Izzy pulls back a little, grasping Stede's shoulders. He turns, pushing Stede back towards the bed, kissing him, urgent, demanding.

"Oh!" Stede squeaks as the backs of his knees hit the bed frame. He falls backwards onto the bed, slightly winded. "Oof!"

Izzy doesn't pause--he climbs on top of Stede, straddling him. He reaches down, yanking at the buttons on Stede's trousers, single-minded. There's something faintly alarming in his absolute focus.

"Izzy," Stede gasps. Izzy doesn't look up, doesn't meet his gaze. His hands shake as he struggles with the fall front. "Izzy, stop!"

Stede grasps Izzy's wrists, pulling his hands away. Izzy freezes, then pulls back like he's been burnt. He falls to the side, landing heavily on the bed, scrambling back to press himself into the wall. Stede sits back up, disheveled, breathing hard. He pushes his hair out of his face and tries to smooth his rumpled shirt.

"Izzy?" he says it quietly, raising his hands, palms out, non threatening. He pushes himself to the other side of the bed, movements slow, careful. Izzy doesn't look up. He wraps his arms around his middle, pulls his knees up towards his chest.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "I shouldn't-- didn't mean to-- fuck, I know you're not..."

He trails off, staring down at the faded floral blanket.

"Just... Sorry."

Stede swallows around his sudden nausea.

"Izzy..."

Slowly, inch by inch, he moves back towards Izzy. Izzy glances up, frowning uncertainly. Stede takes a deep breath, reaching out to place a hand on Izzy's knee, hesitant.

"Um. There, there," he says, cringing internally as he gives the knee a little pat. For a moment Izzy just stares at him, incredulous. Then, to Stede's relief, he snorts, halfway between disgusted and amused.

"Christ Bonnet, seriously? Fucking 'there, there'?" Izzy shakes his head.

Stede shrugs apologetically.

"I'm a bit rubbish at this, I'm afraid," he says, smiling ruefully. "Never quite know what to do with myself."

Izzy rolls his eyes. For a moment, it feels familiar, comfortable--bickering with Izzy always comes naturally. But then Izzy's eyes fall again. He picks at a pill in the quilt, breath hitching in his throat.

"I know you don't want me," Izzy says quietly. "I fucking get it, believe me. I just..."

He trails off.

He wants to make Izzy come until he can't remember his name, let alone the pain of what's been done to him. The idea of not wanting him is so utterly bizarre, so foreign, that he doesn't even know how to respond to it.

"I just..." Izzy says again, "I don't want him to be the last man who ever touched me. I don't know how to get the feel of him off my skin."

He looks up at Stede, eyes almost pleading. Stede can feel his heart pounding in his throat.

"I--" Stede's voice flutters and stops, caught and held by the anchor of his tongue. Izzy's eyes are all he sees. He feels them like fingers tracing across his skin, electric hot, buzzing. "I don't want to hurt you"

His voice sounds weak, one last protest as he feels his resolve slipping. Izzy's shoulders slump, despair replacing pleading in his striking green eyes. Stede's resolve doesn't so much crumble as blow away, dissolving in a faint warm breeze

He stretches out alongside Izzy. Izzy's eyes widen--he looks surprised, then confused, then, well, a bit annoyed. Stede turns him with careful hands, pulling him in to rest against Stede's broad chest. He runs his hands through Izzy's hair, looking down at him, almost reverent. Izzy glances away, almost shy. Stede's hands move down over Izzy's neck, stroking and petting. Izzy pushes into his hands like a friendly cat, seeking more

"Fuck's sake, Bonnet"

And so, after a deep, steadying breath, he wraps his arms around Izzy and rolls them.

Izzy gasps, startled. Stede, his muscular forearms braced on either side of Izzy's head, smiles down at him. It's the sort of smug look that Izzy would love to wipe off his face. Izzy takes Stede's face between his hands and pulls him into a kiss. There, Izzy thinks, that'll show the bastard. Stede kisses him back, warm and soft, smelling of lavender and mint

He arches up into Stede's touch. His cunt pulses, hot between his legs.

