Archive of Our Own

"C'mon, Iz," Ed complains as Izzy backs him to the desk in the middle of the captain's cabin with a steady hand. "Swear I can't even feel it, it's – "

"You're gonna feel it tomorrow," Izzy grumbles, focused on lighting the candle on the desk. Light flashes as the wick catches flame, painting the scowl on his face bright for a moment. "I'm gonna have enough of a headache without having to listen to you bitch and whine all day."

"I won't," Ed whines.

Izzy gives him a pointed look, all sharp edges in the candlelight, and reaches for Ed's belt.

Ed can hear the hoots of his crew – his crew – on the deck, the crash of a bottle breaking against wood, a familiar tune that some of the guys are singing. Ed would still be out there hollering and breaking bottles too if Izzy hadn't stuck a stick up his own ass and dragged them in here. Sure, he felt a bit of a twinge in his knee when he jumped onto the deck of the Spanish brig earlier, but it's been easy enough to ignore, with the the remaining rush of battle still running through him. The rum's been helping too.

Ed takes a swig of the bottle he remembers he's holding and lets Izzy struggle his trousers open. The leather's stuck to his sweaty skin and Izzy lets out an annoyed huff as he tries to pull them down.

"Fucking ridiculous, this getup," he grumbles, bending down to get more force behind him.

"Gotta dress the part," Edward grins around the rim of the bottle, giddy with it, with Blackbeard, with his second successful raid in as many days, his third one as a Captain, a fucking Captain of his own fucking god damn ship. His fucking ship, his fucking cabin, his fucking loot.

The trousers get stuck on his right thigh but Izzy manages to tug them past his left knee. "See, it's all messed up," Izzy mutters, getting down on one knee, hands grabbing onto where the loosened strip of linen supporting Ed's knee has unraveled. "A couple more hours of this, you'll pull it out of the socket again."

"Yeah, yeah," Ed says, taking another swig of rum. He drums his fingers on the edge of the desk, fighting the urge to start jumping his foot, knowing it would annoy Izzy further. He's still full of energy, chest brimming with it, blood rushing in his veins, something in him fit to burst. He downs the last of the bottle, doesn't have to save it for anyone, it's his fucking rum. His fucking rum, his fucking crew, his fucking first mate. Fuck, his first mate.

He glances down at Izzy and –

Holy shit.

Shit.

Like, yeah, of course Izzy's –

Of course Izzy's all sharp angles and lighting-quick movements and a smirk that's always made something tug underneath Ed's breastplate, but with the moonlight from the windows hitting his face, the flick of the candle dancing across his features, and from this angle, from up here.

Fucking hell.

Izzy hasn't noticed him staring, too focused on wrapping the cloth tighter around Ed's knee, checking the pressure by pushing a finger between the cloth and Ed's skin, grumbling something about " – fucking ridiculous, this, refusing to get a proper fucking brace – ", whatever, Ed doesn't really care, what he cares about is –

There's a strand of hair that's hanging across Izzy's forehead.

Ed sets the bottle down somewhere behind him and raises his hand, letting it hover by Izzy's face for a couple heartbeats – huh, when'd his heart start beating like that – before finally touching it, tucking it behind Izzy's ear.

Izzy looks up at that and –

It had been a calm night outside, dead calm, stars doubled by the way they reflect off the glass surface of the ocean, but they must run into a freak wave with the way Ed's stomach swoops.

Ed shifts his hand, holding onto Izzy's jaw with three fingers and, feeling kind of insane, asks: "When'd you get so fucking pretty?"

Something flashes in Izzy's eyes, something new –

Then he scoffs and turns his eyes back to Ed's knee.

"Wait," Ed rushes out, what the fuck was that – "Hey, no, lemme see you."

Ed feels Izzy's jaw shift as he sets it.

"Lemme see you, Iz," he tries again, voice slipping into something deeper.

Izzy lets out a sudden, shaky breath, quiet enough that Ed would have missed it if he was looking at anything except him.

"Iz," he says again, letting his voice deepen into something – something bigger than him.

Izzy glances up, quickly, and there's that again, that –

"Good," Ed says before Izzy can look away, letting his hold on Izzy's face become stronger, the press of his fingers deeper. Izzy's eyes widen, his lips fall open, his fingers go slack against Ed's leg.

