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“You’re overreacting again,” Izzy says as Fang helps him walk back to his cabin, limping as he puts his weight on Fang. “I’m fine,” he lies, pretending he doesn’t need the help, but his leg throbs with pain, his stump burning, and Izzy knows he’ll probably fall if he tries to walk unaided.
“I’m not sure that’s true, Iz,” Fang says, and Izzy raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t want to admit that he was struggling up on deck (because Izzy still struggles to accept his disability despite the crew’s kindness and support) and Fang was the first to notice that his pain was acting up. And before he knew it, Fang was at his side encouraging him to come below deck, and Izzy couldn’t be bothered to fight him. Although that didn’t stop him bitching at Fang the entire time.
Once they reach Izzy’s cabin (rarely used, because Izzy prefers sleeping with in a big huddle with the crew, a habit he developed in the dark months after Bonnet left and everything was shit), Fang helps him inside, and Izzy lets himself flop gracelessly onto the bed. He groans as bolts of pain spike up his leg, shifting to slump on his back. Izzy must look so vulnerable like this, but he trusts Fang not to hurt him.
Still, when Fang reaches to unfasten Izzy’s prosthetic for him, he tenses and snaps, “Fuck off! I can do it myself.”
“I know you can,” Fang says, “but… I want to help. Is that okay?”
Izzy stares at him and the adorably gentle smile on his partner’s face, and he sighs. “Oh, fine…” he says, but he smiles.
As Izzy wriggles to get comfortable, Fang unfastens the straps keeping his prosthetic on, removing the piece of gold-painted wood, and setting it gently on the floor beside the bed. Phantom pain spikes where his toes used to be and Izzy hisses through gritted teeth.
“I’m fine,” he says before Fang can worry about him.
“Do you need a massage?” Fang asks, his tone suggesting that he still worries anyway.
Izzy turns his face away as he nods his head. A massage sounds lovely.
So, with Fang’s help, he unfastens his trousers, sliding them down far enough to slip his stump out of his trouser leg. Closing his eyes, he allows Fang to rub his fingers along his scar tissue, his stump red and inflamed from taking his body weight all day. Izzy lets out a long breath, relishing the cool air and careful fingers on his stump. Fang moves to massage his sore muscles, causing Izzy to groan. The muscles in his leg were trembling from exhaustion, and it feels so nice to have them gently massaged.
“Is this okay, Iz?” Fang asks.
“It’s fucking perfect,” Izzy mumbles, sighing as Fang keeps applying those soft yet firm touches to his aching stump. “Don’t you dare stop.”
Fang chuckles. “Yessir,” he says sarcastically, but he continues his work.
And Izzy smiles, relaxed and content.