"Fuck, Stede," he gasps, breaking off in a whine as Stede unbuttons his vest, his shirt, kissing every piece of skin as he exposes it.

Stede tosses both to the floor in a heap. He kisses his way across the firm flesh of Izzy's chest, running a hand teasingly through the soft grey and black hair that curls there. A glint of silver catches his eye as he bends toward Izzy's nipple.

A delicate silver barbell pierces it, much like the fine gold hoops he's grown used to on Ed. He wonders if they have the same effect on Izzy. He swirls his tongue over the nipple, catching the barbell and twisting it gently. Izzy clutches at the back of his head, moaning, hips pressing up to grind against Stede's thigh. He hisses, pained, and Stede pulls away.

"Oh, bugger, Izzy, I'm sorry," he says, eyes wide. Izzy catches his hands, holding onto him.

"It's fine, Bonnet, don't be so fucking wet," Izzy snarls, well aware of the irony given the slick mess Bonnet's made of his cunt. Stede looks at him with such stupid, useless concern. Against his better judgment, Izzy's expression softens. "Stede, I'm hurt, but it's fine, alright? Just fuck my ass instead."

Stede, bizarrely, looks scandalized--given what Izzy knows about Ed's preferences, it's certainly not the first time Stede's heard those words.

Stede's expression shifts. For an instant, he looks almost sad, but that makes even less sense than him still being shocked at the idea of fucking a man in the ass. Izzy feels nervous all of a sudden, exposed and uncertain of what exactly Stede sees.

And then Stede smiles again.

"I have something else in mind," he says, the cheeky fucker. "If you'll indulge me."

He kisses his way across Izzy's belly, only just beginning to regain its soft curve.

"You made me feel very good indeed earlier," Stede says, pleased when his voice doesn't shake. "I'd like to return the favour."

He presses a kiss to the softest skin of Izzy's thigh, the joint where it meets his cunt and Izzy gasps, hands reaching down to tangle in Stede's hair. His cunt looks swollen still, bruising half-healed, but when Stede presses a gentle kiss to it, Izzy's hands tighten reflexively, pulling him in closer. Stede does it again.

He moans as he tastes himself on Stede's lips, an aftershock running through his body, hips bucking into the air again and...

"Hey! Open up, hijo de puta, we know you're in there! You've got ten seconds before I kick this fucking door down and use it to fucking beat you to death!"

"Oh," Stede says, eyes widening, "shit."

Jim pounds on the door again, rattling it in its frame. The chair braced under the knob shakes but doesn't fall.

"Abre esta maldita puerta!" Jim shouts. There's a thump lower down as though they've kicked the door, and the sound of them cursing more quietly at their aching foot.

"Uh. Just a moment!" Stede calls. "Everything, uh, everything's fine! No need to overreact!"

"You listen to me, cabrón," Jim shouts.

"I'm gonna react however the fuck I want and if you don't open this fucking door the only thing that's gonna be over is your miserable fucking life!"

The door rattles again. Stede jumps to his feet, looks around the room desperately. Izzy's clothes are rumpled on the floor and, as the chair under the doorknob shakes again, the odds of him being convincingly dressed by the time Jim breaks the door down seem... Not good. Stede squeezes his hands together

Well. He'll just have to protect Izzy's modesty some other way. The door shakes in its frame again and, for a relatively small person, Stede reflects, Jim really is terrifyingly strong. He turns back to Izzy.

Izzy has pushed himself back into the corner. He stares at the door like a trapped fox looks at an approaching hound.

"Izzy?" Stede says quietly. He sits back down on the bed. Izzy glances at him, then looks back to the door, breathing hard.

"Izzy, darling, I'm going to wrap the comforter around you, alright?" Stede says. He pulls the crumpled comforter off the bed. Izzy startles a bit when Stede wraps it around him like a cloak, but then leans into it, clutching it around him. Stede holds him for a moment, stroking his shoulders, his hair.

