Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It starts with a gift. 

Most of the crew have gone ashore but needing nothing, Izzy remains on the ship.  Few ports have anything to interest him now and if he has no business on land he prefers to remain on board.  Besides his leg is aching and it’s a good excuse to rest it.

Olu and Jim are on watch and he hears them talking softly as he goes past, not able to make out the words but recognising the warmth of their conversation.  Izzy makes himself comfortable in the Captain’s cabin with a pilfered book, the library having increased over the last year since Stede’s return, and supplies stolen from the galley.  He’s spent a lot of time in the Captain’s cabin and knows where most things are hidden; the good rum, the laughable erotic book collection, or the piss poor porn as he prefers to call it, and the few fancy clothes that survived the Kraken.  Izzy knows everything that goes on in his ship now and a lot of things that the Captain doesn’t.

Edward and Stede have gone ashore to shop but he knows they have actually gone to a fancy hostel to fuck which gives him a few hours of peace and quiet.  He knows where they’ve gone but it’s only average by his standards.  He knows of a much better place and it will be a cold day in hell when he tells them about it, not that he thinks they’d get in.  He hasn’t been there since before his leg went and he’s beginning to feel the itch.  Maybe the next time they are at the Republic he’ll book himself in for the night and hire something with a big cock and strong hands to scratch it for him.

With a smile he leans back on the comfy chaise and closes his eyes.  He’s tired but it’s a good tired.  Between his own duties, daily sword lessons with most of the crew, his own obsessive practice and his need to act as a buffer between the crew and Edward he’s feeling useful again, like he has a purpose.

It’s what he needs.  Or one of the things he needs, at any rate.

He’s just starting to doze when he hears his name being called and sighs, irritated that his peace and quiet has been disturbed.  “In here,” he responds.  It sounds like Frenchie which puts him in a better mood although he thought the man had gone ashore earlier. 

He sees the tall figure peep round the door and grin.  “You’ve made yourself at home.”

Relaxing back, Izzy lets his mouth twitch in amusement.  “While the cat’s away…  Do you need me for anything?” he asks.  “You’re hovering.”

Frenchie ducks into the room and pushes a parcel into his hands, looking a little nervous.  “I’ve got you something.  Open it later, yeah?”

Izzy looks at it in surprise.  It’s well wrapped but obviously contains something soft.  “What’s this?”

“You’ll see.  Hope you like it,” the younger man says almost shyly and then is gone, footsteps echoing down the deck.

Later, when everyone has returned, supplies stowed, the sails are up and they’ve caught the wind, Izzy goes down to his cabin and sits on the bed, looking at the brown paper package.

When was the last time anyone had bought him a gift?  So long that he can’t remember.

With trembling hands, he opens it carefully and finds… a shirt, similar to the one he’s wearing but it's a stormy blue, the colour of the sea on a stormy day, and its beautiful.  The cloth is soft and silky, finer than his coarse linen.  It’s too fine for him, what was Frenchie thinking?  But it was a gift, freely given and if he’s being truthful, he loves it.  But why would the man buy it for him?

And then he sees the note.  Written in Frenchie’s terrible handwriting with his equally dreadful spelling the note has been painstakingly done and it’s obvious that Frenchie hasn’t gone to Lucius for help.  He’s done the note all by himself and worked hard on it and that makes it… special.

Butifull unicornz dont were blak.

Izzy feels like he can’t breathe.  His heart is going to stop, he’s certain of it.

Beautiful unicorns don’t wear black.

He finds it hard to believe that Frenchie or anyone else thinks he’s beautiful.  Old and worn is more the truth but he’s often caught the man watching him, dark gaze thoughtful.  It was Frenchie who saved him, that terrible day when Blackbeard finally lost his mind.  Saved him and hid him and did all that he could to keep him safe, although it was not enough to save his leg from infection.  Izzy knows that Frenchie held him and is sure that he clung back, a half-remembered desperate need for warmth and safety, when he lay wracked with fever and pain and although it’s never been mentioned since, it’s there nonetheless, a connection between them.

Is that what this is?  An acknowledgment of shared trauma and sorrow? 

Unsure and ridiculously apprehensive, Izzy puts it on the next morning.  With his waistcoat on top you can only really see the sleeves and neck, black cravat in place as usual, but the feel of the fabric is wonderful against his skin.  Looking in his tiny mirror he wonders who he is and what he is becoming because he knows that he’s changing and can’t decide if he should be afraid or not.

Edward is on deck when he walks out and looks like he’s been struck.  He has never seen Izzy look different in twenty years.  Well, about fucking time you did.

There are a few gasps all round, but Frenchie just blushes and turns back to his task with a satisfied smile.  The shirt is both a hello and a goodbye and Izzy sees the sudden understanding in Edward’s eyes as he realises that for him it’s goodbye.  Blackbeard’s crew wore black, it was their trademark, but Izzy is no longer one of them.  He hopes that it’s finally dawning on Ed that Izzy is moving on.  He won’t leave the man, not yet, but the need for him has been burned away with blood and pain and fear.

Blackbeard wrapped chains of darkness around Izzy’s heart and for too long he never questioned it, never realised how utterly toxic their relationship was.  Now he wants them gone and maybe this is the start.

Later, he’s down in the stores taking inventory when he hears footsteps and then Frenchie is looking around the door.  “There you are!  You look amazing, I knew you would.  Do you like it?”

Izzy beckons him in, as always quietly amused by the man’s ability to chatter.  “I’m wearing it, aren’t I,” he replies, but feels the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  “It’s too good for me,” he adds, “but I really do.  I read your note.”

Frenchie flops down onto a nearby barrel and beams with pride.  “It’s true, what it said.”

Needing to understand, Izzy leans back against the shelves.  He’s not exactly a catch, a few years off sixty and down by a leg, plus he’s aware that he’s an irritable bastard most of the time.  Not mention that after spending most of his life acting as damage control for Ed, he’s not had much experience of non-toxic personal relationships.   But maybe he wants to change that.

“Why did you get it for me?  Why now?”

“Tired of waiting for you to notice me, Iz.”  Frenchie runs a hand through his unruly hair and gives him a lop-sided smile.  “Thought it might move things along.”

“Most people buy flowers,” Izzy says wryly, then looks away for a moment, picking his words carefully.  “I’ve always noticed you, did the first moment I saw you but things were… complicated.”

“And fucked.”

Izzy barks a laugh.  “Isn’t that the truth.  Complicated and fucked.  If it wasn’t for you…”

I wouldn’t be here.  The unsaid words dance between them.

“If it wasn’t for you, none of us would be here,” Frenchie interrupts with a note of finality, clearly not wanting to wallow in the past.  Then his face lights up.  “You noticed me?”

“Of course I did, you twat.  Look at you.”

Frenchie flushes and looks ridiculously pleased.  “Why don’t you come over here then,” he says, holding out his hand, “and notice me some more”.

Never a man to refuse an invitation, Izzy pushes away from the shelf and walks over, horribly aware of the thump of his hoof.  His days of grace are over but Frenchie doesn’t seem to mind.  He stops just short of touching although doesn’t protest when Frenchie takes his gloved hand and laces their fingers together.  The fingers are long and slender and Izzy feels cheated that he isn’t touching skin.

“As for why I bought it,” Frenchie breathes, “it’s beautiful and will look lovely with your green eyes, and I wanted to see you in something… pretty.  Would you run away if I told you that I want to take it off you and kiss every bit of skin that it’s touched.”

“Not many places to run away to on a ship,” Izzy points out, mouth suddenly dry.  No one has spoken to him like that in… well, ever.  Part of him does want to run away and the man he used to be would have.  But he’s no longer the man he used to be.  His gaze goes from their joined hands to the man’s eyes.  “Is that all you want to do?”

Frenchie leans in and Izzy breathes the scent of him, earthy and spicy and unexpectedly masculine.  “Not even close.”

Izzy’s breath catches and their eyes lock.  He should stop this, should turn round and walk away, not inflict the younger man with his issues and ugliness, but he knows that he won’t.  It’s been so long and just for once he desperately wants to be selfish.  Even if all Frenchie wants is a pity fuck, he knows he’ll take it.

“Well, you did buy it for me after all,” he shrugs, feigning nonchalance, “so I suppose that’s… fair.”

Frenchie inches forward, just enough to lightly touch their thighs together and even through the leather Izzy can feel the heat right the way to his skin.  “Yeah?” he says and gives Izzy the special grin that crinkles his face and makes his eyes glitter.  “So maybe… maybe I should have something on account then.”

This playful intimacy is new to Izzy but he’s surprised to find that he likes it.  “On account,” he repeats and presses himself into the younger man.  With Frenchie seated their heights are more equal and he’s very aware of the strong thighs that he’s nestled between.  “This?” he asks, with a smile, and lightly kisses Frenchie’s cheek.  “Or this?” he adds, bringing their mouths together for a playful but chaste kiss.

“Israel Hands, who knew you were such a fucking tease?” Frenchie smiles delightedly, clearly the last thing he had expected.  It was the last thing Izzy expected too but it just seems right somehow.  “But I was thinking something more like this.”

Long fingers cup the back of Izzy’s head, tangling in his hair, and this kiss is deep and wet and lovely, more promise than heat and Izzy can’t help slipping his hand under Frenchie’s loose shirt and stroking the velvet warm skin of his back.

Frenchie presses back against his hand and hums delightedly.  The touch is nowhere near enough and Izzy fights the urge to remove any clothes that are keeping him away from that silky skin.  Instead, he kisses him again, wanting to drown in him, needing more, and when it ends he wonders if he could get addicted after just one kiss.

“That was gorgeous, Iz,” Frenchie tells him, his voice husky and soft.  “Fuck, we are going to be so good.  It’ll have to be later though, yeah?  Can I come to you tonight?  Obviously only if you want me to though.” 

Izzy gives an exasperated, amused huff, still stroking his thumb in languid circles over that perfect skin. “It was.  Yes, we are.  Yes, it will.  You’d better, and of course I fucking want to.”

There’s a noise at the door and a strangled gasp.

“Oops, sorry boys.  I didn’t see anything, really didn’t see a thing.”

“Fuck off, Spriggs,” Izzy growls, not releasing his hold.  “Knock next time.”

“Shut the door next time,” comes the amused retort before retreating footsteps.

“That’s going to be all around the ship in about two seconds from now,” Frenchie says ruefully.  “Is that all right?”

“Fuck them,” Izzy growls, really not caring.  It’s not like there’s much privacy anyway.  He’s pretty certain that if Frenchie stays for a fuck or stays for the night, everyone will know by the morning.

“Rather be fucking you,” Frenchie replies, his voice low and husky and full of heat.

Izzy flushes and he suddenly wants that, very much.  “Don’t worry,” he promises, “you will be.”

He is amused to see that Frenchie isn’t quite as confident as he appears.  The younger man suddenly looks like he’s caught a feral cat and now doesn’t know quite what to do with it.  “Now fuck off,” Izzy smirks, pulling away, “and let me get my work done.”

“Fucking off now, Mister Hands, sir,” Frenchie replies.  “Later, babe, yeah?”

Izzy nods.  “Later.”  And then he’s alone, wondering what the fuck just happened and why out of all the crew, Frenchie picked him.

Surprisingly, no one on the crew pays them any more attention than usual and when Izzy meets Lucius eyes a while later, the scribe just winks.  Lucius keeping his mouth shut is something Izzy hadn’t expected and he can’t help but wonder what the little flirt is up to.

By the time he’s finished his watch Izzy has convinced himself that Frenchie must be fucking with him and won’t turn up, because really, why would someone so gorgeous want him?  Nevertheless, he’s made sure that he’s clean in and out and smelling as good as anyone can on a ship a week out from port and he’s just removed his sword belt and has unlaced the neck of the shirt when there’s a soft knock on his door.

Hiding his nerves, Izzy opens the door and there is Frenchie, long and lovely, dressed in his best clothes and holding out…

“Why are you giving me Stede’s plant?”

“It’s the closest I could get to flowers.”

“You stole his plant for me?”

Frenchie looks a little sheepish.  “More borrowed really, only he doesn’t actually know.”

Izzy can’t help the huff of laughter and pulls the younger man in.  “Get in here, you maniac.”

“I love it when you smile,” Frenchie tells him, leaning back against the closed door after Izzy takes the plant and deposits it on his small desk to return in the morning.  Then Frenchie is looking at him, noticing him properly in the flickering candle light.  “Christ, but you’re gorgeous.  You look so hot like that.”

“Is this what you wanted?” Izzy asks, a little awkwardly, indicating to the shirt and suddenly feels self-conscious at the amount of chest that’s on display.  Of all the things he is, he is certainly not pretty.  Under the younger man’s gaze he feels stupidly unsure and now this thing seems to be happening, he has no idea what to do.  Izzy is used to being fucked; he loves being fucked.  Ed seems to be in denial about it, but Blackbeard would sometimes summon him and bend him over and Izzy always let him, pathetically grateful for it.  Most times he’d be used for Blackbeard’s pleasure and if he wanted to come then he had to do it himself.  It was an abuse he allowed so it’s just as much his fault.  There have been others though; hard, up against the wall fucks in back alleys, tumbles with members of other crews, not to mention a few nights over the years with Fang and Ivan but no one has ever looked at him quite like Frenchie is doing right now.

If Frenchie detects his apprehension he doesn’t show it but takes a step forward and tilts Izzy’s chin up.  “Fuck yes.  What I want is you, Iz.  I want to feel you, taste every inch of you.”

“I can go with that,” Izzy agrees, his voice cracking, and then Frenchie’s mouth is on his and it all becomes so blindingly simple.

Between kisses they pull at each other’s clothes although Frenchie carefully removes Izzy’s shirt, taking his time about it, and places it safely out of the way, despite dropping the waistcoat on the floor.  Frenchie has layers and Izzy delights in every bit of skin he reveals until they are both topless and out of breath from kissing.  The man’s skin is smooth and rich like caramel and remarkably unblemished considering what he’s been through and the life he now leads.

“So beautiful,” Izzy murmurs and Frenchie flushes.  It’s a gorgeous sight, that long slender body all for him.  He knows that he doesn’t deserve it but that’s not going to stop him.

He’s gently pushed to the edge of the bed and sits, never taking his eyes off the younger man.  “Let me,” Frenchie says, dark eyes shining.  “I’m doing the work tonight.”

“Got it all planned out, have you?” Izzy asks, more need in his voice than snark, as long fingers unbuckle his unicorn leg and set it aside, close to the bed.  Frenchie doesn’t even look at the stump, like he really doesn’t care that so much of him has gone and Izzy feels a flush of gratitude.  Pity would have killed him.

Frenchie chuckles.  “It’s all I’ve thought about all day,” he says, kneeling to unfasten and remove Izzy’s boot.  “There, that’s better.  Can I lie down with you now?”

Izzy pushes himself up the bed and makes room.  This is so different from anything he has ever done before that he is more than happy to surrender to Frenchie’s direction.  “Come here, then.”

Pausing only long enough to remove his shoes, Frenchie crawls up the bed to him and they lie facing each other, eyes glittering in the flickering candle light.  “You can touch me again, you know.”

Although they have just been kissing, somehow this feels different.  All he’s known is being used, clothes ripped off or just pulled aside, yet he’s lying on his bed, half dressed, looking into the eyes of someone who has done the very opposite.  They are close enough to touch, but they aren’t doing, and Izzy isn’t sure that if he does, he won’t ruin this.  To Izzy at that moment, Frenchie looks beautiful and fey, a gift he hasn’t earned and has no right to keep.  “You might not be real.”

“You’ll have to touch me to find out,” Frenchie says softly, his smile warm with a fondness that makes Izzy’s heart lurch. 

Reverently, Izzy starts at Frenchie’s wrist and strokes slowly up his arm, lingering for a moment on his shoulder, his thumb exploring the lovely shallow beneath his collarbone that he suddenly wants to taste.  Then lower down over the smooth chest, idly brushing over one tight nub of flesh and receiving a slight hitch in breath.  Next, he travels up to the delicious line of Frenchie’s neck and the softness of his beard.  “You’re still here,” he observes, fingers tracing the curve of one delicate ear.

Frenchie hums happily, his eyes flickering shut for a moment as Izzy cups the back of his head, strong fingers tangling in his hair.  “Actually, I only vanish from gorgeous men’s beds on a full moon, so you’ve got me for a couple of weeks yet.”

“Is that so?  I’d better make the most of you then,” he says, mouth twitching into a smile before pulling Frenchie towards him.  This kiss is lazy and deep and so good that Izzy wonders what it would be like to just kiss for hours with no expectation of more.  He thinks he’d like to try.

Izzy has never done slow before and certainly not sweet but that’s what seems to be happening and he feels swept away, caught in a tide he doesn’t really understand but could learn to love.  He wants Frenchie inside him, wants it very much, but that desperate need has been tempered into something softer, less hurried and infinitely more tender.

He wants to ask why this lovely man is here with him but is sure that will break the spell and no part of him wants to do that.

“I love kissing you,” Frenchie murmurs.  “I knew you’d be good.”

“Yeah?  Thought about it much, did you?”

Frenchie’s eyes glitter in the near darkness.  “All the time,” he admits, that lovely sheepish look back on his face.  “Lie down, babe,” he adds, pushing Izzy onto his back.  “I want to take my time with you.”

Izzy groans as Frenchie straddles his thighs.  He’s as hard as a rock inside his pants but they are going at Frenchie’s pace so he makes no move to touch himself.  Frenchie grins and it’s obvious he’s seen it but leans down instead to claim another kiss before trailing kisses along Izzy’s jaw and down his neck.  Not sure what to do with his hands, Izzy settles for placing them on Frenchie’s slender waist just above the top of his pants and tries to stay relaxed knowing it would be easy to leave bruises.  Tilting his head back to allow better access he gasps in pleasure as Frenchie leaves a biting bruise on his neck.

“There, you’re mine now.”

“Frenchie..?” he asks, but stops, realising that he doesn’t know what to ask, what to say.  He thinks that he could be happy being Frenchie’s but he’s so far into unchartered territory as to be off the map.

“Hush,” Frenchie whispers, into his mouth, before he’s off again, continuing his journey and Izzy realises that if he thought at any time that he is in charge here he is very much mistaken.  Licking and kissing, Frenchie explores him as thoroughly as if he were a treasure map, each point of his body the clue leading to the next.  Shoulders, arms, the hollow below his throat, the swell of his chest, and between those map points, he returns for kisses, deep beautiful kisses.  Eventually Frenchie’s mouth finds a nipple and gives a little bite, then licks and sucks in delight at Izzy’s instant gasp of pleasure before repeating it with the other one.  That part of him has always been sensitive and it’s so good that Izzy is torn between not wanting it to stop and wanting that lovely mouth somewhere else. 

As though reading his thoughts, Frenchie leans up trailing his hands down to the leather.

“Can I…?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Izzy breathes, and moves his hands away to allow nimble fingers to unlace him, then lifts his hips for the leather to be pulled down.  He’s hard enough to cut glass and Frenchie gives a hum of satisfaction when his cock is freed.

“Christ Iz, look at you.  You’re gorgeous.” 

“And you’re overdressed,” Izzy tells him, deflecting the compliment, as the leather is finally removed.

Frenchie climbs back up the bed, straddling his shin.  “There’s no rush, babe, we’ll get to me eventually.  I told you, I’m doing the work tonight.”  He grins wickedly.  “You can ravish me next time.”

“Ravish?” Izzy almost squeaks, as Frenchie dips his head and licks all the way up his cock.

“At the very least.  You can rip my clothes off and have your way with me.  You brute,” he adds, wicked tongue swirling over the head.  “Fuck, you taste good.”

Izzy really wants to tell him to shut up and fucking get on with it when Frenchie does exactly that and his cock is engulfed in a wet inferno and it’s so good that he can’t help thrusting.  He’s given a hum of encouragement as Frenchie wraps his hand around the base of his cock and uses his mouth for the rest.  Unable to help himself Izzy moves in time to the wicked tongue working him.  Not everyone does the throat thing, he knows that, and he really doesn’t care because this is messy and enthusiastic and wonderful.  He’s gasping and trying so hard to be quiet but he hasn’t come in weeks and knows he won’t last long this time.

Then the mouth pulls off him although the hand doesn’t stop moving.  “If I bring you off now, will you be able to go again?” Frenchie asks, leaning up to kiss him wetly.

“Maybe,” he responds, desperate for the man’s mouth back on his prick.  “If you’re fucking me then maybe I can.”

“Hmmm, perfect.  I want to eat you all up now, but I want to make you come from my cock as well.”

Bloody hell, the man was going to kill him.

“Greedy bitch,” he manages, showing his shark smile.

Frenchie just laughs before fumbling in his pocket and bringing out a pot of something and hands it to Izzy.  “Slick my fingers, babe.  I want to get you nice and open.”

Wondering how this could possibly be so erotic, Izzy coats Frenchie’s fingers in sweet scented oil, that is almost an act of sex in itself.  “You don’t need to,” he feels the need to protest.  “I can take it.”

For a moment Frenchie twines their oiled fingers together and leans down to kiss him again.  “Don’t care.  I’m not hurting you, love.  I need it to be so good that you never stop wanting me.”

Izzy has no idea how to process that but he thinks there could not be a world in which he wouldn’t want Frenchie now they have got this far.  “Fuck,” he whispers.  He’s lost already and he knows it.

“Soon,” Frenchie whispers back and then he’s sliding down and his lovely long fingers are pushing their way into him.  “Come on, gorgeous, fuck yourself on my fingers while I suck you.” 

It’s not easy with only one leg to push with and it puts him a little off balance but Frenchie knows and his hand follows until they both have the perfect angle, then the mouth is back on his cock, no hand this time and Izzy nearly yells as Frenchie goes down all the way, pausing just long enough to show off before starting to work him in earnest.  Between the mouth on his cock and the fingers in his arse it’s too much, it’s absolutely too fucking much and Izzy’s orgasm takes him by surprise and he hardly has any warning before he’s coming harder than he thought possible.  It’s been too long and Frenchie is like an angel’s wet dream.

“Hmmm,” Frenchie hums happily, suckling him languidly.  Then the fingers are withdrawn and Frenchie pulls away, moving back up to kiss him deeply.  The man tastes of come and Frenchie and Izzy can’t get enough of it.  “Christ Iz, you taste amazing.  If I could I’d keep you locked up in here and come down and suck you whenever I wanted.”

“I think I’d let you,” Izzy gasps, “but I was promised a fuck.”

“Oh, don’t worry, we’re getting to that,” Frenchie grins, before climbing off the bed and finally removing his pants.  His cock springs free and Izzy doesn’t think he’s seen one so lovely.  It’s long and dusky, more slender than his own, and slightly curved inwards and so pretty.  “See something you like?”

“You fucking know I do, you little shit,” Izzy grates, trying not to sound desperate but that ship has likely sailed.  “For fuck’s sake get over here and stick it in me.”

Reaching for the pot, Frenchie slicks himself, making a show of it and Izzy can’t take his eyes off it.  He wants it down his throat, in his arse, fucking everywhere and he doesn’t understand how Frenchie hasn’t been claimed, how someone else hasn’t already marked him as theirs because he so perfect.  Because there’s no way fate would allow him to have something so beautiful.

Sliding onto the bed, Frenchie sits up with his back against the wall and holds out his hand.  “I want you to ride me, love.  I need to kiss you.  Will that work for you?”

Izzy takes his hand and allows himself to be pulled into Frenchie’s lap.  He knows the man means his leg and he hadn’t expected such thoughtfulness.  He reaches over, grabs his pillow and doubles it over, putting it beneath the truncated end.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I can do that,” he agrees, hating how desperate he sounds but raises up, his head on Frenchie’s shoulder as the man guides his cock into him.

He moans as Frenchie slides in, long and hard with just enough burn to be perfect and just enough width to make him feel full.  Then they are kissing again, open mouthed, tongues clashing and it’s wet and utterly filthy while Frenchie moves, beautiful tiny stabbing thrusts and Izzy cries out into Frenchie’s mouth, unable to stop himself.

Holding onto the other man Izzy finds the rhythm and takes it up lifting and sinking until the muscles in his thighs start to tremble.

Frenchie’s hands are on his hips, helping, gripping and Izzy desperately wants there to be bruises.  “Fucking hell, Iz, look at you,” Frenchie says breathlessly, their gazes locking.  “You’re so perfect.   The way I fit in you, it’s like you were made for me.”

“Might have known you’d be a talker,” Izzy growls, the thrusts exquisite and enough to make his cock hard again.  Trapped between the heat of their bodies the friction is another layer of pleasure and he moves to touch himself but Frenchie knocks his hand away.   “No.”

Not stopping to think what the order does to him, Izzy obeys and holds on to Frenchie like a drowning man, gripping his shoulders and mewls as the man’s mouth is suddenly back on his neck and if the first mark might have been hidden by his collar this one certainly wouldn’t be.

“What do you need, babe?” Frenchie murmurs into his skin.  “Tell me.”

“Harder,” he gasps, more words than that refusing to form in his brain.  He just knows that he needs.

And then Frenchie’s hands are on his arse supporting him, holding him still and who knew he was so strong?  Those long legs brace and Izzy’s being fucked harder than he thought possible in this position, Frenchie’s slender hips snapping up fucking his cock into him over and over.  All Izzy can do is take it and it’s what he loves, what he needs, what he can’t bear to never have again.

“That’s it, love, fuck you’re so good.  I want you to come for me, right now.  Come on me, baby,” Frenchie instructs breathlessly.  “Make me dirty.”

And that’s all it takes.  Izzy yells as his orgasm uncurls and rushes through him like lightning, jagged and almost painful and he’s coming again between them onto Frenchie’s beautiful skin.  Then Frenchie’s gasping, swearing, his grip bruising and his cock throbs as it empties into him, long spurts into his guts and Izzy can’t hold himself up any longer, collapsing onto Frenchie, groaning as the cock in him twitches almost in time to the throbbing of his arse.

He barely registers Frenchie’s arms going around him, holding him, cradling him as though he’s something precious, soft lips ghosting over his cheek.  “You’re amazing,” Frenchie whispers.  “Are you all right?”

Izzy snuggles into Frenchie, holding on to him, needing to make the most of this because he expects it to be over soon.

“I am fucking fantastic,” he slurs, feeling blissed out in a way that only comes from really good sex.  “So are you,” he adds, raising his head to find Frenchie’s mouth again.

“Why thank you, kind sir,” Frenchie grins after a languid kiss.  “Lovely though this is, it’s going to kill our backs.  Come on, let’s get you comfy.”

Izzy gives a disappointed groan as their bodies separate and Frenchie’s hands encourage him onto his side.  “Let me clean you up, babe.”

“You don’t have to,” Izzy tells him, needing to get his breath back first.  He’s expecting Frenchie to gather his clothes and leave now that they’ve fucked.  “I can do it.”

Suddenly Frenchie looks flushed and his gaze is full of something Izzy hasn’t learned how to identify yet.  “I want to.  Let me?”

Izzy nods, unsure why it’s important but unable to refuse him and knows it was worth it for Frenchie’s sudden smile.

In the flickering candle light he watches Frenchie retrieve a damp cloth from his coat pocket and sit on the edge of the bed before gently cleaning the drying come from his chest.  “Roll over,” he instructs, when he’s finished.  “On your front.”

Frenchie’s eyes are intense and there’s something going on here.  Izzy isn’t sure what it is but it seems that Frenchie really wants this so he swallows any embarrassment and rolls over onto his stomach.

“Just look at you,” Frenchie breathes, transfixed by the come that has seeped from him.  With a murmur of appreciation, he rubs at it with a callused thumb, between Izzy’s thighs and then slowly upwards, the touch gentle but intense.  Izzy feels the thumb at his hole, pushing in slightly making him shiver, circling in the wetness there, before entering, the touch soft and undemanding.  All the while he watches Frenchie’s face, sees his breath catch, watches him swallow. 

“I have a thing,” Frenchie says hesitantly, “for cleaning up, after, feeling… what comes out, seeing where I’ve been.  Touching.  Tasting.  Not everyone likes that.” 

It’s different Izzy admits but by no means the weirdest thing he’s ever heard of.  The look on Frenchie’s face is apprehensive and Izzy realises that he’s waiting to be told that he’s a freak or to leave.  He doesn’t ever want to see that look on Frenchie’s face again.   “I think I might,” he says softly, and relaxes onto his bed spreading his legs further apart.  He’s spread out like a slut but he doesn’t care.  “This good?”

Frenchie’s face lights up.  “Oh, you have no idea.”

It’s then that Izzy realises that he’s in deep.  Frenchie has just given him the best fuck he’s had in years and he thinks he will need Frenchie, possibly for the rest of his life.  He can do this for him.  “I’m dirty, love.  Clean me.”

And his kinky little bastard does.

Later, they are lying together.  Frenchie, all long legs and caramel skin, is wrapped around him.  They have kissed and dozed and Izzy knows that it’s too late to stop because he’s already addicted.  Frenchie has whispered his secret name and Izzy kissed it into his skin.

He still doesn’t understand why though.  “You look at me like I’m something special.  I’m not.”

Frenchie shrugs, as if it’s obvious.  “You’re our unicorn, babe.  What’s more special than that?”

“You don’t know me.  I’m not a good man.  I’ve killed more times than I can count just so we can steal what someone else has earned.”

“We all have,” Frenchie counters.  “One or a hundred, it’s still bad, so I’m no better.”

“You killed to survive Blackbeard,” Izzy disagrees, knowing down to his marrow that Frenchie is not a killer.  Not like him.  He’s not sure why, but he needs Frenchie to see him as he truly is.  He needs the man to understand that the terrible things he’s done are still part of him no matter how changed he might be.  “I saw what you did and I know you don’t want to go into the boxes in your head so you’ll need to take my word.  You aren’t bad, but I am.”

Frenchie sighs and holds him closer.  “I don’t care.  We survived him.”

“It was my jealousy that caused the whole fucking mess in the first place.”

“Your jealousy didn’t make Blackbeard go insane, that was on him, not you.  We all know how he used you and treated you, we’re not stupid.  Your jealousy didn’t make Bonnet run away either.  Iz, we’ve seen each other at the worst points in our lives and got through it.  I’ve never been more terrified of anyone than I was of Blackbeard but even half dead with pain and fever you held on to me.  You have no idea how much of you I saw looking into your eyes those nights.  I saw you, good and bad, and you saw me.  So, yes, Mister First Mate, I do know you and I want to be with you so much it hurts.  Even when you’re being a bastard.”

“I want you to be with me,” Izzy says, feeling his eyes prick.  “I honestly don’t understand why you’re here but I’m not letting you go.”

“You’d better not.  It also doesn’t hurt that you’re as hot as fuck.”

Izzy snorts out a laugh, but he settles.  Maybe Frenchie sees more than he thought, maybe he needs to stop questioning and simply enjoy it for as long as it lasts.  And then it suddenly occurs to him that Frenchie has been courting him for months with touches and glances and smiles and he hadn't realised it. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, as Frenchie nuzzles into his neck.  “For the shirt… and for you.”

“I love that you wore it today,” Frenchie breathes into his skin.  “Wasn’t sure if it would be too much.  I was so turned on all day thinking that you’d be in my bed later.”

“My bed, technically,” Izzy murmurs dryly, but he loved wearing it too.  Somehow it made him feel stronger, like the changes going on in him become easier when he has proof for all the world to see.

“Technically,” Frenchie admits, his mouth on Izzy’s neck smiling.  “You’re still mine though.”

And there it is.  What he needs.  What he had searched for and thought he had found with Ed, yet even after one night this feels more real.  “Yes,” he whispers, feeling something warm click into place inside him.  “Yes, I am.”  Then he shivers as he realises that Frenchie is hard again.  “Fucking hell, how many times in one night do you think I can get it up?”

There’s a wicked chuckle as long, clever fingers walk their way down his body.  “I have no idea, babe, but I aim to find out.”

Three times, it turns out.  It also turns out that Frenchie has a filthy mouth when he wants to have and Izzy doesn’t mind that at all.

“Stay?” Izzy asks later, and for the first time he realises that he can truly do what he wants.  He’s wrapped in Frenchie’s arms again, sore and content.  He doesn’t have Edward to worry about offending or angering.  He can do what he wants and what he wants is to stay with this strange, lovely man. 

“Not going anywhere, mate,” Frenchie says, and one of Blackbeard’s chains drops away from around his heart.

Izzy has been a light sleeper since Edward started cutting off his toes and although those days are long gone the horror of it has never left him.  Usually he sleeps fitfully with a chair jammed up against the door, even now, but when he wakes with the dawn, his head on Frenchie’s chest and the rest of the man wrapped around him like an octopus he realises that he has slept for hours without waking.  It’s been so long since that’s happened he can’t even remember when it was. 

With a sigh he rubs his cheek against the velvet soft skin as he surfaces fully.  He can’t remember the last time he woke up with another in his bed.  Then it comes slamming into his head, all the things they said last night and suddenly he’s terrified because opening himself up like this just means he loses more when it all goes wrong.  He doesn’t even realise he’s stiffened until he’s held tighter.

Everything he has ever loved has turned to ashes.  He’s not strong enough to go through it again.  And yet.  I want to be with you so much it hurts.

“Morning, gorgeous,” a sleepy voice rumbles.  He feels a kiss on the top of his head and it calms him.  “I don’t normally wake up so early, but I had to make sure you didn’t run away.  Tomorrow morning you can let me sleep a bit longer, yeah?”

Despite his doubts, Izzy smiles against the smooth warm skin and feels himself relax a little.  Frenchie’s presumption that he will be there the next morning is... settling.  “I think we’ve already established that there’s nowhere on a ship to run away to.”

Frenchie yawns and stretches allowing Izzy to extricate himself.  “You’re stuck with me, babe.  You’re not going anywhere.”

The casual confidence gives Izzy reassurance and he suddenly understands that Frenchie will ride roughshod over every objection or doubt he might have because he has decided that they will be together.  This beautiful, strange man has laid claim and taken charge and Izzy wants it so badly that he knows he will never be able to stop.  “What do you want from me?” he asks, out of the blue, needing to know how far and how deep he has to fall.

There’s a soft huff from above him and Frenchie slides further down so that they are facing each other.  He looks soft and lovely in the early morning light.  The creases around his eyes from the things he’s endured have not yet settled and Izzy wonders how he had any hope of resisting him.  “I want everything,” Frenchie says simply, and Izzy knows then that the fall will be deep and long and hard.

“You’ll destroy me,” he whispers, voice quiet against the pounding of his heart.  “When you’ve had enough of me there won’t be enough left for me to pick up the pieces.”

In answer Frenchie takes Izzy’s hand and places it over his own heart, holding it there.  “You silly, beautiful man, I’ve waited over a year for you and if I had to I’d wait another ten.  I don’t know what it will take for you to believe that I’ll never have enough of you, but I won’t.” 

The heart beneath his hand is beating so fiercely that Izzy anchors himself to it and he knows it’s the truth.  Even so he desperately hopes that when it all goes wrong, because it inevitably will, that it's his heart that breaks and not Frenchie’s.  “Just don’t fall in love with me,” he begs, never meaning anything so much.  “Promise me.”

“Bit late for that, babe,” Frenchie replies steadily, his gaze unwavering.  “Has been for quite a while.  I told you, I want everything, but I want to give you everything too.”   

“My love is toxic.”  It’s a harsh whisper but he has to tell the truth in return, has to make Frenchie understand that he’s destructive and dangerous.

“And who told you that?  Let me guess, the same person who cut your toes off with scissors and made you eat them.  Maybe we don’t believe the man who shot you and cost you your leg.”  There’s a note of anger in Frenchie’s voice that doesn’t surface often, but it softens again.  “I love you, you idiot, and I intend to for a very long time.  I’ll tell you every day, every hour, if I have to.  I know I’m a thief and a liar but not about this.  Not about you.”

And here before him is the cross roads, the singular point in which he has the choice of remaining broken and alone, the thing Edward made him, that he allowed himself to be made, or becoming something bright and new.  Something loved.

He swallows heavily, takes a deep breath, and surrenders, stepping on the only path it’s possible for him to take because the alternative is unthinkable.  “I wouldn’t mind so much,” he says hesitantly, looking into those lovely eyes, “if you told me every day.”

Frenchie’s smile is radiant.  “Then I will.”  His hand is taken and kissed.  “Every day,” Frenchie confirms and then he grins, eyes twinkling, hand going up to Izzy’s messy hair.  “Babe, who knew you were so adorable first thing in the morning.”

Aware that his hair is all over the place and that he needs a shave, Izzy growls, settling back into himself after bearing so much.  “I am not fucking adorable.  I’m old and bad tempered with morning breath and one fucking leg.”

“You came three times last night.  Not so old, babe,” Frenchie points out and then leans forward to kiss him, quick but deep.  “Breath’s not bad either.  You’re running out of excuses.”

“All right, I’m adorable,” Izzy huffs a laugh, suddenly ridiculously glad that he’s here and that Frenchie is with him.  “What are you going to do about it?”

Frenchie wriggles closer.  “Morning sex, babe.  I really want to fuck you again.  Can I?”

Pulling a face, Izzy curses his metabolism.  “Probably not the best time.  I'm a morning person, if you catch my drift.  Oh God, you haven't got a kink for that as well, have you?”

He’s only being half serious and is relieved when his lover laughs.  “Not yet,” Frenchie grins.  ”All right, how about this, then?”

With a wink he slides further down and Izzy is suddenly desperate for Frenchie’s mouth.  “Fuck yeah,” he groans, “that works.”  He’s already half hard and he pushes further up the bed, rolling onto his back to give better access and he swears again as Frenchie takes him down in one long slide.  His cock isn’t as long as Frenchie’s but it’s thicker and the feel of it hitting the back of his lover’s throat is exquisite.  Then Frenchie’s pulling back with the merest hint of teeth and then sinking back down, his tongue swirling as he goes.

Frenchie’s eyes are on him the whole time, drinking in every reaction, and he realises that the man is learning him and it’s the most sinful thing Izzy’s seen in a long time.  To be watched and studied with such intensity with the sole purpose of making it good for him leaves him breathless and he starts responding, teaching,  hitching his breath at a particular swirl of that wicked tongue, a moan as it tries to force its way into the slit, a soft gasp when the whole thing is taken again until Frenchie’s mouth is right down at the root.  If he thought Frenchie was good last night, this morning he’s fucking phenomenal.  Izzy’s fists are bunching the bedding and he wants to touch so badly but the only rules he knows for this are to keep his hands for himself.  It’s not enough, he needs more.

“Can I touch you?” he asks breathlessly, and to his ears it sounds like begging and he’s not sure he wants to go there just yet. 

With a soft hum, Frenchie pulls off, frowning slightly.  “Why would you need to ask to touch me, babe?  I want you to touch me, everywhere you can, as often as you can.  All right?”

Izzy nods, swallowing, and he doesn’t want to explain about the unwritten rules of sex in dark alleys, or dark ship holds, or Captain’s cabins.  That you can do it but you don’t touch, you don’t show affection, you just take what pleasure there is and move on as quickly as you can. 

“Not going to last much longer the way you’re looking at me,” he admits, voice straining, tentatively reaching out and patting Frenchie’s lovely hair before sliding down to rest on his shoulder, the contact perfect.

“I love looking at you,” Frenchie grins and sinks back down again, hot and wet, tongue swirling.  Then he’s back up again.  “You’re beautiful, and I’m going to keep telling you until you believe it.”

Izzy isn’t going to argue, not right now, and allows himself to fall under the spell of his lover’s mouth again until finally he can take no more and grunts a warning but Frenchie just hums in contentment and swallows it all as he spills, shooting hard. 

He falls back on the bed, panting and dazed.  His cock is still throbbing and Frenchie seems determined to wring every drop out of him.  He feels like he’s trembling all over and it’s so long that he’s felt like this.   “Bloody hell, how am I supposed to get a shave after that?”

With one last lick, Frenchie lets him go and climbs up the bed, straddling him, and when they kiss he tastes himself and he loves how dirty that makes him feel.  “I’ll do it for you.  It’s only fair after all, considering I got you all worked up.”

“Just looking at you gets me worked up,” Izzy murmurs, still getting used to the apparent miracle of this beautiful man wanting him.  His hands find slender hips and he rubs his thumbs over soft velvety skin.  “What about you?  Can I...?”

Frenchie places a last biting kiss on his lips before sitting up.  He’s not hard but Izzy has always been turned on by soft cocks and he wants so much to put it in his mouth and just hold it there.  “I’m good, babe.  That was for you although I seem to remember there was some mention of ravishing later.”

Leaning up on his elbows, Izzy grins, every word, every moment of the night before sealed into his memory forever.  “Yeah, I’m the brute who’s going to rip all your clothes off.”

“And fuck me into next week, if you want,” Frenchie says, looking under his lashes, coyly.

And oh, isn’t that something to look forward to.  Having Frenchie spread out beneath him, his for the taking will be enough to get him through what is going to be a very long day.  “I want,” he agrees, swallowing.  “I definitely want.”

With a grin, Frenchie drops a kiss on the end of his nose and then stands and stretches.  “Right, where are your shaving things?”

“It’s fine, love,” Izzy dismisses.  “I wasn’t being serious.”

“But I was.  I want to.  Will you let me?” 

Being asked by a six foot something naked man to shave him is a novelty he isn’t sure how to process.  But it’s Frenchie and they have history, even before this happened, so he trusts him.  It’s also possible that he’ll find it hard to deny the man anything, naked or not.  “You'll be wanting to dress me next,” he grumbles.

“Can I?”

“Fuck off,” he huffs and Frenchie laughs.  “Right desk drawer.”

After retrieving his shaving kit, Frenchie lays everything out and in moments is creating the lather with impressive efficiency.  Izzy takes the opportunity to start dressing and pulls on his pants, sock and boot and then his leg.  “I really can do this myself.  Not a fucking invalid yet.”

Frenchie snorts and points to the chair.  “Just shut up and let me take care of you.”

With a smirk, Izzy sits.  “Bossy much?  Oh, don’t tell me, you have a shaving kink as well?”  Frenchie taking charge is good on a level he isn’t going to think about now and despite his protests he’s happy to indulge the man.  Frenchie is like a whirlwind, a little overwhelming but maybe that’s what he needs and he compares this to how he was with Ed because how can he not?  It was all he knew for so long but they lost this easy familiarity decades ago. 

“It’s possible, babe,” Frenchie winks, testing the razor for sharpness.  “I don't think we’ve plumbed the depths of my kinks yet.  Nice sharp razor,” he compliments.

“I look after my things,” Izzy replies, as Frenchie straddles his legs and starts lathering his cheeks and under his chin.  When he puts the bowl and brush down and reaches for the razor, Izzy catches his wrist.  “I've never let anyone do this before.  I’ve only ever shaved myself.”  Izzy has never been to a barber in his life, has never wanted to put his trust in anyone with a cutthroat razor in his hand because it wouldn't take much for coins to be exchanged and that razor becoming the instrument of his death.  “Never trusted anyone enough,” he adds to Frenchie’s look of surprise.

“You trust me though.”  It isn’t a question because they both know he does.

“Yes.  Yes, I trust you.”

Frenchie’s smile is like the sun coming out and Izzy wants to bask in it.  His head is nudged to the left and he feels the cold scrape of the razor begin on his cheek.  “Don't worry, I know what I'm doing.”

“You have a beard,” Izzy can’t help but point out.  “You don't do a lot of shaving.”

“I was a servant, babe, I know how to groom a man,” Frenchie says distractedly.  “Fucking toffs don’t do anything for themselves.  I’m amazed they hold their own dicks to piss.”

Slightly preoccupied by the absolute acres of naked man in his lap, Izzy is very aware of how little he knows about Frenchie’s past.  His lovely man is a free spirit and the thought of Frenchie caged angers him.  “Want to talk about it, love?”

Frenchie shakes his head, a look of adorable concentration on his face.  “Not now.  I am in too good a mood to spoil it.”

It’s very clear that Frenchie knows exactly what he’s doing and Izzy relaxes.  His lover being gloriously naked and so close yet it not being sexual is weirdly sexual in itself and he is very aware that if he possibly could he’d be hard again in his pants.  Still, he can’t help his hands finding Frenchie’s hips again.  They seem to find them on their own and he thinks they could be his new favourite resting place.

His head has been tilted up and to one side while the razor scrapes his neck and he almost misses Frenchie shift in his lap.  “So, Edward.  Is it over?”

For a moment Izzy wonders if this is a conversation he wants to have with a cutthroat razor at his neck but Frenchie certainly has a right to ask, even though he’s way off beam.  “There’s nothing to be over, there never was.  It feels like I loved him my entire life, but he never loved me.  I thought that was enough and he proved how wrong I was.”

“Do you still love him?”  Frenchie’s voice is neutral, but Izzy is learning to read him better and thinks that he isn’t quite as sure of himself as he appears.

Izzy swallows, aware of the blade tidying up the edges of his beard.  “There are times when I look at him and he takes my breath away but I don’t want him anymore.  For the first time in thirty years, I feel free.”

Dark eyes flicker to his and then back to their task.  There’s the ghost of a smile.  “And what about me?  Do I take your breath away?”

“Since the first moment I saw you,” Izzy replies with total honesty, not sure where this is coming from but meaning it completely.  He’s not a man of words but he needs Frenchie to understand.  “The thing about breath… is that it goes two ways.”  He hesitates, knowing what he’s trying to say but not sure if it’s coming out right.  “If it only goes one way you can’t live.  And I went years with it only going one way.  I know this is new between us but I think that with you I can breathe.”

Frenchie pauses and their eyes meet.  This time his smile is real.  He nods, returning to his task, tilting Izzy’s head to do the other side.  “Good, because if Stede pisses off again, I'm not losing you to him.”

“Sweetheart,” Izzy breathes.  He’s never called anyone sweetheart is his life but he damn well wants to say it to Frenchie.  It feels so good on his tongue.  Reaching up he palms his lover’s cheek, getting his attention, loving the feel of his soft beard and so smooth skin, needing Frenchie to see the truth in his eyes.  “You're not losing me to anyone and certainly not Edward.  When he gave me the gun that night, he wanted me to either kill him or kill myself and he didn’t care which.”  He feels the crack in his voice but now he’s started he can’t stop.  “My love for him ended there, at that moment.  I felt it go and I’ve been so… empty.  Until you.  I didn’t know I needed you until I had you,” Izzy continues.  “Now I can’t bear the thought of being without you.”

Even as the words come out he knows they are true, to the depth and breadth of his being.  Briefly he wonders if he’d have fallen so hard if someone else had come along at that moment, when he needed someone the most but he doesn’t think so.  It’s Frenchie.  Frenchie who has seen him in utter desperation and risked his own life to keep him safe.

With a sigh, Frenchie kisses his brow and rests their heads together.  “You won’t be without me,” he whispers, lips against his skin.  “I’m never letting you go.  You’re mine now, Iz.”

It’s not even been twenty-four hours but Frenchie has walked into his heart and simply taken over.  Can he be Frenchie’s and still be Izzy Hands, the pirate, the protector of his Captain and crew?  But even as the thought goes through his mind, he knows that he can and will always be.  It took him a long time to realise that he’s not a leader and even longer to come to terms with it and understand that there’s no shame in being a right hand, a protector and a sacrifice, if need be.  Who he is will never change, it’s just that now he has so much more to protect. 

“Yes,” he agrees softly, without hesitation.  “Yes, I am.  Do you want to hide this?  Us?”  He’s not sure he can hide it because he’s certain that he’ll only have to look at Frenchie and it will be all over his face.  Really though there’s no reason on earth why they should hide it, after all there are enough relationships on this strange ship that they are only one more, not something unusual.  He squashes down the thought that Frenchie may be ashamed of being seen with him.

With a kiss to his cheek, Frenchie straightens, wiping the forgotten razor on the towel, and dispels any doubts he might have had.  “Have you looked in the mirror, babe?” he asks, eyes flickering down to Izzy’s neck.  “You’ve been claimed and everyone’s going to know it and I damn well want them to know it was me.  That all right?”

“More than all right.”  And it is.  Izzy realises now how much of his life he wasted waiting for Ed to claim him.   By the time he realised it wasn’t going to happen they were stuck in their cycle of worship and disdain.  Only broken by Stede Bonnet and his ridiculous ship.  The ridiculous ship that he’s coming to love.

“Lucius will lose his shit,” Frenchie smiles, tilting his head to do the other side.  “You know he’s got a thing for you, right?”

“Lucius saw us together yesterday so it won’t exactly be a surprise.  Besides he has a thing for everyone.  I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”

Frenchie snorts a laugh and Izzy relaxes, letting him work.  He doesn’t know whether it’s the proximity of his lover or the attention being lavished on him, something he’s never known before, but this feels almost as good as sex but in a very different way.   “There,” Frenchie says with satisfaction a few minutes later, wiping the last of the shaving foam away.  “Finished.” 

Izzy is handed his small mirror and is impressed with what he sees.  His beard is tidy and shaped, his sideburns have been trimmed and thinned and his neck and jaw are perfect, not a stray hair to be seen.  “That’s better than my shaves,” he admits admiringly.  “Thanks, love.  So, is that all you did for the highborn gentlemen?”

Climbing off his lap, Frenchie starts cleaning the razor and washing the rest of the kit in the small basin.  He casts Izzy a wicked look.  “No, babe, sometimes I pissed in their coffee pot.”

“The fuck?”

“And let’s just say they sometimes got a little thickener in the cream,” Frenchie says smugly, and Izzy now has the image of Frenchie wanking into a bowl of cream and he doesn’t know whether to be horrified or to applaud.  “Most of the hoity toits have no idea what their servants get up to or some of the things they’re eating.”

Izzy gets to his feet and reaches for his shirt, blue today, pulling it over his head.  “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

Grabbing him by the hips, Frenchie pulls him forward, leaning down to whisper in his ear.  “Oh, don’t worry, babe.  I have a much better place to put my… thickener.”

“Fuck,” Izzy breathes before a tilt of his head brings their mouths together and the heat between them flares to life again.  He wants Frenchie inside him, to fuck him the way he kisses, hard and wet and dirty.  He wants Frenchie’s cock down his throat with those long clever fingers tight in his hair.  He wants… everything, more things than Frenchie’s aware of yet, things that will need to be taken slowly.  And damn but he feels a stirring below thinking about those things.  “Fucking Christ,” he murmurs, running his fingers through his lover’s beautiful hair.  “The things you do to me.”

“Pretty much the same as what you do to me, Mister Hands,” Frenchie groans.  “I'm hanging on by a knife edge here, babe.  If you so much as just look at my cock we're not getting out of here until lunchtime whether you need to shit or not.”

Izzy can’t help but bark out a laugh as they part.  “Have you no shame?”

“None whatsoever.  It’s yet another of my endearing qualities.”

“Remind me what the others are again.”

“Funny man,” Frenchie teases, moving away to pick up his clothes from where they were strewn the night before.  “Might as well have breakfast together now I’m awake.  Go and do what you need to, I’ll wait.”

When he returns from the bathroom, Izzy makes himself presentable and they go to breakfast together.  Most of the crew are in the galley already and there’s a moment of silence until Lucius exclaims, “Oh my God, could you two have made any more noise last night.”

Wee John winks.  “I was jealous.”

Roach gives them his crazy grin.  “I was impressed.”

Then Jim claps him on the arm.  “About fucking time.”

Frenchie’s eyes are creased with suppressed laughter and he leans down and kisses Izzy briefly on the lips.  There’s a burst of applause and Izzy gives them the finger, pulling Frenchie back and giving him a proper kiss.

“Fuck off, the lot of you,” he tells them when they part, but he’s grinning and knows this was the right thing to do.  They are out in the open now and there’s no going back.

He’s never been a man for public displays but this is something different.  It should be too much, it should be overwhelming, it should be making him run as fast as he can in the opposite direction, but what it is actually is the start of belonging to something, not just to Frenchie but to this strange family they seem to be making.

He eats his porridge and compliments Roach, as always, and leaves the crew to finish their food in peace.  When he goes out on deck Edward is leaning at the rail and looks up hearing his unmistakable gait.  He takes one look at the marks on Izzy’s neck and drops his cup. 

“Iz?  What the fuck?”

“Better get that cleaned up,” Izzy tells him before turning away.  “Someone might slip on it.”

As another chain falls away.

Chapter Text

They've been together a few weeks now and it's been so easy.  Frenchie has slotted into Izzy's life so well it's like he's always been there.  And it's not just the sex, which is amazing, but there's a closeness he never knew he was missing until he woke up in another’s arms.  It shouldn't be new to a man of his age but he's reveling in it.  Maybe it’s given him a greater understanding of Ed and Stede too because if they are feeling the same quiet joy he is, for the first time Izzy finds that he doesn’t begrudge them their happiness.

Between quiet times they've been on raids and have been lucky although only he and Edward know that they pick their targets carefully.  Only merchants or private vessels who mostly surrender when they see Blackbeard’s flag and when they don't he watches Frenchie like a hawk and makes sure he's not at the front. He doesn't think anyone else has noticed apart from Lucius, who misses nothing.   The orders now are not to kill unless they have to and truth be told Izzy doesn't care either way but he doesn't want that on Frenchie’s shoulders.  His man is not a killer.

Izzy is enjoying a quiet moment at the rail after his morning meeting with the Captain.  Stede is becoming a half decent pirate and he’s keeping Ed out of trouble so that has to be worth something.  Their enmity is long behind them now and he’s man enough to admit that they are good for each other and Ed seems truly happy at last.

With Blackbeard largely consigned to history and Ed in the role of general handyman and Captain’s plaything they are going to have to rethink their pirate status at some point and he has a few ideas although he needs to find an appropriate time to broach the subject.

Despite that he’s letting his mind drift, trying and failing not to think about the taste of Frenchie’s skin, when Lucius sidles up next to him with Pete on the other side.

“Oh look, it’s Mr and Mrs Twatty,” he greets.  It’s more humour than bite these days but he likes to keep them on their toes.  “Something I can help you with, boys?”

“We’ve worked it out,” Lucius tells him smugly. 

“Congratulations.  What the fuck are you talking about?”

Lucius is looking good these days and has lost the constant terror in his eyes after his own Kraken ordeal.  There weren’t many of them untouched by it.  He looks positively gloating now.  “It took us a couple of weeks to make sure but Frenchie bought you that lovely blue shirt and when you wear it, he spends the night with you.  It’s so cute, you have your own sex code.”

We do?  It’s news to Izzy.  He loves the blue shirt and not just because Frenchie bought it for him.  He loves what it stands for, that it's the start of something new.  He wears it because he wants to besides Frenchie spends most nights with him now anyway.  If Lucius wants to think he's discovered a secret though Izzy's happy to play along for a while.

“Don’t you have anything better to think about?”

“Than you?  Babe, we think about you a lot.”

Izzy looks to Pete on his other side.  “That true?”

“It kind of is,” the man replies sheepishly.  He’s much easier to read than Lucius and doesn’t lie anywhere near as well. 

Lucius glances at his black shirt.  “Although I’m guessing you must be needing a rest tonight.”

“Or maybe he does,” Izzy replies, with a smirk.  His blue shirt is actually in the wash but he doesn't want to spoil it. “Does anyone else know?”

“No one else has worked out the shirt code yet but there may be a seagull somewhere that doesn’t know you and Frenchie are fucking.”

Izzy shrugs.  “Fair play, it’s not like we’ve tried to hide it.  There’s only the Captains we didn’t tell.”

“I’m sure they’ll have worked it out from the state of your neck most days,” Lucius smirks.

“He’s a bitey little shit but I’m not going to stop him.  So, this thinking about me.  Is that something specific or just generally?”

“Oh, very specific.”

“Aren’t you going to share?” he asks, intrigued.  He’s very well aware that he and Lucius have been slowly skirting something since the day they met.  Quite what level of something he isn’t sure but he knows it would have involved cocks and mouths, although that may not happen now he’s with Frenchie.

“That depends if you’re going to be all repressed about it.”

That makes him laugh.  “You think I’m repressed?”

“You were.”

“Yeah… maybe,” he admits, but he had his reasons back then.  Different days, a very different him.  “We’ve all changed since those days.”

“How about suppressed, then.  I watch you, a lot, and I think there are things you want that you’re not getting.  Maybe even need sometimes.”

“Like what?”

There’s a pause and Lucius leans a little closer, his voice lowering, breath hot against his ear.  “I think that every now and then you need to be told what to do.  That you like someone else to be in control.”

Izzy feels himself flush and hopes it looks from irritation not by how close Lucius is to the truth.  “I don’t need telling what to do.  I know my fucking job.”

“Hmmm, not really denying it,” Lucius says smugly.  “Also not talking about your job.  Let’s face it, being told what to do sums up the whole of your relationship with Ed and now he’s enjoying his new position of Captain’s Sex Toy no one’s giving you orders, and I think you need it.”

“Think again, twatty.”  He almost cringes at how defensive that sounds.

“And still not denying it.  I can make it good, Iz.  I know what I’m doing.”

“He really does,” Pete agrees.  “He can keep me on edge for hours.  He’s good with pain too, if that’s your thing.”

“You let him hurt you?” Izzy asks, feeling his cock twitch.  Fucked up though it is, it’s very much his thing although it’s a side of Lucius and Pete’s relationship he hadn’t expected.

“I’m not into that but he knows what to do.”

“So, what is it that you actually want?” he demands, intrigued by where this is going but not wanting to give too much away although he wonders if that ship has already sailed.

“If we buy you a shirt, will you come and play with us?”

He barks out a laugh.  What is this obsession with shirts?  “You think I’m going to whore myself out for a fucking shirt?”

“If you did, I’d pay a lot more than the price of a shirt,” Lucius retorts.  It’s a weird compliment but it’s one Izzy kind of likes.   “I would like to take all that power you wield so unconsciously and strip it away because I think that underneath the leather is a good boy who wants to obey orders and get punished if he doesn’t.”

Izzy tries very hard to keep his breathing even but he can feel the flush making its way up his neck now, something he can’t control and he knows immediately that Lucius has noticed it.

“No, not punished.  Rewarded.  With something that hurts,” Lucius adds, dark promise in his voice.  And there it is, out in the open, the thing he wants, and how can it be Lucius Fucking Spriggs who think he can give it to him?  Of all the men on the ship, he would never have looked to Lucius as dominating, yet here he is and there’s no sign that this is a joke because his eyes are serious and calm and oddly reassuring.

“Why should I trust you?”  Izzy is aware that his voice sounds suddenly brittle.  This is not how he expected his morning to go and now the idea has been put in his head he can’t get it out.

Lucius sighs.  “Because you know me, and whether you’ll admit it or not, you know I care about you.  Because you need it, sometimes.  Because I’ll do it right and I’ll take care of you.”

“And the shirt?”

“You could wear it for us.  It would be so hot knowing that you’re wearing my colour before I take you apart.”

It’s too much.  He doesn’t want to want it as much as he does.  He shouldn’t need it, not any more.  He remembers back to past encounters with Lucius.  Ever been sketched?  But this, this is on a whole other level.  “You think you can do that, do you?” he asks, ignoring the crack in his voice.  “Take me apart?”

“I know I can, and I think you need me to.”

Izzy kind of agrees, just a little.  “I’ll think about it.”

Later that evening Izzy finds Frenchie in the rec room playing his lute, those long clever fingers dancing over the strings.  He’s just finished his watch and thought he’d find his lover there.  Frenchie often waits here for him now, liking how the sound works in the larger room against his tiny cabin.  It’s story time on deck and Izzy can just about hear Stede’s voice as he begins reading.  Needing to rest, he sits on one of the barrels, leaning against the wall and props his hoof up on a nearby stool.

Frenchie gives him one of his dazzling smiles but carries on and only stops when the tune ends.  It’s lovely and haunting, a little melancholic but with an underlying note of something playful.  “That was beautiful.  What was it?”

Frenchie shrugs.  “I made it up, haven’t given it a name yet but it’s you.  Sometimes it’s easier to put someone to music than describe them.”

“What?  Old grumpy bastard?  Not that difficult.”

“Don’t you dare, unicorn man.  You’re gorgeous all over, and I should know,” Frenchie grins, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

He starts playing another tune, one familiar and light, but Izzy wants to hear his music again although he doesn’t ask.  That Frenchie can see him in musical notes and put them together into something so lovely has the power to break him.  “Will you remember it?  My song?”

“To the end of my days,” Frenchie tells him and he nods, suddenly choked.

After a few more minutes, Frenchie stops playing and puts the lute down with a happy sigh.  He leans back, stretching those long legs out in front of him, very aware of Izzy’s eyes on him.  “Did you see Lucius and Pete today?  They were going to ask you about… spending time with them.”

“You know what they’re offering?” Izzy asks, feeling his face flush, although he supposes he should have known that Lucius wouldn’t have gone behind his friend’s back.  He briefly wonders how wise it is to have this conversation here but Stede is in full flow above and no one can hear them.

“Of course I do, love.  I can put two and two together just as well as Lucius.  We all have our kinks and you put up with enough of mine.  If you want to, you should do it,” Frenchie says, smiling gently.  “Just because I got to you first doesn’t mean I’m not happy to share.  I love what we have here, but I know there are things you like that I haven’t tried yet so I wouldn’t mind you doing them with someone else.”

“Are you serious?”

“Babe, we aren’t like Lucius and Pete, their open thing means they can shag anyone.  This is me giving you to someone else to get what you want.  I’ve got no problem with that, in fact it’s fucking hot.  You’re still mine.  Does it bother you?”

“I’m fucked if I know,” Izzy says honestly.  “Sweetheart, I'm a man and it's hard not to think with my prick sometimes.  Do I want Lucius to do certain things to me, yes.  Do I want to fuck this up with you, no I don’t.”

In an instant Frenchie is over and straddling his thighs, eyes glittering as he leans in.  “Babe, you have no idea what the thought of someone else having you while I watch does to me.  Having you because I allow it.  You getting all dripping and wet, and me getting you clean so I can make you dirty again.  It fucking kills me.”

Izzy swallows heavily, his hands going, as always, to Frenchie’s slender hips.  The heat of the man even through their clothes is distracting.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Would you want to watch with Lucius and Pete?” Izzy asks, needing to understand the boundaries with this.

“Yes, if you’d let me.  Knowing that you’re getting what you need and coming back to me is enough this first time though.”

Looking up into those lovely dark eyes, Izzy feels that his heart could burst.  He strokes along one gorgeous cheekbone with his thumb, rubbing tiny circles.  “There would never be a time when I didn’t come back to you.”

“So you’ll go?”

“I’m still thinking about it.  They want to buy me a shirt, for fuck’s sake.  How did me wearing a shirt become a symbol of my new sexual liberation?”

“Lucius’ over active imagination,” Frenchie grins.  “You’ll look hot in it though.  I wonder what colour they’ll choose.”

“You are fucking insane,” Izzy sighs, but the fact that Frenchie wants to send him off for someone else to use him is starting to do something to him.  Not someone, Lucius and Pete, who play at domination and control, which just happens to be exactly what he needs.  And if they want to waste their money on a shirt for him, well, he won’t complain.  He’s getting used to the idea of colour.

“But you love me, right?”

“Yeah,” he replies fondly, kissing him.  “Of course I fucking do.”  And then something occurs to him as he remembers what Frenchie just said.  “Frenchie, sweetheart, what do you mean that you got to me first?”

There’s a pause and Frenchie goes still.  “Oh that.  Well.   You were the hottest single guy on the ship.  A few of the crew wanted to make a play but I made my move first.”

“The fuck?  They don’t like me.”

Frenchie shakes his head.  “Babe, where have you been?  No one dislikes you, in fact most of them have the hots for you.  Well, not Archie or Jim and probably Olu, but the rest of them have.”

“The fuck?” Izzy says again, because he really can’t think of anything better to say.

“I told you, you’re our unicorn.  You keep us safe.  We know you shield us from Ed.  I know that he’s different now but most of us are still scared of him and you make sure that none of us are ever alone with him.  You do things for us but think that we haven’t noticed.  You’re teaching us, protecting us, and you might not realise it but you are part of us now.  You’re not part of Blackbeard’s crew any more, you’re ours.”

“And who was going to… make a play?” he asks, digesting that. 

“Wee John definitely.  Roach was talking about it too, and Lucius obviously.”

“Obviously.  But why?” he wails, suddenly finding it all too much. 

“Because you’re gorgeous, babe, and we care about you.  As long as you remember that you’re mine.”

Izzy likes that, he likes it a lot and hitches Frenchie a bit closer, feeling his cock starting to take an interest.  “I’m always yours,” he promises as Frenchie’s mouth comes down on his and they are suddenly exchanging lovely sloppy kisses while he kneads his lover’s arse.

There’s the sound of footsteps and a chuckle.  “Get a room, guys.”  

“Got one.  Jealous much?” Frenchie calls out after them and laughs, not taking his eyes off Izzy and he realises that the easy camaraderie included him too, not just Frenchie.  There had been no mockery or derision.

Maybe the crew do see him as part of them now instead of him being the outsider.  Conversations used to stop when he went into a room, but that hasn’t happened since the Kraken days.  They come and ask him things now; they listen when he instructs and often ask his opinion when there are disagreements.  

He thinks of other little things that he didn’t register earlier; Roach giving him extra porridge with sugar sprinkled on, something he never used to get, Wee John offering to mend his shirt the last time it got cut up and Pete doing something to the bottom of his hoof to make it less slippy in the wet.

He’s never been part of a crew like this before, they are more like a family and for some strange reason they seem to have accepted him in to it.  As he realises how much he likes it, he feels another chain break away and splash down into the hungry sea.

“Come on then, handsome,” he says, giving Frenchie a slap on his lovely arse.  “Let’s go and use it.”

They are two days out from the Republic when he goes looking for Lucius and finds him in the dining room writing up the Captain’s notes into the journal he usually carries around.  Annoyingly Izzy can’t sneak up on anyone any more, his hoof isn’t quiet enough and the younger man looks up.  “Hey, Iz,” he says with a smile.

Izzy walks over and looks over his shoulder at the journal.  Lucius’ handwriting really is beautiful.  “What colour?” he asks, straightening.

Lucius doesn’t hesitate.  “Purple,” he replies immediately, as though he already knew Izzy would ask.  “The colour of the sky just before the sun rises.”

“The colour of emperors and kings,” Izzy adds with a snort.

“And piety,” Lucius laughs, “although probably not in this case.”

Izzy regards him for a moment, not sure why he’s doing this.  Of all the people on the ship, this man seems to be the most unlikely to wield the kind of domination he wants but he’s willing to find out.

Decision made, Izzy nods.  “Acceptable,” he says, before walking out. 

The package is waiting outside his door after everyone gets back on board and they set sail again.  This time he knows what it is and that this one symbolises something completely different to Frenchie’s gift.  It’s beautiful, a dark rich purple, and absolutely the exact colour of the sky just before the sun rises.  The note instructs him to wear it on Friday.  Today is Wednesday so he has another day to wait.  The little shit.

On Friday he wears the purple shirt, and it seems like he’s got Lucius’ eyes on him every time he looks up. 

There are some store rooms down in the hold and one has been emptied out, fitted with a bed and chairs and is used for the crew to have some privacy.  It’s the crew’s secret and Izzy makes sure that it remains that way.  Considering the huge cabin Stede has to himself and Ed, Izzy thinks it’s only fair.  He’s never been on a ship quite like this where there are so many relationships, and he can well understand the need for some private space to let go. 

“We’ve got the play room for the night,” Lucius tells him as he’s leaving the galley after lunch.  “Come when your shift is over, and I expect you to be wearing this.”  He surreptitiously hands Izzy a band of leather with a fastener to hold it tight. 

Izzy nods tightly hiding it in a pocket, knowing exactly what it is and for the first time thinks that Lucius may actually know what he’s doing.

It’s after ten bells before he can get away.  After washing, he heads to his cabin to leave his sword belt, glove, waistcoat, and boot, then makes himself as hard as he can and wraps the leather binding around his cock and balls, securing it tightly.  It’s painful and he needs a minute to adjust.  Walking through the ship with an obvious erection is not something he wants to be caught doing but thankfully the shirt covers it.  Walking barefoot is not usual either and it serves to help his head get a little into the place it needs to be.  With a strange mix of trepidation and anticipation he knocks on the play room door.  As first mate he only knocks on the Captain’s door and then not so much these days but this is different and it’s well to start off correctly.

Lucius opens the door and grins happily.  “You came.”

“Thought about not doing.”  Although he hadn’t, really.

Lucius is fully dressed and when he stands back to let Izzy in, he is surprised to see Pete sitting on the bed, naked.  The man looks well fucked and it’s not unexpected that Lucius didn’t wait.  Pete’s not built but he has a hard comfortable looking body with a pleasing cock that he suspects will be thick when aroused.  “Glad you did,” Lucius says, his eyes warm and calm.  “I thought you’d like something nice to look at before we negotiate.  Why don’t you go over and give Pete a kiss.  He can warm you up a bit.”

He hadn’t expected instructions so soon but he’s happy to oblige and it lets Lucius know that he won’t have a fight on his hands.  Not this time.

He’s not been given any instructions to the contrary, so he sits on the edge of the bed and Pete turns towards him.  The other man doesn’t speak but makes a contented hum of pleasure when Izzy covers his mouth and licks his way inside.

“Oh God, that’s so hot.  I knew you’d look gorgeous together.”

Lucius sounds like he’s enjoying the show and Izzy feels an unexpected warmth that he’s pleased the younger man.  Then Lucius snaps his fingers and Pete pulls away with a soft groan.

“That was lovely, boys,” Lucius says, sitting down in the biggest chair facing the bed and looking at Izzy.  “Just so you know I’m not going to be fucking you tonight.  If you want that you have to earn it.”

Izzy fights back a pang of disappointment, but nods.  Lucius gives a husky laugh and leans forward to take his chin.  “Don’t worry, pretty, you’re going to get fucked, just not by me this time.”

“Then may I make a request?”  At Lucius’ nod he continues, feeling a flush.  “If you have one, could I be plugged, after.  Frenchie…”

Lucius smirks.  “A gift for your kinky man.  That’s not a problem.  Do you have a word?”

“Harbour,” Izzy tells him.  “Three taps anywhere on you or Pete if I’ve got something in my mouth and can’t speak.  Two taps for go slow.”

Lucius nods approvingly.  “Good.  Let’s get limits out of the way.  Mine is that I won’t break your skin, for tonight that’s non-negotiable.  That may change if you want to continue with this, after we have had a proper conversation about what you need.”

“Makes sense,” Izzy replied although he can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment.  He has been promised pain however he is becoming increasingly confident that Lucius knows what he’s doing. 

“Your limits?”

“Only one, that this stays between us and no one else.  I have no problem with anyone thinking we’re having sex, just not… this side of it.”

“That’s totally fair and why we’re down here, no one can hear so we can make as much noise as we like.  Ship’s rules, what happens in the playroom stays in the playroom.  Anything else?”

Izzy shakes his head, impatient to begin now that he’s here.  “None.  Ed cut off my toes and fed them to me,” he continues, when he sees Lucius about to question it.  “If I survived that there’s nothing you can do to me that’ll come close.  I’m good with fucking, pain, blood and humiliation.”

“What about kink?”

“What kind?”

