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It is, like most things that have gone wrong in Izzy Hands’s life recently, Stede Bonnet’s fault.
After another day of watching his once-bloodthirsty captain follow Bonnet around with teacups and silk and whatever the fuck else, Izzy wanted to lock himself in the small room he claimed as his own and try to unclench his jaw. Instead, he opened the door and nearly walked into Ed.
“Jesus Christ,” Izzy said, jerking back. “Are you trying to get stabbed?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Ed replied. “You’ve been a bit like a cat on hot bricks lately. Can’t give you a chance to run off when I’ve got orders for you.”
“Orders?” Izzy asked, hopeful.
“Yeah. We’re playing a game tonight up on the main deck. Team bonding.”
Izzy slumped, drawing in a deep breath. He straightened, lifting his chin. “I think my skills will be best employed elsewhere, Captain.”
“Maybe so,” Ed agreed. “But this one’s an order, Iz.”
“Just so I’m clear: you’re ordering me to have fun?”
“Ah, well, no. That’s expecting a bit too much of you, isn’t it?”
Izzy expected this was meant to be a comfort. It was not.
Ed continued on, oblivious. “Just have to be there and participate in the game.”
“What game is it?”
“Dunno yet. But Stede’s working with that young one to come up with something,” Ed replied, clapping Izzy’s shoulder. “Give it a try, Izzy. I’m sure it’ll be fun.”
—
It is not fun.
“Never have I ever,” Roach says, drawing out each word. He pauses, drumming his fingers against his chin. “Never have I ever…”
The rest of the crew watches as Roach slowly lists sideways, slumping into the cuddle pile that already includes the Swede, Wee John, and Black Pete’s left leg.
“Does that count?” Frenchie asks.
“He didn’t say anything,” Oluwande points out.
“Never have I ever passed out in the middle of a game?”
“Yeah, well, then he’d have to drink, and he can’t now, can he?”
“What does the rulebook say?” Bonnet asks, waving an arm expansively as if he’s some kind of judge overseeing events.
His arm thumps into Ed’s chest, and Ed starts, sloshing some of his drink. “Careful, mate. Won’t have any drink left.”
“Like I keep tellin’ you, Captain: there’s not a rulebook,” Oluwande replies and looks as if he wished he was the one who passed out. “It’s just ‘never have I ever,’ and if you have done it, you drink.”
“Hmm,” Bonnet says. “Rather loosely constructed.”
“Sort of the point?”
Next to Oluwande, Jim sleeps with their eyes open, family dagger clenched in one hand. Izzy would think they were still awake if they didn’t snore.
Imbeciles, Izzy thinks viciously, hand squeezing around his tankard.
“Right, my turn,” Bonnet says. “Never have I ever… had a first kiss.”
What the fuck.
“Again, Captain,” Oluwande says, that ever-patient voice of his beginning to fray. “It’s something you haven’t done.”
“But I haven’t!”
“Don’t you… have a wife?” Oluwande hesitates. “And, um, children?”
On the other side of the cuddle pile, Lucius snorts loudly. “Don’t need kissing for that,” he mutters.
“Oh, yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Yes, I’ve been kissed, but I mean that one perfect kiss,” Bonnet explains, his eyes going dreamy.
Where is a proper enemy ship when you truly need someone to kill you quickly, Izzy wonders.
“It’s that moment, when you kiss someone and everything around becomes hazy and the only thing in focus is you and this person. It makes you realize that that person is the only person you’re supposed to kiss for the rest of your life,” Bonnet explains. “For one moment you get this… amazing gift. You want to laugh, and you also want to cry. Because, well, you feel so lucky that you found it, but you’re so scared that that it will go away.”
There’s a long silence.
Bonnet draws in a long breath. “That’s the sort of first kiss I’m talking about.”
Izzy has already raised his tankard to his lips before he’s realized what a horrifically stupid idea it is. He drops it back to his lap quickly, covertly scanning the rest of the still-conscious crew. Most of them are staring at Bonnet, still caught in the spell of his speech.
Most of them.
Lucius is studying Izzy with interest.
Fuck. Fuck his fucking life.
Never? Lucius mouths at him.
Izzy flips him off.
