ninetoes | Noctium Inbox

"Watch it," Izzy warns, though the depth of his pulled dimples betrays him.

Reluctantly, like he's making a show of it, Izzy detangles himself and gets up, retrieves his violin, and sits back down on the corner of the bench. Enough space to let Ed play, but tight enough to brush shoulders. He dutifully faces the other way, arms brushing, and holds himself at the ready.

"I'll follow your lead, Captain."

"I plan to." Is Ed's only retort, and in fact does watch Izzy’s little show, the way he pries himself off of Ed like it's a chore (which is the cutest thing he thinks he maybe has ever seen Izzy do), watches him fetch his violin, and grins at the way he settles back against him closely, as if touching each other was as necessary as oxygen.

He feels like a fucking kid again.

"You always do." he chirps, settling in better to play the keys, beginning again the song he'd started before. He can't help but smile, and feels somehow like he's smiling with his entire body, if that's even possible.

Could be. Kinda feels like it is. That tiny little hum between them certainly helps.

Izzy would be a fucking liar if he didn't wish for the floodgates to open back up. He doesn't know what the hangup is. Ed said he loved him, that's... that's so much. All of this is so much.

So maybe it's him. Maybe there's nothing wrong with Ed at all, maybe it's all him.

An uncomfortable, unpleasant thought, but not all that unsurprising, really.

Forgotten for the moment in any case, because he's feeling downright giddy. Which would be embarrassing if he didn't want it so badly.

Izzy closes his eyes, listening to the opening bars for his cue to join in, and sends his bow to the strings right on time. From there? It's easy sailing. Calm waters and gentle winds. The music has always been a balm. A place of conversation, speaking without words, without any direct action other than collaboration. Ed is more talented than he thinks, and it's always amazed Izzy. His little variations, reorchestrations, improvements, adventure. No sheet music or brittle lessons to fall back on, just talent and inspiration. Ed's always been like that, in everything he's done, and Izzy remembers back when they were young and hungry and far less worn, falling in l- being taken over with that awe over and over again.

Izzy and Ed share the same concerns, and perhaps that is part of the problem. Both of them still have so much to say and yet are afraid to say it and ruin what little progress they've made. Ed, at the very least, has prepared himself to be calm in case it didn't come back so easily. Given the state of things, he tried to simply be relieved that he feels it at all.

"Beautiful, Iz--" Ed remarks as Izzy's strings begin to sing in time with his playing, the only words he bothers with, letting their song take over for them. Edward definitely doesn't see this as the talent Izzy does, having learned a few songs out of sheer boredom does not an artist make, and he has heard Izzy play such beautiful music even without him, which has always been encouragement for Edward to learn another tune.

Which is ironic then, perhaps, because Izzy finds so much inspiration in Edward and, though he's tried (god how he has tried) never thought himself that inspiring. Effective, yes. Resolute and determined, of course. Productive, practical, effective, worth having, but inspiring? To Edward? That feels so far beyond his reach.

He smiles wider with the compliment, posture straightening that little bit left before he sinks back into the natural flow. The song takes a sweep of drama and he follows, puling and holding it's highest note with delicate vibrato before letting it crash back down into the melody. Washed away with the pull of the tide.

Izzy finds himself swaying gently as they go, brushing on the fourth count almost every time. That's one thing they've always had: rhythm. It's just been, for so long, the only sing in Izzy's heart has been the clash of steel and blood.

"Catch me," he murmurs back and races the scales in deviation to the song.

Izzy Hands inspires Edward every day. Inspires him to be better, to be stronger, to be the legend that they built together. He inspires him to get out of bed. He inspires him at his lowest, most depleted moments and encourages him every step of the way, even when it's sometimes negative, it inspires results. For Izzy to think otherwise is nearly absurd.

It's easy for Edward to fall into tbe swaying rhythm Izzy begins, seeking out that little brush of shoulder, looking forward to it each time. At Izzy’s words, Ed makes an amused noise and chases the notes with his own, finding Izzy instinctively easy to follow despite the departure from the norm.

