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OFMD FIC: Negotiations in a Married State
Title: Negotiations in a Married State
Pairing: Edward/Izzy, Edward/Izzy/Stede
Rating: NC17
Words: ~4,300
Summary: "Wait," Stede blurts. "You're married? And you're just telling me now?"
Notes: In which Stede finds out Ed and Izzy are married, and Ed and Izzy also find out Ed and Izzy are married. This was meant to be a twitter snippet, but then I looked up and it was a whole-ass fic. Language used for Izzy's anatomy: cunt, cock, hole.
[AO3]
Negotiations in a Married State
"Wait," Stede blurts. It comes out somewhat strangled, but honestly, he can't be blamed for that. This conversation has taken several unexpected turns in the last few minutes, and he's feeling more than a bit blindsided. "You're married? And you're just telling me now?"
"To be fair," Izzy interjects, like Stede is even talking to him. "You're married."
Stede huffs. "I'm not married anymore. I'm dead."
"But you were married, yeah? Before? When you were—"
"Iz," Ed chides. "Enough."
A silence rushes in, weighted and tight. Stede resists the urge to shuffle his feet. He wishes Ed hadn't tossed all the furniture overboard. Without it, they're staged awkwardly: Ed sitting on the bed, Stede standing where the divan had been, and Izzy behind Stede, somewhere near the door. Stede can't see him, but he assumes he's lurking in the shadows like the gargoyle he is.
"Matelotage isn't marriage," Ed insists. Slowly, like Stede is a particularly stupid child.
"Ed," Stede replies, waspish. Either he's misunderstood something, or this conversation is taking yet another turn. Also, he's not sure he appreciates Ed's tone. "You just told me that you and Izzy are in a committed relationship."
"We are, yeah. Have been for…" Ed glances at Izzy. "Twenty-three years?"
"Twenty-five."
"Twenty-five," Ed repeats. The bed creaks as he stretches his bad knee. "But that—hang on." He glances at Izzy again. "Twenty-five? I guess I owe you some silver, mate."
Izzy scoffs. "You give me silver after every raid."
Stede frowns at that. He's never seen Izzy wear jewelry, beyond the ring tied into his cravat. He's been assuming Izzy doesn't care for it, but now he's wondering if he has a glory box somewhere, perhaps on the Queen Anne, full of the trinkets and baubles Ed has given him over the course of their twenty-five-year marriage.
"That's not the same," Ed insists. "I should—"
"Bonnet," Izzy grouses, which cuts Ed off and brings Stede back to the present. "We are in a relationship. But matelotage is separate from that. It's a financial arrangement."
Stede's frown deepens. "Financial?" Pirates don't have finances, not in the traditional sense. They have chests of gold that they apparently don't bury in the sand. "Financial how?"
Izzy scoffs again. His footsteps echo around the cabin's empty space as he moves away from the door, past Stede and toward Ed. Stede hasn't really looked at him while they've been talking, but now that he's in front of Stede, Stede can't look away. He's dressed down: no baldric or vest or glove. Without them, he seems so different—smaller, more approachable, less threatening and horrible. Less Izzy. His shirt is untucked, and his cravat is loose, no ring. The cravat's faintly wrinkled tails are framing the hollow of his throat.
"Mate," Ed prompts. A moment passes before Stede realizes he's talking to him. "You alright? Someone walk over your grave?"
"I'm fine. I was just—" Stede clears his throat. "You were saying, Izzy? About financial arrangements?"
"We share our profits," Izzy explains. He's standing beside Ed now, his arms folded and one foot crossed in front of the other. "And we inherit from each other. If I died, Ed would keep everything we've saved together, except what we've agreed to send to my sister."
"You have a sister?" Stede asks.
Izzy ignores this. "He would arrange for my funeral, if I wanted to be buried on land."
"He doesn't," Ed adds.
Izzy ignores this too. "We're also responsible for each other's debts."
"Iz," Ed hums, leaning into Izzy's side. Izzy stiffens slightly, his eyes darting to Stede, and it occurs to Stede that he's never seen them touch, save for the handful of times Izzy has helped Ed in and out of his brace. Ed must not notice; he just looks up at Izzy and grins. "Tell him about the perks."
Izzy mutters, "Perks," under his breath before turning his attention to Stede. "Ed being a captain extends me some privileges. Among pirates, my word is as good as his. At a meeting or parley, I can stand in for him."
"At the Republic," Stede says slowly. He wishes he had a cup of tea, if only to have something to do with his hands. "You never gave me your boss' name."
He doesn't intend it as an accusation, but Izzy—the absolute toad—of course takes it as one. Bristling, he snaps, "I gave you mine on that fucking island."
"And I didn't acknowledge it! That should have told you something!"
"I assumed you were trying to insult Ed."
"Well, you know what they say about people who assume."
"Considering that you did insult him at Jackie's place, I don't think I'm the ass." Izzy shifts his weight, nearly dislodging Ed from his side. "What was it you said? Something about Ed sucking eggs in Hell, wasn't it?"
Stede draws himself up a little. That hadn't been his finest moment, true, but Izzy bringing it up now feels a bit unfair. "I didn't know!"
"How was I supposed to know that?" Izzy demands. "I've been with him twenty-five years, Bonnet. We took up together before Blackbeard even fucking existed." He clenches his hands into fists, and Stede notices a glint of gold on his left thumb—his ring. "I've never needed to explain myself. Every pirate worth their salt on these waters already knows who I am and what that means."
"Iz," Ed says. He nudges Izzy's side with his shoulder. "C'mon."
Izzy subsides at that, although he does it with bad grace: scowling at Stede one more time, then snarling something that sounds suspiciously like twat under his breath. He curls his first finger around his thumb and rubs at his ring. He's jealous; that much is obvious now that Stede has more context about their relationship. He might be uncouth and disagreeable by nature, but this—this little display is entirely about Ed.