Lucius gives him an amused look, which means Izzy’s revealed more than he meant to. Again.
“Right, that’s enough,” Izzy says.
Several heads swivel to look at him, and that’s when Izzy realizes he’s said that last part out loud. Shit. That is going to be a problem.
He clears his throat. “Someone has to make sure we don’t run aground and die. Again.”
He turns, only wobbling a little, and takes off at a brisk pace.
“I don’t recall dying last time,” Stede says in genuine confusion to Ed.
“Right, yeah,” Ed replies. “Listen, mate, about this kissing thing…”
Izzy walks more quickly.
“Izzy, wait!”
Efficient pace. Not running.
“God, how are you so fast on those little legs?”
Izzy jerks to a halt. He spins around, furious. “Little? They’re not fucking—”
Lucius’s grin is enormous.
Izzy feels a deep, aching sense of dread.
“You tosser,” he says.
“Got you to stop, didn’t it?”
“I’m going to bed,” Izzy proclaims.“Alone! You can’t go with me.”
“Okay,” says Lucius, still fucking smiling. “But seriously, the one great kiss thing. Never?”
“Why in the seven hells would I lie about that?”
Lucius looks up, thinking, his brow furrowing as the seconds tick by.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Izzy growls.
“Mystique?” Lucius offers.
“Mystique.”
“Sure. Think about it: the brooding right-hand man to feared pirate Captain Blackbeard, a ferocious pirate in his own right, master with a sword, total DILF—this is you, by the way,” Lucius clarifies unnecessarily, tapping two fingers against Izzy’s chest. “ 'Case it wasn’t clear.”
Izzy smacks his hand away and Lucius is briefly distracted by the movement before he refocuses on Izzy.
“Okay, rude,” Lucius says. “As I was saying: DILF. And only one person can get through that façade to the sensitive, passionate soul underneath.” He pauses, thinking again. “Sensitive and passionate, but also with a leather kink. Only way to explain why that glove’s on all the time.”
“It’s for sword fighting, you moron.”
“And when’s the last time you did that since taking the ship from the Spanish?”
Izzy opens his mouth, then shuts it. “What the fuck’s a DILF?” he asks, changing the subject to safer ground.
“Dad I’d like to fuck.”
Not safer ground.
“What?” Izzy sputters. “What the fuck—you—I don’t have children—”
“Doesn’t really matter,” Lucius assures him. “Figured you knew that, after the whole daddy, daddy thing. Listen, it’s good—there’s a market for that. Just get the right sketch for the cover and like that”—he snaps—“instant bestseller.”
“Cover? Are you writing a fucking novel?”
“Oh, yeah, didn’t I say that? It’s my side hustle, in case the whole pirate thing doesn’t work out.”
“Doesn’t work—? There is no retirement,” Izzy hisses. “You either die or go to jail.”
Lucius scoffs. “Please. There are plenty of other options. It’s the 18th century, for fuck’s sake. Besides, with this face? I’d be bailed out by some lonely zaddy before the judge tap-tapped his little hammer.”
An enemy fleet, Izzy decides. Right now. That would be lovely.
“What was I saying before that?” Lucius waves a hand as if batting away a fly. “Right. My point is, there’s someone—lots of someones who would be very into”—Lucius wriggles his fingers while motioning up and down in the general direction of Izzy’s body—“this.”
“Please,” Izzy snorts. “You think anyone looked at me standing next to Blackbeard and thought, ‘yeah, I’ll snog the little one’?”
“And how often did you two steal from the blind?”
“What?”
Lucius waves a hand over Izzy’s body again, swaying as he does. “Again? This. Like I said. Because I have to believe no one could look across a deck and miss this form. Like that jawline? Mmph. I’d like to spread some marmalade on that.”
Maybe he has died and this is all some bizarre dream as his brain shuts down.
“You have to see it! The grey hair, very dashing, and those shoulders. You look like you could pick someone up and just—”
“I’m not taking my dick out,” Izzy blurts, panicked.
Lucius blinks at him. “Was that where we were heading? Not that I’m complaining—really, really not—but usually takes a bit longer to get you tightly-wound types out of your clothes. Although…we don’t have to take clothes off. That’s sometimes nice, too; gives the whole thing an atmosphere of urgency or danger—”
“I meant sketching.”
