ninetoes | Noctium Inbox

Izzy's answer isn't a no, but it isn't a yes, either, and for a moment Stede's tender heart clutches in his chest, hurting for this man who's only been offered rough touches and forced affection. He wonders if he's ever been given to instead of just taken from. There are miles between those two things, Stede knows. Just as there are miles between a marriage you chose and a marriage that was chosen for you, something he never realized until Edward.

"Oh," he murmurs, snapping back to attention as Izzy jostles his shirt, and he rises to his feet. No, he won't make Izzy ask, but the demand is consent enough for Stede, and he comes around the table with bated breath. His eyes flicker from Izzy's to the tattoo, uncertainly, and slowly he reaches his fingers out. He has a theory as to how this might work, based on what Ed's later recollection of the encounter, and his gaze slides back up to Izzy's face as they brush against the black ink, gentle and warm. Watching, with bated breath, for the reaction he knows will come.

Just the gentle rub of fabric against Izzy's skin has been enough to keep him teetering on the edge - but under warm, soft fingers it's like sliding into a pool of warm, all enveloping bliss. The reaction is huge and immediate as Izzy gives a fucking filthy moan and closes his eyes. His knees threaten to buckle out from under him and he reaches out to find purchase against Stede and keep himself up, grabbing the back of the man's neck for stability. Just like that, he's his. It's so fucking easy.

Has Izzy ever been given to, no. Not even this really counts. It isn't exactly taking, but it isn't giving. He doesn't know what to call it, all he knows is that coherent thought is leaving him as quickly as the tattoo's sensations flood in to replace it. By then, he doesn't care. By then he's pressing his face into Stede's neck wanting- needing the contact more than anything else.

Stede is there to catch Izzy before his knees can betray him, one strong arm looping around his waist just as the other man clasps a hand around his neck. Goosebumps scatter across his skin as he takes in the reaction, spellbound, the gorgeous moan erupting from Izzy's mouth, the way his eyes squeeze shut from the force of it. He knows all too well what that ink does, had spent an entire morning letting orgasm after orgasm wrack his body at Ed's behest, had sucked it from his thumb all too eagerly.

He can understand, then, why Izzy's immediate instinct is to buckle into him, to grasp at him and bury his face in Stede's neck, where he can feel the damp warmth of every heavy breath. His reaction is pure instinct; he pulls Izzy close, against his broad chest, and passes a soothing hand over his hair, petting it back away from his face. "There, there. I know. It's a lot, isn't it?" He slips into this gentleness so easily, because it is who he is at his very core. And he's never seen someone so in need of gentility in his life. Now the only question is whether or not Izzy will take it.

"He ran me through the wringer, the first time we changed together. I swear my heart nearly gave out..." He doesn't mention that it was because all his blood supply was being pumped so hard to his massive prick. "But Ed took care of me then." Stede bends his head, brushing his nose against Izzy's hair, smelling for the first time the scent of whatever pomatum he uses. "Will you allow me to do the same for you?"

The only pomade Izzy was able to procure from Filia had been some local brand, scented with the familiar scents of citrus, palm leaf and vanilla cream. Not his old faithful, but it was fine enough and is distinctly warm against his prickly personality.

Mind you the only thing prickly now is between his legs, straining with urgent need.

Stede says something to him and he nearly misses it, too busy with the sensation of skin on warm skin and a strong body against him. Too focused on the vibrations of Stede's voice to receive every word. He is weak all at once, and needs a moment to process. Needs a lot of things.

Take care of him. Him. He.. he could really fucking do with being taken care of, yeah.

And so he nods before dragging his face up a little to press his lips to Stede's neck and lap a stripe up to the bottom of his ear. He knew this would happen if he gave Stede his tattoo, he knew, but it doesn't feel as ugly as he thought it might. How could it possibly when he's being touched like this. When beautiful things are being said to him.

When he answers the breathy whisper is so small and so vulnerable.

"Please."

