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leiascullyTitle: Let Me Call You Sweetheart (Not You)
Wordcount: 1659
Fandom: Our Flag Means Death
Rating: Mature (consensual sexual activity)
Content notes: references to canon-typical violence, toxic relationships
Relationships: Edward Teach/Stede Bonnet, Edward Teach/Izzy Hands
Timeline: S1
A/N: I read a tweet that said "every day I look to see who's retweeting NSFW Izzy Hands fanart onto my timeline and it's always Con O'Neill" and then I followed Con O'Neill and then this happened, so. This was part of something longer, but these parts felt like they stood on their own.
+ + + +
It was easy, when Izzy Hands came to Blackbeard and said, "Use me."
Blackbeard had bent Izzy over, filled him up with a fat cock, and felt nothing but release. There was no tenderness in their embraces. There wasn't even urgency. It was a mechanical matter. He fucked Izzy, or let Izzy fuck him, but it was just another of Izzy's duties. Maybe it filled some need for him. Blackbeard didn't know. They didn't discuss it. They barely even made noise. It wasn't that he cared - it was his fucking ship, wasn't it, and he'd groan all he wanted to - but the whole affair was barely erotic. Izzy was a tool. It was what he wanted. Blackbeard's hand wielded him and they were both satisfied.
Izzy Hands was Blackbeard's dog and the whole pirating world knew it. No pity for Mister Hands, no. There were plenty who would have killed to take his place. Blackbeard saw them eyeing him up every time they made port. All wary awe when they looked at him, all knife-sharp envy when they looked at Izzy.
He'd never wanted a dog. Ed had, when he was a little lad, but that had ended around the time the Kraken had killed his dad. Blackbeard had never wanted a dog. He'd killed Fang's dog, or something, just to prove the point. And now he had Izzy, and Izzy's desperate devotion. At least Izzy wasn't a pet. Not a one of them was going to doggy heaven from his boat, oh no, nor any other heaven. To sail with Blackbeard was to punch your ticket to hell. And yet, here they were, lining up to board his ship while Izzy snapped and growled at their heels.
He tried to be Edward with Izzy, once in a while. He tried to play, tried to laugh. It wasn't what Izzy wanted from him. Izzy wanted Blackbeard. Izzy liked calling him "Edward", like it was a secret between them, a sign of his favor, but he had no interest in anything like Ed's half-forgotten soul. Izzy and the rest of them wanted the legend, Blackbeard with his hollow heart and the fire in his eyes.
Blackbeard never took his gloves off. He'd jerked Izzy off with dry hands, the leather catching on the only tender places Izzy had left. If Izzy was lucky, he was allowed to spit into Blackbeard's palm, or to grease himself up with whatever came to hand, and jerk himself off while Blackbeard watched. If Izzy was very lucky, he got to lick his own seed off Blackbeard's belly or thighs. If he was unlucky, Blackbeard wiped it off himself with a rag and then stuffed that rag into Izzy's mouth. Izzy always looked him in the eye. That was something. Most people didn't look Blackbeard in the eye. Izzy never flinched.
It wasn't love. Blackbeard couldn't feel love anymore than he could feel fear. He lived in the troughs and crests of rage, whipped by the salt spray of triumph. Perhaps Izzy loved him. Blackbeard didn't care. He was watching the horizon, even as he pressed Izzy into the bunk. Life was weary, stale, and flat, although not unprofitable. He'd heard those words said once in a play, and they'd stuck in a corner of his mind. Blackbeard was a dull blade. He just kept sawing away, hoping for a fresh breeze.
And then came the tales of the Gentleman Pirate. They were whispers at first, no louder than the cry of a far-off gull, and as easy to discount as a trick of the wind. But whatever part of him yearned for a shore yearned for those tales. Blackbeard sent Izzy after them, hunting out the man himself. Izzy came back and laid the man's disdain at Blackbeard's feet. Blackbeard smiled. At last, something new. Someone who might not roll over for Blackbeard was a challenge indeed.
The challenge, aboard his Revenge, was more gentleman than pirate. Ed had found him on the deck of the Spaniards' ship, half-suffocated and bleeding out. It had been such an easy decision to pick him up and hand him over the side to be taken back to the Revenge. Stede was a puzzle Ed wanted to solve. His ship was all wrong, impractical and ill-run. Stede himself was soft and pale. He looked haggard laid up in his soft pale mattress. Ed smoked and watched and wondered. For a gentleman, Stede had harsh dreams. Ed found he was very much looking forward to Stede waking up.