A slippery, unpleasant feeling churns in Stede's gut, something that slithers like snakes as it crawls up toward his chest. He'd had suspicions, of course, when Ed and Izzy first boarded the Revenge. Ed had gravitated toward Izzy right up until the fuckery, and Izzy had been possessive of Ed's time and attention—possessive in ways that suggested intimacy rather than a mere working partnership. But it had been easy for Stede to assume that that intimacy was purely physical, or that it had soured at some point, or that Izzy was harboring a sentiment that Ed didn't return. They'd bickered almost constantly, and Ed had avoided Izzy on more than one occasion. He'd also acted unconcerned about him leaving the ship after the duel.
Looking back, Stede should have asked some pointed questions before letting Ed kiss him. If he had, he wouldn't feel like such an interloper now. But the kiss had happened so unexpectedly—amidst a whirlwind of already frankly staggering events—and it's not like Ed had been forthcoming. Stede keeps that in mind as he moves closer and catches Ed's eye.
He says, "Let's get back to the part where you didn't tell me you're married."
"We're not married," Izzy insists.
"You have a communal income, inheritance rights, and a partnership that's recognized within your community," Stede lists, ticking each point off on his fingers. "How is that not a marriage?"
"It just isn't."
"Ed," Stede redirects, since Izzy, apparently, was put on this earth to contradict everything that comes out of his mouth. "How did you enter matelotage? A ceremony? A contract?"
"No," Ed replies, and there's that tone again. "Nothing like that. We made some promises to each other, is all."
"What kind of promises?"
"That's none of your business, Bonnet."
Ed huffs and shakes his head. He tells Stede, "The usual stuff. To protect each other, and to fight beside each other, and to take care of each other. And… " He looks up at Izzy, a frown pulling at his mouth. "What am I forgetting?"
"We—" Izzy shifts his weight again. "To trust each other."
"Yeah, that."
Stede stares at them. He doesn't understand how they don't see it, except that they're pirates, and their preoccupation with maritime customs has robbed them off all good sense.
"That," he presses, "is a marriage."
Izzy opens his mouth, but before he can say something awful, Ed ventures, "Maybe it is." A noise catches in Izzy's throat—startled, soft. Ed reaches up and touches his hip. "Wouldn't be so bad, would it? Being married?"
"No." Izzy's voice is rough, and a slow flush is burning in his cheeks. He—oh. Oh. He's wanted a marriage. He's only been arguing with Stede so vehemently because he didn't think Ed wanted one. He swallows hard before saying, "No, it wouldn't," and the slippery, unpleasant feeling starts churning in Stede's gut again.
Ed, looking a little startled himself, tugs at Izzy's arm. The bed dips and creaks as he sits at Ed's side. Stede sees the kiss coming; Ed leans in slowly, almost carefully, and skims his fingers over the swallow tattooed on Izzy's neck. Izzy breathes Ed's name into it; Ed's other hand slides into Izzy's hair. Stede is acutely aware that he shouldn't be watching this. He doesn't want to be watching this, not when he loves Ed as he does. But he can't look away from the mismatched tableau they make: Izzy all in black and Ed in his brightly-flowered robe. Ed is beautiful, as always, but for some reason, Stede's struck by Izzy the most—by the way his face softens, the way the tension drains from his shoulders, the way his hand drifts down the length of Ed's arm.
Thankfully for Stede's sanity, they don't linger. As they break apart, Ed admits, "I didn't think you'd go for it. You got so angry that time Jack joked about you being my wife."
"He was being an ass."
"He's always being an ass," Ed counters. His voice, to Stede's consternation, is fond. "I'm stabbing him the next time I see him, by the way. I owe him a good stab for that shit he pulled."
"He was just doing me a favor," Izzy says mildly, like helping get Stede arrested is the same as a trip to the victualers. "Besides, he's probably dead."
Ed makes a pfffft noise. "Sure, and I'm a bloody mermaid. I'll believe that fucker's dead when I see his mangy corpse."
Tired of being ignored, Stede interjects with, "Speaking of Jack," which is inane, but hearing Jack's name reminds him of dalliances and the shoes he threw overboard instead of trying to clean. At the sound of his voice, Ed and Izzy jolt apart in a way that suggests they forgot he was there. Ed, at least, has the grace to look embarrassed about it, but Izzy—there's a vaguely smug line to his mouth. Stede doesn't care to dwell on it. He says, "He told me that you two had… spent some time together."
"And?"
"And," Stede returns, somewhat sharp, "I guess I just don't understand how he fits in with"—he gestures between them—"this."
Ed leers. "Between us, mostly."
"Ed," Stede yelps, scandalized. It's not as if he hasn't heard of such things—impossible not to, with Lucius around—but with Jack? The very idea is appalling. "You… really?"
"Nah. Usually, Izzy was in the middle."
Izzy rubs a hand over his face. "Fucksake, Ed."
"Sorry," Ed hums, without an ounce of sincerity. "I just wanted to see if Stede would go redder."
Stede makes a noise—wordless, affronted. He has no intention of turning into a beetroot for anyone's entertainment. He snips, "If you two are quite finished," in a voice that sounds shrill in his own ears, although it stops Ed from laughing and drags his attention away from Izzy. "We still haven't discussed you pursuing a relationship with me when you're already in one."
Instead of answering for himself, Ed holds out his hand. Stede just stares at him at first, still reeling from all the wild turns this conversation has taken. But it's Ed. He's watching Stede with wide, beautiful eyes. The robe is slipping off his shoulders, and long tendrils of hair are escaping the loose bun on top of his head. Stede finds his feet moving him toward the bed before he knows what's happening. Something warm unfurls in his chest when Ed takes his hand.
