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As the boarding planks lower and the first wave of pirates rush across towards the deck of the Dutch merchant ship, Edward is practically vibrating next to him. He’d recently been moved back to the second wave of fighters in the raid lineup, which Izzy is most certainly not relieved by. They’re fucking pirates, they’re here to do a job. Some of them will be picked off at random in the process. Can’t get all invested in any one person.
Edward hovers on his right, and to his left is Hanson, a broad man with pale skin and a permanent sneer who works as the bosun’s mate. The three of them are flanked by the remaining members of the second wave, around fifteen men in total.
“You ready for this one, Iz?” Edward asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet, sharpened cutlass at the ready. Izzy would guess he’s two parts eager to let loose in a swordfight the way he never can in training with Izzy and one part nervous energy.
Izzy doesn’t take his eyes off the clashing of swords in front of them as he supplies, “Shut up, Teach,” putting on more aggression than he really feels.
The first wave, mostly deckhands still in the “expendable” stage of their careers, are holding their own against the poorly prepared and sparsely staffed merchant ship. At the quartermaster’s signal, the second wave bolts across to join them.
Izzy ends up right behind Edward on the crossing planks, but he quickly loses sight of him in the chaos. Izzy approaches a stout sailor in a red and blue uniform, buttoned up in a formal way that makes him look wildly out of place, holding a quivering cutlass much higher than he should be. Izzy knocks the weapon out of his grasp easily and the man surrenders before he has to go any further. It’s all the same to Izzy, who has never relished bloodshed the way some of his crewmates do.
The next is more determined, seemingly itching for the chance to engage in a real swordfight with a real pirate. Overtaking him takes several long moments, and Izzy feels his muscles begin to burn with exertion. He actually breaks a sweat as he forces the man backwards, eventually relieving him of his right arm just above the elbow.
Izzy pushes further into the fray.
A few feet away, he sees a bush of black curls gathered sloppily up into a familiar purple ribbon. Edward is engaged with a sailor of the same height, but who weighs at least twice as much as him. Izzy only has a few seconds to feel something he refuses to name as concern before Edward drives his sword into the merchant’s shoulder and through to the mainmast, effectively pinning him in place. Ed graciously borrows the merchant’s cutlass to use for the remainder of the fight. As he turns away from his opponent, he catches Izzy’s eye for just long enough to throw him a wink before going to help another deckhand who’s in over his head.
Izzy’s distraction earns him a shallow gash on his left shoulder from the throwing knife of someone too cowardly to come within sword’s reach. The pain helps him focus, shake off his unhelpful worries about Ed while he’s supposed to be doing his fucking job, and Izzy settles into the familiar rhythm of a good raid.
By the time the merchant captain calls surrender, Izzy has managed to avoid taking any injuries beyond the slice across his shoulder, faring much better than anyone he’d fought against.
He sets up by the stairwell to the lower decks, directing the deckhands as they retrieve the ship’s cargo from the hold. Edward’s been assigned to tying up the hostages, and Izzy watches him out of the corner of his eye. His hair ribbon is sliding loose and sweat trickles down his large biceps where they stretch the sleeves of his dark shirt. Izzy watches a little too closely the way Ed’s deft fingers manipulate the rope he uses to bind the survivors.
Edward finishes his task and lightly brushes past him, going down to the hold to bring up more loot. Izzy stares at the doorway where Ed disappeared for several seconds, then he shakes himself out of his distraction, grunting as he pries open a conveniently unlabeled crate from the ship’s kitchen. He’s tuning out Hornigold’s ongoing monologue to the enemy captain about the importance of honesty between seamen, especially in regard to any potentially illicit cargo of which he should be informed, when a sudden cry of pain breaks through the din.
A few men have been standing guard between the spectacle of the Captain’s little performance and where Ed left the hostages backed up to the mainmast, rope now binding their wrists and ankles. One of those guards, Hanson, is bent double, clutching a small dagger embedded in the meat of his calf, bright red blood streaming out between his fingers.
A hostage kneels behind him, right hand stained a little red and severed rope bindings lying on the deck beside him. His eyes dart from his hand to the dagger to Hornigold and back, and he seems to have attacked on impulse, without any regard for what came next. The culprit pales dramatically as all eyes turn towards Hanson’s shout, his moment of idiotic bravery having fled.
Captain Hornigold turns, displaying his irritation at having been interrupted in the midst of a grand interrogation of their victims’ leader. He looks down at the fresh blood pooling on the deck and gives a put-upon sigh. “Burns, take Hanson back to the ship, get Inslow to patch him up.”