And then Stede woke, without so much as true love's kiss, and showed Ed a whole new world.
Blackbeard had understood piracy for what it was: cruel people hurting each other before they got hurt, little boats praying for a fair wind to carry them away from the cannons of the warring empires. Stede spun a tale of romance and wonder, of dashing and derring-do and devotion. Ed, curled up tight in one chamber of Blackbeard's sunken heart, stirred, and was brought forth, gasping, into a world of sumptuous secret wardrobes and the possibility of becoming a gentleman.
Somehow, in Stede's world, sensation and emotion were all tangled up, plaited into his heartstrings. Marmalade in the crow's nest. Drinking brandy with their legs dangling over the side of the ship. Cloistered together in Stede's wardrobe, rubbing the delicate fabrics between his rough fingertips. Letting Stede unbuckle all his leathers and dress him again in linen and silk. Stede's fingers smoothing pomade into Ed's hair, rubbing liniment into Ed's knee, dabbing scented oils onto the fresh angry pink scar on Ed's belly. And through it all, Stede was a perfect gentleman. He never so much as stole a kiss. His hands, fastening and unfastening Ed's clothes, were nothing but respectful.
It was fucking frustrating, was what it was. Ed wanted to take Stede in his arms and peel away every last thing that kept them apart. He thought Stede might want that too, and not know how to want it. Ed wasn't used to waiting. He'd taken what he wanted for years now. But this was different. This, he knew, had to be freely and joyfully given by both parties. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had enough joy to give away. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had offered him any.
"Take me," he sometimes wanted Stede to say. "Use me." But Stede wasn't Izzy. He wasn't a tool.
Ed didn't wear his gloves when he touched Stede. He wrapped Stede's cravat around his throat like an embrace. And he waited.
When, at long last, Stede's trembling lips and unsteady hands asked a question they didn't know how to phrase, Ed sighed in wonder. He pulled Stede to him and angels sang in uncanny harmonies. Stede's breath was his breath and Stede pressed against him with a confidence that grew with every embrace. When Ed surfaced from the dizzy depths, they were curled up together in Stede's bunk, half-dressed, mouths swollen and slick from kissing.
"I've, er, prepared," Stede said hopefully. "I think. I'm never quite sure when Lucius is having a bit of fun with me."
"I'm sure he wouldn't steer you wrong about this," Ed assured him.
"How shall we proceed?" Stede asked, blushing.
"On the sofa," Ed told him. "That'll probably be the simplest."
"Not here?" Stede asked.
"I'll have to be in charge this time," Ed said. "Not sure my leg can take it today." He nudged Stede out of the bunk and let Stede fumble off the rest of their clothes as they made their meandering way to the sofa.
"On your knees, love," Ed said, tapping Stede's hip, and Stede turned and looked at him with round shining eyes.
"Love'?"
"Shouldn't I call you that?" Ed asked, leaning in to kiss him. Their bare bodies swayed against each other with the motion of the ship.
"It's all right with me," Stede said in a soft voice. "More than all right."
"Later, you can tell me how you feel about 'sweetheart'," Ed said.
"I feel good about it," Stede assured him hastily.
"Later, I said," Ed told him, laughing.
It took them a bit to maneuver into a position that worked for both of them: Stede kneeling on the couch, Ed behind him. And it was wonderful. It was absolutely fucking wonderful. Ed hadn't known it could be such a joyous thing. The familiar motions felt like a revelation, something brand new the two of them had discovered. He coaxed a chorus of gasps and moans from Stede's well-kissed mouth, and found he was moaning too. Every time Stede said his name, it sent sparks through him, gunpowder in his blood. He laughed as they moved together and he cried when he came. Stede held him tenderly and didn't tell him to hush. He just stroked Ed's hair and let him weep until his bare chest and the velvet of the sofa were absolutely soaked with Ed's tears and snot.
"Still want to be my sweetheart?" Ed joked, wiping at his eyes.
"More than anything," Stede said softly, and the breath caught in Ed's throat.
When Stede was gone, Ed made Izzy kneel on the deck and fucked Izzy's mouth while Izzy gasped and choked, his own cock out and quivering, his hands laced together on top of his head. He didn't even give Izzy a real chance to swallow, just kept pumping until seed seeped from the corner of Izzy's lips. He took another captain's belt and tightened it around Izzy's neck while Izzy waited on his hands and knees, naked as the day he'd been spawned. Izzy wasn't pretty, but he was prettier with his head hauled back by the strap in the Kraken's fist, his teeth bared and the line from his belly to his throat a long taut curve.