He strokes his thumb over Stede's knuckles as he says, "I want you."
"I want you as well. But I—" Stede darts a glance at Izzy. "You seem to be spoken for."
"I want Izzy too," Ed admits. He offers Stede a crooked, devious smile. "I was kinda hoping I could have both of you."
"Both?" Stede blurts, still reeling. "As in—" He makes an awkward, abortive gesture toward the bed. Surely not. "All three of us?"
"Mate," Ed sputters. His eyebrows reach for his hairline. "That's… wow. You really are a lunatic, yeah?"
Izzy cuts in, saying, "Bonnet," so grimly that he sounds like a vicar giving a funeral. Stede's almost grateful for the interruption, given where the conversation had been veering. "Ed's trying to tell you that it's never just been the two of us. We've both had other… arrangements, some more serious than others."
"You," Stede starts. He should've brought Lucius in here to take notes. At least then, he might be able to keep up. "Arrangements?"
"Yeah," Ed replies, nodding. "Sometimes, we were just fooling around. Sometimes not. We were both with Jack on and off for years. And Izzy was seeing a merchant in the Republic for… I don't know." He shrugs. "Three years? Four?"
Izzy huffs. "That might not be the best example, considering what you did to him."
"I warned him," Ed says, steel creeping into his voice. "I told him exactly what would happen to him if he wasn't good to you."
"Ed—"
"He hit you."
"So have you."
"Iz," Ed murmurs—devastated, overcome. He reaches out toward Izzy but stops short of touching. "I thought you forgave me for that."
"I have."
"But…?
"There's no but."
"Sure sounded like there was a but." Sighing, Ed reaches out again. He slides his hand over Izzy's knee. "I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have cut your toe off, either."
Stede blinks. "You… cut his toe off?"
"That's not open for discussion, Bonnet."
"Fine," Stede says, although he and Ed will absolutely be discussing it later. He's tired, suddenly. He feels like he's been rowing a dinghy for days. "Let's discuss the duel, then. And the Navy. If things have always been… open between you two, why did you try so hard to kill me?"
Izzy studies Stede for a moment, completely stone-faced. When he finally speaks, he notes, "It was different this time," without remorse. "I was worried you were going to get him killed, the way you were swanning around, playing at being a pirate. And he was talking about leaving." His eyes and voice turn so cold so quickly that Stede nearly shivers. "I don't care if he wants to fuck pretty deckhands or disappear onto the Walrus for a week without telling me—"
"Fuck off. I fucking told Horace."
"—but I'm not just going let someone else take him away from me. Not after twenty-five years. Not without a fight."
Ed makes a low, vexed noise. "Horace said he'd tell you. It's not my fault he forgot. Besides, I made it back in time for Jack's wedding, yeah?"
"Yeah. And you were so drunk you could barely stand."
"To be fair, so was Jack."
"Jack's married?" Stede asks.
"He's not married anymore," Izzy replies, flat. "He's dead."
"Never mind that," Ed says. He squeezes Stede's fingers, then slides his hand up until his thumb is brushing the inside of Stede's wrist. "Let's get back to the part where you want to fuck Izzy."
Stede gasps. "I never said that!"
"You implied it. Said something about"— Ed mimics the gesture Stede made earlier—"all three of us."
"I didn't mean...."
"… that you want to fuck Izzy?"
"I think you want me to… fuck Izzy."
"Well…" Ed smiles again. His fingers skim over the thrum of Stede's pulse. "I could be interested in you fucking Izzy."
"I'm right here," Izzy points out. His voice is snappish, but his face is flushed and his eyes are a bit glassy. He—oh. Oh. He's enjoying this. "Stop talking about me like I can't fucking hear you."
Ed looks at Izzy for a moment, then catches Izzy's chin in his hand and presses his thumb to the swell of his lower lip. Izzy sucks it into his mouth, slow enough that Stede glimpses wet flashes of tongue. Ed makes a noise, rough. His beautiful eyes go very wide and very dark.
He asks, "Iz?"
Izzy tips his head back enough to dislodge Ed's thumb. "It's Bonnet. Don't be absurd."
"Said he was handsome the other night."
"I did not," Izzy snaps, before Stede can lose what's left of his mind wondering how that came up. "I said he was 'alright.'"
Stede objects to that with a scoff, but Ed just laughs. "That's high praise from you, yeah? You once said Bellamy was 'decent enough,' and he's probably the hottest guy anyone's ever seen."
Stede's pretty sure Ed's the hottest guy anyone's ever seen, especially now: his chest bare underneath the robe and his breeches loosely laced. He's looking at Izzy again—or rather, they're looking at each other. It drags on long enough that Stede begins to feel uncomfortable, but some unspoken conversation must pass between them. Ed grabs Stede's other arm and levers himself to his feet.
He shifts his weight a few times, as if gauging what his knee is going to do, then moves behind Stede. He wraps his arms around Stede's waist and starts opening his breeches.
"Ed," Stede whispers uncertainly. They've only done this twice since Stede returned, and not like this—in front of someone else, and never mind that that someone else is Izzy.
Ed just laughs, soft, his breath warm at Stede's neck. "You don't have to touch him. Just watch."
That seems worse somehow, more intimate, but that doesn't stop him from doing as Ed asked, heat burning in his cheeks as Izzy slips his cravat away from his collar and unbuttons his shirt. He bends to deal with his boots and socks—right foot, then left—then unlaces his pants and drags them off. His legs are well-muscled, marked with scars and thick with hair.
Ed's hand wraps around Stede's cock, and Stede startles; he hadn't realized he was hard. Another laugh fans across his skin. Ed gives him two good, firm pumps before asking, "Are you watching?"
"Yes," Stede admits.