Stede drags in a ragged breath, feeling Izzy's lips press against his skin, and then the shock of his tongue dragging up over the ridge of his jaw to his ear. Oh, he could so easily get drunk on that, or on the way Izzy answers, a voice so tiny he'd miss it if he weren't waiting with bated breath. His blood sings with triumph, chest rising and falling just a hare more quickly where it's pressed to Izzy's. There's a fragile and tense trust between them now, a tacit agreement that what's happening can happen, and he's determined not to ruin it if he can at all help it.

"Come on then," Stede beckons, his voice low and warm as he walks them backward to the bed. His fingers still stroke through Izzy's hair, and when the backs of his knees meet the coffin-shaped bed, he pivots Izzy around and gently plies him down to sit on its edge. "Sit right here," he murmurs, and then gets to his knees between Izzy's thighs. He doesn't rush, but he doesn't linger too long, either, his own arousal flaring in his gut and making him more impatient than he might otherwise be. His fingers find the laces of Izzy's trousers and begin to pull them open methodically.

"You may pull my hair, if you like," he breathes, pulling Izzy's cock out and pausing just for a moment to take him in, get a feel for the weight and breadth of him. He's wanted to do this for two weeks, thought about it each time he's caught Izzy staring. Imagined himself paying Izzy back, so to speak, for the rather devastating blowjob he'd delivered. Now that he gets to do it, he's so eager he almost doesn't know where to begin, and he pauses with Izzy's prick in hand, mouth inches away.

"Tell me how you want it," he says softly.

Edited (repetitive word choice >:() 2022-08-04 00:47 (UTC)

Tell him-

"I-" mmm. Words are very difficult for him at the best of times, never mind now. Never mind expressing what he wants. Who has ever cared what he wants?

Izzy reaches forward, delicately brushing his bare fingers through Stede's shining curls. His hair is so soft and elegant. Another perfect thing on this perfect man, he fucking hates it.

He hates it less taking in the full picture of the moment. That Stede Bonnet is on his knees, asking to service Izzy however he'd like. That he wants to. That he brought him here to do this one, specific act. Not to fuck him, not to make him watch him and Edward, to service him. The weight of that revelation is absolutely fucking staggering. In all honestly, Izzy doesn't know how to respond. He bites his bottom lip for a moment, thinking, all of this quite visible on his face. How can you ask for what you want when you don't know? So he defaults to safe territory.

"I want it how you'd do for Edward."

As if this act might come from a place of affection. That he might feel wanted, even if it is second hand.

Stede's patient as Izzy hesitates over his question. He can understand why it might be challenging, if all he knows is being taken from, but he's happy to wait, to let Izzy's fingers curl into his hair, a warm exhale feathering over the head of his cock. And his answer—

"Oh, yes," Stede replies. "I can do that." He doesn't waste any more time, just drops his head to smear the head of Izzy's cock against the seam of his lips. Just a bit of a tease, before his tongue darts out to lick him into his mouth with wide, warm laps, swallowing him down and groaning at the taste of him, the weight of him on his tongue. He wants to let his eyes fall shut, but he keeps them open and trained on Izzy's expression, on high alert for any sign he might not like something.

He takes him in to the hilt, til his nose is buried in Izzy's pubic hair and he's just grazing the back of his throat, and then Stede draws slowly back, letting him slide out of his mouth only to turn his head to mouth sloppy licks and kisses down the side of his shaft.

Ohhh fuck, if that is not one of the single sexiest things that has ever fucking happened to him.

And to be clear, it isn't as though Izzy is some bumbling fucking virgin. He isn't inexperienced, he is starving not fasting. There is a difference. But to be swallowed like that, by this specific man, with intense eye contact all the while. Yes. Yes, this is exactly what he wants.

If this is what Edward gets all the fucking time-

-yeah, yeah, okay. Maybe he can see why he's moved on to Stede so easily. So fully. Why he fucking married him.

He gets it, and that hurts so very terribly. How could he compare. How could he hope to provide. He hates himself that little bit more and it tangles ugly into the bliss rushing through his veins. Bastards, the both of you.

"Fuck," almost reverent. "You are something, Bonnet."

Wrecked already, Izzy tightens his fingers in Stede's hair, setting all his height on his other hand to keep himself upright, and widens his legs that little bit more. It's tempting for him to also close his eyes but he can not miss a second of this. Every feeling and movement and sight all searing into his flesh. Were he to experience heat it would feel like this. Unstoppable and uncontrollable, hips desperate to rise up and push himself back down Stede's hot, wet throat.