“What if I asked you to call me daddy?” Lucius asks with a smirk and for a brief moment there’s a glimpse of the normal Lucius, the one who doesn’t think he’s cute but carries himself that way anyway.

Izzy colours a bit at that, remembering.  Trust Lucius to throw that one at him.  However…  “All right, my only limit.  Nothing else is off the table.”

“Fuck,” Lucius breathes, “you are a gift.  Okay, tonight’s rules are simple; do what I tell you to do, don't speak unless asked a direct question and don't forget your word if you need it, which bypasses the no speaking rule, obviously.  You can make as much noise as you like unless told to be silent.  This won’t be a long session because we’re getting to know each other and it’s over when I allow you to come.  Do you have any questions?”

“What do I call you?”

“Lucius for now, or Sir, if you’re more comfortable with that.  Anything else?”

“Is pain only given as punishment, sir?”

“For Pete, yes, although he rarely needs it.  For you, it will be a reward for being good.”

Izzy nods tightly, anticipation making his blood sing at the thought of it, the expectation of pain.  He knows he’s damaged and that this is fucked up but he’s always accepted this side of himself; this need is a part of him and it’s gone unanswered for too long now.

Watching him with amusement, Lucius settles himself in the chair.  “Then let’s begin.  Pete, will you undress our Princess for me please.  Touch him as much as you like, you’ll be fucking him later.  The leg can come off, he’ll be on the bed most of the time.”

Izzy stiffens.  Princess?  He knows what Lucius is doing, of course, and he’s impressed that the man has attempted to wrong foot him so early.  Then he mentally shrugs and relaxes, not unaware of the sudden colour in his cheeks.

He is encouraged to stand and without saying a word briefly lifts his arms so the Pete can remove the shirt, never taking his eyes off Lucius.  He tries to remain as impassive as he can when Pete makes an appreciative sound as his chest is revealed.

“Fuck, Iz,” Pete murmurs, speaking for the first time.  “Look at you.”

Lucius laughs fondly.  “He’s lovely, isn’t he.  I told you, babe, you can touch him as much as you like.  Why don’t you find out what those gorgeous tits can take?”

Grinning wickedly, Pete moves closer and places a hand on Izzy’s hip to steady him and then the other hand is cupping his pec and a hot mouth latches on to his nipple, biting and sucking.  It’s painful and delicious and he hisses out a breath but doesn’t make any other sound.  Not yet.  Then Pete swaps over and the other one is getting the same treatment but harder and this time he cries out, unable to help himself.  The pain is perfect and is starting the journey of where he needs to go and he feels himself getting lost in it.

“Eyes on me, Princess,” Lucius instructs, when his head falls back and Izzy returns quickly to meet his gaze.  He is given a reassuring smile.  “You’re doing so well and we’ve hardly started yet.”  Then Pete returns to the first one and starts again and this time it’s sharper and worse and so much better and when he’s finally finished on both nipples Izzy can feel himself tremble.

“Wonderful,” Lucius almost purrs.  “So responsive.  Let’s get you out of that leather now.”

Pete helps him to sit and then kneels to undo the straps holding his leg on.  The man helped make it so Izzy doesn’t attempt to aid him.  He just stares at Lucius’s almost smirk and isn’t quite sure whether he wants to kiss it off his face or punch it off.  His nipples are throbbing, distracting him, and he knows now they are not going to be the only things before they’ve finished with him.

Without his leg he feels vulnerable but that’s kind of the point of being here so he just lets it go.  There are hands undoing his laces and he lifts his hips but again makes no move to help as his leather is removed.  He likes that Lucius has given simple unambiguous orders and he obeys them without question.

He groans as his bound cock springs free, hard and flushed, but he keeps his hands by his side although he’s desperate to touch it. 

Lucius gives a hum of approval at the leather strap.  “Well done, Princess, that looks so pretty.  I knew it would be a good look on you.”

From his position on the floor, Pete looks at Izzy hungrily.  “I know you said I could touch, but can I taste him too?” Pete asks.  “Please?”

“Seeing as how you asked so nicely,” Lucius replies, looking completely relaxed, “you may.”

With a grin, Pete spreads Izzy’s thighs and moves between them, leaning in to take hard confined balls into his mouth.  It’s almost enough to make Izzy swear but he manages to control himself before the mouth moves and wet heat engulfs his captured prick so suddenly that he’s unprepared for it and gasps out a wordless cry of desperation.  Then those rough blunt fingers are reaching back to his nipples, pulling and pinching and he knows that if his cock wasn’t bound so tightly he could have come from that alone.

When the hands withdraw, Izzy’s chest is on fire and his cock feels about to burst and he moans in disappointment when Pete is told to stop. 

“What a lovely sight,” Lucius purrs, and turns to Pete.  “Let’s have that off now so we can see how good our boy can be.”

Izzy yelps as the strap is removed from his cock and blood starts to flow again.  He’s still hard but there’s no safety net against coming now.

“How is your control, Princess?” he’s asked, and thinks back to times when Blackbeard was being particularly sadistic and wouldn’t let him come for days. 

“Good, sir.  I think.”

“Hmmm, let’s find out.  New rule, Princess.  If you think you’re getting close you have permission to tell me without being asked.  If there’s something in your mouth, one tap.”

“Yes, sir,” Izzy replies.  “Thank you, sir.”  This is perfect and how did Lucius become so good at this?  It’s very different from Blackbeard’s casual cruelty and Izzy feels safe and in a place he can understand and deal with.  He absolutely knows now that this will give him what he needs.

“Good boy.  One last thing.  I won’t punish you if you come because that’s not what you need.  If you do come without permission though, our play stops.  You’ll have disappointed me and I won’t bend you over my knee and hurt you.”

Izzy is nearly breathless with admiration.  The clever little shit has read him like a book and worked out exactly how to push every button he has.  He wants to tell Lucius that he won’t disappoint him, that right now he’d rather die, but he can’t, so he just waits eager for what’s coming next.

With a smirk, Lucius taps Pete with his foot and that must be enough because Pete moves back in and starts lapping up his cock, delicate kitten licks, maddeningly erotic, until he gets to the head and then sinks down on it, hot and wet.  Pete’s mouth is nothing short of sinful and Izzy knows he could come from it easily.  He leaves it as long as he can but it’s becoming too much.  “Fuck, close sir,” he gasps.

Pete immediately pulls off, his expression gleeful. 

“Well done, Princess,” he’s praised, then Lucius leans back opening his legs.  “My turn, I think.”  Pete crawls over to him and unbuttons his pants, freeing his cock.  Ignoring him, Lucius watches Izzy with hooded eyes.  “Watch us and touch yourself.  Slowly.”

The chair is angled so that he can see everything.  Lucius’ cock is meaty, bigger than he had expected, and Izzy wants it in his throat but it’s Pete who gets to swallow it down although Lucius never takes his eyes off him.  Leaning back on one elbow Izzy takes hold of his cock and works himself as slowly as he can.  He feels cheap and dirty and he loves it.  Lucius gives little gasps as Pete sucks him, tiny breath hitches and Izzy desperately wants to be the one to give Lucius that pleasure, to make him make those sounds.

All of a sudden it’s too much and he gasps out, “Close sir.”

“Stop then.  Pinch your nipples instead.  Show me how sore they are.”

They are very sore but Izzy doesn’t care.  Never taking his eyes off the sight of Lucius glorious cock being swallowed by Pete he goes from one to the other, using his nails to pinch and pull and moans with each one.

He’s instructed to stop and Lucius taps Pete on the shoulder who instantly pulls away from his cock.  “That was lovely, babe.  Let’s get our Princess comfy, shall we.  You know how I want him.”

Izzy is turned on the bed and they get a look at his back for the first time.  “Fuck,” Pete murmurs, his hand ghosting down the worst of the scars.  Unable to speak, Izzy gives a grunt of impatience.  His scars can wait for another time.  Understanding, Pete moves him into position facing Lucius where he’s gently encouraged onto elbows and knee.  A pile of pillows are placed under his truncated leg for balance and he feels a flush of gratitude for that kindness.  It occurs to him then that they have been totally considerate about his leg all along and that despite the humiliation play he’s not been made to feel any less of a man.  He thinks then that maybe he loves these two men as well, just a little.

Lucius nods approval.  “Pete’s going to open you up now.  Let’s see how quiet you can be, shall we.  I don’t want to hear a sound from you apart from your breathing.  Do you understand, Princess?”

“Yes… sir,” Izzy replies, knowing how hard this is going to be.  He’s not wrong.  He expects fingers, instead he gets… fuck, Pete’s hands holding him open and his tongue, hot and wet, licking over him, rimming him and then pushing inside and he very much wants to make a fucking lot of noise.  He’s instantly panting and wanting to shove his knuckles into his mouth but holds back. 

“Relax, Princess, you’re going to be there a while.  Pete can do that for hours.”

Izzy wants to whine but can’t.  The sensation of Pete’s tongue inside him, opening him, is overwhelming and just when he will either have to scream or combust it stops and two slick fingers are pushing in.  He just has enough time to get used to that when the mouth is back and it starts over again.  After a while it feels like it’s been hours but it probably isn’t and he’s thankful that it’s not enough to make him come.  Then Lucius is crouching down in front of him.  “Look at you, Princess.  You look so pretty like this, arse in the air like a bitch in heat, desperate for cock.  You love it, don’t you,” he murmurs, rubbing a thumb gently over Izzy’s lips.

Izzy’s mind is getting fuzzy, the sensation overwhelming and he’s not entirely sure if that’s a question.  Lucius laughs but it’s not mocking.  “Oh, you are so good at this,” he praises.  “That was a question, Princess, you can answer.  Do you love this?”

“Fuck… yes sir,” he croaks out, wondering how his voice can be wrecked when he’s used it so little.

“Hmm, good boy.  You’ve been so good that you can make noise now.  I think you’ll need to in a minute.”

Leaning in, Lucius kisses him, pushing into his mouth like an invasion and Izzy just opens and lets him.  He rides on the twin sensations at his arse and mouth until Lucius reaches under him and starts on his nipples again, squeezing, pulling, scraping over the abused nubs of flesh.  This time he does cry out; the pain is intense and wonderful and he desperately wants to pull away but knows that he won’t.

“They are going to be so sore,” he’s told breathily.  “You’re going to be feeling them under your clothes for the next week.  Every time they rub you’ll think of me.  Hmmm, they’d look so pretty with rings in them too.  I could have you up on deck naked and lead you around by your lovely nipples.  Let everyone see what a slutty little Princess whore you are.”

This time Izzy does whine.  Fucking hell, this man is going to kill him.  He thought it was impossible for his cock to get harder and yet it seems to be doing so.

Lucius grins, clearly loving his reaction.  “I think our slutty little Princess likes that idea.”

Izzy’s eyes flutter shut.  Fuck, but the man is good.

There’s a sharp stinging slap on his cheek making him gasp at the sheer unexpectedness of it and it makes his face burn with shame.  “Eyes on me, Princess.  I’m glad you liked that; it gives us plenty to explore next time.  I’ve got a treat for you now though and you can make as much noise as you like.”

He’s getting spaced out and had almost forgotten about the fingers in his arse but now he feels Pete moving away and then he mewls as something smooth and hard is pushed into him.  It’s easily the width of a good sized cock and once it’s fully in he feels the flared end settle between his cheeks.  Plugs aren’t his favourite thing but the hardness of it helps to keep him focused.

“There.”  Lucius’ voice is satisfied and a little smug as he gets to his feet.  “That’ll keep you nice and open for us.  I promised you a treat though so you may use your mouth on me.”

Needing to serve him Izzy gives a growl of desperation and opens his mouth, sighing happily as Lucius’ cock pushes straight in.  Izzy has been sucking cock since he was in short pants and it’s something he’s very good at and this one is absolutely perfect.  It becomes even better when Lucius grabs his hair and starts fucking his mouth and he opens his throat to let him in further, breathing as well as he can through his nose, loving the feeling of being used.  He’s just settling in to that when he feels slick fingers on his cock and realises that Pete is going to renew his assault. 

He panics for a moment as he has no way of telling them it’s too much but Pete is there and places Izzy’s hand on his so that he can tap if he needs to, then Pete’s other hand is back on his cock and he moans around Lucius prick at the overwhelming sensations.  He’s driven to the brink twice and each time has to tap for Pete to stop but after a few minutes he starts up again, relentlessly.  Izzy’s whole world is reduced to the cock in his mouth and the hand on him as his orgasm builds again and again and is denied him each time.

It pauses when the hand in his hair pulls him away and Lucius looks down at him, his composure not as sure as it had been.  His breathing is uneven and Izzy feels a rush of pride that he caused it to be.

“I’m going to come, Princess, you’re too good for me to last much longer.  Do you deserve it or should I give it to Pete?”

“Mine,” he rasps, voice wrecked. “I’ve been good, sir, please.”

“Greedy boy,” Lucius whispers and then nods.  “All right then, Princess, make it good.”

Desperate to please Izzy dives back on his cock and it only takes a few more thrusts before Lucius is coming down his throat and in his mouth and all he cares is that Lucius is happy with his good boy.

Panting, Izzy drops down on the bed, his arms unwilling to support him any longer.  His arse is still in the air but he really doesn’t care what he looks like.  He’s aware of soft words being spoken to him but he’s too far away to know what they are.  Then he’s being encouraged up and a cup is held to his lips.  “Come on, love, have a drink,” Pete tells him.  “It’ll help.”

With shaking hands, he helps hold the cup and takes a drink.  It’s just water but he hadn’t realised how much he needed it.  “Thank you,” he whispers.

“Do you need a break, babe?” Pete asks.

“No, no I’m good.  Thanks.  More than good.”

With a smile Lucius leans down and strokes his hair.  He’s all buttoned up again and looks lovely and so unlike the wreck that Izzy feels.  “You did well, Princess.  I’m going to let Pete fuck you now.  He’s been so patient and it’s definitely his turn.  In fact, you look so good like that we could let everyone come in and have a turn.  You’d love that, wouldn’t you.  Ship’s slut, open and dripping.”

Izzy whines and Lucius chuckles.  “So easy,” he murmurs.  “Lie on your back for me.”

Groaning as his back stretches, Izzy rolls over, wincing as the thing in his arse shifts inside.  Crawling over, Pete pushes his thighs apart and removes the plug as gently as he can.  Then he moves in and lifts Izzy’s arse onto his lap, the blunt head of his cock pressing in, slick and eager.  It turns out that Pete’s cock is thicker than it looked because even stretched there’s burn for a few thrusts and it’s delicious.  Pete’s hips are implacable and he raises them up to thrust harder, bracing himself with one hand and the other going back to Izzy’s cock.

It’s hard and almost brutal and utterly perfect.  He’s nothing more than a hole to fuck and that’s exactly what he wants to be.  Pete takes him to the brink again and Izzy begs for him to stop, that he’s so close.  When he continues Izzy sobs from the need to come but once again he stops before the brink.  Pete seems to take mercy on him after that because his hand doesn’t go back and eventually his thrusts become ragged and then there’s the pumping throb of the man emptying into him.  Panting, Pete stays there a few minutes and then leans down to kiss Izzy softly, as though he’s something precious.  Izzy doesn’t miss the gentle stroke of Pete’s hand down his thigh as he pulls out, an unspoken thank you, then the plug is pushed back in and seated properly.

He’s still hard and breathless and floating in the throbbing mess that is his arse when Lucius kisses him again, more gently this time, carding fingers through his hair.  “Well done, Princess, you’re being so good.  We have one last thing to do before you get to come.  It’s time to hurt you because I know that’s what you want but you have to choose what I’m going to use.” 

Lucius reaches down and holds up a wide leather belt in one hand and a wooden thing that looks like a butter pat.  Almost hysterically he hopes it isn’t or Roach is going to kill him.  “Which one?”

“Wooden one, please… sir,” Izzy croaks, and Lucius smiles as though pleased with his choice.  “Good boy.  You’re going to look so pretty all red and bruised for me.”

Dropping the belt, Lucius gets on the bed and leans back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him.  He pats his thighs and Pete helps Izzy drape himself over them, his cock hard and trapped and his arse upwards.  He has no idea what he looks like, draped over the lap of someone nearly half his age but he doesn’t care. 

The bed dips as Pete sits beside him and slides a gentle hand over his back, rubbing soothing circles over his scars before taking his hand and holding it loosely.  Then another hand is on his arse, smoother and softer and lovely.  Taking a deep breath, he relaxes, closes his eyes and falls.

“Good boy,” Lucius murmurs, “I knew you’d be so good for us.  I’m going to give you fourty, Princess.  Ten will be warm up, ten will be medium and twenty will be hard.  You don’t need to count, I’ll do that for you.  If you want me to stop just say your word or squeeze Pete’s hand three times.  Do you understand?”

It’s difficult to be bothered acknowledging but he does because he knows it’s expected.  “Yes, sir,” he whispers, waiting.

It’s time.

And then there is just the paddle as it lands on his arse, the sting harsh but not quite enough, not yet.  Then another and another, peppered between his cheeks and his good thigh.  Is that eight?  Nine?  Impossible to count through the bright flare of the building pain.  Then his cheeks are being rubbed, soothed, Lucius’ hand gentle on his hot flesh.

“You’re doing so well,” Lucius praises, warm and calm and utterly in control.  “That was your warm up.  Ten more now.”

And it begins again.  This ten are harder, each bright and sharp and at the end of it he’s shaking.  This time the soothing is more careful, the touches more loving, their counterpoint to the pain, perfect, and suddenly there it is, that place in his head where he can just be nothing, tiny and insignificant, where he can just float away in the lightest of breezes.

He hears Lucius saying that he’s so good, so beautiful, but it’s in the distance, near and far away at the same time.  There is only the pain, again and again, blinding and cleansing, and he can do nothing but cry out and absorb it into himself until there’s nothing of himself left.

He doesn’t even realise that he’s crying until the paddle has gone and Lucius is holding him, cradling him like a child but he doesn’t care because now he’s started, he has to let it all go.

“That’s it, love, let it out.  I’ve got you,” Lucius murmurs, rocking Izzy as he sobs, not because of the pain but at what the pain has unlocked, something cold and hard and terrible that was a festering boil within him.  Grief at the loss of his leg, his dignity, his entire fucking identity has all been trapped inside and melded with his feelings of uselessness and self-loathing.  Now, he’s been cracked wide open, the boil lanced and he can’t stop until its completely drained.  He’s cried before but they were tears of rage, pain and something dark that he can’t find a name for but this is about bitter grief and loss and beyond it all, healing.

Lucius shirt is wet although he doesn’t seem to mind, but it brings Izzy back to himself and after a few ragged gulps he’s got nothing left.  He hadn’t realised how much he needed to let it out, how brittle he’d been feeling recently, everything made constantly so much harder because of Ed’s constant presence.  A permanent reminder of how maimed he feels.

He supposes he should feel ashamed for his tears, but he doesn’t have the energy.  Instead, he feels cleansed and at peace.

He feels safe.

“Better?” Lucius asks, his voice gentle, no judgement to be found in it.  “Pete’s going to help you come now.  You can whenever you want to, my love.”

Still holding him tightly, Lucius nuzzles into his neck, whispering sweet things that could make him cry again if he wasn’t so spent.  Then Pete’s strong hand, slick with oil is stroking him and the smooth slick glide on his cock is almost unbearable and it’s barely four strokes before he’s coming in thick ropes, harder than he has in years.  Throbbing, he slumps, finally utterly and completely undone and he’s not sure he could move if the ship was on fire.

Lucius tilts his head and kisses his mouth, up his wet cheeks and to the corners of his eyes, telling him between kisses how wonderful he is and how good.  He’s encouraged down the bed and Lucius wriggles down after him, wrapping him up in his arms again.  There’s a damp cloth on his belly and then at his arse, and something cool and soothing is being rubbed onto his cheeks and thigh.  He grunts as the plug is moved slightly, everything ridiculously sensitive now.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, burying his face in the younger man’s chest.  “Sorry, Luce.  I don’t know where that came from.”

Lucius voice is soft and understanding.  “You don’t?  Iz, after everything you’ve been through, I’d have been more surprised if you didn’t break.  Never apologise for that, babe.  How do you feel?”

“Tired, sore… good.”

“Was it want you wanted?”

“Fucking perfect,” he slurs, feeling sleep tugging on the edges of his consciousness.  “Both of you were.”

“We’re going to talk about this, Iz, when you’re ready.  I need to know what worked and what didn’t so I can make sure you get what you need.”

“It all worked, trust me.  Thank you, beautiful boy.”

Lucius snorts.  “I’m thirty-one, Iz.”

“Don’t care, it’s still true.”

“You are drunk on pain,” Lucius says fondly.

“Probably.  Make the most of it, I’ll be my usual bastard self in the morning.”

Lucius kisses the top of his head.  “We saw through that a long time ago, love.  You don’t scare us any longer.  Go to sleep.  We’ll look after you.”

“Love you, twatty.”

He feels Lucius’ lips smile.  “Love you too.”

He wakes feeling better than he has in months, despite the soreness of his chest and arse.  Beside him Lucius is fast asleep and he turns to see Pete watching him, looking tired but content.

“Hey,” Izzy murmurs.

“Hey,” Pete replies softly.  “You okay, man?  Okay with me?”

“More than okay.”

“That’s good.  If you want to do this again it may be me on the bottom next time.  He’s very inventive.”

“I’m beginning to see that.  Thank you… for what you did.”

“Hey, it’s not like I didn’t enjoy it,” Pete chuckles.  “It’s been nice watching over both of you too.  I was going to leave it another hour and wake you.  We can’t hear the bells down here but it’s probably around mid-first watch.  Figured you wouldn’t want to do the walk of shame in the morning.”

“God no,” Izzy agrees and starts looking for his pants.

“We brought you some clothes so you didn’t get your leathers messy.”  Pete hands him a simple cream shirt and plain black linen pants with one leg neatly sewn shorter.  We found them a while ago and thought they were more your size.  Surprised, Izzy takes them gratefully.  Another kindness that he didn’t expect. 

Sitting on the bed, he winces as he feels the bruises but it’s still good.  He can feel the plug and it’s keeping most of Pete’s come leaking from him but not all of it.  Pete slips off the bed and helps him with the pants and his leg and for once he’s grateful of it.  He feels good but wrung out and he knows he’ll sleep better in his own bed.

Lucius is still fast asleep, his mouth open and looking ridiculously young.  Izzy shares a smile with Pete.  “Worth the shirt?” he asks, leaning in to kiss him.

“Fuck yes.  Will you do this with us again?”

Izzy nods tiredly.  “Yeah, I think I will.” 

When he gets to his cabin he finds Frenchie in his bed, asleep, and he feels a blossoming quiet kind of joy that the man is there.  He sits awkwardly on the bed, hissing as the bruises throb, and strokes down his lover’s back.

“Hey babe,” a mumbled voice says sleepily.  “Have a good time?”

“Yes, love.  I really did.” 

Frenchie rolls over and stretches, his movements languid and sexy.  He reaches for Izzy’s hand and pulls it close, kissing his palm.  “Tell me about it?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“I do but only if you want to and it doesn’t go against any rules or something,” Frenchie replies, fully awake now, his eyes patient in the dark.

Izzy looks down at their joined hand, unsure what Frenchie will think of him when he hears about the things he likes being done to him.  “No, there are no rules for that.  The short version is that I’m tired and sore and I cried like a fucking baby.  But… I feel better than I have in a long time.”  He takes a deep breath, facing it.  “I’m… worried, I suppose, that if I tell you everything…”

“I’ll think you’re a pervert and leave you?” Frenchie supplies, when his voice trails off.  “You know I love you, right?  Babe, we haven’t even begun to plumb the depths of my kinks yet so nothing you could say would make me feel any differently about you.”

Izzy nods with the start of a smile.  “How about we talk about it tomorrow?”  He really is too sore for sex again tonight but he can do something for his lover.  He leans closer.  “Lucius came down my throat and Pete fucked me.  I’m plugged and it’s all still inside me.  I… saved it for you.”

The flush that goes over Frenchie’s face is immediate and lovely.  “Oh,” he says, huskily, voice thick with need.  “Oh fuck, Iz, you’re killing me.  Come on, let me get you out of those clothes and take care of you.”

And just like that, another chain breaks away and is gone.

Chapter Text

Izzy gets up first, as he does most mornings.  He catches a look at himself in his small mirror and his backside is bruised but not excessively.  He’s certainly going to feel it sitting down for the next couple of days but he wants to, he wants to be reminded that it happened.  His nipples fared worse although now that Lucius has mentioned it, he can’t get the idea of rings through them out of his head. 

It’s hard to put words to how much better he feels after his time with Lucius.  It’s like a constant itch is suddenly no longer there.  Now he realises how on edge he has been, only recognisable by the fact that it’s gone.

In the end he fell asleep while Frenchie was taking care of him and woke at the dawn with his octopus lover wrapped around him.  Izzy is starting to see why Frenchie may be a bit high maintenance for some people but he finds most of his oddities endearing and others as sexy as hell.

Getting into his leather takes longer these days but he has a good routine and is on his feet in a few minutes.  He moves around the room quietly, sorting his hair and reaching for the clothes he left neatly folded the night before.  As predicted the clothing rubs on his nipples and he’s hyper aware of them when he moves but like his arse, it’s a pain he’s proud of, fucked up though it might be.  He’s already tying his cravat when there’s a muffled noise from the bed.

“Hi babe,” Frenchie mumbles, even though it’s only a disembodied voice from beneath his single blanket.  “Talk later, yeah?”

“Go back to sleep, love.  You’ve got until the next bell.”

Frenchie groans and burrows further down.  Izzy just smiles and gives himself a final check that he looks presentable and showing no evidence of the night before.

In the galley he finds his coffee and porridge in their usual spot and nods his thanks to Roach.  He’s always believed it pays to be nice to the man who cooks your food and stitches you up.

“So, blue today.”

Izzy leans back against the counter top as usual.  “It’s just a colour.”

Roach’s eyes narrow.  “I couldn’t help but notice that you were in that lovely purple yesterday and Lucius couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”

“Maybe he just likes purple,” he shrugs, starting on the porridge.   

“Strange how it appeared after our last port, but you didn’t go ashore,” Roach muses, tapping his foot.  “Something’s going on, little man, and I don’t like secrets.”

Izzy ignores him and eats, enjoying the sprinkle of sugar it seems that only he gets.  He looks up to see Roach still watching him thoughtfully.  After draining his coffee mug, he leaves the dishes on the side and walks up close.  “Sometimes a shirt is just a shirt,” he says, with a twitch of a smile.  “Excellent porridge, Mister Roach, as always.”  Then kisses the cook on the cheek and walks out, chuckling.

“What did you do to Roach?” Lucius asks, sliding up to him while he’s taking a break.  “I’ve just come from the galley and he’s muttering to himself that you’ve been taken over by demons.”

Izzy grins.  “Messed with his head a bit.  It was... fun.”

“My, you’re chipper this morning.  You must have had a good night.”

Izzy looks at Lucius who is back to appearing completely normal in his guise as cute ship’s scribe.  Last night the man had been confident, assured and in control.  It’s a fascinating contrast.  “Actually, I did.  What about you?”

"Oh, fuck yes,” Lucius grins back.  “It was unbelievably good.  Sorry I crashed but you didn’t have to leave.”

“Didn’t fancy walking back when the others might be up, besides my man was waiting.  Thanks for the clothes.  You didn’t have to do that.”

“There are certain substances you really don’t want to get on the inside of a pair of leather pants,” Lucius says with a shudder.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Izzy replied sardonically.  “Thank you… for the rest of it.”

“You are very welcome.”  Lucius looks at him critically, nodding approvingly at what he sees.  “You look good, Iz.  More relaxed than I’ve seen you in a while.” 

“I am,” he agrees.  In fact, he feels amazing if he's going to be honest but can't help the small stab of worry that he's opened a door best kept closed.  Because now it's been opened, he's going to want it again.

“How are your…?”  Lucius’ gaze flickers to Izzy’s chest.

“How do you think, you little shit.  Fucking sore.”

“And you love it,” Lucius smirks.

He smiles wryly.  “There is that.”

“I still think rings would look lovely in them.”

“I’m thinking about it,” he admits and reminds himself to mention it to Frenchie, although he’s sure he knows what the response will be.  Yes.  Now.

“Roach can do them, you know.  He’s done a couple of piercings for Archie and Jim.  If you like, I’ll come with you and hold your hand.”

He barks out a laugh.  “What makes you think I need my hand holding?”

Lucius leans in close to his ear.  “Maybe I just want to watch my little pain slut getting off on it.”

Izzy feels his neck flush.  “Fuck off, temptress,” he says and is disturbed to find that it sounds a lot fonder than he’d intended.

Lucius laughs and walks away and as he watches him go Izzy sees Edward leaning on the aft rail, watching, his dark eyes unfathomable.

Izzy is lying on his stomach, head cradled on his crossed arms, languid and well fucked, and if anyone would have told him a month ago that he’d be getting the best sex of his life on a nightly basis he’d have laughed in their face.  Frenchie's lying beside him with three fingers in him, not moving, just filling him.  His arse is sensitive after he's been fucked but it's not quite enough for his cock to take an interest again yet.  He suspects that it might eventually though and knowing Frenchie, that will be where they’re heading.  He may or may not be able to get it up again, he’s not twenty any longer, but that won’t bother his insatiable lover.

Giving a hum of appreciation, Frenchie leans down to kiss him.  “I wonder if I could get my hand in there,” he muses, moving his fingers enough to get Izzy’s attention.

Aware that he’s been drifting on a haze of tiredness and good sex, Izzy cracks his eyes open.  “Do you want to?”  It’s not something he’s done but he knows about it and has heard some horror stories about fisting done badly but others who said it’s the best thing they’ve tried.  He’s not unhappy though when Frenchie shakes his head.

“Not really, babe, but I love being inside you like this.  It’s so hot and wet in there.”

“Could be wetter,” Izzy notes, because he knows damn well that his lover will want to fill him up some more and clean him out before they sleep.

“Slut,” Frenchie murmurs affectionately and Izzy grins widely.

“You’ve just noticed?”

“Always known,” he teases, kissing Izzy’s shoulder and ignoring his smirk.

Sitting up, Frenchie slides his fingers out and Izzy gives a huff of disapproval.  Ignoring him, Frenchie straddles his thighs, his weight just enough to make Izzy feel pinned down and it starts a lovely fuzzy little sensation in his head.  “Would you tell me about these, babe?” he says, fingering the scars on his back.  “You never talk about them.”

They aren’t something Izzy likes talking about but he knew Frenchie would ask about them eventually and he supposes that now is as good a time as any.  He isn’t proud of them but they are a part of who he is and most of them are a visible reminder of the bad choices he’s made in life.

“Most of the time I forget they’re there,” he shrugs.  “The oldest were five lashes I got as punishment when I was a boy in the navy,” he explains, feeling Frenchie trace down the thickest scars.  “I’d been caught sucking off a crew mate and the Captain was a repressed religious sadist so I got the lash.  They went easy on me though because I was so small.  The other guy got twenty.”

“Fuck, Iz.  That’s brutal.”

“It was, he nearly died from it.  I might have got off lightly but it was still… appalling.  Then when we were raided by the Marianne, I slit the throat of the bastard who lashed me, joined Hornigold’s crew and never looked back.  That’s where I met Edward although not for a couple of years.”

He’s aware that it’s a very short version of events but it’s as much detail as he wants to go into right now.

“How old were you?” Frenchie asks, not pressing for more.  Instead, his capable hands start massaging Izzy’s shoulders, relaxing him even further.

“Hmmm?  About eighteen, I think.  That was the first time I killed a man but I never regretted it.”

And he hadn’t.  Not only because Nicolls was an evil fuck who got off on wielding the lash but it caught Hornigold’s attention and earned him a place on the first pirate vessel he sailed on and the place he called home for the next ten years.

Leaning down, Frenchie kisses the side of his neck then lays tiny bites up to his ear.  “I bet you were beautiful, even then.”

“I was wild,” he smiled, remembering the exhilaration of being away from the Navy’s strict discipline.  There are stories he could tell from those times but probably not ones Frenchie would appreciate in their current mellow mood. He's not going to revisit the things that Benjamin Hornigold did to him until the man got bored of him. Mercifully quickly, his eyes always seeking younger and better.  “I got claimed by a man higher up the ranks which kept me safe.  When he left the Marianne to Captain his own ship I stayed behind but I could look after myself by then so didn’t need his protection any longer.”  He doesn’t mention that Sam’s ship had gone down a couple of years ago with the loss of all hands.  Sam Bellamy had been a good man as pirates go and Izzy had certainly learned a lot of tricks from him in bed, but it had meant no more than that.  “By then I was climbing the ranks and starting to earn a name for myself.”

“And what about the rest of the scars?” Frenchie asks, returning to the massage.  “Edward?”

Izzy sighs, wanting to offer the truth but equally not wishing to dwell on the past.  “Mostly.  We built the legend of Blackbeard between us but the last couple of years before Bonnet showed up were difficult.  His moods got darker and he mostly just needed to let off steam.  When he was at his lowest he wanted to hurt something and I was first in line.  I didn’t enjoy it but sometimes I needed it as much as he did.”

He lets that hang in the air between them.  They’ve already talked about the scene he had with Lucius and Pete the night before and since then Frenchie doesn’t seem to be able to leave the bruises on his arse alone.  He seems fascinated and when he’s been naked Izzy has noticed Frenchie looking at them, as though counting each blemish and Izzy is aware that his lover’s clever brain is processing more than just Lucius ordering him about.

“Mostly means there’s someone else,” Frenchie prompts, massaging lower, his thumbs pressing deliciously into knots in Izzy’s back he hadn’t known were there.

“A… friend of sorts,” Izzy groans happily.  “Someone safe, on land.”

“Not a lover?”  There’s a slight edge to Frenchie’s voice with that.  Izzy’s aware that Frenchie doesn’t mind sharing as long as he’s in control but it’s interesting to hear a note of jealousy there when it’s someone he doesn’t know.

Sebastian was never a lover although they were surprisingly close for a while and Izzy had been fucked as part of their scenes together.  “More a business transaction, but he knows what he’s doing.  Like with Lucius he used safeguards, knew what I wanted and what I could take and more importantly I could stop at any time.”

With a kiss to his shoulder, Frenchie lies back beside him.  “So you let this man hurt you?  Willingly?”

There’s no note of judgement in Frenchie’s voice but Izzy still isn’t sure what to say.  He keeps waiting for Frenchie to tell him that he’s fucked up and not normal but it’s not happened yet and it seems that the more his lover learns the more he wants to know.  With a sigh, Izzy rolls onto his side, wanting to touch Frenchie, needing a connection between them again but he hesitates.  In the back of his mind he can’t help but think that he’s sullying his lover somehow.  Frenchie might have kinks but he doesn’t have Izzy’s darkness and he’s not sure he wants to corrupt him further than he already has.

“It’s all right,” Frenchie murmurs, taking his hand and bringing it to his lips.  “I’m not judging, my love, but I want to understand.  None of it bothers me, okay?”

“Okay,” he nods, their eyes meeting.  He has no idea how Frenchie can read him so well but it’s just another thing he loves about the man.  “Yes, I like being hurt,” he admits, fighting down the feeling of shame.  “It’s more than that though.  It’s also about being controlled, having no choice.  Lucius' style of play wouldn't suit everyone but it worked for me.  He gave orders, there were rules and following them made me feel good.  Though now… I think it was a mistake and I shouldn't have done it.”  

“But I thought you enjoyed it,” Frenchie frowned.  And that was the problem.  He had.  A little too much.  Fuck.  How can he explain without sounding ungrateful? 

“I did, but I've lived without playing that way for a long time and doing it again has made me want it more.  I don't want to need it, love.  What we have is more than enough, and I certainly don’t want to be dependent on Lucius.”

In the soft candle light, Frenchie’s eyes are steady and clear.  “What if you didn’t need to be?  What if,” he hesitates, but there’s no doubt on his face, no uncertainty, “what if I did it for you?”

Izzy feels his breath stutter as his lover’s words sink in.  Does Frenchie really want to do this for him, or is he offering only to please him?  This is no impulse offer though.  He knows Frenchie well enough now to see that it’s something he’s been thinking deeply about.  There’s a determined set to his mouth that Izzy recognises only too well and it’s easy to forget sometimes that Frenchie is older than he looks and has seen more of the world than it appears.  He’s certainly no innocent.  All the same, it would absolutely have to be something Frenchie wanted to do, not just to provide a service with no enjoyment for himself.  That’s a road Izzy will not step foot on.  

“Sweetheart, are you saying that you want to hurt me?” he asks carefully, surprised by how small his voice sounds.

With an impatient huff, Frenchie pushes him onto his back and straddles his thighs again from the front this time, bracing himself on one arm as he cups Izzy’s face with the other.  “I want to give you what you want,” he tells him, voice on the edge of a growl, “what you need, and I want you to know it's me doing it to you.  I want everything, Iz, every part of you.  I don't want you giving anything to someone else that you don't give to me.”

His lover’s words are overwhelming and beguiling.  Not completely the answer he needs but close.  Frenchie’s eyes are suddenly a hard glitter and Izzy revels in the unexpected possessiveness.  He sees now that they have been leading to this from the start and despite his fears he wants it, so much that he can taste it.  Wants to be down for Frenchie, wants to be on his knees, or his one fucking knee.  He wants to take Frenchie’s orders and his hand and his whip, no less than he wants his love.

He becomes aware almost in passing that he’s breathing heavily, his mind in turmoil at how the conversation has turned.  He finds that he doesn’t know what to say, how to answer other than a hissed, “Yes.”

Frenchie nods, visibly relaxing and releases him.  He swallows heavily.  “The next time you go to Lucius, I want to be there, okay?  I want to learn.”

“We need to speak to him,” Izzy says, still feeling breathless.  The realisation of what he wants, and could have, from Frenchie is exhilarating and yet terrifying because he really doesn’t want to fuck up what they have already.  He sees no future for him now without the man and would rather not start on this new path than risk losing the man he loves.  Yet how can he not consider it?  “Both of us.”

“We do,” Frenchie agrees, dropping down to touch their lips together, the kiss soft and sweet, and Izzy finds himself holding on, those lovely hips again the perfect place for his hands.  “You’re perfect,” Frenchie breaths into his mouth, before their tongues brush, then he’s pulling back, leaving Izzy desperate for more.  “If I wanted you to... take direction from me now, would you do it?”

Izzy gives him a half smile as he strokes lovely soft skin.  Does Frenchie not know?  “When do I not?” he replies honestly.  He watches, amused, as Frenchie realises that in all their nights together so far, Izzy has let him lead, even when he’s not bottomed.  He loves Frenchie being in control in bed and has never stopped him and maybe the fact that Frenchie does it so unconsciously means that he will take to the rest of it as naturally as Izzy suspects.  “However,” Izzy continues, giving a little push to see what will happen, “if this was a thing, right now it could go several ways.”

Glancing down at Izzy’s cock, which is definitely getting interested in the conversation, Frenchie raises his eyebrows and gives his wicked grin, and suddenly they are back to the easy familiar way they are with each other.  “What ways would they be, babe?” he asks, voice playful again.  “Option one?” 

Izzy grins back, feeling on surer ground now.  “I tell you to fuck off.”

That earns a laugh and a quick nip to his bottom lip.  He chases his lover’s mouth, wanting to kiss but Frenchie moves maddeningly further than he can reach.  “Okay, and option two?”

“That’s a good one,” Izzy murmurs, dropping his voice and thrusting his hips as much as he can when pinned.  It’s not much but Frenchie notices.  “I do it because it's hot and I'm interested to see where it'll lead.”

“That is a good one,” Frenchie agrees, and this time he dips to share a lovely messy kiss before continuing.  “Sounding better, babe.  Do we have an option three?”

“We do,” Izzy replies, feeling suddenly hot.  “Option three is I say, yes sir.”

He watches his lover's eyes darken with the thought of that.  Frenchie swallows and licks his lips.  “Fuck, Iz.  I'm really liking the sound of option three but I don't think I’ve earned it.  Does that make sense?”

It’s a big step and Izzy totally gets it.  It’s something he doesn’t think they’ll be doing for quite a while yet, if they ever are, but Frenchie’s reaction was pleasing.  “Makes perfect sense, love, but it’s good that you like it.”

Sucking in a shaky breath, Frenchie leans down to kiss him again and this time it's deep and dirty.  “Let’s go with option two, shall we.  Put your hands above your head and hold on to the rail,” he instructs, then carries on kissing him, even as Izzy does as he’s told clasping the rail above the bed.

“Perfect,” Frenchie praises, licking over his parted lips.  Moving down, he nudges Izzy’s thighs further apart and settles between them.  “Legs wider, babe.”

It’s harder with one leg but Izzy is nothing if not adaptable and has got the hang of spreading himself open for Frenchie although this tiny dip into submission makes it easier.

“Fuck, baby, just look at you,” Frenchie croons, sitting up, hands going to his sore nipples and brushing over them lightly.  “You have no idea how beautiful you are like this, all spread out and desperate for me, your lovely slutty little hole just begging to be filled again.”  With a low moan, Izzy closes his eyes even as he feels his cheeks burning and arches up into his lover’s hands, wanting more.  When they began he had no idea Frenchie had such a mouth on him.  Now the beautiful bastard knows exactly how to reduce him to a wreck when he wants to.  “Oh look,” Frenchie continues, “your pretty cock’s come out to play again.  You like this, don’t you, baby.”

“Fuck, yes,” he moans, and just like that he’s gone from being able to hold a conversation to total head fuck, nothing more than a writhing mass of need.  The lovely dirty words are fizzing over his skin and they just add to the wonderful rightness of what Frenchie does to him.

“Good boy,” Frenchie whispers, and that nearly finishes him.  “Keep your eyes closed and stay still for me.  Can you do that?”

Izzy nods, not sure if he can even speak.  This isn’t a scene, it’s just the two of them in bed, but it’s intoxicating and perfect on a whole level they’ve never gone to before.  The more they are together the more Frenchie seems to know what he needs and how to play him as if he was his instrument, there for his pleasure alone.

Which, actually, he kind of is and at times like this he thinks this could be why he was made, to give Frenchie pleasure.  He thought he’d found that before and he was so wrong.  All along it had been this beautiful, sweet sexy man that he’d been waiting for his whole life and didn’t realise.

Then his thighs are being lifted, spread wide, and he feels the blunt head of his lover’s cock pressing into him, slick and hot and relentless.  Although it’s not long since they fucked the muscle has already started to tighten and it burns as he’s opened again.  He almost doesn’t recognise his own breathy whine as he grips the rail in earnest, shaking with the need to move but remaining still as he’s been told to.

Gasping as he bottoms out, Frenchie rests his forehead on Izzy’s chest while he catches his breath.  “Christ, you’re incredible,” he groans.  “The fucking things you make me want to do.  It's you, Iz, it's all you.  You make me want to possess you, put my mark on you and show the world that you’re mine.”

“Oh, fuck yes,” Izzy gasps, loving the thought of Frenchie marking him permanently and then cries out as an already sore nipple is sucked into wet heat and then bitten, just enough to be on the good side of too much.  Then, as Frenchie starts to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, the other side is bitten too and Izzy can do nothing but hold on, riding the pain, absorbing it into himself as it turns into something exquisite.

More bites, this time to his neck, sucking, bruising, there for everyone to see, and how did they go from playful to this so quickly?  As he so often does, Izzy feels swept away yet grounded, Frenchie his tide and anchor both.

“Tell me you love me,” Frenchie whispers, lips against his skin as though not wanting anyone else to hear.  His hips are still moving maddeningly slowly and Izzy wants it harder but he knows he’ll take whatever he’s given.

“You know I do,” he replies, his voice cracking.  He loves Frenchie and they both know it but he also has trouble saying it.  The last time he said he loved someone he got shot a few minutes later and although this is very different, the feeling remains that something will go wrong if he simply comes out with it.

“Tell me all the same,” Frenchie presses.  “Open your eyes, love.  Look at me.”

Obeying, Izzy looks into his lover’s eyes and there's something in Frenchie’s gaze, something sweet and needy, and he realises that knowing unsaid isn’t enough, that his lover needs to hear it.  “I love you,” he hears himself saying, almost sobbing.  “I love you so fucking much.”

And then Frenchie gives a moan and is kissing him, deep and wet, their tongues slick and desperate.  Izzy feels old, he feels young, he’s terrified of how much he needs this and he doesn’t know where he ends and Frenchie begins.  Frenchie, his beautiful Frenchie, who is fucking him harder now, cock deep inside him and then there’s a brutal twist on his nipple and pain crashes over him, more than enough to send him over the edge.  He comes hard, his near scream muffled by Frenchie’s mouth, caught within him, and that’s enough for Frenchie to follow because he’s coming, filling him with hot pulses, breath ragged as he kisses them through it with lips and teeth and tongues.  Only when the need to breathe intrudes, they part, panting, and Frenchie meets Izzy’s gaze with a wicked triumphant grin.

“Fuck me,” Izzy rasps, grinning back, his voice wrecked.  He feels wrung out from the emotional confession but that can’t deter the wash of joy he feels at their near simultaneous orgasm.

“Just did,” Frenchie pants into his neck, as he flops down on top of him. 

Finally removing his arms from the bed rail Izzy wraps them round his lover, needing to touch him.  He huffs a laugh and buries his face in Frenchie’s hair as his breathing steadies.  “Idiot,” he murmurs fondly, loving how different it is from his own, how soft.  He’s throbbing in several places and feels wrecked but sated on a level he never expected and somehow it feels like their first time again when they learned so much about each other and realised they had found something special.

Taking a deep breath, Frenchie slips out of him and Izzy gives a whine of disappointment although he knows Frenchie will clean him up which he’s really starting to enjoy.   “It's possible the Captain didn't hear that but everyone else will have done,” Frenchie observes, dropping a light kiss onto his shoulder, and not looking remotely bothered by the fact.

“Like I haven’t been woken up enough times by Spriggs howling.  Jim’s not exactly quiet either.”

With a kiss of apology, Frenchie extricates himself and stretches, sitting on the edge of the bunk to look down at Izzy.  “Are you all right, babe?” he asks, rubbing a finger through the cooling spend on his belly.  “Was that too much?”

Izzy’s pretty sure he looks utterly well fucked and content, because that’s certainly how he feels.  “Not even close.  Talking about things like that with you… fucking sexy as hell.”

Frenchie’s answering smile is like raw sunshine.  “That, Mister Hands, is because we are both fucking amazing.”

Well, Izzy certainly can’t argue with that.  He drifts sleepily as Frenchie wipes him down and washes him almost reverently, humming happily.  He’s used to it now, this ritual, and it’s become comforting, almost necessary.  The fuller Izzy is the better Frenchie likes it and he wonders if one day he’d be able to have more than just Lucius and Pete’s come inside him.  Something to put aside for now but definitely something he’d consider.

Izzy has no idea how, seemingly without effort, Frenchie has become as essential to him as breathing.  At moments like this he feels as though he’s on fire, every part of him desperate to be forged into something new.  He wants to be the better man he's becoming and he wants to be it for Frenchie.  In all his life he has never felt this happy, this content and he’s certain now that they are on the cusp of something new and precious between them.

He’s drifting off to sleep when he feels the bed dip and then Frenchie wraps himself around him and for a man who has slept alone for his entire life, it shouldn’t feel so good, so necessary.

“Fuck, babe, I nearly forgot,” Frenchie says sleepily as he settles.  “John spoke to me today about the party.  His exact words were ‘Can you ask the handsome little fekker if he’d be Calypso’s Consort’.”

“Why the fuck did he ask you?” Izzy mumbles into the darkness, amused nonetheless John’s description.

“Probably thought you’d turn him down.”

“I wouldn’t have,” he huffs, giving way to a yawn.

“You’ll do it?  Means we get to see you all dressed up and pretty again.”

Izzy smiles, liking the thought even though he’d never admit it.  “Yeah, I’ll do it, just as long as I spend most of it with you.”

“Thanks, babe,” Frenchie murmurs, sloppily kissing his cheek.  “Tell him tomorrow, yeah?  Make it showy.”

What the fuck is showy? Izzy wonders as he falls asleep.

The next day, Izzy waits until the crew have stopped for a break.  He leaves it a few minutes then enters the galley and walks up to John. 

With a bow he takes the big man’s hand and raises it to his lips.  “I'd be honoured,” he says, winking at John’s smile of delight then glances to Frenchie with a smirk.  Was that showy enough for you?

“Back on deck in five,” he tells them, and walks away.

“Oh my God, what just happened?” he hears Lucius ask.

“I do believe Prince Charming asked me to the ball,” John replies happily.

“When did he get to be so fucking sexy?” Archie asks, bemused.

Smirking, Izzy makes his way back on deck, mission accomplished.

Plans are afoot.  It’s Calypso’s birthday in three weeks’ time and a party in her honour seems to be tradition now.  Stede has already approved it and they will be docking for supplies in a couple of weeks. 

The Captain has asked Izzy to sing and he’s reluctantly agreed, mainly because Frenchie asked him to first and that’s the only request he gives a shit about.  They’ve spent most evenings recently thinking about songs and have agreed on three, one of which is La Vie en Rose as it’s already been requested but can’t decide on the fourth.  Now they just have to practice.

Izzy is deliberately wearing blue although he’ll be playing with Lucius and Pete later.  The shirt thing was getting out of hand and who knows who else Lucius and Roach had mentioned it to.  He feels more apprehensive about it this time because Frenchie will be there as well, in what capacity he hasn’t been told although he’s sure he’ll be participating.  Despite their conversation about it two weeks ago, it hasn’t been mentioned since yet it’s been there between them, a secret shared and relished but not spoken about.

Since Frenchie’s declaration of wanting to learn to hurt him and to give orders, Izzy has thought about little else.  In the end though he left Frenchie to speak to Lucius about wanting to learn to scene with them.  Talking to Frenchie is one thing but he’s not comfortable openly discussing things with Lucius no matter how close they’ve become.  Just because he’s new improved Izzy doesn’t mean he doesn’t have any of old Izzy’s hangups.  They can sort it out between them.  All he needs is to be given the rules, put in his place and do what he’s told.

A few nights this week Frenchie has vanished and come back late but Izzy hasn’t pressed, certain that he’ll have been with Lucius, working out the scene between them.  The thought of Frenchie seeing him so raw and open both thrills and scares him because from that moment there will be no turning back. 

Izzy has just finished his mid-day meal and is leaving the galley when Lucius finds him.  “There you are.  Can I borrow you for a minute?”

“Make it quick, Spriggs,” he frowns.  “I’ve got things to do.”

Lucius grins wickedly and leans in, speaking quietly.  “Follow me, Princess.”

Izzy groans but follows anyway, curious to see what the man’s up to.  He's led into the ball room and Lucius closes the door behind them.

“I have something for you,” Lucius tells him and holds up an object.  “Something to prepare you for what we’ll be doing later.”  It's a plug, not that wide but long enough to reach certain places and definitely something he’s going to feel.

“Pants down, Princess,” Lucius instructs.  “Hands on that barrel.”

“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” Izzy protests, irritated at Lucius trying something like this when it’s not what they’ve agreed to.

Lucius crosses his arms and gives him the look.  “I beg your pardon, Princess.”

“Fine.  You've got to be fucking kidding me, sir.”  

“Use your word if you want me to stop.”

“Are you challenging me to, you little shit?”

Lucius laughs.  “It’s just to open you up nicely for later.  You can only take it out for a call of nature and if you do clean yourself up and put it back.”

This is outside the bounds they’ve set but he’s reluctant to safeword for something so minor.  It’s only for a few hours.  He can cope with that.

Face flushing, he does as he's told.

“There you are, Izzy.  We’re just about to have afternoon tea.  Will you join us?”

Izzy looks at him flatly.  “Afternoon tea,” he repeats, unable to keep the disdain from his voice.  “Kind of you, Captain, but I have things to do.”

“Nonsense,” Stede holds open the door to their cabin.  “I insist.”

Helplessly, Izzy follows him.  He can feel a headache coming on.

Edward’s long legs are stretched out on the chaise and he’s beautiful but there’s no longing, no more desperate need.  Izzy finds himself comparing Edward to Frenchie and it’s his lover who makes his pulse race now.  Although it will always be difficult being around Edward, it seems that his heart has indeed moved on.

He’s directed to an armchair and he sits in it gingerly, unicorn leg straight out in front, and feels two pairs of eyes on him.

“Are you all right there, Iz?” Edward asks, looking concerned.

“Fine,” he snaps.  “I pulled a muscle in practice the other day, that’s all.  It’s still a bit tender.”

A cup and saucer is put down on the tiny table next to the chair and he thanks Stede with a nod although he hates tea and doesn’t plan to drink it.

“How’s the sword work going?” Stede asks, glancing down to his leg. 

Izzy shrugs.  “I’m as good I was before, now I need to be better.  It’s harder now,” he admits, but he’s worked hard and will continue to do so; he has precious things to protect.

They are heading into slightly choppier seas and Izzy feels the ship moving a little more than usual.  Honed from a lifetime at sea he moves with it and there’s equal movement in the plug.  The way he’s sitting it’s almost rubbing on the sweet spot making it hard to concentrate.  He’s going to fucking kill Spriggs.

“We’re doing all right though, aren’t we,” Stede notes.  “Had some good raids recently.”

Insignificant ones, compared to the old days but Izzy catches Edward’s eye and keeps his thoughts to himself.  Safe ones.  They are almost play raids, chosen carefully to be just enough to keep Stede happy but not enough to do much actual harm.  One day though, Izzy is very well aware, that will bite them on the arse when they’re least expecting it.

“Yeah, not bad.” 

“And how’s the crew holding up?”

“They’re fine, same as when we had our meeting this morning.”

“And you?”

“Still fine.”  He meets Edward’s eyes again and the man is smirking.  He knows this is awkward and he’s enjoying it, the shit.

“Good.  It’s nice to see you so… colourful lately.”

And then Izzy gets it.  Stede is being nosy and Edward, the big child that he can be sometimes, has encouraged him and is now enjoying the show.  There were days when it really was like dealing with a five year old.

“Black’s so last year, don’t you think,” he said, offering nothing.  If they want to find anything out they will have to do it themselves.  Stede looks like he can’t think of anything to say to that so Izzy takes pity on them.  “Look, this is all very nice but why am I actually here?”

He watches Edward and Stede exchange a look but he can’t interpret it.  “No reason, mate,” Edward replies.  “You’ve just looked a bit tired recently and we wanted to check you were okay.”

Since when have you cared?  He comes so close to saying it but bites it back.  “I… am… fine.  How are plans for the party going?” he asks, desperate to steer the stilted conversation away.

“We’re mostly leaving it to Oluwande and Archie,” Stede replies, equally relieved it appears.  “You’ll be singing?”

“I don’t seem to have a choice.  I’m doing four songs and that’s it.  I want to be able to enjoy the party as well.”

“Of course.  It wouldn’t be the same without your lovely voice though.”

Izzy curses himself as he feels himself colour.  He’s a fucking pirate, pirates do not blush.  Although apparently this one does.  “Just make sure we’re tucked away out of any shipping lanes.  We don’t want another repeat of last year.”

“I don’t think there will be.  I haven’t heard of any other crews gunning for us.”

And there is it, the opportunity he’s been waiting for.

“That’s because there aren’t many left,” he says, keeping his voice even.  “Bonnet, this golden age we’re supposed to be living in is coming to an end.  I doubt you’ve noticed but Edward will have; piracy’s getting harder every year and more dangerous.”

“Oh, surely not,” Stede scoffs, but Edward’s looking at Izzy more closely and nodding.

“The man’s right, love.  Most of the great captains have gone now, either killed or captured and hanged.”

“Including Blackbeard,” Izzy adds, although it’s without malice.  “Your influence is fading already and soon my reputation won’t be enough.  We need to start thinking about something new.”

“But this is a great life,” Stede protests.

“It is for you, Bonnet, but you’re living in fantasy land.”  He holds up his hand when Stede starts to protest.  “Hear me out.  Please.  You're so in love with the idea of being a pirate that you haven’t truly faced what it really means.  How many men have you actually killed?  One.  My hands are soaked in blood, so are Edward’s, and if there’s ever a reckoning then we are well and truly fucked.  Is that what you really want?”

“Not really,” Stede sighs.  “I just like being the Gentleman Pirate.”

“I know, and I do actually get it, but your fantasy is going to get us all killed.  Maybe it’s time to stop being pirates.”

Edward’s eyes are thoughtful, and Izzy can see that he’s not dismissing what he’s said.  “Never thought I'd hear you say that, mate.” 

“Never thought I’d say it but the wind’s changing, Edward, can't you feel it?  The English are crawling all over the Caribbean like lice; the Dutch are stepping their game up and fuck knows what the Spanish are doing.  Before long it’ll be us who’s gone too.  Only a fool tells the tide to go back because it won’t, it just keeps on coming.”

“It sounds like you’ve given this some thought.”

Izzy nods.  “A lot.  There are other ways to take things.  Frenchie might not be the best with a sword but he's an absolute fucking genius at conning people out of their money.  Oluwande is clever too and Lucius can forge documents.  Maybe it’s time to get smart, to become a new kind of pirate.”

Edward’s sitting up now and he’s nodding slowly.  Whether he’s Edward or Blackbeard, the man isn’t stupid but Stede’s the one who would need persuading.  Thankfully that’s not Izzy’s responsibility.    

“There’s something else you need to think about,” he adds.  “It's not safe out there for people like us and you can’t be so naïve that you don’t know it too.  We’re not just thieves, we’re sodomites and deviants.”  Stede winces at the words as though struck.  “Not my words, but they need to be said.  I don’t like it either but not everyone is a tolerant as we are.  How we live here is pretty normal for pirates but the wider world would never accept us.  This ship is safe and it’s a place we can all live in peace and be what we are.”

Quickly, he stands and almost sighs in relief.  “Think about it,” he says.  “Thanks for the tea.”

Leaving the cabin, he sees Lucius at the rail.  “Mister Spriggs,” he bellows across the deck.  “A word if you please.  Now.”

He stamps down and heads for the ball room, hearing footsteps behind him.  Turning he glares at Lucius.  “Inside.”

Closing the door behind them, he glares at the younger man, who looks a mixture of concerned and terrified.

“Izzy, are you all right?”

Breathing deeply, Izzy feels his temper abate although he’s still wound up.  “I have just had to endure afternoon tea consisting of polite conversation with Edward and Stede with a fucking plug stuffed up my fucking backside.  So, no, I am not all right.”

Suddenly understanding, Lucius has the decency to look contrite.  “Oops?”

“Oops does not quite cover it.  Never do that to me again, you little shit.  Do you know how hard it is to hold down a conversation with something like that up your arse?  What am I saying, of course you probably do.”

Lucius looks stricken, ignoring his jibe.  “I really am sorry, Iz.  I thought it would save time to have you open, and it was kind of hot knowing you had it in you.”

“It was, initially, but you don't get to say when we do something outside our agreed limits just because I let you be in charge at certain times.  It's something we both need to decide on, all right?”

“Yeah, you’re right.  I didn’t think it through.” 

“I failed to make my ground rules known so that's on me,” Izzy tells him, unwilling to let the man take all the blame, “but we will be having a chat about them very soon.  I should have said no but I got caught up in the moment, and safewords are there for protection, Lucius, not as a fucking challenge.”

Lucius is good but he’d clearly let enthusiasm take over from good sense.  He’s experienced and proficient at what he does but got carried away and it’s absolutely not going to happen again.  Izzy will make sure of that.

“Was it bad?” Lucius looks at him from under his lashes and Izzy feels his annoyance lessen.  “With the Captains?”

“It was fucking excruciating.  I had to tell them I’d pulled a muscle because I kept wincing every time I moved.”

“Shit.”

With a sigh, Izzy pulls Lucius over and pushes him to sit on the barrel he had been bent over earlier.  Moving between his legs, Izzy cups Lucius’ chin, looking into his eyes.

“Love, you need to understand that it's my… purpose on this ship to keep you all safe and I can't do that if I'm compromised in any way.  The more I care about this fucking idiotic crew the more necessary it is to protect you.  All of you.  Yes?”

“Yes,” Lucius whispers.  “Do you want to cancel tonight?”

“Fuck no, but I'll be very glad when you take this thing out of me.  You can open me up later.”

“It's still there?”

“Of course it is, you twat, I’ve just come from their cabin.  But just remember that you and I will be having a conversation about what is appropriate when I'm trying to do my job.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucius murmurs looking so contrite that Izzy can’t help a smile.  “Still love me?”

Izzy huffs a laugh.  “I'm thinking about it.  Now get this fucking thing out of my arse.”

Chapter Text

Once again Izzy finds himself outside the door to the playroom and takes a moment to collect himself.  He’s had a whole life of disguising his feelings and there are times when he’s better at it than others.  Here, as he steadies his breathing, he knows he looks calm and prepared.  It’s a lie though.  He feels on edge, he feels eager, he’s jittery, he’s calm, he wants to pull some hair out and how the fuck can he feel all these things at once because he wants this, and needs it, and is afraid of it all at the same time.

This time he has come completely unarmoured.  He’s dressed in soft linen with no leather or weapons in sight.  He’s clean inside and out, his hair is newly washed and has dried softly, falling over his brow instead of slicked back.  He knows he’s going to end up a sweaty mess anyway.  It startled him, looking in his small mirror, how much younger that made him look, how much more vulnerable and for the first time in years he wondered what he would look like without his beard.

He knocks quietly unlike his usual loud rap.  He’s started knocking on the Captain’s door recently because he’s caught him fucking too many times, and he really doesn’t need to see that again.  This is the only other door Izzy Hands knocks on. 

The door opens and there’s Lucius, warm and welcoming, as though they hadn’t seen each other all day.  “Hi, babe,” Lucius says, taking his hand and leading him into the room.  “Are you ready for this?”

“I’ve been ready for days,” he admits, his voice already sounding strained.  Despite his misgivings about doing this again, now he’s here he wants it so much he couldn’t walk away if he was paid to.

“Well, we’re certainly ready for you,” Lucius smiles.  Izzy swallows heavily and looks around, nodding to Pete, who’s dressed this time, sitting on the bed.  He looks quickly around the room, looking for equipment or clues at what they will be doing to him.  Nothing seems out of place and he frowns when he can’t see anything.  Then Izzy’s gaze finds Frenchie’s and for a moment everything else fades and there’s only the two of them in the quiet lamp lit room.  Frenchie is sitting at the back, just in the shadows, lounging on a chair.  He looks calm and beautiful and not the first time Izzy wonders how long he’ll have the man, before he fucks it up and loses him.  He puts that constant worry behind him though.  He has no idea what Frenchie will be doing tonight, whether he’ll be watching or participating.  He’s spent quite a lot of time with Lucius over the last week so he’s sure the two of them will have worked something out between them.

With a tut, Lucius takes Izzy’s chin and steers his head back.  “Eyes on me, please,” he says, firm but without censure, and Izzy gives a tight nod.  He watches as Lucius holds himself higher, drops the cute persona they see every day and becomes someone he doesn’t really know.  This Lucius is calm and assured and very sexy.

“Before we begin, I want to apologise for what I did earlier,” Lucius says contritely, and Izzy can see that he genuinely means it.  “You are absolutely right, Izzy, it was wrong of me and not within our agreed boundaries.  I could have embarrassed you in front of the Captain and I’m truly sorry.  It won't happen again and I hope we can move past it.”

A little surprised by the sincerity of the apology, Izzy nods.  That took courage and he’s impressed.  “Apology accepted, Luce.  It’s done.”

“Thank you,” Lucius sounds relieved.  He fucked up and they all know it and Izzy knows that Lucius has learned a lesson from it.  Just because you’re in charge doesn’t mean you can’t make mistakes and if you do, own up to them, make it better and move on.  Izzy’s fucked up enough times in his life to know how it feels and he wishes he’d dealt with it with as much grace as Lucius just has.  “I take no blame for you being so fucking hot though,” he adds, brushing the hair back from Izzy’s brow.  “You really are lovely, Iz.”

Izzy gives a huff of amusement.  “If I wasn’t on my best behaviour, I’d tell you to fuck off.”

Lucius raises an eyebrow but looks entertained.  “Then I’m very glad you are on your best behaviour.  I’m really not in the mood to deal with a brat tonight, although I’m sure you could be one if you felt like it, hmm?”

“No, I don’t do…” Izzy replies and before he’s even finished speaking Lucius casually slaps his face.

Although it wasn’t hard, the unexpected violence of it shocks him for a second.  In another mindset he’d have a dagger against someone’s throat for doing that but here, it’s just putting him in his place and proves once again that Lucius really does know how to push his buttons.  He thinks he hears a soft gasp from Frenchie, no doubt not expecting Lucius to hit him like that, or for him to accept it.  It’s part of the game though, part of the role he’s playing here and it’s a game Izzy likes. 

“Izzy, Izzy, Izzy,” Lucius says, shaking his head.  “Lying to me when we haven’t even started isn’t something I’d recommend.”

Izzy sighs, flushing slightly.  Lucius is right, of course, and how did he even think he could get that past him.  “Yeah, all right,” he admits.  “I can brat with the best of them.  Just wasn’t planning on with you yet.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that either,” Lucius replies, raising an eyebrow at ‘yet’.  “I’m very good at dealing with brats.”  

Izzy wouldn’t be at all surprised and despite the warning it’s something he wants to try one day soon.  Being good and obeying orders is part of why this works for him but there’s something to be said for the punishment you can get for kicking back sometimes.  While he’s very aware that Lucius is far too smart to let him get away with courting punishment for the sake of it, Izzy is sure that the younger man’s imagination will think up something suitably interesting for him nonetheless. 

Looking amused, Lucius kisses him.  It’s nothing but a soft press of lips but Izzy feels his eyes flutter shut and he opens his mouth slightly, allowing Lucius in.  He remains passive, allowing Lucius to take what he wants and he realises that it’s the first time he’s kissed someone else in front of his lover and he can’t help but wonder what Frenchie is thinking.

Lucius kisses expertly and was one of the crew who were talking about making a play for him, according to Frenchie.  Although apparently Frenchie didn’t think of him as serious competition.  Izzy is very aware that Frenchie is like him, damaged on some level, although it’s not something they’ve talked about yet, but Lucius is a bright butterfly and Izzy thinks that in the end his darkness would have unintentionally broken his wings.  Frenchie has nothing that’s not been broken already and Izzy, well, there isn’t much he doesn’t know about broken things.

With a hum, Lucius breaks the kiss, giving a soft bite to his bottom lip.  “Let’s go over the rules,” he says, becoming more serious.  “Tonight isn’t about control so our rules are different this time and very simple.  Everyone here is Sir and I expect politeness, but you may speak whenever you like and make what noise you like.  You can also come once, whenever you like, and you don't need to ask permission.”

Perplexed, Izzy frowns at him, not what he had been expecting.  “What’s the catch?” he asks suspiciously.

“How well you know me,” Lucius chuckles and brings out an item from his pocket.  “Have you ever worn one of these?”  In his hand is a series of metal loops joined together.  “It’s a cock cage.  I'd like to put it on you after you've come.  It’ll stop you from getting hard again which will make things a little more intense.”

What the fuck devious mind thought that one up?  Izzy isn’t sure what to think.  He’s seen them before but never been put in one.  “I know what it is,” he says, looking at the thing.  It’s slightly horrible but also intriguing.  He licks his bottom lip.  “I’ve never… yeah, okay.  Yeah, you can put it on me.”

“Are you sure?  Because once it's on it's not coming off until Frenchie says so.  Your cock is his tonight, not mine.”

Oh.  Izzy wasn’t expecting that.  So Frenchie is part of this after all, which makes him even keener to see where this is going to go.  He wishes he could see his lover’s face but he’s not going to court actual punishment this early in the night.  “I'm sure.”

Looking pleased, Lucius strokes his face.  “You’ll let us do anything, won’t you,” he murmurs silkily. 

And that’s the thing.  He will.  There’s nothing Lucius could do to him that’s worse than what Edward has already done so it means he can relax and take whatever’s given him, with the absolute knowledge that Lucius never would.  “Yeah, pretty much,” Izzy shrugs, looking almost embarrassed at the flush of warmth Lucius’ words give him.  “You’ll never do anything to harm me.”

Lucius pulls him into a brief hug.  “Never will, beautiful.  You know already that you’re going to be restrained but I'd like to blindfold you as well, if that's all right.  If you don’t want it, you can say no with no consequence.”

The only thing he’s asked for tonight is for pain and to be restrained.  He hadn’t thought of a blindfold specifically but he has no objection.  “It’s fine.”

“Thank you, love.  One last thing.  Because I proved how ineffective safewords can be sometimes, we have a new system that we’re going to use from now on.  Your safeword still counts and will stop everything but I understand now that you might not want to use it because you may just want us to slow down or renegotiate.”  After what happened that afternoon, Izzy definitely agrees with that.  “We’re going to use colours, all right?  Green for go and good, yellow for slow down, pause or adjust and red for stop.  Can you repeat them back to me please.”

Izzy does and Lucius smiles his approval.  “Good boy.  They will apply to any scene we do from now on and even if you don’t have permission to speak you may give a colour at any time and you don’t need to wait to be asked, yes?”

“Understood.  Thank you, sir.”

As it always does, the ‘good boy’ starts the fuzzy pathway in his head and he automatically adds ‘sir’ now that they are heading in the right direction.  

Although he keeps his eyes on Lucius, he hears movement from behind him.  “Pete, can you undress Izzy for us please.”

It takes him a second to realise that Frenchie has given that instruction, his voice calm yet quietly authoritative.  Can you undress him for us.  Which implies that Frenchie is very much part of this scene, not just a bystander.  Izzy feels a shiver of anticipation rising, desperately wanting that to be the case.

“Sure, Frenchie,” Pete acknowledges, walking up to him and it doesn’t escape his notice that the only one calling them Sir tonight is him.  Not that he minds but it has established himself very firmly at the bottom of the hierarchy in the room.

Izzy immediately raises his arms so his shirt can be removed.  He’s been here before and likes Pete undressing him.  It’s weirdly sexy and part of the ritual now.  When his chest is bared, Pete looks at him admiringly.  “I’d forgotten how gorgeous you are, Iz.”  He looks over to Frenchie.  “Can I kiss him please?”

Walking into his field of vision, Frenchie cocks his head, studying him.  “He's beautiful, isn't he,” Frenchie agrees, casually, as though talking about a pet.  “Yes, you can kiss him.”

Pete thanks him and leans in.  “Izzy, make it good for Pete,” Frenchie instructs, and Izzy barely suppresses a moan before Pete’s mouth is on his.  Pete's kiss is more tentative but Izzy opens his mouth to him, his eyes shutting, doing as instructed and using all his considerable skill to kiss the younger man.  Frenchie giving him orders is quite possibly going to kill him.

It’s not a long kiss but Izzy is breathing harder when Pete pulls back with a last lick on his bottom lip.  Grinning, he guides Izzy to the bed and nudges his shoulder slightly for him to sit down.  The leg is removed first, then Izzy lifts his hips for his pants to be taken off, making no move to do it himself, until he’s unashamedly naked and already feeling a little glassy eyed.

