RIGHT HAND MAN

ind, private + selective , 𝐢𝐬𝐫𝐚𝐞𝐥 "𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐲" 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 , ofmd based , heavily headcanon expanded. exploring themes such as : the corruption of power , hero worship , the cruelty of men , jealousy undefined , mythmaking , love as violence , blood dipped divinity , the restrictions of freedom , the man behind the curtain , lost humanity , to become a usurper, the power of the open sea , the vast , losing yourself in others.  cursed by jayne bird  ( 22 , she/they , cst )

" did i say you could open your mouth? "

as impolite as he is being, stede had put a great deal of effort into making sure they wouldn't be interrupted beforehand, by anyone except ed, who is of course, allowed to come and go as he pleases, going over colors and consent, as always. now, though, he is allowed free reign, knowing izzy will pull him back in if he needs to, and stede would never go to lengths that he thinks israel wouldn't be comfortable with.

he's not sure there is such a thing that izzy would be uncomfortable with that stede wouldn't call off first, but.

he's tied izzy in an intricate harness, fully unclothed, his hands behind his back and attached to one of the legs of his desk, his ankles together. he is being kept on his knees as stede works. ed had entered as he is allowed, and he and stede had begun politely discussing ship's business. israel had spoken, without permission.

stede's hand comes to the back of izzy's head, tangling in the roots of his hair and pulling him back so his chin tilts up. stede tilts his own head too so he can examine israel from this angle, looking down at him curious and stern.

" keep it open, then, " stede says, and the thumb of his free hand moves to push past izzy's lips, forcing his jaw open and mouth wide. stede spits directly onto his tongue, uncaring that part fell onto his own thumb, israel's lip. he carelessly wipes it off of himself on izzy's chin, leaving a shining trail leading into his goatee. he smiles, bringing his thumb over izzy's cheek like tracing a beloved object.

" it's ten spanks if you close your mouth before i tell you to, " stede informs izzy, adoration thick in his tone. " let your captains talk and behave now, pup. "

                                                    they’d gone over the rules before, talked it through along with their colors, because as much as izzy likes being tied down it causes a bit of discomfort at the idea of being vulnerable; what is he supposed to do if they are attacked, how is he supposed to protect them ?  stede had reassured him, soothed those worries away with gentle caresses as he worked knots into rope over leather, let israel drop into that comfortable space where it wasn’t for him to worry about. not right now. stede has them, ed’s above deck, nothing will happen and if it does there is a blade in the upper right drawer that israel had sharpened himself, that would free him if they needed it to.

                                                  there is something in being ignored, expected to sit and behave himself and having no choice but to do so, knees aching against the far too expensive wood flooring in the captain’s quarters. he listens, ed comes and goes three times making idle conversation with stede, and izzy wonders what it might be like to have other people enter, to see this specific display, or to rut against stede’s leg like the dog his lover so often refers to him as, or what might be going on above deck, these thoughts come and go in waves, depending on stede’s positioning above him, where his legs sit or if he feels eyes on him, as well as if they’re alone or not. it’s the fourth time blackbeard enters that isreal speaks up.

                                                    it’s a simple correction, hardly more than two sentences before he can stop himself. he hardly realizes he’s broken a rule until stede’s gaze is on him. isreal shuts his mouth with an audible snap, clicking his teeth as he forces himself into silence. no apology, he doesn’t want to break the rule again, not with those eyes on him, that look on the captain’s face. there is a hand in his hair, tilting his head back, a finger in his mouth halts whatever he was going to say next, prying his jaw apart, splitting his mouth open in a wide O. izzy let’s it happen, doesn’t fight, or try to bite down into the sensitive skin, rather enjoys the sensation of newly calloused skin on his tongue, and then. . .    bonnet spits in his fucking mouth.

        it’s funny, how quickly, how easy it is for stede to leapt forward and start the battle. a mere beat after israel speaks, and he’s lunging forward, sword at the ready, focused. if that’s what he’s fighting for. for izzy.

      he recalls their first real duel, that was your warning, israel had said, swinging his sword before stede had known there were to begin. the same energy fills him now. for him, he’ll do anything, just as izzy would have (will) do anything for ed. he has to win. he hopes this one doesn’t end like izzy’s did, or he’ll have to try again. and again. and again.