A quiet yes, cap’n preceeds the two pirates’ exit, Hanson limping on his good leg as Burns begrudgingly pulls an arm around his shoulders. Everyone else on deck remains frozen, waiting to see what will become of the hostage, a weaselly looking man in his late twenties, with greasy, dark hair falling limp around his blood-drained face.
“You stabbed one of my men, yes?”
“Y-yes, sir, cap’n sir.”
“Hmph.”
Hornigold begins briskly moving a few paces away from the hostage before he turns, unholstering his pistol. Izzy turns back to the crates of rations he’d been distracted from evaluating, so unsurprised when the gunshot rings out that he doesn't flinch. Hornigold strides back over to the ship’s captain, and the quartermaster barks, “Get back to your tasks!”
The crewmembers are wise enough not to talk about it. The rest of the loot is transferred, along with a handful of hostages, back to the Ranger by a crew slightly more subdued than before.
Izzy stops by the quartermaster’s office to pick up the ration logs, and as he leaves, he passes the small room which serves as the ship’s surgery. Hanson’s voice drifts out into the hall, murmuring, “Fucking Teach, bilge rat, can’t even remember to disarm the fucking hostages!” Hanson grunts in pain. “I’ll kill the fucking swab, make him fucking regret this…”
Realizing he’d paused to listen, Izzy resumes his stride up towards the deck, but as he jots down preliminary notes on the incoming supplies in the log, his mind and his stomach are churning. Hanson isn’t a particularly powerful or influential man, but he is big, and there are too many ways to take revenge on another crewmember with just enough deniability that the bolder men don't fear punishment.
As the evening grows darker, Izzy lights a lantern with barely the range to cast light throughout the hold where he’s still completing the detailed log of the new cargo. Quartermaster’s mate is a respectable title, but Izzy does sometimes wonder if it’s more trouble than it’s worth. He can hear the anthems of joyful drunkenness filtering down from the main deck, and it occurs to him that the ship’s surgeon, Inslow, has probably turned in for the night.
He moves before he has any kind of plan. Izzy creeps down the hallway towards the surgery, and when he pushes the old, creaky door open just a crack, he sees Hanson lying on the recovery cot, fast asleep. He quickly slides into the room, closing the door behind him.
Hanson wakes with a wail, opening his eyes to see Izzy sitting directly on his now stitched-up leg and holding a small dagger not an inch from his left cheek, just below his eye.
“Shh, sh, sh, don’t whine, I’m not here to hurt you,” Izzy soothes with comical sincerity. “It’s just that I wanted to talk about your little flesh wound here.”
Hanson doesn’t take his eyes off Izzy’s right hand, which holds the knife steady, just barely grazing the skin of his face. He swallows. “Yeah?”
Izzy stretches his lips into a cold, unfriendly smile.
“See, I was just thinking about how this whole thing was really your fault, yeah?” He feels an unnatural calm come over him despite the recklessness of this whole interaction. “I mean, anyone standing within swinging distance of fresh hostages is really just asking to be attacked, isn’t that right?”
“Listen here, it was that fucking kid, Teach–”
Izzy gives him a piercing stare as he interrupts, “Hey, what do you think of O’Malley? Nice kid, huh? Can’t be more than fifteen, but he’s adjusted well to the crew so far.”
Hanson, for once, wisely says nothing.
“You know, I hear some of the men think that O’Malley, well, that he might be related to you.” Izzy feels a trickle of delight as the fear in Hanson’s eyes bleeds into outrage. “Of course, I told them that’s nonsense, no pirate in his right mind would risk bringing a family member, a liability, onto a ship like Hornigold’s. Even if he does have those pretty red curls that so resemble yours…”
Izzy smooths the tip of the knife through the cropped ginger sideburns that line Hanson’s jaw, stopping just at the tender skin of his throat.
Hanson’s hard swallow is audible above the faint sounds of the shanty drifting below deck.
Izzy draws his knife back and pretends to clean his fingernails with it as he continues, “You know, I think the Quartermaster was debating moving O’Malley, now that’s he’s getting too tall to be a proper powder monkey. Might even be moving him out to the first wave.”
Hanson’s eyes go wide. “No– He can’t–”
“Well, see for anyone who’s interested in the kid’s assignment, they should know that as the QM’s mate, I happen to have quite a bit of sway over the raid lineup.”
Izzy watches the gears begin to turn behind Hanson’s stupid, stupid eyes, consternation replacing the terror that had begun to build there. The stitches in his fresh wound pull taught as Izzy shifts his weight more directly over his calf, and Hanson lets out an involuntary whimper.
“Now, I certainly didn’t see Teach fuck up today, did you, Hanson?”
Slowly, he begins to shake his head, breathing deeply through the pain in his leg.