He notices Lucius give Frenchie a little nod and then his lover kneels in front of him and takes his hand.  “Baby, there's something I need to ask you before you go all floaty boaty in your head,” Frenchie says, and Izzy snorts an amused huff at his description.  “We touched on this couple of weeks ago and you seemed to like the idea.  I’d like to put a mark on you that’s mine.”

Feeling that the air has just been forced out of him, Izzy makes himself breathe.  Frenchie’s expression is serious but tentative, as though he’s expecting to be turned down.  “What… kind of mark?”

“Three cuts, not deep, just enough for it to scar.  My initial, maybe here,” Frenchie indicates his hip, “where only we can see it.  You don't have to, babe, which is why I'm asking you before your head gets all funny.  It’s…”

“Yes,” Izzy interrupts, never more certain of anything.  “Yes.  Fuck, yes.   Do it.”

Frenchie gives a sharp breath in, his face lighting up.  “You're sure?  I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“Fuck careful,” Izzy tells him.  “Whip me, cut me, I don’t care.  I want your mark on my skin, whatever you want.”

And he does, desperately, now that the suggestion has been made.  The story of his life has been written on his body in scars; so many mistakes, so many punishments, so much pain, and not one of them has been given to him with love, because of love.  Until now.

Leaning in, Frenchie puts a hand behind his neck and pulls him forward for a kiss, deep and claiming.  Kissing Lucius and Pete was good but nothing like this.  Izzy loves Frenchie’s smell, his taste, the way he kisses, hard and messy.  “You’re so good to me,” Frenchie murmurs, between tiny bites to his lips that are tantalising and delicious.  “Everyone will know you’re mine.”

“Yours,” Izzy agrees huskily, knowing absolutely that this is right, although he suspects that most of the crew are very aware of that already. 

“Love you so much,” Frenchie whispers into his ear, and glances to Lucius who has sat down to wait for them.  “Come on, babe, let’s get you ready.”

As though on cue, Lucius takes over and Izzy is positioned on the bed on his back.  His wrists are buckled into leather cuffs and his arms are secured out to the sides with rope.  Pete has devised longer cuffs and lined them with leftover pieces of velvet donated by John which go round Izzy’s thighs, spreading his legs apart, immobilising him completely.  His legs won’t be able to stay like this for long but for now he wants to enjoy the feeling.  He feels helpless yet strangely empowered and feels himself sinking into the warm place in his head where he has no worries or care.

“Ready for your blindfold, Princess?” Lucius asks, as he tests the ropes, his knots impeccable.

“Please, sir,” Izzy whispers, Lucius using the name is the first step to his submission.  He feels his tension just melt away.  His breathing deepens as Lucius carefully wraps a long piece of black silk around his head several times and ties it off at the side.  “Colour, Princess?” he asks, moving away from the bed.

Izzy feels almost dreamy, safe in this world of darkness.  He doesn’t know what they are going to do other than his request for it to hurt but whatever it is, he welcomes it.  “Green, sir.  Very green.”

“Good boy,” Lucius praises.  “We’re going to warm you up now.  Remember your colours.”

Nodding, Izzy remembers that Lucius always wants a verbal acknowledgement.  “Yes, sir.”

He hears movement as the three men move around and waits patiently, content now that he’s actually here.

“You should see yourself, Princess,” Lucius says huskily, blowing warm breath along Izzy’s cock, which is standing to attention even though it hasn’t been touched.  “Tied down and spread out like a slut for us.  Do you feel like a slut, I wonder?”

Izzy has no doubts what he looks like.  Being on display like this should be humiliating and in some respects it is which is what makes it good, but it’s also feels freeing, liberating in a way he wishes he’d known about years earlier.  “Yes, sir.  I'm a slut.”

“Hmm, a nasty, dirty, filthy little slut,” Lucius continues in the same tone.  “What do you think, Frenchie?”

“I think he's a fucking beautiful slut.”  Frenchie’s voice sounds strained, aroused, and Izzy feels a rush of pride that he’s causing it and that his lover thinks he’s beautiful.  The fact that Frenchie is not put off in any way by what they are doing fills him with cautious joy. 

Lucius gives a smirky laugh.  “Well, we all know you’re biased there, don't we.”

“You’ve seen him, right?” Frenchie replies possessively, and Izzy basks in it.

It’s then that they start touching him.  A hand starts caressing his chest, smooth oiled fingers teasing, finding a nipple and twisting it gently.  Further down a hand ghosts up his cock, barely touching, while another strokes his balls.  A moment later he feels an oiled finger start to rim him lazily and he gives a soft whimper, unable to help himself.  Individually the touches are negligible but together they have potential to be intense.

He knows they are starting easy on him and although he doesn’t need it, he appreciates it.  Not because he wants it easy but he knows it will build him up to take more and he really wants to feel it tomorrow.  And maybe he will because the caresses now alternate with tiny pinches, both nipples getting similar attention, at the same time as his balls are given similar treatment. 

Gradually the pinches get harder until there’s a sharp slap across his nipple and he draws in a sharp breath.  Then there’s another on the other side and then back to the first, a little harder again and Izzy lets out a needy moan.  Part of him wants to scoff because he’s taken floggings and whippings that most men would run away from screaming yet the slaps and pinches are building into something unexpected and good.

When his cock is slapped his whole body shakes and his mouth falls open in a desperate whine.  He makes no attempt to hold back and the whine turns into a moan as he feels the plug he’d been wearing that afternoon being slowly worked back inside.

“You should see yourself now,” he hears Lucius say smugly.  “You look so lovely like this.  Don’t forget, Princess, you can come at any time.  The quicker you come the sooner you get a cage on that pretty cock.”

Izzy plans to hold back for as long as he can.  He doesn’t know what Lucius has planned but he wants to avoid the cage although he knows that he won’t be able to prevent it if he’s going to be fucked, even with a toy.  He’s just getting his breath back when there’s a sharp stinging strike below his balls and this time he keens loudly.  It’s breathtaking and dreadful and he wants more.

“That's it, Princess, let it out.  No one's going to hear you down here so you can make as much noise as you like.”

He’s sure it’s a crop of some sort as it lands twice on his cock, nearly making him scream.  Then it goes lower to work on the inside of his thighs, striking the sensitive skin there hard enough to leave bruises and at the same time the stinging slaps continue on his chest, sharp and bright and becoming vicious.

It’s then that he realises that there are too many hands working on him, there is too much going on, which means that one of them hurting him is Frenchie.  He’s certain that the fingers in his arse were Pete because despite his bluster the man is too submissive for a more active role.  So Frenchie is either working his chest or his cock and whichever he is it’s so good and every day his beautiful man surprises him more.

But it’s getting hard to think.  The insides of his thighs are on fire, his tits are getting hot and sore from the stinging slaps and the random and unexpected slaps on his cock are appallingly good.  Between slaps an oiled hand slowly works his cock, the pace maddeningly even.  He knows what they want and it’s becoming harder to hold back.  Pain and sex have always been linked together for him since he was claimed by Hornigold so long ago, and he feels his orgasm start to build whether he wants to hold back or not.  He knows he has good control but his body is under assault and there’s nothing he can do about it.  When Pete starts fucking him with the plug a little harder he can't hold back and yells as his cock erupts, shooting come almost up to his face.

“Oh my God, that was amazing, Izzy,” Pete says admiringly, as the slaps stop and go back to gentle rubs.

Panting, open mouthed, Izzy rides the aftermath of his orgasm out.  He’s getting more sex than he’s ever had in his life now that he’s with Frenchie but even so that was mind blowing.  He feels woozy and floaty and wonders how much warming up he’s going to get.  Is he warm yet?  Bloody feels like it.

He doesn’t hear movement until there’s a hand on his chin gently moving his head before lips are kissing him.   “So good for us, beautiful,” Frenchie whispers.  “You’re doing so well.”

Izzy just sighs, soaking in the delicious throbs made better by Frenchie’s approval.  “Love you, sir,” he breathes, his head swimming, then gasps as another mouth cleans him up, hot and eager.  Pete.  Probably.

He feels Frenchie move away, then another hand is stroking his face.  “Give me a colour please, Princess.”

Showing teeth, Izzy grins although his words are slurred.  “Green, sir.  Very fucking green.”

“That’s my good boy.  Still okay with the blindfold?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wonderful.  Time for your present to go on then.”  Lucius’ voice sounds smug and Izzy knows the man is planning something.  Present?  His fuddled mind registers that a moment later.  He’s very sure the cage isn’t a fucking present because wearing it isn’t something he wants to make a habit of.  Frenchie had better not be getting ideas.

His cock is sensitive after coming and being slapped and he tenses as it’s taken and carefully fed into the silver hoops, the last hoop going round his balls.  It feels strange but not actually unpleasant, like he’s being cradled, kept safe. 

“Fuck, babe, that looks pretty on you,” Frenchie says, and he feels fingers stroking his skin through the rings.  “What does it feel like?”

Izzy thinks about it for a moment, wanting to be honest.  “Nice, sir.  Like I’m being held.”  And it is, now that he’s had a minute to get used to it, although he’s very aware that’s it’s unlikely to stay that way.

“Yeah?  Well, it looks hot as fuck, babe.”  Frenchie’s voice is warm and Izzy can tell that he’s smiling, pleased at Izzy’s reaction.  “We’ve not quite finished on your front.  Think you can take more?”

More?  He’d assume that was it for his warm up.  Fuck yes, he can take more.  “Yes, sir.  Please, sir.”

“Forty more,” Frenchie says decisively.  “Twenty bottom, twenty top.  You can take that for us.”

I’ll take it for you.  He may have said it out loud, or maybe not for there was no censure for the missing sir.  He may even be babbling but he wants it so much and it's Frenchie asking it of him.

“My good boy,” Frenchie murmurs into his ear and Izzy falls deeper.

This time his fuzzy mind realises that he was very wrong to think this was something to be scoffed at because now it fucking hurts and it's bright and brilliant and definitely heading in the right direction.  He sure it's Frenchie at the top and, oh, he's using a crop too, nasty and sharp, which means Lucius is working on his thighs and under his balls, the attention exquisitely painful.  By the time they have given him the last one he’s trembling, gasping, his skin on fire and he knows he’s going to be feeling it for days.

It’s then, as the sting dies down that he feels the pinch from his cock as it tries to swell again and is prevented from doing so.  It’s not exactly painful but it is uncomfortable.  There’s a chuckle from Lucius as he notices and Izzy feels himself flush.  “No getting hard for you, Princess,” he’s told.  “Not yet anyway.”  He whines in frustration but that only earns a laugh.  “You agreed to wear it, Princess, there’s no one else to blame.”

He sighs, still too buzzed to come back with a reply.  He lies unresisting as his arms are freed and massaged firmly, then his thighs are released and he groans as his legs flop down.  After his arms, his legs are rubbed thoroughly which sends another jolt through him as whoever it is makes no attempt to avoid the bruises.

A solid hand settles on the back of his neck and another on his shoulder as he’s gently sat up.  Pete.  “Time for a drink,” he’s told, and a cup of water is held to his lips.  “Thank you, sir,” he whispers, after taking his fill. 

“You okay, babe?” he’s asked softly.

With a sigh, he snuggles into Pete’s solid warmth.  “Fucking fantastic,” he slurs, the hurt softening now, just an ever-present throb, comforting and familiar.  Fuck but he’s missed this.

“Look at you,” he hears Frenchie say as a hand runs through his hair.  “You look so pretty like this, all blissed out.  Let’s get you on your front, yeah.  Time for round two.”

He feels Pete give him a kiss on his cheek and then he’s being turned onto his front, arms out to his sides and cuffed again.  A thin pillow has been put there for his head, low so that it won’t crick his neck, and it filters through his fogged brain that it’s Frenchie giving the instructions not Lucius.  He feels a rush of pride as he settles, going where they want to put him.

It’s only when his thighs are cuffed again and tied that he feels something is wrong.  After a moment he grunts and tenses.  “Please, sir.  Yellow.”

Immediately Lucius is at his side, stroking his face.  “Are you all right, love?  What’s wrong?”

“Sorry, sir,” he mumbles.  “Bad leg, hip hurting like this, sorry.”

He feels a soft kiss on his lips.  “Sweetheart, I'm so proud of you for telling me.  What if we took the restraint off your bad leg altogether and cuff the other one with your ankle instead?  Would that help?”

He nods.  “Thank you, sir.”

Once he’s been rearranged and his hip is no longer nagging, he sinks back into the quiet place in his head.  There’s a dip on the bed beside him and a hand runs down his back, right down to where the plug is buried in him and even before he speaks he knows it’s Frenchie.  “Ready to ramp it up, babe?  Lucius wants me to warm your gorgeous arse up with a paddle but I’m giving you the chance to say no and Luce do it instead.  It’s absolutely fine if you want him to do it, love.  I’ve practiced but I’m still new to this.”

Izzy doesn’t even hesitate.  “You, sir.  Please.” 

He hears a hum of approval.  “Thank you, babe.  Just to give you something to think about, after I’ve done that, Lucius is going to use a belt on your back, then we’ve got a special treat for you and after that I’m going to put my mark on you.  Are you okay with all that?”

Okay?  He feels like he’s flying.  “Fuck, yes,” he moans.

There’s a huff and a finger taps impatiently on his arse, three times.  “I'm sure I heard Lucius say he wanted you to be polite,” Frenchie says, sounding disappointed.

Tears well in his eyes.  The thought of disappointing Frenchie is awful.  How could he have been so stupid?  “Sorry, sir.  I didn’t mean it.  I meant, yes sir.”

There’s a gentle hand on his back.  “I know you didn’t, baby, and I know you won't do it again, because you’re so good for us.  I’m going to warm your arse up now.  You took forty from Lucius last time so I'm going to do the same.”

Izzy can’t process exactly what his lover is saying because all he can hear is the way he’s saying it, the gentle authority, the absolute assurance that he’s in control but still so affectionate, so proud of him.  He’s never been spoken to like this in a scene before.  It makes him want to cry, to be good, to be better than good, but he holds it back not ready to completely let go yet.

A hand is put in the center of his back, Frenchie’s he can tell, grounding him, connecting them, and when the paddle comes down the hand soothes without moving so much as an inch.  It just presses, telling him without words, just by touch alone, that he's safe and no one will harm him.

The blows are not too hard but they are not soft either and by the time he's told he's taken twenty he’s shaking, his arse hot and throbbing, but the hand connecting them remains and it feels like it’s almost tattooed into his skin, part of him, grown into him.  He feels movement and then his cheeks are being spread and a hot, wet tongue licks up from behind his balls to where the plug is seated and swirls around the base.  He can’t speak for the life of him but a howl bubbles out of him, then a groan as his cock tries to join in but is prevented from swelling. 

“Twenty more now,” Frenchie tells him softly, so it must be Pete licking him.  He should have known, the man’s a demon with his tongue.  “Then Lucius is going to take the belt to your back.”

The mouth withdraws and this twenty are harder, not pushing what he can take but put alongside everything else so far, they send him further down.  Each blow of the paddle is exquisite and perfect, pleasure and pain melding together so perfectly that he doesn't know where one begins and the other ends.  Frenchie’s placement is just right and it seems like he’s been doing it for years, that he knows exactly what he’s doing. 

Then when it’s finished, Lucius is there, stroking his upper back and shoulders with the supple leather, indicating where’s he’s going to be laying the belt.  “This is our last set, Princess.  Twenty strikes and you’ll thank me after each one.  Are you ready?”

His arms outstretched, his back exposed, Izzy has been ready all night.  This is what he wants, the final pain to send him where he needs to go.  “Yes, sir,” he acknowledges, his voice a broken cracked thing.

“Colour.”

“Green, sir.”  Very, very, fucking green.  Even as his mind slips away, he feels hands settle on the back of his thighs, not holding him down, just touching, their warmth providing that connection again as though whatever is going to happen is being shared.

Then… there’s a swish as the belt travels through the air.  It lands across his shoulders, brilliant and blinding and he cries out, the air forced from him with the purity of the blow.

“Thank you, sir,” and it comes to him,

“Thank you, sir,” as bright and glorious as the pain,

“Thank you, sir,” the epiphany,

“Thank you, sir,” that he can have this,

“Thank you, sir,” that there's nothing wrong with him having this,    

“Thank you, sir,” that he doesn’t care what anyone thinks,

“Thank you, sir,” that he loves it,

“Thank you, sir,” that he doesn’t have to make himself into someone who doesn’t want this,

“Thank you, sir,” that he can be himself.

The rest of it passes like a blur.  He could be crying, he doesn't know, the blows from the belt soaking to him and he's soaring, the bed left behind, only Frenchie’s hands on his thighs grounding him, keeping him from flying away entirely.

When it's done and his back has joined the triumvirate of pain, there are three pairs of hands on him, caressing him, soothing, as he's released and he’s pulled into someone’s arms, Lucius he thinks as he’s held and told how good he's been and how beautiful and how perfect.  Throbbing, eyes wet, he basks in it and feels utterly complete.

He is held for a while but has no measure of time until he feels the scarf around his eyes being unwound.  “Time for this to come off.  Watch your eyes, Princess.”

Izzy blinks a little.  Even though there are only two candles burning it seems bright for a moment.

“How do you feel, love?” Frenchie asks him from behind as cooling ointment is rubbed into his shoulders and upper back.

He thinks about it for a moment.  “I can fly,” he whispers, the words appearing in his mouth by themselves.  “Did you know I could do that?”

“I didn't, babe,” his lover answers with an indulgent smile in his voice.  “But I know you’re clever so nothing would surprise me.”

He feels Lucius chuckle where he’s pressed against him.  “How do you feel, Princess?” Lucius asks gently, repeating the question.

“Tired,” he admits.  “Hurts, sir, but good.”

Lucius kisses his forehead.  “You were amazing and took it so well for us so we’ve got a treat for you now.  We’re just going to put you how we want you.”

Putting him how they want him means he is draped over shirtless Frenchie, head nestled into his neck with Frenchie’s arms around him.  He’s straddling his thighs, arse on display and his caged cock is pressed between them.  He assumes that he’s going to be fucked and he hopes that all three of them will have him because his head is in the place where he wants to be their slut and used until he's running with their spend.

Is that his treat? 

What he gets is the plug being carefully removed and two very slick fingers entering him and rubbing gently on the sweet spot inside him, circling over and over, and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before.  His caged cock tries desperately to swell but can’t and that just adds to the building intensity. 

“Is that nice, Princess?” Lucius asks, sounding smug and a little amused.  It’s obviously his fingers inside him.  “Let’s see how much of this you can take, shall we.  Remember your colours.”

He can’t even reply, the fingers rubbing in that spot are robbing him of the power of speech.  It almost feels like he needs to piss, there’s a pressure but it’s exquisite and relentless and something suddenly overtakes him, something unprepared for, something like lightning, like fire, like he’s coming but it’s better, overwhelming, and he cries out as his cock throbs, liquid seeping from him, a steady flow onto the man beneath him.  Gasping, panting for breath, he feels the fingers slow, giving him a moment and he clings to Frenchie, shaking, his skin made of pain, his whole body a broken thing made for nothing but twisted pleasure.

Then, in his ear Frenchie’s voice threatens to undo him completely.  “Fuck, baby, you should see yourself, spread out like a slut over me with Lucius’ fingers inside you.  He’s good, isn’t he, can keep this going for hours.”  Izzy moans, not sure if he could take another minute, but there’s no let up.  Beneath him, Frenchie rubs his cock against his belly and Izzy feels the slick glide.  “You’ve made me all wet, little slut,” Frenchie breathes.  “You’ve made me dirty but it’s not enough yet.  I think you can be dirtier yet, don’t you?”

He wants to speak, to say that yes, he can be as dirty as they want him to be but all he can do is whine as the fingers start up again, the gentle circling that is going to drive him out of his mind.  Once again it overtakes him, and he wants to come, he wants to cry, he wants to scream and his whole body is shaking with it.  His cock is trying to swell and it can’t and it somehow makes it even better because he can feel the liquid seeping out onto his lover, soaking him and it’s so intimate, so fucking lovely and also utterly awful.

He's shuddering in Frenchie’s arms when he hears Lucius.  “What do you reckon, love?  One more, do you think?”

“Fuck, yeah, at least,” Frenchie replies, as if he isn’t there.  “Our slut’s soaked me but I think there’s another one in him yet.”

“Let’s find out,” Lucius chuckles, and his fingers start the lazy circling again.  This time he thinks he screams as the sensations eventually overtake him.  It’s beyond orgasm, beyond pain, it’s something faster than light that spirals through him, bright and unbearable, in that moment both the best and the worst thing he’s ever experienced, until all that’s left are throbs of returning pain, hot tears and a bone-weary exhaustion. 

He wants to say yellow because he can’t take any more, he absolutely can’t.  Instead, he breaks, sobbing into his lover’s neck, the pain and the pleasure too much for his body to take.  He hears Frenchie say something to Lucius but he doesn’t know what except that the fingers gently withdraw, leaving him empty and Frenchie is holding him so tightly, kissing him sweetly and telling him how good he’s been.  Laid bare, he clings to Frenchie, his anchor, his rudder, his compass, until he has nothing left just the bare bones of who he is, cleansed and set free.

When the sobs turn into wet snuffles, Frenchie gently rolls them so that they are both on their sides and Izzy is pulled onto his chest.  He blearily supposes that Lucius had warned him that something like this could happen because Frenchie just holds him, unsurprised, rocking him until his breath stops hitching. 

“Sorry,” he whispers eventually, into smooth caramel skin.  “I wasn’t going to fucking cry this time.”

He feels soft fingers running through his hair, the touch soothing and nice, like he’s being petted.  “It’s good for you, love,” Lucius says softly.  “Let’s all the bad things out of your head.  You think Pete’s never cried when we’ve finished playing like this?  You think I haven’t sometimes?  There’s no shame in this room, Iz.  Well, not that sort, anyway,” he adds, with a chuckle.

Izzy huffs a laugh.  Lucius is right though, he feels exhausted but better, less tense, much more at peace with himself.  Pushing away his embarrassment, he looks up at Frenchie, knowing that he looks a fucking mess but needing to see that he hasn’t fucked things up.

“There you are,” Frenchie says softly, brushing his thumb over the tears, his eyes dark and glistening.  “My gorgeous Iz.  Every day you surprise me, you know.  That was beautiful, my love.” 

Swallowing heavily, Izzy tries to comprehend but his fuddled brain isn’t helping, and when he speaks is unsurprised to find that his voice is a husky mess.  “I don’t…  beautiful?”

“You,” he’s told.  “Watching you take what you were given, so obediently.  So good.  Our good boy.”

“Your good boy,” he whispers, needing Frenchie to know, to understand what’s happening here, what started happening the moment he was bought a shirt the colour of the sea on a stormy day.

“Mine,” Frenchie agrees softly, his thumb rubbing over the tattoo beneath his eye as if he could erase it by will along, removing the mark another man put on him.  “Shall we prove it, love?  Are you up to me cutting you?  We can do it another time if you’re not ready.”

“No,” he croaks, almost panicked, and then remembers himself.  “No, please.  I want you to.  Please.”

Frenchie swallows and nods, nevertheless looking composed and sits them both up, holding Izzy while he’s given a drink and his face is wiped.  He’s so used to Frenchie cleaning him, taking care of him now that he doesn’t care that they’re not alone, he just relaxes into it and let’s Frenchie do what he wants.

When Frenchie’s satisfied, he looks up at Lucius.  “I need someone behind Iz, please, my dears.  Just to hold him up and keep him steady.”

“Happy to,” Lucius grins.  “I haven’t had my hands on our First Mate tonight.  In, yes, but I like touching him too.”

“All right, then.  Let’s just get cleaned up a bit first.”

Floating happily again, Izzy leaves them to it.  Fully clothed, Lucius leans him forward and slips behind him, pulling him into his chest.  It’s easy to forget that Lucius isn’t a delicate boy.  Despite how he can come across sometimes, he’s a grown man and beautifully solid and Izzy sighs happily as his arms wrap around him, watching as Frenchie smiles his approval while removing his wet pants.  Gloriously naked he wipes himself down with a damp cloth and then does the same for Izzy.  He wipes round the cock cage then taps it lightly.  “This can come off now, please.”

Izzy groans at the thought that he might be expected to come again because he’s sure that his cock won’t be able to perform no matter what they do to him.  He didn’t see it go on as he was blindfolded but he watches curiously as Pete takes it off.  It feels strange not to feel it there once it’s gone although he doesn’t think he’d like it on for more than a couple of hours at a time.  He wouldn’t be averse to using it again for play though now he’s tried it.

He's always been a grower and as Frenchie cleans him, gently pulling the foreskin back to wipe around the head, his cock remains a tired shrivelled thing and he thinks wryly that he knows how it feels.  He watches Frenchie the whole time and he’s given a wide, dangerous smile as though his man knows exactly what he was thinking when the cage was removed.

“Relax, baby,” Lucius whispers in his ear, kissing his cheek, as Frenchie glances over while unwrapping a bundle he pulls from under the bed.  “We’ll take care of you.  We’re all done now so just this last thing and then we’ll leave you and Frenchie to snuggle.”

Izzy feels a strange sense of loss at the thought of Lucius leaving.  “No,” he responds, not wanting either of them to go.  He wants Lucius to be part of the intimacy to follow.  “Stay with us.  Please?”

“We thought you two might like a bit of privacy and after watching you I’m as horny as fuck.  Pete’s going to get railed whether he likes it or not.”

“Likes it,” Pete chips in, from the chair, the first time he’s spoken since undressing him..

“Then do it here,” Izzy begs.  “Don’t go.  I… want to see you.”  He flushes as he says the words but he really does.  He wants to watch them together, hopefully while Frenchie is inside him.  He doesn’t want to break the connection between them yet.

He’s a pirate and has lived among men nearly his whole life and he’s seen plenty of fucking in his time, but this is Lucius, who he’s come to love.  Not in the same way as Frenchie, but love nonetheless and he wants to see the man come undone, wants to watch him come and lose himself in that brilliant moment of orgasm, because he knows it will be beautiful.

“Yeah?”  Lucius’ voice has gone deeper and Izzy guesses he likes the sound of that.  “Frenchie?”

“Fine with me, babe,” Frenchie grins.  “There’s room for all of us.  We’re going to cuddle for a bit first and we’ll join in after.”

Frenchie is left-handed so he sits on Izzy’s left side and leans across him to the right hip.  Despite Frenchie admitting he’s never done anything like this before, his hands are steady and he looks confident as he takes the bottle of rum and pours some onto a clean piece of fabric before rubbing it over the area he’s going to cut.  Then he takes Lucius’ quill and marks three lines in ink on his hip, just below the waistband of where his leathers sit.  It’s about two inches high and an inch wide and forms a plain unfussy F.

“There, babe,” Frenchie says with satisfaction.  “Are you happy with that?”

It’s perfect.  Not too big and not too small.  It will be on his skin for the rest of his life, which is exactly how long he intends to belong to Frenchie.

“You can close your eyes if you want or would you like to watch?” he’s asked.  He’s still high on pain and sex so he’s probably hardly going to feel it but he wants to see Frenchie cut him, proof that his hand alone has done this for him.

“Watch.”

Frenchie nods and puts a cloth package on the bed and opens it.  Inside is a short, razor-sharp knife clearly borrowed from Roach.  “This has been boiled and kept wrapped,” he explains, then dips the tip in a glass of rum, obviously placed there for that purpose.  “It’s as safe as we can make it.  Are you ready?”

“Yes, love,” Izzy whispers.  “Please…”

“Hold still then,” Frenchie instructs, even as Lucius holds him tighter and he watches as Frenchie runs the tip of the blade carefully down the long line of the F.  He cuts at an angle and repeats it from the other side, excising a thin strip of skin in a V profile.  Izzy hisses as it stings but it’s bearable and he’s had far worse. 

Frenchie mops up the blood and presses down until the bleeding slows.  Then he repeats the cuts for the two shorter lines, until two more thin strips of flesh are removed, pressing again.  When the wound is fully revealed, Izzy can’t take his eyes of it.  It’s sore and still bleeding sluggishly but it’s Frenchie’s mark and he swells with pride that it’s there on his skin.

“Fuck,” he whispers, wanting to touch it, but Frenchie resolutely moves his hand away.

“And we have to keep it clean,” Frenchie says firmly.  “Roach will kill me if it gets infected.”

“He knows?”

“Of course he does.  He wants to see it every day for the next week.  He’s also given us something to put on it.  Get a good look now, babe, because it’s going to be covered up for a while.”

From the bundle Frenchie takes a small pot and smears the contents on the wound, which turns out to be thick honey.  Then a grease soaked dressing is placed over the top which somehow sticks to his skin.  “To stop the bad fairies getting in,” Frenchie tells him, straight faced, and Izzy isn’t sure whether he’s joking or not.  Probably not.  “There,” he says with satisfaction as he packs the things he’s used away.  “All done.  Are you all right, babe?”

Izzy sighs happily.  “I’m fucking amazing.”

And he is.  The pain in his back, arse, thighs and tits has settled into lovely throbs, although he loves the sting from Frenchie’s cuts the best.  It wasn’t the hugely cathartic cleansing of their first scene together but it didn’t need to be.  He wanted the pain, craved it, and they gave it to him in so many more inventive ways than he had expected.

Behind him, Lucius kisses his neck.  “Fuck, Iz, that’s got me even harder now.  Why don’t you two go and get comfy in the chair?”  Lost in what Frenchie was doing Izzy hadn’t noticed Lucius’ cock pressing into his sore arse. 

With a grin, Frenchie pushes the chair as close to the bed as it can get, just leaving room for his legs and he sprawls on it, naked and magnificent, patting his lap.  “Come on, baby.  Come and snuggle.”

Lucius releases him and Izzy crawls tiredly to the chair, uncaring about his leg now.  If there’s one thing he can do, it’s crawl.  As soon as he reaches the end of the bed, Frenchie grabs him and hauls on to his lap and he’s so much stronger than he looks because it seems effortless.  With a sigh, Izzy settles against Frenchie’s lovely smooth chest, head on his shoulder, loving how Frenchie’s arms go around him as though holding something precious.  He barely tilts his head up before Frenchie’s mouth is on his, pressing in, licking his way inside, owning him with his mouth and teeth and tongue.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he hears Pete groan and he feels a rush of pride that the man means them.  He’s so tired but he wants to do this, wants them to watch him, wants to put on a fucking show for them and he’s sure that’s what Frenchie has planned, his beautiful sneaky man.

They stop kissing to watch Lucius and Pete undress each other and although he’s seen Pete naked before, Lucius mostly kept himself covered last time.  Naked Lucius is lovely though, soft and luscious, his pale skin almost luminous in the faint flickering light.  They kiss and look at each other so lovingly that watching them seems almost like an intrusion, then Lucius whispers something in Pete’s ear, who grins wickedly, his eyes flickering to Izzy.  Pete takes a moment to oil his cock then scrambles onto the bed, sprawling on his back.  With a wicked grin, Lucius climbs over him, facing towards them.  They are directly in front so can’t see Pete opening him up but the noises Lucius is making make it very obvious and it’s only moments before Lucius is guided home and sinks down onto Pete's waiting cock.

Lucius closes his eyes and sighs as he bottoms out and he looks so delicious, so wanton, his thighs spread, cock and balls on display, that Izzy feels a flush that begins in his neck and travels down to his limp prick.  He can't get hard again, he just can't, but oh Christ he feels it stirring.

With a languid moan, Lucius starts moving, tiny rocking thrusts of his hips that look hypnotising and deliciously obscene.

There’s a dark chuckle at his ear.  “He's gorgeous, isn't he, baby,” Frenchie says huskily.  “Why don't you go over there and put your mouth on him, so I can watch you.”

Izzy feels his breath catch.  Fuck, yes.  He looks to see Lucius’ hazel eyes on him, then he grins wickedly and crooks his finger.

With a grin of his own, Izzy obeys, his exhaustion fading a little.  He crawls up between Pete’s legs and goes down on his belly so he doesn’t have to worry about balance, his elbows out to the sides.  Lucius cock is a beautiful treat, the tip already leaking and he wastes no more time, licking up it from root to tip and then taking it completely into his mouth.

“Oh fuck,” Lucius exclaims as Izzy takes him as deep as he can go at this angle, which is pretty much all the way.  “Fuck, Iz, your mouth.”

“Never known anyone who can suck a cock as good as my Iz,” Frenchie says smugly, from the chair.  “He’s got a fucking amazing mouth on him.”

My Iz.  Frenchie’s words nearly undo him even as he swallows around Lucius cock, getting another moan out of him.  The tiny thrusts are perfect and Izzy pulls off a little to give attention to the head.  He’s just about to sink back down again when he hears the bed creak and feels… Oh holy mother of fuck… Frenchie’s tongue delving in to lick his rim, Frenchie’s strong hands pulling his cheeks apart, pressing into the bruises, Frenchie buried in his arse, his tongue dipping in, Frenchie fucking killing him.

He moans around Lucius cock.  He wants to be fucked so badly, wants Frenchie’s long cock inside him and he wiggles his arse invitingly but that just earns him a slap.  Frenchie just keeps on with his tongue, fucking him with it and it's not enough.  Then he realises what Frenchie’s doing, he's waiting for Lucius to finish and then he's going to fuck him while they're watching and that’s the final thing that makes him fully hard again.  With a whine, he rubs himself on the bed, wanting some stimulation, and he gets another slap.

Frenchie pulls out of his arse for a second.  “No coming until I tell you, okay,” and then dives back in.

Izzy isn’t certain that he can come at all but Frenchie’s instruction grounds him and gives him something to obey.  Sucking Lucius is so much harder now with Frenchie distracting him but Lucius is watching the display in front of him with wide lust blown eyes, mouth open as he rocks himself, unable to take his gaze from Frenchie making a meal of Izzy’s hole. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” he exclaims and grabs Izzy’s hair, holding him still as he comes, shooting into his mouth faster than Izzy can swallow.  From behind there’s another groan from Pete and he must have spilled too as Lucius clenched around him because he gives a satisfied gasp and stills.

Contentedly, Izzy gently keeps lightly suckling on Lucius cock until the hand in his hair encourages him off.  “Sensitive, babe,” Lucius tells him breathlessly.  “Oh God, that was good.  You two are gorgeous together.”

Now he’s done what he was sent over to do, exhaustion suddenly crashes over him.  He wants so much to be good, to give Frenchie what he needs but what energy he has left is rapidly deserting him.  Trying to fight it he hears Frenchie reply but can’t process it, his head already drifting towards sleep.  He feels Lucius move and then Pete but can’t summon the strength to move himself.

“Babe?”  It’s a warm, amused question.

“Take what you want, love,” he slurs, knowing that Frenchie hasn’t come.  His own erection has gone down but that doesn’t matter.  “I don’t mind.”

But there’s a soft kiss, placed carefully on his shoulder, and a warm voice in his ear.  “It’s all right, my love, it’s nothing that won't wait.  Let's get you cleaned up and tucked up so you can sleep.  You’ve been through a lot today.”

Through the tiredness and pain, Izzy feels tears prick his eyes.  He thought he had no more tears in him but it seems he was wrong.  It would have been so easy for Frenchie to have taken, but he hadn’t.  Izzy has been used unwillingly more times in his life than he can count but it all fades to nothing against the realisation that Frenchie will never take more than he can give and will never abuse the power he’s been given.  He crawls up the bed with the last of his strength and Frenchie hasn’t even joined him before he sinks into sleep.   

He wakes in the middle of the night needing to piss.  Frenchie must have given him a wipe down because he doesn’t feel sweaty now, he’s just aching and throbbing which is a pleasant kind of background noise in his head.  He’s surprised to see that Lucius and Pete are still there, wrapped up together and fortunately against the wall, while he and Frenchie are on the outside.  As quietly as he can he crawls out of bed and uses the furniture to brace himself as he hops as quietly as he can to the covered slop bucket and makes use of it.  He’s tired of cursing the allowances he has to make in his life now to do the most ordinary things so he pushes it to the back of his mind, determined at least to make the best of what he does have.

There's a candle burning slowly in a mostly covered lantern which casts a tiny, pale light, hardly enough to see by but enough for him to return and study Frenchie as he sleeps.  His mouth is slightly open and he’s dribbled a bit on his beard and Izzy smiles fondly, knowing he’s in deep when he finds it totally adorable.  With a wry snort he wonders what has happened to his life that he even knows the word adorable. 

There’s so much about the man that Izzy doesn’t know, so much history they’ve yet to talk about, but he knows the things that count, that he’s clever and funny and determined and utterly unashamed of anything he does.  He knows Frenchie loves deeply and is not afraid of being himself, something Izzy is only just learning how to do.  And whilst he may be a little strange, whilst he certainly is the liar and the thief he claims to be, he has a truth that shines from the depth of his eyes and a grace of being that Izzy can’t even hope to emulate.

In sleep his man looks younger, the tiny lines he’s getting at the corners of his eyes diminished, the creases on his forehead smoothed out.  He's never simply watched Frenchie sleeping before and it’s somehow so intimate, his lover vulnerable and unguarded in sleep in a way that he’s not when awake.  Lovely Frenchie, with his kinks and strange ideas and odd little ways who has steamed into his life and turned everything upside down.

Lovely, lovely Frenchie, who is too good for him. 

Far too good.

Looking down, he resolves to make the most of every moment and treat each day he has with this man as a gift.  He always feels the possibility of it going wrong like a wisp flitting around behind him just out of eyesight, but there if he stands still for long enough.  Yet Frenchie has carved himself into his skin; took a sharp blade and replaced three slivers of skin with his name and his ownership.  And it’s enough maybe to keep the wisp away.

He starts as Frenchie’s eyes open to glittering slits and he smiles softly.  “C’mere,” he murmurs sleepily, holding his arm out.  “Need you.”

His heart full, Izzy slips back into bed and into Frenchie’s arms, his octopus lover automatically wrapping him up even as he sinks back into sleep.  With a contented smile Izzy closes his eyes and joins him.

Alone on the aft deck apart from Fang at the wheel, Izzy surveys his kingdom.  The crew are doing their jobs with the easy camaraderie he used to take for slacking and everything is as it should be.  Occasionally Frenchie will glance up with a secret smile and Pete will give him a nudge, amused.

Lucius is very pointedly standing to carry out his morning tasks.  Izzy hadn’t got a look at his arse the night before but both his and Pete’s have bruises where Frenchie had practiced his paddling technique on them.  They admitted it before leaving the playroom that morning, after he had noticed.  That fact that they did that for him filled his heart.  After he had stopped laughing.

His whole body feels like it’s been battered and every movement causes pain somewhere but the letter carved into his hip is the pain he loves the most.  Roach declared it clean and put another dressing on it before he ate.  The cook didn’t pass comment but his eyes glittered with interest at the wound and Izzy found himself colouring slightly at the obvious and correct implication of its presence there.

For once he’s forgone his leathers to give the cuts chance to heal.  They are in the middle of the ocean away from the main shipping lanes and are taking a rest between a series of successful raids so he’s dressed in the linen pants and cream shirt from the night before although his sword is still by his side. 

He’ll be doing sword practice later, Pete’s turn today, but even with one leg he can best the man without trying.  Pete’s improving though, as they all are, Izzy’s efforts finally starting to pay off.

Earlier, when he made his daily report to the Captain, both Edward and Stede had looked shocked to see him wearing the linen.

“Bit casual, mate,” Edward noted after he filled them in on the ship’s position, the state of supplies and half a dozen other pieces of ship’s business that neither were ever interested in.

Shrugging, Izzy lied without compunction.  “Got a nick from a sword yesterday during crew practice.  Roach said to keep the leathers off for a couple of days to let it heal.”  He even pulled the waistband down to show the dressing, not missing Edward’s eyes lingering on it for a moment, no, on him, and Stede blushing furiously, which was... interesting.

Edward’s eyes darkened.  “Who?”

“It doesn’t matter who.  Inevitable when we mess around with long sharp pointy things.”

Surprisingly, Edward had looked furious for a moment until he smoothed his expression out.  Whether he was annoyed with him or not Izzy couldn’t tell and didn’t much care.  With Stede around to temper him there was very little the man could do to him now. 

“Getting sloppy, Iz, if you let someone stick you.”

He shrugged.  “It happens, as well you know.”

He was just about to leave when Stede called him back.  “You gave me a lot to think about yesterday, Izzy.  Just so you know, I am thinking about it.”

“Good,” he had nodded, surprised, then added because he supposed he ought to be polite, “Thanks,” before retreating back to the deck.

Now, after he’s replayed the conversation in his head a dozen times or more, he still doesn’t quite know what was going on in there.  Edward had seemed angry that he was ‘wounded’ which makes no sense at all.  It’s not like the man gives a shit about him any longer, if he ever did.

Taking a deep breath, Izzy closes his eyes and feeling a new peace settling around him, puts Edward to the back of his mind. 

He feels good, his head is clear, and he no longer has the nagging worry that being hurt is a door he shouldn’t have opened again.  Under the purity of the belt, he finally accepted his needs and has come to terms with them.  He’s been made this way by others, he understands that now, the Navy, Hornigold, even Jack and most certainly Edward.  It’s not his fault and he should feel no shame for it.

What kind of a man wants to be hurt?  What kind of a man wants the man he loves to do it for him?  A man who knows himself and has found peace with what he is, that’s what kind.

He’s come so far from the man he used to be.  He understands now how dangerous it is to hold on to something so tightly, so desperately, that you become nothing more than a thing made entirely of teeth and claws.  He knows too the fear of letting go and the price to be paid for it.  The teeth and claws are still there but diminished now, ground down by love and unexpected friendships, gifts that he doesn’t deserve but will not squander.

And Blackbeard’s chains are gone, finally, loosed as his shape changed, until there was nothing for them to hold on to and they slipped away, almost unnoticed.  It’s only now, standing alone, the warm wind rippling his shirt and contentment winding itself around his heart that he sees the truth. 

He’s loved.

He’s wanted.

He’s home.

Chapter Text

It’s nearly two weeks to the party and Izzy is wondering whether to buy something new to wear.  Not that long ago he never would have imagined wearing anything other than black, Blackbeard’s uniform of sorts, but he’s found that he’s enjoying wearing new things.  Not just because it makes him feel good but it’s confirmation that he’s changing, and he likes it.  He alternates purple and blue now but always returns to black when in port or on a raid as he still has a reputation to maintain.  There’s nothing to prevent him shopping though, if he has time.  They are due back in the Republic soon and he has other plans too.

Most of the crew have had lunch already but Izzy was at the helm so he’s come to the galley to see what he can eat.  Roach usually leaves something out for him, a nice little touch that never used to happen. 

He finds a plate of cold cuts and cheese covered with a cloth left for him.  There’s also some sweet bread and a spoonful of the chutney Roach knows he loves.  Pre-Kraken he never got treatment like this and it’s a further insight into how much has changed.  He’s nearly finished when Roach stamps in and glares when he sees Izzy.

“You lied to me, little man.”

“About what, specifically?” he asks mildly, wiping round the plate with the bread.  Roach is attractive but a little crazy and Izzy can’t help but wonder what would have happened if he had made his move before Frenchie.  With no other offer in sight he may well have taken Roach up on it but he knows it wouldn’t have worked as well.

“Lucius told me about the shirts yesterday.  I threatened to cut another of his fingers off if he didn’t tell me what was going on.”

“Roach, there’s really nothing going on,” Izzy sighs.  Damn Lucius and his mouth.  “Frenchie bought me a shirt, that’s it.  Lucius thought it was some kind of sex code and I strung him along for a bit because I liked messing with his mind.”

“But I want to play too.  I was thinking red.”

Izzy stops and stares at him.  “Seriously?  Why does everyone on this fucking ship want to dress me?”  Or fuck me?  Because that seems to be what most of them are thinking, and he doesn’t understand why.  “No, don’t answer that.”

Roach’s grin is more manic than usual and he crowds in close, pushing the plate out of the way.  “We’re not dressing you, silly man, we’re claiming you.  Don’t you get it?  You are ours now.  Just because Frenchie got to you first, we’ll all have you eventually.”

“I’m not the fucking ship’s slut,” he growls, cursing himself for being just a little turned on at the thought.  It seems that all the years of supressing his needs because of Blackbeard are now biting him on the arse.

“No, you are our unicorn,” Roach replies, as though that explains everything, and takes the empty plate from him.  “You would look good in red,” he looks at Izzy speculatively, eyes very obviously lingering.  “Dark like fine wine.”

“I do not need another fucking shirt,” Izzy grates, teeth clenched.  What is it with these people?

“What do you need, then?” Roach demands shortly.  “You haven’t gone yet.”

“Lucius told me you do piercings,” Izzy replies, glad to get them off the subject of his clothing although the thought of them all claiming him is doing something unexpected to his nether regions.

“For you?” 

Izzy gestures to his chest, flushing.

“Really?” Roach grins, interested in the conversation again.  “Both of them?  What do I get in return?”

They haggle and in the end Roach agrees on a large box of his favourite cigars when next in port.  There are places Izzy can go to ashore to be pierced but he trusts Roach and besides, he doesn’t want to wait.

Roach shrugs, seemingly of the same mind.  “I can do it now, if you like.”

Lunch break is over, it’s quiet below and he’s not needed on deck for a while so Izzy nods.  There’s a quiver of anticipation in his gut but he’s never going to admit to the cook that he’s looking forward to the pain.  “If you don’t have anything better to do.”

Roach gives him an evil grin.  “I’d say that sticking holes in you comes quite high on my list of things I’d like to do.”

“Rude,” Izzy grins.

“How are you with pain, little man?  Because it hurts like a bitch.”

“I’m good.”  He looks down at his leg sardonically.  “I’ve taken worse.”

Of course, Roach knows all about that.  He’d had to do some work on his leg once they were back on the Revenge and Izzy had floated on a cloud of laudanum and pain until it was finally over.  It was utterly appalling, and he never wants to go through anything like that again.  He will be the first to agree that there is pain that you want and pain that you never want to go through again.  The memory of Jim sawing through his leg bones, until he passed out, will haunt him forever.

“All the same, have some of this.”  Roach reaches into his pocket and pulls out a battered joint and lights it on the stove.  He takes a hit himself then hands it over to Izzy before going to delve into his storeroom, returning with a box.

“Bars first,” Roach tells him.  “Then once they’ve healed you can go and buy rings or something fancier if you want and I’ll change them.”  Selecting a few items from the box he drops them into a pan and pours some water over them from the kettle and puts it on the stove.  “That will be a few minutes.  Show me what I’m working with.”

Looking critically at the joint Izzy takes an experimental drag and coughs.  “Fucking hell, that’s strong.”

“Go easy, little man, that’s my best.”

Feeling his head starting to swim, Izzy puts the joint down on a nearby plate.  He knows that he’s fucked up and enjoys pain but he doesn’t want to advertise the fact and it’s quite possible that getting it done will make him hard.  He’ll take a few token drags in the hope of keeping his cock from misbehaving.  But not too much, he tells himself and begins to undress.  When his shirt is off Roach gives a whistle through his teeth in appreciation. 

“Nice, very nice.  You sure you want me to pierce them?  They’ll be very sensitive.”

“Kind of the point,” Izzy says dryly.  “Where do you want me?”

Roach considers.  “Either lie down on the table or sit up on the counter.”

“Counter,” Izzy says, taking another drag.  “Fuck, this is good shit, where did you get it from?”  He pauses at the look on Roach’s face.  “What?  I’m a fucking pirate.  You think I’ve never smoked a joint before?”

“When you first came on board we thought you were so straight laced.”

“Surely that horse bolted from the stable a long time ago.”

Unstrapping his leg, he hops onto the counter where Roach indicates, then waits while the things are fished out of the water with a spoon and left to cool.

“Oh my God, you’re really doing it,” comes a shriek from the doorway.  “Can I watch?”

Izzy sighs.  Lucius, of course it’s fucking Lucius.  “Do you follow me around, Spriggs, just for the chance to humiliate me?  No, don’t answer that.  Haven’t you got anything better to do?”

“Hell, no.  Actually, yes.  I’m going to get Frenchie.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters as Lucius departs, frowning at Roach’s cackle of laughter.  He’s talked about getting them done and Frenchie is all for it but wouldn’t expect it to be now.  “Might as well just invite them all in.”

“Could charge an entrance fee, make some money,” Roach replies, flashing his maniac grin.  Izzy feels a spike of warmth in his groin.  He finds the man intriguing and has often wondered where his preferences lay.  Obviously with men from what he’s heard, but there’s always more to know than just that.

There’s a pleasing buzz in his head and he feels relaxed.  “Fuck off,” he says, but it sounds ridiculously affectionate.  Definitely the weed.

With a laugh Roach steps closer and without warning runs his hand down Izzy’s chest before rubbing and teasing his nipples into hardness.  It’s much more erotic than it probably needs to be and he closes his eyes for a moment.

“Mister Roach,” he says with a shiver.  “Are you touching me inappropriately?”

There’s a delicious pinch and a pull and a dark smoky voice.  “Absolutely.  You are fucking hot, little man.  I was going to take you to my bed but Frenchie got there first.”

Izzy gives him a look.  “Presumptuous much?”

“Not really.  I have a big cock and I have knives, both of which I think you would like.”

So now they think he’s a size queen and a pain slut.  Can his day get any better?  He knows Lucius or Pete wouldn’t have said anything, so Roach has figured out for himself some of the things that turn Izzy on.  Fuck.  When did he become so easy to read?  Actually, when did he just become so easy?

“You still can,” he says huskily, not minding the idea at all.  “Take me to your bed, that is.  As long as Frenchie comes too.”

“Hmmm, that would be nice.  You and me and him and Fang and then we can swap.”

“Fang?  You two are fucking?” he asks, surprised.  He’s noticed the big man looking happy recently but hadn’t connected that to the cook.

“A lot.  I like him and he loves my cooking.  I like feeding him.  He told me he used to tie you up.”

“Yeah, him and Ivan.  They liked me to tell them what to do.”

“An unusual dynamic.”

“It worked.  We didn’t do it often, sometimes it wasn’t worth the risk.”

Roach nods.  “Blackbeard?”

“Yeah.”

“I would like to tie you up, little man, and have my way with you.”

As most of the people aboard this fucking ship are, Roach is a tall man but their heights are more equal now.  “I’d let you,” Izzy says with a grin, fisting his hand in Roach’s shirt and pulling him in, bringing their mouths together.  He’s aware that this is probably the joint talking but what the hell.  It’s a heady clash of tongues and teeth, both trying for dominance.  The cook tastes of tobacco and spices, moonlight and musk and so much for him trying to stop his prick from getting hard.

“Oh fuck, that’s so hot,” he hears Lucius exclaim, and then Frenchie’s laugh.

“Looks like you two are having fun.”

“It was his fault,” Roach accuses, pulling away, not looking remotely repentant. 

Izzy shrugs, drinking in the sight of his lover, never getting tired of looking at him.  “He was feeling me up.  What was I supposed to do?  Plus, he’s been giving me drugs.”  Looking over, he retrieves the joint and takes a drag, then holds it out to Frenchie.  “It’s good stuff.”

There’s a pleasant buzz in his head and he watches as Frenchie takes a cautious puff and coughs.  “Bit strong for me, love.”

Izzy takes a final drag and stubs it out carefully.  He feels relaxed and a little fuzzy at the edges and watches as Roach puts the silver things onto a small tray and nudges Frenchie to one side.  “Out of my way, handsome.  Do you want these doing or not?”

Frenchie’s face breaks into a grin.  “He definitely does.”  Izzy groans, knowing that he has no chance of them being given any decent amount of healing time.

Moving between his legs Roach starts with the left, rubbing around with alcohol before checking the alignment and using a clamp to hold his nipple in place.  “Ready?” he asks.  Izzy nods, watching curiously, entertained by the audience.  Then Roach takes a thick needle, pushing it quickly through the base.  Which does sting like a bitch, Roach is right about that, but nothing he can’t handle.  In a moment a bar is reversed through on the end of the needle and a ball attached on the end.  Then it’s rubbed down again with more alcohol and that fucking stings more.

“Oh my God,” Lucius breathes.  “That’s actually really hot.  How does it feel?”

“Get one and find out,” Izzy challenges with a hint of snark.  It throbs but he’s had much worse.

Lucius shudders.  “No thanks, I’m so not good with pain.”

“Irony much?” Izzy teases, as Roach clamps and pierces the other one.  This one makes him grunt but it’s quickly over.  “Gives it but can’t take it.”

On his other side, Frenchie chuckles but his hand is already going to touch the bar.  Roach slaps it away.  “No playing with them for a month.  Twice a day clean with alcohol.  Any problems come and see me.  Now get out of my kitchen.”

Izzy thanks him and slides off the counter, reattaching his leg.  His nipples are throbbing but he feels pleasantly buzzed but knows it won’t last for long.  Frenchie hands him his shirt, purple today, and Lucius his waistcoat once the shirt has settled on his shoulders and he winces as he fastens it, feeling twin points of soreness.  Nothing new there, he thinks wryly, after a night with Lucius anyway.

“How’s your head, babe?” Frenchie asks, giving a side glance to Lucius.  “Still buzzed?”

“A bit, yeah,” Izzy admits.  “I only took it to keep Roach happy.  He seemed to think I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

“Be a shame to waste it,” Lucius grins and Izzy finds himself being taken by the hand and led down the corridor to his cabin.  Frenchie opens the door and ushers them inside, closing it firmly after him, then pushes Izzy down to sprawl on the edge of the bed.

“What the fuck?” he exclaims, as Frenchie leans over him, grinning, claiming a kiss. 

“Mister Hands, it would be most inappropriate for our First Mate to be seen on deck in your state.  We don’t want you giving the Captain any ideas.”

“What state?”  Then Lucius is on the bed, kneeling on his left, nimble fingers opening the lacing on his pants and Frenchie moves in on the right, pulling them open for his cock to be freed.  It springs up, hard and eager and Izzy had almost not noticed, distracted by the piercings and the weed high.  “Oh,” he groans, his head going back and his eyes closing, but only for a moment because he really, really has to see this.

“Shameful,” Lucius chides.

“Shocking,” Frenchie agrees.  And then there are two mouths on his cock, kissing it, licking around it and into each other’s mouth and it’s quite the dirtiest, most erotic thing he’s ever seen.  Although Frenchie hasn’t mentioned it, it’s obvious that he and Lucius would have fucked, because who wouldn’t want to, they are both so lovely, but seeing them kissing around his cock is a whole new level of sin and he loves it.

“You two are going to be the death of me,” he grates out, breath hitching at the sensations of two tongues on him.  Frenchie chuckles and the vibration is perfect. 

“Can’t have you not looking respectable,” Frenchie responds, taking the head with Lucius moving down the shaft.  It’s so good but he needs more.

“Will one of you two little tarts come up here and fucking kiss me,” Izzy growls.

Lucius gives his cock a final lick and Frenchie takes over, grinning around it.  Slinking up the bed to him, Lucius smirks.  “Coming Daddy.”

Izzy feels a flush start at his neck and fly upwards.  “Fucking hell, Spriggs,” he groans.  “Get up here now.” 

Preparations for the party are well underway and when they can Izzy and Frenchie have been practicing their songs.  As far as Izzy is concerned they are very much a joint entertainment and Frenchie will be alongside.

Like with most of their practicing they are seated comfortably in the beakhead as it’s outside and the sound doesn’t tend to carry to the deck unless anyone is directly overhead.  Even then they are unlikely to be seen.  Izzy came here often when he was adjusting to life with one leg and took a strange kind of comfort from the wreckage of the figurehead.  He maimed it further by sawing off its front legs and he has an affinity for it now, especially since he’s using one of the legs himself.  Not long after, Stede suggested getting it replaced with a new one and the crew nearly mutinied.  Izzy is their unicorn now and they will have no other.

They have agreed on three songs but are struggling for a fourth.  Frenchie wants a big finish but nothing they have thought of seems suitable.  They will be starting with a sea song, which they have to perfection, Frenchie joining in for some of it. 

Then La Vie En Rose, in English.  Next, one that he isn’t sure about but that Frenchie wants.  And that’s all they have.  Frenchie’s big finish is proving elusive.

“Maybe we just stick to three,” Izzy suggests idly, leaning against Frenchie’s shoulder, happy to be spending time with the man even if it’s largely unproductive.  He’d be quite happy not singing at all but he’s promised and he has to admit that there is a very tiny part of him that’s looking forward to it.

“We said four so we’re doing four,” Frenchie maintains stubbornly.  “I never get chance to perform these days, not properly, so I’m making the most of it.”

“Better think of something soon, love.  We’ve got just over a week.”

Frenchie flashes him his lovely crinkly grin.  “Something will turn up, it always does.  It will,” he adds, seeing Izzy’s skeptical look.  “I bet you.”

“And what would you be betting?” Izzy drawls, interested to see what Frenchie will come up with.  He has a dangerously inventive mind.

“If we find a song…”  Frenchie pauses, thinking, then grins.  “I get to fuck you.”

“You can do that any time you want.”

“In the Captain’s cabin, not ours.”

Bloody hell, this man is going to be the death of him.  Although when he thinks about it he kind of likes the thought of being bent over Stede’s desk without them knowing about it.  The two of them go ashore often enough so there are definitely possibilities.  It’s… doable.

And, our cabin?  Izzy takes a moment with that one and it just hadn’t occurred to him before that Frenchie has actually moved in.  Which of course has because wasn’t there a neat pile of clothes under his desk that never used to be there?  Oh.  He really likes that.

“All right,” he agrees, giving the shark grin.  “And what do I get if we don’t find one?”

Frenchie’s eyes sparkle in the darkness.  “You, handsome sir, get to fuck me in the Captain’s cabin.  So it’s kind of win win really.”

Izzy’s grin widens and he lowers his voice.  “Like that, would you?  Bent over Stede’s desk and held down while I fuck you so hard you’ll see fucking stars.”

“You haven’t won yet,” Frenchie reminds him.  “It might be me bending you over his desk because we all know what a slut you are for cock.”

“Fighting talk,” Izzy says admiringly to Frenchie’s wink.  He loves this, how attuned they are, how much fun it is to spend time with him.  In all their years together, he doesn’t remember being this comfortable around Edward.

Frenchie laughs softly.  “You love it.”

“Well, I certainly love your cock,” he counters, and is just about to say more when there are footsteps and quiet voices from above and it sounds like Edward and Stede have come out on deck.  He thinks he hears his name being mentioned but he could be wrong.  It seems like they are looking out to starboard and not to the front.  It doesn’t really matter if they are seen, they are not doing anything after all, but Izzy is more than happy to keep certain information private from the two of them.  Mostly they are hidden in the shadow of the Bowsprit though so pretty safe.

“We have company,” he whispers.  “Want to head back in?”

In answer Frenchie gives him the mad, bad grin, the one that Izzy has come to recognise means trouble and before he can say anything he’s being tugged over onto Frenchie’s lap, back against his chest.  Thankfully any noise they make blends in with the usual creaks and groans made by a large wooden object moving through the ocean.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he breathes, tense for a moment before leaning back into Frenchie’s solid warmth.

There’s a soft hum and a kiss on his ear.  “All that fighting talk’s got me hot and bothered.”

“You can be hot and bothered in our cabin.”   Fuck, he’s saying it now.

“That’s true but it’s more fun here and I want to make you feel good, babe.  You just have to be quiet,” Frenchie murmurs into his ear, brushing aside his objection as if it was made of butter.  Grabbing his hips, Frenchie pulls them even closer and he’s surprised to feel that there’s something very hard pressing against his arse.  Hot and bothered indeed.

Then long clever fingers are unlacing him and delving inside.  An arm wraps around him stroking over the piercings that can just be felt through his clothes.  “Don't make a sound,” Frenchie ghosts into his ear.  “And don't come until I tell you to.”

Izzy’s head goes back onto Frenchie’s shoulder and he groans as quietly as he can.  “Yes, sir,” he breathes, unable to help himself and it comes so easily now, responding like that when Frenchie gives him an order.

“You’re so good to me, so beautiful.  I could keep you like this forever.”  Frenchie’s whisper is so soft it could almost not be there, but he hears.   “Not a sound now, baby.”

Izzy’s breath is already coming in ragged little hitches even though he’s only just been touched.  The danger of it, the sheer delicious fact of Frenchie doing this to him is nearly enough to make him come that instant.  He grips Frenchie’s thigh in warning and there’s a soft grunt as the hand stops but doesn’t retreat.

“Fuck Iz, you have no idea what you do to me,” Frenchie whispers, squeezing him again, eliciting another hushed groan.  His cock is given a sharp squeeze of warning.  “I told you to be quiet, babe.  If you’re not, I’ll take your glove and gag you with it.”

Oh, now he likes the idea of that.  Izzy's eyes narrow and he lets out another low moan just to see what Frenchie will actually do.

“Like that, is it?” Frenchie murmurs, humour in his hushed tones.  “Well, don't say I didn't warn you.”

Izzy hisses as the hand leaves his cock and his own is grabbed and the glove peeled off.  He could resist of course but that’s hardly the point or the intention.  When his glove is rolled into a ball and he’s told to open up he only gives token resistance before it’s stuffed into his mouth and oh yes, he likes that.  He likes it a lot.

His eyes flutter closed as his cock is taken once more and slowly worked, the pace irregular and maddeningly not enough and he thinks that now would be very bad if anyone were to look over the railings.  His hands are gripping the back of Frenchie’s thighs, his head is flung back and his breathing is ragged and it’s absolutely fucking brilliant.

It’s only then that he realises he can no longer hear the voices and he gives a huff of disappointment, the edge going off now the supposed danger has gone.

It seems that Frenchie notices too.  With one last slide and the rub of a thumb over the liquid seeping out of him, the glove is gently removed and he pushes the thumb into Izzy’s mouth instead.  He sucks it greedily, tasting himself.  Then it’s gone and his pants are being laced up and tied.

“What the fuck?” he hisses, his cock aching with the need to be touched.  “Frenchie?”

“Don’t worry, babe, I haven’t finished with you yet.  Turn around, I want to kiss you.”

He considers it but there’s no way he can do it as he is.  Damn this fucking leg.  He quickly unbuckles it and slips it off, turning to straddle Frenchie’s thighs, grinding their mouths and their swollen cocks together.

“That’s it, handsome,” Frenchie encourages, between kisses.  “Come on Iz, grind yourself on me.  I want you to come, just from this.”

“I’m not twenty anymore,” Izzy grates, nevertheless obeying, rubbing himself against his lover’s cock and it’s so good but not enough to come from, not yet.  His arms go round Frenchie’s neck and then there’s a hand in his hair and another on his hip gripping hard enough to bruise.

“Fucking glad, you’re perfect just as you are.  So fucking perfect for me.  I love watching you come undone.”

Izzy can’t help moaning into Frenchie’s mouth and he rolls his hips, desperate for the friction.  For the briefest moment he thinks back to the days of Edward using him, of the unfulfilling drabness of it and compares it to this heady intoxicating sex.  Unbidden joy flares within him, he feels wild and free and capable of anything.  Frenchie wants him, wants this, and he’ll do anything to keep it.

And then Frenchie murmurs, “Come for me, baby,” and bites his neck and that’s more than enough to tip him over the edge and he comes with a yell, swearing loudly, pulsing and throbbing, any attempt to be quiet long gone.

“You absolutely beautiful fucking little shit,” he gasps, panting from the effort.  “Fucking hell where did that come from?”

Frenchie’s mouth finds his and his voice is ridiculously smug.  “It comes from you, babe.  You make me want to be bad.”

“By making me come in my pants like in a horny teenager?”

“Yes, but I get to clean you up,” Frenchie grins, still hard against him.  Their mouths come together again and this time it’s slow and messy, less urgent although the need is still there, waiting.

“Fuck.”

“Yes, that too.”

It flares, brightly then, the need, the want, made beautiful by the fact that he can actually have.  He feels empty and needs to be filled.  “Now,” he gasps.  “I need you in me.”

Frenchie’s eyes dark even further.  “God, yes.”

Despite feeling shaky after just coming, he pushes up in a practiced move and reattaches his leg.  Then yanks Frenchie to his feet.  With a feral grin he grabs his lover for a quick hard kiss and pushes him towards the door.

It takes longer to get to their cabin than it should because Frenchie keeps stopping, pushing him against the wall and kissing him, rubbing himself against him, and somehow Izzy is getting hard again.  It’s really not the sort of behaviour and example a First Mate should be demonstrating and right then Izzy doesn’t give a fuck.  He might tomorrow, but not now.  They have just got to the door when Jim pokes their head around the corner.  “We all heard you, you know.”

“Don’t care,” Frenchie replies, at the same time as Izzy mutters, “Fuck off.”

Just before they slam the door behind them, Jim’s laugh follows them down the corridor.

Pre-Kraken Izzy ate alone but those days have gone now.  He eats with the crew whenever he can, joining in with the chatter sometimes, often just listening, but always being part of them.  The first time that Frenchie casually snuck an arm around his shoulder and kissed him at the table he thought his heart would burst.  They’ve kissed in front of the crew before but it was just so natural and easy, something he had never thought possible.

Lucius had grinned and winked, Jim gave him a smile and a nod, but nobody minded, and just like that he was home.  That was when he realised that he cared for the lot of them, no matter how irritating they could be sometimes.  Somehow, over the last year, they had become his.  It took him a few minutes longer to conclude that possibly he, equally, might be theirs.

As he shares their mealtimes, their jokes, their companionship, he wonders if this is happiness.  Because everything he thought that happiness was in his previous life was dark and twisted and it’s only now that he can recognise it for what it was.  What he feels now, what he’s finally allowing himself to feel is so different and so infinitely better.  So, happiness?  He thinks that maybe it is.

Lunch is in two sittings so the ship is never unattended and he’s on the second one today with Lucius, Pete, Fang, Roach and Wee John.  The talk around the table is all about the party, what they will be wearing, what the food will be and how much can be drunk before they start falling over.  Izzy listens and fends off questions about the songs while he finishes his food.

“What will you be wearing, boss?” Fang asks him, winking at John over the table.  “You’ve got to dress up if you’re escorting the Goddess.”

Surprised, Izzy shrugs.  “Hadn’t thought about it.”

“It’s a good thing we have then,” Roach cuts in, with his usual manic grin.  “Go on, tell him.”  He nods to John.

John looks at him almost shyly.  “Well, seeing as how you’re my consort I thought it would be nice to match so I've made you a couple of things to wear but I need to know if they fit.  Will you try them on for me?  You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to though.”

Everyone is suddenly looking at him, expectantly.  Izzy keeps his face neutral but imagines something… showy.  He’s not altogether sure he likes the idea but the way everyone’s looking at he is starting to think that he won’t have much choice.  “You made something?  As in…?”

John grins.  “Come and see.  You can tell me if you like them.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now,” Roach says, making shooing gestures at him.  “You’ve finished eating so go.” 

“Can we come and watch?” Lucius asks, with his usual lewd smirk.

“What the fuck for?” Izzy says with a smirk of his own as he gets to his feet.  “It’s not like you haven’t seen me with no clothes on before.”

Lucius gapes at him for a moment and then Pete collapses laughing and Lucius has the grace to actually blush.  Soon the room is in uproar and Izzy grins and follows John.  It’s not like the thing he has with them is exactly a secret, especially now that Frenchie is joining in too, but it was absolutely worth it to see that look on Lucius’s face.  He’s sure that what they do is private but it’s pretty obvious that the unresolved sexual tension they had going on for so long as been very resolved indeed.

Chuckling, John leads the way to the cabin he used to share with Frenchie.  It’s bigger than his own room with more beds.  “There was space after you stole Frenchie away so Roach and Fang moved in,” John explains as he is ushered inside.  Izzy isn’t altogether sure that he stole Frenchie but is absolutely certain that Frenchie stole him.

Izzy’s eyes are immediately captivated by a billowy shirt of green silk hanging nearby.  It’s low cut down the chest with a lace up front.  Sitting on top of it is a gold brocade waistcoat.  They look to have been made in some fancy tailors, not sewn together on a ship, and easily as good as anything in Stede’s old wardrobe.

“You did this?” he asks, incredulous. 

John shrugs modestly.  “I swiped the fabric in a raid a while ago.  There was enough to make you the shirt and me a gown.  I stole the waistcoat from Stede and completely altered it to make it your style.  Do you like them?”

“I love them,” Izzy finds himself saying.  That something so elegant can be made by such big hands astonishes him.  No part of him believes he’s worthy of such finery but secretly he longs to be seen in something so lovely.  “You really made them for me?”

“Of course I did.  Calypso deserves nothing less.  Last year was a bit last minute but I’ve had time to prepare this year and we are going to look spectacular.”

Looking at the two items Izzy can well believe it.  He’s had a few thoughts about the rest of his look but is keeping those to himself for now.

Without waiting to be asked, Izzy starts to remove his clothes and realises that he seems to be doing a lot of that these days.  It all goes in a neat pile on the bed until he’s standing topless.

“Christ Izzy, but you’re pretty,” John exclaims admiringly then notices his nipples.  “Oh, they are lovely.  Please tell me you didn't get anything else done.”

John casts his gaze downwards and Izzy barks out a laugh.  “Fuck, no.”

“Glad to hear it.  I like my cocks beautiful and perfect,” he says with a sly grin as he hands the shirt over.  Izzy stores that remark away for later.

Slipping the shirt over his head the fabric feels like a caress and he looks at John for his opinion.  The big man holds out the waistcoat and Izzy turns and threads his arms into it and like the shirt it’s absolutely perfect.  There’s a mirror on the wall and John takes his shoulders, turning him round to look into it.  He gasps as he sees the stranger looking back at him.  John is behind him and he leans back into the man’s solid warmth, those big hands suddenly on his hips.  The sheer size of the man is comforting somehow and he makes Izzy feel small and surprisingly safe.

“They’re beautiful,” he says, awe in his voice.  The green and the gold are rich and lovely, colours he has never worn in his life.  It reminds him of the sea in golden sunlight and of the hush of forest glades.

“I think that’s you, dear,” John murmurs.  “You make them beautiful.”

He flushes at the compliment and wants to protest, to tell everyone who says nice things to him that he’s not, he’s fucked up and broken and fundamentally bad, but he can’t.  What he doesn’t want to admit to anyone, least of all himself, is that some part of him wants to be beautiful, just for a while, maybe for as long a time as he has left.  And he wonders what became of that angry man, constantly cast adrift, desperate for the love of someone who barely noticed he was there.  Somehow, he seems to have found himself surrounded by love and he wasn’t even trying.

“I actually guessed the size but they are perfect,” John adds, smiling at his reaction.  “I’ve just got a few more buttons to sew on then they’re done.”

In his whole life Izzy has never dressed up for a party, never been the centre of attention, other than at Calypso’s party the previous year and he finds it daunting.  He’s singing more than one song this time so he’s going to have to get over it, and soon.

“Thank you,” he says simply, somewhat lost for words.  “What about your dress… gown?” he adds, not sure which is more appropriate.

“Safely hidden away,” John chuckles.  “Can’t spoil the big reveal, can we.  By the way, the first dance is mine.”

Izzy looks up to him in the mirror.  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Turning he lets John take the waistcoat from his shoulders and then he slips off the shirt and as it goes over his head, he hears John’s breath catch.

“My God…  Izzy?”

Izzy shrugs, realising what John has seen.  Thankfully the welts from Lucius belt have healed over now.  “Most were punishment from the Bosun of a ship I was on, long time gone.”  It’s not quite the truth but it’s as much truth as he’s going to give.  “I don’t think about them anymore.  You can touch them if you want, people usually ask if they can.”

