Chapter Text
Fingers of light fell onto the swept floor of the captain’s cabin, but Edward was still asleep.
In the old days, he would’ve been up for hours yet. Sailors woke with the sunrise, often before. But even after decades of the habit drummed into him, it seemed Ed would never be a morning person.
Stede Bonnet, on the other hand, was a surprisingly early riser. Izzy would’ve expected former gentry who had probably never worked a day in his life to lie about well until the sun was high, but Stede woke naturally after first light. Often, he’d wake up even earlier, when Izzy did.
Despite decades of having to be on guard and ready to fight at a moment’s notice, Edward would sleep through all but cannon fire. Stede stirred nearly every time Izzy slipped out of the downy warmth of their bed, no matter how sneaky Izzy tried to be.
In the old days, Izzy also would have scoffed at taking such care to keep from disturbing a pirate’s sleep when it was dawn and there was shit to be done, and then smacked whoever had suggested the notion upside the head for good measure. Especially when that “pirate” was Stede Fucking Bonnet.
Today, Izzy tilted his head back into the warmth from the window with a sigh. The sun had been up for quite a while, but here he was, not even dressed, eyes shut, and convalescing like a fucking duchess. Stede stands behind his chair, fingers brushing so gently at Izzy’s temple that he half wonders if he’s still dreaming.
When Izzy had woken this morning, Stede had already been sitting up, peering at the crack of the curtains where just a hairline of sun was starting to peek over the ocean. That had been unusual; Stede had never beaten him to the sunrise before. Ed’s head had been cradled in his lap, silver hair fanned out like he was an enchanted figure from one of the illustrations of Stede’s books. Izzy must’ve made some kind of noise, because Stede’s head whipped around, a smile breaking over his face more beautiful than any sunrise. His eyes were so soft. Izzy still had trouble believing anyone’s eyes could look at him like that.
“Morning, love,” Stede had whispered, as if Edward would wake up to anything short of shouting. “It’s nice to see you.”
Stede and Izzy saw each other every fucking day, obviously, and spent a large portion of it in each other’s company, but Izzy felt himself smile anyway. Edward had still been tangled around Izzy like a goddamn octopus, arm splayed across his belly and their legs twisted together. “Shit,” he grunted, head still on his pillow.
Stede’s fond gaze glittered with amusement. “I could try and pull him up a bit, see if you can’t wriggle out.”
“Good fuckin’ luck, he’s like a fucking bowline,” Izzy had grumbled, not without fondness.
Stede hummed, fingers carding through Ed’s hair. “Then again, you could always have a lie-in.” Izzy snorted derisively. “We’re in no rush,” Stede had continued anyway. “Mr. Buttons has already gotten some of them moving.” He gestured with his head to above deck, where Izzy could just begin to hear the murmuring of a few still-drowsy voices.
Izzy had hesitated, pushing himself up anyway. He’d looked to the cabin entry for a few moments.
His staring contest with the door was broken when his hands were lifted from where they’d been sitting on his lap. Stede clasped them gently in his, smirking when Izzy turned to him in surprise. “The ship won’t explode if you delay shouting orders for a bit, Mr. Hands.”
The bed was still lovely and warm, but eventually, they had extricated Izzy from Ed’s grip to start getting ready for the day. Ed mumbled and rolled over, missing the warmth of the two bodies on either side. Izzy had shifted the red floral dressing gown (or banyan as Stede emphatically insisted) that Edward had discarded at some point in the night over the sleeping man's shoulders. Ed had his own, a swathe of shining soft silk and cashmere, but he still steals Stede’s or Izzy’s intermittently.
Stede had somehow convinced Izzy to let himself be taken care of, just for a little while. Izzy found it very difficult to deny Stede anything these days.
So now he’s still in the cabin with the sun fully up, letting Stede comb his goddamn hair.
Stede cradles the back of Izzy’s head while his other hand holds the brush. It’s sterling silver with boar bristles and finer than anything Izzy had ever hoped to own.
The goal had always been to survive. Even being a part of Blackbeard’s eponymous pirate crew with an influx of treasure didn’t mean luxuries. Life at sea afforded freedom, but was fraught with hardship and luck that could turn on you in an instant. Izzy had always been a practical man, and as Blackbeard’s first mate knew how to stretch funds to sustain a ship and crew with the bare minimum, allowing for the preparation of supplies in case of every possible disaster. Even before that, before the frugality learned when living aboard a vessel, Izzy had scrabbled for every necessity needed to just fucking hold body and soul together in a world that never wanted him. Izzy had fought tooth and nail for everything he had, and then for Blackbeard’s survival, for as long as he could remember. It’s in his nature, an instinct nearly as automatic as breathing.
But here he is, in the quiet warmth of the morning, wearing a green silk robe just as luxurious as the gold one Stede is wearing, just as soft as the red velvet draped across Edward’s lax shoulders and brushing at his dreaming smile.
Sunlight the color of spun gold and gentle as a kiss falls on Izzy’s cheeks, its rays the same color as the hair of the man who is touching Izzy with such reverence.
The frown lines from years at sea and a lifetime of expecting nothing but harshness have gone slack in Izzy’s jaw as Stede’s fingers feather his cheekbones. Izzy turns into them like a plant turning towards the sun, and Stede’s eyes alight on his and he smiles like the fucking dawn.
Edward’s soft snoring suffuses the room with an atmosphere of complete and total peace when Stede bends to gently take Izzy’s lips in his.
It fills Izzy’s chest up like warm easterly wind in the swelling of sails,
like Roach’s spiced chicken potato stew, sopped up with warm bread after a storm
like the hands clasped in his as he falls asleep among the warmth of two tangled bodies.
Stede kisses him like he’s taking communion, or like Izzy’s harsh lined mouth is just as precious and valuable as any number of fine Chinese silks or pure silver hairbrushes.
The muffled noises of the crew on deck overhead do not break the sanctity of the captain’s cabin. Despite his reluctance earlier and his lifelong instinct to duty, Izzy isn’t in a rush to leave and bark orders just yet.
As Stede hums and breaks the kiss to press his forehead to Izzy’s, Edward lets out a soft sigh as he surfaces to wakefulness.
After nearly six decades, Israel Basilica Hands has finally stopped fighting.