It wasn't the same. It would never be the same again.
Wordcount: 1659
Fandom: Our Flag Means Death
Rating: Mature (consensual sexual activity)
Content notes: references to canon-typical violence, toxic relationships
Relationships: Edward Teach/Stede Bonnet, Edward Teach/Izzy Hands
Timeline: S1
A/N: I read a tweet that said "every day I look to see who's retweeting NSFW Izzy Hands fanart onto my timeline and it's always Con O'Neill" and then I followed Con O'Neill and then this happened, so. This was part of something longer, but these parts felt like they stood on their own.
+ + + +
It was easy, when Izzy Hands came to Blackbeard and said, "Use me."
Blackbeard had bent Izzy over, filled him up with a fat cock, and felt nothing but release. There was no tenderness in their embraces. There wasn't even urgency. It was a mechanical matter. He fucked Izzy, or let Izzy fuck him, but it was just another of Izzy's duties. Maybe it filled some need for him. Blackbeard didn't know. They didn't discuss it. They barely even made noise. It wasn't that he cared - it was his fucking ship, wasn't it, and he'd groan all he wanted to - but the whole affair was barely erotic. Izzy was a tool. It was what he wanted. Blackbeard's hand wielded him and they were both satisfied.
Izzy Hands was Blackbeard's dog and the whole pirating world knew it. No pity for Mister Hands, no. There were plenty who would have killed to take his place. Blackbeard saw them eyeing him up every time they made port. All wary awe when they looked at him, all knife-sharp envy when they looked at Izzy.
He'd never wanted a dog. Ed had, when he was a little lad, but that had ended around the time the Kraken had killed his dad. Blackbeard had never wanted a dog. He'd killed Fang's dog, or something, just to prove the point. And now he had Izzy, and Izzy's desperate devotion. At least Izzy wasn't a pet. Not a one of them was going to doggy heaven from his boat, oh no, nor any other heaven. To sail with Blackbeard was to punch your ticket to hell. And yet, here they were, lining up to board his ship while Izzy snapped and growled at their heels.
He tried to be Edward with Izzy, once in a while. He tried to play, tried to laugh. It wasn't what Izzy wanted from him. Izzy wanted Blackbeard. Izzy liked calling him "Edward", like it was a secret between them, a sign of his favor, but he had no interest in anything like Ed's half-forgotten soul. Izzy and the rest of them wanted the legend, Blackbeard with his hollow heart and the fire in his eyes.
Blackbeard never took his gloves off. He'd jerked Izzy off with dry hands, the leather catching on the only tender places Izzy had left. If Izzy was lucky, he was allowed to spit into Blackbeard's palm, or to grease himself up with whatever came to hand, and jerk himself off while Blackbeard watched. If Izzy was very lucky, he got to lick his own seed off Blackbeard's belly or thighs. If he was unlucky, Blackbeard wiped it off himself with a rag and then stuffed that rag into Izzy's mouth. Izzy always looked him in the eye. That was something. Most people didn't look Blackbeard in the eye. Izzy never flinched.
It wasn't love. Blackbeard couldn't feel love anymore than he could feel fear. He lived in the troughs and crests of rage, whipped by the salt spray of triumph. Perhaps Izzy loved him. Blackbeard didn't care. He was watching the horizon, even as he pressed Izzy into the bunk. Life was weary, stale, and flat, although not unprofitable. He'd heard those words said once in a play, and they'd stuck in a corner of his mind. Blackbeard was a dull blade. He just kept sawing away, hoping for a fresh breeze.
And then came the tales of the Gentleman Pirate. They were whispers at first, no louder than the cry of a far-off gull, and as easy to discount as a trick of the wind. But whatever part of him yearned for a shore yearned for those tales. Blackbeard sent Izzy after them, hunting out the man himself. Izzy came back and laid the man's disdain at Blackbeard's feet. Blackbeard smiled. At last, something new. Someone who might not roll over for Blackbeard was a challenge indeed.
The challenge, aboard his Revenge, was more gentleman than pirate. Ed had found him on the deck of the Spaniards' ship, half-suffocated and bleeding out. It had been such an easy decision to pick him up and hand him over the side to be taken back to the Revenge. Stede was a puzzle Ed wanted to solve. His ship was all wrong, impractical and ill-run. Stede himself was soft and pale. He looked haggard laid up in his soft pale mattress. Ed smoked and watched and wondered. For a gentleman, Stede had harsh dreams. Ed found he was very much looking forward to Stede waking up.
And then Stede woke, without so much as true love's kiss, and showed Ed a whole new world.