He’s used to that being the first thing anyone says.  Mostly his response is for them to fuck off but John sounds so genuinely upset for him that he allows it.  “Do they still hurt?” the big man asks softly, running gentle fingers down the lines and ridges.

“Not any more.  It was a long time ago.”

“Sailing isn’t an easy life,” John murmurs, his hands still gently rubbing.

Normally Izzy is indifferent to being touched there, not because of the sensation but more for the lack of it but somehow John’s hands are so big that it actually feels… nice.  He leans into the touch with a sigh.  “Isn't that the truth.”

“All this time and we never knew.”

“Does it make a difference?” Izzy shrugs.  “Everyone has scars of some kind.”  Most of them are on the inside, Izzy knows, but they are no less disfiguring.

As though he weighs nothing he finds himself being turned, those big hands encouraging him round.  John is sitting on a barrel, looking at him as though he’s something new.  “What happened to you?” he asks curiously, and Izzy realises that his eyes are blue and lovely.  He’s never noticed before.  “You were so angry all the time.”

His shirt is over John’s arm and the big man hands it to him.  “I changed,” he says simply, as much explanation as he wants to offer but then thinks better of it.  “I helped kill him and when he came back, I let him go.”

John nods as he shrugs back into his shirt and holds up his waistcoat, as he had for the brocade one for him to put his arms through.  “When you’re ready,” John says softly, “come and find me.”

“Ready for what?” he asks, replacing his cravat.

“You’ll know.”  A slow smile touches Izzy’s mouth.  He reckons he does, and he nods.  Now isn’t the time but he thinks it will be soon.

“All right.”  After the party maybe, with Frenchie and Lucius and Pete.  “Have you decided on your look yet?” he asks changing the subject, while he buttons up his waistcoat.

“Not really.  I’m waiting for inspiration to strike.”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he says, a little warily.  He is far outside his own territory here and he wants to contribute somehow but he doesn’t want John to think he’s interfering or worse, that his idea is stupid.

“Show me,” John says and points Izzy to the array of pots and powders on the small table nearby.

Selecting two, Izzy removes his glove and dips his thumb into the green powder, knocking off the excess then goes to stand between John’s legs, tilting his head back.  He is unsurprised that the man’s hands have gone back onto his hips and he moves in a little closer, enjoying the contact.  He’s not hard but he thinks that he could be very easily this close to the big man. 

Carefully he begins to trace his thoughts onto the left side of John’s face.  The wide band of green sweeping outward from the eyes and getting wider at the hairline, gold beneath cheekbones and on lips, black around the eyes.  It's rough and has no finesse but the effect is good.  John would do it better but it’s something to work with.

“There,” he says, wiping his fingers on a nearby cloth.  “Rough but only an idea.”

John looks in his mirror.  “Oh my God, Izzy, you're a natural.  That’s really good.”

“Yeah?”

There’s a cough from the doorway and they both look over to see Jim watching, a grin plastered on their face.  Izzy is very aware of how close he’s standing to John and the warmth of the big man’s hands on his hips.  Also that he’s very obviously been painting John’s face.

“Something we can help you with?” he asks, making no move to pull away.  His gaze is steady, challenging Jim to make a comment.

The grin gets wider.  “Heard you needed a song.  I’ve got one.”

“Yeah?  We’ll be on the beakhead later, come and sing it for us.  Can you write down the words for me?”

“Already done,” Jim says, handing him a piece of paper.

Izzy takes a glance at it.  He doesn’t know it, so has no idea what the tune could be.  Then he reads the words more closely.  “Fuck,” he says, grinning, and then remembers the bet.  “Fucking fuck.”

Then he reads the words again.

Edward is going to lose his shit.

Izzy can’t wait.

Chapter Text

It’s early morning when they finally dock at the Republic and Izzy goes ashore on an errand as soon as he can get away.  His reputation seems to be enhanced by his unicorn leg and no one dares get in his way as he goes through the back streets to his destination.  When business has been concluded to his satisfaction, he makes his way back to the ship, stopping only at a couple of weapons booths to browse, eventually buying an elegant dagger that he intends to give to Frenchie when the time is right.

When he returns he finds Stede on deck, nominally supervising.  “I’ve got business on shore tonight,” Izzy tells him.  “I’ll be back tomorrow well before we sail.”

Stede gives him that irritatingly cheerful look.  “You’re staying somewhere?”

“Yes,” he says and walks away, stamping down to find Frenchie.  He knows what the Captain and Edward will probably think, that he’s going whoring but he doesn’t care.  They can think what they like.

He finds him in the last place he thought to look, their cabin.  Frenchie is sitting on the bed, tuning his lute.

“Hey babes,” he grins, looking up.  “I’m just keeping out the way for a bit.  Stede’s always so embarrassing while we’re in port.”

“He’s embarrassing all the fucking time,” Izzy grumbles but can’t help but smile at Frenchie’s answering laugh.  Leaning back on his desk he enjoys the view, one long leg drawn up, the other stretched out and slightly apart.  “How do you fancy a night off ship?  Just the two of us.”

“Really?”

Izzy nods.  Putting down his lute, Frenchie glides over to him, his arms going around Izzy’s waist.  “I fancy very much.  Can we make noise?”

“As much as you like,” Izzy replies, nuzzling into his neck.  “The more the better.”

“Hmmm,” Frenchie almost purrs, pulling them closer together, “you’re so good to me.  Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Izzy murmurs, capturing his mouth for a deep kiss before reluctantly pulling back.  “Go and get whatever you need and meet me on deck in ten minutes.  You won’t need anything fancy, we won’t be meeting other people.”

Leaving Frenchie looking puzzled but excited, he heads back up to make sure everything is as it should be, checking that Jim and Olu are overseeing the party supplies and waits for his lover.  Frenchie arrives a few minutes later carrying his lute and a bigger bag than Izzy thought he’d need, slung easily over his shoulder. 

Going back to Stede, Izzy pulls a piece of paper out of his glove and holds it out.  “This is not where I’ll be but the person there will find me in an emergency.”  Stede takes it but Izzy keeps hold, his gaze flinty.  “I mean emergency, Bonnet.  Understand?”

“That sounds very mysterious,” Stede comments, but nods and Izzy releases it. 

“We'll be back tomorrow.”

“We?” Stede asks, but Izzy has already walked away, Frenchie following him down the gangplank and he feels speculative eyes watching them as they disappear into the crowds.

They walk in companionable silence as Izzy leads them away from the dock.  There are fewer people where they are heading and after a maze of narrow streets they arrive at a plain sturdy door in a long high wall.  Izzy knocks and it’s opened immediately by a well-dressed man who bows politely.

“Welcome back, Mister Hands.  Your room is ready, please enjoy your stay.”

Izzy nods and thanks him, taking Frenchie’s hand and leading him inside.  The door opens into a courtyard, Moorish in style and it’s sweet scented and cool after the heat of the streets.  Smiling at Frenchie’s delight, Izzy leads him into the adjoining building and up the cool, open stairs.  They stop at an ornate door and Izzy unlocks it and waves Frenchie in.

“Well?” he asks, as Frenchie stops dead.  “What do you think?”

He watches Frenchie take in the huge bed, the fine fabrics, the vibrant colours, the sheer overwhelming luxury of it.  The room is large and cool with a balcony window overlooking the courtyard.  There is tasteful furniture dotted around, small tables, sets of drawers, a desk, and a large armoire, all good quality.  The bed is a four poster but of a light delicate wood with billowing translucent silk elegantly tied to the posts.  The room is nothing short of stunning but holds secrets that Frenchie hasn’t noticed yet.

There is a look of such delight on Frenchie’s face that Izzy knows he made the right choice, even if the secrets are never revealed.  “This is amazing, babe.  What is this place?”

“It was a small Moorish palace at one time.  Now it’s called Haram but the translation is Sanctuary.  It’s a private club if you like, hidden away for men to be together in safety.”

After depositing the bag and lute, Izzy takes Frenchie’s hand again and leads him into the next room where there is a huge bath big enough for two.  “That’s why I got this particular room.  Do you like it?”

Frenchie’s eyes go from the bath to Izzy and back again.  “Actually, I’m slightly speechless and that takes a lot.  Oh my God, I want to get you in there and wash every inch of you.”

Izzy laughs, knowing what Frenchie wants and not objecting at all.  “I thought you would.  There’s a heated tank in the roof with pipes that deliver the water so you can have as many baths as you like.  You might have to get me dirty first though.”

Then Frenchie’s arms are around him and his lovely mouth is nuzzling into Izzy’s neck.  “I intend to.  How long have we got?”

“Until about ten o’clock tomorrow,” he hums happily as the nuzzling turns into bites and he tilts his head to allow more.  “I’ve already arranged for food and drink so we don’t need to leave the room until then.”

Frenchie looks down, his eyes mischievous.  “You are amazing.  I can’t believe you did this for us.”

“It wasn’t entirely selfless,” Izzy replies, bringing their lips together in a brief kiss.  “I get you all to myself and I’m expecting to get fucked several times between now and then.”

“Ah, I have to earn my keep then,” Frenchie teases as his hands go to Izzy’s hips.  “I could be a kept boy if I got to live somewhere like this.  How do you know about this place?”

Izzy shrugs, unable to help himself leaning up for another kiss.  The thought of Frenchie as a kept boy goes straight to his cock.  “I saved the life of the owner many years ago.  He was very grateful.”

“You get this for free?”

“Fuck no,” Izzy barks a laugh, “that got me through the door.  This place is very discreet, men only, and there are very strict rules.  Rooms can come with or without a companion for the night.”

“Have you ever done that?” Frenchie asks curiously.

Izzy nods and leads his lover back into the main room.  “On occasion,” he says, as Frenchie goes to explore, wandering around the room, touching this and that, looking but not seeing. 

“Some pretty boy?”

Remembering several of the companions he’s hired, Izzy suppresses a smile.  “No, the opposite.”

Frenchie stalks back over to him, pushing him against the wall and suddenly there’s something in his eyes, something hot and dark and Izzy wants to drown in it.  “Someone to tie you up maybe?” his lover breathes, pressing against him.  “To make you take whatever they give you?”

He swallows heavily.  “Yeah, something like that.”

Then Frenchie is giving him a look he can’t quiet interpret but it almost looks like anticipation.  “I want to see you tied up and helpless again.”

“You do?” Izzy asks, feeling his breath catch at how quickly their conversation has turned.  It’s not long since he played with Frenchie and Lucius, and between them they reduced him to a sobbing wreck and he loved it.  “In that case you might want to have another look around, love.  Look closer.”

With a puzzled frown, Frenchie moves away to walk around the room again, slower this time, opens a drawer at random and huffs out a breath of surprise, looks to Izzy, eyes wide, then opens another and sees…

“Oh,” he says softly, understanding.  “Fuck…”

Then he looks at the bed again and notices the discrete chains fixed to the corners.  The room isn’t just made for sex, it’s made for sex games of every variety and taste.

Izzy stands very still watching Frenchie’s reactions, trying to gauge his reaction.  “I thought,” he says softly, “that we might experiment.”

Frenchie swallows and straightens.  “You brought us here for this?”

“I hoped.”

When there's no answer, he has a dreadful moment in which he wonders if he's done the wrong thing by bringing his lover here, despite what they’ve done so far.  Then Frenchie turns to him his eyes dark and intense and he looks so beautiful that Izzy couldn’t look away if he wanted to.

“Take your clothes off, love.  Lie face up on the bed, arms out to the sides.” 

The quiet authority in his lover’s voice sends shivers down his spine.  Izzy hadn’t expected to hear it again so soon and a jolt of anticipation rushes through him. 

Frenchie cocks his head, weighing him up, watching his reaction, and smiles knowingly.  “Now, if you please.”

That’s all it takes and Izzy hurries to obey, quickly removing his clothes and leaving them on a chair, then sits to remove his leg and lastly the leathers.  He’s trying to control his breathing as he lies as instructed, hard already although he hasn’t been touched.  They’ve only been the room a few minutes and already his head is going down.

Ignoring him now, Frenchie drifts around the room, investigating random drawers, pulling some things out and frowning at others as though he has no idea what they may be for.  “Close your eyes, love,” Frenchie instructs, still not looking at the bed.  “Are you comfy like that?”

“Yes sir,” he replies, voice a husky whisper, the honorific ingrained.  Izzy isn’t sure what’s happening here exactly but he desperately wants to see where it leads.  Even lying like this is starting the journey to the special place in his head where he doesn’t ask questions, just takes.  Frenchie didn’t ask if they wanted to play, he just did it, took over as though it was the most natural thing in the world and it’s breathtaking.

“Good.  If that changes you tell me, yeah?”

“Yes, sir,” he says again. 

There’s a smile in Frenchie’s voice.  “I love hearing you call me sir, sweet boy, but there’s no punishment if you get lost and forget, all right?”

There’s a rustle of cloth nearby and he almost gasps as something is wrapped around his head, covering his eyes.  It’s warm and he can smell his lover’s scent on it.  His scarf.

“There, you look so pretty like that,” Frenchie breathes, moving away, and Izzy can’t quite make out where he is.  “You should see yourself, sweet boy, so hard and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Izzy is used to rules but he hasn’t been given any so he risks a wry question.  “I’m sweet, sir?”

There’s a gentle laugh and then he feels a touch on his foot, moving slowly up his leg.  It’s casual, yet possessive and very definitely not enough.  Then he gasps as he feels a wet tongue lap at the nearly healed scar on his hip.  “Yes, to me,” Frenchie murmurs.  “My sweet boy, my pet.”

Then the touch is gone and he hears Frenchie moving around, then he starts talking, conversationally.  “I’ve been thinking so much about tying you down and hurting you, after what we did with Lucius.  I’ve thought about little else for the last two weeks.  We were going to have the playroom tonight and I was going to surprise you, tie you down and use you, but I have the best boyfriend in the world and we ended up here.”

Tie you down and use you.  Oh, fuck but that sounds good and he absolutely loves Frenchie saying boyfriend.

There are more soft sounds that he can’t make out and then the touch is back, this time on his stretched-out arm.  “Because we’ve never done anything like this on our own before I’m going to give you a choice, love.  I can hurt you or we can fuck.  You decide.”

It should be a choice but it isn’t really.  He’s broken and he’s fucked up and after the loss of his leg he swore that he’d never court pain again but the need keeps coming back.  Lucius has opened something within him that he was managing to control and now he needs more.  He has no idea what Frenchie has planned but he wants it, no matter what.  “Please, sir, hurt me.  Then fuck?” he asks hopefully, not sure if he’s overstepping the unspoken rules.

“Eventually,” he’s told and can’t help the whine that escapes his mouth.  Then Frenchie is leaning over him and he can feel his breath on his lips.  “Do you trust me?”

“With my life,” he whispers, meaning that and so much more.

There is the briefest of kisses on his lips.  “I love you,” Frenchie tells him softly.  “Remember your colours.  Repeat them to me.” 

Dutifully, Izzy repeats back the colours, eager to begin.

“Use them if you need to, pet.  Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good boy.  Open your legs, let me see you, and keep your arms on the bed.”

Anticipation thrums through him and it’s so hard to control his breathing.  How can he be the pirate, the killer, the man so many fear when he's lying like this, eager and desperate and he hasn't even been touched yet?   It's like there are two versions of him, not at war but not entirely at peace either.  Perfectly balanced, the man who needs to control and the man who needs to be controlled.

Then he feels fingers on his chest, pinching his skin before something bites.  Some kind of clamp?  It stings and isn’t pleasant.  His inner thigh is next, the same pinch and bite.  It stings more.  He moans low in his throat.  Then inner arm, hip, chest, stomach, thigh, each one adding the cumulative effect.  He’s never felt anything like this before and despite all the whippings he’s taken these bastard little clamps are devious and intriguing.

There’s a hum of pleasure and a stroke down his cheek.  “That’s ten.  Can you take more, love?”

“Yes, sir,” he replies hoarsely.  Christ, is that only ten?

“Such a good boy for me.  If you can take fifty there’s a reward.”

He shudders, desperately wanting to be good.  Then there’s another pinch and bite, and another, and another, and they seem to be everywhere.  He doesn’t think they are drawing blood but he’s certain they will leave marks.

And it goes on until he feels that he is just nothing but sensation, each pinch and bite more, each a point of perfection and for a man who took a whipping so bad his back scarred this is somehow more intimate and awful and he loves it.

They pause again after twenty and again after thirty and his entire body feels on fire.  Apart from his nipples with their still healing bars, cock and balls and face, no part of him feels untouched.  The effort of keeping his arms outstretched is making him tremble.

He feels another brief touch on his lips.  “You’re doing so well, sweet boy.  Only twenty now.  We’ll have another rest after ten.” 

Then there’s the pinch and bite, down his chest, around his nipples, between his open thighs and with each one he’s told how good he is, how beautiful he looks, how lovely his whimpers are.  Frenchie’s soft voice is an anchor to hold on to.  His skin is a seething mass of pain now, insidious and wonderful and he hates it and it's so good that he might fall apart.  This is like nothing Lucius has done to him and he wonders what he looks like, covered with clamps and bruises.

“Only ten more now, love, nearly there.  You look so pretty like this, hurting for me.  Can you take the last ten?”

Oh fuck, is this really Frenchie?  Is this truly his beautiful, strange man with the boxes in his head and the strong fingers that has brought music into his life?  This easy-going effortless control is perfect.  “Please,” he whispers.  He’s so close to being the good boy Frenchie wants him to be. 

“And your colour?”

“God, green, sir.”

It feels like there is nowhere on his body that hasn’t been used but Frenchie finds room and this time he counts each one, offering praises as another is set in place.  And another.  The last one joins its fellows on his belly and he feels his flesh quivering as its teeth bite.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here and what it took to get him to this state, he’s gone past that now.  He isn’t altogether sure of anything.

Frenchie’s voice is suddenly there, anchoring him from flying away.  “Fuck, pet, you should see yourself.  You look so beautiful like this.  We’re going to have a little break now and then we'll carry on.  Can you move?”

“Don't want to move,” he whispers.  He needs to stay, he’s been told to stay, he needs to be good.

There’s a chuckle and then there’s an arm around the back of his neck and he’s encouraged to sit up.  Frenchie is holding him up and pressing a cup to his lips and he drinks thirstily, not realising how much he needs it.  He doesn’t try to take the cup; his hands are shaking too much. 

“Better?” he is asked fondly, and he nods. 

“Thank you, sir.”

“You are welcome, my love.  You're so good for me, aren’t you.  Stay there, I have something for you.”

Supporting him with one arm Frenchie reaches behind and then he feels something cool and heavy being put around his neck and buckled into place.  It’s not too tight but it's not loose either, a constant presence that he will feel, a constant reminder of what he is.  It’s a dog’s collar.  He’s Frenchie’s fucking dog.

“There,” Frenchie says proudly, “you’re my pet now.”

He feels that he can hardly breathe, the pain and now this is enough to sink him.  How did Frenchie know?   “Oh God, yours, sir, only yours,” he almost sobs.

“I should leave that on and let everyone see who you belong to.  Mark you as mine.”

Izzy can’t help the whine that leaves him.  “I am yours,” he whispers.  He’s already marked as Frenchie’s but no one can see the scars on his hip.  How down is he that he loves the idea of being seen in Frenchie’s collar.

“Yes, you are,” Frenchie murmurs, against his mouth before kissing him deeply.  “You ready to carry on now, baby?”

“Please.  I need…”  What does he need?  In his fucked up head he needs to be owned and he needs it to hurt.  “Please, sir.”

“Good boy, lie back now, pet.”

Frenchie supports him as he goes back down.  He stretches his arms out again but this time he hears clink of chain and feels cuffs being wrapped around his wrists, holding him in place.  There's room for a little movement but not much, and it’s so much better.

“There,” Frenchie says, “that’s lovely.  I wish you could see yourself, covered in clamps, your gorgeous cock hard and leaking.  You want more, beautiful?”

“Please…”

“Hold on then,” he’s told, and the first clamp is removed and fuck that’s worse as the blood rushes back into it.  There’s no count of ten this time and a rest.  Each one is removed, randomly, slowly, and each one is a fresh jolt of pain to join the rest.

After a few minutes, Frenchie starts talking, as though they are sitting down and having tea.  “John wants you, you know.  He's got a massive cock and he wants your mouth around it.  I tried it once and it’s huge but I know you’d make a better job of it.  I think that's something I'm going to have to see.  I bet you'd love taking his massive prick down your throat while I fuck you.  Roach wants you too.  He wants to cut you, to make you bleed.  I haven't decided whether I'll let him yet but you'd love that too, wouldn't you.”

And all the time the clamps come off and each one adds to the pain until he feels like he’s on fire and Frenchie’s words shatter through his head.  Sucking John while Frenchie fucks him.  Roach cutting him.

“Nearly there now,” he’s told soothingly.  “Only three more to go.”

It’s too much and he’s so close to coming but not quite enough to tip him over the edge.  The last ones are bastards, one on the inside of his thigh, one right next to his nipple and the other on the tender skin inside his upper arm and he nearly screams then they are removed.

“You want to come, don’t you, pretty?” Frenchie murmurs, as the bed dips beside him.  “You’ve been so good but I want you to wait a bit longer.  Can you do that for me?”

“Please, sir,” he whines, aware that he sounds pathetic but his senses are nearly overwhelmed with the sensation of pain all over his skin.  “Please let me.”

“Don’t you want to be good for me?”  Oh, that awful sound of gentle disappointment in Frenchie’s voice.

God, yes.  With his life, with his soul, with his heart, with every fiber of his being.  “Please… your good boy.”

Even in his altered state Izzy knows what Frenchie’s doing, he's stamping his authority early, leaving no doubt how the rest of their stay is going to be and he welcomes it.  How has Frenchie understood about this so well, so quickly?  Frenchie with this clever eyes and agile brain has learned Izzy better than he would have thought possible and understands everything.

“You are my good boy,” he’s told, not missing the love in Frenchie’s tone even in his fuddled state.  “And you’re going to wait until I say you can come.  All right?”

“Yes, sir,” he whispers, knowing then that Frenchie holds his soul in the palm of his hand.  With breathtaking clarity he knows now that Frenchie can do this for him, can be what he needs, and it will be fucking glorious.  So, if Frenchie wants it, he will wait.

There’s movement and he feels Frenchie kneel between his legs, then a hand goes down by his head which means that he’s right over him and he hears… a hitched breath, a hum of pleasure, a slide of fabric, a slick glide…

“Fuck, babe, you should see yourself,” Frenchie almost growls.  “I’m so turned on looking at you like this I’m not going to last long.”

Izzy whimpers, unable to help himself.  He wants to see, wants to watch but all he has are those sounds, quiet and intense, the glide getting faster and then… and then the gasp, the hiss and the hot splashes over his skin and Frenchie’s soft sigh.

“Fuck,” he says again, this time his voice thick and satisfied.  Hard and untouched, Izzy can only breathe and want.

With a contented hum, Frenchie leans back up and Izzy startles as he feels a hand on him and he realises that Frenchie is swirling fingers through his cooling come, rubbing it into his skin, making it part of him.

“There,” he says smugly.  “You smell of me now.  My pet.”

Then there’s a soft, “Watch your eyes,” so he closes them as the scarf is removed and looks through slitted lids to see Frenchie’s face above him, his grin wicked.  “Are you all right, babe?”

“Fucking amazing,” he replies dreamily, as his wrists are uncuffed.  He’s hard and his balls feel tight with the need to loose themselves but he’s being good so tries to ignore it.  “Love you so much.”

Frenchie sits up on the bed and pulls him onto his lap and holds him tightly.  “I love you too, pet.  Do you still need to come, baby?”

He does, he absolutely fucking does but he shakes his head.  “I can wait.”

“Hmmm.  Good boy.  Do you need anything, love?  A drink?”

Izzy shakes his head, holding on tightly.  “I just need this.”

Frenchie murmurs to him, telling him how good he was, how perfect and he basks in it, needing the connection, the affection, after such a surprisingly intense experience.  “Kiss me?  Please.” 

With a hum of approval Frenchie cups his chin and places soft tiny kisses over his mouth, over his beard, his cheek and ending back with his mouth.  “So perfect,” Frenchie murmurs, covering his mouth and Izzy opens to him, to his sweet and messy possessive kiss. 

It takes a while but he starts to come back to himself and with a grunt he sits up and looks down at himself.  He isn’t sure what to expect but some of the clamps have left red marks and others have made bruises and he fills with pride at seeing them.

He realises that Frenchie is watching him closely, gauging his reaction.  “You okay, babe?”

Smiling as he thumbs over the ones on his thigh, he nods.  “Fuck, yeah.  What the hell did you use on me?  I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

With a grin, Frenchie reaches across the bed and comes back with a handful of peg like clips.  “Pete’s been making them, especially for you.  Pain but no real damage.  What do you think?”

Taking one, Izzy inspects it and is amazed by how simple it is.  Two small pegs that slot together with interlocking teeth but not sharp enough to cut and a small simple catch to hold it shut.  “I’m not sure whether I want to kiss him or hit him,” he says honestly.

“Apparently Lucius tested them on Pete and he managed five before he gave in.  You did fifty.”

“Could take more,” he admits, and cast his eyes downward.  “You missed a couple of places.”

“Yeah?” Frenchie asks.  “I wasn’t sure…”

With a sigh, Izzy snuggles back into him.  “I think by now we’ve established there’s not a lot you could do to me that I wouldn’t enjoy, or get off on, if not exactly enjoy.”

“Was it all right, then?  I don’t want to do anything wrong.”

“There is no wrong, love.  We just try things and if they work, great, and if not, we don’t do them again.  What you just did was amazing and very unexpected.”

Frenchie flashes him a grin.  “I’ve been thinking about it for days, I had a few things planned out in my head and then you surprised me with this place and it’s worked even better.”

“You really like doing this?  I’m not forcing you into it?”  Although he’s sure he knows the answer, Izzy still has concerns that he’s pushing Frenchie into something he might not be able to come back from.

His breath hitches as two fingers push themselves briefly under his collar, tightening it.  “Doesn’t this tell you?” Frenchie replies, releasing him only to cup his chin and tilt his head up for a kiss.  “I’ve loved everything like this we’ve done together.  I know I’m toppy and like to be in charge but watching you with Lucius opened my eyes to so much more.  I like hurting you because you want it but if you didn’t, that’s fine too, but what I really love is you doing what I say.  I know it’s not real,” he adds.  “I know this power is something you give me but when you do… it kills me, makes me want to hide you away and keep you all to myself.”

The speech takes Izzy’s breath away and he wonders how much Frenchie has learned from Lucius about submission and control and how much is just natural to him.  He suspects the latter with only a bit of help.

“Like here,” he says breathily, knowing now that his decision to come here has absolutely been the right one.

Frenchie’s eyes darken.  “Exactly like here.  Maybe… while we're here until we leave, you're my pet.  What do you think?  Would that be okay?”

It’s actually sounding very damned good and his cock seems to like it because that’s made it wake right up again.  He swallows.  “What does that mean?  Exactly?”

Taking a hesitant breath, Frenchie starts messing with his hair, winding a longish strand round his finger, the gesture almost nervous.  “It means you look pretty and do whatever I ask you to do.  Do you think that might work for you?”

Unable to help himself Izzy closes his eyes for a moment.  Until Frenchie he never knew he liked having his hair played with but now he really enjoys it.  He snorts at being described as pretty but still, he loves the thought of it.  He wants to be Frenchie’s pet.  “Fuck, yes,” he breathes, their eyes meeting.  “Definitely working for me, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Frenchie glances down and smirks.  “If there's anything you don't like use your colours because I don’t know what works for you yet.  It doesn’t mean we stop, it makes sure I can get it right for you, yeah?”

“All right, but you need a word too in case I ask you to do something you’re not comfortable with.  If you use your word we stop and talk it through and adjust what we’re doing.”

“Rose,” Frenchie says firmly.  “My word is rose.” 

They sit together for a few more minutes until Izzy feels back in his head and his erection has gone down again.  He doesn’t need to come as much now and he’s content knowing that Frenchie will have an idea of what he wants them to do next.  “What now?” he asks curiously.  Obviously, Frenchie has adapted his plans but still has a direction he is going in.

“Bath,” Frenchie tells him.  “I want to see how these magic bath filling pipes work.”

“Pass me my leg, love, and I’ll show you.”

Although it’s uncomfortable on direct flesh it’s bearable for a while and he straps his unicorn leg on firmly.  He’s just got to his feet and is reaching for his shirt when Frenchie delves in his bag and pulls out one of Stede’s robes.  It's a beautiful thing of peacock blue with gold embroidery.  “For you,” he tells him, unfolding it and slipping it onto him.  “It's all you get to wear until we leave.”

The fact that Frenchie has thought about this, stolen this lovely thing to wrap him in and won’t let him wear his clothes shouldn’t be so damned hot.  The fabric is soft and silky and it adds another dimension of sensation where the clips have pinched his skin.  “You stole it?”

“Well, I certainly didn't ask him for it.”

Izzy shakes his head, smothering his laughter.  “You are such a thief.”

“Yes, I am,” Frenchie grins, pulling him close and tilting his chin up to look into his eyes.  “I stole you, didn't I.”

“Yeah,” he acknowledges, smiling as they kiss.

Frenchie’s eyes light up.  “Time for that bath.”

Izzy is just about to explain how the pipe works that will fill the bath when there is a polite knock on the door.  Frenchie goes to open it while Izzy pulls the robe closed just enough to cover his lower half.

“Good morning, sir,” one of the impeccable stewards greets him.  “Compliments of the proprietor.”  Frenchie stands back to let the man in, and a tray with glasses and a decanter of something no doubt expensive is put onto the nearest table.  The man nods respectfully to Izzy and does not even blink over his appearance.

Izzy is about to thank him but Frenchie gets there first.  “That’s very kind,” Frenchie replies with a dignity Izzy knows he has but doesn’t often show and Izzy feels ridiculously proud of him.  “Please thank him for us.”

The man inclines his head, clearly understanding who has the authority in the room.  “I will do so, sir.  May I inquire as to what time you would like your lunch?”

“In one hour, if that’s acceptable.”  And just like that Frenchie has taken over.  He decides when food will arrive and Izzy has no say.  It absolutely should not turn him on so much.

“Perfectly, sir,” the man says and withdraws.

Izzy knows what he looks like.  He has no illusions about that, and it wouldn’t be the first time stewards here have found him in a state of dishevelled undress.  This time he’s loosely wrapped in a peacock blue robe wearing a dog’s collar and showing his bruises and he absolutely does not care.

Intrigued, Frenchie opens the stopper and takes a sniff.  “Fuck, that smells like the good stuff.  Brandy?”

Izzy nods.  “Sebastian knows I like it.  I might have to pay for the room but he always remembers some small gift or other.”

“What’s he like?”

“Shrewd, handsome as the devil, incredibly dominant, clever and very dangerous.”  Izzy isn’t sure that comes close to describing the man but it’s a good start.  Considering their vastly differing backgrounds Izzy has always found it surprising that they get on so well and in another world he has often thought it would not be difficult to fall in love with the man, but not this one.  They are in some ways alike and in others polar opposites, but with interlocking tastes, both liking to be on opposite ends of a whip.

“Have you…?” Frenchie asks curiously, and then it clicks, his gaze sharpening.  “He’s the man, isn’t he.  Your business transaction.”

Izzy nods.  “Yeah.  He’s an expert with whips and floggers and knows every trick going to take someone apart.  I’ve knelt at his feet enough times to know.  Physically you’re more to his taste though.”

“Age or skin colour?” Frenchie asks curiously.

“You’re beautiful,” Izzy corrects huskily.

Izzy has had baths before, of course, but never one where he's been pampered.  It’s a strange feeling to have someone washing him with such intensity, washing his hair, scrubbing his skin, even cleaning his fingernails, although he keeps them as nice as he can.

Frenchie's hands are everywhere washing every part of him inside and out he supposes he should be embarrassed but he's well past that now.  Frenchie does certain things and Izzy finds that he does not mind at all.

He's not even allowed to dry himself but stands a little wobbly while he’s rubbed down and dried off with more care than he’s ever given himself.  Once dry he’s helped into his leg and wrapped back up in the robe.

“Let's get your collar back on, shall we,” Frenchie murmurs, putting it back round his neck and buckling it.  “Can't have you forgetting who you belong to.”

Unable to help himself, Izzy flushes.  “Shouldn’t I be doing this to you?  Serving you?”

“Pets don’t serve,” Frenchie says distractedly, as he combs Izzy’s hair with his fingers, parting it to one side so that it flops down over his forehead.  “There, perfect,” he smiles, pushing the other side behind his ear.  “Pets sit around looking pretty and do what their owners tell them to do.”

“I might take it up full time,” Izzy jokes dryly, hiding the thrill he gets from Frenchie saying that so casually.  He’s enjoying himself, he realises, Frenchie’s easy domination is intoxicating, gentler than Lucius but no less satisfying.  He’s Frenchie’s pet until tomorrow and he likes it.

“Besides, I told you, I look after my things and I very much want to look after you.  Why don't you go and pour a glass of that lovely brandy and wait for me on the sofa.  I’ll be out shortly.”

Izzy nods and pulls up the front of the robe so he doesn’t trip on it.  The robe is expensive, luxurious and far too big.  It’s obviously made for Bonnet and it trails on the ground after him.  It makes him feel small and a little vulnerable which is probably exactly why Frenchie chose it. 

He closes the door behind him and does as instructed, pouring one glass of brandy, leaving it on the nearby table.

With a sigh he removes his leg, again, and longs bitterly for the days when he was normal and not so restricted.  He’s pragmatic enough to be aware that it could have been far worse but he wishes that if he couldn’t be younger for Frenchie, he could at least be whole.  The thought sours his mood and he forces the thoughts away with an effort of will.  He wants to enjoy this time they have together, the voyage of discovery he’s leading Frenchie on.  Because, so far, his lovely man has been a revelation.

When Frenchie appears, he’s wearing nothing but a pair of flowing black silk pants, cut low on his slim hips and he grins when he sees the single glass on the table.  “Perfect, babe.  Well done.”

“Fuck,” Izzy murmurs, distracted.  “You look gorgeous.”

Frenchie does a slow twirl.  “Like them, do you?  I found them in a market on our last stop and was saving them for something special, which is you, by the way.”

Izzy swallows heavily.  His lover’s arse in the clinging silk looks good enough to eat.  “Not sure how I got to be so lucky.”

“That works both ways, baby,” Frenchie replies picking up the glass and slinking over to sit next to him on the sofa.  He pats his knees.  “Come on, pretty pet, I want to play with you.”

Opening the robe but leaving it on, Izzy straddles Frenchie’s thighs and looks at his lover under downcast eyes.  He places his hands on his thighs, waiting for instructions.  “Oh fuck, look at you,” Frenchie whispers.  It’s just the reaction Izzy needs and he feels his head settling again into the safe place.  “All that power, all that strength, mine to take.  So beautiful.”

He hears Frenchie take a drink and murmur in appreciation.  Then there’s a hand on his chin and he’s being guided to Frenchie’s mouth and when he opens to him a trickle of brandy is fed into him instead of the kiss he was expecting.  He moans at the unexpected pleasure of it, the intimacy, the lovely dirtiness of it.

“I knew you’d like that,” Frenchie murmurs, sounding pleased.  “When the food comes, I’m going to feed you.  You won’t eat anything that isn’t from my hand.  All right, pretty pet?”

Izzy nods.  This is going to kill him.  “Please,” he agrees.  The way he feels he’d let the man do anything and he suspects that Frenchie knows it.  They share some more brandy until Izzy starts to feel the warmth in the bottom of his stomach.

“You are fucking sinful.”  Frenchie’s voice is dark and lust roughened and even now Izzy can’t believe that it’s because of him.  “Look at me, babe.”  Izzy obeys instantly and watches as Frenchie strokes himself from neck to groin.  “This is yours.  Tell me what you want and you can have it.”

Confused, Izzy frowns.  Is this some kind of trick?  He’s too far down to even think about fucking anyone and besides he’s sure that’s not really on offer.  But Frenchie is looking at him patiently and maybe it is just as simple as that.  Maybe he’s being given the power to write his own scene whilst having no power at all within it.  The thought of that makes his head swirl.

“Tell me, pretty pet.”

He takes a deep breath, suddenly knowing exactly what he wants.  “I want to suck you and then you fuck my mouth.  I need you to choke me with it.”

Frenchie nods as though it’s not unexpected, his fingers reaching out to play with the bars through his nipples.  He doesn’t twist too hard, not yet, but it’s still outrageously good.  “Liking the sound of that.  What else?”

“Pull my hair,” he whispers, face flaming.  Somehow asking for this is so much harder than just taking it.  He wants no control, to be used, but asking for his fantasy like this is both humiliating and arousing.   

“That's a given,” Frenchie replies, still pulling and twisting the bars.  “What else do you want?”

Izzy closes his eyes.  He’s seen this so many times in his head, the want of it, the dirtiness.  Saying it out loud is making it real and he’s not sure if his heart can take it.  “Want to rub my cock on your leg until I come.”

Frenchie hums approvingly.  “Like a dog.”

“Yes.” 

“Is that it?”

“You tell me to clean up my mess.”

“And where do I come?”

“On my face.”

Frenchie leans back with a satisfied smile.  “You’ve thought about this before.”  It’s not a question and he nods.  “Thought about me doing it to you?”  He nods again.  “Last thing, pretty pet.  How do you want me to be?”

Their eyes meet and Izzy’s breath catches.  Will Frenchie understand?  He’s afraid that the more of himself he reveals, his lover will recoil from him, thinking him too broken, too fucked.  But Frenchie asked so he has to tell the truth, he just has to.  “Don’t be nice.” 

Dark eyes bore into his but he sees no judgement there only something hot, something waiting to be unleashed.  “You sure?”

He nods, feeling his blood rush.  He’s more than sure.

“On the floor then.  Let’s get you comfy.”

There are cushions everywhere and it takes a moment to settle him but he’s tired of dwelling on his own inadequacies so ignores that it’s needed, all he can think about is Frenchie’s beautiful cock and getting it in his mouth.  He’s good at sucking cock and his gag reflex was beaten out of him more years ago than he can count.  He’s done it for pleasure, been forced, done it to bribe, to buy his life, to escape and even done it for money once but he’s never wanted it as much as he does now.

Anticipation heavy, he watches Frenchie settle back and look at him, and sees something close down in his eyes, watches them get hard and cold.  Then he speaks.  “Heard you're a good cocksucker.  You’d fucking better be for the money I've paid for you.”

It’s the last thing Izzy expects and he feels his stomach clench.  Fuck, how did Frenchie know this was what he secretly wanted?  Was he that obvious?  But he doesn’t get time to think about it as a hand grips his chin.  “I’m Luc, you might have heard of me, and if you have you know my reputation.  I don’t pay whores to look at me.  Get it out and get to fucking work.”

Heart hammering in his chest Izzy hurries to obey and parts the fabric, leaning in to lick the length of the shaft before taking it into his mouth.  Luc smells of soap and sex and it’s intoxicating.  The angle is not good for him to get deeper so he moves to grip the base but he’s slapped away and pulled off by a hand in his hair.

“You’re here to use your mouth, not your fucking hands.  Keep them where I can see them.”  His hands are roughly taken and put on Luc’s thighs but he doesn't miss the two taps Frenchie gives his hand reminding him of their signals and that settles him.  While he knows it’s just a game it’s easy to sink into it and lose himself which is why it feels so good.

 Perhaps realising that the angle really is bad, Luc puts a thumb at the base of his cock, pushing it outwards.  “That’s as much help as you get, slut.  Get back on it.”

It’s much better and Izzy sinks back down, taking him into his throat, swirling his tongue as he goes, doing his best to make it as good as he can.  He starts a good rhythm of suction, swirls, down and into his throat, swallowing and back and thank God Luc seems to be satisfied because he’s making small breathy noises and despite the underlying fear that he won’t be good enough and that if he’s not there will be consequences, Izzy is hard.

Then Luc thrusts unexpectedly and unprepared, Izzy coughs, his rhythm lost.  The hand is back in his hair roughly pulling him off and he feels his face burn.

“You’re supposed to be good at this,” Luc hisses.  “You'd better improve on that or I'll be asking for my money back and that won't go down well, will it, slut.”

Izzy flushes, ashamed.  “No,” he whispers, wanting to look away but unable to.  Luc’s dark eyes burn into his and there’s absolutely no quarter in them, no mercy.  Too late he sees the hand coming delivering a stinging slap to his cheek.  It’s not hard enough to do any damage but it’s humiliating and awful and his cock throbs in twisted joy.

“No, what?  With the amount I've paid for you it had better come with fucking manners.”

“No, sir.”

“Better.  Don't forget again.”  Then Luc glances down at his cock and a disgusted smile crosses his face.  “Like that, do you?  Get off on being roughed up a bit?”

No, Izzy wants to say, no, I fucking hate it.  Don’t touch me.  “Yes, sir,” he breathes, and this time the slap is to his other cheek and the sting makes his eyes water.  “Thank you, sir.”

Luc looks at him dispassionately.  “You’re a looker, I’ll give you that.  Usually by the time they get to your age all the teeth have gone although that’s quite handy in a good cocksucker.  But you, you’re a sick puppy, aren’t you.  I can always tell.”

Izzy swallows heavily, hating the tears that have leaked down his red cheeks, the twisted compliment a dark thing that sits heavily in his gut.  “Yes, sir.”

“If I had more time I’d find out just how sick but that would cost me more and you’re probably not worth it,” Luc tells him dismissively.  “Get on with what I am paying you for and do it properly this time.”

Relieved, he sinks down and this time the hand is back in his hair and it remains, gripping, not moving him, not yet, but a heavy presence nonetheless, distracting him and it’s somehow shameful and arousing in equal measure.  He gets his rhythm back again though and this time the hips beneath him stay still.  He hasn’t moved his hands so much as an inch and he’s trying hard not to grip the thighs he’s holding on to, not wanting to earn further displeasure but it helps with leverage and he’s able to use his arms to push himself up and back on the cock he’s pleasuring.  Luc may be a bastard but his cock is lovely and if he wasn’t so on edge Izzy thinks he could actually enjoy this.

He's just giving particular attention to the head, which earns a breathy groan, when there's a quiet knock on the door and he starts to pull away but Luc’s hand tightens preventing him from moving.  “I didn't say you could stop, slut,” he’s told, and there’s that voice again, ice and steel and darkness.  “Keep your eyes on me.”

“Come in,” Frenchie calls out, sounding like himself again, and Izzy feels his face flame but he doesn't stop, doesn’t look away.  He sinks down on the beautiful cock in his mouth, pushing it into his throat, working it, then back up when he has to breathe.  Although he’s still wearing the robe it’s completely open and hides nothing.

“Your food, sir,” a discrete voice says.

“That’s great, thank you.  Leave it by the bed, will you please.”

He hears the wheels of a trolley.  “Of course, sir.  Will that be all?”

Frenchie says that it is and the man retreats.  “There,” Frenchie says smugly, “now they know you’re mine too.”

Unable to help himself, Izzy moans around the cock, not sure who he’s dealing with now.  “Like that, do you?  Well, you’re only mine as long as the money lasts then you’re nothing again,” Luc tells him cruelly, putting him back in the place his head has sunk to.  “Not that you’re much now, apart from your pretty eyes.”

Flushing, Izzy feels himself tearing up again.  He thinks I have pretty eyes.  And quite why that almost overwhelms him he can’t begin to work out.

Luc puts his head back and gives a long low moan.  “That’s it, slut, just like that.  At this rate you might earn your coin after all.”

Redoubling his efforts with every bit of skill he’s learned over the years, Izzy knows damn well that he’s earning his money and pleasing the man.  Then, abruptly, the hand in his hair tightens and pulls him up.

“Fuck, you’re too good at that.”  For a moment he sounds like Frenchie, until there’s a hard swallow, and Luc continues.  “I’m feeling generous, bitch.  If you can come before I shoot I’ll let you.  If you haven’t by the time I’ve filled your throat you can go without.”  Luc pulls up the silky material on his leg and pushes it under Izzy’s hand to hold it there, then pushes the leg through Izzy’s and presses hard into his cock and balls.

“There, rub yourself on that if you want to spill and you can thank me after for being so fucking nice.”

Izzy isn’t given chance to say anything as he’s pushed back onto Luc’s cock but this time the hand holds his head firm and the man’s hips snap up instead forcing his cock into the back of Izzy’s throat.  Then he holds, cutting off his breath although only for a few seconds, then thrusts again, repeating the process and Izzy slackens his throat the best as he can, knowing he’s only a hole to fuck now and it shouldn’t be so good.  Rubbing his aching cock against the man’s leg shouldn’t be so good either, but it is.  He’s burning with shame at being used like this but if Luc wanted him to kiss his feet and worship him, Izzy would.

He's so close to coming when Luc slams his cock in and cuts off his air completely and Izzy is starting to get spots in his vision when he’s released, then a quick breath and he does it again and Izzy comes like a dog against his master’s leg even as things begin to go dark.  Then he’s gasping and Luc swears and pulls out, coming hard, and Izzy just has time to close his eyes as his face is painted with come, hot and degrading.  Some lands in his mouth but he leaves it there, mouth open and waits for a reaction.

“Fucking hell,” the man pants.  “Look at you, slut.  I should leave you like that so your next customer can see what a busy little whore you’ve been today.  It’s a pity this place has rules and I have to return you cleaned up.”

Still getting his breath back, Izzy can’t get his brain to think, to work out what to do next so he just waits and flinches slightly when Luc reaches out, scraping the come with his fingers and pushing it into Izzy’s mouth, then leaves the fingers there for Izzy to clean them up.

Once that’s done to his satisfaction, he leans back and closes his eyes, arms flung out as though he has no further use for him.  “Look what you’ve done,” he says remotely.  “Clean up your mess.”

Stiffly, Izzy crawls back as best as he can and licks his come from Luc’s leg, finally letting go of his thighs.  It's humiliating and degrading and dirty and he feels content.  It’s all over his stomach too but he ignores that.  Cleaning Luc is all that matters.

Once he’s finished he can’t keep himself upright any longer and slumps over the man’s lap, desperate for a connection, any touch he can get.  “Thank you, sir.”

“That’s it, baby, we’re done.  Come up here.”  Frenchie’s voice is like a soothing balm, much like the hands that are encouraging him up and pulling him into his lap.  And suddenly he’s clinging to Frenchie, desperate for his touch, burying his face in the crook of his neck.  He’s missed him so much and it was what, maybe twenty minutes?  Maybe less?

He has no idea why but he can feel tears welling up in his eyes but he’s not going to cry because he’s a fucking pirate and everyone knows that pirates don’t cry but he comes close.  It was everything he wanted yet he feels wrung out because no normal man would want something like that so what does that make him?  He regrets asking for it now because Frenchie had offered him anything and it could have just been something sweet.

Frenchie is murmuring to him, stroking him, but he’s too lost in himself to hear the words yet.  He hated Luc and wanted to fall at his feet, despised him and would have bled for him if he’d asked for it.  Yet Luc wasn’t real.  Only Frenchie, his beautiful man, is real and he’s suddenly terrified that his twisted fantasy will drive him away.

But Frenchie is still speaking, gently rocking him.  “That was amazing.  Christ but you were so beautiful on your knees like that.  My good boy, my pretty pet, I love you so much.  You were so good for me.  Everything we do together, it just gets better.”

The relief that his lover has not judged him goes through him like a wave, then the words themselves settle around his heart.  He gives a deep sigh, breathing in his lover’s scent.  How did he become so lucky?  “Frenchie…?”

“Hey, you’re back with me,” Frenchie smiles, lifting his chin to see his face.  He frowns a little at the tear tracks and rubs them away with a gentle thumb.  “Are you all right, Iz?  Was that too much?”

Izzy shakes his head.  “No, it was perfect.. intense.  Just not… easy,” he murmurs.  “Thank you.”

Taking his chin, Frenchie kisses him and it’s gentle and sweet, perfect after such darkness.  “You’re welcome, baby, you were so good.  I’m going to look after you, okay?  Is there anything you need?”

The praise helps, settling him, and he shakes his head, not wanting to break the contact yet.  “I’m fine.  I just need this for a bit.”

“For as long as you need,” Frenchie assures him, stroking his back.  As before, they stay like that until Izzy starts to come back to himself and it occurs to him how patient Frenchie is, letting him take what time he needs to settle afterwards.  It’s a side of himself that he rarely shows and Izzy loves him the more for it.  Despite feeling better though, their scene plays on his mind. 

“I shouldn't have wanted that,” he frets, unable to keep it bottled up.

“Does it harm anyone that you did?”

“I’m… scared that I’m corrupting you.  Making you do things that you don’t really want to do.”

Frenchie snorts a laugh.  “It would take more than that, pet.  It means so much to me that you’re trusting me with this.  I want to give you what you need.”

He settles back down in Frenchie’s arms.  “I was worried I'd asked too much of you,” he admits quietly.  “It was my fantasy, I suppose you’d call it, but it was dark, kind of.  Can’t have been easy for you either.”

Frenchie shakes his head and seems much better put together than he is after their scene.  “I have a word to stop things too, my love, and if I’d needed to I would have used it.  Besides, you asked for not nice, you didn’t ask to be made a whore.  I did that but it just seemed to go with what you wanted.”

“It was,” Izzy assures.  “Luc was unexpected but he went perfectly with the scenario.”

“Luc lives in one of my boxes and he’s gone back there now so you’re safe.”

But are you, Izzy wants to ask.  “Is Luc someone you knew?” he asks instead.  Frenchie’s ability to become someone else amazes him and not for the first time he wonders what goes on in that head of his.  He remembers the stories about Frenchie pretending to be Viceroy to the Prince of Egypt and pulling that off spectacularly well so nothing should surprise him really.  Now he thinks about it, Frenchie being good at role play makes perfect sense when he can lock the voices up inside the boxes in his head.

“A long time ago, yes, and a fucking bastard.”

“Tell me about it one day?” Izzy asks, aware of how little he knows about Frenchie’s past even though they have been together for months now.

“One day, babe, but we’re not spoiling today.  This place, you, it’s too good to ruin.”

“Enjoying yourself?” Izzy smiles. 

Looping a finger under his collar, Frenchie pulls their mouths together again.  “More than you can imagine.”

“Actually, I can imagine quite a lot.”

“If what we’ve just done is anything to go by, I think you can too.”  Frenchie grins.  “And right now I’m imagining food.  Do you feel up to eating, pet?”

Izzy nods.  “I could eat, yes.”

“Good boy.  I’m going to feed you, so you don’t need to do a thing.”

Izzy groans.  He’s forgotten about that, although it sounds kind of nice and something he hasn’t done before.  Then he realises suddenly that he’s famished.  “How do you want me?”

“On the bed, I think.  Do you need the bathroom first?” Frenchie asks, and Izzy shakes his head, wondering what that has to do with it.  Then he’s encouraged to stand, Frenchie gets up too and sweeps him into his arms, robe as well and deposits him gently on the bed before he even has time to protest.  “Not worth putting your leg on just for that,” he’s told, and he understands then how thoughtful Frenchie is, even when they are like this, despite the fact that he usually hates being helped.  He’s also still trying to process the fact that being swept of his feet was kind of hot.

Frenchie doesn’t give him chance to comment, just tells him to make himself comfortable so he settles sitting up, back against the headboard and more pillows than any bed should have the right to have.  Sitting beside him on the edge of the bed, Frenchie pulls the trolley towards them and lifts the lids off the dishes, making appreciative noises.  This meal is cold and laid out beautifully.  There are breads and crackers, meats and cheeses, sauces and chutneys, fruit and a sweet soft custard like pudding that looks very interesting.   There’s enough to feed half the crew Izzy thinks critically but Sebastian never stints in his hospitality.

“Anything you don’t like there, pet?” he’s asked and shakes his head.  He doesn’t add that every client has a detailed list of food likes and dislikes to make sure that their visit is perfect.  They really do think of everything.

“No, it’s all good.” 

Frenchie grins wickedly.  “Hands by your sides then, pretty.  This will relax you for what we’re going to do next.  Well, after our bath anyway.”

“Another bath?” Izzy groans, although he’ll admit that he’s sticky from coming and rubbing in it.  It’s only a half-hearted protest though as he’s getting to love Frenchie’s single-minded determination to clean him.  It’s nothing to do with him being dirty, he’s knows, but the act of cleaning itself is the turn on and Izzy is not about to deny his lover anything.

“The bath’s big enough for two so I thought we could share it,” Frenchie says, spreading the small, bite sized crackers with different toppings.  “Maybe catch up on some kissing because I don’t think we’ve done enough of that yet.  What do you think?” he asks, eyes twinkling, as he gives Izzy a cracker.

“We could do that,” he agrees, taking the food with a grin and chewing quickly.  “But it’s whatever you want really, isn’t it,” he adds huskily.  “I’m your pet.  You’re the one in charge.”

“Fucking hell, Iz,” Frenchie groans.  Whilst it’s the dynamic they have both agreed upon, having Izzy reinforce it like that seems to crack his lover’s composure.

“Like that?” Izzy purrs, shrugging out of the robe and crawling forward, to climb naked onto Frenchie’s lap.  “You know I’m yours, don’t you.  Yours to use, yours to hurt, yours to fuck,” he breathes into Frenchie’s ear.  He's feeling playful and a little loved up which can often happen after such an intense scene and really needs to be touching his lover.

Frenchie laughs and almost groans at the same time.  “I don't remember saying that you could move.”

He grins showing teeth.  “You'll have to punish me, then.”

“Hmm, I think I should,” Frenchie replies, with an answering grin.  “Something for naughty boys who don’t stay where they’re put.”

Izzy feels a shiver run through him.  They might be playful now but the thought of Frenchie hurting him again is doing something to his head.  “You could put me over your knee,” he suggests hesitantly, swallowing.  “Bad boys need teaching a lesson.”

He watches Frenchie’s eyes darken, watches him catch his bottom lip on his teeth, watches him realise what he can do.  He can do anything.  Everything.   

“Hands behind your back,” he instructs, and Izzy obeys instantly, clasping his hands together.  Frenchie’s hands go to his nipples, lightly pulling on the silver bars but his gaze doesn’t leave Izzy’s for an instant.  “And how bad have you been?”

Izzy hisses at the sting from his nipples and finds himself flushing under Frenchie’s calculating gaze.  They are being playful but also, they’re not, because there’s the promise of something dark that he wants beneath.  “Very bad,” he admits, looking downcast although he can’t help the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Hmm, then maybe later we can have a talk about… correction.”

Frenchie grins as he says the word and Izzy shivers at the thought of it.  There’s so much they haven’t done yet and he very definitely wants to go over Frenchie’s knee.  “Correction,” Izzy repeats softly.  Swallows.  “Yes, sir.”

“We’ll just have to see how good you can be,” Frenchie purrs, “between then and now.  I’m sure you won’t want to make the correction worse.  Will you?” he asks archly, his fingers twisting the metal bars and pulling just enough to make Izzy whine.

“Yes, sir,” Izzy responds, his gaze locks on Frenchie’s.  They both know what he wants.  “Reckon I might.”

“Fuck,” Frenchie murmurs, clearly liking the sound of that and they end up kissing again until his stomach protests and rumbles loudly, breaking the mood somewhat. 

Sharing a grin, they turn back to the food, but the promise of Frenchie hurting him again dances through Izzy’s head, settling him and he’s already wondering how he can earn more of whatever Frenchie has planned. 

The food is excellent and as promised Frenchie feeds him, neatly at first until Izzy starts licking Frenchie’s fingers as suggestively as he can before Frenchie gets the idea and things get really messy.  It's wonderful and intimate and fun and descends into them licking food from each other until they've made such a mess of themselves that by the time they’ve finished the bath is inevitable.

Izzy will certainly never look at custard in the same way ever again.

Chapter Text

They have their bath and Frenchie makes good on his promise of kissing and the water is barely warm when they finally get out.  Izzy remembers back to their first night together how he had wondered what it would be like just to kiss, well now he knows and it's wonderful.

Once they've dried off, he suggests they investigate the cupboards and drawers in depth because he’s sure that much of it will be a revelation to Frenchie.  The first chest of drawers they go through is full of implements of pleasure, smooth oiled cocks of all sizes, made of wood, ivory and glass, plugs that go from relatively normal to eye-watering girths, and other things that need a little more imagination to know what they are for.  Frenchie asks him to pick two so Izzy selects a cock and a plug that won’t be a challenge but should still make him feel full.  With a grin, Frenchie puts them on the bed for later.

Another drawer set is full of items to cause pain; whips, floggers, paddles, belts and much more.  There are chains, rope of all types and multiple collars, cuffs and restraints.  Frenchie is fascinated with it all and Izzy watches in delight as his lover gets more interested the more he sees.  He is starting to believe that Frenchie is more than comfortable on his journey into the darker side of love.

Then they get to the armoire, and that is a revelation.  In his past visits Izzy has not bothered with a full exploration, knowing exactly what he needed.  He had not therefore realised the extent of items available to the room’s guests.  The armoire is full of clothes; dresses, robes, uniforms, costumes, things that look like harnesses, and below there are drawers of undergarments.

Opening the first one, Frenchie sees some pink fabric and pulls it out, unfolding it carefully.  It's a shift, the type that ladies wear underneath their dresses, made of silk, delicate and lovely and Frenchie can't take his eyes off it.  “Fuck, I love this.  Would you wear it for me?” he asks softly, meeting Izzy’s gaze.  “You don't have to but it's just so…”  He swallows heavily, his eyes suddenly dark.

“You like it that much?” Izzy asks, feeling his voice crack.  He’s not sure how he feels about it but he loves Frenchie’s reaction.  Would it hurt?  It can’t be any more humiliating than what he’s already done in this room.

“I think I’d like it on you.”

“All right,” he says awkwardly.  “All right.  For you.”

Izzy holds his arms up, heart pounding, and Frenchie slips it over his head and lets it fall.  It has thin straps and is cut low at the chest but as it settles about him he realises that there’s no allowance for the swell of breasts and that it's been cut for a man and that is strangely comforting.  Other men do this, he realises, the thought never having occurred to him before.  Other men make themselves pretty and the revelation is startling. 

Maybe he can be pretty too.

It seems that Frenchie certainly likes it because he sinks to his knees in front of him, looking up in awe.  The shift is quite short and comes half way down his thighs, covering his cock but leaving little to the imagination.

“Fucking hell, Iz, you are so lovely,” Frenchie groans, hands clutching his own thighs, as though he doesn’t want to sully the silk with his touch.  “I… I didn’t know until I saw it.  Didn’t know what it would do to me to see you like this.”

Izzy knows that he has no elegance any more, that his movements have lost his old fluid grace but all the same he turns slowly, arms a little out, giving Frenchie a show.  Suddenly he feels tranquil and strangely proud that he’s having this effect on his beautiful man.  Looking down he can see his nipples outlined against the silk and further down he can see the swell of his cock and it makes him feel oddly powerful.  Frenchie is still staring at him, so he smiles and strokes his lover’s beautiful hair.  “I think we might have discovered a new kink,” he murmurs, suddenly not feeling ridiculous at all.

Frenchie sighs and his hands to go silk covered hips, then he leans forward, rubbing his face over his silk-covered cock.  “You’re my kink,” he says softly.  “It’s you.  You’re so beautiful.  Christ, I want you.”

For a moment Izzy wonders who he is, because he’s just starting to understand that he doesn’t really know himself at all.  He wants to know how much else there is to learn about himself because who knew Izzy Hands wanted to be taken apart wearing pink silk underwear.

“I’m yours,” Izzy replies simply.  He wants to be touched, wants to be taken like this, bent over in his pretty pink slip.  “I'm wearing your collar.  You don't have to... don't ask.  Please…  Take what you want.”

He watches Frenchie’s eyes darken as he gets to his feet with a grace Izzy can’t help but envy.  “You want me to fuck you,” Frenchie says huskily, leaning in and tilting his head up.  “But you’re going to have to be good and wait a bit longer.  Can you be good for me?”

Unable to tear his eyes away, Izzy squashes a moan of disappointment.  How has Frenchie learned how to play him so quickly and so well?  “Yes, sir.  I’ll be good.”  And it’s so easy now, so natural how ‘yes, sir’ slips from his lips without a thought.

“Good boy,” Frenchie smiles, kissing him.  “Or should that be good girl?”

Izzy gives a little whine and squeezes his eyes shut.  It’s too much.  They are going places now that he’s never been and he doesn’t know how to react.  Doesn’t know if he wants it or not and fucking damn his fucking cock for deciding for him because it’s swelling even more.

Frenchie’s smile turns into a sharp grin, bright and dangerous, because he’s seen, of course he has.  “We’ll put that to one side for now but make no mistake, pet, we’ll come back to it.  What I want right now is your cock in my mouth.  Come on.”  Taking Izzy by the hand he leads him across the room to the desk and leans him against it, the perfect height for his arse to rest against.  His hands are taken and placed on the desk.  “Are you all right there?” Frenchie asks and Izzy nods.  “Good.  Keep your hands where they are and I want you to be quiet.  Not one sound, unless you need to say a colour.  Can you do that, pet?”

Izzy comes so close to saying yes but stops himself and nods again, his heart pounding at Frenchie’s effortless domination.

“Good boy,” Frenchie praises, and Izzy nearly comes undone then.  It’s not even the words exactly but the way Frenchie says them, so warm and affectionate and beneath them, the impression that he’s proud of him.  He watches as his lover crosses the room to the large free-standing mirror by the armoire, presumably for patrons to view themselves after trying on the costumes within, and wheels it across the room, positioning it until Frenchie is satisfied, at his back but also to one side so that Izzy has a perfect view of himself.

He almost gasps when he sees himself, but at the last second holds back, remembering his silence.  But, oh Christ, is this truly him?  This wanton creature, slutty yet lovely in pink silk and a heavy black collar, hair askew and face flushed.  He looks himself, strong, hairy, muscular but also at the same time not.  This man is subtly different, his eyes needy and astonishingly vulnerable.

“That’s it,” Frenchie murmurs, leaning close.  “Look at yourself, my lovely.  See how beautiful you are.  That’s how I see you all the time.”

Izzy wants to speak, to deny it, to say that he’s old and broken and doesn’t deserve this but he’s forbidden, so he just swallows, and nods, and watches, open eyed, as Frenchie goes to his knees.

Almost reverently Frenchie strokes the pink silk and then bunches it into his hand and pushes it up so that his hand rests on Izzy’s hip, exposing him.  “Don't stop watching,” he instructs, his eyes flickering up.  “You can come whenever you like, pet.”

His cock is half hard but stiffens the moment Frenchie leans forward and licks the entire length of it before swirling his tongue around the head and sucking lightly.  Fuck, he’s not even put the whole thing in his mouth and Izzy wants to moan, to encourage, to fucking beg, but he can do nothing.  Can’t even stuff his hand in his mouth to keep from making noise.  It’s heaven, it’s hell, but he’s Frenchie’s good boy so he doesn’t make a sound.

Humming softly, Frenchie slowly pushes forward until Izzy’s cock is hitting the back of his throat, then even more slowly back again.  By the time he’s suckled around the head again, lavishing it with so much attention that Izzy wants to scream, he’s trembling so badly that he’s sure that Frenchie’s hands on his hips will pick it up.  He’s amazed that the desk isn’t rattling.  He’s so desperate for more but Frenchie keeps going slowly, wet and messy, taking much more than he’s giving, until Izzy feel like he could burst.

Watching in the mirror makes it worse, or a million times better, because it’s like watching strangers, two men he doesn’t know, one pleasuring the other, one lost in the pleasure, eyes hooded and breath coming in small panting exhales.  They could be anyone, shopkeepers, soldiers, farmers, they could have been together their whole lives, and Izzy envies them.  Or they could be pirates, dangerous men, men who steal and kill and fuck and they could be in love.  It’s too much and he doesn’t know why.  He doesn’t expect to feel tears prick his eyes but there they are.  He doesn’t want to look and he doesn’t want to tear his eyes away.

It feels like it goes on for hours, nowhere near enough for him to come and he can't make noise and he wants to scream.  It’s nothing less than torture, exquisite and appalling in equal measure.  And then it stops just for a moment.  “You can speak now,” Frenchie tells him, those dark eyes looking up at him and he looks back into the well of Frenchie’s soul, silent and trembling, awaiting his orders.  “I want to hear what you’re thinking.  I want to know what's going through that head of yours.”

Izzy freezes.  He’s never been good at talking during sex although he loves hearing it from Frenchie.  Does Frenchie want dirty talk or a commentary?  Can he do that?  His attention is drawn back to his lover who rubs a thumb possessively over the scars at his hip.  “No rules, pet,” Frenchie says encouragingly, softly, before returning to his cock, “just whatever comes into your head.”

“Oh God, your fucking mouth,” Izzy groans, as Frenchie slowly works his way down again, imprisoning his cock in sinful wet heat.  It's not like Frenchie hasn't blown him before but never quite like this, never with so much control.  “Yes, like that,” he breathes, as that wicked tongue laps at him even while Frenchie’s moving.  “Fuck, just there.   Oh fuck, oh God, I love you so fucking much.  Don't stop, please.”

He can't take his eyes off the men in the mirror now.  He must watch them, can't look anywhere else.  And now he’s started he can’t stop, the words pour out of him after being forbidden to speak.  “Look at you, on your knees.  You’re mine, fucking mine.  Yes, right there.” 

It feels so raw, so new, these things they are doing together.  He feels exposed in ways he’s never been before and he can’t contain it, even if he wanted to.  “You’re so beautiful I can't bear it sometimes.  You make me want to…  I want to kill anyone who's ever hurt you.  Hunt them down and slit their fucking throats.  Fuck, yes, faster, please…”  He hardly knows what he's saying but he just can't hold back and when he looks down Frenchie’s eyes are black with lust and that no matter how terrible his words are Frenchie is soaking them up.

And then Frenchie’s got hold of his hips, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise, encouraging him forward wanting him to… oh… fuck his mouth and he can't move his hands but he can move his hips and as he does the words keep coming.  “So beautiful, you're so fucking beautiful you make my eyes hurt.  I don't know why you want me but I need you so much… fuck.  Can’t lose you.  Got to keep you safe, got to protect you.  Oh fuck, I'm going to…”

Orgasm spirals through him, driven by the words that he can't stop, that he shouldn’t say.  Heart stuttering, he comes and comes apart.  He watches in the mirror as Frenchie’s mouth seems to suck the come out of him, watches his throat as he swallows, his dark eyes fluttering shut as though tasting the finest wine and it’s possibly the most erotic thing Izzy’s ever seen.  “Need you,” he gasps.  “Need you, need you.”  Then he can't find the breath and collapses back onto the desk a broken thing, his release too shattering.  He feels utterly drained because he's told more truth than he intended ever to speak.

He hears Frenchie’s rough breathing, ragged and drawn, and feels his head resting on his hip and Izzy finally moves his hand and rests it on Frenchie’s hair not sure whether he needs comfort or just to be connected to him now they are no longer joined.

Then Frenchie surges up and Izzy is pulled into his arms and held so tightly, his head under Frenchie’s chin, Frenchie’s hand pressing him close.  “I’m so sorry, baby,” he apologises, his voice strained.  “That was too much.  I shouldn't have done that to you.  I’m sorry.  Are you all right?”

Izzy tries to nod, registering then that there’s no erection pressing into him and that Frenchie must have come while he was talking.  Maybe because of what he said.  “Yeah,” he whispers, blinking, trying to clear his eyes.  “Fuck.  I don't know what happened.  It was so good, but it all got bottled up and when I started I just couldn't stop.  I knew what I was saying but I shouldn’t have...”  He stops and shakes his head, needing his lover to understand.  “The headspace does weird things to me sometimes.  But you weren’t to know, okay?”

It's only when he finally looks up that he sees Frenchie's eyes are wet too.  “Oh love,” Izzy murmurs, gently wiping the wetness away with his thumb.  The words are burned into his brain, dredged from the darkness in his soul and brought into the light where they should never have been.  

“Those things you said...”  Frenchie’s voice falters but Izzy hears what is left unsaid.  Did you mean it?

“Every fucking word,” Izzy assures him.  “I know you’ve been hurt and you don’t talk about it and that’s fine, I understand why, but I would hunt them all down if I could and I would fucking end them.  And yes, every day I think about keeping you safe because every beautiful part of you is mine.  Even when I’m wearing your collar, you’re still mine.”  Unsure how a simple blowjob became so fraught, Izzy sighs.  “I will kill for you, without thought or hesitation.  I told you right at the start, I'm not a good man and I never will be.”

“I don’t care,” Frenchie replies fervently.  “I don’t need you to be a good man, Izzy Hands, I need you to be my man, in the same way that I’m yours.  That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah,” Izzy sighs as Frenchie rests their foreheads together.  “That, I am.  Do you need…?”

Frenchie colours slightly.  “I’m good, babe.  I shot when you came, saying that you needed me.  It was a bit intense.”

“No shit,” Izzy retorts but allows himself a smile as Frenchie straightens, before being overtaken by a yawn.  Their lunch, two intense orgasms and the emotional fallout of the last few minutes have not exhausted him exactly, but he can feel himself droop.

Taking his hand, Frenchie pulls him towards the bed.  “Come on.  That’s just about finished me for a while.  How about a nap?”

So this is what his life has become, Izzy thinks wryly.  He’s turning into an old man who needs a sleep to get through the day.   Still, he can’t deny the appeal and it's not like this has been a normal day.  It's been a fucking amazing day but not normal.  Yawning again, Izzy still feels the need to protest.  “I am a pirate; we do not take fucking naps.”

“Pirates dressed in pretty pink slips do,” he’s told, and he groans in embarrassment.  “Do you need to piss?”

“What?  Frenchie, you don't need to plan my fucking bathroom breaks.”

“Too much?” his lover asks sheepishly.

“Little bit, unless you're planning on experimenting in other directions.”  He says it as a joke but he really should know better.

Frenchie's grin becomes positively wicked.  “Don't think I haven't thought about it.”

“You are a fucking menace,” Izzy growls, but he doesn’t protest as his leg is removed and he’s pushed gently down onto the bed and arranged to Frenchie’s liking.  A moment later Frenchie joins him, pulling him into his arms as usual.  “I’m not going to sleep,” he objects.

“I know, pet, but just close your eyes,” Frenchie murmurs.  “Listen to my breathing, yeah.”

It’s an order, kind of, so Izzy does as he’s told and doesn’t see Frenchie’s knowing smile as he drifts off to sleep first.

He’s face down on the bed, arms cuffed and stretched out, chained to the sides.  He’s still wearing the silk shift and it has been pulled up at the bottom, exposing him and somehow it makes him feel deliciously dirty.  The plug he selected is in his arse, wide but not deep and Frenchie is above him, languidly placing kisses on him, his legs, the back of his neck below the collar, his arms, his back between the scars above the silk.  Every time he moves even just a little his nipples rub on the silk and send a frisson of sensation down to his cock.

There’s a hum of approval when he moans.  “When you get a new instrument,” Frenchie murmurs into his skin, the words dark and intimate, “you have to learn it, every curve, every place you put your hands.  You learn how it responds and what to do to make it sing for you.”

