ninetoes | Noctium Inbox

So he told you that he lost his shit because he found out I had the audacity to make a friend outside his sphere of influence.

He told you that.

[oh. huh.]

He didn't, actually. Just that the two of you couldn't achieve Synchrony any longer, that you both fought about it, and that you left.

You mean Dean, don't you?

[God getting jumpscared by fucking text messages.]

That very much depends on why you want to know.

No particular reason. We've met. He seems to like you. Edward didn't mention that bit, as I said.

He wouldn't. Woe be unto Edward Teach having to admit he's ever done anything wrong in his life.

Listen to me very carefully, Stede. Dean is off fucking limits. Understand?

Edited 2022-11-05 19:35 (UTC)

He was a bit distracted being concerned about his gem being faulty or something, in his defense.

Certainly. Whatever you like. Nothing happened between us, I assure you.

Which I assume isn't the case, it's just he and I, is that right.

I hadn't even considered something might have happened.

I am now considering.

Spill. Now.

It appears that way, I'm afraid.

I'm being serious, Israel, nothing happened. He invited me for dinner, we ate dinner, we parted ways. Haven't spoken since, in fact.

I would so love to believe that

Hand to God. You may ask him yourself, if you like.

I'll do that. Seeing as I'm in his bed.

Oh

[He's not jealous, nope, not even a little bit, not even at all. He definitely doesn't feel something dark rise unbidden in his throat, claustrophobic, eyes flashing the same shade of green as the gem in his ankle.]

Very well, then. Go on. Ask him.

[Good. If Stede can feel for a moment what Izzy has felt with him and Ed, it's worth it. Tonight is as fine a night as any to ruin everything. Fuck it, let the world burn.]

He can't talk right now. I'll get back to you.

[oh sweet merciful Christ he wants to murder that guy]

Fine. I'm going to go make love to Edward and remind him what it's like when it's good.

[FUUUCK YOU BOTH]

Fine, but you'll be thinking about me the whole time.

[Izzy is right and Stede. is. livid.

He doesn't even think about it. He presses the little button that captures audio clips, and seethes into his phone, voice dripping with fury:]

Fuck your little boyfriend all you like, Israel, but remember you're not his. You're ours.

[click.]

[Izzy waits a moment to make sure Dean is out of earshot before he listens, and he's glad he did because that rips through him. Makes his heart pound as Stede's words wrap around his brain and then shoot straight to his prick.

What the fuck. What the fuck?!

FUCK.

And you know what maybe he wasn't mid fuck with Dean whilst texting, despite framing it that way specifically to piss Stede off (see, he's great at plans, actually), but he will absolutely be spending the rest of the night working through...this.

Maybe listen to it a few more times.

What he knows for sure, is that he's going to make Stede wait and awfully long time. Through the night into the next day, at the very least. A week or two would be better but it's a lot of effort, and despite his own justified fury, the waiting makes him squirrely, itchy, and anxious. It would have been okay without that voicemail. He would have stayed gone, fuck both of you.

-

Izzy doesn't announce his arrival home three nights later. The gangway is down, the lights are on, the ship is so fucking enormous...

He shouldn't go back. This is so stupid.

In and out, he tells himself. Just grab his shit and leave again, if it hasn't been burnt, already.]

[They both have the same plan, that night. Stede channels all his jealous rage into showing Ed a good time, just as promised. And just as foretold, he thinks of Izzy. It's infuriating, but once he's through he feels...better. A little more at peace. If that awful little man wants to stay away forever, that's fine by him. Prick.

The following two days are agony. Stede thinks of calling Izzy a dozen times, and eventually forces himself to leave his device abandoned in his bedside drawer to remove the temptation entirely. Unfortunately for Izzy, it's there that he finds his spyglass, which means he spends the better part of two days perched on deck with it pressed to his eye, watching the docks.

Which means he spies Izzy coming toward the gangplank almost immediately.

Which means he's waiting for him on deck, hair disheveled, heart in his throat, wild-eyed. For a long moment, he just stands there and stares. Then breathes,]

You're back.

[So much for stealth.

It's painful to think he's lost that edge, and maybe a bit more painful to think that he hasn't, it's just that Stede has been waiting for him. Delusional, really, if we're being honest. Why the fuck would Stede Bonnet wait for him?

Then again, why would Stede Bonnet summon him for soft, vulnerable conversations. Why would Stede bring him close and make love to him (can't even call it a fucking, it wasn't). Why would Stede call him his, like there's a claim.

Because, Izzy, there is a claim. Two of them. And those hooks are in so fucking deep he feels the sharp sting with every fucking traitorous breath.