As Izzy turns around, his shirt falls open to expose dark nipples pierced with silver rings and a neat taper of hair between his legs. The cunt is a surprise, but just looking at it has Stede clenching his hands at his sides. His nub—or cock, Stede supposes, given that he's a man—is plump and flush, large enough to peek past his lips.
"C'mon, Iz. Show him."
Izzy climbs back onto the bed, positioning himself flat on his back with his ass near the mattress' edge. He parts his legs, heels scraping against the bedframe. After a pause, he runs a hand over and past his belly and uses to fingers to spread open his cunt.
"Oh," Stede breathes, lost to it. Everything is pink and plush and slick. "Oh, Izzy."
Ed hides a kiss behind Stede's ear. He's been toying with Stede's cock so far, just fingers up and down the length and his thumb over the head, but he starts stroking him in earnest as he says, "He's got the prettiest cunt." He shuffles them a bit closer—close enough that Stede can see how wet Izzy is, can practically feel the heat of him. "Don't know how I got so lucky."
Izzy pushes two fingers inside himself with a low, rough noise. He thrusts them in and out, in and out, in and out, then drags them up, shiny with slick, and uses them to play with his cock. Stede catches himself matching his rhythm, shoving into Ed's hand as Izzy rubs at the head of his cock in quick, tight circles. His fingers dip down again—twisting, curling, thrusting. He tips his head back, baring the long line of his throat.
"Ed," he mumbles, hips rocking. "Ed."
"You look good, Iz." Ed draws his hand up Stede's cock, palms at the head, and works his hand back down. "Bet you want my mouth on your cock. Or Stede's, yeah?"
Izzy chokes out a moan. "Fuck, Ed."
Ed hums and hides another kiss behind Stede's ear. He's hard against Stede's ass; he ruts there for a moment before asking, "You ever do that?"
"I—" Stede clears his throat. "No."
"I'll show you," Ed says, a smile in his voice. "You won't believe how good he tastes. And he gets so wet. You'll have it all over your face."
"Ed," Stede hisses. The heat in his gut is building, building. He's so close. "You—God."
"Iz, can you come for me? Can you some for Stede?"
"I," Izzy whines—high, almost fretful. "Fuck."
Ed presses against Stede's back. He tells Stede, "Grab his legs," and moves them closer.
"What?"
"His legs," Ed says. His hand slows on Stede's cock, and it nearly brings Stede to tears. "He likes them up, and open. When I have him on his back, I put them over my shoulders."
The picture that makes—Izzy sprawled out and split open for Ed's cock, writhing beneath the long, naked line of Ed's back—shocks a noise out of Stede that's so embarrassing that he almost expects Ed or Izzy to laugh at him. But Ed just uses his free hand to guide one of Stede's to the sweat-damp skin at the back of Izzy's thigh. Stede fumbles his other hand up and lifts until Izzy is tensing against the strain.
He means to just hold Izzy there, but somehow—his doing? Ed's?—Izzy's legs end up over his shoulders. It's too close—too close. Izzy has three fingers in his cunt now; he's thrusting them hard and fast and grinding the heel of his hand against his cock. Stede can hear how wet he is. He can see the slick dripping out of him, matting the hair around his cunt and leaving spots on the bedding.
Ed, still rutting against Stede's ass, crowds even closer to Stede's back. He reaches out with his free hand and skims his fingers over the wet skin just under Izzy's hole. Izzy arches off the bed, whimpering, "Ed, Ed," and Stede watches, simultaneously fascinated and horrified by the thought of Ed pushing them in when Izzy's already so full. But he doesn't. He just teases them there and teases them there, until Izzy is mad with it, clawing at the bedding with his other hand and gulping air.
And then those fingers are on Stede's cock, an impossibly warm-wet glide, and Stede, groaning, bucks into Ed's hand so hard his cock nearly bumps the back of Izzy's thigh.
"You like that?" Ed asks, rough. "You like fucking through the mess Izzy made?"
Stede feels Izzy come—feels Izzy's calves tense against his shoulders and Izzy's thighs tremble under his hands. He watches, tension pulling in his gut, as Izzy's cunt clutches at his fingers, and he can't help but follow, shuddering as he spurts—embarrassingly—into the crease of Izzy's hip. It hits him like a blow, almost painful, and it leaves him hunched over, curled in on himself, his head bowed, struggling to breathe.
Distantly, he hears Ed moving around behind him: a rustle of cloth, a gasp, the telltale slap of skin on skin. Ed's finished before Stede can move to help him, grabbing at Stede's shoulder and coming with a grunt.
Stede looks at Izzy. He's sitting up now, his hair askew and his shirt falling off his shoulders. His legs are still splayed, but he has a hand over his cunt like he doesn't want Stede to see it anymore. For a moment, Stede worries that he only did this to please Ed, but then he notices the heated way his eyes are running over both him and Ed.
Another rustle of cloth—Ed fixing his pants. As Stede starts to do the same, Ed throws an arm around Stede's shoulder. He smells like sweat and come, and more hair has escaped his bun.
"All three of us," he says, sounding far too pleased with himself. "That's—"
"Don't count your chickens yet," Stede warns. Now that his blood has cooled a bit, he's feeling less impulsive. Less foolish. He and Izzy barely tolerate each other, and sex alone is unlikely to fix that. "Just because we did this once doesn't mean we should do it again."
And really, Edward has no business looking so disappointed. Not when he's the one being greedy. He also has no business mouthing at Stede's jaw like that when Stede's trying to stand his ground.
"Will you at least consider it?" Ed asks.
"Fine," Stede concedes, mostly because Ed's tongue is on his skin. "I'll consider it."
"Iz?"
Izzy heaves out a sigh. "I suppose it's not the worst idea you've ever had."
Stede makes a noise at that—tight, offended—but Ed just laughs and says, "High praise, Stede. High praise."