Blackbeard had understood piracy for what it was: cruel people hurting each other before they got hurt, little boats praying for a fair wind to carry them away from the cannons of the warring empires. Stede spun a tale of romance and wonder, of dashing and derring-do and devotion. Ed, curled up tight in one chamber of Blackbeard's sunken heart, stirred, and was brought forth, gasping, into a world of sumptuous secret wardrobes and the possibility of becoming a gentleman.
Somehow, in Stede's world, sensation and emotion were all tangled up, plaited into his heartstrings. Marmalade in the crow's nest. Drinking brandy with their legs dangling over the side of the ship. Cloistered together in Stede's wardrobe, rubbing the delicate fabrics between his rough fingertips. Letting Stede unbuckle all his leathers and dress him again in linen and silk. Stede's fingers smoothing pomade into Ed's hair, rubbing liniment into Ed's knee, dabbing scented oils onto the fresh angry pink scar on Ed's belly. And through it all, Stede was a perfect gentleman. He never so much as stole a kiss. His hands, fastening and unfastening Ed's clothes, were nothing but respectful.
It was fucking frustrating, was what it was. Ed wanted to take Stede in his arms and peel away every last thing that kept them apart. He thought Stede might want that too, and not know how to want it. Ed wasn't used to waiting. He'd taken what he wanted for years now. But this was different. This, he knew, had to be freely and joyfully given by both parties. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had enough joy to give away. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had offered him any.
"Take me," he sometimes wanted Stede to say. "Use me." But Stede wasn't Izzy. He wasn't a tool.
Ed didn't wear his gloves when he touched Stede. He wrapped Stede's cravat around his throat like an embrace. And he waited.
When, at long last, Stede's trembling lips and unsteady hands asked a question they didn't know how to phrase, Ed sighed in wonder. He pulled Stede to him and angels sang in uncanny harmonies. Stede's breath was his breath and Stede pressed against him with a confidence that grew with every embrace. When Ed surfaced from the dizzy depths, they were curled up together in Stede's bunk, half-dressed, mouths swollen and slick from kissing.
"I've, er, prepared," Stede said hopefully. "I think. I'm never quite sure when Lucius is having a bit of fun with me."
"I'm sure he wouldn't steer you wrong about this," Ed assured him.
"How shall we proceed?" Stede asked, blushing.
"On the sofa," Ed told him. "That'll probably be the simplest."
"Not here?" Stede asked.
"I'll have to be in charge this time," Ed said. "Not sure my leg can take it today." He nudged Stede out of the bunk and let Stede fumble off the rest of their clothes as they made their meandering way to the sofa.
"On your knees, love," Ed said, tapping Stede's hip, and Stede turned and looked at him with round shining eyes.
"Love'?"
"Shouldn't I call you that?" Ed asked, leaning in to kiss him. Their bare bodies swayed against each other with the motion of the ship.
"It's all right with me," Stede said in a soft voice. "More than all right."
"Later, you can tell me how you feel about 'sweetheart'," Ed said.
"I feel good about it," Stede assured him hastily.
"Later, I said," Ed told him, laughing.
It took them a bit to maneuver into a position that worked for both of them: Stede kneeling on the couch, Ed behind him. And it was wonderful. It was absolutely fucking wonderful. Ed hadn't known it could be such a joyous thing. The familiar motions felt like a revelation, something brand new the two of them had discovered. He coaxed a chorus of gasps and moans from Stede's well-kissed mouth, and found he was moaning too. Every time Stede said his name, it sent sparks through him, gunpowder in his blood. He laughed as they moved together and he cried when he came. Stede held him tenderly and didn't tell him to hush. He just stroked Ed's hair and let him weep until his bare chest and the velvet of the sofa were absolutely soaked with Ed's tears and snot.
"Still want to be my sweetheart?" Ed joked, wiping at his eyes.
"More than anything," Stede said softly, and the breath caught in Ed's throat.
When Stede was gone, Ed made Izzy kneel on the deck and fucked Izzy's mouth while Izzy gasped and choked, his own cock out and quivering, his hands laced together on top of his head. He didn't even give Izzy a real chance to swallow, just kept pumping until seed seeped from the corner of Izzy's lips. He took another captain's belt and tightened it around Izzy's neck while Izzy waited on his hands and knees, naked as the day he'd been spawned. Izzy wasn't pretty, but he was prettier with his head hauled back by the strap in the Kraken's fist, his teeth bared and the line from his belly to his throat a long taut curve.
It wasn't the same. It would never be the same again.
