easier if they knew whether he would give birth tomorrow or in two months. Izzy stayed home now, too big to maneuver easily, but every time Sam traveled out of town he was constantly looking over his shoulder in case a messenger came running with the anticipated news.
And Sam was so, so looking forward to being a father again.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Sam frowned, unhappy that Izzy was clearly worried about something. “Israel, something’s bothering you.”
“It’s nothing. Really. …Fine. You know there’s no way I’m not going to have a pad after this, right?” Izzy said.
Sam blinked. “ That’s what you’re worried about? When did you start worrying about that kind of thing?” He regretted his tone the moment Izzy’s face fell. “What? Oh, darling. What’s wrong?”
He’s seen pads on older omegas and some women, an overhang of stretch marks and crepey skin that remained loose and flabby even after the belly had gone back to a normal size. It was a sign of large litters, his mother had always complained about hers, joking that she could just snip it off with her sewing scissors. He’d never given it specific thought- everyone got wrinkles and gray hair eventually after all- just wear and tear on the body, a part of the privilege of living long enough. Sam knew better than most to be grateful for that. His crow’s feet and saggy eyes were all proof that he wasn’t rotting on the bottom of Cape Cod.
“You know in the olden days, pads were considered to be a mark of pride. Like scars.” Sam traced the pink line of raised tissue down Israel’s forearm- one of the many, many scars his mate’s body bore. “Shows you fought and won.”
“Yeah well, we’re in modern times now,” Izzy snapped, pulling his nightshirt down self-consciously, trying to hide the angry stretch marks from Sam’s eyes.
“I’m just saying, what’s wrong with getting a pad? Every omega gets them after a big litter- and you know I’m hoping for a big litter, my sweet.” Sam reached over again, running a hand down the nape of Izzy’s neck.
“Sure. Okay,” Izzy said, his mouth a tight line. “But you’re not going to like it,” he warned.
“Why are you making such a big deal out of it? I don’t care if you get a pad!”
“We’ll see if you’re still saying that after,” he said sardonically.
Frustrating man. “You’re worried I’m going to leave you because you have a pad ?” Sam asked. “Should I be offended?”
“Well, not because I have a pad, but there’s lots of people who-” Izzy gestured. “You know.”
“You know I don’t know.”
“You do know,” Izzy accused. “And you know there are people out there who won’t have a dumb fucking flap of fat just- flapping around-” He went quiet, and turned away.
Not for the first time that night, Sam’s teeth prickled in anger as he thought of Ed- Ed and his new sweetheart, the gorgeous blonde he’d seen in the harbor. He knew the pain of being left still festered in Izzy- and to add insult to injury, Bonnet looked like an actual angel- all rosy skin and soft gold curls, no wonder Izzy’s thoughts had gone down that path. “Fine. Don’t believe me now. But let me prove it to you,” he insisted.
“Sounds familiar,” Izzy rasped, suddenly jerking his head away.
Sam realized his mistake when Izzy flinched away like he’d been struck. He suddenly realized who else might have said those pretty words in the past. “Okay. Okay, forget that- Oh, Israel, look at me,” he pleaded. "My sweet."
“I’m looking at you,” Izzy said, resigned, one hand on his round belly like he was trying to reassure his unborn children- or himself. He didn’t look at Sam.
Sam sighed. “I know I’m not the first one to make you those promises, but by God, I’ll be the first to keep them.”
“Okay.”
“Kill me if I prove false,” Sam said hoarsely, gazing as his omega.
Izzy’s face was especially craggy in the dim candlelight, his hooded eyes entirely in shadow. Sam had never been on the wrong end of a duel with Izzy, but the back of his neck prickled. He realized, with Izzy’s hazel eyes fixed on him in a glower, he was seeing the last thing many men had seen before dying.
His heart leapt. Something burned inside him, certainty that this man was his mate. Izzy would make a fierce mother, feral and unyielding. No one would dare lay a finger on their pups. And Sam would be his alpha- no one would dare lay a finger on Izzy, in return. Rumbling low in his throat, Sam nosed into the crook of Izzy’s neck, and finally, Izzy relaxed into the down pillows and let him in.