Izzy's mouth twitches.
High praise indeed.
Pairing: Edward/Izzy, Edward/Izzy/Stede
Rating: NC17
Words: ~4,300
Summary: "Wait," Stede blurts. "You're married? And you're just telling me now?"
Notes: In which Stede finds out Ed and Izzy are married, and Ed and Izzy also find out Ed and Izzy are married. This was meant to be a twitter snippet, but then I looked up and it was a whole-ass fic. Language used for Izzy's anatomy: cunt, cock, hole.
[AO3]
"Wait," Stede blurts. It comes out somewhat strangled, but honestly, he can't be blamed for that. This conversation has taken several unexpected turns in the last few minutes, and he's feeling more than a bit blindsided. "You're married? And you're just telling me now?"
"To be fair," Izzy interjects, like Stede is even talking to him. "You're married."
Stede huffs. "I'm not married anymore. I'm dead."
"But you were married, yeah? Before? When you were—"
"Iz," Ed chides. "Enough."
A silence rushes in, weighted and tight. Stede resists the urge to shuffle his feet. He wishes Ed hadn't tossed all the furniture overboard. Without it, they're staged awkwardly: Ed sitting on the bed, Stede standing where the divan had been, and Izzy behind Stede, somewhere near the door. Stede can't see him, but he assumes he's lurking in the shadows like the gargoyle he is.
"Matelotage isn't marriage," Ed insists. Slowly, like Stede is a particularly stupid child.
"Ed," Stede replies, waspish. Either he's misunderstood something, or this conversation is taking yet another turn. Also, he's not sure he appreciates Ed's tone. "You just told me that you and Izzy are in a committed relationship."
"We are, yeah. Have been for…" Ed glances at Izzy. "Twenty-three years?"
"Twenty-five."
"Twenty-five," Ed repeats. The bed creaks as he stretches his bad knee. "But that—hang on." He glances at Izzy again. "Twenty-five? I guess I owe you some silver, mate."
Izzy scoffs. "You give me silver after every raid."
Stede frowns at that. He's never seen Izzy wear jewelry, beyond the ring tied into his cravat. He's been assuming Izzy doesn't care for it, but now he's wondering if he has a glory box somewhere, perhaps on the Queen Anne, full of the trinkets and baubles Ed has given him over the course of their twenty-five-year marriage.
"That's not the same," Ed insists. "I should—"
"Bonnet," Izzy grouses, which cuts Ed off and brings Stede back to the present. "We are in a relationship. But matelotage is separate from that. It's a financial arrangement."
Stede's frown deepens. "Financial?" Pirates don't have finances, not in the traditional sense. They have chests of gold that they apparently don't bury in the sand. "Financial how?"
Izzy scoffs again. His footsteps echo around the cabin's empty space as he moves away from the door, past Stede and toward Ed. Stede hasn't really looked at him while they've been talking, but now that he's in front of Stede, Stede can't look away. He's dressed down: no baldric or vest or glove. Without them, he seems so different—smaller, more approachable, less threatening and horrible. Less Izzy. His shirt is untucked, and his cravat is loose, no ring. The cravat's faintly wrinkled tails are framing the hollow of his throat.
"Mate," Ed prompts. A moment passes before Stede realizes he's talking to him. "You alright? Someone walk over your grave?"
"I'm fine. I was just—" Stede clears his throat. "You were saying, Izzy? About financial arrangements?"
"We share our profits," Izzy explains. He's standing beside Ed now, his arms folded and one foot crossed in front of the other. "And we inherit from each other. If I died, Ed would keep everything we've saved together, except what we've agreed to send to my sister."
"You have a sister?" Stede asks.
Izzy ignores this. "He would arrange for my funeral, if I wanted to be buried on land."
"He doesn't," Ed adds.
Izzy ignores this too. "We're also responsible for each other's debts."
"Iz," Ed hums, leaning into Izzy's side. Izzy stiffens slightly, his eyes darting to Stede, and it occurs to Stede that he's never seen them touch, save for the handful of times Izzy has helped Ed in and out of his brace. Ed must not notice; he just looks up at Izzy and grins. "Tell him about the perks."
Izzy mutters, "Perks," under his breath before turning his attention to Stede. "Ed being a captain extends me some privileges. Among pirates, my word is as good as his. At a meeting or parley, I can stand in for him."
"At the Republic," Stede says slowly. He wishes he had a cup of tea, if only to have something to do with his hands. "You never gave me your boss' name."
He doesn't intend it as an accusation, but Izzy—the absolute toad—of course takes it as one. Bristling, he snaps, "I gave you mine on that fucking island."
"And I didn't acknowledge it! That should have told you something!"
"I assumed you were trying to insult Ed."
"Well, you know what they say about people who assume."
"Considering that you did insult him at Jackie's place, I don't think I'm the ass." Izzy shifts his weight, nearly dislodging Ed from his side. "What was it you said? Something about Ed sucking eggs in Hell, wasn't it?"
Stede draws himself up a little. That hadn't been his finest moment, true, but Izzy bringing it up now feels a bit unfair. "I didn't know!"
"How was I supposed to know that?" Izzy demands. "I've been with him twenty-five years, Bonnet. We took up together before Blackbeard even fucking existed." He clenches his hands into fists, and Stede notices a glint of gold on his left thumb—his ring. "I've never needed to explain myself. Every pirate worth their salt on these waters already knows who I am and what that means."
"Iz," Ed says. He nudges Izzy's side with his shoulder. "C'mon."
Izzy subsides at that, although he does it with bad grace: scowling at Stede one more time, then snarling something that sounds suspiciously like twat under his breath. He curls his first finger around his thumb and rubs at his ring. He's jealous; that much is obvious now that Stede has more context about their relationship. He might be uncouth and disagreeable by nature, but this—this little display is entirely about Ed.