The kisses are lovely, they really are, but not enough.  “If I’m your instrument, fucking play with me,” Izzy growls, pushing his arse up as much as he can.  He feels like testing the waters to see what he can get away with and likes the thought of pushing Frenchie, especially with the promise of later.  He suspects he knows how Lucius would handle bratty behaviour, but although Frenchie is much less experienced, he is very inventive so Izzy is curious to see what he’ll do.

What Frenchie actually does is laugh and sits back on his heels.  “And now I’m wondering why my pretty pet has forgotten his manners.”

“I’m not a fucking dog,” Izzy snaps.  “Come on, love, just fuck me.  I’ve been waiting all day for it.”

There’s a hand in his hair and his head is suddenly pulled back.  “And you think being mouthy is going to get it for you?  Good luck with that.”

Oh yes, that’s good.  The hand in his hair is perfect.  “All right, please will you fuck me?”

“Not until you sound like you mean it.  You can ask better than that.”

“Please, sir,” Izzy almost singsongs, “please fuck me.”

Instantly Frenchie is up and there’s a hard stinging slap on his arse cheek.  “You use that word, boy, and you’d better fucking mean it.”

Frenchie’s voice is suddenly hard, cold as steel and it sends a shiver through him.  It’s a tone he’s never heard from the man before and it makes him even harder than he already is.  There’s another hard slap, enough to make him gasp and then two more.

“This what you want, baby?” Frenchie asks, back to the amused voice, like he can see through Izzy as though he’s as transparent as glass.

“Fuck yes, more, please.”

There’s a soft laugh.  “No, I don't think so.  We might be storing things up for later, but right now I'll give you what you want but only for being good, which you are definitely not being.”

Izzy lets out a huffing breath and relaxes, the desire to fight lessening.  It’s clear that Frenchie is not falling for any tricks.  “Sorry,” he murmurs, not down enough to mean it completely but getting there.

Then Frenchie is leaning back over him, his hard cock rubbing against him.  “No, you’re not.  Not yet anyway.  It’s okay though because I know what you really want.  You want to be put over Daddy's knee like the naughty girl you are and spanked.”

Izzy feels his face flame and he immediately presses down into the pillow, eyes tight shut.  Fuck.  Sometimes it’s easy to forget how smart Frenchie actually is.

“Fuck off,” he whispers.  He doesn’t want that, he absolutely fucking doesn’t.

“Oh babe,” Frenchie says delightedly, kissing the back of his neck.  “You shouldn't have given me that one.  I get it now.  That's exactly what you want, but you can't ask for it.”

“Fuck off,” he says again as Frenchie’s weight settles on him again. 

“No, I don't think I will.  I'm going to take you apart, baby.  So hard you won't know your own name.”

“I’m hearing a lot of talk.”

“And back with the manners again.  Let’s see what we can do about that, shall we?”

Frenchie’s weight lifts and he hears the sound of fabric being slid down, then the sound of an oil bottle being opened. 

“Finally,” Izzy hisses as the plug is removed and Frenchie is between his legs, pushing them further apart and his long cock is slowly filling him up. 

“Be careful what you wish for,” Frenchie murmurs, against his ear, as he bottoms out and then doesn’t move.  “You want more, baby, you’ve got to beg for it.”

“Oh God, please,” Izzy whines. 

“Nice, pretty baby, but not good enough.  See, I think you're testing me, pushing me to see what I'll come up with.  Is it a fight you want or a battle of wills?  Because that's something you're really not going to win.  You want me to fuck you, baby, ask properly.”

“I don’t know what you want,” Izzy almost wails.  Frenchie’s entire weight is on him, pressing him down and preventing him from moving. 

“Yes, you do.  Say it, baby.  Ask for it and I’ll give it to you.”

And he does know.  He knows exactly what Frenchie wants from him but it’s too much.  “I can't.  Don't make me.”

“I’m not making you, baby, but you will say it.  There's only us here, love, it's our secret, just ours, no one else’s.  It's just a word, and it can't hurt you.  You're not a child and I'm not going to treat you like one so it’s just a word, yeah?”

The heat of the cock in him is breathtaking but he needs it to move so badly.  He’s impaled but is desperate for more.

“I can't.”

“Yes, you can, baby girl, it’s so simple.  Give me what I want and you get what you want.  Ask me properly.”

There's a breath and a word so soft, so barely there.  Face burning, he tries it and feels a small thrust from Frenchie’s hips.

“Good girl, that's it.  Louder.”

Still the barest whisper.

“Perfect, love.  And again.”

“Please Daddy, fuck me.”

“Once more, my love.”

“Oh God, Daddy, fuck me please.  Please Daddy.”

And that’s all it takes.  Frenchie gives a hiss of approval and starts fucking him hard and all he can do it take it.  He’s pressed into the bed and can’t thrust back and it’s absolutely perfect.  The humiliation of it, the pressure on his nipples and prick and the sheer force of the cock hammering into him is utterly overwhelming.

“Don't you fucking dare come without begging for it,” Frenchie growls, reading him.  He actually fucking growls and that's nearly enough to send him over the edge right there and then.

He wants to but he can’t stop the words that come out of him.  “Daddy please, I need to come.  Daddy please, please.”

“Do it, baby.  Do it for Daddy,” Frenchie pants and it’s too late because Izzy is pulsing, yelling, every nerve ending on fire and he feels himself clenching with the pulses of his orgasm and that’s enough to send Frenchie over the edge too and he comes forcefully within him.  Frenchie collapses on top of him, his cock still throbbing and Izzy feels that he could float away.  He feels disconnected from himself but protected and safe at the same time.

“Fuck, babe,” Frenchie groans, kissing the back of his neck.  “What you do to me.”

All he has the energy for is to hum his agreement which changes to a sigh of disappointment when Frenchie pulls out.  Then the chains are removed from the cuffs and his arms are rubbed and moved.  He’s still floaty when long fingers gently press into him and he drifts off, happy to let his lover clean him.

When he comes back to himself, he’s on his side, Frenchie curled around him.  “Are you all right, baby,” Frenchie asks softly.  “Was that okay?” 

Izzy huffs a laugh.  “You little shit,” he murmurs affectionately, realising now how completely outmatched he was.  He pushed Frenchie and Frenchie pushed right back, only harder and better.  “I’m quite possibly going to die from embarrassment but yes, it was very okay.”

“I was going for something soft and slow.  You were the one who turned into a brat.”

“You loved it.”

“Yeah, good to know I’ll have to work at it sometimes.”

“You’ve promised me some correction, as I recall.”

Frenchie laughs, his breath soft on the back of his neck.  “Like you’ve forgotten.”

“Got to make it worth your while, haven’t I,” Izzy grins, then what he said comes back to him.  Fuck.  “And would you like to share with me where that fucking word came from?”

He might not be able to see Frenchie’s face but he can hear the shift in his voice and feel the little wriggle he does when he’s nervous.  “Lucius, ah, thought you might have a thing.  Specifically, a Daddy thing.”

Closing his eyes, Izzy takes a deep breath.  “I’m going to fucking kill him and I do not have a thing.”

Izzy is trying to process what's just happened.  It’s not a thing.  It’s never been a thing.  How is it suddenly a thing?  His traitorous cock certainly thinks it is.

“Kind of sounded like a thing to me.  You’re allowed to have kinks too, you know.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he says, but it’s affectionate and indulgent.  Still, he can’t help but think back to his religious cunt of a father and the beatings he got when he so much as looked at another boy.  If he could have done what his father wanted and married, fit himself into the mould required, his life would have been very different and he would have had, if not wealth, a life of relative ease compared to the one he ended up with.  As the younger son of a parson just outside Leeds he’d been educated but never learned to be discrete which is why, kicking and screaming, barely more than a child he was given to the navy and there ended his life in England.  If he does have a thing, it’s nothing to do with Jeremiah Fucking Hands.

“So no to that one?” Frenchie asks, and Izzy can hear the smile in his voice.

Definitely no.  Absolutely definitely no.  “Didn’t say that,” he says instead, feeling the flush travel up his neck and onto his face.  Bloody Spriggs.  It’s too late to go back now though, the word’s been said.  Maybe there is a thing, either way it’s well and truly out so he may as well use it. 

“Have I told you how much I love you,” Frenchie murmurs smugly in his ear.  He’s perfectly aware of what he’s been thinking, the little shit, and they both know it.

“Not in the last hour.

“Then I’m a terrible boyfriend.  Let me make it up to you.”

Making it up to him turns out to be another bath.  His third?  Fourth?  He’s losing count and it’s possible that he’s never been cleaner in his life, but it’s also really… nice.  Just lying there, utterly loose limbed, his thoughts dreamy and unrestrained, he wonders if it would be possible to make a hot tub on the deck of the ship.  He could stay in it all day and issue his orders from the warm water.  He might grow fins and gills and stay in there forever.  Hmm, but Frenchie would need to as well, because he can’t be without him.  They could both become mermen and live together at the bottom of the ocean and build a castle of whale bones and shells to live in.

Frenchie is behind him in the water and as his hands roam over his chest, loosely sponging him with something that smells of sandalwood, he lets his whimsical thoughts drift away.  It would be so easy to get used to this.

When their bath is done, he leaves Frenchie in the bathroom to have some privacy.  He’s naked again and it’s surprising how used to it he’s become.  He felt more naked without his collar for their bath than without his clothes. 

The pink shift is folded next to Frenchie’s bag.  They are keeping three, each noted carefully on the list of purchases.  Joining the pink is a slutty one in red and a silver grey that Frenchie loved, saying that it went with his chest hair.  He’s not even going to process how weird that sounds.  As he runs his fingers over the silk, Izzy wonders how it is that the future he’s always dreaded now seems so rich and alive with possibilities.            

While Frenchie is occupied Izzy wanders over to the armoire for another look and to his surprise finds a tucked away drawer that they missed earlier.  Opening it he finds something else to rock the foundations of what he thought men should wear.

He pulls out two pairs, one of black lace and the other baby pink.  Holding them up he realises that these too have been cleverly cut for men to accommodate cock and balls but still look obscenely feminine.  With a grin he stuffs them into the pocket of his leathers.  He adds them to the list of things they’ve bought knowing that Frenchie won't be able to read his script.  Sebastian will see what he’s bought and is certain the man will know they are for him but he can’t find it in him to care.

Considering how well the slip went Izzy is keen to see what will happen when Frenchie finds out he's been wearing those under his leathers all day.

They spend the rest of the evening on the sofa, both needing to rest after the day’s adventures.  Frenchie plays Izzy’s tune, the music he wrote for him and Izzy falls in love with it again.  They talk about the party and their songs and Izzy feels lazily content.

When their dinner arrives, no less discretely than the mid-day meal, there is an envelope propped up against the bottle of wine, addressed to Mister Israel Hands.  Recognising the writing, Izzy opens it and reads it out loud to Frenchie.

My dearest Israel,

I am delighted that you have returned to us and brought a charming companion with you.  It has been too long.  My staff inform me that you are being well taken care of.

Please forgive me but I was not aware that you had met with such a devastating accident since last we met and to that end, please find enclosed a letter of introduction to the finest artificer of artificial limbs in the Caribbean.  He comes highly recommended and produces work of the highest quality.  He may be able to make you a little more comfortable.

I hope that you will return soon and if you get time, this visit or the next, please come and share a brandy and introduce me to your new companion.  I am also, as ever, at your disposal should you require any services from me.

Yours as always.

Sebastian

Well taken care of.  That makes Izzy chuckle and he wonders exactly what Sebastian’s stewards have told him.

“He sounds like a knob,” Frenchie says suspiciously, an edge of disapproval in his voice, and Izzy can’t help but smile.  He’s very well aware of Frenchie’s dislike for nobility but Sebastian is cut from a very different cloth.  Izzy would put money on it taking no longer then ten minutes for Sebastian to charm Frenchie.  He just has that effect on people.  Either way Izzy plans to take him up on both offers. 

“He should do,” Izzy replies, setting their places at the table so they can eat.  Although their last meal was fun he doesn’t particularly want to play with hot food and he’s glad it hasn’t been suggested.  “He’s actually an Earl but was forced to leave England after several affairs with prominent young men.  His Estate is managed by his sister and he’s wealthy from the profits but he can't show his face in England again.  The English aristocracy are an odd bunch, you can do it but don’t get caught doing it.” 

“They’re all a fucking odd bunch.  English or French, they’re all as bad.  How did you meet?” 

“He had a sword at his neck and was being robbed by a gang of five cutthroats.  They weren’t going to leave him alive.  It was just luck that I’d ducked into that particular alleyway for a piss.”

“So you helped him?” Frenchie asks curiously, as he gets the plates from the trolley, laying them out on the table as Izzy sorts the cutlery.  It’s curiously domestic and something they’ve never had the opportunity to do together and Izzy finds that he’s enjoying it.  “You could have got rid of them and robbed him yourself.”

“It was his eyes,” Izzy recalls, remembering that night over ten years ago.  “They were the most beautiful shade of green and when he looked at me he wasn’t afraid.  The look in them was furious and a little desperate but there was no fear in them.  I killed the five without him getting a scratch and it went from there.”

There was more to it than that but it’s enough for now.  He says nothing of Sebastian, rather than falling at his feet in gratitude, pulling him close and kissing him, forcing his tongue into his mouth, then hissing, “That was magnificent.  I don’t know who you are but I’m going to fuck you.  Are you coming?”

And Izzy, high on adrenaline and blood lust, allowing himself to be pulled into the darker part of the alley.  “Not yet, apparently.”

“So you saved his life because you liked the colour of his eyes.”  He isn’t sure whether Frenchie sounds impressed or disapproving but he definitely looks intrigued now.

Izzy grins, showing teeth.  “Yeah, that in the fact that the clothes he was wearing cost more than my last share of loot at the time.”

“Oh, I get it,” Frenchie snaps his fingers.  “You don't rob someone with that kind of money, you make them grateful.”

Izzy waves, indicating their surroundings.  “And here we are in one of the most exclusive establishments in the Caribbean, drinking his brandy.”

“You’re kind of friends though, right?”

Izzy nods.  “Kind of, I suppose, yes.”  Ten years ago, and so much has changed, yet Sebastian has been a constant of sorts although not since Bonnet and his ridiculous ship entered his life. 

“He’s fucked you.”  Frenchie’s voice is a little flat, more stating a fact than jealousy though.  They both have pasts and although they haven’t shared them yet, he knows there will be things that neither of them will be happy with but it’s not like they can do anything about it.

“Yes, but it wasn’t… romantic.  Sebastian has a playroom to put what’s in here to shame and I made use of it and him.  When things started getting difficult on the Queen Anne, I’d go to him for release when I could.  It helped.”

To his surprise, Frenchie nods.  “It can’t have been easy for you having to manage… him.  I’m glad you had someone.  I think I’d like to meet him.”

“I might not let you,” Izzy teases, trying to lighten the mood, aware of how even now, Frenchie won’t say Blackbeard’s name.  “He's handsome.  You'd never look at me again if you saw him.”

He says it lightly and doesn’t expect the look of hurt that briefly crosses Frenchie’s face.  “Don't ever say that, Iz.  Just don't, okay.  You’re all I’ll ever want.”

Izzy wishes it was true but he takes Frenchie’s hand and squeezes it.  He can enjoy the fantasy that they’ll be together for as long as he has left.  “It was just a stupid joke, love, sorry.  I didn’t mean it.”

He leans up and kisses Frenchie.  Just a sweet press of lips but it does the trick and Frenchie’s eyes soften.  Somehow it has never occurred to Izzy that Frenchie might need reassurance at times, he always seems so confident.  “Silly sod,” he murmurs, kissing Frenchie again, firmer.  “Come on, let’s eat before it gets cold.” 

Cleverly, the dishes are sitting on heated plates so the food is still hot when they sit down and Frenchie grins in delight as he removes the lids from the dishes.  There’s a thick spicy stew that Izzy loves and always has when he comes here, together with a dish of chicken in a rich creamy sauce that he had thought Frenchie might like.  There are other dishes containing fragrant rice, potatoes and vegetables, and a refreshing lemon posset for dessert.  It’s only when he starts spooning the food onto his plate that Izzy realises how hungry he is.  Frenchie, who despite his slender frame, can put away surprising quantities of food, tries everything, loves it and goes back for more. 

“Fuck, Iz, this is so good.  Don’t ever tell Roach but this is better than anything we’ve had on the ship.  Your spicy thing is amazing.”

“It’s my favourite,” Izzy agrees.  “I’ve been coming here for ten years on and off and it’s perfect every time.  You’ll like the breakfast too.  I’ve ordered it for seven o’clock so we don’t have to be up at the crack of dawn.  We’ll have a couple of hours before we need to leave.”

“Time for another bath, then,” Frenchie grins.

Once they’ve finished eating and returned the dishes and plates to the trolley, he writes a reply to Sebastian, reading it Frenchie once he’s finished.

Sebastian,

Thank you for your hospitality.  It is excellent, as always.  My partner is enjoying himself very much.  We will be visiting more often in the future and I will introduce you next time if you are not busy.

I aim to persuade my Captain to visit the port you indicated to improve my leg.

My deepest thanks.

Israel.

He’s not one for flowery language and this is as formal as he can be, even to Sebastian.  In the back of his mind, he wonders what would happen if they played together.  How would Frenchie feel about a stranger whipping him?  He’s not sure how he feels about Sebastian touching Frenchie but they would look beautiful together.  Then his mind goes and fucks with him completely as he imagines himself tied and unable to move and Sebastian and Frenchie kissing in front of him.  Fuck.

“Your partner, am I?” Frenchie teases, taking his hand and pulling him onto his lap.  “What about lover?  Significant other?  Boyfriend?  Beau?  Beloved?  Darl…”

Izzy shuts him up by the simple expedient of kissing him, a lot.  Darling really is a step too far.

Eventually Izzy lets him up and after the trolley has been left outside the door for collection, they pour two glasses of Sebastian’s excellent brandy and Frenchie takes his hand and leads him to the huge sofa.  Night is falling outside and before they sit, Frenchie lights a couple of lanterns, casting them in a soft nimbus of light.  Cocking his head, Izzy thinks he can hear laughter from across the courtyard and elsewhere the faint sound of men taking pleasure from one another.  Night scents float up from the garden below and he feels as though he’s in another world.

They sprawl, curled up together and talk, swapping stories from their pasts.  By unspoken agreement they don’t share their darker histories.  Frenchie explains some of the cons he’s pulled and Izzy, some of the more bizarre raids he’s taken part in over the years. 

“A ship full of nuns?” Frenchie chuckles.  “Seriously?  What did you do with them?”

“Seriously.  They were fucking terrifying.  Some of them had mustaches and believe me, they really were women.  One of the lads tried to get fresh with one of them and got stabbed through his hand.  We gave them some supplies and headed off in the opposite direction.  Fuck knows where they were going and we didn’t ask, just left them to it.”

“You gave them supplies,” Frenchie repeats, entertained.  “Some pirates.”

Izzy shrugged.  “First time I’d seen Hornigold rattled.  He was a superstitious bastard when the mood took him.”

“He was your old Captain?”

“Yeah,” Izzy replied quietly, looking into his glass.  “A story for another time, love.  It’s not for nights like this.”

Frenchie nods and looks at him with a sly little smile.  “In that case, maybe it’s time for something else.  How are you feeling, pet?  Dinner gone down?”

There’s only one reason Frenchie is asking that and Izzy feels a shiver of anticipation.  “Yes, sir.”

“You have some… correction, I believe.”

Izzy swallows heavily.  “Lots of correction, sir.”

Which is how he ends up over Frenchie’s knee, hands cuffed behind his back, and his arse, thighs and shoulders paddled until he’s sobbing from the pain, from the need to come, from the need to be fucked and used, from the sheer fucking brilliance of it.  And when he’s finished with the paddle, Frenchie bends him over the sofa, opening him roughly and fucking into him so hard he thinks he might break, shatter into tiny pieces and be lost on the wind.  But it’s what he needs, this perfect rough fuck after he’s learned so much about himself.

Hands cuffed, he can do nothing but take it.  Each thrust of Frenchie’s hips pounds on his bruised cheeks sending further frissons of pain through his body.  Sobbing he begs to come, his hold on it a fragile thread and when Frenchie allows it, he cries out as his body spends itself and he thinks of other men in other rooms hearing him and his pleasure becoming part of theirs.  He hardly registers when Frenchie pulls out and comes over his welted cheeks, but he feels the unexpected heat as it sends one last shiver of pain across his burning skin.

He's still drawing gasping breaths when Frenchie gently frees his arms and wipes him down.  He’s laid down and cooling ointment is rubbed into his cheeks and thighs.  His face is wiped and his hair smoothed and when Frenchie lies down beside him, he goes into his arms and Frenchie holds him tight, crooning a nonsense song into his hair, rocking him tenderly.  He feels loose and tranquil, without worry or care, his mind floating somewhere above and has no need for words, not yet.

He doesn’t know how long they lie there like that but it’s fully dark before Frenchie stirs.  “Are you all right, my love?” he whispers.  “Was that too much?”

Not ready for a conversation, Izzy just shakes his head.  “Perfect,” he whispers back and feels Frenchie sag with relief.  It’s the hardest pain play they’ve done together and Izzy would never have guessed Frenchie was a novice if he hadn’t known.  He determines then to take a decent flogger back with them and teach Frenchie how to use it because he suspects that he’ll be spectacular.

“Sir?” he asks softly, eventually, breaking the comfortable silence.

“What do you need, pet?”

He feels a bit stupid but it's something he's wanted to do and never been in the right place in his head to ask.  “Can I put your cock in my mouth?”

There’s a soft chuckle.  “I'm not going to be getting it up anytime soon, pet.”

“Don't want that, just want to hold you.”  He doesn’t think he can explain it, not fully, not in his current state.  It’s just something he wants, something he’s never done but knows he needs to do.

“Yeah?”  Frenchie sounds intrigued.  “Of course you can.”

Izzy makes himself a nest of cushions on the floor and lowers himself onto them, hissing with the pain from his arse as he settles.  Frenchie sits up and spreads his legs so that he fits in between and he reverently takes Frenchie’s cock and puts it in his mouth, uncaring that it was fucking him not long before.  Holding it inside him, he rests his head with a sigh on Frenchie’s thigh, and oh but it feels good.  He tries to move his mouth as little as he can apart from swallowing and lets himself sink back into the quiet place in his head.

He doesn't attempt to suck or arouse he just wants to hold him.  He concentrates on the heat, the taste, the texture of the soft flesh, the weight of it in his mouth, and tries to reduce his own need to swallow.

He doesn't need words, he doesn't need anything except to just simply be, to live in this perfect moment, and it feels like the ultimate submission to hold that most precious part in his mouth and keep it safe and warm.

He hears a satisfied exhale and he almost doesn't feel the hand lightly resting on his head until the fingers start gently carding through his hair and he sighs, softly humming his approval and relaxes even further.  Peripherally, he feels the cool breeze from the balcony, hears faint lovely sounds of pleasure and pain, his senses somehow heightened by the connection and the serenity he feels at this simple delicate act.  He could stay here forever, nothing more than a receptacle, nothing less than a sentinel.

After a while he hears Frenchie’s voice, so quiet, hardly more than a whisper as though not intended for him to hear.  “You're so perfect.   I never thought anything would ever be like this, that I’d ever feel this way.  Never thought I could.  Seeing you there, it's almost too much.  I don't know what I did to deserve you.”

Words like that can’t be for him so he ignores them.  Lost in his head he doesn’t feel the passing of time and only comes back to himself when he feels a hand cup his cheek, the thumb rubbing circles over the cross there. 

“Baby, this is so good but I don't want you falling asleep like this.  You'll be stiff as a board in the morning and not in a good way, okay?”

He gives a huff of disappointment but the knowledge that Frenchie wants to take care of him makes up for it. 

“Time for bed, love,” Frenchie tells him softly.  “Up you get.”

Izzy withdraws, knowing Frenchie’s right and ignores the ache in his jaw when he closes his mouth.  “That was… good.”  He knows it’s inadequate but all his mind can manage at the moment.

“More than,” Frenchie agrees, his smile soft as he extricates himself, getting to his feet and bringing the unicorn leg.  A little floaty still, Izzy doesn’t complain when he’s helped upright and steadied as he straps himself in.  It’s an indication of how down he is that he allows Frenchie to take him to the bathroom and hold him while he takes care of business and cleans his teeth, then help him into bed.  Before he goes to take care of himself, Frenchie rubs more of the cooling cream into him, dropping a loud kiss onto each cheek when he’s done.

“Twat,” Izzy murmurs affectionately, already half asleep, as Frenchie’s laugh drifts behind as he pads back to the bathroom. 

The bed is ridiculously comfortable and Izzy settles on his front, his back too sore to lie on.  He’s very aware that Frenchie will wrap him up one way or another though, even when there’s room to spread out, but Frenchie doesn’t even make it out of the bathroom before he’s asleep.

He wakes in the night as he always does when on land, his body missing the movement of the sea.  Somehow, they've arranged themselves in sleep with Frenchie spooning him, his arm tight around his chest.  His arse stings like a bitch but despite that it's comforting and real and he thinks perhaps this is the best his life has ever been.  He smiles into the dark as Frenchie’s familiar soft little snores settle around him.

The Izzy he used to be would have hated this.  Not the contact but the dependence the contact implies, but that Izzy was angry and lonely and afraid a lot of the time.  Even though he does not want them to, thoughts of Edward come unbidden to his mind.  How Edward never slept with him, never wanted to share his bed, just took and used.  Izzy knows that he was complicit in his abuse but it no longer troubles him because he understands that the deep, aching love he had for Edward was encouraged at every turn until his life held no purpose other than to serve him.  He may forgive Edward for that one day, but not yet.

Maybe sensing his restlessness, even in sleep, Frenchie mumbles something and holds him even tighter.  With a smile, Izzy lets go of the past, closes his eyes and follows him back into sleep.

Izzy wakes needing to piss.  It looks to be just after dawn, his internal clock after a lifetime at sea never failing him, and he gently disentangles himself and sits at the side of the bed to strap his leg on, wincing as he puts weight on his backside.  As quietly as he can he goes to the bathroom and takes care of business, then looking at the range of powders and lotions available gives himself a good scrub despite knowing that Frenchie will no doubt get him in the tub again at least once more before they leave.

There’s a large mirror on the wall and he looks at himself critically, wondering when he got to look so old.  Yet the man staring back at him seems at peace, he realises.  The tension that used to define his every waking moment when he served Blackbeard has gone.  What he sees is a man who has come to terms with himself, the good and the bad and has accepted both.

Thoughtfully he touches the collar around his neck.  It defines only half of what he is but it describes that half completely.  With it on he feels safe and cherished, all responsibility lifted and given willingly to someone else. 

Further down, the marks from the clamps are already fading but there are some fresh bite marks that he loves.  Turning, he looks at his back in the mirror and as expected his arse and the back of his good thigh are black and blue with more bruising on his upper back.  Running his hand over the bruises he relishes the heat still coming from them.  Frenchie had delivered the paddling like an expert and Izzy couldn’t be prouder of him. 

Quite when he fell in love with Frenchie he couldn’t say but it hadn’t taken long.  He knows himself and knows full well that when he loves he loves hard and completely.  But with that comes the possibility of terrible loss and he feels almost breathless at what he could lose now and it terrifies him.  If Frenchie were to walk away he doesn’t think he’d live through it.

With a sigh he goes as quietly as he can back into the room and wraps himself in his robe before going to stand on the balcony looking out over the sleepy garden.  Although the Republic is a shit hole, Haram is situated higher, looking over it and out to sea and the view is beautiful.  He can’t see the ship from this vantage point but he knows it’s there, calling to him.  Home.  He's lost in thought when he hears a rustling behind him and then two strong arms wrap themselves around him.  “What are you doing, babe?  I wanted to wake up next to you.”

“Thinking,” he murmurs, closing his eyes and leaning back into the warm embrace.

There’s a soft kiss on the side of his neck.  “I know, I could hear it in my sleep.”  Frenchie’s voice is sleepy and affectionate and it’s like a dagger in his heart.

“Was thinking about you and what we have and how much I fucking love you.  I keep wondering when it will all go wrong because I don't deserve this, any of it.”  He thinks there may be an edge of quiet hysteria in his voice and he doesn’t know what to do about it.  “Sometimes I don’t understand why you’re with me.”

That hadn’t been what he intended to say but his emotions are always raw when he’s been down in his headspace for too long, as yesterday’s blowjob proved.  But now it’s out he realises that he’s been thinking it for a while now and doing his best to pretend otherwise.

“Oh love,” Frenchie says softly, and steers him towards the bed.  “Come on, sit down.  Let’s get this out of the way now.”

“Get what out of the way?”

Going to his knees, Frenchie gently removes his leg before reaching up and unbuckling his collar, placing it by his side.  Then Izzy’s hands are both taken and held tightly.

“The talk we need to have about your self-worth,” Frenchie tells him bluntly.  “You seem to have this idea in your head that I'm doing you some kind of favour, that you’re not worthy of me, which is bullshit, by the way.  You’ve spent so long around Blackbeard that you don’t see yourself as having any value and quite honestly, I could kill him for that alone, never mind what else he did to you.”

“It’s not like that, I…” 

“Izzy, stop,” Frenchie tells him, his voice sharp.  “You want me to tell you what to do, right?  Well, I want you to shut up and listen.”

Izzy swallows heavily.  Nods.  He feels slightly uncomfortable having Frenchie on his knees in front of him but the hands holding his are strong and firm and anchor him against whatever he has to hear.

“I love you, Izzy Hands.  I love you because you're fierce and brave and loyal.  I love you because you get me, you understand me, you really do.  You take all those things that I do that are fucking weird and you just soak them into yourself.  I love you because you're not just fucking humouring me.”

Looking into Frenchie’s lovely dark eyes Izzy doesn’t feel the tear escaping down his cheek. 

“I love you because you are beautiful and I don’t care if you can’t see it.  I do and I’m not the only one.  I love you because underneath you are as kinky and twisted as I am, not to mention a fucking sexy man who pushes every button I have.  I love you because you have a wicked sense of humour even though you don’t let anyone see it, and more than any of that, I love you because you are Israel fucking Hands, the deadliest pirate in the Caribbean.  You are fucking magnificent and you let me have you, and most days I still can’t believe how lucky I am.”

Frenchie speaks with such pride that Izzy thinks his heart will break.  There are more tears now and he leaves them where they fall.

“But what you have to understand is that I need you, Iz.  I need you so much it fucking hurts.  I know how your mind works and in your head you think you're old and broken and that you need to do whatever I want for me to stay, and that couldn't be further from how it is.  There are days I'm the one that's broken and you get me through it.  Everyone knows that my head is so fucked up that I have to put bad things in boxes just to be able to function.  You keep me grounded and stop the things in my head from getting too much.  You are the safest place I know.”  Releasing a hand, Frenchie leans forward and cups his cheek.  “I need you to understand that you are my one and my only love and that there will be no other.  Can you believe me, my love?”

Frenchie’s eyes are glittering but they are unflinching, showing nothing but truth and Izzy’s seen enough falsehood in his life to know the difference.  Everything he thought he knew has been overturned.  In the dark place in his head that has no voice he did truly believe that Frenchie was biding his time until something better came along. 

But now…  How can he not believe when Frenchie is looking at him like that.  How can he not believe, looking back into those eyes, ageless and beautiful and so very, very certain.

“Yes,” he says simply, feeling his voice break.  And because that’s not enough.  “I believe you.”

Frenchie swallows and closes his eyes for a moment as though in relief, then looks back again, still so intense.  “And can you believe that we are worthy of each other?  That it doesn’t matter who we are or what we’ve done, that we deserve to be happy?”

Izzy has spent so much of his life believing himself incapable of being loved.  That he is capable of loving deeply he knows but it has never once been returned and now to have been given this gift is more than he ever dreamed of and he will not squander it.  He truly believes Frenchie and for the first time in his life he feels that he is part of something wonderful and that there are endless possibilities stretching out in front of them.

For the first time in his life, he no longer has to be alone.

Turning his head a little he places a kiss on Frenchie’s palm before taking the hand and placing it on his chest, over his heart and holding it there.  He needs Frenchie to feel how desperately his heart is beating.  “Yes, he says again, breathlessly.  “Yes.”

“And that I will still love you when you are fucking ninety.”

“You’ll be seventy,” Izzy points out, smiling through his tears.  “If we’re still fucking at that age, it’ll be a miracle.”

Frenchie’s eyes crinkle and then he laughs, a lovely carefree sound that Izzy doesn’t hear often enough, and he finds his hands clasped again, Frenchie holding on to them so tightly.  “We’ll still be fucking, babe.  Trust me, we’ll still be so hot.”

“You’ll be hot.  I’ll be a wrinkled old prune.”

“I love prunes,” Frenchie replies, leaning even closer. 

Izzy snorts out a laugh.  “No one likes prunes.”

“I do.  Just you wait and see,” Frenchie tells him.  “In thirty years’ time I’ll remind you about this and we’ll laugh and I’ll kiss you and tell you again how much I love you because however many times I tell you, it will never be enough.”

“Such a romantic,” Izzy accuses fondly, tasting his tears on his lips.  He can’t even begin to process what that makes him.

“Takes one to know one,” Frenchie retorts with a smile.  “I’m also a thief, babe.  I stole your heart and I’m not giving it back.  It’s mine now and I’m going to keep it safe, okay?”

Keep it safe.  It’s suddenly that simple.  He is loved, no greater gift ever bestowed.  He will be loved tomorrow and the next day and all the days thereafter.  Despite what he is missing, he feels more whole than at any time in his life before.  Frenchie’s words have remade him into something raw and new.  A phoenix burned and reborn.  “Okay,” he whispers, the word too small to encompass everything it means.

Eyes shining, Frenchie leans in and cups his face, bringing their mouths together.  His kiss is sweet and deep and lovely.  “Make love to me, Iz,” he murmurs, when their lips part.  “Make me yours.”

Wordlessly, his heart full, Izzy lies Frenchie down, wanting so much to give him pleasure, to show him with hands and mouth and love exactly how precious he is.

Taking both his arms, he encourages them up, over his head and he gently presses, smiling as Frenchie leaves them there.  Frenchie’s eyes are on him, his mouth parted and he sighs softly as Izzy leans down and kisses him.  Izzy keeps it slow, taking control and licks his way into Frenchie’s mouth and he’s never been so gentle, so careful, but he’s a new man, isn’t he, so he can do this.  With a dawning sense of joy he realises that he can do absolutely anything.

As though it’s their first time and Frenchie’s body is new to him, he lays a trail of kisses along his jaw, his soft beard and down his neck, every ‘I love you’ he ever held back is kissed into his skin, before licking his way to pert nipples and suckles them one after the other and back again until Frenchie is moaning softly, his head back and his eyes closed.  He’s hard and his beautiful cock is already leaking but Izzy ignores it for now.  Izzy wants more than just moaning from him.

He so rarely sees Frenchie like this, loose limbed and compliant; Frenchie lives on his energy and is rarely completely still.  It makes him so hungry for the man laid out before him but not to take, rather he wants to give, to tell him with his body how necessary he is, how much Izzy loves him.

Returning to his neck, Izzy bites gently, raising a bruise nonetheless on his flawless skin, wanting to put his mark where it will be seen.  Everyone by now knows that he is Frenchie’s but he has the need to show that Frenchie is his too.

Frenchie hitches his breath at the bite.  “More,” he urges, looking at him through slitted eyes.  “Please…”

“Fuck,” Izzy breathes but complies, biting a trail downwards, leaving marks on his chest, his flat belly, his hips and finally at the base of his cock.  By the time he licks his way to the head, the liquid there both salty and deliciously sweet, Frenchie’s breathing is ragged.  So different from when he did this with Luc, Izzy lovingly sinks down and takes him into his throat, making it smooth and languid, wanting to slowly take his lover apart.  He worships him with his mouth until Frenchie’s breathing starts to change and he slows, not wanting him to come yet.  Ignoring the moan of frustration, he eases off, only pulling away to dip two fingers in the dish of oil on the table next to the bed. 

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, his other hand stroking Frenchie’s thighs, encouraging his legs apart.  “Look at you.  So perfect for me.”

“Oh God, Iz, please…,” Frenchie groans.  “I need you.”

“Soon, baby,” Izzy whispers, kissing his nipple and taking it into his mouth again while his fingers stroke teasingly over his entrance.  “I’m going to make you feel so good.”

Arching his back, Frenchie moans and Izzy soaks it up, the sight enough to fuel his dreams for the next century or so.  Long and slender, Frenchie is art brought to life, his sun kissed caramel skin a shade no artist could emulate.  He’s Izzy’s canvas and he paints with soft bites and kisses as he begins to open him up with hands not made to be gentle, but learning how to be. 

Delicately, he slides his mouth back down, matching the slow glide with his fingers until he has four inside and is satisfied that he isn’t going to hurt his love.  He doesn’t have Frenchie’s length but he’s thicker and he wants to make it good for him.  This is a gift he never expected and although he’s more than happy being fucked, and as often as possible, this moment is right somehow and he finally understands, beyond all doubt, that this is real and for the rest of his life.

Frenchie mewls as he withdraws his fingers making Izzy moan too.  Yes, this is what he wants, his lover blissed out on mouth and fingers, beautiful and perfect in the early morning sunlight, and when he replaces his fingers with his cock there is nothing but pleasure for them both.  It’s overwhelming, Frenchie is so hot around him, so velvety sweet and although he’s been in Frenchie before, it’s usually his lover in control and riding him, but this is so very different.  “Touch me, love,” he says and Frenchie looks surprised for a moment as if he had forgotten his arms were above his head and when he unfolds them, his calloused fingers almost automatically go to Izzy’s chest, thumbing across the silver bars.

When he starts to move he keeps it slow and shallow and dips his head, sucking a nipple into his mouth again and gives it a little nip.  In answer Frenchie wraps his legs around him, pulling him impossibly closer and deeper into him. 

“Fuck me,” he begs, panting.  “Come on, Iz.  I won’t break.  Please…”

It’s the please that does it, that nearly finishes him, but he’ll never deny Frenchie anything, especially in bed, so he goes harder, fucking into this wanton creature who only the night before had paddled his arse raw.  It’s perfect, almost primal and Izzy thinks that serving Frenchie may be the reason he exists.

He’s so close now, he can feel it coiling inside him, winding up from the depths of his being into something that won’t be contained for much longer.  His thrusts get harder and his slicked hand wraps around Frenchie’s cock, moving in time, and he can feel it through his fingers, that same roiling release desperate to be set free.

Leaning as far forward as he can, he growls from deep in his chest, even as he feels his orgasm begin.  “Come for me, my beauty, my treasure.  Come, just for me.”

With a cry, Frenchie throws his head back and lets go, pulsing onto his chest at the same time that Izzy fills his insides, his own come milked out of him by the pulsating tightness around him.

Neither of them held back like they would have done on the ship and their cries will have been heard in other rooms and that in itself adds another erotic layer to what they have just shared.

It feels like his entire body is throbbing, pulsing in time to the last spasms of his cock and Izzy can’t support himself any longer.  Breathless, he falls down onto his lover, groaning in disappointment as he slips out but then Frenchie’s arms are around him, encouraging him up and they are kissing, messy and deep.  When eventually they part, they grin at each other, breathless and content, no need for words as they share the moment.

It’s only when the stickiness between them gets uncomfortable that they finally move.  On wobbly legs, Frenchie gets a washcloth from the bathroom and wipes them both, then settles down again.  They’ve made a mess of the bed but Izzy doesn’t care.  He imagines that there are worse stains on the sheets in this place than those they have provided.  The breakfast trolley won’t be round for another hour at least so he has no intention of doing anything more strenuous than cuddling for a while. 

They settle with Frenchie tucked up at his side, head on his chest.  They don’t normally lie like this, he usually ends up curled into Frenchie, but somehow this feels right after what they’ve just shared.  Their fingers are threaded together over his chest, Frenchie’s breath is soft against his skin and he’s never felt so at peace.  Without thinking he starts to hum a tune, something he remembers from long ago.

“That’s nice,” Frenchie murmurs sleepily.  “What is it?”

Hesitating for a moment, Izzy closes his eyes and starts to softly sing.

“I took a walk along the shore,

to clear my mind about the day,

I saw a man I'd seen before,

as I approached, he slipped away,

I knew his face from years ago,

his smile stays with me ever more,

his eyes, they guide me through the haze,

and bring me shelter from the storm.”

Frenchie looks up from where he’d been dozing, the song seeming to revitalise him.  “That’s lovely.”

Izzy shrugged.  “Just something my mother used to sing to me.  She died when I was young but I always remember her singing it.  I don’t know why it came back to me now.”

Warm brown eyes smile up at him.  “I do.  It’s because you’re happy.  Sing me the rest.”

Unable to disagree, Izzy closes his eyes and dredges his memory for the next verse and once that comes back, the rest follows.

“As I walk, I can feel him,

always watching over me,

His voice surrounds me,

my spirit of the sea.

He went away so long ago,

on a maiden voyage far away,

a young man then, I did not know,

his life was taken that same day.

And it was almost like he knew,

he wouldn't see me anymore,

he looked so deeply in my eyes, and said

"Wait for me along the shore."

As I walk, I can feel him,

always watching over me,

his voice surrounds me,

my spirit of the sea.

And so I come most every day,

to watch the waves rise and fall,

and as I sit here on the sand,

this ocean makes me feel so small.

But I feel my lover by my side,

and he makes me follow my own heart,

we'll be together some sweet day,

when that day comes, we'll never part,

when that day comes, we'll never part,

wait for me along the shore.”

His voice trails off and he sighs.  The song is sad and lovely but the thoughts of his mother were happy ones.  So long ago now, he wonders sometimes what she would have made of the life he’s carved for himself.

“Sing it again?” Frenchie asks and Izzy obliges, more confidently this time.  Halfway through, Frenchie drops a quick kiss on his chest and goes to get his lute, sitting back beside him and picking out the tune, working with it until he’s accompanying the song perfectly.

When the last chord has died away, Frenchie looks at him wide eyed.  “You’re singing that at the party.  Forget the other one, that’s our new song two.”

“It’s a woman’s song,” Izzy protests, but then realises that on their ship it doesn’t matter.  He can sing a love song about a man and no one will care.  No one will ever care.

“No, babe,” Frenchie smiles, “it’s your song.  There won’t be a dry eye on deck, trust me.”

It feels right, somehow, this sad song about lost love and longing.  Deliberately, Izzy takes the lute from him and lies it carefully on the floor, before pulling Frenchie back down to him.

“Always,” he whispers, before their lips touch, “and forever.”

They are both quiet as they gather their things.  Izzy’s neck feels bare and he misses the collar already even though he knows it has no place in his everyday life.  It even feels odd to be wearing clothes again.  He had got used to being naked and now he feels like he shouldn't be wearing them.  After only one day something he’s done all his life, it now feels strange.  It won’t last, of course.  He’s still got some lingering things in his head from being down for so long but he knows that returning to the ship will banish it completely.

Being back there could have been a lifetime ago and was it really only yesterday they came here?  He feels so changed, so different from the man who walked in here hoping that his lover might want to play certain games but prepared not to be disappointed if he didn’t.

When they arrived, Frenchie was his lover and they were tentatively exploring other things that they could be together.  Now, they are leaving with that side of their relationship very much established.  Frenchie is his lover and his Sir.  He shies away from Master although he knows that is what Frenchie has become.   The word holds bad memories for him, things he hasn’t shared with Frenchie and maybe never will.  He is his dominant man and that’s enough to give a small curl of pleasure in Izzy’s chest at the thought of it. 

Frenchie is everything he’s ever wanted and needed, a lover, a friend, a firm hand, a giver of pain and pleasure and maybe even discipline although that’s a conversation for another day.  More importantly, they’ve talked about how this fits into their lives and how big a part it should play.  They talked over breakfast and during their bath and their previously hesitant understanding of what they can do is now on much firmer ground.

It means that a conversation will need to be had with Lucius as well, because although he started out submitting to Lucius, that power has now shifted to Frenchie and the younger man would be their guest now, not the other way around.

It’s more than he had ever hoped for when he first thought about them coming here.  What he certainly hadn’t expected were his emotions being laid so bare.  At times he felt as though Frenchie was seeing down into the very bones of him.  He hadn't expected it to be so raw, for so much of his own soul to be exposed, and even more, for it not to have been found wanting.

Frenchie’s heartfelt declaration of love has healed the wound in his heart that he's lived with for so long he almost didn't realise he had anymore.  He feels complete in a way he’s never known.

“Are you all right, babe?” 

He starts at the question, not realising that he’d been so lost in thought.  Is he all right?  Hell yes.  He’s sore and bruised but feels rested and calm, his head more level than it has been in years.

Frenchie’s eyes look concerned but Izzy gives him a smile as he straps on his sword, the weight familiar at his hip, grounding him and pushing his pirate self closer to the surface.  “I’m fine, love.  Just getting used to not feeling my collar, and wearing clothes,” he adds, wryly.  “It’s been… good.  More than I expected.”

His lover, once again in his layers and the long jacket he favours, opens his arms and Izzy unhesitating goes into them, his arms automatically going up and around Frenchie’s neck.  Even through his leathers Frenchie is warm and solid against him and he makes the most of the embrace while he has it.  “It’s been amazing,” Frenchie murmurs, dipping his head for a kiss.  “You’ve been amazing.  Can we come back?” he asks, smoothing back a strand of graying hair that seems to refuse to be controlled. 

Izzy nods.  He’s already been planning their next visit in his head.  “Yes, soon, I promise.  I can get a letter here from any port if we know we’re coming here next and there’ll be a room ready for us.  Then I can be your pet again.”

“Don’t forget the playroom,” Frenchie reminds him.  “We’ve got that too.”

It’s not as good but Izzy won’t complain.  He wants this again and he doesn’t want to wait until they get back here.  “I’ve been thinking about some additions to the playroom, maybe putting Pete’s woodworking skills to the test.  It would be a bit of a giveaway about the things we do though.”

Frenchie’s eyes twinkle.  “I don’t think it would come as a surprise to anyone, babe.  Besides, I think Jim might have some use for them too.”

“Really?”  Izzy shakes his head.  “Actually, that probably shouldn’t come as a surprise, but I really don’t want details.” 

“Me neither, to be honest,” Frenchie agrees, chuckling.  “Nothing will be as good as this though.  I feel spoiled for anything else.  Can I tell Lucius about it?”

Frenchie looks hopefully at him and Izzy knows he’s not going to be able to keep it a secret.  He’s already thought about what Lucius would make of the place, certain that he’d love it.  “Just him,” Izzy agrees.  He’s not averse to bringing Lucius at some point but it would be just him and Frenchie.  Pete, in this instance, would be one pirate too many.  It’s something to consider eventually but he’s more interested in Frenchie meeting Sebastian first.  “The next time we come,” he continues, “I'd like you to meet Sebastian but if you don’t want to, I’ll understand.  I’d like to see him though, if only just to talk.”

He feels Frenchie tense.  “If we went together, what would he want to do?”

“Nothing bad,” he reassures, hoping Frenchie can get past his distrust of nobility and see the man beneath.  “He’d want to get his hands on you because, well, look at you, and he’d definitely want to hurt me, but I haven’t seen him for two years so we’ll probably just talk and catch up.  He’ll have heard rumours about Blackbeard and he knows about my leg now.  Besides, you’re my…  He’ll respect you and only do what you allow.”

“I’m your what, Iz?” Frenchie asks, pressing gently at his stumble.

Yet again, Izzy feels naked in front of his lover.  He swallows heavily, tensing.  “My Sir.  My… Master.”

He can’t help the tremble that he tries to hide but Frenchie feels it.  One arm still around his waist, Frenchie walks them to the sofa and pulls Izzy down onto his lap, unicorn leg stretched out to the side.  It feels strange to be handled like this again when he’s back in his leathers but Izzy relaxes into it, as Frenchie had known he would.

Sitting is better because they are matched in height now at least.  “You don't like that word,” Frenchie murmurs.  “What’s wrong?”

“How did you know?”  His voice sounds rough suddenly, weighted down by the past.  The legacy that Benjamin Hornigold left on his body and in his mind infuriates him sometimes even though he knows that the man hasn’t been able to hurt him for thirty years.  Mainly because Izzy murdered him by cutting his cock off and stuffing it into his mouth, curious to see whether he’d bleed out first or suffocate.  The former, it turned out but it had taken a good long time. 

“You went pale for a moment.  I can read you, Iz, and I know when you’re upset about something.”

Izzy sighs, resting their foreheads together.  “Bad memories, sorry.  I’m being stupid; it’s just a fucking word.  I didn’t know if you’d want to be that.”

“All I want is for you to be happy,” Frenchie says gently, stroking the back of his neck soothingly.  “I'll gladly be your Dom or your Sir but I’m just your Frenchie too, and you're my Iz.  Labels don’t matter to me and who gives a fuck what anyone else thinks.”

Relief floods through him.  Yet again Frenchie has read him and understood.  “Dom and Sir,” he says firmly, flushing, those will do very nicely.  In his ordered world, Izzy is not averse to labels, especially ones that turn him on.

Frenchie’s expression turns calculating.  “So, as your Dom, if I tell His Lordship that he can't touch you, he won’t?”

Nodding, Izzy fights down the urge to kiss Frenchie even though he really wants to.  If they start that again the ship will probably go without them.  “Yes, there are rules, proprieties to be followed.”

His lover’s eyes take on a mischievous gleam.  “That makes me your protector then.”  Izzy snorts derisively and Frenchie’s grin gets even wider.  “Oh, that's so precious.  I'll always look after you, Iz.”

“Oh, fuck right off,” he huffs, but twitches a smile.  As always, Frenchie’s grin is ridiculously contagious.

“And there he is,” Frenchie chuckles.  “You’re back.  I love my pretty pet but I love First Mate Hands even more.”

“Yeah?”

“Truly,” Frenchie says with a brief kiss.  “Madly,” he adds, with another.  “And very fucking deeply.”

“Lunatic,” Izzy says fondly, and pushes himself to his feet.  Holding out his hand, he pulls Frenchie up after him, feeling more himself again.  “Come on, sweetheart.  Time to be going.”

“Yes, Sir, Mister Hands, Sir,” Frenchie grins and just for good measure, slaps his sore arse.

Izzy's bellowed "Twat!" and Frenchie's subsequent laughter can probably be heard down by the dock.

Frenchie’s bag is heavier when they get everything packed away.  There are some toys they have decided to buy, as well as the underwear.  There are a couple of plugs, the paddle they used the night before and Izzy found a flogger that feels like it would be the perfect weight for Frenchie to wield.  It’s heavy and will hurt but shouldn’t cut.  He thinks perhaps he doesn’t need to bleed anymore.  He makes a mental note to ask for a hook in the playroom’s beam. 

When they get to the door, Frenchie pulls him into his arms, holding him tightly.  “Coming here is the best gift I've ever been given, next to you.  Thank you, my love.” 

“You’re worth it,” Izzy says as they share one last kiss.  “Ready to go home?” he asks.

Frenchie nods.  “Ready,” and slips his hand through his.

The streets are busy as they make their way down to the dock.  Most business is carried out early before it gets too hot so they wend their way past carts and barrows, hawkers and booths set up for passing trade.  They won’t be leaving dock for another hour so they have time for a brief detour and Izzy leads Frenchie to a jeweller where he lets Frenchie pick gold rings for his nipples.  They are thicker and heavier than he would have chosen but Frenchie loves them which is good enough for him.  Roach can put them in later. 

They are nearly at the ship when Frenchie stops him.  “How are we playing this, babe?  Low profile?  The Captain and Edward will probably be on deck.”

Izzy gives his lovely man a once over.  He knows what they both look like, a pair of well fucked sluts coming back after a night on the tiles.  He has bites and marks from the collar on his neck and Frenchie also has very visible bites.  “You got anything to be ashamed of?”

“Fuck no.”

“Me neither.”  Giving his shark grin, Izzy takes a tighter grip on his hand.  “Fuck low fucking profile.”

They approach the ship hand in hand and he ignores Stede’s wide eyes surprise as they walk up the gangplank together.  Before they separate, he pulls Frenchie down into a deep kiss ignoring the whistles and cheers that erupt around them.  It’s possessive and he wants everyone to see.  They grin to each other, a delicious shared joke that only they know before pulling apart.

“Get that bag stowed, love.  We’ll need all hands to set sail.”

“Aye, Sir.”  Frenchie grins and disappears below decks, looking pleased with himself at their entrance.

His face impassive, Izzy nevertheless gives Lucius a wink on his way past and stalks over to where Edward and Stede are leaning against the rail.  “Captain,” he greets and nods to Edward.  “Everyone on board?”

“Good morning, Izzy,” Stede replies, flushing, trying but failing not to look at his neck.  “You were the last.”

“Good.  All the supplies secured?”

“Lucius handled it, but I know you’re going to check.”

“That I am.  We hit a storm and I don’t want anything moving that shouldn’t be.”

He’s about to turn away when there’s a hand on his arm.  “Iz?  Are you all right?”

Edward isn’t subtle enough to prevent Izzy noticing his eyes flickering down to the marks on his neck too.  They’ll fade quickly but quite honestly, Izzy doesn’t care who sees them.  “I’d have thought that was obvious,” he can’t help smirking.  It’s not like Edward doesn’t know what he’s been doing, or some of what he’s been doing anyway.

“Well fucked isn’t the same as all right.”

Izzy stares at him for a moment.  He’s known the man for over thirty years and almost knows him better than he knows himself.  He’d possibly be touched by his concern if he didn’t think there wasn’t a motive behind it.  “Thanks for your concern, Edward.  It’s a bit late, all things considered, but nice to know you get there in the end.  Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got a hold to check and a ship to get out of dock.”

Chapter Text

Five days before Calypso's party, Buttons returns.  It's just before midnight and Izzy has nearly finished his watch.  Frenchie is in bed already and Izzy wants nothing more than to join him and be wrapped up secure and warm.

He's looking out when a seagull lands on the rail and stares at him, cocking its head.  They don’t fly at night and they are nowhere near land so it’s highly unusual.  So much so that he nods a greeting to it.  “Fine night,” he comments.  He feels faintly ridiculous but the forthcoming party is affecting his nerves and putting all sorts in his head, so he just goes with it.  “Have you come far?”

The bird ruffles its feathers and then hops down onto the deck.  They look at each other for a moment and Izzy closes his eyes, hoping that when he opens them the bird will be gone.  He’s had enough weird shit in his life that he does not need judgmental seagulls looking at him.  Except that when he opens them Buttons is standing there instead, naked as the day he was born.

The man nods as though it's perfectly normal and he’d only been taking a stroll on deck.  “Mister Hands.  Aye, it was quite a journey.”

Well, fuck.

“Mister Buttons,” Izzy nods back, suspecting that he might be finally cracking.  The man certainly looks solid enough and Edward did return from the dead after all so he supposes that anything is possible.  “Didn’t expect to see you again.”  

“I had to come back.  Can't miss a good party.”

“Indeed not,” Izzy agrees politely.  It’s either that or scream.

Ironically, he’s one of the few people on the ship who didn’t suspect Edward of killing Buttons.  Despite his final, fatal insanity Blackbeard always had other people to do his killing for him.  Mainly Izzy.  Reborn Edward is very different.  Still a dick, but a surprisingly less violent one.

The naked man is looking over him critically and seems to nod approval.  “There’ve been some changes, I see.  Never seen you out of your black before.”

Today is blue and it’s become so natural to him now that Izzy forgets not everyone has seen him recently.  “One or two changes, and it's Izzy now or Israel if you prefer.”

“Nathaniel then.”

“I'll go and find you some clothes, Nathaniel.”

“Kind of you,” Buttons acknowledges, then his eyes crinkle with mirth as he glances at Izzy’s neck.  “You're looking a mite chewed there, Israel.  Someone claimed you, did they?  Can't say I'm surprised.  I always did think you were a good-looking man.”

Izzy flees.  They are not paying him enough for this.

Stede is delighted at Buttons return as it gives him another fighting man.  Izzy is equally delighted as Buttons always takes the night watches and it means he gets to spend more time with his man.

It’s the day before the party and he’s a mess.  He’s not a singer, he can’t do it, he’s going to mess it up, he’s going to forget the words, he’s…

… stressed and irritable and everyone’s treading on eggshells around him, which he absolutely hates and that just makes things worse.  He snapped at Roach at breakfast, then at John and Jim and even Fang.  That makes him angry with himself because he’s trying not to be that man any longer, which just makes him more snappy.  What he needs is some work to do to take his mind off it but unusually he can’t actually think of anything that hasn’t already been done.  For once, his improving disaster of a crew have done everything correctly.

They are anchored at the centre of a small volcanic archipelago, well away from the main shipping lanes.  The islands are rocky and uninhabited, hiding them perfectly from any ship sailing past so the time is being spent getting much needed maintenance work done.  It was his suggestion and surprisingly Edward agreed with him and persuaded the Captain.  They have been here for three days and the sails have been re-rigged, the bilges re-sealed and the ship has been gone over with a toothcomb looking for signs of rot or wear.  Everyone has worked hard and Izzy is actually proud of his crew for the effort they’ve made.  The party is well deserved and he desperately doesn’t want to be the one to ruin it.

By the time the sun is climbing towards noon he’s had enough and retires to the beakhead to try and clear his roiling thoughts.  The shattered remains of the unicorn is immediately comforting.  They’ve been through a lot, him and that damned horse, and he feels they have an affinity, two broken creatures getting on with it as best as they can.

He hears the door and tenses, hoping to fuck that it’s Frenchie because he really doesn’t have patience for anyone else right now.  Fortunately, his lover was helping Roach in the galley so missed most of his tantrum, which is something at least.  It’s not like Frenchie hasn’t seen it before in the days before the Kraken but he’s been a lot more controlled since then and part of him feels ashamed of his behaviour.

“What’s up, babe?  Luce says you’ve been like a bear with a sore paw all morning.”

He perks up at Frenchie’s voice, sighing as his lover’s long slender body presses up against his back, arms wrapping around his middle.  He instantly feels better at the contact, Frenchie’s spicy masculine scent washing over him.

“I’m not a fucking performer,” he says miserably, knowing that he sounds anxious and hating it.  “I’m just nervous, that’s all.”

There’s a kiss on the side of his neck and the delicious tickle of Frenchie’s beard.  “I know what that feels like, babe, and I’ll be right beside you.  You are Israel Hands and you’ve faced worse things than this.  I’ll take care of you, okay?”

He huffs a laugh.  “Since when do pirates need taking care of?”

“When they’re acting like a brat,” Frenchie chuckles, idly stroking across his chest.  “I know you’re nervous, babe, I get it.  Last year was spur of the moment and you smashed it, but this time…”

Leaning back into him, Izzy sighs.  “It’s all I can fucking think about.”

“You need a distraction,” Frenchie murmurs into his ear.  “I bet I can give you something better to think about.”

He swallows, wondering if Frenchie’s thinking about sex or…  Or something else.  “I can’t just disappear for a couple of hours.”  It’s a token protest at best, but he feels that he has to give it.

“Yeah, you can.  The ship’s as safe as it can be, and if anyone spots us we’ll get plenty of warning anyway.  According to Lucius the Captain sounds like he’s getting a dicking, so he won’t be around for a while.  And if he does eventually appear, we’re completing the inventory down in stores.  The guys have got our backs, so tell me what you need.”

Christ, what doesn’t he need.  He’s faced down pirates, bandits and even rapists and nothing has ever affected him like this.  If he doesn't do something soon, he’ll go insane.  Fuck it.

“Hurt me.”

Frenchie hums softly in approval.  They haven’t played seriously since Haram.  At first his arse and back needed time to heal and then they’ve just too busy practicing and preparing for the party.

“All right then, pet.  I want you in the playroom, naked with your leg on.  I'll be along in a few minutes, okay?”

Already Izzy can feel himself relaxing.  He loves that there’s no ‘are you sure’ from his lover, no hesitation.  “Yes, sir,” he says, as Frenchie releases him but not before tilting his head up and kissing him, hard. 

Not forgetting to take a couple of lanterns, Izzy makes his way down into the hold, anticipation fizzing through him.  It’s rare that the Captain and Edward venture down this far but just in case the door has been fitted with a very good lock and everyone who uses it has a key.  The playroom is the crew’s private place and Izzy plans for it to stay that way.

It’s a far cry from the beautiful airy room at Haram but the playroom is down in the hold so the movement of the ship is minimal plus it’s virtually sound proof.  What happens in the playroom, stays in the playroom.  It’s also become quite well equipped, with a supply of candles, fresh water and non-perishable food, not mention a couple of locked chests, one shared by the two of them and Lucius and the other by Jim, Olu and Archie.  He has no idea what’s in the other chest and he’s happy to keep it that way.  Their chest, on the other hand, has a very nice growing collection of implements.

He breathes deeply as he unlocks the chest and leaves it open for Frenchie to choose what he wants to use.  The epiphany he had while on the end of Lucius’ belt remains with him still.  There’s nothing wrong with needing this, no shame in it.  All that matters is that Frenchie is going to take care of him, that Frenchie loves him and will give him what he needs.  No one has ever done that for him before and he still marvels that at this age he’s finally found the other half of his soul, a beautiful musician and pirate that he only met by the merest of chances.  He no longer doubts Frenchie’s feelings for him but he still gets a flush of pleasure knowing that he's no longer alone.

By the time he’s naked his nerves are jangling.  It’s cool in the room but he hardly feels it.  Now he’s here and it’s going to happen, need fizzes through his head.  He almost jumps when the door opens and Frenchie steps in, locking it behind him.

He smiles when he sees Izzy and holds up a black object.  “Thought you might want this.” 

Izzy feels something in him release.  “Please,” he whispers, almost humming in pleasure as the collar is fixed around his neck.  It’s the one thing he doesn’t like being left in the chest so it lives in their cabin, under the thin mattress, so it can be worn whenever he needs it.  The weight of it settles comfortably around him, an old friend now, something beloved, and he finds himself breathing faster, anticipation perhaps or nervousness, he isn’t sure which.  This is different from anything they’ve done so far.  This is pain for pain’s sake and he isn’t sure if he’s pushing Frenchie too far, too soon.

As on the beakhead, Frenchie comes behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, one hand spread out over his diaphragm.  “Calm now, love,” he says softly, the words an order, nonetheless.  “I’ll give you what you need but I want you to relax.  Come on, pet, breathe with me.”

Imitating Frenchie’s inhales and exhales, Izzy unwinds, the hint of panic receding.  “Good boy,” Frenchie murmurs, and steers him to the big armchair.  “Bend over the arm,” he encourages, pushing Izzy down so that his chest is resting on the thickly padded arm rest, his arms crossed on the seat and his head resting on them.  “Lovely.  Legs a bit more apart.”

When Izzy has been placed how Frenchie wants, he closes his eyes, unsure how he feels about the position.  He feels utterly exposed and it’s thrilling and humiliating in equal measure, standing bent over like he’s a naughty schoolboy waiting for punishment.  He stiffens as the thought comes into his head.  They have very firmly stayed away from the word, both of them having lived through too much.  The loss of his toes was punishment, as was the loss of his leg.  No matter what they do, it will never be that.  And yet…

“Why do you need me to hurt you, pet?” Frenchie asks soothingly, his hand running smoothly down Izzy’s spine, to cup his arse cheek.

It’s distracting but the touch grounds him.  He thinks of all the things he could say but settles on the easiest.  “To stop me worrying about tomorrow.  To… give me something else to focus on.”

“And is that the only reason?” the silky voice asks, as the hand moves slowly back up to pull slightly on the back of his collar.  Izzy lets out a little moan at the sudden brief pressure at his neck.  Does Frenchie know?  Have his clever eyes seen through him already?

“Yes, sir,” he says anyway, not understanding why it’s so difficult to come out with it.

“I don't think it is.  I think there's something else that you want.”

“No… no, sir.”

“Yes, sir,” Frenchie says gently, slightly mocking.  “I’ve been learning you, Mister Hands, and I can speak your language now.  I know there’s something you want but don’t know how to ask for it.  You can tell me, my love.  There’s no one here but us.”

Izzy squeezes his eyes shut, and falls.  “Correction, sir,” he breathes, hardly audible.  It’s a thing that started as a playful game but has become something else, something with meaning although he’s still learning what that meaning is.  It’s not punishment but is still something to make him think about his actions and help his fucked-up head deal with them.

Frenchie hears, probably because he was expecting it.  “Correction,” Frenchie repeats softly.  “Is it something you need, pet?”

Izzy thinks about it for a moment.  “No, sir.  I don't need it but I… I want it.  It’ll remind me next time, if I let things get to me.  I don't want to be that man anymore.”

He feels Frenchie pause and then long fingers are stroking his head, almost petting him and it feels wonderful.  “So proud of you, pet,” Frenchie tells him and Izzy flushes at the praise.  “I have something new that might be appropriate.”

Frenchie goes over to their chest and rummages around, bringing out a slim object that Izzy recognizes instantly.  “Pretty, isn’t it,” Frenchie grins, seeing Izzy’s expression.  “Yet another Pete creation.  At this rate we might have to set him up making things full time and sell them when we’re in port.  We could have a nice little sideline going right under the Captain’s nose.”

At any other time Izzy would have been amused but he just can’t take his eyes off the cane in Frenchie’s hands.  It looks well crafted, with a solid leather-bound handle.  He knows how they feel, knows it’s the sharp nasty pain that he likes, knows that he wants it.

Cocking his head, Frenchie studies him, his eyes bright and Izzy sees something in them he hasn’t noticed before, an eagerness, restrained but there nonetheless.  “How about we keep this for correction, pet.” 

“Yes,” Izzy breathes, wanting it and dreading it but the want winning out, as he knew it would.  “Fuck, yeah.  Sir,” he adds belatedly.

He waits while Frenchie swats it on his hand thoughtfully.  “Ten then, I think, based on how badly you’ve behaved this morning.  Fair?”

“Yes, sir,” he agrees, face flushing with shame as he tries to settle himself down.  This is going to hurt, which is what he wants, but it’s also going to fucking hurt.

“Ready?” Frenchie asks, his voice surprisingly kind and that’s what settles him, that and the knowledge that this is being done to him with love.  He feels the cane rub gently on his arse and Frenchie's other hand settles on the small of his back, a warm connecting presence.

He nods, head on his arms, bracing himself for the strike. 

“Good boy.  Tell me, pet, why we’re doing this.”

Izzy takes a deep breath.  He’d expected Frenchie to go for it, to just deliver the blows, he hadn’t expected to have to think about what he’s done.  Clever, devious Frenchie.  “Because I've been a fucking cunt all morning.”

“I’d say that covers it,” Frenchie says approvingly, and then there's a swish and a crack and a sharp blossom of pain across his arse, bright and blinding.  He’s had harder, but fuck.  He sucks in his breath.  He can handle it.  He can take this.  “Good boy,” Frenchie murmurs, “well done.  Why else are we doing this?”

Izzy swallows heavily, the analysis of his behaviour harder to take than the blows but he supposes it makes sense if he’s meant to learn from it.  How did Frenchie become so good at this?

This one is easy.  “Because I was rude to Roach when he made my breakfast.”

“Another good reason,” Frenchie says approvingly, and again there is the swish and the pain, still not full strength and he’s suddenly glad of that.  He's not been asked to thank Frenchie for each one so he doesn’t although part of him wants to.  “Wonderful.  And another?”

“Because… because I shouted at John when he sat down and I should have realised his back was hurting.”

“You're not a mind reader, you don't have to know everything but you could have asked, so yes that's another good reason.”  Swish.  Pain.  Izzy gasps.  “Keep going, pet.  I'm sure we can find ten good reasons from your behaviour this morning.”

“I… yelled at Jim and Fang.”

“Wonderful, pet.  You’re doing brilliantly.”  And there’s another swish and the pain blooms again, sharp and cleansing.  “What's the next reason?”

He’s breathing harder now; the pain is nowhere near overwhelming but it could get there eventually.  He has six more to go.  Fuck.  He tries to think of anyone he was specifically rude to but can’t.  “Maybe… maybe because I let my anxiety get the better of me.”

The hand on his back rubs approvingly.  “You certainly did.  That's a good one, pet.”  The pain takes his breath away this time.  Each stripe feels separate and distinct and each burns.  “We’re halfway through, love, and you’re doing so well.  We need another one now.”

He’s starting to struggle.  The pain is fogging his mind and it’s harder to think.  “I don't know.  Maybe because I wasn't in control?”

Frenchie hums like he’s considering it.  “Not your best one, pet, but I'll allow it.”  Anticipation and dread thrums through him, waiting for the familiar swish.  This time the pain is lower, just at the join of his arse and thighs and makes him cry out at the harshness of it.  There’s a pause and Frenchie rubs a cool hand over the welts.  “Colour, pet?” he asks softly.  

“Green, sir,” Izzy manages, needing to get through it.  This isn’t about what he can take, it’s about fixing something in his head.  “Please don’t stop.”

“All right, love, I won’t.  I need four more reasons why we’re doing this.”

“Because I need it,” Izzy whispers, and despite him saying he didn’t, he knows it’s true.  Then there's the sound of the air moving and the crack and the blossom of pain. 

Frenchie’s voice is soft and understanding and Izzy wants to wrap himself up in it and lose himself.  “Yes, pet, that's exactly why we're doing this.  Keep going.”

He’s lost the feeling of calm now and his breath is becoming ragged.  “Because… because I could have talked about it but I bottled it up.”

“Perfect, my love, my pet,” Frenchie croons, pressing the hand on his back a little harder.  “That's exactly what you did.”  This time when the cane lands he wails, unable to keep it inside, tears threaten but he holds them in.  Each one now hurts so much more.  He knows they aren’t full strength and that Frenchie is holding back but it still makes him cry out.  “You're doing so well, my lovely, so very well.  Just two more now.  Why are we doing this?”

Now they are getting to the truth, to what really matters.  He swallows hard, voice trembling.  “Because the crew of this… fucking ridiculous ship care about me and they're not going to judge me tomorrow night no matter what happens.”

He hears a sigh and feels a kiss on his neck, just below the collar.  “Oh, pet, they really do.  I’m not going to humiliate you by asking you to apologise to them, because they understand how you’re feeling.  You’ve been so good.  Do you want the last two?  I know you won’t do it again.”

It’s tempting, so tempting.  His back is starting to hurt from the position but he agreed and he doesn’t want to back down.  “Please, you said ten.”

Frenchie’s voice is achingly gentle.  “I did.  All right then, pet, deep breath.”  The hand on his back strokes him before settling again.  This time the cane is swift, anything but gentle, and it strikes before he’s even finished drawing in a breath and he cries out again. 

“Last one, my love.  One last reason why we’re doing this.”

“Because you love me,” Izzy whispers, the last one coming into his head unbidden, but he knows it’s true.  Frenchie is doing this to fix him.  For him.

“That’s right, pet, because I love you so much.  This one’s going to be harder, okay?  Breathe in.”  And with that warning the cane comes down and Izzy howls, the tears spilling over.  Gasping and shuddering, he’s pulled to his feet and up into Frenchie’s arms and held tightly, his head against his lover’s chest.  The pain is awful and beautiful, deeply cleansing, and despite it he can feel his anxiety melting away until all that’s left is peace and stillness.

