Chapter Text
Izzy Hands would rather die than listen to Stede Bonnet fuck his boss, a man he had lusted after and hero worshipped for the better part of two decades. It’s been a long time since, but having once loved and lain with his captain, the thought of Stede Bonnet anywhere near Ed–a pirate superior to the gentryman in every way–still stings. Like an un-gloved slap to the face, it stings. So, you can imagine then, that the thought of Stede Bonnet bringing the great Blackbeard pleasure, touching him and taking him to the heights of bliss, is the worst possible hell Izzy Hands can imagine.
Bonnet, of course, makes sure it’s a hell that he experiences often.
Too often for it to be coincidence.
Too loudly for it to be anything but on purpose.
Stede makes sure Izzy knows this.
It’s like a game they play.
Izzy just doesn’t know that.
The first time he walks in on it is his own fault. Roach tries to warn him that the captain—captains, he said, though Izzy paid that mention no mind—are in their chambers, but Izzy’s too bothered by the fact that none of these sailors seem to know how to sail to catch the hint Roach tries to hand him when he babbles about how busy they are. So now he’s standing in the doorway of the biggest room below deck, watching the dread pirate Blackbeard get railed on both hands and his one good knee, his face pressed into the mattress and his bad leg gripped tight as it wraps around the set of pale hips plowing into him from behind.
It’s not that he hasn’t seen his boss in flagrante before. Hell, Izzy’s been caught in the act of coitus with the man more than once himself, stared at by a crew member or three while he was bouncing on Blackbeard’s dick. The issue is how Ed looks now, for fuck sake. How he looks as Izzy catches him doing that with Stede Bonnet. Fucking Stede Bonnet. How Izzy catches him fucking and being fucked by Stede fucking Bonnet.
Edward Teach hasn’t been submissive a day in his life, but that’s how he looks now. Like a bitch in heat, being bred by a beast. Because, from what Israel can see slamming between his boss’s thighs, Stede Bonnet is aptly named. Hung like a steed, indeed. And it’s mesmerizing, much as he might hate that it’s not him there with Ed. It’s mesmerizing seeing Blackbeard clutching at the sheets, moaning like he’s been shot at and left on the floor to bleed. Izzy can't stand it. He can't stand it, but that doesn't stop how he finds the whorish sounds that tumble from Ed's mouth, the symphony of slapping skin and the soft grunts of the son-of-a-bitch at the helm of Ed’s pleasure, all so fucking entrancing.
It's hard to tear himself away, hypnotized as he is by the sight before him, but pull his gaze away, he does.
Stede’s not looking at Ed when Izzy looks up, though.
He’s looking straight at Izzy, like he can see right through his soul.
“Fuck! There, yes! Fuck, right there! Just like that, babe!" Ed groans. “Just like that.”
Stede does it again, whatever he’d done, but his eyes are still locked on Izzy Hands.
There’s a spark there, a steel in Bonnet’s eyes that Izzy tells himself to note. He doesn’t know what it means, but he knows that it unsettles him, more than the flush he can feel rising on his cheeks, the way his pants tighten, how his face radiates heat. Bonnet’s looking at him like he’s penetrating him too, like he’s got Izzy pinned under thumb, beneath his boot. And there’s a quick flash of want there before Izzy feels sick, before he feels like he’s going to crawl right out of his skin. So, he flees without saying a word, back to his bunk to swallow a bottle of rum and do his best to forget where he just was. What he just saw. What he just heard.
What he will never admit he wants to be part of.
Alas, too busy chastizing himself, Izzy should’ve noted the dumb blonde’s dumb look better, should’ve recognized the twat had something up his sleeve, though he hadn’t been wearing any at the time. Because now his life is hell. Because now they’re here, with the once-rich fop flinging the great Edward Teach over every hard surface he can muster for an afternoon, mid-morning, or dead of the night romp, the co-captains amorous to the point of Izzy's near-insanity.
Seems to be that if Izzy’s around, Ed’s getting plowed.
All to prove the point that Izzy’s not.
Izzy’s not. But dear god, he wants to be.
Add it to the growing list of reasons he hates himself.