ninetoes | Noctium Inbox

[Stede's shoulders draw up taut when the first insult flies; he doesn't so much as flinch, though. He's been called worse names in his day. A childhood of taunts has trained him not to let it show how much the words hurt. They hurt even more when he's being rejected romantically...

Or. Or is he? Izzy's right behind him, he can feel his body heat radiating against his back, his breath on his neck. Confused, Stede meets the specter of Izzy's gaze in the windowpane, digesting all of this as quickly as he can.]

You think I'm...?

[Are we really back on the bewitching Edward train? Does Izzy really think Stede has done the same to him? Why would he—

—It hits Stede all at once. The words Izzy is really saying, the way he's really saying them. The soft tremor in Izzy's throaty voice, floating over Stede's shoulder. He half-turns, looking at Izzy only out of the corner of his eye, his breath caught in his lungs for a moment while he remembers how to speak coherently.]

What if I did, though? What then?

[It's like a dance, the way they speak in code. The beat isn't easy, but there is one, fighting for dominance with every turn and dip.

It's thrilling, really, under all the frustration and, well, fear.

Stede plays his hand and for one terrifying moment Izzy nearly chickens out. He gives a small puff of breath. Disbelief. He can't be a coward. What if Stede means it. Interested. In him. Actually. He as he is now. He as he is at all. When has that ever happened. why the fuck is it Stede fucking Bonnet or all fucking people?

Cruel fucking irony is what it is.

Izzy lays his hand on the small of Stede's back. Pauses. He can scarcely breathe.

There aren't words for the torrent roaring through him, but now there's contact he can feel that discordant buzz between them ringing. Intoxicating. He presses his face into the back of Stede's shoulder.]

[Stede waits with bated breath for an answer, still only half-looking at Izzy, afraid to turn all the way and find something in Izzy's expression he doesn't want to see. For a teetering moment, he's afraid he'll just leave—

—and then Izzy's hand finds the small of his back, and Stede can't help the soft, shuddering inhale he takes, noisy and obvious, at the minute spark of Synchrony between them.

And then stronger, as he feels Izzy's face press warm into the back of his dressing gown. His shoulders deflate, tension bleeding from them, and he nearly, nearly smiles.]

Izzy, [he says, almost a whisper, almost a plea.] Let me see you. Please?

[Its such a dual-edged question that Izzy can’t be sure what kind of see Stede means.

Physically? Because he’s weak? Because he’s scared and can’t take the intensity of being vulnerable? Because the concept that Stede, Edward’s bloody husband, feels…something towards him makes him hide his face like a child? Pathetic?

Or is it emotionally? Let Stede see him? That’s like asking Izzy to give Stede his own sword. Guide the blade against his own neck and trust he won’t put them both out of the misery that is Izzy fucking Hands. Show himself. Drop the armor and give his soft underbelly, something he can barely do with Ed.

But hasn’t he done that already? He just hadn’t felt scared. He’d been in control, then. He isn’t in control now. And yet, here he still is. Sharpening the blade he’s about to hand over.

He gets it now, at least partially. The magnetism of this ridiculous man. And so Izzy pulls back, reluctantly. Just enough that Stede might turn and Izzy hand let his hand slide round to the other’s hip, unwilling to break contact. If he does, he’ll flee.]

[There's another long, agonizing moment where he thinks he's fucked it up, asked too much. Gone a bridge too far, where Izzy can't follow. But slowly, blessedly, he pulls his face away, and Stede turns in a tight circle to allow him to clutch at his hip if he likes. Pulls him in close to his chest, his arms circling around his shoulders. His breathing is shallow, verging on panicky because this man in his arms is—

infuriating, rude, impossible

—somehow so important to him, despite all of that. And he can't mess this up. Won't.

He lowers his face, brushes his lips against the crown of Izzy's head. Smells the hair pomade and something that's just Izzy.]

Let me be sweet to you. [He inhales, ragged, and goes on before he can lose his nerve.] When's the last time someone was sweet to you?

[Another impossible question brought with more questions behind it.

Izzy wets his lips, watching Stede very closely with a mixture of want and braced confusion. His guard is lowered, but only just, and ready to slam back up the second he feels a threat.

When was the last time? Here? During their illness, probably. Before? Home? He couldn't say. Men like them aren't sweet to each other. Jack, maybe, god rest his stupid fucking soul. Edward...not for a long time. Things were different when they were young and stupid. They learned fast to account and correct for it.

Maybe that's why this feels like such a trap. Men like him don't deserve sweetness. He is a rotten, rotten fruit, and well past ripe.]

Why?

[That's the thing he really can't understand. The thing holding him back so forcefully. Why him? Why bother? Why complicate?]

[Stede's hands press flat and warm against Izzy's back, one right above the other; gently, he lets one thumb drag in slow strokes along his spine. He swallows, his throat dry and tight, as he considers how best to answer.

Maybe it's easiest if he puts it in the same terms Izzy himself used? Stede tries to recall the words.]