“Thank you,” he whispers into Frenchie’s shirt, loving the smell of him, earthy and masculine, and how safe he feels in his arms.  He becomes aware that Frenchie is hard although he knows his own cock hasn’t risen and he realises that his lover must be aroused from hurting him, and fuck but Izzy finds that hot. 

“You’re perfect,” Frenchie whispers back, kissing the top of his head.  “You were so good taking that for me.  Do you need more, pet, or is that enough?”

“Both,” he says after a moment’s thought.  “Enough correction, not enough for me,” he tries to explain but his mind is foggy and he isn’t prepared to let it go yet.

Tilting his head up with a finger under his chin, Frenchie kisses his forehead.  “The flogger?” he asks, no judgment in his eyes.  “On your back, hmm?  Make some marks?  Would you like that?”

Sighing with relief, Izzy nods gratefully.  “Fuck, yes.  Please.”  He forgot his Sir this time but Frenchie doesn’t seem to mind.  Izzy’s wearing his lover’s collar so he belongs to him either way.

Dipping his head, Frenchie kisses him, briefly licking him open to taste the words in his mouth.  “You're so beautiful like this, pet.  You look completely blissed out, like you don't know whether to laugh or cry.  It does something to me.”

“I can feel,” Izzy murmurs, rubbing against him.  “Sir.”

There’s a chuckle and he can’t help a moan as his bottom lip is given a nip.  “Cheeky boy.  How’s your leg?  Would you like to go back over the chair or stand?”

“Leg’s fine.  Need something to lean on though.”

Now Frenchie’s smile is positively wicked.  “You didn’t notice the hook in the joist, then?”

It’s the work of minutes to get him in cuffs and the rope attached before his arms are hoisted above his head and the tail of the rope is secured to another hook on the wall.  It’s simple and effective and Izzy feels the calm overcoming him again.  The pain is for him this time.

As with the cane he feels the tails of the flogger on his back, slithering over his shoulders, caressing almost lovingly.  “I’m going to put some nice marks on your back, pet, but I don’t want to keep your arms above your head for long so I’m going to do it hard.  If it gets too much, I want to hear your colour, understand?”

It’s absolutely an order.  “Yes, sir.  Please…”  It sounds whiny to his own ears but he doesn’t care.  He’s beyond caring about things like that with his lover.  Frenchie can read him anyway; he knows that now.

Without warning the flogger lands on his back, hard enough to force a breath out.  This pain is dull and thuddy with a hint of sting and it's a perfect counterpoint to the sharp bite of the cane.  Before he’s even drawn the next breath it comes down again, the placement perfect, and fuck but Frenchie is good at this.  They’ve practiced on pillows and targets and even his back but not as part of a scene.  Yet as he does with most things he’s interested in, Frenchie has picked it up quickly and well.

It's hard and fast and the pain builds with each strike and he absently notices that his cock has risen, the sick fuck that it is.  Frenchie notices too because there’s a pause and a dark chuckle.  “Enjoying this, aren't we,” he says, with a delicious little bit of mockery, as he trails the tails of the flogger over his cock.  “My pet’s pretty prick has come out to play.”

He can do nothing but moan at the sensation of the leather against such sensitive flesh.  “Please…” he begs, although he can’t put words on what he wants exactly, just more.

“Please what, precious?” a hot voice asks in his ear. 

“More,” he whispers.

There’s a licking bite to his shoulder just below where his collar sits and his cock stiffens further.  “Such a slut,” Frenchie murmurs.  “So greedy.  Twenty more and then I’m going to make you come screaming for me.”

Izzy nods, unable to do more.  When Frenchie starts with his filthy talk Izzy is lost and they both know it.  He’s a pirate and swears like a trooper and it’s a very long time since he was the village parson’s son but enough remains that he still gets embarrassingly turned on by a dirty mouth.

“Still green, pet?” Frenchie asks, and he can hear the grin in his voice.  The man knows exactly what he’s doing to him.

Again, he nods and manages a whispered, “Green, Sir.”

Twenty go in a blur of thud and building hurt, the leather gone from simply reddening his skin to raising welts.  Twenty across his scars, twenty bursts of pain that fulfill a need so deep that he can’t put a name to it.  Twenty cries into the near darkness that only they can hear.  By the time it ends, his arms are aching, his leg has had enough and he feels better than he has for days.  Since Haram in fact.

He hears the flogger drop and then Frenchie is pressing up behind him, his clothes scratching deliciously against his welted backside.  Floating, a little disconnected, he gasps as Frenchie reaches around him and cups his balls, before starting to squeeze.  It’s something new that they’ve been experimenting with, something they can do in their cabin without needing the playroom.  An easy and small way to hurt him.  Right now it's perfect, different from the other kinds of pain the body can produce because it’s painful pressure, hot and cold at the same time.  Almost immediately another hand goes to his nipple, pulling and pinching, twisting and burning, and Frenchie is murmuring in his ear, hot and dark.  “Christ, look at you, Iz.  You’re so fucking sexy, so fucking good.  You’re going to come for me, untouched, shoot onto the floor and if you can last another twenty seconds, I won’t make you lick it up.”

He makes it.  Just.  Not that he would have minded, really.  The pressure on his balls, the delicious agony of it, the sharp twists of his nipple and Frenchie’s count of twenty nearly overwhelms him but he holds himself back, somehow, and the moment Frenchie says twenty he lets it go and is utterly undone, shooting into the air with embarrassing force, his plaintive cry a wail of agony and ecstasy.

He’s still coming down from it when Frenchie releases him with brisk efficiency, holding him up as he sags once the rope releases him.  He’s too far gone to feel anything much, his mind floating miles above the ship, his body the anchor keeping him from leaving altogether.

He may have slept for a few minutes because he wakes to find himself face down on the bed, his head to one side and Frenchie beside him, watching him through dark glittering eyes.  His back and arse are throbbing but feel good and almost cool. 

“Hey,” he smiles, still a bit woolly. 

“Hey,” Frenchie smiles back, although it looks a little shadowed.  “How do you feel, babe?”

“Like myself again.”  He doesn’t even need to think about it.  He feels reset, renewed.

“How are the nerves?”

He considers for a moment and shrugs.  “Gone.  We’re going to sing and it’s going to be fine.”

“Yes, it is,” Frenchie agrees, stroking down his cheek.  “It’s going to be perfect.”

As Frenchie’s hand comes close to his nose, he smells something familiar and takes hold of it, sniffing.  “That smells like the cream from Haram.”

Frenchie gives him his sorry, not sorry look.  “A pot of it might have fallen into my bag.”

Izzy chuckles, far too content to bother about it.  It’s not exactly like he isn’t a thief either.  Looking at Frenchie he notices that his lover is still fully dressed.  “You didn’t come?”

“Didn’t need to, babe, I can wait.”

“Take your shirt off and lie with me,” Izzy asks, suddenly longing for him even though he’s right there.  “Need to touch skin.”  While Frenchie removes his waistcoat and shirt, Izzy shifts onto his side and when his lover lies back down, Izzy pulls him close, their legs twined together, facing each other on the low pillow.  “Tell me what’s wrong.  You’re too quiet.”

It takes Frenchie a moment to speak.  He takes a deep breath which turns into a sigh.  “Izzy, I think I enjoy hurting you.”

It’s not exactly unexpected.  Frenchie has taken to this so well and so quickly that Izzy is surprised his lover hasn’t questioned his own motives sooner.  “I’d be upset if you didn’t,” he replies mildly, stroking his chest, loving the silky smoothness of him.  “Do you believe that’s a bad thing?  How else are you supposed to feel?”

“I don’t know.  Christ, what if I turn into fucking Ned Low or something?”

The idea is so ridiculous that if Frenchie wasn’t looking so serious he would have laughed.  Where on earth has his sweet man got that idea from?  Then he remembers Frenchie being hard after the caning and suspects that’s the cause of his sudden self-reflection.

“Silly sod,” he murmurs affectionately, rubbing his thumb over Frenchie’s cheekbone and down to his ridiculously kissable lips before settling the hand on his neck.  “I’ve only got half a brain on me at the moment but we’re going to sort this out.  Do you want to hurt anyone else?”

“What?  No.”

“Any thoughts about torture, mutilation, that sort of thing?”

Frenchie looks pained.  “Iz, don't even say that.”

“So, you just want to hurt me?”

“Yeah, just you.”

“And what do you enjoy about hurting me?  Specifically?”

Frenchie frowns, lost in thought for a moment and Izzy knows very well how hard it is to explain something like that.  “It makes me feel powerful, special somehow, like I matter.  And you… the way you love it, just makes me want to do it more.  Your reactions just kill me, they're so beautiful.”

Izzy’s impressed.  That’s probably much better than he would have been able to put it.  “Remember what you said to me after that scene with Luc, when I was worried that I was fucked for wanting it?  You said, does it hurt anybody if I want that.  Well, I'm saying it right back.  Does this hurt anybody if you enjoy what you do to me?  Obviously apart from me,” he says, with a wry smile.  “You're getting really good at this, love.  You can read me and know what I need and I've had to wait my whole life to find this so I'm not having you backing out on me now, okay?  All that stupid stuff in my head has gone.  I'm not worrying anymore about tomorrow and you did that, you made it better so don't ever feel bad about enjoying doing this to me.”

He watches Frenchie’s expression relax and suspects that there’s a box somewhere in that strange, beautiful head that has had some worries shoved into it and the lid firmly closed behind it.  He can almost hear the click.  “Just promise to tell me if I ever go too far.”

“That's why we have our colours and you will never go too far.” 

“How do you know that?”

“Because you love me,” he says simply, “and I love you right back.  I also love what you do to me and there is nothing wrong with you enjoying it too.  Okay?”

“I’m not turning into Ned Low then,” Frenchie says with a sheepish grin.

Izzy gives him a thoughtful look and twists a bit of his hair.  “It’s possible, I suppose.  We’d have to do some serious work on your hair though and you’d need to put a bit of weight on.”

“Oh, fuck right off.”

They lie there, grinning at each other and Izzy settles down again.  He knows they should be moving but he feels so good that he really doesn’t want to go back on deck yet.  Despite being dark and cool, it’s nice in the bottom of the ship; they don’t need to worry about noise or anyone disturbing them.

As he does every day, he thanks whatever Gods were looking out for him the day Frenchie bought him a new shirt.  Absently, he rubs his thumb over one of Frenchie’s nipples, the tiny nub of flesh responding instantly to his touch.  Frenchie makes a tiny murmur of approval, barely heard, and Izzy does it again, deliberately this time.

Frenchie’s breath hitches.  In the softly flickering light his skin is almost burnished gold and he looks so beautiful, Izzy almost feels unworthy.  Unable to help himself, he dips his head and puts his mouth on it, needing the taste of him on his tongue.  Gently he sucks the precious flesh into himself and suckles, softly at first and then harder, his tongue flicking over it in his mouth, that tiny perfect nub suddenly his reason for breathing.  When he feels the hand on the back of his head, pressing him harder, he groans, not mistaking Frenchie’s cock thickening against his thigh.

Then he’s being pulled away and he makes a pathetic mewling sound but doesn’t care.  “Iz,” Frenchie rumbles, the sound from deep in his chest, his dark eyes blown.

From nowhere, need, obligate and overwhelming, washes over him.  It’s ridiculous but he can’t fight it and he doesn’t want to.  He’s having more sex than he’s ever had in his life and it’s still not enough.  They fucked last night and brought each other off this morning with their hands while eating each other’s faces.  Yet even as he thinks it, he knows it’s not quite true, it’s not just about sex, it’s about Frenchie.  The man is his drug, his high, and the more of him he has, the more he wants.  “Fuck me,” he grinds out.  “Need you inside me.  Please…”  It’s begging but he doesn’t care.  The need for Frenchie is intense, as strong as the tide and as deep as the ocean.  He knows that his head is still fucked from the caning but that doesn’t stop the impatient want of it.

“Whatever you need, my love,” Frenchie replies, his voice hungry.  “How do you want it?”

“Like this.  I need to see you.”  He rolls onto his back and pulls Frenchie with him.  He hisses when the rough bedding scrapes his damaged skin but doesn’t care.  He opens his legs and Frenchie comes between them, pressing down to kiss him, wet and messy and deep. 

“Fuck, Iz,” Frenchie breathes when they part, and moves just enough to shrug off his boots and pants.  By the time he’s naked, he’s rock hard and reaching for the oil, slicking his fingers.

Izzy catches his hand.  “Use that on you.  Don’t open me up, I want to feel it.  Just… go slow, okay?”

“It’ll hurt.”

“I want it to.  Please…”

They’ve never done it like this before.  Frenchie has always been so thorough opening him but right now he wants to feel every inch of Frenchie’s cock as he’s breached.  He wants this one last perfect pain.

Not questioning, Frenchie goes to his knees and lifts Izzy’s leg up over his crooked arm and with a look of intense concentration guides his cock forward, pressing slowly into the unforgiving ring of muscle.  Izzy’s breath leaves him in a rush at the sudden intense pain of it.  It hurts like hell but in some perverse way it’s bright and glorious. 

“Fuck, yes,” he hisses, his head thrown back as he breathes through the hurt, his hands gripping the rough bedding.  “More.”

Slowly pushing forward, Frenchie doesn’t stop until he’s all the way in.  “So tight,” he gasps, his hands on Izzy’s hips, fingers leaving bruises.  “How the fuck are you this tight?  Fuck, Iz, I’m not going to last.”

“Don’t care.  Just do it.”  His own dick is soft but it doesn’t matter, he’s not going to be able to get it up for some time.  He just needs to be taken, to be subsumed by his lover, for Frenchie to take his pleasure and use him.

The first thrust, when it comes, knocks the breath from his lungs.  The second has him begging, “Pleasepleasepleaseplease,” because he wants to be filled, to be owned, inside as well as out.  He loses count after that and by the time the pain has settled into outrageous pleasure he’s being pounded hard.  And then Frenchie grins wickedly and changes the angle and Izzy screams because it's right there and oh fuck and yes and he doesn't have to look to know that his limp dick is dribbling fluid as Frenchie hammers his sweet spot.  He can’t take his eyes off Frenchie, can’t stop watching as he gives him this quick, dirty, beautiful fuck and even as he thinks he can’t, Izzy comes, despite his limp dick, despite having come twice already that morning, despite being fifty fucking six.  He feels himself clenching, tightening convulsively around Frenchie’s cock and then Frenchie’s chanting, “Izzy Izzy Izzy,” and he's coming too, filling Izzy’s guts with the force of it.

Breathless, overwhelmed, he watches Frenchie come, his face transfixed in that moment of pure pleasure, something Izzy will never tire of seeing.  The noises he makes too, those soft greedy sounds of satisfaction are almost too much.  They stay locked together, panting, through the throbbing aftermath until Frenchie’s cock softens and slips out of him, his come following it.

Still pressed between Izzy’s legs, Frenchie rests his head on his chest.  “Izzy Hands, you are a fucking menace,” he murmurs breathlessly.  “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.  Just when I think it's so good it can't get any better, you go and do something like that.”

Izzy huffs a laugh as his own breath calms, unable to help himself from stroking Frenchie’s soft hair.  “You were the one waving your nipples at me.  What was I supposed to do?” 

“Not entirely sure my nipples actually wave, babe,” Frenchie replies with a contented hum, breath tickling his chest.    

“You clearly haven’t been paying attention to them, then.  I’m positive one of them winked at me.”

“Nutter,” Frenchie chuckles, dropping lazy kisses onto his chest.

Well, he probably can’t argue with that.  Feeling some more drip of out him, Izzy whispers conspiratorially.  “The bed’s a mess, I’ve leaked on it.”  The rule of the playroom is that any mess on the bed has to be dealt with by whoever made it, a perfectly reasonable demand.  They’ll take the bedding with them when they leave and put it in a tub. 

But it has the desired effect and Frenchie grins in delight and slides down his body, stopping for a quick pull of one gold ring on his way past.  “You know better than to say that to me.”  He makes a sound not far from a moan and Izzy closes his eyes happily as fingers circle the wetness and press inside.

Both the bed and Izzy have been cleaned up and they are making the most of a few last minutes of peace.  Not generally a man to put things off, Izzy has been meaning to talk to Frenchie about something for a while but hasn’t found the right moment.  Lying together in the semi dark of the playroom he knows there will never be a better one.

“I want to ask you something.”

“Babe, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

They both speak at exactly the same time and Izzy groans.  “Fuck, we're doomed.  We'll be finishing each other’s sentences soon.”

“That just means we’re made for each other,” Frenchie chuckles.  “Go on, babe, you first.”

Now the time has come, Izzy isn’t sure how to start.  It’s no secret that there was an orgy on deck after the last party, although he knows that Frenchie watched but didn’t join in.  Olu, Jim and Archie had gone up aft for their own private party and everyone else had settled down on deck.  Izzy remained for a while but when things were getting interesting, believing that he was not wanted, he went back to his cabin and left them to it.

This time there's something he wants and it’s been at the back of his mind for the last couple of weeks.  It's something he’s thought about since the day he kissed Roach and now the party’s so close he doesn't know if he should.  Of course, it could mean that he’s just fucking greedy.  He’s pretty sure his lover will be fine with it but all the same…  He’s in uncharted territory with this but he wants tomorrow night to be special for them both.

“It’s about the party, and what goes on after,” he says hesitatingly, but pauses, not quite sure how to word it.  He is theirs and they are his but the circle isn’t complete, not yet. 

Frenchie leans up on one elbow and gives him a knowing smile.  “You want them to fuck you, yeah?”

He splutters in surprise at Frenchie just coming out so easily what he’s been struggling to ask for the last week.  “Fuck.  How did you…?”

Looking ridiculously smug, Frenchie chuckles at his discomfort.  “It wasn’t a huge stretch, babe.  I’ve seen the way you look at Roach since you kissed, and John, well, who wouldn’t want him.  Lu and Pete are a given, considering, and I know you’ve been with Fang before so it wasn’t hard to guess.” 

After certain things they’ve talked about Izzy should have known that Frenchie’s clever brain would work it out.  He has other reasons as well as wanting to be fucked until he can’t walk, although that’s a fucking good one.  “Roach said that they were claiming me and I liked it.  I want them to claim me,” he tries to explain.  “You all belong to me, kind of, and I want to belong to all of you in return.  Not like you and me are but…”  He gives up.  “Fuck knows.  It just feels right, so… I’m asking...”

“You’re asking me?”

“Of course I fucking am,” Izzy replies with a huff, not expecting the note of surprise in his lover’s voice.  “I’m yours and you can say no and that will be the end of it.”  He’d be disappointed but not that much.  Not if it meant damaging what they have together.  He doesn’t want a relationship like Lucius and Pete, no matter how well it works for them and he’s very aware that Frenchie doesn’t fuck around and never has.

But Frenchie just gives him the lovely eye crinkle and pulls him even closer.  For a man whose boyfriend has just asked if he can be fucked by five other men, he looks completely untroubled.  “Are you kidding?  Why wouldn’t I want them to fuck you?  I get to watch it and have you last so I can fuck their come back into you.” 

By the time Frenchie’s finished speaking his voice has gone to a husky rumble and if Izzy could get it up again anytime soon, he’d be poking his lover in the belly.  As it is, he closes his eyes and rests his head on Frenchie’s shoulder, his head swirling at the thought of it.  “Fuck me,” he whispers, suddenly overwhelmed.  It’s one thing asking for something like this but another entirely to know it’s actually going to happen.

“Kind of the plan,” Frenchie teases, nipping lightly on his ear.  “It might possibly be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen and I may never recover from it, but that’s a chance we’ll just have to take.  I’ll sacrifice myself for the good of the cause.”

Stifling a laugh, Izzy tilts his head for a kiss, humming when Frenchie’s mouth closes over his.  Even now Izzy still feels a thrill when his lover kisses him.  No matter what, tired, sore and well fucked he still gets turned on by Frenchie’s mouth on his.  “You’re very noble,” he murmurs, between kisses.  “Such sacrifice should not go unrewarded.”

Frenchie makes a regretful sound and sighs against his lips.  “Babe, if I could get it up again I’d be rewarding you right now but you’ve drained me dry.”

Unable to help his smirk, Izzy nips at Frenchie’s delicious bottom lip.  “I’ve felt like that since our first night together.”

“Pfft.  Three times, as I recall.”

“I hadn’t come for weeks.  I had better reserves then.”

“Oh, hush.  You love it.”

Izzy’s smirk widens.  “Did I say I didn’t?”

Now that it’s out in the open he feels a weight lifted, something else off his mind although it’s possible they might not be interested.  Unlikely, but still possible, although he knows that a fuck pile with Lucius and Pete would be more than enough.  It’s not really something he wants to talk about, all the same.

“I’ll speak to them,” Frenchie suggests, as though reading his mind and Izzy nods in relief.  “After story time tonight, I think.  Olu, Jim and Archie have their own party and won’t be into it but everyone else will be.”

Izzy feels a shiver in his belly, whether apprehension or anticipation he isn’t quite sure.  He wants it though, wants to truly be a part of them.   “And you’re really okay with it?”

Frenchie’s face breaks into a wicked grin.  “I fucking love it.”  Then the grin turns into something softer.  “And I fucking love you too.”

There’s so much Izzy could say and the last thing he expects is what actually comes out of his mouth.  “Why?” he asks, regretting it but it’s too late to take it back.  

“You know why,” Frenchie says with a little frown.  “You know all the reasons why.”

Needing to reassure, Izzy strokes his chest, petting as though to calm a spooked horse.  He’s aware that he’s not articulating well, still a little floaty from the pain.  Of course he knows, he will never forget all the wonderful heart-rending things Frenchie said to him at Haram, but he means earlier than that.  “I mean before, before Bonnet left.  I was… awful back then.  What did you see in me?  Why did you choose me?”

Understanding softens the frown and Frenchie looks at him, eyes gentle in the lamplight.  Izzy doesn’t know what he sees but it must be enough.  “I wanted you,” his lover says frankly.  “Everything that you are is a turn on for me.  Even when you were being a shit, I wanted you.  But…”  Frenchie hesitates, and swallows, looking like a man choosing his words very carefully, something he doesn’t often do.  “But also, because I saw a man who needed something and it was something I wanted to give.  You needed… someone to care for you and I needed someone to care for, so…”

Izzy’s about to retort that he doesn't need looking after but stops and makes himself think before speaking because maybe Frenchie’s right.  He thinks of the things that Frenchie does for him, unasked; bringing him drinks when he’s on watch, helping him condition his leathers, massaging his leg when the truncated muscles play up, even shaving him sometimes and always holding him when he sleeps.  And then there are the things he doesn’t do.  Frenchie never gets impatient, never lets him bottle it up when something’s bothering him, never presses for knowledge about his past, always waiting for it to be given and has never once made him feel old and any less of a man, despite his loss.  So maybe Frenchie does take care of him and he hadn’t realised.  It’s nice, the thought comes unbidden, and he follows it further.  He likes it.  So… maybe… he’s been seeking it all his life, needing someone to care for him.  And no one has.  Until Frenchie, who filled the cold empty chasm within him with warmth and light and love.  Then he realises with a start that it hasn’t made him any less of a pirate, any less of a First Mate and any less of a man.  In every sense, it’s made him more.

He swallows down the wave of emotion that follows because it really could make him weep and he’s not going to allow that.  Not now.  Instead, he twines their legs together a little tighter and does his best to keep his voice light.  “So you picked the first angry needy pirate who came your way.”

“Yes, you silly man,” Frenchie chuckles, pushing the hair back that’s fallen over his forehead, “that’s exactly what I did.  And look how it’s turned out.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

Frenchie smiles, an endearing mix of smugness and mischief.  “Yeah, you do.  You totally do.”

And maybe he does, at that.  Accepting, content, hurting in all the right places, he allows himself to be held.  They lie curled around each other whispering silly things, sweet things, things that make him feel like he's young again, until he remembers...

“You wanted to ask me something.”

Frenchie’s eyes widen and he flushes, looking for all the world like he's just been caught doing something he shouldn’t.  “Oh yeah, fuck, I forgot about that.  Well… you know how much I love these?” he says, pulling lightly on the gold ring.  Technically the four weeks isn’t quite up but that hasn’t stopped them from being played with.  Not that Izzy minds, he loves them as much as Frenchie and he hisses in a breath as the ring is gently twisted.  Every time they’re touched they send a very precise message to his cock. 

“Yeah, just a bit.  Probably the way you can't stop playing with them is the giveaway.”

Frenchie gives him the cute smile, the one he saves for when he wants something, and looks at him from under his dusky lashes.  “Well, I was wondering if you’d consider another one.”

“I've only got two nipples, love,” Izzy points out, puzzled.

“No, not there.”

Realisation dawns and he takes in a sharp breath.  “Oh fuck.”

He’s about to reply when there’s a soft tap on the door.  “Captain’s on deck, boys.  Just thought you’d want to know.”

“Thanks, Lu,” Frenchie calls and swears softly.  “That’s us done.  Let’s get you presentable and back up top.”

Sore and stiff, Izzy doesn’t protest as he’s helped back into his clothes.  “No pressure, babe,” Frenchie tells him, wrapping him up in a careful hug.  “I thought it might be sexy but you don’t have to.  It’s your dick, not mine.”

Breathing in the scent of pure Frenchie, Izzy isn’t sure he agrees.  He’s pretty sure his dick belongs to Frenchie, along with the rest of him and the more he considers it the less he hates the idea.  “I’ll think about it,” he promises, before Frenchie releases him and gets dressed.

Picking up the bundle of bedding Frenchie stuffs it under one arm.  The rest of their toys are locked back safely up in their chest and then it’s time to go.  Before he unlocks the door he takes Izzy’s chin and tilts his head up.  “Are you sure you’re okay, babe?  I didn’t overdo it?”

Pulling him down for one last kiss, Izzy cups his face with both hands, needing him to see the truth in his eyes.     “You were fucking perfect.” 

They share a smile, acknowledgement of this wonderful thing they share, before taking the lanterns and locking up.  They split when Frenchie heads for the laundry but instead of going straight back on deck Izzy takes a detour to their cabin.  It's a complete arse taking his pants off again but he thinks it will be worth it.

Back on deck, as immaculate as always, he casts his eyes around and sees everything in order.  Frenchie is already there, talking to John but casts him the hint of a wink when he glances over.  It’s not like most of them don’t know where they disappeared off to, although probably not for what.  He makes a point of telling John and Jim they’ve done a good job, which actually they have, and also complimenting Fang on his rope work.  He doesn't apologise to anyone but no one seems to need him to.  He’s mostly a better man but he’s not a different man and he has no plans to turn fluffy. 

The repairs are mostly done so he leaves them to it and goes down to do what they were pretending to be doing, inventorying the stores.  It’s not like he needs to but the orderliness of it helps his head even more and it gets him out of the way, which is how he manages quite successfully to miss lunch and has to go later when nobody's around.

If he doesn’t make it to the sit-down lunch, Roach always leaves a plate of cold cuts out for him.  Today it’s bread and cheese, pickle and some cold chicken, the kind of simple food he likes.  The plate is covered with a cloth, although everyone will know it’s for him so is usually unmolested.  There’s no sign of Roach but it’s not unusual for him to take a brief nap after lunch as he starts work so early and doesn’t finish until after dinner is cleared away.  For the moment Izzy just enjoys the peace and quiet.

“You look better.”

Well, that didn’t last long.  He’s not entirely surprised to see Lucius in the doorway.  As he’d been complicit in helping Frenchie steal him away, Izzy had expected him to check in at some point.  “Didn't know I looked bad,” he replies calmly, taking another bite of cheese.  Had this been earlier he would probably have bitten the younger man’s head off but now he can cope with Lucius’ teasing.

“You looked tense, like you were going to explode at any minute,” Lucius tells him, wandering over to look at what’s on his plate.  “I'm guessing that Frenchie helped.”

“He did,” Izzy replies, batting Lucius’ hand away when he tries to steal some chicken.

Lucius smirks and leans in, whispering in his ear.  “Is that why you're eating your lunch standing up?”

Izzy snorts a laugh, knowing that there’s no point denying it.  “Oh, fuck off.”

Leaning on the opposite counter, Lucius chuckles and rearranges his necktie.  He’s in the guise of cute today and Izzy isn’t entirely sure some days who the real Lucius is.  This version, he suspects, but he could easily be wrong.  “Frenchie’s good for you,” Lucius notes, studying him.  “I'm going to miss what we did.”

Izzy rolls his eyes.  “Don't be so dramatic, Spriggs.  I liked what you did, we're still going to play.”

“You won’t be mine though,” Lucius says with a hint of a pout.

Regarding him thoughtfully, Izzy can’t help wondering if Lucius had been serious about claiming him.  “Wasn't yours to begin with.”

He gets an interesting look from the younger man that he can’t quite interpret.  “I suppose not,” Lucius sighs theatrically, then brightens.  “You can make up for it by telling me about this mysterious place you two disappeared off to.”

“Frenchie didn’t tell you?” he asks, surprised.

“You'd think,” Lucius replies with a hint of snark.  “The little shit just grins and taps his nose.  You can tell me though.”

“No,” he says firmly but backs down when Lucius actually looks a little hurt.  He doesn’t even know why exactly but part of him wants to keep Haram as their secret for a while longer.  “Not yet,” he amends, placating.  He can’t help but smile though, knowing how much that must be annoying the younger man.  Lucius is far too used to being the hub of information and gossip and it must be killing him to not know something.

“So, what did he use on you?” Lucius asks instead, and Izzy shifts uncomfortably feeling the bite of the cane again. 

“Cane and flogger.”  He’s not prepared to go into detail about what they did though.  Whatever the thing they call correction is, and he’s not sure they know properly themselves yet, it's something private.  

Lucius looks at him with new respect.  “Fuck.  No wonder you can’t sit down.”

“He can't mend a sail for shit, but it turns out he's fantastic at hurting me,” Izzy says, with a wry smile.

“It's good between you, then?” Lucius asks, suddenly serious.  “Is he everything you wanted?”

Realising that he’s clutching his plate, Izzy sets it down on the counter, the food forgotten, and takes a moment to put a reply together, needing Lucius to understand.  “More.  It's like he sees into my head, knows what I need without me asking.  He’s perfect for me and I never knew.  All the years I fucking wasted and there he was.”

Lucius looks at him, studying him and then seems to come to a decision.  “Iz, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.  Before you came along, we all played around.  Pirates, right?”  Izzy scoffs at that but Lucius waves him to be quiet.  “Frenchie was always a bit more reserved but he sucked a few of us off, had a mess around, you know, but that was all, no fucking.  But after everything went bad and you were… hurt, he wouldn't go near any of us, not like that.  Said he was waiting for you.” 

Now he has Izzy’s full attention. 

“So, we told him we were each going to make a play for you,” Lucius continues.  “Me, John, Roach and Fang.  We weren’t, obviously.  Not that we wouldn't have done, because you’re fucking hot, but you were always going to be his.  We just got tired of him moping around over you so we nudged him along a bit.  When he thought someone might get to you first, he had to make a move so went and bought you a gift.”  Lucius smiles wryly.  “The choice of a shirt was a bit out there, but then he’s Frenchie and who knows what goes on in that weird, beautiful head of his sometimes.”

Izzy just looks at him and everything suddenly falls into place; the shirt, the timing of it, the way it happened, and he remembers Frenchie in the rec room not long after they’d began.  “A few of the crew wanted to make a play but I made my move first.”  He’d made that move because of the crew.  They had done it not just for Frenchie, but for him too.  His annoying, wonderful crew gave him a gift that he would never be able to repay.

And what if they hadn’t given him that nudge?  Would they both still be unknowingly circling around each other, both unaware of how the other felt?  The thought of not having Frenchie, of never having had him, is appalling.  “Why did you tell me?” 

Lucius gives a shrug and a small smile.  “Don't know really.  I suppose I just want you to understand how much he's into you.”

Swallowing heavily, Izzy nods.  Before Haram he might not have believed Lucius, before Frenchie poured out his soul and everything changed.  “The morning we spent away I had a… meltdown, of sorts,” he admits, “so he sat me down and told me exactly how he feels, so yeah I know now but before then I kept expecting him to find someone better.” 

“He adores you,” Lucius says softly.  “Everyone can see it.”

“I… adore him,” Izzy replies, and it comes to him that he’s never said that about anyone in his entire life.  Never even thought it.  “Fifty-six years old and I finally find the love of my life.  There’s some fucking irony there, don’t you think.”

“But you did find him,” Lucius counters.  “Better than never finding him and making do.”

Making do with Edward.  Lucius doesn’t say it but that’s what he means, and Izzy can’t argue with it because that’s exactly what he had done all those wasted years.  He knows he should feel more bitter than he does but it’s not like he was forced and it wasn’t difficult to fall under Edward’s spell, even when he knew things weren’t right between them.  But he’s not going to go there, not when he’s feeling so good. 

“It makes more sense now.  One day everything was normal and I knew who I was, or I thought I did, and the next there was Frenchie and my life’s been turned on its head.  And I love it,” he adds, at Lucius’ smirk.  “Thank you,” he says, a little awkwardly.  He’s still not the best at giving thanks but it’s coming easier now.

Lucius gives a dismissive shrug.  “It’s okay, babe, I was going to tell you anyway.”

Izzy gives him a look and fights against rolling his eyes again.  “No, you twat, for giving him the kick up the arse.”  Then something occurs to him.  “Is this one of those ‘if you hurt him, I'll hurt you’ conversations?  Because if it is, it's a bit fucking late.”

This time Lucius’ laugh is completely genuine.  “We’re long past that, babe.  No, it’s just good to know you’re both happy.  I fully intend to stick around for long enough to see you both grow old together.”

“You won’t have long to wait,” Izzy snorts, keeping it light although he remembers the conversation he had with his lover about that very thing.  “I’m fucking old now.”

“Pfft.”  Lucius dismisses it with a wave.  “Old, no; hot as hell, yes.  There aren’t many people on this ship who don’t want to get in your pants, Captains included.”

“The fuck?  What have you been smoking?”

“You haven’t noticed?” Lucius says, looking surprised.  “I thought you knew.  I’ve caught Stede ogling you loads of times, and Edward when he thinks no one’s looking.”

Izzy shakes his head.  No, not going there, absolutely fucking not.  Lucius is mistaken.  The idea is beyond preposterous.  “If they are looking at me, ogling will be the last thing on their minds, trust me.”

“If you say so,” Lucius breezes, clearly not believing him.  “If they were they’d be pissed off to know I’ve had you.”

“They aren’t, and you haven’t,” Izzy replies thoughtfully.  “Pete has, but not you.”

Lucius gives him an arch look and slides over, suddenly close, their bodies not quite touching, and Izzy feels something in his chest give way a little, the man's proximity still able to have an effect on him.  Their complex and ever-changing relationship is enough to give him a headache, the dynamics between the two of them fluid and intricate.  “But I will,” Lucius murmurs, his lips grazing Izzy’s cheek, “and we both know it.”

Sooner than you think.  The thought sends a jolt down to his nethers but Izzy ignores it.  “Yeah,” he agrees, breathing Lucius scent.  He smells clean and soft, of the plain soap they use and somewhere beneath, of the sea.  He shifts and their lips touch briefly, before the younger man pulls away and his eyes go to the half full plate. 

With a tut, Lucius picks it up, his eyes sparkling with mischief.  “Oh, dear me, Iz, we can’t have that.  Big day tomorrow, babe, you need to keep your strength up.”

Picking it up, he hops onto the counter and pulls Izzy close.  Allowing himself to be moved, Izzy gives him a glare but settles between his legs.  “Don't even think about calling me your fucking princess.”

Lucius’ face is all innocence.  “Oh no, I overstepped my boundaries and I'm not doing that again.  This is just me asking you nicely to put your hands on my thighs and keep them there.”

“And then what?” Izzy asks suspiciously, noting almost unconsciously that his hands have automatically done what Lucius asked.

“Then you're going to eat your food like a good little pirate and not get grouchy again, and I’m going to give it to you to make sure that do you.”

Fucking hell, Lucius wants to feed him.  Memories of Frenchie at Haram and the sticky mess they got into springs into his mind.  Fuck off is almost in his mouth but what comes out instead is a sulky, “I’m not fucking little.”

Lucius turns his full smirk on him.  “Some parts of you aren’t.”  With a wink he turns to the plate and picks up a piece of cheese on the fork.  “Come on, First Mates need to eat.  Open up.  You know you want to.”  And that's the thing, he does.  He’s not quite sure why but this is doing something very nice to him.  Opening his mouth, he accepts the cheese and after that some chicken and bread, dipped in the pickle.

Under his hands, Lucius’ thighs are warm and solid and he keeps them where he put them.  After a few mouthfuls he relaxes and goes with it.  “Good boy,” Lucius murmurs, and that’s enough to wake his cock up because the younger man is using the Dom voice that he keeps hidden away and Izzy just melts into it.  He briefly wonders what his lover would make of it if he walked in now but he’s sure that Frenchie would love it.   

Watching him intently, Lucius abandons the fork and uses his fingers which makes it even hotter.  If being fed is a kink, Izzy is starting to suspect that he has it.  He has a sudden image of being in the galley, at the table with the rest of the crew, talking about their day, but sat on Frenchie’s lap and being fed by him, no one minding or paying any notice.  The thought makes him harder, it’s something he wants.  Not yet perhaps, but soon.

Lucius picks up bits of food and he opens his mouth each time, their eyes on each other.  When Lucius deliberately runs his finger through the sticky, tangy pickle, Izzy sucks it clean with a thoroughness he applies to all his tasks, his dick so hard that it feels like it’ll shatter if anything touches it.

“Christ, Iz,” Lucius breathes.  “You are fucking dangerous.”

“You started it,” Izzy reminds him, his voice so husky it feels like it belongs to someone else, and glances down at the plate.  “More.”

By the time the plate is empty, he absolutely fucking knows he has a kink for being fed.  Not to excess, just the act of taking what he’s given.  Who knew it could be so hot?

“Good boy,” Lucius croons, crooking a leg behind him to keep him close.  “Eating all your food.  Such a good boy for me.”

“Oh, f..,” Izzy starts to say but his voice is cut off by a mouth over his and a tongue licking its way inside him.  He’s forgotten how Lucius tastes, different to Frenchie, but no less good, and he opens, feeling himself melt and grow impossibly harder at the same time.  When Lucius puts one of his surprisingly big hands on the back of his head to hold him in place, Izzy feels a flush go from his face right down to his dick.  It’s been just long enough since Frenchie fucked him for his cock to come to life again and he curses its timing because he is absolutely not getting it out for Lucius, and in the fucking galley, of all places.

“Had enough now, baby?” Lucius coos solicitously when they part, and Izzy feels a hand rubbing his belly.  “Are we all full now?”

Not entirely sure whether to laugh or slap him, Izzy backs off because it’s so tempting to do the latter.  “Fuck right off,” he says with exasperated fondness.

Lucius’ grin is really more of a smirk.  “Love you too,” he says, and pointedly looks down.  “You might want to get Frenchie to take care of that for you.”  And with a cheeky wink, he hops down, gives him a quick peck on the lips and heads for the door, only pausing long enough to blow Izzy a kiss and laugh when he’s given the finger.

Left mercifully alone Izzy takes a few deep breaths, willing himself to go down.  When did it become so easy for them to wrap him around their fingers?

By the time mid-afternoon comes around all the work has been completed and the ship is in the best state she's been in since launching.  Even the housekeeping tasks have been carried out to Izzy’s satisfaction and there's absolutely nothing that needs to be done.  His crew have earned their party.

He's up on the aft deck talking to Stede about the repairs and how well they've gone.  Edward is down on the deck at the rail looking out, lost in thought.  Izzy notes it as an afterthought, the tiny bit of self-preservation kicking in that always needs to know where the man is. 

Lucius’ words come back to him but it’s utter nonsense.  He still might think Stede is a sorry excuse for a pirate but he has improved over the last year and they exist mostly peacefully around each other.  Whilst not exactly friends, they are a long way from enemies now.  The thought of Stede looking at him any other way than he is doing now is ridiculous.

He abandons the thought and allows himself to be distracted elsewhere.  Off to one side, Lucius and Pete are playing cards with John and Frenchie.  John must have said something amusing because Frenchie’s face lights up and he laughs exactly at the moment the sun just catches him and it takes Izzy’s breath away.  He looks so happy, so at ease, and all Izzy can think is that the beautiful man is his.

“And how are the fresh water supplies?”

“Perfect,” he says absently, mind elsewhere.

“Izzy?”

Giving himself a mental shake, he pays attention again.  “Supplies are good, Captain, but if we do get low the second of the islands has a freshwater spring.”

“You’ve been here before?” Stede asks.

Izzy huffs a laugh.  “I've been everywhere before.”

“I suppose you have.”  Stede smiles warmly at him before returning his attention to the deck. 

“Could do with knowing when you plan to go back to the Republic again.  It’s all right to steal the luxury items but we still need to get the basics and we have some good suppliers there.”  And if he has reasons of his own to go there, well, what of it?

His gaze goes back to Frenchie and suddenly he sees a future stretched out before them, rich with possibilities and it comes to him in a blinding flash, what a Captain Frenchie would make.  And another thought, a small voice following behind it, that says… husband.

“Izzy, are you listening to me?” 

Startled by Bonnet’s voice, Izzy looks up.  “Sorry, Captain, I was distracted for a moment there.  What were you saying?”

Stede looks over the rail and then flushes.  “Oh, I see.  Oh, that's right.  Yes, the Republic.  We’ll discuss it at our meeting in the morning.”

Puzzled, Izzy can’t work out why Bonnet got so flustered by him looking at his own boyfriend.  Who the fuck else would he be looking at?

By the evening Izzy’s still settled but he needs something to do.  The ache and sting under his clothes are a constant reminder of how much better he feels, but now he just wants to keep himself occupied.  Besides, he knows Frenchie is going to speak to the others after story time so he wants to steer clear.  He’s been joining them recently, when his watches allow, sitting next to his lover on the steps to hear Stede read but not tonight.  He’s well aware that the offer he’s making isn’t likely to be turned down, but he doesn’t need to be there when it’s made.  Instead, Izzy does the only other thing he can think of and locks himself in the rec room, focusing on sword forms.    

He’s not nervous about the singing now, but he’s given a lot of thought to how he’s going to look and wants to surprise Frenchie.  Some nervousness remains when he thinks about what he wants to do but it’s not as bad as it was that morning.

Working on his balance calms his mind further and he’s going through the moves with sword and heavy dagger, something he doesn’t normally use but which makes for a devastating attack.  It also makes him slower which is why he usually just uses his sword in actual combat, with the dagger in reserve.  What he wants to do however is to be able use the leg as a pivot, turning on it and utilising the weight of the dagger as a counterpoint to his sword to maintain balance.

The first attempts are mediocre at best but after half an hour of practice the move is improving.  There is some slippage on his leg where it joins him and he realises that he hasn’t asked if they could detour to Port Royal so that he can visit the craftsman Sebastian recommended.  They have been so busy the last few days that it went out of his head.  He resolves to add it to the list for the morning meeting.  While he wants to keep his actual unicorn leg, perhaps the top could be improved somewhat.

Breathing deeply, he renews his stance, relishing the rare opportunity to be alone.  That’s until he hears the lock click behind him and the door as it opens.  “Hey, Iz, there you are,” he hears Edward say.  “Been looking for you.”

He stiffens, lowering his sword.  “The door was locked for a reason,” he snaps, irritated at Edward’s presumption.

“Yeah, I can see why.”  There’s a strange note in Edward’s voice and Izzy turns just enough to allow himself to look over his shoulder and see him staring at his back.  Izzy is well aware that he’s still welted from the flogger and hadn’t intended anyone seeing the marks, especially Edward.  The marks will have gone down quite a bit by tomorrow night, plus it will be dark on deck, and after that, if anyone sees them then he will hopefully be getting fucked so will be past caring.

In the lantern light, Edward looks stunning.  His hair is half up, there’s delicate black kohl around his eyes, his beard is trimmed and neat and he's utterly beautiful.  He looks as though he’s prettied himself up on purpose and Izzy assumes he’ll be going back to his Captain when he’s got whatever he wants here.  Edward isn’t stupid and he’s always known the effect he has on Izzy but must surely be aware by now that those days are gone.  Izzy isn’t sure how much more obvious he can be to show that he’s moved on.

Looking up, Edward grins but it looks fake.  “You know there isn’t a lock I can’t get open.  I was worried about you.  Wanted to check you’re all right.”

Worried about him?  Izzy doubts that very much.  Not sure if he trusts himself to be civil, he says nothing, just watches Edward stalk forward.  “Yeah, I can see why you didn’t want anyone to come in.  Jesus, Iz, what happened to you?”

“Nothing I didn't ask for,” Izzy grates out, and watches over his shoulder as Edward moves closer and reaches out, almost touching then thinks better of it and withdraws.

“I used to do this for you,” he says, sounding wistful.

Still not turning fully, Izzy shakes his head, determined to keep his anger in and himself under control because it would be so easy to let go and he knows that way lies disaster because once he starts he may not be able to stop.  Is Edward really so deluded or can he genuinely not remember how it used to be between them?  “No, Eddie, you used to do this for you.  Nothing about what we did together was even once about me.”

He expects a protest, a denial even, but one doesn’t come.  Which begs the question that if Edward remembers exactly how it used to be, why the fuck does he think Izzy will fall for this, whatever it is?  Instead, there’s a growled, “Who?”

“None of your fucking business.”

There’s a flash of something sharp in Edward’s eyes but it vanishes as quickly as it appears.  He shrugs.  “Fair.”

He watches as Edward starts to prowl around.  He looks restless and Izzy’s seen that on him before.  New Edward or not, he’s still the same basic creature underneath and Izzy knows the signs of agitation on his former Captain.  Quite what’s prompted Edward to seek him out now, when he obviously wanted to be left alone, is anyone’s guess.  But then, when has Edward Teach ever done anything that wasn’t centered upon himself?  Either way, he shows no sign of leaving.  Izzy contemplates telling him to fuck off but his anger hasn't quite reached that stage yet.  He is however regretting stripping off despite the locked door.  It's too far to reach for his shirt so he has no choice but to brazen it out.  He sighs and turns around waiting for the inevitable and, yes, there it is.  Edward stops his prowling and stares at him, those unfathomable eyes rake down his chest and stop.

“Fuck, Iz,” Edward exclaims, as he sees the thick gold hoops.  “Those are...”

“Those are what, Edward?”

He watches Edward’s eyes darken.  “Unexpected, mate.  And fucking hot.”

Izzy remembers a conversation with Anne many years ago where she had complained about men talking to her tits and now he thinks he knows what it feels like.  “My eyes are up here, Edward.”

Edward wrenches his gaze away and licks his lips.  “When did you get those done?”

“What do you want, Edward?” Izzy asks abruptly, ignoring the question, suddenly aware of how tired he sounds.  “Outside of ship’s business we stopped having anything to say to each other a year ago.”

Soft brown eyes look at him in a way that previously would have had him melting.  “Honestly, mate, I don't know.  I just miss you.”  It sounds real but Edward always was a master manipulator and Izzy is long past the time where he takes everything the man says as true.  He’d like to but trust is a fragile thing and neither of them have really done much to engender it.

“You miss me.”  Izzy's voice is cool and he says nothing more making Edward do the talking.  It's a trick he learned long ago.  Leave a silence for a long enough and someone will fill it and it's not going to be him.

Edward shrugs, looking sorry for himself.  “We don't talk anymore.  I only see you when you can’t avoid me.”

In the face of Edward’s self-pity Izzy’s patience suddenly gives way and his anger flares as bright as a flame.  “I fucking worshiped you and you did this to me.  What do you fucking expect?”

It’s probably out of line but he doesn’t care.  The old Edward would have had his neck for the outburst but really, what is Edward now?  He’s certainly not his Captain any longer.

“I said I'm sorry,” Edward says, almost sullenly, looking down. 

“And one day you'll maybe say it like you mean it,” Izzy snaps back.  “Because you haven’t yet.”

Edward recoils as if slapped and for a moment looks lost, as though he’s completely out of his depths in a conversation he never expected and Izzy’s anger fades, leaving him feeling old and tired.  “What do you want?” he asks again, more gently this time, and watches something more honest settles on Edward’s face.

“Fucked if I know.”  Then his eyes light up as he eyes the weapons propped up in the corner of the room.  “Long time since we’ve sparred.”

“That it is,” Izzy agrees and he feels a prickle of something that could be anticipation.  Maybe this is the only language they have left, the clash of swords their new vocabulary, because their old way of communicating hasn’t worked for a long time, and it looks like they are well overdue a conversation.  He’s tired and still a little angry which makes it the worst kind of idea but Izzy knows he’s more than a match for Edward and if nothing else he needs the release and he really wants to win.  There’s a little voice in his head telling him that it's foolish, there’s not enough light and that it's really fucking stupid but Izzy knows he's going to do it even though he's aware he should say no.  “Think you can take me, Eddie?”

Edward grins suddenly and looks a little crazy.  “Maybe, dunno, let’s find out, shall we.  Let’s play the old game.”

Not expecting that, Izzy nods nonetheless.  They haven’t done this for years.  Fighting to hurt is one thing but fighting not to hurt is something entirely different and much more difficult.  Stripping off his shirt and throwing it to one side, Edward takes a moment to go through the weapons and selects a sword and dagger, testing both for their weight and balance.  When he’s satisfied he comes back and they face each other, a sword and a dagger each.

“No blood, no flesh contact.”

“Winning hit, arse?”

Izzy nods.  “Arse it is.”

Edward grins and they begin.  They have done this so many times that the muscle memory comes straight back.  It’s been years but their bodies remember.  It’s not about force, it’s about control, it being much harder not to hurt someone with blades than it is to wound.  They dance around each other in an elegant display, blades clashing but never reaching skin.  Izzy has always been the better swordsman than Edward but he has a disadvantage now, so that evens them up somewhat although he knows he still has the edge.  Edward is too distractible; he loses concentration easily and unless faced with an actual enemy tends to lose interest eventually.  He’s also less contained and tends to overreach himself whereas Izzy is more disciplined. 

They don’t speak, concentration total as they move around the room, blades sparking.

It ends when Edward misjudges a feint, twists, and Izzy lands a solid blow with the flat of the blade across the other man’s backside.

“My game,” he says, hardly out of breath.  “Edward, that man of yours is making you soft.  You’re getting sloppy.  I taught you better than that.”

He’s pleased to see that Edward is panting slightly and expects some kind of denial but instead, Edward cocks his head and gives him a puzzled look.  “Who are you, Iz?  The shirts, those rings through your tits; every time I see you, I think I know you less.”

You never knew me, he thinks to himself.  After a couple of months, Frenchie knows more about him than Edward ever has. 

“I’ve even seen you laughing with the crew,” Edward continues, a puzzled look in his eyes.  “You’d never have done that on the Queen Anne.”

Of course he wouldn’t have, his entire life was different back then.  His life had been empty and he lived entirely in Blackbeard’s shadow and he thought it was enough, but now he’s come out into the sun and he fucking likes it.  “This isn’t the Queen Anne and thank fuck it isn’t.  While you’ve been busy shagging yourself stupid, the crew and I have become a family, of sorts.  They’re still fuckups sometimes, but they are my fuckups,” Izzy states, almost challenging.  “As for who I am, I’m still finding out.  You can’t not change after going through something like this.”  He taps his leg and watches Edward glance down but his eyes dart away quickly as though he can’t bear looking at it.  “You become something new.”

Edward shrugs, looking disinterested, although Izzy knows him better.  Something is going on in that devious brain of his and Izzy has no idea what it is, and that sends a niggle of worry through him.  “Like a fucking phoenix or something.”

Izzy thinks of the song he’ll be singing tomorrow night.  “Yeah, just like that.”  He’s going to need quite a bit of rum inside him for that one but he’s ready.  Edward isn’t going to like it but he doesn’t give a fuck.  “You need to sharpen up your parries,” he says, drawing the conversation away.  “You’re leaving too many openings.”

With an unexpected wry smile, Edward rubs his arse.  “I noticed.  One more?”

He shouldn't.  Izzy knows he's getting tired and wasn’t really in the right frame of mind to begin with but he nods nonetheless and takes up his stance and once again they begin their dance.

Perhaps to make up for losing, Edward’s attack is harder this time, more concentrated and Izzy finds himself on the defensive.  He’s still in control and allows himself to be driven back knowing that Edward’s overconfidence will be his undoing.  Already he can see gaps because Edward’s concentrating so much on the attack he’s leaving little room to defend himself.  Seeing an opening, Izzy goes to strike but his hoof snags on something, a tiny thing, but enough to cause his attack to falter and his arm to dip at the wrong moment and be, just for an instant where it should not be, just enough for Edward’s sword to slice into it half way between elbow and shoulder.  Izzy swears at the sudden bloom of pain and steps back, dropping his weapons and clamping his hand tightly over the cut.

“Shit shit shit,” he grates out through gritted teeth and briefly looks under his hand before pressing it down again. 

“Fuck, Iz, I’m sorry,” Edward exclaims, dropping his own sword and reaching for Izzy’s shirt to staunch the flow of blood.

Izzy shakes his head, the pain intensifying.  “Not that one.  Give me yours.”  He’s not ruining Frenchie’s shirt for this.  Stooping, Edward picks up his own shirt with surprisingly no argument and presses it to the wound.

Not used to having the man so close, Izzy wants to back off, the scent of Edward nearly overwhelming, bringing with it so many memories, but he remains where he is, determined not to allow it to show.  He’s not lost a lot of blood but he is still starting to feel dizzy and Edward’s arm is suddenly around his shoulders and he’s being guided to a bench.  “Come on, mate, let’s get you sat down and then you can show me.”

Izzy tries to wave him off but Edward ignores him and keeps hold even when he’s seated.  “It's fine,” he grumbles, wanting to shake the arm off but suddenly doesn’t have the strength.  “It's not deep.”  But he peels back the shirt and lets Edward look anyway.

“Might need a couple of stitches.  You need to see Roach.  I’m sorry, mate.”

Izzy shrugs.  “It’s nothing I haven't had before.  My fucking hoof caught on the edge of a floorboard; it wasn’t your fault.  I'm tired and I shouldn't have agreed to a second round.”

He’s surprised to see that Edward looks genuinely distressed and a little lost.  “I hurt you.”

“Edward,” Izzy fixes him with an impatient stare.  “I think we both know you've done a lot more than that to hurt me before now.  Let it go.  It’s not that deep and I’ll live.”

“I’m still sorry.  I swore I’d never do that again.”

“You’ve just apologised three times,” Izzy says dryly, his head still swimming.  “That's more of an apology than you gave me over my leg.” 

He watches as Edward flushes but doesn’t refute the criticism, not that he can.

His heart sinks when the door opens and Frenchie looks in.  It’s not like he doesn’t want to see his lover but it’s the worst possible moment.  Instantly Frenchie pales and for a moment he looks stricken but then his expression darkens as he takes in the two of them, both shirtless, sitting on the bench with Edward’s arm around his shoulders and Izzy clutching his upper arm with blood leaking out through his fingers.  “Iz?  What the fuck?”  Then his gaze goes to Edward.  “What did you do?”

Putting both hands up Edward gets up and backs off as Frenchie hurries over.  “We were just sparring, mate.  No need to fuss, he’s fine.  Tell him, Iz.”

Glaring at Edward for his insensitivity, Izzy winces as the cut throbs.  “I’m all right, love, it was an accident.  It’s not deep.”

Instantly Frenchie is at his side, peeling the bloody fabric back.  “Shit, Iz, it’s a mess.  We need to get you to Roach.”

“Yeah, just told him that,” Edward says in his most annoying sing-song voice and Izzy looks at him, narrow eyed.  As soon as Frenchie appeared Edward started acting like a complete prick.  What the fuck is going on?

Frenchie is on his feet in an instant, the look on his face something Izzy has never been before.  “So go and fucking get him then,” he snarls, pulling away when Izzy tries to catch his hand.

Edward’s eyes flash but Frenchie doesn't back down even though Izzy can see he's trembling slightly.

“You don’t tell me what to do,” Edward says softly, his voice not quite Blackbeard but not that far off either.

Frenchie sneers.  “Why the fuck not?  You’re what, aboard this ship?  Captain’s fu….”

“Fucking stop it, the pair of you,” Izzy thunders, which seems to have the desired effect.  “There's nothing wrong with my legs, I can find Roach myself.  Edward, go back to your Captain, right now; Frenchie grab my shirt and help me up.”  When neither man makes an effort to move, still glaring at each other, Izzy bellows, “Now.”

Izzy hadn’t altogether expected it to work and he’s quite amazed when Edward heads for the door, only stopping long enough to give him a curiously puzzled look that Izzy can’t interpret and then goes.  It didn’t work quite so well on Frenchie who turns on him angrily.  “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

In the whole of the time Izzy’s known him, he’s never seen Frenchie like this.  He’s seen a whole range of emotions from him, especially during the bad times but never once anger.  Frenchie is a remarkably placid man in his way and seeing fury on his face is disconcerting.  Considering that his own temper has at times got the better of him, Izzy dislikes seeing it on his lover although he thinks that he can understand it.  Not only was Frenchie brutalised by Blackbeard but Izzy knows he’s always been wary of the man’s former hold on himself.  It’s something they have yet to move past and he hadn’t expected they would have to confront it the night before Calypso’s party.  It makes him pause and take a breath before replying, keeping his own irritation firmly in check.  “We were just sparring,” Izzy explains defensively.  “Like I do with most of the crew now.  You know that accidents happen; you’ve nicked me more than once.”

“Yes, up on the deck in full daylight,” Frenchie snaps, indicating the flickering lanterns, “not down here in the dark.  You pair of… fucking idiots.”

Izzy’s really not in the mood for this, not with the throb and the uncomfortable fact that Frenchie is absolutely right.  They were idiots and as usual he allowed himself to be led.  “Are you finished?” he rasps, holding out his hand.

“Not even started,” Frenchie responds sharply, pulling him up nonetheless.  He glances at Izzy’s back and carries on in clipped tones, “There’s no point putting your shirt on but if you don’t want your back to be seen you’ll have to wear this.”  He fetches Izzy’s waistcoat and helps him into it surprisingly gently, considering how wound up he obviously is.  Izzy doesn’t attempt to fasten it but briefly checks that Sam’s ring is still tucked away safely in the pocket.  At least it covers his back and nipples, although Roach has probably told everyone anyway, and it’s not exactly going to be a surprise after tomorrow. 

Izzy stops and catches his arm.  “Frenchie, what's really going on?  I get that it was stupid, okay, but I’ve never seen you like this before.  Why are you so angry?”

Frenchie gives a little hiccup and then Izzy’s in his arms, crammed against his chest, wounded arm carefully avoided, but held so tightly all the same.  Izzy almost sobs in relief at the contact.  He’s so used to breaking things, it always happens, but he can’t break this, it means too much.  Taking a shuddering breath, then another, Frenchie nuzzles the top of his head and not for the first time Izzy wishes he was taller.  “I'm not angry, Iz, not really,” he says bleakly into his hair.  “I'm scared.”

Despite the pain, Izzy feels his insides clench, not understanding what’s going on.  He shifts so that he can look up.  “Love?  Talk to me.”  But Frenchie looks lost and just shakes his head.  “Please…?”

Releasing him, Frenchie gives a little smile.  It’s lop-sided and a little sad but it’s better than he hoped for.  At least the anger seems to have burned itself out although the hurt that’s left maybe worse.  “We need to get your arm sorted first.  Talk later.”

Feeling that he’s missing something, Izzy gives in and Frenchie insists on holding onto him even though he's a lot steadier now.  Thankfully the dizziness is passing.  Once they are in the galley and he’s sat down again, Frenchie strokes down his cheek, his eyes still bleak but less shut down than they were.  “I'm going to get Roach.  Stay here.”  Izzy isn’t sure exactly where else he’d go but he keeps his mouth shut and just nods tightly.

The crew are still up on deck after story time and Izzy can hear Frenchie shout for Roach.  “Need you, man.  Izzy’s hurt.” 

Izzy groans.  Well, that was subtle.  Before he knows it there is the stamp of many feet and Roach bustles in with everybody except Buttons in tow and he swears quietly as they all pile into the galley.  Great, that's all he needs.  He's a fucking sideshow now.

Then everyone’s talking at once.

“…Izzy, are you okay?”

“…did Blackbeard hurt you?”

“…shit, are we going to have to cancel the party?”

“…what happened, man?”

“….will you still be able to sing?”

“…oh my God, Iz?”

“…fuck, boss, what happened to you?”

And while that's going on Roach is peeling back the shirt and looking at the wound.  “Four stitches, maybe five,” he says close enough but Izzy can still barely hear him over the clamour.

“Quiet,” Izzy shouts, and amazingly everybody does.  He takes a deep breath, glancing up at Frenchie who is gripping his shoulder, still not looking himself.  “It’s just a cut, okay.  I was sparring with Edward and my hoof caught on something and I wasn’t quick enough to block.   It was an accident, calm the fuck down.”

At this Frenchie grips him even tighter but Izzy allows it.   For a moment everyone goes quiet and from their reactions and how wary the silence has become, it occurs to him then that the crew still don’t trust Edward.  That they are waiting for him to turn again.  Yet by some miracle, they trust him.  But then he supposes he's never physically harmed anyone; never chopped toes off in the middle of the night, pushed anyone overboard, never shot anyone, or tried to sink the ship.  Over the last year he’s done all he can to protect them and they know it.  Pride surges through him for a moment and something else, a... fondness.  They really are his now. 

He takes another breath, keeping as calm as he can.  “It really was an accident, I will be fine now, we're not cancelling the party, and yes, we’ll be singing.  Now fuck off, the lot of you, so that Roach can stitch me up.  And… thanks,” he adds gruffly.

He gets several touches on the shoulder and a very stern look from Jim followed by several ‘goodnights’ and Izzy sighs in relief.  Finally, there’s only Lucius, who lingers in the doorway.  “I just want to say that you are totally rocking the leather daddy look, Iz,” he compliments with a twinkle.  “Right you are, fucking off now,” he adds, at Izzy’s glare.

While Frenchie gathers several lanterns, Roach gets his supplies and tells Izzy to sit at the table.  He is surprised but relieved when Frenchie comes and sits behind him, pressing up close and encouraging him to lean back into him, an arm going across his chest more for comfort than to hold him in place.  Frenchie isn’t stupid and he’d only have to look down to see the evidence that Izzy has taken far worse.

“Is this when you tell me it won’t hurt much?” Izzy asks dryly, watching as Roach sits and peels away Edward’s shirt and takes a more critical look.  The bleeding seems to have slowed down but his arm’s a red mess, drying and glistening blood turning it into something far too reminiscent of his leg when it was shot and suddenly he’s more than grateful that Frenchie is holding him so tightly.  He knows.  Of course Frenchie knows, he realises.  This is his first real wound since his leg and no matter what’s going through his head, Frenchie won’t leave him to deal with it alone.

Roach tuts and reaches for a cloth and a bottle of water.  “No, because it’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

“Your bedside manner could really do with some improvement,” Izzy comments.

Flashing him a manic grin, Roach starts to clean the area around the wound.  “You are not paying me for my bedside manner.  Oh wait, you are not paying me at all, so tough.  Besides, everyone knows you like pain.”

Izzy stiffens.  Everyone knows?  Well, fuck.  He hears a soft huff of amusement from Frenchie and he slowly leans back into him.  Can’t anything be secret on this fucking ship?

“Relax, little man,” Roach croons.  “You think we care?  We’re all fuckups, that’s why we’re here.”

About to snap that he isn’t a fuckup, Izzy thinks better of it.  He’s probably as fucked up as it can get but what he has is working so he’s past caring.  Roach knows damn well he let Frenchie carve his initial into his flesh so he keeps quiet.  He expects Frenchie to join in but his lover remains unusually silent and Izzy feels the knot of disquiet tighten in his stomach again.  He doesn’t want to say anything in front of Roach so instead threads the fingers of his good hand over Frenchie’s where they are pressed into his chest and gives a little squeeze.  There’s a soft sigh and the merest of kisses to his ear.  It’s unexpected but it gives him hope.

Then Roach takes his arm and pours water into the cut and it gives him something completely different to think about.  He draws in his breath with a gasp and if he needs a reminder of the distinction between pain that you want and pain that you really fucking don’t, this is absolutely it.

It’s not like he hasn’t been stitched up before, he has, many times, and to give him his due, Roach is very quick and very neat but Izzy still hates it and by the time Roach has finished, he’s shaking.  As with the cuts Frenchie made on his hip, the wound is smeared carefully with honey and then wrapped in a clean bandage.  “I want to see it every day until the stitches come out.  Keep it dry and if you see any sign of redness around it you come to me right away, understand?”

Izzy nods and thanks him and almost groans in disappointment when Frenchie lets go, although he doesn’t go far.  Now that they are nearly alone, Izzy finds that he doesn’t know what to say.  All he can do is look at Frenchie, recognising the hurt, acknowledging that he put it there, that and the suppressed anger that is still bubbling beneath the surface.

The moment is broken by Roach bustling about, collecting his supplies to be cleaned.  Frenchie looks up.  “Babe could you give us a minute?”

Roach gives him an incredulous look and crosses his arms.  His fiery gaze goes from one to the other.  “Yeah, about that, I’m pretty sure that you two are in my kitchen so go and have your emotional crisis or whatever it is somewhere else.  Shoo, the pair of you.  I have things to get ready for tomorrow.”

Izzy can’t help but huff a laugh at the look of outrage on Roach’s face and Frenchie blinks, coming back to himself.  “Oh shit, yeah,” he mumbles.  “Sorry.  Right.”

Frenchie still looks lost and doesn’t protest when Izzy takes his hand and draws him into their cabin but once inside, Frenchie just swallows and leans back against the door, eyes closed, looking like he’s going to fall apart.

Izzy isn’t sure what to do, he’s in new territory here because it always seems to be Frenchie helping him through his crises, somehow always knowing exactly what to do or say to make things right.  Now that responsibility is his and he feels lost, especially as it’s his fault.  There's a pain in his chest, real or phantom, he isn’t sure but he can feel panic gnawing at the edges of his mind.

Despite the throbbing in his arm and the pulling pain of the stitches, he knows he has to sort this and make everything right again.  Talk it through.  Right.  Slipping off his waistcoat, he puts it on the back of his chair and lies his blue shirt on top while he puts his words together.  He’s stormed more ships than he can count, gouged out eyes, severed hands and drowned more men than he cares to think about yet this is by far the hardest thing he’s done.

Hating the silence, he flounders, not knowing what to do but goes with his instincts and takes Frenchie’s hand.  “Talk to me, love,” he begs.  “Tell me how I can fix this.”  Then he uses the name that only he knows, saying it softly, questioningly.

Frenchie sniffs but looks at him, suddenly present again.  His lashes look damp but he gives a weak smile.  “Low blow, Hands.”

Fingers tighten around his own and that gives Izzy courage.  “It got your attention though.  I need to know what’s going through that beautiful head of yours so I don’t fuck up again.  Can you tell me?”

With a sigh, Frenchie leans his head back against the door again, staring out.  “I just saw him and the blood, and for a moment I was right back there, in the storm, thinking you were dead and knowing I was going to die too.  It terrified me.  It only lasted a moment but then I saw him touching you and it made me want to rip his eyes out.”  Izzy watches Frenchie's expression darken and it tears something within him.

Keeping his voice gentle, Izzy rubs Frenchie’s hand with his thumb.  “You said you were scared.”

Frenchie takes a heaving breath as though he’s holding back a flood but his voice when he speaks is small and wounded.  “The last time he hurt you, you lost your leg.”

Sadness and relief flood through Izzy in equal measure.  He understands now and curses the shadow they still live under.  Frenchie’s confession gives him hope though.  It’s not all, he’s sure, but it’s a good start.

With his good arm he hooks his hand behind Frenchie’s neck and pulls him unresisting down so that their foreheads rest together.  “I’m not going to lose my arm, you silly sod.  It was a clean cut and Roach has put his magic honey on it to keep the bad fairies out.  It’s no more dangerous than the cut you put on my hip, sweetheart.”

Frenchie crinkles a wan smile.  “You know there aren’t any bad fairies on the ship, right?” 

Izzy shrugs.  “Just because we haven’t seen any doesn’t mean they aren’t here.  Either way, good fairies or bad, nothing’s getting into that cut.  Okay?”

“Okay,” Frenchie whispers.  It’s not much but it’s maybe put one fear at bay.

Aware that he’s still a little dizzy, he pulls Frenchie towards the bed.  He knows they’re not at the root of this yet but he really needs to sit down again.  Something must show on his face because Frenchie takes over, easing him down onto the bed and kneeling to unbuckle his leg.  From anyone else Izzy would hate feeling so vulnerable but Frenchie’s help has never come with judgment or pity.  With a sigh of relief, Izzy shifts back so that he’s leaning against the wall and pats the bed beside him.  Stopping to take his boots off, Frenchie joins him, pulling his knees up and leaning his head on them.  It’s telling that he doesn’t press up to Izzy but they are not far enough apart to alarm him.

“I'm not apologising to him,” Frenchie says quietly, turning his head so they can see each other.

“I wouldn’t want you to,” Izzy replies, watching closely for more signs of distress.  “You did nothing wrong, love.  But apart from being a twat to you, neither did he really.  We shouldn’t have been sparring in there and that was as much my fault as it was his.”

Frenchie seems calmer now but Izzy hates that he has hurt him, even worse, how easily he managed to do it.  “I’ve seen the way he looks at you sometimes, Iz.  I think he wants you back.”

Icy fingers walk down Izzy’s spine.  That’s the last thing he expected Frenchie to say and the last thing in the world he wants.  It absolutely can’t be true, the thought of it is wrong on every level and he’s not even going to contemplate it.  “No,” he says flatly.  “Absolutely fucking not.  There’s no back because we didn’t have a relationship to begin with.  Whatever it was, it was toxic and one-sided and fucking miserable.  I didn’t have a partner or a lover, I had a God, one I invented myself, who cast me aside and turned on me when something shiny caught his eye.  The only good thing about my life now is you and I’m not going to let anything come between us.”

Frenchie gives another of those little hiccups and a tear drips onto his arm.  It’s too much.  Izzy pulls his lover to him, cradling his head with his good arm on his shoulder.  Frenchie doesn’t protest and nuzzles into him wetly, making Izzy hold him even tighter.  “Hush,” he murmurs, hating how unsteady his own voice is when he needs to be strong.  “I’ve got you, baby.  Nothing will ever harm you while I draw breath, and certainly not Edward Teach.  You don’t need to be scared of him.”

Izzy feels Frenchie flinch and it's so hard to reconcile this trembling unsure man with the one who caned him that morning so confidently and so well.  “I’m not,” Frenchie says quietly but very clearly.  “I'm scared of him with you.”

It seems they’ve got to the truth at last, and Izzy is shocked to realise how badly he misinterpreted Frenchie’s fear of Edward.  For a moment Izzy doesn’t know how to respond.  “You don't trust me,” he says, before his brain catches up and regrets it instantly.  That and the touch of bitterness that creeps into his voice.