        stede won’t make the same mistakes, then. quick to strike, but not quick to anger or pride - that’s what had let him ruin izzy. the man’s own belief that he could win. stede is careful even as he is quick, fighting with a focus that he’s certainly never shown izzy before, his brow taught, no playful smile nor jest in his form, merely a trained blend of tense muscles and relaxation, his position stiff where it ought to be and smooth where it ought to be. his eyes dart back and forth, carefully watching izzy’s every move.

        even on his best days, you can’t fake having something so important to fight for.

       israel had told him to lean to his strengths - he usually don’t cheat the rules in their practices, but if this is a duel, then he’ll damn well play to his strengths. first, he knows this ship better than izzy does, better than anyone. he’s clever, and better at using his environment to his advantage. izzy in love with him - stede is also in love with izzy - he suspects they will both be using this in an attempt to win. now, he has surprise on his side, for he is confident that even izzy would not have expected him to leap to this challenge with such a ferocity, his eyes ablaze with a fire-like passion, deftly molded to fit his design.

        “ and if i lose? ”   stede asks, and he quickly pulls a line with his foot, not attempting to trip up his lover from where it draws across the deck, but merely to draw his attention there so that stede can push forward, swords clashing as izzy dances over the obstacle.   “ what’s your poison, love? ”

                                                    the response is not fully unexpected, though izzy had thought stede might be more hesitant to act, might have needed a moment to collect his thoughts, make up some half baked plan on how to win.    izzy can see it, the way his confidence has grown, he can act and think at the same time, and if israel feels a bubble of pride swell warm in his chest, he’d never admit to it. not now and certainly not some months ago.   

                                                    determination is set in stede’s stance, in every plain of his features, every curve and line that makes up the captain’s silhouette, and if he weren’t about to duel, izzy might have kissed him for it. but it’s not the time for that, no, the first mate has his own goal in mind now, he needs to focus. his smile fades, though it’s still clear in his eyes, israel composes himself, brings that armor up so he might be first mate israel hands, blackbeard’s right hand again, even if there is still far too much softness in his eyes. 

                                                    he’s quick when he wants to be, when he needs to be.   izzy tries to remain aware of that fact, carefully studies each of stede’s movements in an attempt not to be knocked off his guard, even if the game is rigged bonnet doesn’t need to know that just yet, doesn’t need to know he wins either way.    “ don’t worry your pretty little head about it. ”    he warns. what fluidity he’s lost in his footwork he makes up for in his form, in the speed at which his blade slices through the air.    he’s confident, this is and always has been his area of expertise and while stede is good, izzy is better.

                                                    it’s a surprise that he’s put on the defensive this early, though he matches stede in a quick retreat, one step forward two steps back, this dance is one they’ve done plenty by now, in both their matches and this relationship they share. it’s only fitting that this is how they should decide, that their future is balanced on something like this, it always has been, hasn’t it ?  stede and israel, love and violence. 

They've been sitting in silence together for nearly half an hour. Lucius is sketching, Izzy reading, and it's nice, like this. Finally, though, Lucius finishes up his drawing and closes the journal with a soft thump. He looks at Izzy, watching him for just a moment, and then asks, abruptly, "Izzy. Do you love me?"   @whsprhouse​

                                                  bonnet’s library, as idiotic as it is, has become a way to waste time on the ship. in quite moments israel has stolen novels to thumb through, some poetry, others tales of pyrats he likes to correct or mock in various forms of muttered irritation. he’s halfway through a book, skipping pages of blackbeard and the queen anne’s revenge for his own sanity when he hears the sketchbook close, his eyes drift over the words but they’ve lost meaning now.

                                                  do you love me ?   the question alone should send the boy plummeting into the fucking sea, should have izzy barking at him like a rabid hound, shouting about how fucking stupid the question is in the first place. but alas, there is no explosion of emotion, no irruption of anger spilling through the calm sea. israel is so prone to outbursts this reaction, or lack of reaction throws him off axis. his mouth opens to give an answer, it should be obvious: no. i’m a pirate we don’t have time, we can’t fucking afford that shit.   