A slippery, unpleasant feeling churns in Stede's gut, something that slithers like snakes as it crawls up toward his chest. He'd had suspicions, of course, when Ed and Izzy first boarded the Revenge. Ed had gravitated toward Izzy right up until the fuckery, and Izzy had been possessive of Ed's time and attention—possessive in ways that suggested intimacy rather than a mere working partnership. But it had been easy for Stede to assume that that intimacy was purely physical, or that it had soured at some point, or that Izzy was harboring a sentiment that Ed didn't return. They'd bickered almost constantly, and Ed had avoided Izzy on more than one occasion. He'd also acted unconcerned about him leaving the ship after the duel.
Looking back, Stede should have asked some pointed questions before letting Ed kiss him. If he had, he wouldn't feel like such an interloper now. But the kiss had happened so unexpectedly—amidst a whirlwind of already frankly staggering events—and it's not like Ed had been forthcoming. Stede keeps that in mind as he moves closer and catches Ed's eye.
He says, "Let's get back to the part where you didn't tell me you're married."
"We're not married," Izzy insists.
"You have a communal income, inheritance rights, and a partnership that's recognized within your community," Stede lists, ticking each point off on his fingers. "How is that not a marriage?"
"It just isn't."
"Ed," Stede redirects, since Izzy, apparently, was put on this earth to contradict everything that comes out of his mouth. "How did you enter matelotage? A ceremony? A contract?"
"No," Ed replies, and there's that tone again. "Nothing like that. We made some promises to each other, is all."
"What kind of promises?"
"That's none of your business, Bonnet."
Ed huffs and shakes his head. He tells Stede, "The usual stuff. To protect each other, and to fight beside each other, and to take care of each other. And… " He looks up at Izzy, a frown pulling at his mouth. "What am I forgetting?"
"We—" Izzy shifts his weight again. "To trust each other."
"Yeah, that."
Stede stares at them. He doesn't understand how they don't see it, except that they're pirates, and their preoccupation with maritime customs has robbed them off all good sense.
"That," he presses, "is a marriage."
Izzy opens his mouth, but before he can say something awful, Ed ventures, "Maybe it is." A noise catches in Izzy's throat—startled, soft. Ed reaches up and touches his hip. "Wouldn't be so bad, would it? Being married?"
"No." Izzy's voice is rough, and a slow flush is burning in his cheeks. He—oh. Oh. He's wanted a marriage. He's only been arguing with Stede so vehemently because he didn't think Ed wanted one. He swallows hard before saying, "No, it wouldn't," and the slippery, unpleasant feeling starts churning in Stede's gut again.
Ed, looking a little startled himself, tugs at Izzy's arm. The bed dips and creaks as he sits at Ed's side. Stede sees the kiss coming; Ed leans in slowly, almost carefully, and skims his fingers over the swallow tattooed on Izzy's neck. Izzy breathes Ed's name into it; Ed's other hand slides into Izzy's hair. Stede is acutely aware that he shouldn't be watching this. He doesn't want to be watching this, not when he loves Ed as he does. But he can't look away from the mismatched tableau they make: Izzy all in black and Ed in his brightly-flowered robe. Ed is beautiful, as always, but for some reason, Stede's struck by Izzy the most—by the way his face softens, the way the tension drains from his shoulders, the way his hand drifts down the length of Ed's arm.
Thankfully for Stede's sanity, they don't linger. As they break apart, Ed admits, "I didn't think you'd go for it. You got so angry that time Jack joked about you being my wife."
"He was being an ass."
"He's always being an ass," Ed counters. His voice, to Stede's consternation, is fond. "I'm stabbing him the next time I see him, by the way. I owe him a good stab for that shit he pulled."
"He was just doing me a favor," Izzy says mildly, like helping get Stede arrested is the same as a trip to the victualers. "Besides, he's probably dead."
Ed makes a pfffft noise. "Sure, and I'm a bloody mermaid. I'll believe that fucker's dead when I see his mangy corpse."
Tired of being ignored, Stede interjects with, "Speaking of Jack," which is inane, but hearing Jack's name reminds him of dalliances and the shoes he threw overboard instead of trying to clean. At the sound of his voice, Ed and Izzy jolt apart in a way that suggests they forgot he was there. Ed, at least, has the grace to look embarrassed about it, but Izzy—there's a vaguely smug line to his mouth. Stede doesn't care to dwell on it. He says, "He told me that you two had… spent some time together."
"And?"
"And," Stede returns, somewhat sharp, "I guess I just don't understand how he fits in with"—he gestures between them—"this."
Ed leers. "Between us, mostly."
"Ed," Stede yelps, scandalized. It's not as if he hasn't heard of such things—impossible not to, with Lucius around—but with Jack? The very idea is appalling. "You… really?"
"Nah. Usually, Izzy was in the middle."
Izzy rubs a hand over his face. "Fucksake, Ed."
"Sorry," Ed hums, without an ounce of sincerity. "I just wanted to see if Stede would go redder."
Stede makes a noise—wordless, affronted. He has no intention of turning into a beetroot for anyone's entertainment. He snips, "If you two are quite finished," in a voice that sounds shrill in his own ears, although it stops Ed from laughing and drags his attention away from Izzy. "We still haven't discussed you pursuing a relationship with me when you're already in one."
Instead of answering for himself, Ed holds out his hand. Stede just stares at him at first, still reeling from all the wild turns this conversation has taken. But it's Ed. He's watching Stede with wide, beautiful eyes. The robe is slipping off his shoulders, and long tendrils of hair are escaping the loose bun on top of his head. Stede finds his feet moving him toward the bed before he knows what's happening. Something warm unfurls in his chest when Ed takes his hand.
He strokes his thumb over Stede's knuckles as he says, "I want you."