Izzy feigns thoughtfulness, “No, no, Teach wasn’t anywhere near the hostages, as I recall. Can’t possibly have had any role in your unfortunate mishap, right, mate?” Hanson grinds his teeth. Izzy drops the act and puts the dagger back to his face, just tickling his left eyelashes. “Answer me.”
Hanson doesn’t dare blink as he grits out, “Nope. Can’t have been Teach. Must have been mistaken, my fault after all.”
Izzy strokes the flat of his blade soothingly across the curve of Hanson’s jaw and grants him a wide, sinister smile. “I’m so glad we’re in agreement. I think I’ll mention to the Quartermaster that O’Malley’s not shooting up that fast, he can probably stay in the gundecks for a while longer. Good talk, Hanson.”
He slips out of the surgery and leans his back against the closed door, pretends he doesn’t hear Hanson’s muttering about blackmailing bastard and officers keeping fucking pets now. His heart is still beating like a racehorse, but something unclenches in Izzy’s chest. He lets out a long exhale and pushes off the wall, walks back down the hall towards the cargo he has left to log.
Izzy opens the door to the hold and barely has time to register that he’s not alone before he’s grabbed by his collar and shoved up against the back of the door, Edward’s lips harsh and bruising on his own.
“Jesus, Iz, you were so fucking hot today, looked like the stuff of nightmares out on that deck.”
Edward tastes of the good rum they spoil themselves with after successful raids, but when he pulls back enough that Izzy can look at him, his eyes are clear and focused.
“Edward, what are you–” Izzy tries, but he’s quickly silenced by warm lips and hands, one on his waist, rucking up what was a neatly tucked in shirt, and one on his jaw, pinning his head against the back of the storeroom door and tilting his chin to exactly the angle Ed wants as he claims his mouth again.
Ed’s tongue caresses Izzy’s lower lip before he gives a sharp bite. “Saw the way you were looking at me out there too, got tired of waiting for you to make a move on it. You’ve got no idea what you do to me, Izzy.”
Izzy’s mouth falls open on a groan, and Ed wastes no time in delving further. Their tongues touch and it’s wet and messy and a little gross, but Izzy can feel Edward’s hard chest pressed against his, his mussed hair threaded between Izzy’s fingers, his hips pushing forward to pin Izzy in place, and he quickly decides to hell with the cargo inventory.
As soon as Izzy gives in and relaxes back against the storeroom door, going pliant in Edward’s arms, Ed moves his focus to his neck. He slides his lips down, leaving a wet trail on the way to Izzy’s collarbone where he begins sucking mercilessly. It stings, and the prick of pain makes Izzy’s already half-hard dick spring to life in his trousers.
“Ed, Edward,” Izzy cuts himself off with a moan that’s entirely too vulnerable.
“Yeah, Iz? You want something? Just got to ask, can have whatever you want, but I want to hear you ask for it,” Edward says. He’s mouthing at the junction between Izzy’s neck and shoulder, but keeping his hands infuriatingly still on his hips, a tight grip holding them back so he can’t grind against Ed’s thigh.
“Fuck.”
“Didn’t sound like much of a request.” Ed huffs a derisive laugh against his throat. “Try again. Ask me nicely, Israel.”
“You’re a twat, you know that?”
Edward bites down hard on his shoulder, sinking his teeth in enough to bruise. “I want to give you everything you want,” Ed says as he slams his hips forward to pin Izzy against the door, leaving his hands free. One sneaks down to rest teasingly above the laces on the front of his pants, while the other goes to Izzy’s throat, his long fingers wrapping around the back of his neck while he uses his thumb to tip Izzy’s chin up, forcing him to make eye contact. “But you have to tell me what that is, yeah?”
There’s a seriousness in Ed’s eyes which belies his show of dominance: he’s really asking. He doesn’t want to mess up this time, to push Izzy, to ask for more than he wants to give.
Izzy stares him down, breathing heavily.
“I want you to put your fucking hand down my pants.”
A smile flickers across Edward’s face before he’s crowding up against Izzy again, quickly loosening his trouser laces while he pulls him into another kiss.
The hand is gone from Izzy’s throat, but he again feels like he can’t breathe once he’s got Ed’s calloused fingers wrapping around him. He grips Ed’s shoulders, his waist, anywhere he can find purchase as he tries to keep his feet under him. It's only the second time they've done this, but Edward touches him confidently, like he's been doing it for years.
Ed starts up a slow rhythm, taking his time gathering slick from the head where Izzy’s been dripping for minutes now and spreading it down his length. Izzy puts all his effort into the kiss, taking back some control as he sucks on Ed’s tongue and tugs on his thick, black hair that just barely crosses his shoulders these days. Edward whines as he pulls, and it gives him the confidence to go a little harder, be a little rougher.