It isn't fair that Stede is waiting. It isn't fair for him to be backlit by an enormous autumn moon looking something out of a fairy tale. His curls are a mess and Izzy wants to bury his fingers in them. Pull them together chest to chest and and ruin him, right there on the deck.

The thought is pushed away and he reminds himself of his mission, stopping at the top of the gangplank for a beat, assessing Stede clinically before turning to move around.]

I've come for my things. I'll be gone before you know it.

[Clipped. Cold. All his armor and resolve latched firmly in place. Please god stay put. One errant word could pierce him through.]

[Stede feels the cold sweep of Izzy's gaze over him, clinical, detached, and he's gripped with panic. Is he over him already? In such a short time apart? There had been no response to his last message, but in his pissed-off state he had assumed he had finally gotten under Izzy's skin, and rightly so. But now, with an autumn breeze chilling his skin, with Izzy aiming to step around him, he's not so sure.

Stede takes a swift step to the side, blocking Izzy's path toward the stairs. His hands clench, just briefly, into determined fists at his sides, arms swathed in his silk dressing gown. He hears himself blurt out:]

Don't leave.

[It's not a request.]

[Izzy levers Stede with a sharp look of warning and goes to the side again. Blocked. He moves back, blocked. This is fucking embarrassing now. How is it Bonnet is able to take up the entire fucking space like a god damn wall.

Just let him stay shut down and carry on, what do you care.]

Why stay? I have my boyfriend to get back to.

[Words so acidic Izzy's throat stings just saying them. That poor fucking man, he doesn't deserve to be dragged into any of this. He's done nothing to deserve it.]

[Stede's not letting him go anywhere. And he maybe derives a bit of pleasure from watching that become more and more apparent to Izzy. But the taste of it turns bitter on his tongue as the man spits his own words back at him. He huffs, steeling himself. Planting his feet, standing his ground.]

That isn't where you belong, though. You know it, and I know it. Ed knows it, too.

[Gods, if he can't make Izzy stay, Ed is going to be devastated. His resolve deepens. His hand itches to reach out and take Izzy by the necktie, yank him closer and show him where he belongs, but he reins in the impulse. Just—]

Stay, Israel. Izzy.

[You have no idea how tempting it was for him to leave his tie behind. Leave the ring behind, really make it all fucking hurt. But he didn't. It's there, glinting bright in the moonlight. His collar is open with his ruby visible through the fabric, so the gems stack in a funny sort of way, green over red as it is right now in life.

The tick in his jaw flares as he clenches, fists balling and opening a few times as he thinks. How bad does he want to make this? Now that he's back, how much does he really want to leave?

Leave his people? Leave his whole life? Start over in a new world with a man who is, yeah, kind and generous and gentle, but still a stranger. Who might buck and run the moment he finds out just what a sick, fucking mess Izzy really is.

Or does he stay in the mess that made him, comfortable but unhappy and without agency.

Why is that even a question? Why is it worth thinking about, why does it give him such pause?]

You cause me such..fucking agony, the two of you.

[Voice tight with emotion he is trying so, so hard to hold back. Stay. That single word to pierce him, slung in the opening blow. How typical.

Could be the idea of being wanted like that, of belonging like that, is something he just...doesn't think he deserves? Doesn't think is offered in earnest? Kindness is a trap. It is always a trap. Showing vulnerability might work for Edward, may have for a bit, but that bit him in the ass, and any time Izzy has shown weakness he was savaged within an inch of his fucking life. It is luxury, too rich for his sort.]

[Stede finds his eye drawn, briefly, to that tempting glimpse of Izzy's throat, the ruby peeking through, the ring unable to escape his notice. Still there...That gives him a dangerous spark of hope. And the air between them feels thin enough to combust at any moment.

He's caught momentarily wordless, though, by the admission that wrenches its way from Izzy's throat. He opens his mouth to speak, thinks the better of it, licks his lips.

His gaze burns into Izzy as he steps forward, and lifts a hand to his tie. Not to wrap and tug, but just settling over it, his fingers brushing that ruby glowing at the base of his throat.]

The feeling is mutual. But...it's such a sweet agony. [A quick, ragged breath.]

Stay.

[The bells which ring for them and them alone begin to hum the moment Stede touches him. A soft vibration in the ends of their nerves and up through the cores of their bodies.

Izzy has never heard of a singing bowl, but it's that kind ringing. The sort that takes a man over and to his knees.

His knees don't fall, but they threaten to buckle the same way the rest of him threatens to follow under Stede's touch - eyes locked. Izzy wets his lips as well, an echo by reflex.

Stay.

He doesn't know if he can. Or should. Or wants to.

He doesn't know if he's capable of not, either.

Nope, turns out he's not.]

I'm listening.

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