Chasing a creative string into unpremeditated improvisation. How very unlike Izzy. It's the inspiration. It's basking in Ed's warmth, turning like a sunflower towards the source. He can't help it. He could never help it. Doesn't want to.

They play there, in uncharted waters, for a lovely measure. Exciting, playful, full of all the things Izzy doesn't know how to acknowledge much less say. But he's trying, listening to the response like it's spoken word. Maybe that counts for something.

It does feel like a conversation, at least, there is emotion behind it. There always had been, and before it was easily dismissed if questioned. Just two boys playing music, having fun. There's no one to hide from here but themselves, and while they've done quite a job of that over the previous months, Edward feels hope that now that this seal is broken it will be easier to overcome.

Synchrony buzzes subtly even under their music, setting the tone for the piece, and Edward finds he's watching his own hands less and less, head turned beside him to watch Izzy feel the music and play note after beautiful note.

There could be a certain brand of elegance in the way Izzy moves when he thinks no one is watching. When he's focused on a task, eyes closed, pouring himself into music. He plays for the moment, for Edward, for the both of them. All his attention pulled into one fixed point, anchored here, on the bench, for them and them alone.

The brush of arms, tiny, tantalizing drag of fabrics. Each time like a greeting. I'm still here. I'm with you. I couldn't leave you for the world, now. I never really could to begin with.

What a shame it is when the song ends. When final notes hover in the air and there is nothing, nothing else but them.

The last chords ring out under the hammers and across the strings. Izzy releases the tension from the bow in his hand to his own strings and feels the echo of the moment. It feels holy, somehow. Reverent.

A breath. A beat. He turns his face to look at Ed with something gentle and yearning, and then he's leaning in for a kiss devoid of all their harsh, jagged hurt. Those things aren't welcome here right now. Not on hallowed ground.

It's such a stark difference from the way Izzy first entered the room. His posture alone, the fluidity of his playing as opposed to the cold rigidity of before. Fascinating. There is always more to Izzy than meets the eye, and Edward loves that about him.

Izzy’s eyes meet his finally and Edward feels that jump in his chest that he feels when he's looking back at someone he has feelings for. He leans into the kiss without hesitation, an arm sliding around Izzy’s waist snugly.

"You've still got it." he murmurs when their kiss ends naturally, a smirk creeping up one cheek.

"Pff-" he nearly laughs. That's joy, escaping. He would have thought it dead inside him, but there it is. Resurrected.

Izzy looks up, eyes soft. He feels young again. He is, slowly, painfully, beginning to see the glimpses of what their life could be. Or rather, glimpses of a life without what they've been. It's terrifying but in a moment like this, with Edward's praise and all of his attention, nothing is frightening at all.

Besotted. Entirely. He can barely make himself speak, barely summon words and risk breaking this perfect, perfect thing. He'd tattoo it across his chest if it meant keeping this forever.

"So do you."

When was the last time Izzy looked at him like this? He doesn't want to think about that. It'll only make the sadness and guilt pool up again. Best to live in the now and appreciate it for what it is. Besides... he's exhausted. He feels like he's ran a marathon and fought a naval ship all on his own. Emotions are so draining. No wonder he's pent them up for so long.

Ed's lips brush across Izzy’s cheek again, pressing a lingering kiss there to show his appreciation. "Thanks, Iz... for coming back to me." he nearly whispers. Now just stay, he thinks to himself. God. Please just stay.

Give me a reason to stay, he almost says, but that would ruin things. Anything he could say right now would ruin things, so why try? Why mar the moment when it's been so...dangerously perfect. No, no he can't do it.

Izzy looks at him for a long moment, any maybe that thought process is visible. He's never been that great of a liar about important things.

This is important.

Maybe the silence means more.

He chews his bottom lip, just a bit, just a snag, and nods. Don't fuck this up, Edward.

Don't fuck this up, Izzy.

Another beat. He's found his words.

"We should talk. The three of us."

And then, because he's being brave:

"In bed...perhaps?"