Frenchie raises his head and he looks lost.  It's the first time Izzy has seen that expression on his face since the Kraken days and it’s awful.  “I trust you, Iz,” Frenchie whispers.  “I know you’d never do anything to hurt me deliberately, but what… what I don’t trust… is your ability to resist him.”

It hurts.  And mostly because Frenchie is partly right.  Izzy spent over twenty years saying yes to Blackbeard and it’s ingrained into his soul, so much that he never considered saying no.  But as with everything there are degrees.  He didn’t say no to the sparring because in truth he had wanted to do it and wanted to win.  One thing he will never do is fall at Edward’s feet again.  That ended the moment the Kraken handed him his gun.

Now that he understands, Frenchie’s reaction makes sense.  Not only was he made to revisit the traumatic events of the storm but also found his boyfriend seemingly getting cosy with the man who maimed him.  Although Izzy knows that it was entirely innocent, it was inevitable that Frenchie would be hurt seeing them together, despite the blood dripping from his arm.

“Frenchie, listen to me,” he says gently, cupping his lover’s face and rubbing soft circles over his cheekbone.  “Edward only had his arm around me because I was dizzy after losing blood, otherwise I wouldn’t have let him near me.  He could parade up and down fucking naked with his cock waving in the air in front of me, and the only thing I'd be thinking is how much I want to kiss you, how much I want to hold you, how much I want to make love to you and submit to you and all the other wonderful things that we do together.  I feel nothing for him because I have something so much better.  I have you.”  Dark eyes watch him, less wary now and he knows he’s getting through.  He has to, because they need to move on from here, the alternative being utterly unthinkable.  “How can I prove it to you?”

And suddenly he knows.  Frenchie watches wide eyed as Izzy releases him and slips onto the floor.  It’s a little awkward, kneeling unsteadily but he manages.  Solemnly he takes Frenchie by the hand.  “If you wanted to we could go the Captain, right now, and ask him to marry us.  What do you think?  Everyone would know then that we belong together.”

Edward would know.  He keeps that unsaid but it’s in the air anyway.

Frenchie blinks as though awakening from a spell.  His eyes open wide as though they can’t believe what they are seeing.  “I…  What?”

It’s not how he wanted to do it, but Izzy has been thinking of this for a while now.  He’s honest enough with himself to know that he’s not really romantic, in truth he isn’t really sure what that actually is, but he knows what he wants and that is for the world to know that they belong together, heart and soul.  He wants this man to be his husband and the law be damned.  “We could ask the Captain to marry us,” he says again, trying not to sound pleading.

A range of emotions flit across his lover’s face, from surprise to something soft that makes Izzy’s cold old heart do a flip.  “Do you really mean it?” Frenchie asks wonderingly.

“I am in love with you and I will love you for the rest of my life, just you and no one else, so yes, I really fucking mean it.”  He thinks that Stede would be only too glad to do it.  Since Izzy stopped hating the man he’s discovered that Stede Bonnet is a remarkably kind man especially to his crew and he would probably be delighted to join them together.  Not that Izzy completely approves of kindness in a pirate Captain but it does make him slightly easier to manipulate.

“You’d do that for me?”  Frenchie's voice is soft and wondering and his hand is suddenly holding Izzy’s right back, fingers clasped tightly around his. 

“Sweetheart, I’d do it for us,” Izzy corrects gently.  How can he even begin to put into words what his man means to him?  Any attempt he makes will be inadequate but he has to try.  “You are my world and I’m sorry for what happened but you need to understand that my heart is so full of you that there’s no room for anyone else.  Can you believe me?”

Slowly, Frenchie nods, his expression softening.  “I believe you.”

Huffing out a breath in relief, Izzy asks, “So will you?”

Moving forward, Frenchie crosses his long legs and gives him a measured look.  “You haven’t asked me yet.”

It’s a look Izzy knows well and it has him going over their conversation until he realises that he actually hasn’t said the words. Shit. He had needed to badly for Frenchie to understand how important he was that he’d missed the actual asking part.  Kicking himself as an idiot, he looks again into his lover’s eyes.  “Frenchie, my love, will you marry me?”

He watches expectantly as Frenchie seems to consider.  Then he gives a soft sigh and reaches with his other hand and strokes down Izzy’s cheek, a warmth back in his eyes that has been missing most of the night.  “Baby, it means the world that you’ve asked me but this isn’t the time.  Ask me again when you're not proving something and it's nothing to do with him, okay?”

Izzy nods, disappointed but also a little relieved because Frenchie’s right, it should be done for the right reasons, not ones of repairing something that should never have been broken.  “When I do, will you say yes?”

Leaning forward, Frenchie kisses his hand, then his cheek, his face crinkling into his impish smile.  “You know I will.”

“So why do I have to fucking ask?” Izzy grumbles teasingly, feeling that they are back on firmer ground and that Frenchie is coming out of it.

“Because we’re going to do it properly even though that normally means a gentleman asking a lady.”

Izzy snorts a laugh and thinks of his pretty pink slip and how fucking hot it is being Daddy’s girl.  “Probably should be you asking me then,” he grouses and watches in delight as Frenchie’s eyes widen in shock and then narrow as he bursts into laughter.

“Fuck, Iz.  Warn me, will you.”

“What?  Like, Darling, I'm about to make an outrageously witty remark so brace yourself?”

He watches Frenchie’s expression soften again into something delightfully sentimental and he thinks it’s something he would like to see on a daily basis.  “You called me darling.”

Izzy feels himself colour slightly, not entirely sure where that had come from but he can’t take it back so just has to roll with it.  “It was more a hypothetical darling.  Just trying it out for size.  Was it a bit too Stedey?”

“No, I liked it,” Frenchie tells him softly, looking almost shy and Izzy tucks that away to use again sometime special.  Anything that gets his lover to look that bashful shouldn’t be overused.

“Yeah?  Well, if you’re not going to marry me now, can I get off my knee?  Being down on one knee is really fucking uncomfortable when you’ve only got one to start with.”

“Come up here, you idiot,” Frenchie smiles, holding out his arms and with relief, Izzy clambers back onto the bed and lets Frenchie wrap him up.  And just like that it’s behind them and they slot together again as though they were made for each other, which actually Izzy is convinced they are.  “I'm sorry, Iz.”  It’s a soft murmur into his hair.  “I over reacted.   I don’t think I’m good at seeing you hurt, which is fucking ironic really when you think about it.”  Izzy snorts at that.  “We can we move past this, can’t we?”

Izzy closes his eyes, his face unseen in Frenchie’s neck.  Oh my love, how could you even ask?  His sudden need to see Frenchie is overwhelming, to look into his eyes and truly see that everything is mended.  It’s only a shift and a twist and he is in Frenchie’s lap, arms going onto his shoulders, Frenchie’s hands automatically going to his hips. 

His lovely brown eyes are clear and the glimmer of tears has gone but Izzy still hates himself for causing them, no matter how unwittingly.  Frenchie is a creature of joy not sadness and the worst thing is that he can’t promise that he won’t fuck up again but he knows now they will get through it together because they simply have to.  “Of course we can, you daft twat,” he assures, “we already have.  Just talk to me, love.  If I do something wrong or I upset you, don’t hide it in one of your boxes and forget it.  Tell me, so I can make it better.”

“I'm a fucking nightmare,” Frenchie sighs, looking downcast.  “How do you put up with me?  My head’s not fucking normal.”

Taking his chin, Izzy brings his head back up so that Frenchie can see the truth in his eyes.  “None of us are normal, have you seen the rest of the fuckups on this ship?  You can have all the boxes in your head that you like but it won't make any difference, I’ll still love you.”

With a sigh, Frenchie leans in to him, his head going on to Izzy’s shoulder.  “Never stop wanting me,” he says, voice low, almost needy, a tone Izzy hasn’t heard before, one that could break his heart. 

“It’s possible I might,” Izzy murmurs gently, putting his good arm around him, as he drops soft kisses onto his cheek.  He feels Frenchie stiffen slightly and then sigh in relief when he continues.  “About when the seas dry up and the sky falls in.  Until then though, nah, never happen.”

That must have been a good answer because there’s a soft content hum and a hand on the back of his neck holds him in place so that Frenchie’s mouth can come up and cover his and he opens like a flower seeing sunlight for the first time.  Maybe he’s getting the hang of romance after all.

By the time they’ve finished kissing he feels settled again.  They’ve slipped down and are lying, wrapped up together, Izzy’s head resting on Frenchie’s shoulder, content in his arms.  Around them the ship is quiet.  There’s hardly any movement in this sheltered place and he can hear faint murmurs from on deck but stillness wraps itself around them.  After the storm they’ve weathered, it’s something he’s surprised to find that he needs.

“Iz,” Frenchie says quietly, getting his attention, “if I asked you to leave with me, would you?”

“In a heartbeat,” Izzy replies instantly without looking up.  He doesn’t need to think about it because he’s thought about it himself too.  He’s aware that they are in some ways on borrowed time and he doesn’t want to die a pirate, not any longer.  He’s promised Frenchie thirty more years and it’s a promise he’ll do anything he can to keep.  “But we’d be taking the rest of the fuckups with us.”

He hasn’t told Frenchie about the tentative idea he’s had for their future.  Hasn’t told Frenchie that Sebastian has been investing his loot from every raid for the last ten years, His Lordship highly entertained that he’s a pirate’s fence, and Izzy is now a wealthy man with real money behind him, the sort that can buy identities if needed, and a place where they can all be themselves.  Originally his plan had been to offer his Captain a bolthole, but that metaphorical ship sailed long ago and now he’s thinking of ways to keep his man and his crew safe in the years to come.  He’s realistic enough to know that even if he dies naturally, he probably won’t reach Frenchie’s wished for ninety but he can make sure that his love will always have a home and people he loves around him.

There’s silence for a moment and he lifts his head to see Frenchie gazing at him in shock.  “Do you mean that?”

Izzy gives him a duh look.  “Of course I do.  They’d be coming with us.  Fuck knows, someone’s got to look after them.  Most of them aren’t safe to be let out alone.”

Isn’t that the truth.  He has no idea how most of them survived long enough to make it onto the ship.  Jim, obviously can take care of themself, but the rest of them…  It doesn’t bear thinking about.  Somehow, the idiots have become his family.  Since he started with Frenchie his relationship with his crew has changed almost beyond recognition and he’d be deceiving himself if he said that he wasn’t starting to love the infuriatingly ridiculous lot of them.

“Does that make us Mum and Dad?” Frenchie teases, his face breaking into a grin.  

Izzy groans and buries his head back in his lover’s shoulder.  “Fuck off.  I am not their fucking… mother.”

It’s worth the horrific imagery in his head to hear Frenchie laugh again.  All the same it makes him relax further and he hums softly at the hand that’s rubbing his back before coming up to tangle in the hair that’s reaching the base of his neck.

Frenchie kisses a smile onto his brow and Izzy finally starts to believe the storm is over.  So much of him hurts and not all of it in a good way but lying together is so peaceful that he can almost forget how close they came to disaster. 

“You care about them.” 

It’s not like he can deny it.  “Yeah, for some reason I do.”  It’s been a gradual process but the making of his leg began it and now he can’t imagine them all being separated.  He’s definitely going soft in the head but can’t find it within himself to care. 

“They care about you too.  Is that why you want… tomorrow night?  Which is a very big yes, by the way.”

Oh.  He’d forgotten all about that.  Edward, his arm and the subsequent storm that followed had driven his request from his mind.  Well, fuck.

Now that he knows it’s on, he examines his motives closer.  That’s part of it, Izzy can acknowledge to himself now but there are other reasons too.  For one thing, his secret inner slut wants to come out and play and for the first time in his life he's going to let it.  For another, it’s a thank you because now he knows what they did for him, how they gave him Frenchie and he wants to give them something in return.  But there’s another reason too and it eclipses them all.

Licking his lips, he clears his throat.  “Yeah, that's some of it,” he admits, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed although he isn’t sure why.  “But.  It's also a… gift… to you.  Because I know what it's going to do for you.  I remember what you said.”

He remembers the words clearly.  Will never forget them. 

You have no idea what the thought of someone else having you while I watch does to me.  Having you because I allow it.  You getting all dripping and wet, and me getting you clean so I can make you dirty again.  It fucking kills me.

He wonders if he’s said the wrong thing because there’s silence for a moment and Frenchie’s chest goes still, as though he’s forgotten to breathe.  And then, somehow, he finds himself flat on his back and Frenchie is over him, his eyes a dark and predatory glitter.

“Yeah?  You mean that?”  Frenchie’s voice is a rumble, deep from within his chest and Izzy exults at the sound, all the pain from his various wounds and welts fading to nothing in the face of that beautiful growl.  His man is back, and Izzy’s missed him.

“Every word,” he breathes out, his voice as dirty as he can make it.  “I’m going to have five loads of spunk in me by the time you have me.  I’m going to be dripping.”

With a sense of triumph he watches Frenchie’s pupils blow wide.  There he is.  In all his years, Izzy has never had this kind of power over anyone and he revels in it.  It balances the power he has given Frenchie, the control he desperately craves to be complete.  He is Frenchie’s, body and soul, and yet he has only to tease or dress a certain way to bring his lover to his knees.  The symmetry of it leaves him breathless, their love a perfect feedback loop from one to the other.

Frenchie is suddenly a blur as he sits up, throwing his jacket and shirt onto the floor.  “Get out of those fucking pants.”  Gods, another growl.  Izzy doesn’t even have time to register how hard that’s made him.  “Now.”

Or dress a certain way.

Which is when Izzy remembers the surprise, hidden away and forgotten.  He wants to laugh, suddenly giddy with delight and expectation, still a little high with relief and it’s the hardest thing to make himself look forlorn.  “Don’t think I can,” he rasps, casting a mournful glance at the bandage.  “You might have to do it for me, love.  My arm…”

Never taking his eyes off him, Frenchie slips from the bed and takes off the rest of his clothes.  It’s quick, without ceremony, not the teasing he sometimes does, making Izzy wait, deliberately driving him crazy.  His cock stands proud and Izzy groans at the sight, wanting it, needing it as much as he needs air to breathe.

“Do you,” Frenchie says tightly, leaning down to undo the lace fastening the leathers, “have any idea,” he continues, pulling them apart, and coming to kneel back over his leg, “what you do to me?  How fucking beautiful you look like this?”

Part of Izzy wants to scoff but the part of him that’s wiser and, he’ll admit, needier wants to be beautiful despite the lines around his eyes and the grey in his hair, wants to be beautiful for Frenchie who shines like the sun, wrapping him in warmth.  Lost for a reply, he looks pleadingly into hungry brown eyes and lifts his hips, the meaning clear.  “Please…” he whispers. 

Please look at me, please want me, please need me, please take me apart.

Forcing his gaze away, Frenchie looks back down and this time sees the glimmer of pink between the open laces, that he’d missed a moment ago.  His breath leaves him and Izzy watches the light come on in Frenchie’s eyes.  “Iz?” he breathes, even as he starts to pull the leathers down.  The lacy underthings are snug so remain in place as the leather reveals them, pink and delicate and stretched by his cock, which strains obscenely against the lace. 

Izzy swallows heavily, entranced by Frenchie’s face as his expression flits between lust and awe, the same look he had when he first saw Izzy in the pink slip back at Haram.  Lust and awe and… pride?  Pride for him?  That Frenchie might be proud of him never entered his head before but now it has it’s something he’ll need to consider when his brain is working properly.

“Fucking hell, Iz, you fucking magnificent little tease.”  Frenchie's voice is hushed, almost reverent, as he runs a finger down his lace covered prick.  “You've been wearing those all day?”

“Yeah,” Izzy replies huskily, his voice wrecked already.  “Since we left the playroom.  They feel so nice against my skin,” he adds, rubbing a hand over his hip and down to his balls, watching Frenchie’s eyes following it.  “Might have to get more so I can wear them all the time.” 

“God, yes,” Frenchie breathes, before pressing his face to them and inhaling deeply.  His pants only half off, Izzy can do nothing but lie, slightly breathless, as his lover presses his face into his groin and just breathes him in.  He hadn’t exerted himself on deck but between his own sword practice and the subsequent sparring he knows he worked up a sweat.  His cock has been trapped inside leather for most of the day but Frenchie almost looks intoxicated.  Until his eyes snap open and he licks his lips, then grins wickedly and begins to kiss his way up Izzy’s chest to hover above him.  “Such a naughty girl for Daddy.  What am I going to do with you?”

Izzy feels like he’s melting.  It's not his thing obviously but he can go with it and just because his cock is already stiff that's just coincidence.  He’s fifty-six years old, with a beard and muscles and chest hair and he's calling a man twenty years younger than him Daddy and he absolutely doesn't give a fuck.  A month ago he’d have died of embarrassment but he’s grown since then and he’s more than happy now to indulge his lover in his kinks.

He grins back, showing teeth.  “I don't know... Daddy.  What are you going to do with me?”

What Daddy does is yank off his leathers, pull his pretty knickers down at the back leaving his cock still covered in pink lace, open him up quickly and fuck into him hard and fast, Izzy’s leg slung over his shoulder, hands gripping his thighs and if there's some residual frustration left Izzy let's him have it.  Every thrust against his welted arse sings to him, a bright and glorious song of pain and love and if he knows it’s hurting, Frenchie gives no quarter anyway. 

Holding it in, Izzy tries to be quiet, knowing how sound travels but Frenchie pinches a nipple harshly.  “Don’t you dare, baby girl,” he hisses.  “I want to hear you.  I want them to hear you.”

But Izzy knows what Frenchie means and didn’t say.  I want him to hear you.  So he shrugs to himself and doesn't hold back because if they don't hear him tonight, they damn well will tomorrow.  All the same, Izzy has no intention of letting such a good fuck be about anyone other than the two of them so he meets Frenchie’s gaze and starts rubbing over his cock through the pink lace, letting his eyes close in pleasure.

He’s not surprised when his hand is batted away but Izzy doesn’t expect Frenchie to lace their fingers together as he slows his pace and his thrusts become more languid.  As a distraction it was pretty poor but it seems to have worked although he wouldn’t be surprised if Frenchie was well aware of the reason for it.

With a kiss to his ankle, Frenchie lowers his leg and settles closer between Izzy’s thighs, his long body dipping to press Izzy down, guiding their joined hands above his head.  There’s a smile on his lips now and his eyes sparkle even as his hips still move, fucking lazily into him.

“Such a naughty girl,” he murmurs, the words whispering over Izzy’s lips, making his face flush.  “Touching yourself like a common slut.  You know what happens when you get caught doing that?”

“No,” he swallows, and then realises that Frenchie’s stopped moving and is giving him a disappointed look.  “No, Daddy.”

With a little growl, Frenchie captures his mouth, kissing him deeply and Izzy can’t deny that he loves the reaction he gets when he says that.  He melts under the onslaught of his lover’s tongue and gives a huff of disappointment when Frenchie pulls away, then returns to deliver small biting kisses down his neck.  “Naughty girls,” he says, between bites, “have to come in their pretty pink knickers and make them all dirty.”

Izzy thinks he might lose it.  The man is a fucking danger and he absolutely knows he’s never going to have enough.  He lets out a desperate moan and Frenchie chuckles in delight, pushing back up for a better angle to make good on his threat, and finds it.  Crying out, beyond caring how loud he’s being, Izzy surrenders to the sudden pounding against his sweet spot and his body responds, drawing the pleasure inward until he feels that he’s buzzing with it, until he can hold it no longer and comes embarrassingly quickly, pulsing into soft pink lace.

Above him he hears a gasped, “Fucking hell,” and then Frenchie pulls out and deliberately comes onto the lace and somehow that’s even dirtier than Izzy coming in them.  They look at each other, both a little startled at the intensity, and then Frenchie starts to giggle and collapses on top of him and Izzy absolutely knows that everything is going to be all right, as he joins in.

A little later, the knickers consigned to the floor, Izzy is lying on his back, good arm around his lover, who is leaning up on one elbow, idly twisting graying chest hair around his finger.  “You are a menace, Mister Hands.”

“You love it.”

“That I do.”

They grin at each other and Izzy can’t help the hand that goes to his lover’s hip, just to be touching somewhere else.  Even as close as this he feels touch starved and needy in a way that he would have hated once but now relishes.  Frenchie is an addiction, a craving, and he plans to be addicted for the rest of his life.

“Tomorrow night,” Frenchie asks, “do you want to wear your slip and look pretty?”

The question throws him for a moment but Izzy gives it serious thought because actually he likes the sound of it, but at the same time it's too much.  It’s a private thing just for them.  He feels himself flush, just a little, the plans he has still nebulous but forming into something more solid the closer it gets.  “That’s just for us, for now.  I think I'm going to look… pretty enough.”

Frenchie leans over him, a fond indulgent look on his face.  “My pretty Izzy,” he croons and starts dropping kisses onto his face.  His nose, cheeks, eyelids, lips.  “Pretty nose.”  Kiss.  “Pretty eyes.”  Kiss.  “Pretty face.”  Kiss.

“What are you doing, you twat?” he laughs, suddenly with an armful of blissed out playful Frenchie.  It’s been an unexpectedly tumultuous day but right here, right now, Izzy’s heart is full.

“Adoring you,” Frenchie tells him, between more kisses.  “Because you are so absolutely… adorable.”

There's that word again, so tempting and sweet and Izzy longs to say it.  But he can, can’t he, he realises with a flush of joy.  He can do absolutely anything.  With a hand steadier than he thought possible he cups Frenchie’s cheek, drawing his gaze.  “And I adore you.  So much.”

Frenchie lets out a pleased sound and his expression changes to one of surprised sweetness as he leans into Izzy’s hand.  “Enough to marry me.”

It isn’t a question and yet it is, somewhere hidden away, but since they’ve been together Izzy has become proficient at hearing what Frenchie doesn’t say and the questions he doesn’t ask.  “I’d marry you a hundred times over,” he reassures, stroking down Frenchie’s cheek to his neck and holding his hand there, pressing lightly, feeling the steady strong rush of blood under his fingers.  “Enough to fill my heart until the end of time.”

For a moment Frenchie looks like he's about to break down but he doesn’t look sad so Izzy doesn’t think he’s messed this up.  He’s still finding his way with moments like this, with words he’s always wanted to say but never having had the courage or the right person to say them to.  “It's okay,” he croons, pulling Frenchie gently in and down onto his chest.  “Don't say a word.  Just be here, just be mine.”

“Until the seas dry up.”  He feels more than hears the barely there whisper against his skin.  “And the sky falls in.”

“Yes, my darling,” he murmurs into his lover’s coconut scented hair.  “Until then, and then some more.”

He feels Frenchie relax against him and after a few minutes hears his breathing change.  The candle is nearly burned down so Izzy leaves it, not wanting to disturb his sleeping man.  Sleeping on his back isn’t ideal, especially with the welts and bruises but nothing short of the ship being raided would get him to move now.  With his sore arm he catches a blanket and draws it over them as best as he can, better than nothing even though it isn’t cold.

He's still awake when Frenchie begins the cute little snores against his chest and he thinks of floggers and canes and collars, and of sweet kisses and smiles, of babe and darling and Sir, and tries to understand how those things fit together and become a shining glorious whole, because they do.

Although they have been together for a while now so much is still new.  This is the first true relationship he's ever had, the first one not based on abuse or the need for protection, and it occurs to him then, lying in the dark, Frenchie wrapped around him, that you have to work at it.  It isn’t perfect all the time and like the waves, there are ups and downs and it doesn’t matter whether you sail through them or over them, you come out stronger.

This precious thing he has, this love, will not always be plain sailing and now he understands how quickly things can go wrong.  In his naivety it's a challenge he wasn’t expecting and he’s still shocked at how easily he nearly fucked up the best thing in his life.  The realisation of how much he needs and relies on Frenchie’s quiet strength hits him almost like a punch.  It’s what he thought he had with Edward and discovered too late that it was nothing of the kind.  He supposes he should be bothered in some way, but he’s learned that to be Izzy, to be the man he needs to be, he has to have that quiet strength behind him and around him to keep him strong.

Perhaps that’s why his old self was so bitter, because the strength holding him up was a twisted, wounded thing that wanted nothing but to break him.  Which it eventually did.  He had been broken and put himself back together as best as he could until Frenchie wrapped him up and healed him, so much that he knows he’s becoming the man he always should have been.

If he loses that now he’s not sure what will be left but one lesson this life has taught him is that you fight for what you hold dear and if there’s one thing he’s supremely good at, it’s fighting.

As he drifts off to sleep, snatches of conversations flit across his thoughts, unwelcome and unbidden.

I used to do this for you.

I think he wants you back.

I’m scared of him with you.

But when he eventually sleeps he dreams of Frenchie on the deck of a strange ship, covered in blood.

Chapter Text

Izzy wakes suddenly, almost with a gasp, the dream still in his head as he becomes more aware of his surroundings.  As often happens, they’ve shifted in the night and Frenchie is wrapped around him, his own personal octopus, and as he relaxes back into his lover’s steady warmth, he wonders how he slept at all without him.  He never expected to adapt so well to sharing a bed again after so long.  It’s over thirty years since Sam, kind tragic Sam who was never enough and who now lies at the bottom of the ocean, where he would be too if he had gone with him instead of remaining with Edward.  He banishes the thought, not sure where that particular one had come from but it’s not one he needs this morning.  The rise and fall of Frenchie’s chest against his back is enough to settle him again after the harsh awakening.

Despite it fading, when he closes his eyes he can still see the vision of Frenchie bleeding on the deck of a strange ship, fighting going on all around them.  Why his mind has chosen now to play a trick like that on him he doesn’t know.  That’s all it is though, he has no mystic sight, it’s just his head fucking with him after what happened the night before so he lets it go knowing that it can only affect him if he allows it to.  All that matters is that they are together and have weathered their first storm.  An unexpected storm and one that no amount of instinct could have predicted and how typical that Edward was at the root of it.  Yet they got through it and somehow he asked Frenchie to marry him and although Frenchie wants him to ask again in better circumstances, he knows the answer will be yes.

It makes his head spin and his mouth go dry because he wants it and he never knew until faced with the prospect of losing Frenchie.  He knows he’s probably being over dramatic and there was no chance of that happening but at the very least he hurt the man and that’s the last thing he ever wanted to do.  There are times when it feels like his entire life has been one long drama in one way or another and for the first time he feels like he’s found peace.

Marriage though… together for the world to see, together in every way, belonging to each other, bound by unbreakable vows.  Trying to keep his breathing even, he swallows heavily, the feeling that he’s being carried by an unstoppable tide into a future he could only have dreamed of, makes his heart pound.  There are times when it all simply feels like too much but there is no part of him that longs for, or even misses, the life he used to live.

Content, he basks in Frenchie’s heat and as he often does when lying in bed he traces the scar on his hip, the mark of ownership Frenchie cut into his skin, with a contended hum.  He loves these moments together before their day begins, this precious time when they are still a little sleepy and Frenchie is loose and languid, when they have time to kiss and fuck or even just hold each other.  Before they rise and wash and dress and put on their respective armour, their movements around each other in the small space by now a familiar and easy dance.

“Babe?” Frenchie murmurs sleepily against his head.  “You okay?”

“M’fine,” he murmurs back, stroking the surprisingly strong arm around him.  Part of him wants to tell Frenchie about the dream, wanting to make it into some kind of warning for him to be careful on raids, not that Izzy lets him out of his sight these days but he holds back.  After the squall of the previous night the last thing he wants to do is darken the mood again.  “Morning, beautiful,” he greets, shifting around to see Frenchie and winces as his arm pulls, the sudden pain catching him by surprise.

“Iz?”  Sleepily, Frenchie frowns and Izzy could kick himself for allowing himself to react.  He’s had enough injuries by now that he’s used to how stitches pull and he’s very aware of how scared Frenchie is that the wound will fester and he’ll lose his arm.  Slight though that the chance of that is, Izzy has no intention of worrying his lover further.

Sitting up, he moves his arm a little, flexing and turning it carefully, ignoring the pain from it, then nods.  “It’s all right.  Stings but I can move it without a problem.  Doesn’t feel hot.”

“Just stings?”

“All right,” he acknowledges, with a wry smile, “stings like a bitch.”

Blinking a little as his head catches up with being awake so early, Frenchie stifles a yawn and sits up with an ease Izzy envies.  He’s often stiff in the mornings these days and even before the loss of his leg would have struggled to sit cross legged so easily.

“Keep still, babe, I want to have a look.”

Not bothering to protest, he holds out his arm, knowing that Frenchie won't be satisfied there’s no infection until he’s seen for himself.  Izzy fervently hopes that’s the case although after his leg he knows what it feels like, and this really doesn’t feel the same.

The bandage is quickly removed and as before, with the cuts on his hips, the honey seems to be doing its job.  The cut is a neat line, the stitches tidy.  It looks pink but there's no sign of redness or puffiness and Frenchie sighs with relief before replacing the dressing and bandaging it up again.  It’s not as neat as Roach did it and their cook will probably know that someone's looked but Roach isn’t stupid and will most likely be able to understand why.

“It looks good,” Izzy reassures, keeping his voice calm to hide his own relief.  “Doesn’t feel anything like my leg.  It’ll be just another scar to add to the collection.”

“It’s a scar you shouldn’t fucking have,” Frenchie mutters, his expression darkening.  “I don’t want him to even look at you today.”

Izzy shrugs.  “Can’t avoid it, love.  He’s always there for the morning Captain’s meeting although I don’t know why I bother sometimes.  Besides, it's party day, remember?” he says, lifting Frenchie’s chin.  “I’m the one who’s supposed to be in a state, not you.  I need you to be your beautiful bright and happy self, okay?”

Frenchie’s mouth twitches but it’s not quite the smile he wants.  Time for positive action.  Lying back down, Izzy stretches, idly playing with the ring through his left nipple and doesn’t miss Frenchie’s eyes flickering down, distracted, as he intended.  “Was going to tell you last night but we got a bit side tracked, I think I’ve found a kink.”

Dark eyes light up with curiosity.  Got you, Izzy thinks to himself.  He’s manipulating Frenchie a little but he’s not starting the day, this day in particular, on a tense note.

“Baby, you have lots of kinks,” Frenchie grins, unfolding himself.   “You’ve found a new one?” he asks, sliding up to straddle Izzy’s thighs over the thin sheet covering his lower half.

“I think so,” Izzy nods, then moans as Frenchie leans in and licks up his neck before sucking a bite onto his skin.  It’s not hard but just enough to distract him from what he’s saying.  There’s a chuckle and a lick over the mark that’s no doubt there.  “Yesterday… fuck, Frenchie… I went for a late lunch.  So I didn’t have to sit down,” he admits sheepishly which earns a huff of laughter.  “Lucius came to check on me.”

Sitting back up, Frenchie knocks his hand away and starts stroking his thumb over the gold ring, then twisting it just enough for Izzy’s breath to catch.  The touch is casual, almost indifferent and Izzy feels his cock start to stir.    “Yeah, babe, I asked him to.  The Captain was on deck so I didn’t think I could get away with disappearing.  So what happened?”

Izzy knows that the little shit is perfectly aware of the effect he’s having, despite how disinterested he looks, and that somehow just make it hotter.  “We were talking and he took my plate and fed me.”

That earns a pleased sound from Frenchie and a harder pinch.  They both remember what they did at Haram.  “The sneaky little bitch.”  Still, Frenchie’s voice is fond and amused.  “Did you enjoy it?”

“Yeah.”  He swallows, feeling his face flush, recalling standing between Lucius legs, hands on his thighs and taking the offered food from his fingers.  “I fucking loved it and I don’t know how to explain why.  It… got me hard.”

Frenchie grins delightedly, holding his hand out and Izzy immediately takes it, threading their fingers together.  “My baby's found a kink all on his own.  I'm so proud.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Izzy snorts.  “You're my fucking kink and you know it.”

Of course, Frenchie knows it.  They are both very aware now what presses each other’s buttons and that only makes things better.  In all his years he never knew that sex with someone you loved could be so fulfilling and rich.  He still doesn’t know how he got to be so lucky but he feels truly loved and desired for the first time in his life.  Better still, he’s able to accept now that he deserves it.

“So, is it the food or the act of someone doing it?” Frenchie asks, then briefly leans back down and murmurs into his ear, “Or is it the lack of control?”

Which of course it is.  Being fed, the food put in his mouth, having no say, really turns him on.  It’s not something he’d have ever thought of until that first time then reinforced by Lucius.  How much more is there to discover about himself?  How many more surprises?  Plenty, he suspects, his mind sliding to pretty pink silk slips and lacy underwear.

Glancing down he can see that Frenchie isn’t unaffected by the conversation.  His lovely cock is definitely taking an interest.  “Yeah, all of that.  Taking what I’m given, having no say.  But also… it’s like I’m being looked after… cared for, and that kind of does it for me too.”

Giving their joined fingers a squeeze, Frenchie raises his hand and kisses each finger.  “You are cared for, baby, more than you’ll ever know.  Fuck, we have to do that again, maybe have our food in here one day.”

Every day if Izzy had his way but he knows that would make it ordinary.  All the same…  There’s something he wants, can’t stop thinking about now it’s in his head.  He’s thought about keeping it to himself but that’s not what they do, whatever he tells Frenchie is safe and will never be used against him, no matter how weird it may be.

“There’s something…”  He hesitates, reaching up with his bad arm and stroking Frenchie’s shoulder, needing the extra contact.  “Something I’d like.”

Bracing himself, Frenchie leans above him, his lovely almond eyes glittering, intense in the early morning light.  “Tell me,” he demands, softly. 

Swallowing, Izzy sees it in his head, tries to put it into words.  “Lunch with the crew, cold food, and you just pull me onto your lap and feed me.”

“In front of the others?”

“Yeah.  We’re all talking as usual and nobody mentions it, as though it's normal.”

He knows the thought of it shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does but it’s out in the open now so he can’t take it back.  Asking for something he wants is so new to him he’s still struggling to accept that he actually can but Frenchie isn’t looking like he minds.  Quite the opposite in fact, a lovely flush has appeared on his cheeks.

“Israel Hands, you will be the death of me,” Frenchie responds, his voice cracking.  “Here we are having a nice normal conversation about kinks and you go and do that to me.  What happened to our correct and proper First Mate?”

“You happened, you twat.  Haven't you worked that out yet?” Izzy huffs, amused.  “I wouldn't want to know before when you were going to do it either.”

“You are a fucking menace,” Frenchie tells him, admiringly.  “You really want that, babe?”

Izzy nods, finding it hard to put into words how much.  “After tonight, they are all going to know what we do.  We both know my arse is wearing stripes and my back is bruised.  There’s no way to hide the marks so there doesn’t seem much point trying to pretend they aren’t there.”

“You don’t mind?  It’s a big step.”

Maybe not that big a step.

Everyone knows you like pain.

Roach’s words of the night before echo in his head.  Even a few months ago such openness would have been unthinkable but he knows now with absolute certainty that his crew, his family, will not judge him for it.  They may tease but that’s nothing more than they do with each other and he’s more than capable of dealing with that and giving as good as he gets. 

“It was going to happen eventually,” Izzy replies, surprising himself by the surge of pride he feels that he’s wearing Frenchie’s marks and everyone will see them.  “Might as well be now.  Anyway, there’s only really John and Jim’s group who probably don’t know and Roach may well have talked.  Do you mind?” he asks, realising belatedly that it’s not just about him.

Frenchie gives him his lovely crinkly smile.  “What?  You think I mind that our friends know you belong to me?  Pretty sure they’ve worked that one out already, babe.  You think I mind that they’ll know you want me to hurt you?”

“I think the point is them knowing that you do hurt me,” Izzy points out.  “And that I let you.”

“But you don’t let me,” Frenchie murmurs, suddenly very close, the words against his mouth, each syllable fire on his lips.  “You want me to, don’t you, baby.  You want to beg for it.”

With a groan, Izzy pulls Frenchie completely down on him, his sudden weight a delicious counterpoint against the heat that is flaring within him.  “Fuck yes, I want to beg.  I’d crawl on the fucking floor if you wanted it.”

And he would.  He’d do anything.  He already knows he's going to let Frenchie put a ring through his cock.

With a low growl, Frenchie brings their mouths together uncaring about morning breath in the need to take and Izzy lets him, satisfaction curling in his belly that he can have this effect on his man.  It’s intense and addictive, no less than Frenchie himself and he absolutely fucking loves it.

The kiss is deep and messy, Frenchie controlling it and Izzy submits to it easily, not having to but wanting to, a distinction that pleases him on a level he’s beginning to accept about himself and even relish.  Frenchie’s beard rubs against his, a delicious contrast to the smoothness of his tongue and there’s nowhere on his body that he doesn’t want to feel it.  He wants to be laid out for Frenchie’s pleasure, used until he has no thoughts left in his head.

Hard now, Frenchie’s cock is rubbing alongside his own through the taut sheet and it’s good but nowhere near enough to get him off despite the friction.  He’s usually not comfortable getting fucked first thing so he isn’t exactly sure where this is going but he’s happy to roll with it because he knows that Frenchie will have a plan.  He always does.

With a hum of approval, Frenchie slows the kiss until there’s nothing but tiny bites to his lips that he chases when Frenchie finally pulls away, although doesn’t go far.  Izzy gazes at his lover, their eyes locking, all glistening lips and panting breath and eyes blown dark with desire.  There’s so much he wants to say, it’s overwhelming.  These feelings are still so new, so fragile and yet so strong, that he doesn’t know where to begin sometimes. 

“I fucking love you,” he whispers, unable to keep it inside himself, still getting a thrill from being able to say it whenever he wants, and watches as Frenchie’s expression gentles, going from sharp with desire to indulgent and pleased.

Releasing their joined hands, Frenchie cups his face, thumb rubbing lightly on his cheek.  “Oh Iz, baby, I love you too, so much it hurts sometimes.  Still can’t believe you’re mine, that we’re so perfect together.”

“I’ll always be yours.”  He will, he absolutely knows it.  His first true love will be his last.  There will be no other.

Frenchie grins, his eyes suddenly full of mischief.  “My Izzy,” he purrs, dipping to place a wet open kiss on his nipple, causing Izzy to hum approvingly.  “My pet.”  This kiss goes on the other nipple, just as wet and hot before sliding down the bed, eyes on Izzy the whole time, and placing an equally wet kiss on the head of his cock through the sheet.  “My baby girl,” Frenchie croons.  “So pretty for me.”

Swallowing, Izzy closes his eyes for a moment as heat runs through him, at the delicious shame of Frenchie’s words.  “You little shit,” he breathes, feeling his chest heave.  When he looks back, Frenchie’s expression is smugly satisfied, because he knows, he absolutely does how much Izzy gets off on it.

“You love it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, you’re going to.”  Izzy just has time to register what Frenchie means when his lover is over his mouth, licking into him again.  “There’s my dirty, greedy boy.  No one's touching your slutty hole until later so I’m going to ride you instead.”

As they always do, Frenchie’s words send a shiver through him.  In his time, he’s been called all sorts of things and occasionally he’s laughed but most often he’s stabbed, yet Frenchie has only to call him a slut and he’s gone.  Izzy feels it all the way down to his toes, the flawless shame, the thrill of being Frenchie’s slut. 

Izzy whines at the thought of being inside Frenchie.  He hadn't intended to but he just couldn't help it.  He knows he’s a good fuck and can usually last quite a while but Frenchie is unlikely to stop using his potty mouth, knowing damn well the affect it has on him.  “Keep on doing that and I’m not going to last long,” he warns.

“You’d better.  Do I need to put a ring on you?”

“Christ, yeah.  With the mouth you've got on you today, you just sitting on my cock is going make me blow.”

Grinning wickedly, Frenchie reaches under the bed for the oil jar to open himself up but Izzy suddenly has a better idea.  They’ll get to the oil but not just yet.  “Come up here,” he rasps.  “Sit on my face, I want to open you up.”

Frenchie gives a quick frown and draws back.  “Not had a wash, babe.”

“Like I fucking care,” Izzy growls, amused all the same by Frenchie’s sudden primness.  “This from the man who has no shame.  Don’t tell me that the kinkiest man I know is seriously worried about that.”  Impatiently he pulls Frenchie forward with his good arm.  “Fucking sit on my face.  You think I haven't had worse things than your arse in my mouth?  Fucking do it, now.”

“Bossy much,” Frenchie complains, but he’s already moving and Izzy knows he’s won.

“Irony much?” Izzy retorts, wriggling down the bed to give Frenchie some room.  It’s not like they haven’t done it before, but this time Izzy really isn’t prepared to wait and, truth be told, after the night before and how close they maybe came to disaster he wants to be demanding, wants to be down and dirty.  Now the idea is in his head he wants Frenchie’s arse and he wants it now.

Folding those long legs, Frenchie allows himself to be placed how Izzy wants him and he makes no more protest, gasping as he’s parted and pulled down onto his waiting tongue.  Licking across the tight opening, Izzy moans appreciatively, hearing an echo from above.  Frenchie tastes dark and earthy, the scent and taste rich with the flavours of man and sweat and all the things that Izzy loves.  Not clean but not dirty either and Izzy can’t get enough.

By the time he’s worked his tongue inside, Frenchie’s moaning like a whore and Izzy can feel the tremors running through him and down into his own mouth and it’s exquisite.  “Oh fuck, Iz, that’s it… just there.  Fuck….” 

Izzy just growls low in his throat and pulls him down harder needing to get as deep as he can, needing to wreck him like Frenchie so often does to him.  It’s only when Frenchie snakes a hand around his cock that Izzy withdraws, slapping his lover’s thigh.  “Hands off the goods if you want to get fucked.  Not going to last long if you’re doing that.”

With a groan, Frenchie pulls his hand away and reaches behind instead, gripping Izzy’s shoulder.  “Just don’t stop.”

“No fucking chance,” Izzy grates out and dives back in, licking up every bit of him until the only thing he can taste is his own spit.  By the time he’s done as much as he can with his tongue and Frenchie has been reduced to desperate breathy whimpers, Izzy fumbles to the side, finding the abandoned jar of oil and coating his fingers, then gets to work with them, snaking two into him and licking around where they are going in.

Although Frenchie is his top there is definitely something to be said about the noises his lover makes when there’s something inside him, be it tongue, fingers or cock, that Izzy can’t get enough of.  That Frenchie trusts him to let go like this is something he’ll never take for granted, because Izzy knows he’s rarely done this for anyone else.  Frenchie doesn’t slut around and never has, which makes his delight in Izzy doing exactly that even more of a turn on.

When he easily gets four fingers in and Frenchie is oiled enough that he’ll suffer no damage from the ride, Izzy tells him that he’s ready.  Climbing off on wobbly legs, Frenchie reaches to the desk for one of the leather ties Izzy uses to hold up his sleeves and in deference to his lover’s sensibilities, Izzy retrieves the bottle of rum from under the bed and takes a swig, washing it around his mouth and spitting it out into the waiting cup, then soaks the end of a rag and wipes down his moustache and beard.  He’ll stink of rum and will need the bathroom before he goes to breakfast even more now but at least Frenchie will kiss him again.  He makes a mental note to tease him about it later.

Eagerly he lies back down, throwing off the sheet and parting his legs to give Frenchie better access.  He groans when his balls and the base of his cock are wrapped in the strip of leather and tied off, then his cock slicked with the oil.  “Too much?” Frenchie asks breathily.

It will be but not yet and he shakes his head, grabbing Frenchie’s hand.  “It’s fine.  Come and sit on my prick, my beautiful bitch.  Fuck yourself on me.”

Eyes dark and glittering, Frenchie straddles him and guides Izzy’s cock into his hole.  “Fuck, Iz, the mouth on you.”

Izzy groans as Frenchie rocks down onto him, tight and hot and as smooth as silk and it’s enough to drive him out of his mind.  Suddenly he’s very glad for the tie on his cock.  “Pot.  Kettle,” he retorts through gritted teeth, trying not to move.

Frenchie takes it slow, head thrown back, his eyes closed and mouth parted in a look of ecstatic concentration that makes him appear like a fallen angel, flawless and debauched.  His cock juts out, almost forgotten and Izzy longs to swallow it down and give it the worship his angel deserves, but coming inside his tight little arse is a close second.

Wondering how much he can get away with he tries an experimental nudge of his hips as Frenchie bottoms out on him and receives a slap on his good thigh, a harsh sting that sends a jolt through his cock.  “No, you don’t, keep still.  I’ll tell you when I want you to move.”

After Izzy being so demanding Frenchie effortlessly takes back control and Izzy surrenders to it.  He's not Sir’s pet right now but he still loves it when Frenchie gets toppy like this.  He loves even more that Frenchie is taking his pleasure on him, using him, his beautiful slender body rolling in slow languid waves.  Again, Frenchie holds out his hand and Izzy weaves their fingers together, using his strength to support his lover.  Frenchie’s other hand goes to his own chest and he pinches a nipple, sighing in pleasure, watching Izzy’s reactions from under slitted eyes. 

“Look at you, my beauty,” Izzy murmurs, watching his lover’s breathing start to get heavier, the elegant undulation of his hips getting deeper.  “Think you can come just from this?”

Leaning slightly forward Frenchie adjusts the angle and gasps as his sweet spot is caressed.  It puts more pressure on Izzy’s arm but he holds him easily, even with one.  “Maybe.  Oh fuck.  Yeah, perhaps.”

Izzy grins, showing teeth.  “Want to find out?”

Frenchie’s mouth falls open and his eyes briefly roll back.  “Yeah.  Fuck, yeah.”  He braces himself with his other hand on Izzy’s chest.  “You can move now,” he allows.  “Fuck me, baby.  Make me come screaming your name.”

It’s not exactly a challenge, more an instruction, but Izzy takes it as one anyway.  He’s never made Frenchie come untouched before but he’s damn well doing to do it now.  Never mind reaching ninety, Izzy thinks to himself as he starts to thrust.  He’ll be lucky to reach sixty at this rate.

It turns out that Frenchie can and if not exactly screaming, he makes some very pretty sounds when he comes.  When Frenchie releases his cock and brings him to skillful completion with his slicked hand, Izzy finds he’s the one making the noise and the way he shouts Frenchie’s name when he shoots will leave anyone nearby in no doubt whatsoever what they have been doing.

He’s nearly finished dressing when Frenchie sits on the bed and pulls him close.  “C’mere, babe, want to ask you something.”  Standing between his legs, Izzy looks down at him curiously.  “I was thinking that today might be hard, yeah?  I know we let off steam yesterday but all the same…  I thought maybe this might help.”  Frenchie brings his hand out from behind his back.  On it is the silver cage they put on him the last time they scened with Lucius.  “I thought it might help keep you focused, or give you a distraction, if you needed it, whichever.  What do you think?”

Izzy's mouth goes dry as he sees the object in Frenchie’s hand.  He’s not sure he wants to admit how much he liked wearing it.  His cock tucked safely inside those silver rings definitely did it for him, until the bastards started torturing him.  His hands go onto Frenchie’s shoulders and he licks his lips.  “Yeah,” he murmurs, swallowing.  “I think I’d like that.”  

He hasn’t thought about the cage since that night and he didn’t know that Frenchie had kept it but it’s typical of the man that he would have.  He recalls how it felt though, the metal cold at first then warming to his body heat and feeling almost part of him.

Frenchie beams and Izzy still feels a lurch inside when he pleases his lover.  “It’ll be like I'm holding you, babe, keeping you safe until tonight.”

“I don’t want anyone to see it,” Izzy can’t help but say, despite a jolt of pleasure at the thought of Frenchie holding him there.  It’s not like they’ve tried it under clothes and he really wants to keep it private.  Lucius would probably understand, and certainly appreciate, but there are still some limits on how much he wants the rest of the crew to know.

Lifting his shoulder, Frenchie briefly nuzzles his cheek against Izzy’s hand.  “I don't think anyone will but let's give it a go.  Won’t know until we try.”

Heart in his mouth, Izzy nods.  He's not going to say no and they both know it.  He keeps his hands in place while Frenchie opens his leathers, pulling them down to the top of his thighs and watches, breath hitching at the touch of the cool metal, as his cock is fed into the loops and fastened in securely.  He can see a tiny loop for a padlock to be added but if he has one, Frenchie doesn’t use it.

“Fuck, Iz,” Frenchie breathes, his eyes darkening as he looks at the cage and then up to Izzy.  “That’s so hot.”

“You like it that much?”  

“Yeah, babe, I really do.”

“Is it… the control?” Izzy asks, his hands tightening.  He isn’t sure how he thinks about that, it’s a level of control he’s never thought about before.  “You want to be in charge of what my cock does?”

Looking up at him, Frenchie looks conflicted and it’s hard to remember sometimes that this is still relatively new to him.  “Yes… no.  Fucked if I know, Iz.  Part of my head is saying, oh that’s pretty, and the other part is growling good boy and mine.  I suggested it as a comfort thing though, not for control.”

With a wry smile, Izzy strokes through Frenchie’s lovely soft hair.  “But that doesn’t mean to say you can’t enjoy knowing it’s there,” he reassures.  “I honestly don’t think I’d want it on all the time, but… I like it, okay.  If we do want to take that kind of control further then it’s something we need to talk about.  At the moment it’s a bit distracting and I’m not sure it would be sensible if I was having to fight.  I don’t want to lose my edge just because my cock’s having a holiday.”

“Got it,” Frenchie nods.  “Makes sense.  Just keep it for certain times then.”

Izzy is surprised by just how discrete it actually is.  By the time his pants have been laced back up, there’s nothing to see.  The stiffness of the leather and the way the laces fall show barely a hint of what’s beneath.  Still, Frenchie can’t help but run his fingers down the front, lightly tracing the rings.

“Look at you,” he admires.  “All wrapped up in there, snug and safe.  That really does something to me.”

“Most things do, you kinky little shit,” Izzy murmurs indulgently, cupping his face with both hands and leaning down for a kiss.  He happily embraces Frenchie’s kinks in all their weird and wonderful variety because it’s not like he doesn’t get the benefit from them.

“Yeah,” Frenchie agrees readily, “because of you, so don’t you go blaming me, Mister Hands.”

One kiss becomes several and Izzy can feel himself stirring within the confines of the cage and it may be something to do with the inherent masochism in his soul but he likes it, likes the way it squeezes.  “Fuck,” he murmurs, closing his eyes and willing himself to go down.  The fact that he can even hope to get it up again so quickly at his age says a lot for how conditioned he’s become to Frenchie and the near constant want that sings through his body at the sight of him.

“You like it, don’t you,” Frenchie says quietly, reading him perfectly, pulling him even closer.  “You like that it won’t let you get hard.  Does it hurt?”

“A bit, yeah,” he admits.  “But in a good way.”

Frenchie makes a deep pleased sound and drops a kiss to the front of his pants.  “Fuck Iz, I don't know how I'm going to think about anything else today.”

“Not helping,” Izzy grinds out as the pressure increases.  He isn’t altogether sure how he will either.

After breakfast he knocks on the Captain's door for his daily meeting, not really looking forward to seeing Edward again.  The man’s behaviour had been beyond strange and Izzy is disconcerted to realise that he might not be able to read him as well as he used to.  It was always useful to be able to largely predict Edward’s moods but he has absolutely no idea what last night was about and why he was such a shit to Frenchie.

He’s trying to avoid dwelling on what Lucius said about the two of them… ogling him, because that would open up the possibility of Edward being jealous of Frenchie and Izzy really can’t even begin to process that, not after what Edward did to him.  Surely even Edward, self-centered as he is, wouldn’t be so stupid as to think that any thoughts in that direction would be accepted or even welcomed?  It really is too ridiculous to give credence to, so there must be something else going on, something that he hasn’t worked out yet.

He doesn’t expect Edward to open the door, brown eyes immediately full of concern as he moves aside to let Izzy in.  “Izzy, mate, are you all right?  How's your arm?”

“It's fine,” he says crisply.  Edward’s got a long way to go before he’ll be forgiven for the way he acted last night and Izzy isn’t prepared to be overly friendly.  “All stitched up.  Don't fuss, Edward.”

Edward is about to reply when Stede bustles into the cabin from the bathroom.  “Izzy, dear.  How is your arm?  I was worried about you.”

Dear?  Izzy blinks.  That’s a new one.  When the fuck did he become dear?  “It's fine,” he says again, keeping the impatience from his voice.  “Why is everyone making such a big fucking deal of it?”

“Because we care about you.  Now come and sit down and have a drink.”

Bemused, Izzy allows himself to be led to the same chair he sat in during his excruciating meeting with the plug up his arse, a stool already laid out for him to rest his leg on.  Unable to think of any sensible reason to decline, he sits gingerly.  He’s only got his cock in a cage his time, he reflects, not unaware of the irony.  As he settles, he sees the tray laid out for three.  “Captain, just so you know, I really fucking hate tea.”

“Which is why I have coffee for you,” Stede replies smugly, handing him a cup.  “Just how you like it.  I checked with Roach so it should be perfect.”

What the fuck?

Izzy sniffs the cup warily but it smells good and when he takes a sip it is exactly how he has it, strong and dark.  He looks up to see Edward and Stede watching him as though they had made it themselves and were waiting for praise.  “Thanks,” he huffs, since something is clearly expected.  He’s not prepared to give them fucking compliments.

The two of them exchange a glance he can’t read before Stede sits opposite him on the sofa and pours tea for them both, Edward going to sit beside him.  Stede is wearing leather pants and a plain shirt, cut lower than he usually wears.  No longer the popinjay, even Izzy has to admit that he looks better these days.  In a curious reversal, Edward looks striking in purple, no leather in sight and Izzy finds it strangely disturbing.

“Edward told me about what happened.  It really was thoughtless of him encouraging you to spar in the dark.”

It was but he had gone along with it.  Nonetheless it’s intriguing to hear Stede admit it and he would be very interested to know how their conversation had gone once Edward returned with his tail between his legs.

Izzy shrugs, deliberately not looking at Edward.  “It's fine.  The stitches look clean and it wasn't my sword arm so you don't need to worry.”

Leaning forward, Stede reaches out, briefly touching his knee.  “Izzy, I was worried about you, not your ability to fight.”

Stilling, Izzy glares at him.  He has no idea what is going on here.  It’s not flirting because he’d have been out of there like a shot if it was, but it’s something.  “Captain, with respect, my ability to fight should be the only thing that concerns you.”

“Izzy’s right, love,” Edward agrees unexpectedly.  “I put our best fighter at risk.  Sorry, Iz.”

The best fighter that you mutilated, he thinks acidly.  The best fighter who has had to relearn nearly everything to still be able to protect the crew.  Only half drunk he slaps his cup down on the tray.  “Fuck’s sake, Edward, pack it in.  Are you going to fall on your sword next?  I’m over it.”

He looks at Stede.  “Captain, stop encouraging him.  I don't need the drama.”

“Of course you don’t,” Stede mollifies.  “As long as you are all right we’ll say no more about it.”

There’s quite a lot more Izzy would like to say but he knows he’d be wasting his time.  There has pointedly been no mention of Frenchie, and Izzy wants to sarcastically tell them that ‘Frenchie’s fine, thanks for asking’ but instinct holds him back.  He understands Edward less these days and isn’t sure where the line between them is drawn any longer and despite his feelings about what happened this is still Izzy’s home and he doesn’t want to risk losing it.  If things truly came to a head he thinks that Stede might back him, not wanting to lose his skills and fighting ability, but if there’s one thing his life has taught him is that there are no guarantees about anything.

Another thing he learned long ago was when to take advantage when you are camped so far up the high ground that you’ve raised a flag and built fortifications on the top.

“Actually, Captain, I’d like to ask you a favour, if I may.”  He’s been waiting for the right time to broach the subject of his leg and with the pair of them on the back foot there will never be a better one.

Stede’s eyes light up with interest.  “Of course, Izzy, how can I help?”

“There’s a craftsman at Port Royal who may be able to improve my leg.  It doesn’t fit well at the top and as we saw last night it’s easy for me to stumble on it.  He’s supposed to be the best with… limbs.  If we were able to go there for a few days I’d appreciate it.”

The words are like ashes in his mouth but he forces himself to utter them.  He hates asking for anything and especially now after Edward was such a prick but he can’t deny any longer that his leg needs improvement.  It was made with love and he treasures it, but it also has to do a job and he doesn’t see why parts of it couldn’t be altered but still keep the actual hoof.

“Would that be Marius de Gallard?” Stede asks curiously. 

Izzy nods, remembering the letter.  “Yeah, that’s the one.”  Izzy knows a lot of people in Port Royal but they are all suppliers of weapons and food, or fences for their goods.  He’s never bothered with the other traders of goods and services so has never heard of the man.

“Mate, you’ve got no chance,” Edward cuts in.  “You can’t just walk in on him, he’s well known for only undertaking commissions.  He isn’t going to do work for a pirate.”

Edward sounds more than a little condescending and Izzy feels a prickle of anger swirl in his stomach.  He might not have heard of the man or his reputation but Edward’s assumption that he’s just going to walk in and demand the man work for him is ridiculous and demeaning.   

“He’s reputed to be the best there is and rumour has it that he’s descended from French aristocracy,” Stede adds, looking at him kindly, not without his own condescension, as though breaking bad news.  “One of my grooms had a carriage accident and lost a leg a few years ago and even I couldn’t get the man in to see him.”

Despite the anger that is still fizzing through him, Izzy feels a surge of smug satisfaction.  Whilst he doesn’t actively dislike Stede any more, especially as he mostly keeps Edward out of his way, he can still be a prick when he wants to be.  Worse, he can often be a prick when he doesn’t actually intend to be, which is a lot more irritating.  Obviously, he’s assumed the same as Edward, adding his own little bit of self-importance to the mix. 

Izzy had intended to keep Sebastian’s letter to himself, but changes his mind.  Fuck that and fuck them.  Just for once he’s going to have one over on them and he’s absolutely going to make the most of it.  He shouldn’t, he knows, after a lifetime of caution but what the fuck.  It’s that kind of a day.

“It’s a good thing I have a letter of introduction, then,” he remarks coolly.  “And a commission.”  He is maybe pushing it a bit there but Sebastian’s letter is very specific that any work Izzy requires is to be undertaken as a matter of urgency.  The fact that Sebastian requested it in such a manner clearly means that he expects this Marius to do as he has been bid.

“You do?  Really?”  Stede is trying very hard to hide his surprise and equally to sound like he believes him, which pisses Izzy off even more.

“I do.  From a friend.”  Picking up the cooling coffee, Izzy drains the cup and sets it back on the tray, feeling two sets of eyes on him.  He can practically see the thoughts going through their heads.  How does a pirate get a letter of introduction?  Did he kill someone for it?  Wait, Izzy has friends?

“Oh,” Stede says casually, “anyone I know?”

Izzy schools his expression into careful neutrality.  “I doubt it.  Do you know many Earls?”

He watches in triumph as the colour drains from Stede’s face.  “An Earl?” he squeaks, glancing to Edward, who looks equally surprised.  “An English Earl?  Out here?  And you’re friends?”

“Iz, you hate the aristocracy,” Edward interrupts.  “You always have.”

Well, Izzy can’t argue with that, he does, just not this particular one.  He resents Edwards casual assumption that he knows everything about what he likes and doesn’t though.  Has he always been so black and white?  No, he doesn’t think so, but the fact that Edward still sees him like that saddens and irritates him equally, because it’s obvious now that Edward will never see him any other way.

“Most of them, yeah, but this one’s special.”  He gives a small secret smile that he knows Edward will interpret as fond, and hate it.  “I saved his life some ten years back and he was… extremely… grateful.”  He lowers his voice, leaving no doubt whatsoever about what he is implying.  It’s close enough to the truth even though he hasn’t seen Sebastian since things started going to shit, something he aims to remedy as soon as he can.  “We’ve been close ever since.”

He is unsurprised to see Edward’s expression darken and part of him regrets it the second it’s out of his mouth, and yet he also… doesn’t.  Fuck you, Edward, you never saw me as more than your lap dog, you think I’m not capable of having something for myself?  Fuck you.  Noticing, Stede tries to repair the conversation, only blushing slightly at Izzy’s implied reference to sex.  “Yes, of course, I’m sure he was.  You are quite magnificent with your sword, after all.  We have no particular plans after the party, so I have no objection to going to Port Royal next, it can only benefit us, after all, to have your leg in tip top shape.  We’ll set sail the day after tomorrow.  Will that do, Izzy?”

Smirking a little at the sword reference, Izzy nods.  “That will do fine, Captain, thank you.”

“You could have written it yourself,” Edward remarks sulkily from the corner of the sofa, clearly not happy and whether that’s from the reference to Sebastian or the fact that Stede has agreed to help him, Izzy isn’t sure but as usual he’s behaving like a brat.  “It’s not like there’s any proof.”

“Edward,” Stede exclaims, looking so genuinely horrified that Edward flushes and shifts uneasily in his seat.

Izzy has been hurt too many times by Edward to let this get to him but he still feels an icy flush of anger curl from his guts.  How fucking dare he, although Edward has actually played right into his hands.  “Could have done, yeah,” Izzy replies coldly, unsurprised at the direction Edward’s mind turned.  “I didn’t though.  Didn’t steal His Lordship’s embossed note paper either, and if that’s not enough, my boyfriend was there when I got the letter so you can check with him if you want.”

He deliberately drops that into the conversation to see what reaction it gets and he’s interested to see Edward flinch at the mention of Frenchie being his boyfriend.

Stede leans forward and touches his knee again and Izzy doesn’t miss his slight hesitation too at the mention of Frenchie.  Do the pair of them have some sort of issue that he’s with Frenchie now?  That’s the only thing he can think of but he can’t understand why.  “That will absolutely not be necessary, Izzy.  I… apologise.”

“I don’t think it’s you who needs to apologise, Captain.  I’ve been many things in my life but a liar isn’t one of them.”

He supposes it’s not strictly true but never with anything important.  He’s lied to Edward before but only for his own self-preservation and occasionally Edward’s too.  Stede is nodding though and looks warningly at Edward, who shrinks back a little.  His eyes flicker to Izzy’s and then away.  “Sorry, Iz,” he says quickly.

Still annoyed, Izzy can do nothing but nod.  It’s the best he’s going to get and they both know it.  “Fine.”

“There,” Stede says, a little too brightly, “all friends again now.”    

There’s an uncomfortable silence for a moment and Izzy comes close to rolling his eyes but holds back.  “Perhaps you’d like my report, Captain,” he suggests, desperate to get out of there.

“Excellent suggestion, Mister Hands,” Stede agrees, looking relieved.

Back on familiar ground Izzy recounts their fresh water status, general supplies, depth in the water, weather and wind conditions, health and condition of the crew and the surprising lack of accidents.  As his own is the only injury, he mentions that he noted it in the log and doesn’t miss an anxious look flit across Edward’s face.

After that, the meeting is thankfully quick as nothing much has changed since yesterday.  Izzy has no input in the party plans, for which he is more than grateful, although he’s pleased to hear that Stede has absolutely put his foot down that his bathtub is not being used this year.

For once Izzy agrees with him.  He really doesn't want to drink out of something the two of them have been fucking in.

When he emerges, the deck is a hive of activity and Izzy stamps up to the relative peace of the aft deck to get away from the bustle.  He knows there are a lot of preparations to be made and he has no objection helping but he needs to clear his head first.  Although he got what he wanted, the entire meeting has him on edge and he doesn’t need that today.  There’s a whole huge ‘later’ hanging over his head and he really doesn’t want that kind of distraction.  Lovely Frenchie shaped distractions, fine, but not the sort that just make him worry even more.

The fact that he has no idea what’s going on makes him uncomfortable and he hates the feeling.  He’s spent so many years looking after… managing… Edward that he should be able to read him like a book, and used to be able to, but since his return from the dead it’s been harder and he has no idea what the fuck is going on in that complicated head of his.

What he doesn’t understand is why they might have a problem with his relationship with Frenchie.  Do they think Frenchie isn’t good enough for him?  Or even that he’s not good enough for Frenchie?  He supposes that it would be that way round if any.  Or… and he doesn’t like the way his mind works sometimes… or Edward really doesn’t want him having something of his own, even now.  Either way, Edward can go fuck himself because Izzy is never letting Frenchie go.

He’s leaning against the rail, thoughts still racing, when Jim sidles up to him, nudging his shoulder.  Welcoming the distraction, Izzy nods a greeting.

“How's your arm?  We were all worried, cabrón.”

Unconsciously he flexes his muscle, testing the stitches but the wound feels the same as earlier.  Roach redressed it after breakfast, Frenchie hovering anxiously, and said he was happy with it which is good enough for him.  “Not as bad as it could have been,” he admits wryly, glancing over.  “I’ll live.”

“You had better,” Jim retorts, their eyes flashing.  “That bastardo had no right to go near you.  Why did you let him in?”

Izzy isn’t surprised at the vehemence in their voice.  The five of them, himself, Jim, Archie, Frenchie and Fang each wear the Kraken’s scars in one way or another.  They all survived but not without cost.  He knows the others don’t really understand what it was like to live through the casual thoughtless violence of those dark days and he’s more than glad they don’t, but it gives the five of them an extra bond, one of blood and bone and pain.

“Didn’t have much choice, he picked the fucking lock.”

“Next time you do that you take one of us with you, yeah?”

“Jiménez, I don’t need a fucking babysitter,” he growls, surprisingly touched although he’d never admit it.  “I’ve been coping with Edward for the last thirty years; I can handle him.”

He’s given an unimpressed look and a raised eyebrow.  “And how’s that going for you?” Jim challenges, looking pointedly at his arm.  “We love you, you dick, and none of us want to see you get hurt again.”

“Fuck off,” he grumbles, without sting.  “You’ll make me soft and I’ll be no use to anyone.”  We love you.  Damn them all for caring for him, they have no fucking right.  He doesn’t mean it, of course, but he’s not going to admit that either. 

Jim gives an amused snort.  “Israel Hands, soft.  Yeah, right, that’ll happen.”  Settling back down on the rail, they grin slyly.  “Heard about your little after party on deck later.”

Hardly surprising.  It’s not like it was a secret and there’s bound to be talk.  “Can join in, if you want,” he says carefully, not sure exactly what he’s offering but Jim is beautiful and although they don’t share the same… equipment, he thinks he may not mind.  He has no interest in women, never has, but Jim is… Jim and with them such a distinction seems unimportant.  “I don't think Frenchie would mind.”

“You take orders from him now?” Jim asks with a smirk.

“Yeah, sometimes,” he says, meeting their gaze evenly, a touch of defiance in his voice.  “You have a problem with that?”

He’s not sure what he expected but it isn’t the look of affection and mischief he receives.  “We play the same games, mi amigo.  Olu likes the instructions but Archie, she’s like you, likes the pain, the control.”

“Shuts her up?” he asks, mouth twitching in a smile.  She’s like you.  So it really isn’t a secret and he can’t help but wonder what gave him away because he’s certain that Lucius wouldn’t have said anything.  He’s surprised to find that he doesn’t really care.  He’s with family, he knows now, and this family doesn’t judge.

Strangely, despite that, he feels more in charge now than he's ever done.  His relationship with Frenchie has cemented his standing with all of them and their easy camaraderie now comes with more respect than he's ever had before.  They actually listen to him now.  Fucking irony, or what?

Jim snorts.  “Fuck no, not unless I gag her.”

Izzy laughs easily.  “Yeah, I can see how you’d need to.”

He’s always been a little curious about the contents of Jim’s chest in the playroom and he suspects now that it might not be far removed from what’s in his own.

“Thanks for the invitation but I have my own things planned for tonight,” Jim tells him, with a sly smile, “besides tonight is for you and the boys, but maybe some time I could join you two in the playroom and see what happens.”

That’s something he’d never considered and Izzy is surprised that Jim’s even suggesting it.  He assumes that Jim is meaning for Izzy to be their shared sub.  He can well understand anyone wanting Frenchie, but he’d never thought that he’d be of any interest, after all Jim is so young and he… well, he’s most definitely not.  Yet their eyes are steady as they look at him and he sees only curiosity and truth reflected back at him.

Well, fuck.  He could go for that.  “Talk to Frenchie.  He’s the one you need to clear it with.”

“Not if I thought you weren’t interested.”

Izzy frowns and huffs.  “Didn't say no, did I?”

Jim’s face breaks into a pleased grin.  “Damn, you’re so cute when you’re grumpy.”

“Fuck off.”

But Jim just laughs and leans back against the rail.  “Can’t wait to see his face when you sing your song tonight.”

They both know which song Jim means and who he is referring to.  Frenchie’s big finish is going to be a slap in the face for Edward and Izzy is torn between it being a bad idea and not giving a shit, except that after their meeting he’s now very much leaning towards the latter.  “Could say it was about you.  Still applies,” he says, glancing over.

“But we all know it's not and he'll know it's not.  You’re our phoenix.”

“Thought I was your unicorn.”

“You are both,” Jim says firmly, giving him a look that dares him to argue, then stirs restlessly.  “I need to do something, all this hanging around is making my skin itch.  Can we practice?”

Izzy isn’t far off that himself and although he suspects that Jim’s actually been sent to keep him occupied, he’ll make use of it.  Letting off some steam would not hurt.  “Get your sword,” he nods.  A moment later Jim is back with the wooden practice swords he uses for beginners.  “The fuck?”

Jim shrugs, handing one over.  “You get cut today, Frenchie will literally stab me.  You want to take the risk?”

“Fine,” he grumbles, relenting, aware that Jim is probably right.  Considering what happened the night before, Izzy isn’t going to court further disaster just because he needs some stress relief.  He doesn’t want to imagine the horror, or anger, on Frenchie’s face if he gets wounded again.  “Show me your forms.”

Movements fluid and practiced, Jim goes through the forms, needing little correction.  Still a tendency to over-reach Izzy thinks critically but all in all, not bad.  “Good, now defend yourself.”

He begins the attack and with hardly any effort has Jim backed to the rail.  “Again.”  This time he has to work a little harder but still barely breaks a sweat before Jim’s sword is on the deck.  They repeat the exercise until Jim is able to stop his advance and keep hold of their sword although Izzy easily prevents any attempt to drive him back.

“How are you not out of breath?” Jim wheezes, hands on knees, frowning at him as he stretches his sword arm out.

“Because I’ve been doing it a lot longer and I’m fucking good.  You did better,” Izzy grudgingly admits, knowing that from him it will be taken as high praise.  “Real swords next time.”

“Yessir,” Jim grins, throwing a sloppy salute, their breathing already settling.  “Just remembered, Roach said that when we’re done could you go and help him.  I think he has a job for you.”

Izzy narrows his eyes.  “A job or something to get me out of the way?”

“You’d have to ask him about that, I’m just the messenger.”

Well, it’s not like he has anything else to do.  With a huff, Izzy stamps down to the galley expecting to find a hive of activity.  Instead, he just finds Roach in the kitchen and Fang at the table, peeling potatoes.  The room smells of cinnamon and honey and maybe cardamom beneath and it wraps around him, strangely comforting on his jangling nerves and makes his mouth water just a little.

“Hi boss,” Fang calls, “you come to help?”

“Apparently.”

Seeing him, Roach bustles over, carrying a large pan of water, a board and a knife.  He deposits them at the table opposite Fang and indicates that he should sit.  Izzy can see where this is going as he surveys the pile of potatoes in front of Fang.  “You have to be fucking kidding.”

“Not fucking, not kidding,” Roach tells him, with a wild grin.  “Everyone is busy and today I’m making party food, so if you want to eat tomorrow I need potatoes chopping.”