“—Even if it would be a treat to peel you out of that leather.” Lucius stops. “Oh. You want me to sketch you?”
“Oh my God.”
“How do you feel about putting on one of Stede’s shirts with all the flounces? And like, not buttoning it? It’d really help with envisioning the novel cover.”
“I’m leaving,” Izzy says and he is not hyperventilating. “This was a fucking mistake, this whole game was obviously an elaborate torture scenario.”
“Wha—? Izzy, hang on! It’s nothing to be embarrassed about!”
Lucius catches Izzy’s wrist and pulls him up short. Izzy turns to growl at him, trying to yank his arm back. Except Lucius comes with the arm, tripping over a length of rope someone didn’t coil up properly, and Izzy reacts without thought. He catches Lucius around the middle, but they’re too close to the same size and the momentum drags Izzy forward. Izzy tries to counterbalance, free arm catching hold of a barrel, and he just barely keeps them from crashing to the deck.
“Okay,” Lucius says, his breath hot on Izzy’s chin. “Okay, forget what I said about picking someone up, obviously a terrible idea. This is much better.”
Izzy caught them, but now he’s clutching Lucius close in a dip. If they were in one of those silly novels, Izzy would be about to kiss him.
“I can snog you if you like. I’m very good at it,” Lucius says, and it’s somehow worse when he says it without his usual sarcasm.
Izzy feels his face burn.
Lucius strokes a thumb along Izzy’s cheek. “Give us a kiss, love.”
Izzy has been in a great deal of life-threatening or otherwise terrifying situations. He’s faced a fleet of ships with only one to his name. He’s found a way to hold off an enemy when they were out of ammunition. Hell, he’s figured out how to patch a hole in the hull that would surely sink them with grim determination that this would not be the thing that bested Israel Hands. It’s long been his guiding star that he will not show weakness to any man and walk to the gallows with his chin high, should that be the way he meets the end of this life.
But all these scenarios were battle and bloodshed, slipping the noose of the law.
And so, on the deck of the Revenge, Izzy drops Lucius on his ass and flees below decks, hoping everyone is too shitfaced to remember anything tomorrow.
The thing is, he was never very lucky.
—
What probably stings the most is Izzy doesn’t see any of it coming. No, he’s a moron who not only woke up with a hangover worse than he’s had in years, but also let his guard down when Lucius treated him with his usual insubordination. So when his splitting headache finally eases and he sits down on an overturned crate, Izzy is temporarily speechless when Lucius slides into his fucking lap.
“How’s the head?” Lucius asks.
“The fuck are you doing?” Izzy snaps.
“Testing a theory,” Lucius replies cheerfully, tugging on Izzy’s tie.
“If it’s torture, I swear I’ll—”
Lucius kisses him, the slick heat of his tongue swiping away any protests. Izzy freezes, stunned by the way his heartbeat kicks up. Lucius’s other hand twists in his hair, and Izzy feels himself go pliant under Lucius’s touch. He barely registers the soft noise he makes, could swear a tempest had sprung up around them for how the world seems to spin.
Lucius pulls back slowly. Izzy stares at his mouth, red and wet.
“There we are,” Lucius murmurs, stroking Izzy’s cheek, his other hand resting on Izzy’s shoulder.
Izzy’s eyes drift shut.
Another hand slides over his shoulder to rest on Lucius’s. There’s a firm kiss to Izzy’s cheek and an mmmm in a voice Izzy recognizes immediately.
“What the fuck,” Izzy exclaims, finding himself sandwiched between Lucius and Black Pete. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“They are dicing with Fate herself,” Buttons says. “Me, I’ll be sitting this one out. So’ll Karl.”
Izzy elbows Pete away and jumps to his feet when Lucius smoothly makes his exit. “Sit what ou—”
Wee John, Frenchie, and Roach are on Izzy before he can shout more profanities. Wee John’s kiss is more of a nuzzle against his cheek, and Frenchie’s is shyly close-lipped. Roach kisses him so thoroughly, Izzy’s knees nearly buckle. Roach’s smile is sharper than one of his knives when he steps back.
“Wh-what is this?” Izzy demands, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “What are you fuckers playing at?”