There's a moment where Ed thinks he may see something in Izzy's eyes, something that means he hasn't quite come back, yet. It seizes his chest and he catches himself not breathing. It's a relief when he finally speaks, when he suggests speaking, all three of them, in bed.

Ed exhales the breath he didn't intend to hold for so long, nodding in response. "Yeah... Okay, yeah..." he smiles, giving Izzy a nudge. "I'll get you that shirt. C'mon..." he calls back as he moves to stand, keeping Izzy’s hand in his.

Izzy doesn’t want the shirt, they’re hot and strangling and he’s going to (apparently) be in bed with two men; so hot will very quickly become unbearable. But, he is so hopelessly enamoured by Ed’s words and the fact they’re holding hands like..well, like people they haven’t been allowed to be, that he allows it. He’ll wear anything he’s told. Let Edward dress him. Dutifully strip and fold his clothes, dawn a nightshirt that fucking dwarfs him.

Stede’s, he assumes.

New colors across his back. New fabric. It feels suspiciously nice on his skin. Against his tattoo there. And ah, speaking of Stede.

Izzy gestures for Ed to give him a minute and he heads for the door, opening it without warning, half expecting to find the man up against the wood listening with a glass pressed to it.

Stede would be lying if he said he hadn't listened at the door before heading back to the master cabin. Just long enough to make certain the two of them weren't going to kill each other, and then he'd torn himself away from the door and gone to get ready for bed. He's been wearing the same clothes since yesterday, fretting over whether or not Izzy was going to come back, and whether or not he decides to join them for the night, Stede's craving a fresh change of clothes and a nice, relaxing glass of brandy before bed.

So when Izzy comes through the door, Stede is settled on the settee he'd placed at the foot of their huge bed, enjoying his brandy in front of the lit fireplace, draped in a fresh nightgown and a baby blue silk velvet dressing gown. He startles when he hears the door open, and gets to his feet when he sees Izzy standing there in the doorway. Heart pounding in his chest, he just smiles at him for a moment, his brain frantically scrambling for the right words to say. He settles on, "Hi."

Izzy can sleep fucking nude if he wants, Ed is just trying to be accommodating. He should probably just give the other man his robe back, but truthfully, since Izzy’s returned, he's forgotten he's wearing it.

Ed follows behind Izzy into their bedroom, a sort of prideful smile on his face as he watches Stede light up upon their entrance. He closes the door behind them, then slips away from Izzy to fuss with the bed to let he and Stede have a moment. It's the largest bed Edward has ever seen, plenty of room for the three of them, and he sets about to arrange the pillows so that each of them will be comfortable.

Instinctively, Izzy moves to the side to let Ed through without breaking eye contact with Stede. Of course he'd be posed there in his nice things with a drink. A gentleman in repose. Had he practiced this? Had he planned it? Waiting in the bedroom in velvet like some... blonde sex kitten, what the fuck is happening.

Well. Turns out. This is happening.

Hi. Why is that so cute. Fuck, FUCK!

Izzy wets his lips, Watching Stede while Ed faffs about in the background building a nest or whatever the fuck he's doing. A cozy nest for three. Imagine.

"So we've spoken." It's almost like he's giving a report. It's certainly easier than coming in here like he's vulnerable, still a little confused, wanting, hungry, horny, and scared.

"I'm not agreeing to anything blind and I'm not playing lesser to you lot."

But it sure sounds like he's staying. Like he has agreed to something.

Stede shoots a beaming smile Ed's way as he slips past the two of them, thrilled that things seemed to have gone so well in his absence, but he quickly turns his attention back to Izzy.

"Oh?" He can't keep the delight out of his voice, doesn't even try to; he's nodding along with Izzy's demands eagerly, setting his drink aside as he steps closer, into his space.

"Absolutely," he agrees. "Anything you want." Emboldened by the positive turn of events, Stede reaches out and takes Izzy's hand, the one without the glove, in both of his. Lifts it up to his lips, and lowers his head to press a soft, warm, lingering kiss to his knuckles. "Thank you for coming back to us." His voice is soft enough to be just for them, a shared moment of semi-privacy, before he lowers Izzy's hand with a squeeze.