Stede can't help but grin at Izzy's reaction, the way he says that Stede is something. It's the closest thing to a compliment Izzy Hands has ever given him, and Stede knows he has to treasure it. He agrees with a low mmmm, dragging his tongue flat up the underside of Izzy's prick just to swallow him down again. No sense leaving the man wanting any longer than he already has, and Stede's too eager to tease him much longer.

He's thorough, but not prudish about it. It seems his aristocratic fussiness doesn't extend to the bedroom, where he abandons himself happily to his partner's pleasure. He treats Izzy to lots of long, languorous strokes, saliva pooling on his tongue to ease the works, groaning when he feels pre-come well up and burst over his tongue. Oh, he could just devour this ridiculous, angry little man whole, and honestly? He just might. He tastes incredible.

There would be no objection from Izzy who is absolutely thriving under Stede's efforts. As good as this would be straight, the addition of his tattoo heightens every sensation to a degree he can not compute. The man's hot, wet month, his attentive tongue, the vibration in his throat when he hums, it is euphoria. Like a blow job and sinking his cock into someone's sex all at once.

It would be too easy to give in and it be over far too soon. He can't have that.

Izzy reluctantly releases Stede's hair and gropes for his right hand, raising it up and guiding it to his chest. Past his tightly pebbled nipple to get Stede's fingers back on the ink of Ed's mark while Izzy shifts his own hands. One back into Stede's hair (tighter this time) and, having to now sit properly, using the other to press his thumb hard against the base of his cock. A move designed to restrict blood, forcing his prick to flare, but also denying him release.

Eventually, Stede's eyes flutter shut, firmly fixated on his work. It isn't until he feels Izzy's fingers release his curls that they open, watching as Izzy guides one of his hands up over his chest—god, his chest—to find Ed's mark. Understanding, Stede rubs his fingers gently over the spot, cautious at first. He wonders if Izzy will allow the sensation to overtake him, but it seems the man's thought of it all, if the thumb pressed at the base of him is any indication

Good, Stede thinks. It means he doesn't have to go easy on him. He presses deeper down onto Izzy's cock, inhaling heavily though his nose, and doesn't stop until his lips brush Izzy's thumb. His palm gives Izzy's gorgeous tit a squeeze before he lets his fingertips press into that tattoo, less gently this time. Knowing how it will send shocks of pleasure straight down Izzy's spine just as the back of his throat closes around his cockhead.

It's like fucking lightening, and were Izzy not physically stopping himself from release he would tip over that edge immediately. Half of him is desperate to spill down Stede's throat for the pure satisfaction of the act. The other half is nowhere near ready for this to stop.

His fingers curl ever tighter, a filthy noise in his throat.

As usual, he finds himself thinking about the man who did this to him. Mentally inserting him into the equation, standing behind him on the bed, wrenching Izzy's head back by his hair to swallow his cock. Or perhaps under him, splitting him open at the same time Stede swallows him down. Fuck, wouldn't that be something. Stede's hair is so soft. His mouth is so hot. God, he can't fucking think.

It’s so easy for Stede to get lost to this, in learning the ways Izzy is different from Edward, in the lightning-sharp buzz of Synchrony that’s less of a surprise this time but no less potent as it melts down his spine. The curl of Izzy’s fingers in his hair is good, too, drawing a heady moan from Stede and causing his own fingers to dig into that tattoo a little harder. His other hand landed on Izzy’s hip at one point, curling tight as if to anchor himself. He pushes himself a little further, jaw open as wide as it can go as he gags himself on Izzy. He’s determined to give as good as he’s got, like that will finally prove himself to Izzy.

He draws back for a moment to catch his breath, tears glistening at the corner of his eyes from the intrusion in his throat, gasping for air. Stede doesn’t waste a moment, though, his tongue swirling hot around the head of Izzy’s prick while he waits for his lungs to stop burning.

It is, for a moment, as if Izzy can feel the burn in his lungs, if only because he has been there before, himself. It could possibly be some transference through synchronicity, which sings like a live wire through them. Wound from a million gossamer threads, it spans heart to heart. Gem to gem. Inside each other in a way no one can put to words, they simply are.