"I want you as well. But I—" Stede darts a glance at Izzy. "You seem to be spoken for."
"I want Izzy too," Ed admits. He offers Stede a crooked, devious smile. "I was kinda hoping I could have both of you."
"Both?" Stede blurts, still reeling. "As in—" He makes an awkward, abortive gesture toward the bed. Surely not. "All three of us?"
"Mate," Ed sputters. His eyebrows reach for his hairline. "That's… wow. You really are a lunatic, yeah?"
Izzy cuts in, saying, "Bonnet," so grimly that he sounds like a vicar giving a funeral. Stede's almost grateful for the interruption, given where the conversation had been veering. "Ed's trying to tell you that it's never just been the two of us. We've both had other… arrangements, some more serious than others."
"You," Stede starts. He should've brought Lucius in here to take notes. At least then, he might be able to keep up. "Arrangements?"
"Yeah," Ed replies, nodding. "Sometimes, we were just fooling around. Sometimes not. We were both with Jack on and off for years. And Izzy was seeing a merchant in the Republic for… I don't know." He shrugs. "Three years? Four?"
Izzy huffs. "That might not be the best example, considering what you did to him."
"I warned him," Ed says, steel creeping into his voice. "I told him exactly what would happen to him if he wasn't good to you."
"Ed—"
"He hit you."
"So have you."
"Iz," Ed murmurs—devastated, overcome. He reaches out toward Izzy but stops short of touching. "I thought you forgave me for that."
"I have."
"But…?
"There's no but."
"Sure sounded like there was a but." Sighing, Ed reaches out again. He slides his hand over Izzy's knee. "I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have cut your toe off, either."
Stede blinks. "You… cut his toe off?"
"That's not open for discussion, Bonnet."
"Fine," Stede says, although he and Ed will absolutely be discussing it later. He's tired, suddenly. He feels like he's been rowing a dinghy for days. "Let's discuss the duel, then. And the Navy. If things have always been… open between you two, why did you try so hard to kill me?"
Izzy studies Stede for a moment, completely stone-faced. When he finally speaks, he notes, "It was different this time," without remorse. "I was worried you were going to get him killed, the way you were swanning around, playing at being a pirate. And he was talking about leaving." His eyes and voice turn so cold so quickly that Stede nearly shivers. "I don't care if he wants to fuck pretty deckhands or disappear onto the Walrus for a week without telling me—"
"Fuck off. I fucking told Horace."
"—but I'm not just going let someone else take him away from me. Not after twenty-five years. Not without a fight."
Ed makes a low, vexed noise. "Horace said he'd tell you. It's not my fault he forgot. Besides, I made it back in time for Jack's wedding, yeah?"
"Yeah. And you were so drunk you could barely stand."
"To be fair, so was Jack."
"Jack's married?" Stede asks.
"He's not married anymore," Izzy replies, flat. "He's dead."
"Never mind that," Ed says. He squeezes Stede's fingers, then slides his hand up until his thumb is brushing the inside of Stede's wrist. "Let's get back to the part where you want to fuck Izzy."
Stede gasps. "I never said that!"
"You implied it. Said something about"— Ed mimics the gesture Stede made earlier—"all three of us."
"I didn't mean...."
"… that you want to fuck Izzy?"
"I think you want me to… fuck Izzy."
"Well…" Ed smiles again. His fingers skim over the thrum of Stede's pulse. "I could be interested in you fucking Izzy."
"I'm right here," Izzy points out. His voice is snappish, but his face is flushed and his eyes are a bit glassy. He—oh. Oh. He's enjoying this. "Stop talking about me like I can't fucking hear you."
Ed looks at Izzy for a moment, then catches Izzy's chin in his hand and presses his thumb to the swell of his lower lip. Izzy sucks it into his mouth, slow enough that Stede glimpses wet flashes of tongue. Ed makes a noise, rough. His beautiful eyes go very wide and very dark.
He asks, "Iz?"
Izzy tips his head back enough to dislodge Ed's thumb. "It's Bonnet. Don't be absurd."
"Said he was handsome the other night."
"I did not," Izzy snaps, before Stede can lose what's left of his mind wondering how that came up. "I said he was 'alright.'"
Stede objects to that with a scoff, but Ed just laughs. "That's high praise from you, yeah? You once said Bellamy was 'decent enough,' and he's probably the hottest guy anyone's ever seen."
Stede's pretty sure Ed's the hottest guy anyone's ever seen, especially now: his chest bare underneath the robe and his breeches loosely laced. He's looking at Izzy again—or rather, they're looking at each other. It drags on long enough that Stede begins to feel uncomfortable, but some unspoken conversation must pass between them. Ed grabs Stede's other arm and levers himself to his feet.
He shifts his weight a few times, as if gauging what his knee is going to do, then moves behind Stede. He wraps his arms around Stede's waist and starts opening his breeches.
"Ed," Stede whispers uncertainly. They've only done this twice since Stede returned, and not like this—in front of someone else, and never mind that that someone else is Izzy.
Ed just laughs, soft, his breath warm at Stede's neck. "You don't have to touch him. Just watch."
That seems worse somehow, more intimate, but that doesn't stop him from doing as Ed asked, heat burning in his cheeks as Izzy slips his cravat away from his collar and unbuttons his shirt. He bends to deal with his boots and socks—right foot, then left—then unlaces his pants and drags them off. His legs are well-muscled, marked with scars and thick with hair.
Ed's hand wraps around Stede's cock, and Stede startles; he hadn't realized he was hard. Another laugh fans across his skin. Ed gives him two good, firm pumps before asking, "Are you watching?"
"Yes," Stede admits.