The hand on his cock speeds up and he gives an undignified moan, breaking the kiss as they both pant in the scant few inches between them.
“Izzy, Iz, can – can I –” Ed’s fumbling with the tie of his own trousers, trying and failing to get them open with just one hand, so Izzy bats his hand away and gets Edward’s cock out himself. He makes a loose fist which Ed immediately pushes into, humming in satisfaction.
“God, I’ve been thinking about this all day. Watching you during that fight, all sweaty and fast and fucking powerful… Could hardly keep my hands to myself, Iz, you were amazing,” Ed’s babbling against Izzy’s throat as they stroke each other.
“Ed, fuck, Ed, I’m going to –” Izzy cuts off with a grunt as he tries to hold himself back, to focus on keeping a steady rhythm with the hand on Ed’s prick.
“Oh fuck yes, me too. Want to make you come, Izzy, fuck, hold on.”
Ed knocks Izzy’s fist away and pushes his hips forward so he can wrap his larger hand around both of them, jerking them off together, and Izzy’s release hits him at the first touch of Ed’s cock to his own.
Izzy claps a hand over his mouth to stifle the high whine that he can’t hold back as he comes over Ed’s fist. Edward is groaning and cursing as the lightning-fast slide of his hand gets even slicker.
“Fuck, fuck, Izzy, Izzy.” Ed pulls Izzy’s hand aside to crash against his mouth in an inelegant kiss, moaning as he finishes. He keeps pulling on their cocks together, working himself through it, and Izzy’s all raw, exposed nerves, shaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm. He twists his fingers in the shorter hairs at the nape of Ed’s neck, pulling inward to keep their lips pressed together.
Ed gasps as he pulls away for breath, his hand finally slowing as Izzy begins to writhe with overstimulation. For a moment, the world seems to go silent but for their panting. Izzy opens his eyes as Ed pulls back a fraction.
“Shit,” Ed says with a wide grin spreading across his face. “That was fucking amazing.”
“You’re underselling it, I think,” Izzy says, breathless and trying to be casual about it.
Ed chuckles kindly and presses a final kiss to Izzy’s lips before he pulls away and leans his back against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with Izzy. Edward holds his hand up in front of his face, considering the way the translucent mess of their combined spend looks in the low lantern light. Then he licks a stripe up his palm, smacking his lips as he considers the taste.
Izzy lets out an unfairly scandalized gasp for a man with his dick still hanging out of his pants. Ed looks over at him and grins.
“Want a taste?”
“Maybe next time,” Izzy mutters, retying the laces on his trousers. He sighs. “I’ve still got records to update.”
“Oh, I can help if you like,” Ed says, and it seems like a genuine offer.
Izzy considers him for a moment. “Yeah, alright.”
The two spend the next half hour working in tandem on the cargo log, not quite cutting the time in half because Edward keeps distracting him, touching him every time he passes. A brush of a shoulder here, a hand on the small of his back there, all perfectly innocent touches, but they still manage to make his blood heat, and Izzy’s dick makes a valiant effort at hardening for the second time in an hour.
When they finish, Edward walks him to his room.
“Dream sweet dreams of me tonight, Izzy,” Ed says with another of his heart-stopping winks. He turns to walk down the hall toward the deckhand’s berth, past the surgery where Izzy had impulsively visited Hanson not hours before, and something clenches in Izzy’s stomach.
“Hey, why don’t you sleep in my room tonight?”
Ed turns back with a surprised and very, very interested look. “You want me to spend the night, Hands?” He walks back over, slides his palms up Izzy’s chest and around his neck with a coy smile.
“I feel certain my cabin’s got a better bed than whatever you’ve been sleeping on,” Izzy wagers, trying to seem stoic even as his hands grasp at Ed’s hips before he can stop them.
“Been holding out on me, huh? Living in luxury in the QM’s mate’s cabin?” Edward leans in to whisper in his ear, “It sounds like you need to give me the grand tour, then.”
“I’ll be sure to make it a top priority,” Izzy breathes into Ed’s mouth, pushing open the door behind him and stumbling backwards into the room.
The next day, Izzy and Ed sit at a rickety table near the wall in the galley as they scarf down breakfast. Hanson walks by with his plate of food and eyes them both like they’re something slimy on the bottom of his shoe, staring for longer than Izzy is comfortable with.
Hanson stalks away.
“What the hell was that all about?” Ed asks.
Izzy watches the figure closely as it retreats towards the kitchen. He looks back down at his plate.
“I have no idea.”