Izzy is actually very invested in eating tomorrow so he gives in grudgingly, removing his glove and tucking into his belt.  “Fine.  How do you want them?”

“Fang peels, you chop.  Like this.  Small, yes?”  Taking the knife Roach twirls it around and the potato kind of falls into small cubes.  “A man of your talents, should not take long.”

“Flatterer,” Izzy grumbles, ignoring Fang’s grin.

“That’s later,” Roach chuckles and Izzy feels the hint of a touch on the back of his neck before their cook returns to his pans.  He swallows, trying to ignore the flush that goes through him and ends up in his cock.  It’s not like he doesn’t know what’s going to happen later, of course he does, but it’s been at the back of his mind, like a background noise that’s barely audible, just a warm possibility.  Now it’s back at the front again and he won’t be able to stop thinking about it.

“You okay there, boss?” Fang asks, a smile in his voice as he peels.

With a sigh, Izzy grabs the first potato and makes a start.  “Fine.”  Even with his knife skills he can’t hope to emulate the magic of Roach’s chopping but he finds his rhythm.  In the kitchen Roach is hovering over several steaming pans and looks happy, singing softly to himself in a pleasant but slightly out of tune tenor.

They fall into a companionable silence, broken only by the scrape of Fang’s knife and the thunk of Izzy’s on the board.  Izzy tries to work out how many years he’s known Fang and thinks it’s about twenty.  He even had some hair back then, already graying, he remembers.  Ivan joined them about five years later, young but solid and already a seasoned pirate.  The two of them had gravitated together and Izzy knew they were fucking so deliberately picked them out to be his lieutenants.  It never hurt to have like-minded men at his back.

“Do you ever think about Ivan?” he asks, feeling the old familiar sadness that he is no longer with them.  Something else he blames Edward for.

“Every day.”  There’s a hint of disappointment in Fang’s voice that he should have asked and Izzy nods an apology.  Of course Fang thinks of him.

Izzy’s glad Ivan had someone to mourn him.  At the time he was struggling with the Kraken, trying his best to survive, and has always regretted that they couldn’t have done more.  “I miss him.”

“Yeah, boss, me too, but I know he’s not dead.  We’ll find him one day.”

It’s not the first time Izzy’s heard Fang say that and who is he to dispel something that helps the man cope.  “He was shot, Kev,” he says gently, all the same needing to be honest.  “You saw what happened, he went over the side.”

Fang’s gaze is steady, his belief unshaken and Izzy suddenly feels glad that Ivan had someone to care for him so deeply.  “There were other ships around that day and it was only his leg.  He could have survived.”

Izzy finds himself nodding.  It’s not like any of them were able to look over the side and search for him, they were too busy fighting to save their own lives.  “Yeah.  Yeah, he could.  Lucius did and what are the fucking odds of that happening.”

He doesn’t believe it but he doesn’t have to.  It’s enough that it gives Fang hope and the man deserves to have that.  Underneath the pirate, Kevin is a good man and was always loyal to him on the Queen Anne.  The three of them had fucked on occasion when Blackbeard was either off the ship or so drunk he was comatose.  He’d have them tie him up and knock him about a bit but they had always taken care of him when they were done, and he in turn had taken care of them as best as he could.

“Thanks, Izzy,” Fang says quietly, then brightens as he looks at his dwindling pile of potatoes.  “I’ll give you a hand chopping when I’ve finished peeling.”

By the time they’ve finished and the pile of potatoes has been reduced to cubes in the pot, Izzy thinks it may be around an hour before noon and realises that the morning has nearly gone and he’s mostly been too busy to stress.  Until Fang opens his mouth.  “Not long now, boss.  I’m looking forward to later.”

And fuck but that makes him flush.  Christ, he’s acting like a sixteen year old girl.  What's wrong with him?

Fang chuckles, a deep lovely sound.  “I meant the party, boss, and you singing,” Fang grins, knowing exactly what Izzy had thought.  “What did you think I meant?”

“Oh fuck you,” Izzy grumbles, ignoring the twitch at the corner of his mouth.  Despite his whole pirate thing, there’s something sweet about Fang that Izzy has never been able to quite work out, the two things hardly going together.  He ignores the twinkle in the other man’s eyes.

At which point Archie appears and commandeers him to help with decorating the deck and he spends the next hour helping out where he can, slightly distracted by the thought of Archie on her knees and Jim in control. 

His days of climbing the rigging are largely over unless in absolute emergencies but he holds the lanterns and hands them up when told, then helps Archie thread garlands through the rails, still bright from last year’s party.  He’s seen no sight of the Captain or Edward since their meeting and he’s happy to keep it that way but keeps his eye on the aft deck and the watch still being firmly maintained.

Buttons has assured them that Olivia and her new partner Carol, together with some of their friends are watching overhead, but all the same, Izzy prefers a human set of eyes on the job at the same time.  He had no idea though that seagulls were so progressive.

Happy that he’s not needed for a while, he goes below decks to relieve himself not entirely sure how to go about it.  He’s never worn the cage long enough to need it so far, but the urge is becoming something he can no longer ignore.  After a lifetime at sea he’s pissed over the rail more times than he can count, although not in a heavy wind, but privacy is definitely called for this time.  The door doesn’t have a lock but as with most of the crew quarters there’s a sock to hang on the handle if one wants privacy and he makes sure it’s in place before unlacing his leathers.

It turns out that pissing is more of a challenge than he expects and requires him to lean over the pot bracing himself on the wall with his good arm and angling the cage as best as he can with the other.  He knows he’s perfectly at liberty to take it off to piss but he doesn’t feel that he wants to without Frenchie’s permission.

That makes him pause because is that who he is now?  Someone who needs permission to do something?  Yet isn’t that who he has always been, but with a different ‘master’.  He’d often heard it said, when no one thought he could hear, that he was Blackbeard’s dog, yet now when he has gained his freedom, he’s doing the same thing, but for Frenchie.  And yet…

And yet.

It’s not the same and can never be the same.  He’s wearing the cage because he wants to and if he sought permission it would also be because he wanted to.  Don’t question it now, you twat, he tells himself.  It’s not the time and in truth he doesn’t want it to be.  He knows it’s just his nerves coming out because he loves giving this side of himself to his lover and his only regret is that he doesn’t have two knees to go down on for him.

If Frenchie wanted him to wear his collar right now, he knows he’d do it.

When he comes back on deck the crew have disappeared, probably into the galley as it’s nearly noon but Frenchie is leaning back against the rail, eyes closed, enjoying the sun.  His elbows are back, his pose casual and unconsciously sexy in a way Izzy could never emulate, those slender hips canted out a little and Izzy wants to suck him down right there.  Despite the deck being unusually deserted, it takes all his self-control to slowly walk over.  Frenchie hears him, of course, and watches, a wicked little smile twisting his mouth because he knows exactly the effect he’s having.

Izzy assumes he’s waiting for him on purpose and has probably arranged for the empty deck but he’s not complaining.  Whatever it is, he’ll play.

“And you call me a menace,” Izzy drawls, trawling his eyes up and down.  “Might have to do without lunch and just eat you instead.”

“As I recall, you’ve done that already,” Frenchie purrs.  “And bloody good it was too.”

A stickler for protocol all his life, Izzy has never behaved like this on deck before and he finds that he doesn’t actually care.  He’s been irrevocably damaged, it seems, and may be too broken to ever be put back together again.  “Never too late for seconds.  There are some things I’m always eager to… dine on.”

“Are you flirting with me, Mister Hands?”  Frenchie grins, pulling him in by his waistcoat.  Izzy’s hands automatically go to Frenchie’s hips while Frenchie’s arms go around his neck, holding him loosely, and Izzy’s suddenly very glad he’s wearing the cage because he’d be hard as hell right now if he wasn’t.  As it is, he can only just about ignore the discomfort of his cock trying to swell but being denied. 

Looking up at his lover thoughtfully, he makes a show of considering, being sure to grind his cage as unobtrusively as he can against him at the same time.  “Flirting, Mister French?  No.  Suggesting that I’d like to bend you over and eat your arse out again right now?  Yes, fucking absolutely.”

“Iiiiz,” Frenchie groans plaintively, drawing his name out endearingly.  “You… are a… very… bad… man.”  He punctuates his words with brief kisses, quick tame things but made hot by the fact that they are on deck.

Izzy hums happily, giving him his shark grin.  “And you love it.”

Despite his nerves, not entirely banished by the stripes on his arse, coupled with the anticipation of what will happen after the party, Izzy is nevertheless enjoying this game.  They’ve never been this open before other than in the playroom, their cabin and at Haram and it’s adding an extra frisson of enjoyment.  He shouldn’t like it so much, he knows, because this life they have chosen is never easy and they are never truly safe but just for once it’s so good to simply let go.

“You know I do, sexy man,” Frenchie murmurs, briefly resting their heads together.  “Are we good, handsome?”

“We are so fucking good,” Izzy tells him, the flirting shifting into something deeper and more intimate.  Wanting more he pushes his hands under Frenchie’s shirt and hums happily when he finds warm velvety skin.

“So how did your meeting go?”

“Same as always,” Izzy replies, claiming another brief kiss, “although the pair of them are falling over themselves to be nice to me at the moment so I got the Captain to agree to go to Port Royal next to get my leg fixed up.”

He recounts the conversation with them about the commission and mention of Sebastian’s title, leaving Frenchie chuckling.  “Oh God, I wish I’d seen their faces.”

Izzy huffs, pleased.  “They deserved it, the pair of them.  I came on a bit strong with the suggestion that Sebastian was my lover and Edward was not a happy pirate.”

“I bet he wasn’t.  But he behaved himself?”

“Mostly, yeah.  Made me feel a bit stabby though.”

“You haven’t stabbed anyone for ages,” Frenchie notes, straight faced.  “I’m very proud of you.”

Wriggling a little, Izzy presses himself even closer.  “I’m getting boring,” he jokes mournfully, giving his hips a playful shimmy, hardly noticeable to anyone watching but very noticeable to anyone he might be pressed against.

“You couldn’t be boring if you fucking tried,” Frenchie groans, dipping his head to claim another kiss.  Their height difference is a pain sometimes but Frenchie never seems to mind.  “And you can stop doing that, you minx.  You might not be able to get hard but I don’t want to be stuck with a stiffie.” 

Something fizzy and mischievous bubbles up in Izzy and he feels the frustrations of the last day just slide away.  Frenchie’s almost prim admonishment is the perfect catalyst and he just can’t help himself for leaning up and murmuring into Frenchie’s ear.  “What’s the matter, Daddy?  Can dish it out but can’t take it?”

He watches in delight as Frenchie’s eyes open wide and his jaw drops.  “You…,” he starts, before looking around wildly, and seeing no one about, grabs Izzy’s wrist and marches him down to the next deck into the first room he comes to and pausing only long enough to put the sock on the door handle, slams the door behind them, before pushing Izzy up against it.  It’s the Jam Room and thankfully it’s empty although Izzy isn’t sure that he’d care if it wasn’t.

“You fucking little brat,” Frenchie grinds out, grabbing his wrists and pinning them against the door over his head.  His eyes are glittering with something sharp and amused and that almost surprised dominating gleam that Izzy loves so much, as though Frenchie has no idea where it comes from but is unable to help himself.  “What am I going to do with you?”

There he is, Izzy grins smugly.  Well, that worked.  “Whatever the fuck you want, I’d imagine,” Izzy returns, pushing his hips forward again.  “Only seems to me that you’ve backed yourself into a corner, love.  My cock’s in a cage and you won’t fuck me because you’re keeping my hole all pretty and tight for later, so what are you going to do, Daddy?”

It’s a challenge and they both know it but they also both know that Frenchie’s more than capable of handling him.  He also remembers saying the same thing to Frenchie last night and recalls only too well what it got him.

He sucks in a breath as he feels Frenchie’s nimble fingers unlacing his pants.  “Do you have any idea what you're doing to me right now?  Just when I think you’re behaving you have to go and Daddy me.  Want to know what that gets you, babe?  It gets you put over my knee, that’s fucking what.”

He’s not given time to think before he’s grabbed, his pants shoved down to the top of his thighs and Frenchie’s suddenly pulling and draping him over his lap, pushing him down, both wrists caught again and held behind his back this time.  He could get away if he wanted, could even maim if the need arose; instead he waits for the first slap and isn’t disappointed when it comes.  Sharp and strong, Frenchie’s hand comes down on his arse and it’s thrilling, the sting of it running through him like a shiver on a cold day.

“More,” he growls, although it actually sounds more like a whine and he’d feel embarrassed if he could give a shit right now.

“Really?” Frenchie asks sounding annoyingly pleased and not the least bit thrown by his demand, probably expecting it now he’s shown his bratty colours.  “Do you really want more bruises on you before tonight?  Your arse is already striped.”

“You said you were putting me over your knee,” Izzy replies, sulkily.  “What’s the fucking point if you’re not going to hurt me.”

For that he receives another harsh slap on the other cheek which forces out a moan.  “That I did, baby girl.  Didn’t say what I was doing with you though, did I?”

“Daddy…,” Izzy moans, trying to goad him but just receives a chuckle.

“Oh no, you’ve had your fun with that one.  You’ll get eight more for being such a brat and then I’m going to make you come and we’ll see if that makes you behave until the party.”

Izzy really wants to protest that he wasn’t misbehaving at all until Frenchie started being all prim and proper with him which just couldn’t go without some form of retribution, but he remains quiet.  What’s the point of being a masochist if you’re going to plead innocence?

He still jumps when the first slap lands on his arse.  He knows he doesn’t have a lot of padding there which makes them hurt more, each one sharp and heavy and Christ knows how Frenchie’s hands can take it but he delivers eight more stunningly harsh blows and Izzy relishes each one.  This game they play, the push and the pull, the give and the take, completes him, makes him whole.  The game is not new to him, he’d played it with Sebastian but it wasn’t the same.  Only with Frenchie does he feel so safe, so protected when he’s like this, open and vulnerable and needy.  All it would take is a word to stop it, a colour whispered, and he’d be back on his feet being taken care of but just because he can, he knows that he’ll never need to.

“There,” Frenchie croons, rubbing his inflamed skin, still sore from the bite of the cane the day before.  “Is that enough for you?  Made you feel better, hmmm?”

His skin feels hot and Frenchie’s hand is hotter still as it soothes him and he nods, breathing out a contented sigh.  It’s not as much as he’d have liked but it was still good.  Then it sinks in what Frenchie just said and he has a moment of mild panic.  I’m going to make you come.  He won’t be able to, will he?  Not when his cock can’t swell.

Then, as an oiled finger carefully pushes into him and goes unerringly for the spot within that can drive him out of his mind, he realises what Frenchie intends and he gives a resigned moan, knowing better than to fight it.  The fact that he had oil with him barely registers.

“Good boy,” Frenchie murmurs, feeling him give in, gently rubbing the back of his neck with his other hand.  “Just one to relieve the pressure and then you can come as many times as you like tonight.”

“Take it off, please…” Izzy almost sobs.  “It’s too much.”

One finger becomes two and starts rubbing in an implacable circle over the exquisite patch of nerves.  “No,” Frenchie says firmly.  “It and comes off when I say and not before.”

As it always does, Frenchie’s quiet but easy domination makes his head start to swim.  The margin between sweet, coltish Frenchie and his Dom with his effortless control, is so faint, so narrow, that they bleed into each other constantly and Izzy is powerless to prevent his response when it is turned on him so quickly.

As he feels the sensation build, sparking through him, dreadful and at the same time exquisitely good, Izzy feels himself go fuzzy, his head floating as Frenchie’s fingers milk the strange not-orgasm out of him with a shuddering cry.

“Good boy, good Iz,” Frenchie praises, petting him as though he was a dog, Izzy thinks through the haze.  “That’s enough for now.  Come on, let’s get you comfy.”  Releasing his arms and stroking his back through the worst of the trembling, Frenchie pulls him up and somehow settles them both on the floor, Izzy in his lap, still fully dressed apart from his pants around his thighs.  “You okay, baby?”

“Fuck, yeah.”  Nestled against his lover’s chest, held in his arms, Izzy feels surprisingly sated as his head starts to clear.  He hadn’t intended for anything like that to happen but the spontaneity of it had been as delicious as it had been unexpected and Frenchie, he knows, is never one to waste an opportunity.  “Not sure where the fuck that came from though.”

There’s an amused rumble from deep within Frenchie’s chest.  “You went and used the ‘D’ word so what do you expect?”

Izzy snorts.  “Thought it was supposed to be my kink, not yours.”

“Ha, so you do admit it,” Frenchie crows, delighted.  “About fucking time.”

“Oh, fuck off.”  Izzy knows damn well that he has a Daddy kink which at his age is fucking ridiculous and he no idea why, but he’s learned to accept so much about himself in the last few months that he’s largely made his peace with it.  “Don’t try to tell me you don’t get off on it too, dragging me down here and having your way with me.”

“Actually, I didn’t, babe,” Frenchie observes, with a sly smile.  “That’ll be later.”

Yet again, Izzy has managed to forget about the big ‘later’ and now it comes crashing back.  As it gets closer, the singing part of the evening actually seems less daunting than what’s to come after.  He doesn’t know what to expect which to his ordered mind makes it stressful when it shouldn’t be.  He wants it though, he really does, but he also needs to know that Frenchie will have a good time as well.  “About tonight,” he says carefully, plucking at Frenchie’s shirt.  “If you want to go with someone else; suck, fuck, whatever, I don't mind.”

Frenchie’s answering smile is sweet as he inclines his head to kiss him.  “Don't need to, babe, you're all I want.”

Whilst he understands that Frenchie doesn’t slut about, Izzy isn’t sure the likes the thought of Frenchie being remote from what’s happening, just watching but not close enough to touch.  “Then will you join in, if only with me?  Let me touch you and kiss you?”

“I’ll be doing that, I promise, but tonight’s about you and I need to make sure they look after you.  They all want you, babe, but if you got a bit floaty in your head I’m not sure you could say no if there was anything you didn’t want.”

Anything he didn’t want?  They were just going to fuck him, weren’t they?  Unless…  “You might need to clarify that, love.  What would they do that I didn’t want?”

Frowning, Frenchie shifts him a bit so Izzy can see his face.  “What if someone wanted to pinch or slap?  Restrain your arms?  Put a hand on your throat, or bite you?  Course, it doesn’t have to go that way.  They’d be sweet, if you wanted, kind.  Gentle.  It’d be up to you.”

Izzy feels like the breath has been punched out of him.  It had never occurred to him that he’d have a choice, that he could have anything he wanted.  Somehow he’d had it in his mind that he’d be bent over and fucked and that would be it.  But this… this… astonishes him somehow because he realises that he wants to be treasured and petted and told what to do and maybe hurt just a little bit but most of all he wants to be loved. 

And he can have it, all of it.

“What if I want both?” he asks, swallowing, not meeting Frenchie’s eyes.  There’s a small part of him, the Izzy that stabs and maims and relishes it, who rails against wanting it like that, but he’s very good at ignoring it because the rest of him wants it very much.  “What if I want the pinches and slaps and bites but I want kindness too?”

“Then that’s what you’ll get,” Frenchie says simply, taking his chin and making him look.  His dark eyes are warm and sparkling, understanding and pride gleaming back at him.  “You can have whatever you want, baby.”

“Then I want that and for you to be in charge.  Not like a scene, not as Sir,” he clarifies.  He wants to say for Frenchie to keep him safe but that isn’t right because it’s not like he’ll not be safe.  This is his crew, his family, but he also knows that they’ll be drinking and he has no doubt that some weed will have been passed around and a pack mentality can sometimes set in when fucking is on the table.  He also knows that he’s more… fragile than he used to be, not physically, but when he looks in the mirror he can see the damage Edward did to him in the set of his mouth, the lines around his eyes and the pain that sometimes reflects back at him from their green flecked depths.  “Just…”

“Just as your boyfriend,” Frenchie supplies when he can’t find the words, stroking his cheek with a gentle callused thumb.  “Just as the man who’s in love with you, yeah?”

“Yeah.”  He gives a slightly bashful crooked smile.  Frenchie being in control gives him a framework, a safety net and it makes him relax.

“And if I asked you to do something, in front of the others, would you do it?  Nothing bad or humiliating, I promise.”

He nods, trusting Frenchie, and feels a soft shiver run through him, anticipation and just a little thrill at the thought of his lover directing him, telling him what to do.  He’s going to be naked and used and loved and he’s not quite sure how he’s going to get through the next few hours now he knows what’s going to happen.

“You've got me so hot thinking about it.  Seeing you with Roach and John might well be too much for me.”

“From what I’ve heard of John, might be too much for me as well,” Izzy says wryly, although he doubts it after some of the things Frenchie’s done to him.  He remembers Roach telling him that he had a big cock so John isn’t going to be the only one stretching him.

“Don’t you worry, babe, you’ll be so open by then he’s going to slide right in.” 

“Fuck, Frenchie,” Izzy groans and he wonders if he’s going to survive to actually get to the fucking.  “Not fucking helping.”

They look at each other and both start to chuckle and Izzy knows his beautiful, and just a little strange, man will make everything all right.  They are interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.  “Food’s on the table, lovebirds,” Lucius sing songs.  “And seriously, are you two not past the ‘ripping each other’s clothes off at every opportunity’ stage yet?”

“Apparently not,” Frenchie calls back, amused.  “How did you know we were in here?”

“Babe, everyone knows you’re in there.  If you want to be secret pick a room further away from the galley next time.”

Ignoring Frenchie’s laughter, Izzy opens his mouth to speak but Lucius beats him to it.  “Yeah, I know.  Fuck off, Spriggs.”

Izzy huffs.  “Fuck off, Spriggs.”  And hears laughter retreating.

He allows Frenchie to help him back to his feet and by the time he’s tucked away and as neat as he can make himself without a mirror, Frenchie has also composed himself.

“This fucking ship needs proper rooms and sound proofing,” Izzy mutters and just for a moment he thinks of what could be done with a little ingenuity and plenty of coin.

“Like that’ll ever happen,” Frenchie snorts.  “The Captain’s got a big fancy cabin for fucking but we just get wherever we can find.”

Izzy refrains from pointing out that at least they have a cabin, tiny though it is, but it’s started him thinking and he can’t help but wonder how amenable Bonnet might be to some changes below decks.

There are a few giggles and a whistle when they enter the galley and Frenchie gives a florid bow, unconcerned.  Izzy just huffs and sits at his place on the end, always left for him so he can stretch his hoof out to the side.  His arse is still throbbing but he tries not to show it.  Frenchie sits opposite and grins to him as conversation starts around them.

From what Lucius said it seems everyone thinks they were just having a quick grope which is fine by him.  He's surprised that they must have been a little quieter than he thought.

It’s then that he notices the plate in front of him and feels his cheeks redden.  Christ, is this going to be his reaction every time he sees a plate of food from now on?  Glancing up he sees Frenchie watching him, a secret smile in his eyes, knowing exactly what he's thinking.  Then he notices Lucius smirking, his devious little mind also working out what's going on.  Forcing himself to relax he flips Lucius the finger and picks up his fork.  When he looks back to Frenchie he’s smiling too but there's a promise in his eyes.  Not now, they say, but soon.

As they eat he catches Roach looking at him a few times and it makes him falter.  When he deliberately looks back, Roach smiles and it’s warm, the look in his eyes surprisingly gentle.  I’ll take care of you, we all will.  Don’t worry.

He nods and quickly looks away.  Gentle and hurt, he thinks to himself, repeating it over, gentle and hurt.  Loved and wanted and pinched and… 

Lost in his thoughts he doesn’t take any notice of the conversation until he hears Jim say something that catches his attention.

“No, the suit was cursed, not the ship,” Jim retorts.  “Ships don’t get cursed.”

Needing a distraction, Izzy recalls a fuckery he once pulled and wonders if he can get away with it with this lot.  Worth a try, he decides, curious to see who will fall for it.

“There are cursed ships,” he says quietly, buttering his bread.  “Saw one with my own eyes once.”  Silence falls around the table and he looks up to see them all looking at him expectantly.  “What?”

“Seriously?” Pete exclaims.  “You can’t say something like that and not follow it up.”

“Yeah, come on,” Archie follows.  “Tell us about the cursed ship.”

He makes a show of looking reluctant.  “It’s not a story for the lunch table.  You’d not thank me for it.”

He catches Frenchie looking at him oddly so he carefully moves his foot and rubs it against Frenchie’s, but keeps his face impassive.  Keep quiet, let me play.  And Frenchie seems to get it because he relaxes and gives a barely perceptible nod.

There is a clamour of voices demanding the story.  The only one not at the table is Olu, who is currently on watch and Izzy looks around at their eager faces, pausing for a moment at Buttons, who winks slyly.

“All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.  Has anyone heard of The Flying Dutchman?”

There are shaken heads and a few ‘no’s’ and an amused smile from Buttons.  “I think you have, Nathaniel.”

“That I have, Israel, that I have.  I’ll no interrupt your tale though,” Buttons smirks and leans back in his chair.

Giving him a nod, Izzy turns back to his audience.  “The Flying Dutchman,” he says slowly, giving the name hushed respect, “is a Dutch frigate, doomed to sail the seas forever and never find land.  Her Captain made a deal with the devil, no one living knows what for, but was tricked and can never leave the sea.”  He pauses for effect, making his gloved hand into a fist.  “And I’ve seen her.”

And just like that, he has them, eating out of the palm of his hand.  As with any good fuckery the trick is to take your time and not rush it so he finishes the piece of bread before putting his fork down.

“I’d be about sixteen, new to piracy.  The Navy ship I was on was raided so I deserted and joined The Ranger.”

Pete frowns.  “The Ranger?  That was Hornigold’s ship.  You were on there?”

Izzy nods, kicking himself for not inventing a ship instead of dredging up the past. 

“Heard he was a really bad one,” John said.  “What happened to him?”

“Someone cut off the abusing fuckers cock and balls, stuffed them in his mouth and left him to bleed out on his bed,” Izzy said shortly, noticing Frenchie’s eyes narrow.  Although he doesn’t know the details of the abuse Izzy suffered at his old Captain’s hands, Frenchie knows enough to suspect it was something bad. 

“Fuck,” Pete whispers, looking shocked for a moment.  “Brutal.”

“But what about the ship?” Frenchie asks and Izzy could kiss him for the nudge back on track.  He knows his man well enough now to know that he won’t forget about Hornigold’s death but won’t bring it up until the time is right.

“The Ranger was a solid ship, a thirty gun sloop that rode low in the water although she had a turn of speed when she wanted.  We were heading for Dominica.  Fuck knows why, the Captain didn’t tell us anything but that’s where we were going. 

“As the day went on the sky darkened, becoming grey with a westerly starting to blow and we all knew a storm was brewing, a bad one.  We had everything battened down then the watch spotted a battered frigate closing on us.  You should have seen it, the sails were tattered and ripped and we could see she was old.  It wasn’t even worth raiding but when they signalled to say they were far from home and would we take their letters, the Captain was feeling generous and said that we would.  Maybe he thought there was something we could use in them, I don’t know. 

“Anyway, we signalled back and they dropped a barrel in their wake so we reefed the main sail and slowed down enough to fish it out.  Everyone’s attention was on the barrel but I watched the old ship sail off, realising that it was heading straight into the storm.  It was me who yelled for the First Mate to look and we all watched, open mouthed, as it turned about, right in front of the tempest.  And here’s the thing, the ship wasn’t touched, it just sat there, like it was waiting.”  He lowers his voice.  “It was like the storm was waiting for the ship, like they were in league with each other.  Next thing the Captain’s screaming for us to unfurl the sails and when we looked back the storm was like a wall of death behind the battered ship and it was suddenly heading straight for us.”

He pauses and takes a drink of water, every eye on him now.

“We ran, let the sails down quicker than I’ve ever seen before but it still took too long.  We’d lost most of our speed when we hooked the barrel and now we were going too slow. 

“Suddenly we’re being chased.  Behind us was the battered ship and those tattered sails were holding more wind than we were and behind that, the storm, as though they were working together.  I tell you, that fucking ship had rage in its sales and it was hunting us.”  He lets his voice drop to a harsh whisper.

“Oh my God, what happened?” Lucius asks, wide eyed, as Jim crosses themself.

“We all manned the lines and the Captain stayed at the wheel even though the storm was all about us.  The thunder sounded like demons and lightning was stabbing the waves all around us.  The next thing the ship seemed to leap at us, closing in no matter what we did. 

“We crested wave after wave, diving down into trough after trough, all of us hanging on for dear life, and from the cursed ship we heard… laughter.”

Stopping for effect, he looks round the table at each of them again.  Six pairs of wide eyes and two filled with amusement look back.

“Then the Quartermaster sights land and we all knew it was our only chance.  If that ship caught us, it would have our souls.

“The Captain spun the wheel, every muscle straining,” he continues, hushed, “and we turned towards the natural harbour, every one of us willing the ship onward even when the mast began to bend.  Men were praying, calling to their Gods and hanging on for dear life as the storm raged on around us.   But we made it by a whisker, charging into Santa Marta like the devil was on our tail, which it fucking well was.  We didn’t have time to reef the sails so we cut the lines and dropped them, desperate then to slow down because we were going too fast but all the same, every one of us stopped when we heard the screams.”

Hanging on his every word they don’t seem to have realised he’s paused.  “Who was screaming?” Jim whispers, eyes wide.

He leans forward, both hands down on the table as though trying to hold on.  “The Dutchman,” he grates, lowering his voice.  “Before it peeled away, the ship was screaming because it had lost its prey.  It was a terrible sound full of rage and malice and spite.”  He spits out the last word and chuckles to himself when Lucius jumps.

“Once we were in the bay the storm dropped as quickly as it had come so the Captain opened the barrel to see what was inside and as they said, it was full of letters.  I was one of the few hands who could read so he called me over to help him go through them, and here’s the thing, every single letter was at least a hundred years old.  Everyone they were addressed to would be long dead.”

Apart from Buttons, who is very aware of what he’s doing, they are hanging on his every word, even Fang, who really should know better.

“Fuck,” Archie breathes, “that’s sick, man.”

Pete looks at him in awe.  “And that was it?  The ship and the storm just went?”

Izzy nods.  “Yeah, once they were denied their prey they vanished into the mist but I know of two other ships since then that wasn’t so lucky and were sunk by the Dutchman, every soul on board… lost… forever.”

Falling silent, he watches them keenly, waiting for someone to crack.  In the end it’s Jim, who fixes him with a suspicious look.  “Did that really happen?”

Keeping his face straight, a finely honed skill learned during the years he spent not reacting to Edward’s antics, he puts a hand over his heart.

“Jim, I swear to you on my life,” he says in hushed tones, “that everything I've told you,” he pauses and swallows, looks at them solemnly, “is… absolute bollocks.”

It takes a moment.

Lucius is the first.

“Oh my God, oh my God, you... fuck!” Lucius shrieks, throwing a piece of bread at him.  Opposite him Frenchie is laughing delightedly and then the whole table is in uproar and he finds himself at the bottom of a ridiculous hug pile, surrounded by laughter that he had fooled them so completely.

“The next person who tries to hug me is getting stabbed,” he threatens, once he’s released, glaring at Pete who holds his hands up and laughs retreating.  “Unless they’re my boyfriend.”

“I could be your boyfriend too,” Roach offers, looking at him with soft doe-like eyes, his mouth quirking as he tries not to laugh.

“Position’s filled.”

“You could have more than one.”

“I barely have enough energy to keep Frenchie satisfied,” Izzy smirks and doesn’t miss his lover’s snort of laughter.

“You’re going to tell us next that you’re not a young man,” Roach teases.

Amused, Izzy shrugs.  “Well, I’m not.”

“Could have fooled me from the amount you two get it on,” Roach replies archly, his eyes twinkling.

Fortunately, Buttons comes to his rescue before Izzy has to get his knife out.  “That was a fine tale you told, Israel,” Buttons compliments.  “Don’t think I could have done better myself.  You should have a go at yon story time one evening.”

“Kind of you to say so, Nathaniel, but Bonnet would probably throw me overboard for stealing his thunder.”

“You could persuade him.  Probably even get him to believe the tooth fairy’s real,” Lucius says grumpily.  “Can’t believe I fell for it.”

Frenchie gives Lucius a disbelieving look.  “Babe, the tooth fairy is real.  Don’t let him hear you say that.  What would happen if he went on strike?  It would cause chaos all over the world.”

“Oh, don’t you fucking start,” Lucius snaps, then looks from Izzy to Frenchie and shakes his head, pointing to Frenchie with his wooden finger.  “You, this is your fault, stop encouraging him.  The old Izzy might have been a grumpy little gremlin but at least we knew where we were with him.  Now we have this sexy fucking man, flouncing about in his coloured shirts, telling ghost stories, and getting hugged and… fucking laughing.  It’s not normal.”

“Seem to remember promising to stab the next person who tried to hug me,” Izzy comments, highly entertained by Lucius’ outburst and he realises with something akin to shock that he's having fun.  “And I do not fucking flounce.”

His face breaking out into a grin, Lucius is round the table in a flash and Izzy finds himself wrapped up from behind in a ridiculously strong hug.  “You won’t stab me, you like me too much.”

“Get off, you twat.”

“Gremlin.”

“Bitch.”

Laughing, Lucius kisses him on the cheek and releases him, hugging Frenchie too on the way back to his seat.  This Lucius is flirty and full of mischief, hard to believe that he’s the same man who slaps his face when Izzy hasn’t followed the rules and who reduced him to tears with his belt.  Izzy still isn’t sure where Dom Lucius hides but all the same, he very much likes it when he comes out to play.

Finishing off his food, Izzy shares an fond look with Frenchie, feeling a quiet joy at how easy this is, the teasing and jokes and the warmth that he’d never expected to be a part of.  To be accepted and liked, even loved, is a thing he never knew he needed until it was forced upon him and now he wouldn’t know how to be without it.  He’s part of this family now, slightly unhinged, sometimes alarming, and possibly crazy, but a family nonetheless.

Talk around the table eventually goes back to normal and as plates are emptied, they begin to drift away.  As they leave he gets slaps on his back and even a couple of kisses on his cheek and reflects that only a year ago he would have had somebody’s hand off for that. 

Before he leaves, John asks Izzy if he’ll come for a quick waistcoat fitting as he’s moved the buttons in a bit.  He’s also expected in his room at six o’clock to have his face done and to dress for the party.  Then Roach extracts a promise that Izzy will come to the kitchen after that to taste test some of the food.

“How come he gets to do it?” Archie complains.

“Because he's the boss and he will also tell me the truth,” Roach replies, winking at Izzy.  “The rest of you will just want to flatter me to get more.”

“So what have you got planned for me now?” Izzy asks, when there is only the two of them left.  “I know what’s going on, that you’ve all been keeping me busy.  I even chopped fucking potatoes this morning.”

Frenchie doesn’t even attempt to deny it.  “And they are probably the best chopped potatoes in the Caribbean, babe.  I was actually wondering if you’d do my hair.”

“You trust me with it today?” he asks, surprised.  He’d assumed that John would be doing it for him.

“Course I do.  You’re getting really good at it now.”

“I like doing things for you,” he admits, flushing a little. 

A few weeks ago he’d watched Frenchie carefully slicking his hands and working some kind of light oil into his hair, then taking small sections and twisting it into tufts and found himself fascinated by it, especially when the results were so… pretty.

“Show me,” he’d said.  “Show me how to do that for you.”

“Really?”

“Why not?  You shave me and I enjoy it.  Let me do something for you.  Do you think I’d be shit at it?”

“Are you shit at anything?”

Izzy considered.  “No.”

“It’s not really the kind of thing a pirate would do.”

“Don’t give a fuck,” Izzy said succinctly, with a smirk.  “It’s the kind of thing a boyfriend would do.”  Izzy liked being a boyfriend, he liked it very much and wanted to be good at it.  That had earned him one of Frenchie’s lovely quick pleased smiles and he had been shown how much oil to put on his hands, how to run it through, how to gather and twist and it turned out that he wasn’t shit at it at all.

So now he’s standing behind his seated man, glove off and purple sleeves rolled up, slowly working sweet smelling oil through his hair and humming happily to himself.

“What’s got you so amused?” Frenchie asks, softly plucking his lute in accompaniment.

“Just wondering what anyone would make of Israel Hands, terror of the high seas, doing his half naked boyfriend’s hair,” he replies with sardonic amusement.

“They’d probably be queuing up to get such a sexy man to do their hair too.”

Izzy scoffs but can’t help the warm glow inside whenever Frenchie says things like that.  It’s taken him a long time to accept it, that he can have words like that and moreover that Frenchie believes they are true, maybe even that they are a little true.

“Taking about hair, I was thinking of asking John to cut mine,” he says, a hint of a question in his voice.  It’s getting long and is becoming harder to keep under control but maybe he thinks he’d like a change too, as so much else about him is changing.

Sensing his indecision, Frenchie leans his head back to look up at him.  “Babe, I’ll love your hair however you have it.  You're going to look beautiful no matter what.”

“Haven’t decided,” he admits.  He knows that Frenchie likes it longer but there are still options.  He’ll see what John suggests.

Frenchie’s eyes twinkle as he looks up at him and leans his head back further.  “Kiss,” he orders, pursing his lips.

Smirking, Izzy leans in and does as he’s told.  Kissing Frenchie upside down is weird but nice, their beards tickling each other’s noses as their tongues briefly touch.

He’s just started on the hair at the back when Frenchie puts his lute down and picks up his latest whittling project from where he’d left it on the bed, turning it over in his hands.  It’s going to be a dolphin but he’s only got the basic outline yet.  “This is so cool, babe.  Would you teach me how to do it?”

Izzy freezes, filled with momentary dread.  There are times when his lover is as graceful and elegant as a swan and other times when he seems not to have got the hang of his limbs.  “Fuck, no,” he replies firmly, not even pausing.

“Baaaabe,” Frenchie whines, turning it into three syllables.  “Why not?”

With an exasperated sigh, Izzy moves round the chair to stand in front of him, his arms crossed sternly.  “Frenchie, love of my life, light of my darkness, do you seriously think I'm going to put you anywhere near a sharp knife?  Have we forgotten that you are the man who famously nailed his shirt to the deck?  I would give it less than a minute before one of your thumbs is on the floor and I really don't think Roach would be able to stitch it back on and it still work.”

As Frenchie processes that, Izzy is entertained to see the makings of a pout.  “Are you saying I'm clumsy?”

“Yes, I absolutely am.”   

“Brutal babe, and rude.”

“And true.”

“You are no fun.”

Izzy raises his eyebrows at that.  Excuse me?  With a shimmy he’s becoming surprisingly good at considering his leg, he slides himself onto Frenchie’s lap.  It’s a little off center but it has the desired effect, especially as his lover is left handed so dresses on the right.  Putting his arms around Frenchie’s neck he shamelessly grinds his caged cock against him.

“I think you know fucking well,” he says, lowering his voice and giving a grunt of pleasure when strong hands grip his arse, pulling him closer, “that I’m a whole bundle of fun but I’m still not letting you anywhere near a whittling knife.  Trust me when I say that I’m very invested in you keeping all your fingers.”

He breathes that last, his mouth ghosting over Frenchie’s then moves back, Frenchie chasing him, but he shakes his head, putting a finger over his lips.  He finds this easier now, loves it even, coming on like this and making the first move.  Loves being playful and sexy, ambushing Frenchie when he’s not expecting it and, it has to be said, reaping the rewards.

“You didn’t seem to mind so much when I was carving my initial into your skin,” Frenchie points out breathily, when Izzy removes his finger, allowing him to speak.

“Totally different kind of knife work,” Izzy dismisses, leaning in to lick a particularly enticing hollow at the base of Frenchie’s throat.  It’s been a favourite of his for some time now and he’s rewarded by a soft moan.  So predictable, he grins to himself.  He moves to the side of Frenchie’s neck and licks a biting bruise onto him, less noticeable on caramel skin than his own boring white, but still evident if anyone looks closely.  He doesn’t do this often, lay claim to his lover’s body, usually it’s the other way around and he loves it like that, but sometimes he just can’t help himself.  “Skin is soft,” he explains, nuzzling into the lovely bit of skin beneath Frenchie’s ear, “but wood is… hard.”  He punctuates that with a grind of his hips and another bite, raising another mark, higher up this time.  “And they need different… pressures,” he emphasises, smugly feeling a response against him and does it again, mercilessly.  He’s quite aware there may be repercussions for his slutty behaviour but he’s having too much fun to stop, especially when his boyfriend is looking so aroused.

Frenchie’s mouth has fallen open and his eyes are hooded glitter.  “Lucius is right, I’ve created a bratty monster.”

Izzy huffs, licking over his lips, watching as Frenchie’s gaze follows the movement of his tongue.  “You fucking love it, don’t try and tell me you don’t.”  This is getting interesting and he’s curious to see where it will end up.  A better spanking maybe?  Izzy feels his insides curl at the thought of it.  He knows it’s only play but it’s always fun pushing Frenchie because he’s so good at responding in kind.  The irony isn’t lost on him that he’s created a monster of his own, one very capable of turning the tables on him.

“Of course I do,” Frenchie responds, gripping his arse even tighter.  His voice is suddenly low with just a hint of a growl.  “It gives me the excuse to spank some manners into you.”

“Call that a fucking spanking?” Izzy snorts, ignoring the shiver he gets when Frenchie uses that voice.  “It was more like a tickle.  You'd have to work a lot harder than that to beat the brat out of me.”

He’s hardly finished speaking when there’s a hand in his hair pulling his head back, exposing his throat.  Oh yes, that works.  Straining against the bars of its cage, Izzy’s cock joins in enthusiastically making him moan as the pressure increases, frustratingly unable to harden.  Not sure what to do with his hands, he puts them behind his back, clasping them together, his posture now one of submission even though his mouth hasn’t joined in yet.

With an iron grip, Frenchie holds his head in place,  nipping his jaw, teeth deliciously sharp.  “Do you seriously think I’m going to put any more bruises on you today, brat?  You’re going to be on display tonight, or had you forgotten?”

Fuck.  Actually, he had.  It’s so easy to get carried away when they start playing like this.  It doesn’t seem to be stopping Frenchie from sucking a bite onto his neck though, easily visible above his collar, and Izzy loves how effortlessly Frenchie switches from boyfriend to Dom.  It’s utterly seamless and beautiful to watch.  It’s not even a persona he adopts, it’s him, right there, waiting just below the surface.   

Breathing harder, the bite good but not enough, he lets the brat drop away, and he’s left feeling needy, whether for pain or just attention, he isn’t sure, but he’ll take anything this man will give him.

“I’ll be good,” he rasps out, knowing he probably looks as desperate as he sounds.  “Be your good boy.  Anything you want.  Use me, hurt me, I don’t care.  It doesn’t have to bruise.”

Just do something.

“Oh, my lovely needy boy,” Frenchie croons, letting go of his hair and taking his chin, tilting his head to study the bite he’s just made on his neck.  “Such a slut for pain.  Would you like to play, then, sweet thing?  Wear your collar for a bit, hmmm?”  

Fuck, yes.  It’s only a day since he was in his collar but the need never goes away, it’s become a part of him now.  Although to be fair, Izzy hadn’t even thought about playing, was happy doing Frenchie’s hair, until things got a bit… heated, but now his cock is straining in its prison at the thought of it.  “Yes,” he pleads softly, behaving now.  “Please…”

The room is so small that Frenchie can easily reach the desk and pull the collar from out of the drawer.  “You've been so good today, until that bratty little display a few minutes ago anyway.  Not that I wasn’t enjoying it,” Frenchie adds, with a smirk, buckling it on.  

Izzy has never worn it over his clothes before and it feels a little odd sitting above his shirt collar and not as tight as he'd like but it's still there and he feels himself drop.  “Please, Sir,” he begs, although he doesn’t know for what.

Frenchie hums appreciatively, a pleased sound that Izzy loves being the cause of.  “Little slut, rubbing against me like a dog.  Did you think I was going to let that one slide?  Let’s see what we can do that won’t bruise.  Stand up and open your pants.”

He obeys instantly, Frenchie’s voice a little harder now in the way that makes shivers walk up his spine, and there's something almost humiliating about being fully dressed and exposing himself, even to his lover, that makes him want to squirm.  He wants to know what Frenchie is going to do because he can’t think of many things that won’t leave a mark.  Almost breathless with anticipation he puts his hands behind his back again, needing Frenchie to see that he’s going to be good.

“Look at that pretty cock, so snug in its little cage.”  With nimble gentle fingers, quite belying Izzy’s concerns about him with a knife, Frenchie eases him out of the cage and sets it aside. 

The relief is instant, but not asked a question Izzy remains silent, watching him, breath coming in soft pants even though Frenchie’s done nothing to him yet.  The moment it’s released, his cock swells, desperate to be touched.  His balls feel full and tight, despite coming that morning.

Leaning back, Frenchie looks him up and down, admiring and a little amused at his look of desperation.  “Fuck, baby, you have no idea how hot you look like that.  Our perfect First Mate with his cock on display.  Imagine what they’d do with you if you were out on deck looking like this.”

Considering that’s pretty much what will be happening later, Izzy has indeed thought about it.  Little else in fact for the last few days.

Without warning, Frenchie slaps his cock, hard, shocking the breath out of him.  It’s like a bucket of ice water has been thrown over him, the pain flaring and then turning to aching heat.

Oh fuck.  For some reason he hadn’t been expecting that but it makes perfect sense.  Clever, devious Frenchie, using Izzy’s own cock against him.  Beautiful, magnificent Frenchie. 

“Colour, pet?” Frenchie asks solicitously, in complete contrast to what he’s just done.

“Green, Sir,” Izzy groans, almost breathless with how much he liked it.  Behind his back his hands tighten convulsively.  “Fucking green.”

“Good boy.  Put your hands on my shoulders and lean on me.  Stay upright.”

Gratefully Izzy puts his weight on Frenchie’s shoulders and keens quietly as his cock is slapped again, no less hard, and then again, making it throb and pulse as even more blood rushes into it.  Even though he wasn’t expecting it now, they’ve done this before, experimenting to see how much he can take and this is well within his limits, but all the same, after being locked up all day his cock feels more sensitive which makes the pain worse, and infinitely better.  If he could care he might question if he was sick for wanting this but he’s more than made his peace with that now.

“Three more,” Frenchie warns and slaps again, making him whimper with the shock of it, a shudder running through his entire body.  His cock looks red and angry, like it could burst and he tries to calm his breathing as the pain morphs into delicious throbbing pulses.

The last two are agonising and make him want to curl into himself but he obeys his orders and stays as he was put, hardly noticing the tear running down his cheek.

It’s awful.

He loves it.

Still breathing through the pain, Izzy grunts as he’s pulled back onto Frenchie’s lap, his sore cock pressed against his lover’s pants, not exactly rough but not smooth either.  “My beautiful slut, don't think I didn't know what you were doing, rubbing up against me like a bitch in heat.  Such a naughty puppy.”  Already lost in his head, Izzy is too down to protest.  He’ll be anything Frenchie wants him to be and they both know it.  “Do you want to come, puppy?”

“Please…”  Suddenly he does, desperately.  Now that his cock is free he wants the release in whatever way Frenchie will let him have it.  He’s not exactly been denied but the cage has been a reminder that they could go down that route if they wanted and he feels almost embarrassed that it… interests him. 

“Touch yourself.”  Frenchie’s voice is a silky thing that winds around him, drawing him to obey.  Not doing is unthinkable.  “That’s it, good puppy,” he praises as Izzy wraps his hand tentatively around his cock, hitching a whimpering breath at the sting of it.  He hasn’t touched himself in months other than to pee because why would he need to any more.  It’s been so long that his own hand feels strange on him.  Frenchie likes to bring him off and those long calloused fingers are his normal now.  But this… this hurts, his cock feels bruised and sore and he wants more.

Letting go of his hair, Frenchie’s hands go to his hips with a bruising grip and it’s easy to forget how strong those hands are, constantly working as they do.  “That’s it, pet.  Show me how puppies play with their pretty cocks.”

Izzy feels robbed of breath, will, resistance, all the things that don’t matter left behind against the need to please his Dom.  Fully dressed and his cock out, he feels exposed and vulnerable, making him want to squirm but he forces himself to keep still, the only movement his hand as he slowly begins to work himself.

Giving a pleased murmur, Frenchie presses a thumb into Izzy’s mouth and he closes around it, his eyes shutting for a moment as he sucks it, swirling his tongue as though it’s a perfect tiny cock, a delicious accompaniment to the throb from his own aching prick.  “So good for me,” Frenchie murmurs, ignoring Izzy’s whine of protest as he withdraws his thumb and briefly sucks it into his own mouth, tasting him, and it’s so fucking hot that Izzy could almost come from watching that alone.

Even as he thinks it, he feels the beginning of his orgasm curling through him, gathering pace, but he hasn't been told he can come so he slows his hand.  “Close,” he hisses.  “Fuck.”

Frenchie’s command is instantly there for him to stop and although expected it’s almost too late but he holds it back somehow with every bit of control he can muster.  It leaves him shaking and breathless, a thing made not of flesh and bone but of need and want and desperation.  It makes his clothes feel tight, pressing in against him but not enough.  He craves Frenchie’s hands on his nipples, pinching and pulling, but all he has is a steadying hand on his hip and his own hand on his cock.

“Such a good puppy,” Frenchie croons to him, making him flush with an embarrassing mix of shame and pleasure.  “We’re going to do one more and then I’ll let you come.”

Unable to help himself, Izzy almost sags with relief.  Frenchie has kept him on edge for hours before now, begging and pathetic, reduced to a snotty shivering wreck before he’s finally been permitted to come.  Two times is virtually nothing.  He can do this.

His orgasm has mostly retreated when he’s told he can move again and his hand has hardly begun to grip when his chin is taken and Frenchie is looking at him in disappointment.  “Forgotten something, pet?  What do you say?”

Izzy feels a flood of shame, how could he have forgotten the rule?  They don’t have many but thanking Frenchie when they are edging is one he’s expected to follow.  He wants to blame the day but he knows it’s no excuse.  “Thank you, Sir,” he almost sobs.  “I’m sorry, Sir.”

Frenchie’s expression softens, rubbing his thumb tenderly over Izzy’s cheek.  “I know you are, baby,” he says almost kindly, “and I know you won’t do it again.  That’s earned you an extra one though, just to make sure you remember.”

That soft voice and the gentle touch is worse than any censure Frenchie could devise.  He feels himself flush and tremble.  This is how the fearsome Israel Hands will fall, he thinks in passing.  Not by a sword or a dagger or a hangman’s noose, but by Frenchie’s disappointment in him.  “Thank you, Sir,” he whispers, blinking back tears. 

“None of that, pet,” Frenchie murmurs soothingly, briefly kissing him.  “This is a happy day, okay?  Now show me how pretty you look working your cock for me.”

He does, and Frenchie watches hungrily as twice more he takes himself to the brink, panting and shuddering, lost between it being torture and a taste of heaven.  Hard the whole time, Frenchie makes no move to touch himself and Izzy wants to beg to take him into his mouth but knows better by now. 

“Want to come, pretty pet?” Frenchie asks, clamping a hand around his wrist and starts forcing his hand up and down.  It’s not the smooth glide Izzy would have made and it’s instantly too much.  He nearly shrieks at the sudden pressure. 

“Fuck, yes, please, Sir.”

Chuckling, Frenchie releases his wrist and gives permission.  “Come on, then, puppy, come on me.  Fucking paint me.”

And that’s all it takes.  With a gasping cry Izzy finally lets his orgasm overtake him, garnered from his very soul it seems, and shoots hard, watching open mouthed as his come spatters Frenchie’s skin, the contrast between the white on his beautiful skin almost obscene.

Trembling, throbbing, unable to take his eyes off it, he doesn’t notice at first that one of his hands has been taken until he realises that it’s being directed to Frenchie’s chest and laid flat over most of the mess.  He looks up into eyes blown and dark with desire.  “Rub it in, puppy, make me smell of you.”

And fuck but that shouldn’t be so hot.  Obeying, almost hypnotised by it, Izzy rubs his come into the perfect skin until nothing remains.  Leaning forward he sniffs, and groans because Frenchie does smell of him, he smells of sex and Izzy and it’s intoxicating.  “Good puppy,” Frenchie murmurs and then taking his hand again, licks it clean.

Eyes wide, his breath coming in short gasps, Izzy waits until Frenchie has finished and with a sharp cry falls on him, their mouths colliding, needing to taste, to connect, to be devoured.  He doesn’t know if the scene is over or not but he can’t wait.  He’s adrift in his head, afloat, and he only starts to feel more grounded when Frenchie’s arm goes around him, holding him tightly, the other cupping the back of his head.

Softening the kiss, Frenchie croons meaningless velvety things to him between gentle licks and dips into his mouth.  “Was that all right?” he asks eventually, when Izzy drops his head onto his shoulder with a contented sigh.

He doesn’t ask that as often now and Izzy is charmed by it.  “Better than all right,” he breathes, still relishing the throb in his aching cock.  “It was perfect.  You didn’t get off though.  Can I…?”

Nuzzling against him, Frenchie kisses his forehead.  “Don’t need to, babe.  Today’s about you, not me.”

“But you enjoyed it?” Izzy can’t help but ask, suddenly worried that Frenchie might not get as much out of their playing as he does.  He’s still a bit down although not as far as he could have gone, but that’s still enough to put unwelcome thoughts in his head. 

There’s a soft laugh, warm with satisfaction, and it makes him relax.  “I fucking loved it.  You have no idea how hot you are, handsome.  Watching you wank nearly finished me.”

Wondering why he’s never done that for his lover before, Izzy adds it to the list of things that turns Frenchie on.  Admittedly, it’s quite a long list but it never hurts to add something new.  Now that he knows, he’s going to make a point of touching himself in front of Frenchie.  Who knows, he may even be able to get him to come in his pants.  It would certainly be excellent payback for the number of times Frenchie has done that to him, he thinks with wry amusement.  “Might have to take advantage of that.”

Frenchie gives him a look that is almost furtive.  “Won’t be stopping you, babe.”

Chuckling, Izzy kisses his cheek before arching his back, groaning.  Sitting like this is getting uncomfortable, his leg awkwardly stretched out.  Distracted by sex, he hadn’t noticed but he really needs to move.  With a grunt he gets to his feet, Frenchie’s hands steadying him, then watches Frenchie smirk and make a tutting noise before tucking him away in his smalls and pulling his clothing back into place, then lacing up his pants, patting the front when he’s done.  “There, Mister Hands.  Quite perfect again.”

The cage has not gone back on and he doesn’t ask for it.  He’s not sure he wants to admit how much he liked feeling it but there’s a big conversation to be had about any other uses for it that now really isn’t the time for.  “Not quite.  Still wearing my collar,” Izzy observes, mouth twitching. 

“Want me to take it off, babe?” Frenchie asks, looking up, his gaze soft.  Izzy never takes it off, it’s not his place to but he’s always allowed to ask.

He shakes his head.  Although it’s not as tight as he prefers, he still likes the feeling of it around his neck and he’s not ready to give it up yet.  “Can I have it on a bit longer?”

“As long as you like, baby.” 

Izzy had given thought about asking to wear it later but decided that it wasn’t a good idea.  For one thing, he’s sure that his neck is going to be a target for bites and the rebellious part of him that he usually keeps well hidden wants there to be marks to show for his night and for them to be very visible indeed.  Edward may look at them and think that he’s ten kinds of a slut but Izzy doesn’t care.  What he wants is for Edward to look at them and know that Izzy has absolutely moved on and that he’s been claimed six times over.  In addition, he isn’t going to the crew as sub but as a lover and it’s not right for this time.  Other times though… well, they shall have to see.

“How are you so good?” he asks, cupping Frenchie’s face with both hands.  “You always know what I need.”

“I took the time to learn the language,” Frenchie replies smugly.  “I’ve been able to speak ‘Handsish’ for quite a while now.  You’d be amazed how much it helps.”

Leaning down, enjoying Frenchie being shorter than him for a change, Izzy kisses him.  It’s soft, just the touch of lips pressed together but satisfying for all that.  “You’re fucking perfect,” he says softly, smiling as he rubs his thumbs over Frenchie’s lovely cheekbones.  Handsish indeed.  His man looks slightly dishevelled, smelling of sex with marks on his neck that Izzy put there and Izzy thinks he’s never looked more beautiful.

Taking his hands, Frenchie twists them and places a kiss on each palm, looking up with a grin.  “I can't be completely perfect, babe, I snore.”

Well that’s fair, he does, although Izzy actually likes it.  It’s not loud like some he's heard, in fact it's pretty fucking cute, and weirdly… comforting.  “That you do,” he agrees.  Frenchie drools sometimes as well but he lets that one go for now.

“I’ve farted on you a few times as well,” Frenchie continues, utterly without shame.

Izzy feels his mouth twitch.  “Yeah, noticed that.  Kind of hard to miss actually.”  It's not that he hasn’t, of course, but he's not about to bring it up.  Frenchie seems determined to highlight his own shortcomings and Izzy’s happy to indulge him.  “Is that the best you can do?”

Frenchie looks like he’s thinking about it for a moment.  “I suppose I am a bit clumsy at times,” he admits, eyes twinkling.

“Yeah, let's not revisit that one or we'll never get out of here,” Izzy says fervently.  Returning the gesture, he raises Frenchie’s hands and kisses the back of them both, before placing them firmly on his hips.

“All right, then, I’m…”

“Shut up, you twat,” Izzy interrupts with exasperated fondness, narrowly avoiding rolling his eyes.  “You're fucking perfect to me and you know it, even if you do snore and drool.”

Frenchie frowns, suddenly looking mortified.  Apparently it’s fine to fart but not drool.  “I drool?  Babe, that’s so not attractive.”

“It’s fucking adorable,” Izzy says flatly, then remembers.  “And seriously?  Where the fuck did puppy come from?”

Flushing, Frenchie shrugs and Izzy watches something shifty cross his features.  “Just something that popped into my head.  It didn’t look like you minded all that much.  You’d make a really cute puppy.”

“Get me turned on enough and you can call me anything you like,” Izzy huffs, then ruins it by yawning.  The day, food and sex seem to be conspiring against him.  “I’m not a fucking dog though.”

“Could be though,” Frenchie says slyly, looking coy and a little bit devious at the same time, “if you wanted.”

Opening his mouth, Izzy shuts it again, not even sure how to process that.  He supposes he can see the appeal, being petted, being a good boy, but he’s that already, isn’t he.  He’s Frenchie’s pet but not that kind.  Does Frenchie seriously want him to pretend to be a dog for him?  Izzy feels himself flush.  He’ll admit that being called Puppy was just a little bit hot but he has no intention of getting down and barking like one.  Maybe there's something there to work with though.

“If you wanted, you mean,” he counters, no idea where Frenchie has got that idea from, but who knows what goes on in his strange little head.  He smiles as he says it though, unable to resist Frenchie’s charm even when he’s being weird, which admittedly is quite often, and then gives in to another yawn.

Sliding off the chair, Frenchie pushes him to the bed.  “We’ll talk about that another time.  Right now, you’re having a rest.”

“I haven’t finished your hair,” he grumbles, clenching his teeth together to prevent yawning again.

Scrambling to the side against the wall, Frenchie pats the bed.  “We’ve got time, babe, you can finish it after.  Come and cuddle.  Have a nap even.”

“I don’t fucking nap.”

“Yeah, you do,” Frenchie tells him smugly, giving him just time to remove his leg before pulling him down and he goes with a sigh, allowing himself to be arranged and cuddled into.  There’s absolutely no point trying to argue with Frenchie, especially when he’s just been in Dom mode so Izzy yawns again and mutters to himself and closes his eyes.  It feels so decadent doing this in the middle of the day, unthinkable in other circumstances, but this does seem to be that kind of a day.  Frenchie feels so good around him and his touch melts away the remains of their scene from the edges of his mind.  “Chill, babe, okay?  Sleep, whatever.”

Even fully dressed, being spooned by Frenchie is soothing despite his nose being buried in Izzy’s hair and his hot breath tickling the back of his neck.  I fucking have it bad, Izzy thinks to himself because he’d never think of moving him.  He’s not going to sleep though; he’s just going to lie here and…

He wakes with a start, his head fuzzy, and finds that he’s slept long enough to turn over and that Frenchie is watching him, wearing what suspiciously looks like a smirk.  “Don't nap, eh?”

He opens his mouth to say fuck off but what comes out instead is an affectionate huff.  “I’m an old man, what do you expect?”

“You’re a ridiculous man,” Frenchie replies fondly, nuzzling into him.  “Ridiculous but irresistible.”

There are worse things to be, Izzy decides, amused.  Rolling onto his back, he stretches languidly, thinking he could get used to this.  “And what does that make you, then, if I'm so ridiculous?”

“I’ve got you so that makes me an absolute fucking genius, mate,” Frenchie grins sharply.  “Didn’t you know?”

“Twat,” Izzy replies affectionately, closing his eyes.  “I’ve always known.”

Not completely awake he drifts for a few minutes, Frenchie curling into him.  He’s only dragged back when Frenchie starts shifting next to him, a sure sigh that something’s on his mind. 

“Babe, can I ask you something?  You don't have to answer, okay?”

Izzy lets out a heavy breath.  Opening his eyes he sees Frenchie looking at him, his brow furrowed.  It’s actually taken longer than Izzy expected although they did get somewhat distracted earlier.  “Yes, it was me.  I killed the fucker.  That was what you were going to ask, wasn't it?”

He’s gratified to see Frenchie almost recoil.  “Fuck, Iz.  How did you know?”

“I know you, love.  I could tell it bothered you and that sooner or later you’d ask me about it, so yes, I cut off the murdering fuck’s cock and balls and stuffed them into his mouth, for what he did to me and countless others.  Then I waited for him to die, and I enjoyed every minute of it.”

He watches Frenchie’s expression harden, and wonders if the knowledge will get locked up in his box.  He suspects not as it’s not a memory of his own and it’s not like Frenchie doesn’t know he’s a killer.  He doesn’t always kill for the right reasons but that one was.  “Good.  Was it all right that I asked?”

Izzy is very aware that he's always avoided talking about his past.  More for himself, if he's being honest, than for Frenchie.  He used to underestimate the younger man, not appreciating how strong he actually is, but the events under the Kraken soon put him right on that one. 

“You can ask me about anything, love,” he replies, taking Frenchie’s hand and squeezing it.  “If I can’t answer I’ll tell you, but you can always ask.  I think I’m ready to talk about it though, just not today.  Let's get this out of the way and have fun, all right?  Hopefully we’ll have some time off the ship in Port Royal and we can talk then.  If I’m going to have a meltdown I’d rather it wasn’t here.”

It may not come to that but he’s also aware that he still carries the scars from that time, wounds barely scabbed over deep inside him, things that he’s never talked about not even to Edward and Jack.  Sam knew more although he’d never pressed for details.  He doesn’t want to cause Frenchie any pain but they’ve come this far and maybe it’s time.

Frenchie nods and swallows, not asking for more now.  “Do you want me to come with you, to the leg guy?  I wasn’t sure you would.”

This time Izzy does roll his eyes.  “Of course you're coming with me.  Apart from the fact that if he takes my leg I’m going to need your help, he’s obviously going to be some crusty old fart and I’m probably going to want to stab him if I’m there long enough.  You’re my damage control.”

“He might not be,” Frenchie replies, looking pleased at Izzy allowing him to help.  “He obviously knows your Sebastian and he seems to be a man who likes pretty things, so the leg guy might be hot.”

Izzy snorts, imagining one aristocratic eyebrow rising at the description.  “He's not my Sebastian and how the fuck do you know he likes pretty things?”

“Well, he likes you,” Frenchie says simply, and fuck if that doesn’t make Izzy feel warm inside.  “Which means he obviously has taste and that might apply to the leg man as well.”

“Trust me, he’ll be old and annoying, but at least I get to spend more time with you away from the ship.  We’ll book a room somewhere while he sorts my leg.  It’s not Haram but it’s better than nothing.”

Sitting up, Izzy swings his leg over the side of the bed and hears the bell for three o’clock.  He’d slept longer than he thought but can’t deny that he feels better for it.  Still, there are things he needs to do.  “Come on, you lazy sod, up you get, I need to finish your hair.  And try to keep your hands off me this time.”

Frenchie tries to looks outraged, but he’s in the middle of a stretch and just ends up looking stupidly cute.  “Rude.  You started it.”

Knowing full well that he did, Izzy replies with as much dignity as he can cobble together.  “Fucking did not.”

“Fucking did.”

They grin at each other like idiots until Izzy gives him a stinging slap on his pert little arse.  “Ow, that hurts!”

“It was supposed to.  Are you going to move or do I need to do it again?”

“Moving,” Frenchie squeaks, scrambling off the bed, Izzy’s laugh following him.

The next hour is spent visiting John to have his waistcoat checked, which is now perfect again after being taken in slightly.  He’s told to stop losing weight, which Izzy can only put down to the amount of fucking he’s doing.  After that he sees Roach who has him nibbling all sorts of things for his opinion, seemingly determined to put any weight he’s lost back on.  His opinion is that everything is all fucking good and he can’t help but wonder why Roach is wasting himself on board a pirate ship when he could be making a fortune in some fancy hotel or other.

When he’s allowed back on deck he stamps to the steps of the aft deck with a mug of coffee and sits to rest his leg and passes a pleasant hour with Olivia who isn’t the greatest conversationalist and thank fuck for that because although he's enjoying the day more than he expected, it's also been fucking exhausting and he needs some peace and quiet for a while.

By the time it’s nearly five o’clock and there are no more jobs anyone wants him to do, he retreats back to his cabin to gather what he needs.  He knows what he wants but has been forced to abandon his plan of doing it himself.  His hands just aren’t steady enough.  What kind of fucking pirate has shaking hands?  One who’s performing four songs to his crew mates and then getting railed by most of said crew.  Putting it like that, the shaking hands seem perfectly reasonable.

As expected, he finds his boys in the galley.  Frenchie is sitting on the same counter he sat on himself to get pierced and Lucius is cutting sandwiches, while Jim and Archie are doing something undecipherable with what looks like some cheese and a pineapple.  There’s a lot of hustle and bustle going on around him but Frenchie seems quite happy watching.  He’s laughing and talking to Roach and looks carefree and happy, and just the sight of him like this brings a flush of something Izzy can only interpret as quiet joy. 

Leaning against the door frame, he goes unnoticed, taking the opportunity to just watch his lover.  For all his toppy and Dom leanings Frenchie is not a violent man and Izzy can't help but wonder how he ended up a pirate.  There's so much he doesn't know, so much he wants to but is content to wait until the time is right.  He’s aware that they both have a lot to unburden, himself probably the most.  They’ll get through it though; he knows that now.  They can get through anything.

Watching Frenchie, his lovely face lit up and animated, Izzy once again feels a deep well of gratitude to the crew for nudging Frenchie into his arms.  He still doesn’t know what he did to deserve Frenchie, but in all his life he will never have a better gift. 

He could happily watch Frenchie all day but he has a job to do so pushes away from the door post and walks in.  Frenchie’s face lights up when he sees him.  “C’mere, babe, I’m just trying these.  Want one?”

Halting, Izzy notices the plate Frenchie is holding.  “Oh no, you don't, you floozy,” he says backing away, mentally retracting every nice thing he's just thought about his boyfriend.  “I know what you’re up to.”

He takes in Frenchie’s parted lips and mischievous eyes, and yes, the sod knows exactly what he’s doing.  If he had still been wearing the cage Izzy might have risked it but they both know damn well that he's not and Frenchie feeding him would be guaranteed to get him hard.

Instead, he keeps his distance and primly holds out his hand.  Laughing, Frenchie places a tiny cake in his palm.  “Spoilsport,” he chuckles, his eyes twinkling as Izzy puts it in his mouth.

Flavour explodes on his tongue and he closes his eyes for a moment.  This is different to the ones he tried earlier and it’s wonderful; lemony and sweet.  As with all of them, it’s made with goat’s milk butter and that gives it a lovely rich taste.  They are well stocked with provisions at the moment so he’s not unhappy that he let Roach take what he wanted for the party, especially if this is the result.

“I know, right,” Frenchie agrees.  “Roach is a genius.  Were you looking for me?”

“Lucius actually.”

Frenchie gives him a pout but it doesn’t last.  He looks curious and Izzy would love nothing more than Frenchie helping him with this but he really wants it to be a surprise.  Lucius will do a good job and keep his mouth shut.  Once he would have used threats to keep his silence but he knows now that Lucius can keep secrets when he has to.

“Me?” Lucius asks, looking up from the sandwiches.  He’d been talking to Jim and Archie and his ears pricked when he heard his name.

“Wanted to borrow you, if Roach can spare you.”

Lucius exchanges a furtive glance with Frenchie and cocks an eyebrow, giving a sly grin.  “Do I need my sketchbook?”

“No, you don’t need your fucking sketchbook,” Izzy retorts, rolling his eyes.  “I need a favour and cocks are not involved.”

He’s entertained to see that Lucius actually looks disappointed.  “Well, you’re no fun.  Fine by me but you need to ask the boss.”

Izzy snorts at that and meets Frenchie’s amused gaze.  The last time he heard that it got him into all sorts of the best kind of trouble.  They exchange a secret smile.  “Roach?” Izzy asks.

Roach looks up and waves him away.  “Have him,” he agrees, casting a fond but critical glance at Frenchie.  “Maybe your boyfriend could take over instead of just sitting there looking pretty.”

“I’ll have you know that looking this pretty is hard work,” Frenchie protests, winking at Izzy.  He doesn’t ask what Izzy needs Lucius for and Izzy loves him even more for it.  He jumps down from the counter and takes the knife. 

“No crusts,” Lucius instructs him, “then small triangles, okay?”

Izzy takes a moment to wonder how many pirate crews out there have their crusts cut off and their food cut into triangles, but lets it go.  It’s not exactly like this is a normal ship.

“Triangles, right,” Frenchie agrees, then leans over to give Izzy a quick kiss.  “I’ll see you when you make your entrance, then.  John will look after you while you get ready.  Can’t wait to see your look, babe.”

Izzy colours a little, both at the thought of his look, which is certainly going to be different, and at spending time with John considering what’s going to be happening later.  “Get someone to put flowers in your hair,” he murmurs close to his ear.  “For me.”

Frenchie is gorgeous no matter what he does, but Izzy remembers the flowers from last year and longing he felt for someone so unattainable and lovely.  Never would he have dreamed that only a year later Frenchie would be his and they could have built something so strong together.  Frenchie is so many things to him, boyfriend, lover, Dom, friend, but ultimately he is the beautiful man Izzy loves and he can’t wait to see him dressed up and pretty.

Uncaring who is with them, he pulls Frenchie in and kisses him properly, deeply, something warm and happy pooling in his belly that he can do this and no one cares.  Briefly resting their heads together, Frenchie smiles, warm and sweet.  “For you, love.”

Izzy kisses him again and hears an inpatient noise from Lucius.  Fair, he supposes, and reluctantly pulls away, ushering Lucius to his cabin where there’s a bowl of warm water waiting and his shaving kit laid out.

“Babe?” Lucius asks, wide eyed, as Izzy closes the door behind them.

Izzy takes a deep breath and tells him what he wants.