As Izzy turns around, his shirt falls open to expose dark nipples pierced with silver rings and a neat taper of hair between his legs. The cunt is a surprise, but just looking at it has Stede clenching his hands at his sides. His nub—or cock, Stede supposes, given that he's a man—is plump and flush, large enough to peek past his lips.
"C'mon, Iz. Show him."
Izzy climbs back onto the bed, positioning himself flat on his back with his ass near the mattress' edge. He parts his legs, heels scraping against the bedframe. After a pause, he runs a hand over and past his belly and uses to fingers to spread open his cunt.
"Oh," Stede breathes, lost to it. Everything is pink and plush and slick. "Oh, Izzy."
Ed hides a kiss behind Stede's ear. He's been toying with Stede's cock so far, just fingers up and down the length and his thumb over the head, but he starts stroking him in earnest as he says, "He's got the prettiest cunt." He shuffles them a bit closer—close enough that Stede can see how wet Izzy is, can practically feel the heat of him. "Don't know how I got so lucky."
Izzy pushes two fingers inside himself with a low, rough noise. He thrusts them in and out, in and out, in and out, then drags them up, shiny with slick, and uses them to play with his cock. Stede catches himself matching his rhythm, shoving into Ed's hand as Izzy rubs at the head of his cock in quick, tight circles. His fingers dip down again—twisting, curling, thrusting. He tips his head back, baring the long line of his throat.
"Ed," he mumbles, hips rocking. "Ed."
"You look good, Iz." Ed draws his hand up Stede's cock, palms at the head, and works his hand back down. "Bet you want my mouth on your cock. Or Stede's, yeah?"
Izzy chokes out a moan. "Fuck, Ed."
Ed hums and hides another kiss behind Stede's ear. He's hard against Stede's ass; he ruts there for a moment before asking, "You ever do that?"
"I—" Stede clears his throat. "No."
"I'll show you," Ed says, a smile in his voice. "You won't believe how good he tastes. And he gets so wet. You'll have it all over your face."
"Ed," Stede hisses. The heat in his gut is building, building. He's so close. "You—God."
"Iz, can you come for me? Can you some for Stede?"
"I," Izzy whines—high, almost fretful. "Fuck."
Ed presses against Stede's back. He tells Stede, "Grab his legs," and moves them closer.
"What?"
"His legs," Ed says. His hand slows on Stede's cock, and it nearly brings Stede to tears. "He likes them up, and open. When I have him on his back, I put them over my shoulders."
The picture that makes—Izzy sprawled out and split open for Ed's cock, writhing beneath the long, naked line of Ed's back—shocks a noise out of Stede that's so embarrassing that he almost expects Ed or Izzy to laugh at him. But Ed just uses his free hand to guide one of Stede's to the sweat-damp skin at the back of Izzy's thigh. Stede fumbles his other hand up and lifts until Izzy is tensing against the strain.
He means to just hold Izzy there, but somehow—his doing? Ed's?—Izzy's legs end up over his shoulders. It's too close—too close. Izzy has three fingers in his cunt now; he's thrusting them hard and fast and grinding the heel of his hand against his cock. Stede can hear how wet he is. He can see the slick dripping out of him, matting the hair around his cunt and leaving spots on the bedding.
Ed, still rutting against Stede's ass, crowds even closer to Stede's back. He reaches out with his free hand and skims his fingers over the wet skin just under Izzy's hole. Izzy arches off the bed, whimpering, "Ed, Ed," and Stede watches, simultaneously fascinated and horrified by the thought of Ed pushing them in when Izzy's already so full. But he doesn't. He just teases them there and teases them there, until Izzy is mad with it, clawing at the bedding with his other hand and gulping air.
And then those fingers are on Stede's cock, an impossibly warm-wet glide, and Stede, groaning, bucks into Ed's hand so hard his cock nearly bumps the back of Izzy's thigh.
"You like that?" Ed asks, rough. "You like fucking through the mess Izzy made?"
Stede feels Izzy come—feels Izzy's calves tense against his shoulders and Izzy's thighs tremble under his hands. He watches, tension pulling in his gut, as Izzy's cunt clutches at his fingers, and he can't help but follow, shuddering as he spurts—embarrassingly—into the crease of Izzy's hip. It hits him like a blow, almost painful, and it leaves him hunched over, curled in on himself, his head bowed, struggling to breathe.
Distantly, he hears Ed moving around behind him: a rustle of cloth, a gasp, the telltale slap of skin on skin. Ed's finished before Stede can move to help him, grabbing at Stede's shoulder and coming with a grunt.
Stede looks at Izzy. He's sitting up now, his hair askew and his shirt falling off his shoulders. His legs are still splayed, but he has a hand over his cunt like he doesn't want Stede to see it anymore. For a moment, Stede worries that he only did this to please Ed, but then he notices the heated way his eyes are running over both him and Ed.
Another rustle of cloth—Ed fixing his pants. As Stede starts to do the same, Ed throws an arm around Stede's shoulder. He smells like sweat and come, and more hair has escaped his bun.
"All three of us," he says, sounding far too pleased with himself. "That's—"
"Don't count your chickens yet," Stede warns. Now that his blood has cooled a bit, he's feeling less impulsive. Less foolish. He and Izzy barely tolerate each other, and sex alone is unlikely to fix that. "Just because we did this once doesn't mean we should do it again."
And really, Edward has no business looking so disappointed. Not when he's the one being greedy. He also has no business mouthing at Stede's jaw like that when Stede's trying to stand his ground.
"Will you at least consider it?" Ed asks.
"Fine," Stede concedes, mostly because Ed's tongue is on his skin. "I'll consider it."
"Iz?"
Izzy heaves out a sigh. "I suppose it's not the worst idea you've ever had."
Stede makes a noise at that—tight, offended—but Ed just laughs and says, "High praise, Stede. High praise."
Izzy's mouth twitches.
High praise indeed.