"You'll stay with us tonight? Please?"

The kiss is near chivalric, whose is. It something Izzy has ever had extended towards him but finds he likes rather a lot. Why don’t more people kiss his hand in gratitude? Why isn’t that a thing. It bloody should be.

Just as strange as they two of them going through all this for him. Making a show of giving a shit. Or actually wanting him, or being sorry, or having any kind of fucking feelings.

Funny, they’ve been there all along in one form or another.

It reminds Izzy of early conversations he’d had with Ed upon his arrival. He hadn’t believed this world was so different from theirs. That there could be space for emotion and it not immediately equivocate to sure death or snivelling weakness. Edward was right. He’s seen it now, felt it now, for himself.

Feels like a dream.

A dream he’s being asked to stay in. And you know what? He wants to. Of course there’s a part still screaming this is all a sham. Screaming that someone has to resist because something will happen and one of them has to be ready for it, but he is so fucking exhausted from listening to that voice. From living in survival mode without joy. He is exhausted.

Maybe that voice can just…fuck off for a bit.

“Yeah, alright.”

Not particularly elegant but there you have it. Nah, he can do better.

“Take me to bed, Stede Bonnet.”

Stede's hands lower Izzy's back to their natural height, but they don't let go quite yet. He clings to that small point of contact, his body gravitating toward Izzy's the way he does toward Ed's. And when Izzy agrees? Oh, it's the most wonderful feeling, the burst of Synchrony that radiates from their joined hands nearly overwhelming him for a moment.

"Oh, splendid," he breathes. "Yes, I shall."

He doesn't plan it, doesn't really think about it beyond a joyful, spontaneous burst of Golden Retriever energy that he's prone to. Stede just bends in the middle beneath Izzy's sternum, arms darting around his middle to haul him up over his shoulder. "To bed with us!" he chirps, turning excitedly toward Edward and the pillow nest he's created in the bed. "Edward, darling, look what I've brought home!"

Never mind the short, sharp squawk of indignant outrage and scandal.

Suddenly ass over tit over Stede’s shoulder (when the fuck did he get strong!? Has he always been strong!?!) Izzy flails before realising a struggle might mean falling.

It is for that reason and that reason alone he curls up tightly and claps Stede heavily between his shoulder blades.

“PUT ME DOWN YOU FUCKING LUNATIC!”

Edward had been fussing with the sheets and pillows, slunk off the robe he'd borrowed from Izzy to begin with, and had been hovering near the bed, sitting at the edge of it, watching with adoration as his two loves have their own little exchange. The noise that erupts from Izzy immediately brings Ed glee; he is literally giggling and kicking his feet.

As far as Stede's strength goes, Edward's certainly admired the muscular arms and legs that surely had some strength to them since they'd first met, but his emerald seemingly has made him super-powered, able to lift men with ease and certainly even hold Ed down a few times. How could he not notice that? It's fucking sexy.

"Nice find, babe, but you should probably do as he says..." he hums, patting at the center of the bed, "Mm, right here'll do."

Stede wheezes and coughs at the hard collision of Izzy's hand between his shoulders, but his grip remains firm, curled around the backs of his thighs just under his ass, and over his knees. He beams at Ed, looking absolutely radiant where he's waiting at the edge of the bed, and takes three long strides before he unloads his armful onto the soft mattress.

"You asked me to take you to bed," he reminds Izzy as he stretches out on the mattress beside him. "You didn't specify how. It felt up to interpretation."

“And yet you chose violence,” he scowls, having landed with a soft loft and quickly scrabbled to right himself.

In hindsight, he isn’t sure what he was expecting.

(He hates that it was kind of nice.)

Izzy shoves out of his boots because he isn’t an animal and even he has standards about shoes in bed. He knows there’s no point in enlisting Ed against the mishandling because Ed will think it funny. Hell, if it hadn’t been him, Izzy would have also found it funny. Damn you.

Doesn’t stop him from shooting Stede a look as he lays down. Then to Ed for good measure.

“I’m already regretting this.”

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