                                                  do you love me ? he closes his mouth, sets his jaw feeling an ache in his teeth with the force of it. the answer should be obvious: don’t be fucking daft, of course i fucking do. why else would i waste every free moment i have in your company ?     but the answer doesn’t come. the first mate can’t make his mouth move, can’t form the words. he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t know that he doesn’t know and that thought scares him.

                                                israel can handle canon fire, can handle death and decay and blood splatter, the way adrenaline rushes body to action in trained composure. he’s spent years heading that call, running to danger for a man who looked at him the same way one might look at the ocean when it reflects the sunset. it seeps something cold and rigid and sharp down into his bones, and floods his chest with unspeakable warmth and he feels like he’s fucking drowning in far too many things, far too many feelings.

                                                instinct says to press bare fingers into the x carved into his cheek, to touch that brand and remind himself what it is, what it means. he is devoted to his work, this life has little room for anything else. instead his fingers come to rest on lucius’ stupid little scarf, looping his index finger beneath the knot and tugging lucius in with it.    do you love me ?   

desperation fits izzy well. like a second skin, often hidden beneath a layer of heavy armor. he wears it often - stede had seen it on him when he suspects many were too blinded by his anger to find it. once upon a time, it had been hidden to him, too. but stede had gone looking for the soft bits of israel hands, and he’d started to find his way beneath. he knows what’s under the persona of him - he doesn’t think he understand entirely, certainly not the whole puzzle. but he’s been granted access to pieces, shades of color that begin to paint the whole picture.

he knows that izzy likes to hide, for one, and he knows that even if he won’t admit it, he likes it when stede slides his hands beneath that armor, tugs on the goodness of him until only he can see it. for all of stede’s teasing, it is a secret that is only theirs.

“ oh hush, ”  stede replies softly and not unkindly to the call of his name, though he feels just little bit drunk on the power that comes with having izzy like this, the ability to make his spine bend with just the curve of his finger, to shift his words and demeanor with a few well-placed words of his own.

“ i know you, lovely, ”   stede tells him lowly, bending down to place a kiss atop the black inked bird stuck in perpetual motion at izzy’s throat, so beautifully bared as izzy does his best to hide in the plush bedding beneath him. his fingers work gently within him, teasing that spot inside and keeping him held in place, unwilling to let him fall over the precipice, but unwilling to let him come down.

“ you don’t just want to come. you want to be good, yes? ”   it may be a question but stede already knows the answer - he does not wait for one from izzy, continuing without delay. his next words are a quiet whisper into his ear, another secret for them to share.

“ be good for daddy now and ask nicely. ”

                                                  he falls silent on command, still clinging with fingertips and nails to stede’s shoulder, like he’s holding on for dear life, stede is lucky izzy hasn’t drawn his nails down the gentleman pirate’s back. hasn’t drawn blood in thin red lines down the long expanse of sun kisses muscle. his breath comes out shaky, close, so close.

                                                  so often izzy is balanced on a razor’s edge ; good or bad, hurt or angry, pleasure or pain. it’s easier with someone else guiding the way, holding him balanced between points, pushing him this way or that way for their own amusement. he sits perched at the precipice, the point of no return. but stede is refusing to push any further. it’s back in his hands now. he could refuse, could crush what little mercy stede has planned for them by drawing this out and punishing them both. it’s always tempting, the idea of refusing stede what he wants, just because he can. because it’s easier than admitting his own desire.

                                                  lovely.    he keens at that, digging his heels into the mattress. suffering is known to izzy hands, this torment however is far too soft, however loving is torture all the same, even if it is newer, even if it burns in a different way than lashings. it is still what he’s asked for. asking is part of the torture, isn’t it ? a way to burn him down to the bone, to force him to want, to submit. there is no faster way to achieve this surrender, than offering israel the chance to be good. at the end of this as much as izzy would like to finish, he’d be just as content to be good, to be praised for how well he’s done, and stede knowing that, pulling that to light in this floral bathed room, drawing him out... stede has him wrapped around his finger in far too many ways now.