Ed takes in the look in Izzy's eyes, trying to place it and failing. Fucking fascinating, the thing that just flashed in them, something hot and quick and new, fuck, fuck, he needs a better look, he needs –

Without looking away, he stumbles for the candle, gets his fingers clumsily around the handle and brings it close. In his haste he accidentally tips it over just a bit, just enough for a couple drops of wax to spill over and splash onto his bare thigh and Izzy's hand.

Izzy's whole body twitches, a wheezy breath punching out from between his lips, his eyes snapping to the candle, and Ed's so focused on him that it takes a moment to realise what's happened, to register the sting of the hot wax on his own skin. Fucking ouch, but –

Izzy's eyes flick between him and the candle, a flush darkening the tips of his ears and it's –

Shit, what the fuck, what the fuck.

Without thinking, Ed gets a better grip on Izzy's chin and angles his face up. The flicking light from the candle dances across his cheek, his brow, his jawline, the side of his nose, his thin lips. It's flashing in his eyes that have grown even wider, still jumping between Ed and the candle, confused, seeking something –

"Y'like it?" Ed asks, lets his voice rumble from his chest. He brings the candle closer, close enough that Izzy must feel the heat of it on his face. He's breathing shakily, short, measured puffs of air that Ed can feel on the hand holding the candle.

Finally, Izzy's eyes leave the flame. He looks down at his hands, at the back of his right one where the wax has cooled and solidified. He stays like that for a moment, a stiff line of tension running through his spine. He shakes his head a little but then, efficient as anything, he opens the buttons of his cuffs. With trembling hands, he pulls his sleeves up, revealing his arms one by one. He's still not looking up.

He waits for another moment, before seeming to finally make up his mind. He raises one trembling hand, turning it so his palm is facing up. Ed's eyes lock onto the thin skin of his wrist, the veins running up it, the hairs that catch the candlelight. He feels lightheaded all of a sudden, blood rushing in his ears.

Izzy's still facing down, and that won't do, Ed needs to see –

He jerks Izzy's face up with a forceful little twist of his wrist. Izzy lets out a small noise, a surprised little "Ah," eyes coming up to meet Ed's. Ed tips the candle.

Hot wax drips down onto Izzy's palm, his wrist, up his forearm, and Izzy –

Izzy moans out loud, a hoarse, wheezing sound, wretched from somewhere deep within him. He squeezes his eyes closed, folding into himself, but Ed jerks him back up before he can lower his face.

Izzy's eyes blink back open and find his, and he tips the candle again. Izzy lets out another moan, and squeezes his eyes shut, but he flutters them back open after a breath. His eyelashes are clumping together, and the look on his face –

He looks fucking gone, is what he looks like. Pupils blown to hell, moisture gathering at the corners, his mouth open, a tongue coming out to lick his dry lips, a flush spreading to his cheeks and creeping up his collar.

His collar, where he's now tearing at the buttons with trembling, burnt hands.

Ed watches Izzy struggle with the buttons of his shirt, allows the eye contact to break for a moment as Izzy fumbles the shirt open to his navel. Ed licks his lips, eyes roving over the exposed skin of his neck, his clavicles, the hair on his chest. Izzy's tugging the collar of the shirt over his shoulder, opening himself up so prettily, and Ed feels fucking crazy with it, blood rushing in his veins, something warm and huge and powerful growing in his chest, struggling to get out.

He raises his hand to cradle Izzy's face and Izzy turns to face him fully. He slides his hand back to Izzy's nape, buries his fingers in his hair and tugs, forceful but slow, tilting Izzy's head back.

Izzy's breathing has turned to full panting now, desperate, trembling huffs of air. Ed brings the candle closer, letting it wash over his features, painting him in hues of orange and yellow, and watches his throat work as he swallows, his jugular jump in time with his racing heart.

Ed raises the candle and a desperate, broken moan punches itself out of Izzy even before the first drops hit his skin.

They fall onto his clavicles, the long line of his neck, down where his chest hair peeks out of his shirt. Each new swipe of his hand, each new drop that falls, makes Izzy twitch and gasp, his hips jerking against nothing. Ed watches his eyes fill, feels a sickly sweet tug inside him as he sees the first tear falls onto his cheek. For a moment Ed's drowning, floating, out of his fucking body with how much he needs.

