#beastpyrate

@beastpyrate​ sent: [ TENDER ]  for the taller muse to kiss the shorter one’s head while they embrace.  (i offer you. soft.)

In the chaos of the raid Izzy had lost track of Edward.  The smoke and gun powder in the air, mixed with the chaos of battle made it quite easy to lose someone.  Usually he tried to stay back to back with Edward during a fight.  He could make sure Ed stay safe and was also within arm’s reach to deliver the necessary killing blow.  This time though he had lost track of the long haired man, and with a crew he was less familiar and trustworthy of.

Fuck.  What if something had happened to him?  What if he was injured again?  His knee could have acted up and- a thousand different horrible scenarios started running through his head.

The smoke cleared and he saw Edward’s familiar form.  He dropped his sword and ran over to Edward wrapping his arms around the taller man.  All thought of what was proper behavior between a captain and first mate forgotten.  

“Thank god you’re okay.  You scared me,” he mumbled his face pressed up against Edward’s chest.  He could feel tears of relief streaming down his cheeks.  Edward was okay, everything was going to be alright.  

             AT THE SUDDEN ADDITION OF WEIGHT, izzy steps back, a reflexive reaction, though his arms go out almost instantly to catch the other, support his unbalanced stance. his hands settle on edward’s shoulders, half holding him at bay && half fighting the urge to pull him closer still. he wants more, he wants so much more than what he’s been allowed, but even if this is a far cry from the intimacy he won’t allow himself to crave because he knows he does not deserve to have it — izzy relishes it, the small gesture, while he selfishly can. 

Ely didn't talk about their time at the Foundling Hospital. In fact, they actively tried to avoid conversation about it with anyone... but Ed wasn't anyone. He'd given them a place to stay- a home. Upon finding Ely, he could have decided to throw them over board or had someone run them through. They'd come to learn that that was most pirate captains approaches to stow aways. Ed hadn't done any of that.

He gave them a place to stay and a job. He never hit them and rarely raised his voice at them. They'd learnt a lot from him and they'd always appreciate that. If he wanted to ask a few questions and go digging around in Ely's background as payment then they would oblige. Someone upon Ely's being found had recognised their uniform as being that of the Foundling Hospital so Ed did know where they were from...Still, Ed's question wasn't directly about the Foundling Hospital.

It was a question that had likely been drawn out by watching their response to a fight that had broken out on deck. They were getting more and more used to those sorts of things and could generally handle it quite well... but, no matter how much Ely tried, they couldn't help the way that yelling made them scrunch back into their shoulders and clasp their hands close.

It was actually sort of easier in a big raid. The need to be running around and doing stuff (including defending themselves) helped to dispel any nervous energy that built up. There wasn't that sort of outlet when it was more of a domestic row.

They decided to play dumb, still absently wanting to avoid talking about the Hospital.

The most drastic emotion he’d seen from him in a long time had been with Bonnet. And though it might not have seemed like it when he sent Jack after him, in reality he was simply trying to protect the captain from being killed by the British military. It may have appeared he was trying to break up their relationship, and honestly Izzy was still angry at him. That duel, being cast out when Ed could have said a single word to prevent it. They were like an old married couple at this point, bickering.

“ Is that an apology? “ Hands gripped his gloved fist a bit. Sometimes he just wanted to hit him and knock some sense into him. But he wasn’t ignorant of the fact someone he so very deeply loved for such a long time was regretful of what had happened. He looked off, playing it cool as his captain might have. Izzy guarding his emotions and feelings so tightly he was about to burst. But his truest emotions were held in his eyes, and in that moment as when Ed tossed him aside, they seemed glossed, as if he wanted to cry but wouldn’t allow it.

@beastpyrate​ said: [  ASLEEP  ]:     sender, having climbed into bed to cuddle the receiver (who they believe to be asleep), tells them that they love them.   for izzy !

“𝙄  𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀  𝙔𝙊𝙐”  𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙈𝙋𝙏𝙎    /    ACCEPTING ↷

It’s easy enough  ⸺  pretending to be asleep whenever Edward presses himself close to him. Easy enough, with practice. Izzy doesn’t let himself do anything like  cuddling,  doesn’t know  how to  let himself; it feels too weird, too vulnerable, too real. It’s not who he’s supposed to be for Ed, this soft thing, this human thing. He’s supposed to be Edward’s first hand man, supposed to keep him safe and content, supposed to do as he’s told and go above and beyond to serve his captain. Cuddling doesn’t fit with that, at least not if Izzy is even slightly at the receiving end of it. Yeah, sure, he could probably hold Ed through one of his... episodes, but that’d be different than... than something like this, something mutual. Sex is something he can do because no matter how desperately hungry he is for it, he can pretend it’s something he’s doing for Ed. Oh, he knows it’s selfish, but it’s easy enough to keep being in denial about it.

But cuddling?

Izzy pretends to be asleep, because that’s the only way he can allow this for himself. The only way he can allow experiencing the closeness, the comfort, the intimacy of it. Let Ed think he just falls asleep easy and fast after sex. In reality, these are the times Izzy deliberately stays up as long as possible, just to drink in every last drop of it. God knows it’s the only affection he’s ever going to get. Pathetic or not... no one needs to know.

What catches Izzy off guard are the words.

They catch him off guard hard enough to make him tense up, full body, faster than he can stop himself. And now it’s  fucking worse,  because he’s given himself away, because Ed has to know he’s awake, he’s fucking rigid all over, holding his fucking breath, too.

Because what the fuck?

What the fuck is he supposed to do with that, other than... than  panic?

Stede is a somewhat heavy sleeper. As long as he’s comfortable, anyway. Before meeting Ed, sleeping comfortably meant silk sheets, a sleeping mask, cap, and two overstuffed goose-down pillows.

With Ed, comfort simply mean sleeping in his arms.

Stede Bonnet snores softly as the morning sun creeps across the bed and into his hair, turning the mess of curls into a radiant halo. He’s shirtless, and has entirely foregone any pillow, preferring to rest on Edward’s chest instead. By the time the sun falls on his face, Ed is already awake, a fact Stede knows somehow before waking.

He smiles, eyes still closed, and tucks his body a little closer, eager to soak up some of that warmth before they have to get up. His voice is rough with sleep, but even so, the affection in his tone is clear.

He chalks it up to the rumor Blackbeard and Flint, the most fearsome captains of their time, have a bitter rivalry. He has to admit he doesn’t know where that story came from. He’s never had an issue with Teach. Not every pirate knows how to sail or has a mind for tactics. Teach, the sea’s whisperer, is excellent at both. If nothing else, Flint respects him.

They’re tucked into the shadowiest corner of the tavern, Flint’s copy of The Iliad sitting tragically untouched on the table. Only having made landfall the night before, he’d intended to have a drink and read in peace. But then Teach showed up.

The bottle of rum between them the compliment of nameless sailors drinking in the bar around them. Word of Flint’s crew sinking a warship of the Royal Navy has spread like wildfire along Nassau already. They took a large haul to show for it, but the loot’s never been the point for Flint. The point, you see, is personally putting every last officer onboard to the sword with his own hand. And then he’d blown enough holes into the hull to ensure any survivors would be claimed by the water.

It never makes him feel any better for long, the hot fire of revenge in him scorching for more! more! more!, but fuck if it doesn’t still feel good to do it.

“Pirates are worse than knitting circles,” Flint says in regards to the gossip. He pours Teach another drink, “Do you know why we’re supposedly at each other’s throats? I forget.”