"Ten seconds, cabrón," Jim shouts. "Ten! Nine! Eight--"

"Shut up, Jim!"

Stede's voice is sharp, piercing even--the sound of it startles him.

Jim's voice cuts off, shocked into silence.

"Give me a bloody moment!" Stede yells. He fiddles with the blanket around Izzy's shoulders, covering him all the way from his neck to his feet. He kisses Izzy's face, his hands. Izzy stares at him, baffled. The silence is tense. Finally, after one last kiss to Izzy's forehead, Stede stands, straightens his shirt and strides over to the door. He pulls the chair out from beneath the knob and opens it.

He hears shouting, pounding on the door, his heart hammering in his ears so fucking loud he can't even hear who's yelling, or what about.

Hornigold wants him back.

That thought repeats in his head, over and over, drowning everything else out. He wants to get up and fight at least, but his limbs have turned to lead and god shitting damn it, he fought just fine earlier. He shivers, naked under the comforter. He hates how vulnerable it makes him feel.

He watches, wide eyed, as Stede opens the door--it opens inward, obscuring Izzy's view of what lies beyond. All he sees is the glint of steel as someone points a knife at Stede's throat.

*

"Ah." Stede stares cross-eyed at Jim's blade. "Right. That's. Well, I can't say I blame you under the circumstances but I... I rather wonder if we might, um, talk about this?"

His voice rises to a squeak as Jim's blade presses in just firmly enough to pierce flesh.

A tiny pearl of blood rolls down from the tiny wound to the collar of Stede's shirt. Well, he reflects, it was rather badly in need of cleaning anyway. Jim's eyes narrow, focused. They step forward and Stede steps back, hands raised.

"Where is he?" Their voice is a nearly unrecognizable growl. He opens his mouth to reply.

"Wait!" Izzy stands by the side of the bed, swaying on his feet. "Don't hurt him, please. I'll go with you. I won't fight, I swear"

Jim's hand falters for just a second--Stede, with a lack of self preservation remarkable even for him, shoves their knife away, feeling it scrape across his throat as he snaps, "Oh, stop it!"

He grabs them by the arm and in one fluid--or, well, mostly fluid, he has to admit as he stumbles a bit, nearly tripping over his own feet--pulls them into the room and slams the door behind them. A litany of angry Spanish pours out of them as he locks it.

Their eyes light on Izzy, shaking, wrapped only in a comforter, standing next to the bed.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" they demand, turning back to Stede. He pays them no mind. As Izzy's eyes finally focus on the assassin's familiar face, his knees buckle. Stede crosses the room in two strides, catching Izzy in his arms and lowering him gently back to the bed. Izzy clings to him, shivering uncontrollably.

"Shit," Jim mutters, tucking their knife away

Stede holds Izzy against his chest, pulling the comforter around him snugly. Izzy wraps his hands in the front of Stede's shirt.

"You're hurt," he says, taking in the little line of blood that crosses Stede's throat diagonally from his jugular down towards his collarbone

"It's nothing, darling, don't worry," Stede says, smiling with more confidence than he feels--the fact Jim isn't actively murdering him is encouraging, but likely a temporary reprieve

Ed lies on his back, staring up at the patterned ceiling, tracing the delicate lines of gold filigree in the wallpaper and who the fuck uses gold for their fucking ceiling anyway? That's overkill...

He runs a hand over his face. He feels fucking disgusting. How many days has he been wearing this fucking robe, anyway? How many days since he left this room? How many days since... he squeezes his eyes shut, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat.

He doesn't even know how long Izzy's been back. Hasn't seen him. Hasn't even asked Stede about him. What kind of captain does that make him? What kind of friend? What kind of man? Thoughts come fast and furious, too many all at once and Ed feels himself crushed under the weight of them, pinned to this fucking bed.

There's a commotion on deck, the sound of feet pounding overhead, then down the corridor. Someone pounds on the door of the captains' cabin