He doesn't know what Izzy sees in his eyes but it makes him let out a full, throaty, desperate moan that sounds like it's being dragged out of him against his will. His mouth's fallen so open, and it looks so wet, so warm –

Ed's never wanted to fuck anything more, he realises with a start.

He hadn't even noticed himself growing hard, too focused on Izzy, on this wonderful, insane fucking gift Izzy's presenting him with, but now it's all he can feel.

He's already bare under the hem of his shirt, Izzy's already done the work of getting him out of his trousers, and isn't that a fucking laugh, how many times Izzy's already pulled his trousers off, and it's never –

Okay, fuck it, Ed's drunk, and feeling kind of really fucking insane what with the day he's had, so for once in his fucking life, he can be honest to himself. Can admit to himself the times he's felt Izzy's hands linger just a beat longer than necessary, the tug and pull somewhere deep inside him that he feels when Izzy looks at him too long, the urge he gets sometimes, high on a won battle and squeezing Izzy's shoulder, the urge to pull him close and bite down on him and take and take and take and take –

He pulls his shirt up and over his head, and shit, yeah, that's definitely his dick, half-hard and still filling, twitching next to Izzy's face.

Izzy looks down at it in shock, something in his eyes sobering, and for a second Ed feels –

Fucking stupid, fucking pathetic, waving his dick around as if –

Izzy swallows him down.

Now Ed's the one in shock, letting out a frankly undignified yelp and a groan, his hips jerking deeper into Izzy's mouth.

Izzy splutters, and coughs, and wheezes, but doesn't pull up, keeps on pushing himself deeper onto Ed's cock with the exact steely determination that's led them here, lead Ed to Blackbeard and Izzy to Blackbeard's first mate.

Going from barely recognising his arousal to this in less than a minute has Ed's head spinning, his hands trembling and spilling wax all over the fucking place now, Izzy's shoulder, down the back of his shirt, in his hair, all over Ed's fucking thighs and shit, that stings, Izzy's a fucking freak for being this into it, shit, fuck, shit.

Izzy pulls back to focus on the head of Ed's cock and Ed fumbles with the candle, managing to set it down on the desk without setting the whole ship on fire. Ed brings his now empty, trembling hand to push through Izzy's hair, holding his head in his palms. Izzy licks down the underside of him and Ed pulls on his hair, craning his neck back. Izzy slowly blinks his eyes open. They're wet, red and huge, glassy as if he's having trouble focusing them. The tear tracks running down his face and neck, the mess around his mouth and chin, glitter in the candlelight.

Izzy's mouth falls open. For a moment he just sits there, panting around Ed's dick. It's laying on his tongue, wet and twitching. The sight of it, the sight of it inside Izzy is fucking – fucking devastating, fucking Earth shattering, isn't it. Ed feels it rush over him, this animal, primal fucking need to – to claim, to take, to maim and claw and bite and shred and –

Izzy pulls back, just a bit, just enough to swallow, then open his mouth again, wide and loose and wet, lower lip brushing the tip of Ed's cock. He looks fucking gone, fucking insane with it, desperation burning through every line of his body, every cut and swell of his flesh.

"Please," he keens out, voice high and broken, takes Ed's cock onto his tongue, and stays there, breathing around it.

It's only then that Ed realises this for what it is, another offering, another fucking gift.

He shifts his grip in Izzy's hair, thrusts his hips out experimentally.

Izzy moans, high, desperate, his eyes fluttering closed and back open, another tear falling from one corner.

It's –

It's fucking –

It's too fucking much, is what Ed thinks, but he thrusts back out and in again anyway, watching Izzy's lips close around him, feeling his tongue flatten out, his throat opening up.

Ed's never felt like this before. This fucking out of it, fuck, he can't fucking think, can't focus on anything except the push and pull of his hips, the way Izzy opens up for him. He pushes in and in and in, and Izzy lets him, choking and whining around his cock but taking it anyway, blinking tears onto his cheeks, looking up at Ed like he's –

Like he's the only fucking thing that –

Distantly, he feels Izzy shifting, feels his hands pressing into the back of his good leg, sees his thighs falling open, feels his weight settling onto his foot. It takes a moment for it to register in his mind – full of fucking need and pleasure and violence that he is – but then Izzy starts moaning around his cock, hitching, rhythmic moans, and Ed realises that he's grinding himself onto Ed's boot, hips working in desperate pushes over the leather, and that's –

Fuck, that's –

Ed's orgasm crashes over him with pure, white-hot violence, the shock of it punching his breath out of him and ringing in his ears. He pulls out, sees his come hit Izzy's face and fuck, fuck, he pushes back in again, filling Izzy's mouth up with it, fuck, fuck, fuck.