The small reprieve gives Izzy a moment to collect himself (as much as a man in his position can, which is very little), and whilst contact isn't broken, Izzy elects to - if only to pitch forward and pull the other by his hair up for a searing kiss. He doesn't get to kiss enough. He doesn't get to taste himself on another's tongue. To plunder their mouths and swollen lips for his very own. It isn't a signal to stop, he doesn't want the moment to stop, and from experience of having the tattoo done he knows he can come several times. This is just a little, self indulgent, detour along the way.

Stede's not expecting to be tugged by the hair away from Izzy's cock and toward his mouth instead, but he surrenders willingly, rising up on his knees the better to let Izzy devour his mouth. He pulls in a deep breath through his nose, struck by the contrast between their first kiss and this one. Then it had been all confusion and alarm and feral instinct driving him. Now it's something different entirely. Giving himself over to Izzy's wants, giving him what he needs, feels less like a charity act than Stede would have imagined, and more like a puzzle piece fitting into place than he's ready to admit to.

He stays there as long as Izzy wants, the hand on his hip creeping up over his stomach, thumbing over skin and hair and scar as if committing it all to memory. His heart is pounding in his chest, he can feel it, wonders if Izzy can hear it. Stede moans, lashes fanning his cheek, sucking lewdly at the first mate's lower lip, lost to the moment and committed to whatever follows.

It is a perfect moment, all things considered. The who and how and why. If Izzy thought this were charity for a moment he would be out of here so sucking fast. Mercifully, it doesn't. What it is, he doesn't know, but he sure as hell isn't complaining as they trade turns trying to devour each other.

Izzy pulls back, a thin strand of saliva between them. He's pink with flush, eyes dark and glassy, pupils blown wide as he drinks Stede in. He really is beautiful. How terrible.

He breaks the strand by wetting his own lips and then begins to guide Stede back down to finish, releasing the hold he's got on himself to cup his cheeks. He stops, thumbs gently sliding over soft skin, never mind he can only feel it on one side with that glove in the way.

"Say my name?"

Staring into Izzy's face, flushed and full of want and terribly, terribly attractive, Stede forgets for a moment that he hasn't been drugged, that all of the lust he feels is of his own volition. He wants this man so badly that it burns inside of him, all of the wrongdoing and hurt and bile between them reduced to desire so closely distilled that he fears it might combust within him.

He exhales, letting himself be guided back to his work, but he doesn't expect to find his jaw cradled between skin and leather, staring wide-eyed up at Izzy from between his knees. Yes, he can certainly do that. "Izzy," he breathes, and then, "Israel," his voice low and wrecked from the use of his throat.

Izzy lets out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding, feeling a strange sort of surprise and relief and visibility all at the same time.

He didn’t know Stede even knew his given name. No one has called him by it fondly in a very long time. This gift, mixing in with everything else, slides down his spine with a warmth that lights up every rib it passes.

God. God. To be called by his name.

Maybe it’s pathetic. Probably is, he asked for it after all. Not sure he cares.

Reopening his eyes, Izzy finds Stede’s and looks so fucking grateful that were he watching as a third party, he would leave from the display of emotion.

“Oh Stede,” he whispers back. The name feels so very foreign on his tongue without a curse or venom. Like he’s learning it for the first time, beads restrung to hang properly.

It’s intense. It’s all so intense. That won’t stop him.

Stede doesn't even remember where he first heard Izzy's full name, one of the crew perhaps, but it had always struck him as a rather elegant name for such a bitter little berk. Now, it rolls off his tongue all too easily, and Izzy calls him Stede and it makes his heart skip an absolutely ridiculous beat. What is happening? Stede half expects to wake up in a cold sweat any moment.

Instead he smiles, all golden sunlight breaking out over the horizon, and dips his head to take Izzy back into his mouth. His brow draws together sweetly as he devotes himself to his work, fingertips stroking a steady rhythm over his tattoo in time with the bobbing of his head in his lap.