Because I...well, I've found myself drawn to you. The same as you are to me. And I think you deserve a little sweetness.

[He clearly has been deprived of it for a long time, this hard, angry man. But he's more than that, Stede is learning. He's clever, and sarcastic, and observant. He cares, so much that he's willing to let his care consume everything he loves. Stede has found himself missing that care, these past weeks. With Izzy in charge of them, things had felt so wonderfully safe and secure. What if they could find their way back to that, the three of them?

He doesn't know if it's possible. But damn it, he wants to try.]

[Izzy doesn’t think he deserves sweetness. On the list of things he thinks he deserves, sweetness isn’t even on there. It has never occurred to him.

Respect, loyalty, transparency. Those he deserves. Authority, reliability, dedication. He’s worked hard enough. Maybe even power. Ed promised him that, once. It was a lie, in the end, and the one time Izzy had it he handled it extremely poorly (allegedly). These things are all on the list.

Kindness? Sweetness? Affection?

Those are for another list. A small scrap tucked away, scrawled in messy ink, smudged before it could even dry.

Those things he wants so desperately but couldn’t consider. Couldn’t work towards without risking his neck.

You can only do that once, can’t you. There’s no trying again after it’s been slit.

So forgive him while he searches for the words, dragging his own mind over the coals and rolling his thoughts over and over and over again to try to make sense of it all. To try to justify a concept as delicate as Stede Might Fancy Him. In what fucking world?

..this one, apparently.

It has to be fake. Stede is confused, surely. Or cross with Ed and using Izzy as a wedge. Maybe it’s a play to make Izzy leave, seeing as force doesn’t work. It’s got to be something like that. That makes sense.

So then why are they thrumming with such powerful energy. Why is the gem in the hollow of his throat crying out so fucking loudly to submit?

I don’t, he nearly answers. It’s right on the tip of his tongue but he can’t quite get there. Doesn’t need to, really, it’s written all over his face.

Up until the point he crumbles and closes the space between them, eyes crushed closed, lips capturing lips with a desperate little whine.]

[Stede feels his focus shifting, narrowing, fading down to just Izzy, just the tortured look on his face, the uncertainty playing across it as clear as anything. His right hand takes a painfully slow path from Izzy's back up to his shoulder, where his thumb can stroke over the skin just above his collar.

He waits, with bated breath, for Izzy to make up his mind, and he's so certain Izzy is going to tell him to fuck off that when he kisses him it takes him by surprise. He doesn't take long to catch up, though, swallowing that desperate little sound Izzy makes with a rush of hunger and the hot sweep of Synchrony through his limbs.

His fingers move immediately to tangle into Izzy's hair, the other dropping to his waist to pull him in a little tighter. He finds himself afraid they if they break contact, the spell will break, Izzy will leave, and he'll be just as confused as ever. So he holds him close, kisses him more deeply. Tries to show him how he feels, as if the heady rush of their gems' connection weren't proof enough.]

[It rings so loudly through them, the crash of flesh like brass to the church bell. Wholly consuming. Demanding worship.

Being kissed like that is entirely disarming. Makes him weak in the knees. Stede could bring Izzy to his knees if he isn't careful.

Then again, what's he being careful for at this point? Is he not already on the precipice of losing everything? what would it cost him to find out?

Izzy wraps his fingers in the front of Stede's shirt and tries not to think about how he rises on his toes. Tries not to think too hard about the warmth of his body or how solid and broad and strong he is under all that finery. Definitely tries not to think about just how easily it demands Izzy's own attention in return or the noise he makes, ragged in the space for breath where opportunity presents itself.

He presses himself flush, like he's desperate for the contact- all of it- as much as he's able to cultivate vertically. It isn't enough. The danger of fleeing is still real, but not as real as his want. It's Izzy who finally breaks the kiss, catching Stede's bottom lip between his teeth and scraping before he breaks back to look at him with dark eyes full of want, tongue darting out across his own bottom lip.]

Why don't you show me just how sweet you can be.

[For a moment, kissing Izzy feels like being plunged underwater. Like he can't tell which way is up, heavy limbs thrashing, lungs screaming for air. The way Synchrony floods through them, so sudden and strong it's nearly overwhelming. Has it always been this strong? Stede doesn't think so.

And then Izzy is pulling him closer by the shirt, pressing himself close along the length of his body, and Stede gasps for breath, lets that sound Izzy makes ring through him with a shudder. The man kisses him like it's going out of style, the scrape of teeth and the tickle of his goatee against Stede's mouth leaving his heart racing.

He's already backing him toward the bed when Izzy speaks, his expression breathless and full of wonder and desire, like he can't quite believe his luck.]

I will. [Firm and decisive. He's already made up his mind not to squander this opportunity. Izzy's knees hit the back of the bed and Stede presses him back by the shoulder, intent on laying him out and taking his sweet time making him feel good. He leans across him, braced by one hand on the mattress, and catches his mouth in another kiss, deep and firm, while the other hand tugs at the loops holding the buttons of Izzy's vest in place.]

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