He tugs Izzy's jaw down with a clumsy, trembling hand, he can't let him swallow, not yet, he wants to see, fuck, he wants to –

He pulls back out, paints Izzy's lips with the last drops of his come and shoves his fingers inside, spreads them to open Izzy's mouth as wide as it can get.

Izzy's moaning with every desperate, hitched breath that leaves his wrenched open lips, hips still working over Ed's foot. His mouth's red, his lips swollen and used, and there's a pool of come on his tongue, more around his molars, mixing with his saliva, with the tears and snot that have fallen down his face and into his mouth, and Ed needs –

He needs to get closer, he needs to –

He hears the legs of the desk screech against the floor somewhere behind him as he gets down, pulling his foot from under Izzy and stumbling to his knees with his body still trembling from aftershocks, never taking his fingers out.

They're face to face now, as close as they can get with Izzy slumped onto the floor and Ed looming over him on his knees, one hand in Izzy's hair and one in his mouth. Fuck, it's so much better up close, the way he can see every pore and hair and tear on Izzy's face, every fucking vein in his red eyes. His chapped lips, his teeth, his soft tongue and the come cooling on it. His mouth, the red, wet, gaping, warm hole of it.

Ed keeps staring at it for what must be too long, because he can feel Izzy growing restless, his hips twitching against nothing, a cut off whine leaving his throat.

Fuck it, Ed wants to taste.

He pushes closer, opens Izzy's lips even wider, fingertips pressing against his teeth. Izzy lets out a garbled, cut off sound, but lets Ed in. Ed opens his own mouth, pushes his tongue out, and laps it against Izzy's. Fuck, he needs to get deeper so he pushes his fingers in on the right side of his mouth, pressing them against Izzy's top and lower molars, keeping him spread open for him, and fuck, he opens so beautifully, keeps his jaw slack, lets Ed hold him just how he sees fit.

Ed's lips brush against Izzy's lips, teeth, his own fingers, but don't close the gap between them completely. Izzy tastes kind of sour, come and rum and saliva, a bit of blood maybe. He tastes organic, animal, alive, and fuck, Ed wants to drink him up, drink him up til there's nothing left. He brings his tongue back into his own mouth and swallows greedily, goes back in for more. He inhales every one of Izzy's shaky exhales and thinks of Izzy doing the same, thinks of replacing all the air in Izzy's lungs with his breath, all the blood in Izzy's veins with his blood, fuck, fuck, the backs of his teeth ache with his need.

He pulls his fingers out and pushes his lips onto Izzy's, biting down onto him, more an attempt to eat him than kiss him. Izzy's tongue finds Ed's, sliding against it needy and strong and wet.

Ed forces his hands down Izzy's back, grabbing onto his hips, his thighs, hoping it's hard enough to bruise. Izzy shifts on his knees, and Ed moves, sits his ass down clumsily and pulls Izzy up to straddle him. He pushes him flush to his chest, digs his nails in and presses his teeth down onto Izzy's lower lip. Take, take, take, take, his mind's screaming, and Izzy's giving him it all, giving him his mouth and his hips and his moans and the weight of his body.

Izzy's started rocking his hips again, but in the awkward, desperate tangle of their limbs there's nothing for him to push against, no thigh or shoe to rub himself against. Ed's hand brushes by his groin and he lets out a high whine around Ed's tongue.

Fuck, Ed thinks, shitting fucking fuck, and presses his palm between Izzy's legs. His hand doesn't meet the hardness of a dick, but he'd kind of figured that out already, last year or so, not that he's ever asked. Izzy jumps, his mouth going slack, and shifts his hips back, goes to pull away from the kiss.

Yeah, fuck that, Ed thinks, sliding his other hand down to the small of Izzy's back and pulling, forcing Izzy back onto Ed's hand. Izzy keens, twitches, his fingers digging into Ed's shoulders, all of his muscles locked up with tension. Ed cups his hand around the mound of him, presses in with his middle finger, rubs the seam of Izzy's trousers against him, up, down, up, down, trying to stay confident in his movements, trying to show that he knows, that he wants, that he –

Fuck, but Izzy's tense, and Ed's just about to pull his hand off but then Izzy exhales, some of the tension flooding out of him, and lets his hips shift against Ed's hand. He does it again, and again, small, jerky grinds.

Ed chokes around a snarl, something ugly and wet, and tears his mouth off of Izzy's, dragging it down his jaw, enjoying the prickle of his stubble, tonguing around a few drops of wax still stuck to Izzy's skin. He reaches Izzy's neck and bites down, his free hand moving to the ties of Izzy's trousers only to find Izzy's fingers already pulling them loose. Ed hooks a couple fingers on the waistband, pulls Izzy's shirt up from where it's tucked in the trousers, and slides his right hand down.

Izzy's hands raise to grab onto his shoulders and neck, nails digging into Ed's skin. The stream of gasps he's moaning out turn into a yelp as Ed's fingers find his slit and dip between his lips, searing hot and fucking soaking wet. Ed pushes down, and down, and fuck, he needs to fuck this, he needs to get his mouth on it and eat, eat, eat, but all it takes is his fingers sliding back up on both sides on Izzy's cock and brushing over it once, twice, three times, before Izzy's locking up, thighs and arms going tight as a vice around Edward. He screams, hoarse, broken, loud, fucking his hips against Ed's hand as he comes.

Ed rides it out with him, feeling fucking crazy with it, fucking insane, unhinged with it, biting his way down Izzy's neck, digging his nails into his lower back, thighs, hips, pressing his fingertips against Izzy's cock again and again while Izzy wails and jerks and sobs.

The only thing that makes him leave Izzy's oversensitive, poor cock alone is the thought of tasting him. After Izzy jerks away from his touch once too many times he pulls his hand out, fisting Izzy's hair, jerking him back, and feeding him his slick fingers.

Izzy a mess, so out of it so that Ed's genuinely surprised when he manages to close his lips around Ed's fingers and suck. He's still twitching, his hips jerking, every breath a moan or a whine but when Ed presses his mouth to his and pushes his tongue in to join his fingers, Izzy manages to kiss back.

Ed drinks him up, breaks the kiss to get between his own fingers, lick the last bits of Izzy from where his fingers web together, before pushing them back between Izzy's lips.

Izzy's twitching is turning to trembling and Ed pulls him back against his chest, runs his hands all over, letting wave after wave of mine, mine, mine run over him.

His hand comes up the side of Izzy's neck that's burned instead of bitten, and he peels the dried wax off, breaks the kiss to take in the pink skin underneath, still warm and tender to the touch. He peels and scratches more and more of it off, following his hands with his tongue, lapping greedily at every raw mark that gets revealed. He presses his nose to where Izzy's jaw meets his ear and takes in a few greedy lungfuls of air, feeling lightheaded with it, Izzy's scent and sweat and come and –

Izzy shifts in his lap.

He's still trembling, but he's tensing up now too, his hands leaving Ed's shoulders. Fuck, no, no, not yet, he wants to stay here a bit longer, in this moment where Izzy's beautiful and smells like heaven, tastes like heaven too, beautiful and his, his to have, his to burn, his to take –

Ed needs to do something, to say something, something that'll make this okay, that'll stop Izzy from turning back into his high-strung, sensible, practical fucking self. But all the shit that's going on in his head, that's, that's fucked up shit, Ed's sober enough now to know that. That's not shit he can say to Izzy, fuck, shit about owning him and tasting him and hurting him and marking him and eating him, sharing breath and blood and bone marrow, biting into him and opening him up and clawing his way inside him and never fucking letting go, that's not – normal shit for a captain to say to his –

He doesn't know what he'd do without Izzy. Die, probably.

Not worth the risk.

He realises he's grown stiff too, tension bleeding out of the pit of despair he's suddenly opened up inside himself, spreading into his limbs and digits.

They're quiet for a moment, suspended. Ed watches Izzy's pulse jump on his neck, just as fast as his but out of sync with it. He hears and sees Izzy inhale like he's about to speak, but it takes a while before anything comes out.

"Will you – " Izzy starts then, swallows. His voice is high and reedy, shot to hell, and the question comes out as a plea. "Will you fuck me?"

It takes a moment for Ed to gather his voice.

"Want to eat you first," he says. It's as close to the truth as he'll get.