“Hmm,” Lucius says, arms crossed. “It’s not working.”
“What’s not working?”
“We thought maybe if you had one great kiss, you’d, you know, ease up a little.”
“I—what,” Izzy sputters. “You weren’t supposed to fucking remember—”
Lucius smiles, scrunching up his nose. “I’ve always been very good at holding my liquor, zaddy.”
Izzy’s eyes dart to the side, contemplating his chances of survival if he vaulted over the railing and into the sea below.
“You wanna go in?” Jim asks Oluwande.
“Shouldn’t I be consulted first, you imbeciles?” Izzy snaps.
“Sure,” Oluwande says to Jim with a shrug.
Then Jim is fucking dipping him, hitching Izzy’s knee up against their hip, and oh. Oh, that’s very nice, Izzy decides, gripping the lapels of Jim’s coat. Oluwande is a warm presence behind Izzy, supporting the two of them. His lips brush gently through Izzy’s hair. It’s like being wrapped up in a warm blanket, a cup of tea cradled in his hand as it rains outside.
The two of them put him back on his feet. Izzy blinks after them, still in a haze, the confused jangle of fight-or-flight muffled.
“All right?” Fang asks, sliding up behind Izzy.
Izzy nods and feels his face flush when Fang kisses his cheek, just below the x tattoo.
“C’mere, boss,” Ivan adds quietly, kissing his other cheek.
It’s not the exact same as Jim and Oluwande, but Fang and Ivan boxing him in are warm and safe. More like…more like knowing someone is at his back in a fight. A safety tether when he climbs high into the rigging.
“Been wanting to take a turn, too, eh?” Izzy manages, flustered but pleased.
He’s too distracted to see Lucius lift his eyebrows at Oluwande and say, “it’s working!”
“Never said it wouldn’t, mate,” Oluwande says.
“Yeah, he said, ‘sounds like a good way to lose your tongue,’” Jim says.
Lucius makes a slashing motion with his arm. “Shh! Don’t give Izzy any ideas!”
“Uh, guys?” Roach says, pointing. “Maybe we don’t want to allow that.”
Stede is making a bee-line for Izzy.
“Oh, fuck me,” Lucius breathes.
Before any of them can intervene, Izzy spots Stede. The color drains from his face.
“How delightfully fun,” Stede says cheerfully, going to throw his arms around Izzy.
“Not you!” Izzy yelps, scrambling backwards.
Izzy loses his balance, and isn’t that just perfect. Falling on his ass because he didn’t want a kiss from Stede Bonnet.
A pair of arms hook under his own, catching Izzy against a body he’d know anywhere. He looks up into Ed’s face, Ed’s hair falling around them in loose waves. Even at sea, his hair looks great. It’s really not fair.
“What’s going on here?” Ed asks, smiling down at Izzy.
“We’re lavishing affection on Izzy to see if it’ll make him less of a dick,” Lucius calls out, shamelessly.
“Huh,” Ed says. “Never tried that one before.”
“S-sorry, Captain,” Izzy says, heart in his throat. “Spriggs’s stupid fucking idea. I was ambushed and—”
Ed’s mouth is warm on his, his rough hands sliding over Izzy’s cheeks and into his hair. The deck of the Revenge vanishes, the only sounds are the pounding of Izzy’s heart and the soft noise of Ed’s breath. He can’t move, not even to sink his hands into Ed’s hair or grip his collar, like he’s long ached to do. The riptide current of Ed pulls him down, the Kraken coiling around his wrists. Full fathom five he drowned his shipwrecked heart, only for Edward Teach to raise it to the surface once more.
“We’ll see if that works, eh, Izzy?” Ed says, releasing Izzy and trotting over to the rest of the crew.
Izzy thumps to the deck. There’s some cheering. Maybe. All he knows is the deck is warm under his back where he collapsed, and the sky above is wide. Izzy supposes he’ll have to let his drink be, next time that kiss question comes ‘round. He supposes there might be some teasing in his future, but… Izzy gropes for the anger and resentment that’s usually there, and finds none.
Huh. Interesting.
A blond head pops into his line of sight.
“Mr. Hands?” the Swede asks. “Can I still have my turn, please?”