Pleasure, rolling and all consuming, comes barrelling back three fold and with it a symphony of noise from Izzy’s own throat. He’s vocal, he always has been, it’s just so rare that he’s not had to bite his hand or a pillow to smother the noise when opportunity to engage arose.

Either that or it does locked in the deafening walls of far distant brothels where it never fucking mattered. Transactional, brief relationships that sated the void in his belly for a moment before leaving him even more hollow than ever before.

Izzy, as it turns out, is not made for brief, meaningless sex. He is cast of devotion and anything less feels worse than nothing to begin with. So what he’s doing here, what they’re doing, this is dangerous.

Even given a moment to regroup, can feel climax mounting behind his eyes, whole body telling that he’s close.

“Fuck-“

He tries to warn in any case.

“Bonnet I’m- fuck I’m so-“

Stede takes Izzy's warning in stride, moaning in encouragement as he redoubles his efforts. The hand not stroking Ed's mark on his chest slides between his own thighs, trying to relieve some of the pressure straining his breeches, but mostly he's devoted to the task at hand.

Stede whimpers, feeling Izzy's body draw up tight, and every nerve of his lights up in anticipation. All he wants, all he can think of, is making Izzy spill down his throat, and the sudden and burning desire to know what he sounds like when he comes. To know that he did that.

Permission is sublimely granted, he almost can’t believe, and that revelation is the final delight which pushes Izzy over the edge with a shivering, wrecked moan.

Every part of him feels so deliciously alight as he spills down Stede’s throat.

Spills his seed down Stede Bonnet’s throat.

Fucking hell. Izzy’s cry, sharp and ragged and gasping, fills the tiny room the way he fills the captain’s belly, knowing another is right behind in short order. Izzy can’t help it, it’s Edward’s doing, this debauchment that would make a cum dumpster of his husband. That sends Izzy into mindless, spinning, uncontrollable rut feeding a synchronic feedback loop between them.

Stede's rewarded for his curiosity soon enough, a low and guttural groan resounding as he feels Izzy finish in hot spatters at the back of his throat. His lips move back and forth, just an inch or so, intending to work him through it and pull off, but he's forgotten about the tattoo, and before he knows it he's being treated to a multi-course meal on Izzy's behalf.

And not only that, but he can feel in in the connection between them. He's experienced this with Ed, but experiencing it with Izzy is another thing entirely, and Stede isn't quite ready for it. He fairly trembles, face buried in Izzy's lap, his hand pressed down the front of his trousers to grip at his own throbbing prick. He feels dizzy with arousal, strung tight, the waves of Izzy's orgasm battering at his own resolve, and it isn't long at all before Stede's coming with a howl of pleasure around Izzy's length, his face flushed and eyes squeezed tightly shut as he spill over his own hand.

At some point in this Izzy removes Stede’s hand from his tattoo, unable to take it anymore or he will submit completely and do something stupid like beg the man to fuck him.

(The plea already cued on his lips.)

There is no rational thought occurring, it is simply reactive, and in releasing that touch the most overwhelming waves, largest and heaviest, crash down one final time and pool but do not make way for more.

There’s nothing but this perfect, consuming bliss. Brainless. Sex stupid. Nothing in the world but he and Stede.

Izzy takes a ragged breath and tips backwards to hit the bed, chest heaving, arms limp at his sides. Holy fuck. Holy fuuuuuck.

That would have been good without the tattoo in play, but with it? It’s almost cheating because how could he ever’ve experienced better otherwise.

He. He needs a minute. He needs two or three.

Stede doesn't move until he's sure Izzy is done, until he feels the last twitch of his cock against his tongue, until he hears him fall back against the bed. Even then, he draws back slowly, cleaning every bit of seed from Izzy's prick, his eyelids at half mast in the wake of his own orgasm. He regrets not pulling Izzy's trousers down properly, wanting to pepper kisses over the tops of his thighs. Instead he leans up to mouth a few warm kisses across his hip and lower abdomen, before he sits up, wiping his mouth elegantly on his sleeve.

Stede pulls himself up to sit on the mattress beside Izzy, looking down at him with a very pleased little smirk on his face. In a fit of daring, he reaches over to stroke his hand over Izzy's hair again, smoothing a few strands back into place.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject