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“Don’t you dare,” Jim hisses, seizing Izzy’s wrists and pinning them over his head. He had been about to seize their hips, to pull them off of him, his climax dangerously close. Now his lined face goes slack, eyes widening. “I’m not done with you yet.”
The stretch of their body over his changes the angle, and they work their hips back urgently, finding the place that feels best. “Unnghh,” they groan. They’re getting close, savoring the sensation of being filled. Of having control. Still, they know the risk. “You’re not gonna come, right?” they ask through gritted teeth.
Izzy shakes his head. “Let me,” he says, starting to move his hand. Jim leans forward again, cunt clenching at the way he immediately yields, even though they know he could break out if he wanted to. “Let me hold it off,” he clarifies.
That they can allow. “Yeah, okay,” Jim says, lifting their hand. He grasps himself iron-tight around the base of his cock, still giving them plenty to work with, and nods. Jim begins moving again. The brief pause helped, and they break through the plateau to an even more intense pleasure. They take their own free hand and bring it to their clit, rubbing furiously over it.
Izzy stares down between them, watching the movement of Jim’s hand and body. They can tell he’s putting nearly as much effort into staving off his orgasm as they are into chasing theirs. He’s being so good, holding still for them, and it occurs to Jim that they should tell him so, that he’d like to hear it. “That’s good,” they gasp. “That’s perfect.”
Izzy doesn’t answer, just clenches his jaw and swallows like Jim’s praise only made his predicament worse. Poor old man, Jim thinks.
“Just– oh,” Jim says. “There. Fuck.” Using his cock, rubbing the flat of their fingers over themselves, they feel their peak rising, heat building in their cunt. “Fuck, fuck, ay–” They throw their head back, letting it wash over them, cunt pulsing and heart pounding. When the quake in their thighs settles, they crawl forward. They bracket Izzy’s body with their elbows and knees as he slips from them. “Now it’s your turn,” they tell him, and with an expression of lust and gratitude, he begins jerking himself. “You did so good, papi,” they tell him. “So fucking good for me.” They wish they could have let Izzy finish inside – Olu’s the only one they let do it, and only when they’re on their monthly – but it’s satisfying in a different way to watch someone get off on having pleased them. Not quite a physical pleasure, but one that feels just as gut-deep.
Izzy shoots off over his stomach, which clenches as his hips curl, and he just as quickly goes lax. Jim is all over him, kissing his cheeks and then his mouth before flopping down to his side. Izzy always has a handkerchief handy to sop up the mess, but they snatch it from his hand and do it themselves. “You just lay there and look handsome,” they tell him.
He laughs, deepening the lines on his face. “If I had a doubloon for every time I’ve heard that,” he jokes, but he lets them do it.
“You must be rich as fuck,” Jim says. They toss the soiled cloth to the floor and kiss his cheek again.
“I don’t really want to hurt anyone, you know?” Jim says uneasily. “That doesn’t really do it for me.” They’re technically on watch, but it’s after midnight and there’s nothing to do but make sure they stay on course. Jim is trying to keep their relationships on course, too, and that’s a little more complicated.
Izzy, perched on one of the seats Pete built into the rail with his golden leg stretched out before him, doesn’t even look up from his whittling. “It doesn’t have to be about that,” he says. He squints at the piece of wood, making sure the shadows from the lantern aren’t messing with his design. “Fang’s the same way.”
“Oh yeah?” Jim’s ears perk up. Izzy and Fang had taken up together shortly after Izzy’s recovery. It’s not any kind of secret, but they’re not demonstrative about it in the way that some of the others are with their lovers. It’s nice seeing them so comfortable together, the way Izzy instinctively reaches out and Fang is there. The way Fang smiles around him.
“Sure. He’s a softy.” Izzy eyes his whittling again. “Didn’t appreciate it when we were younger. Of course, back then we didn’t fucking talk about everything like you lot do.”
Jim isn’t sure. They love Archie, but she can be so wild, sometimes Jim feels like they can’t keep up. They keep thinking about how many near misses they've both had, the relentless brutality as members of Blackbeard's vengeful crew. Violence and roughness don't hold so much appeal anymore. It’s Olu who keeps urging them to talk about things, gentle soul that he is. “What changed?”
Izzy snorts. “I got fucking old. Takes longer to recover from a rough night.”
Jim quirks their mouth in a lopsided smile. They love these moments when Izzy speaks frankly. He doesn’t talk a lot about his history with Blackbeard, and Jim won’t ever be the one to ask. But that doesn’t mean they’re not curious. “You’ve got a few reckless years left, I’m sure,” he teases, jabbing the knife vaguely in Jim’s direction.
Jim thinks of Archie’s impulsive ideas – “Tie me up and dangle me from the yardarm!” and “Nah, it’s fine if I black out for a bit, you’ve got until the count of a hundred before you really have to worry,” and “We used to paint our arms like snakes and see how far up they could get!” – and shakes their head. “I don’t wanna be reckless, though. That’s not who I am.” They’ve shaken off a lot of the stuff about their upbringing that didn’t make sense for a life at sea, but Nana raised them cautious and shrewd and deliberate. That doesn’t just go away.
“So be careful,” Izzy says. “It’s more about the power, than anything else.”
Jim can’t believe Fang agreed to this. Next time they’re in port, all of his drinks are on Jim, plus some of those little sweets he likes from the old lady with the push-cart. For his part, Fang seems completely calm and at ease, in a chair right next to the bed he and Izzy share, holding Izzy’s hand and kissing his knuckles. In his other hand is a black leather collar. “I’m gonna put it on you, and then you’re listening to Jim, alright?”
“I know,” Izzy says gruffly. He’s already naked, prosthetic carefully placed against the bulkhead within easy reach. Jim is next to him, fully clothed at the top of the bed, and nervous as hell.
“That’s my boy,” Fang says sweetly. “Turn around for me.” He buckles the soft leather around Izzy’s neck and presses a kiss just behind his ear, then clips a black leash to the collar. “There you go. Easy, pup,” he adds, but he’s looking at Jim. They take the words in stride, inhaling and exhaling slowly, nodding as Fang hands them the leash. “Tell him what you want.”
“Uh, you can lean back on me,” Jim says, spreading their legs so there’s room for Izzy between them.
“Like you mean it, lad,” Izzy says, not unkindly, but Jim glances at Fang in time to see the sharp look in his eyes.
Jim clears their throat. “Lean back on my shoulder,” they amend, a little sterner, and they carefully turn Izzy’s collar backwards as he settles in. After he positions his left leg on the usual pillow, they coil the leash around their hand to get some leverage on it. “And,” they say, keeping their voice as even and confident as they can. “You can call me sir.”
They can see the crease of crow’s feet at the corner of Izzy’s eye. “Yes, sir,” he says.
With their free hand, Jim caresses Izzy’s chest and stomach, feeling strong muscle and furred skin. They cup one of his tits and squeeze, giving him a nuzzle and breathing in his ear. He tenses up nicely, turning his jaw into their mouth. Jim scrapes their teeth there and pulls back on the leash, counts uno, dos, tres in their head before letting up. They know they’ve done a good job from the arch of Izzy’s back and from the hardening of his nipple under their fingers. They pinch and roll the hard nub, and do it again, restricting his breath for only a few seconds.
“That’s good,” they say. “Feels nice?”
“Yes, sir,” Izzy says. Jim can see his erection growing, so they slide their hand down, stroking his belly, his inner thighs, everywhere except his cock. This drives Olu wild, being teased, and it seems Izzy likes it too. So does Jim, the thrill of control building their own arousal. They’re not at a good angle to grind against Izzy, but if this part goes well they have another plan for him and the leash in mind.
Another pull on the leash, and this time a count of five. As soon as they let up, they place their open hand over his dick and press it against his belly. He groans, and a flick of Jim’s eyes to Fang’s face lets them know that everything is alright. They start stroking him, murmuring in his ear that he’s doing well, doing exactly what they want him to. “You like it like this?” they ask.
He shifts his thighs, tilts his head back closer to Jim’s face. “I like it, sir.”
“You like being good for me?” He nods, and they squeeze his cock harder. “You like being my little plaything?”
“Yes,” Izzy pants, and they’re so excited by his responses that they don’t even mind the dropped honorific. He’d do anything they asked, they’re sure, and Jim isn’t going to let that trust be misplaced.
“That’s good,” Jim says, nipping his ear. “I like having you right here.” Izzy turns his head again, and they capture his mouth in a kiss, using the leash to help keep him there until they let go. “Show me how much you like it, then.” They let go of his cock and go back to caressing his chest, letting him take over. Fang’s eyes are glued to Izzy, watching as he strokes himself. Jim can see the swell inside Fang’s trousers, but he’d said he would only watch, that Izzy could help him when it was all over, if he wanted.
Jim feels just as hot for it, warm and slick between their legs, the occasional rub against the seam of their trousers not nearly enough. “Don’t stop,” they say, and they tighten the leash. This time they count to ten. Ten seconds on, ten seconds off. Nice and easy, but still building the urgency for Izzy. He moves his hand faster; his face grows red with the effort and with the deprivation of air. “Wanna see you finish, show us both how good you are, come on.”
One more tug on the leash, and Izzy is coming. “Sí, asi,” Jim says, delighted by the view they get from this angle, watching Izzy spurt onto his chest and belly. He groans as the last dribble of it slides down his cock, and though he doesn’t sound distressed, it makes them realize they’ve stopped counting. “Mierda,” they mutter, letting up on the pressure and rubbing his chest consolingly. “That was fucking– ungh,” they grunt, lacking better words. “You good, papi?”
“Yes, sir,” Izzy says, still breathing shallowly. “Thank you.”
Relieved to have done well, Jim grins. They brought their own handkerchief this time, and they swipe over the worst of the mess on Izzy’s torso. “You can thank me with your mouth, sí? Lay down while I get these fucking pants off.”
Izzy scoots down while Jim wrestles with their trousers in the limited space, but they manage to get them off. They can smell their own arousal, and the way Izzy’s eyes raise upwards toward them is almost beatific, like he’s gazing heavenward. Jim can’t deny that it feels fucking amazing to be looked at like that. The soft slide of his tongue is even better, the bump of his nose between their wet folds as he sucks at their clit, the pull of the leash keeping him exactly where it feels best – it’s not long before Jim is flying.
Zheng knows a thing or two about rope, as it turns out, and she’s a willing teacher. “Make sure the two sides are even,” she says. “The aesthetic is just as important as the knots themselves.” Izzy chuckles. “What?”
“It feels like I’m at one of Roach’s spa days,” Izzy says. He looks down at Jim from where they’re seated on the floor, his eyes bright with laughter. “Back in my day we’d just try to avoid ropeburn. Not very well, mind you.” Jim grins and redoes the last couple of loops around Izzy’s right arm, leaning back until they’re sure they match the ones on the left.
Zheng purses her lips, amused. “Well, I like looking at pretty things. Pretty thing,” she adds with a wink.
“There’s a mirror over there, love,” Izzy flirts back, and Jim huffs a surprised laugh. They’re pretty sure it’s all just in fun, but it delights them to see Izzy so much at ease.
“Mm, so there is,” says Zheng, sauntering over to Izzy’s shaving-glass and pretending to primp. She looks perfect as usual, hair done up in a high ponytail, but Jim can’t let themselves get distracted right now. By the time Zheng turns back to them, Jim is done with the rope that connects Izzy’s right wrist to the lower rung of the chair. They fasten his arm to the back in a straight column of loops and tie off the excess.
“That feel secure?” Jim asks, standing.
Izzy tests it. “All secure.”
“Lovely,” Zheng says. “Now, just for giggles, we’ll go crosswise up his chest. Start at the bottom and loop through here and here first. And do it evenly,” she says as Jim pulls the rope through.
Izzy looks up at them both. “More aesthetics?”
“Trust me, you’re gonna love it,” Zheng says. “You’re gonna feel all snug and cozy.”
Even though Izzy had preferred to be clothed for this, the ropes highlight the sturdy shape of his body as they pass across his torso. At Zheng’s instruction, they loop the remaining length over his shoulders and tie it off around the back of the chair.
“Not bad,” she appraises. “You kids have fun now. Make sure he tells you if anything starts to go tingly that shouldn’t.”
“Thanks, Pirate Queen,” Jim says, and then they’re alone.
“How’s it really look?” Izzy asks wryly.
Jim smiles. “It looks fucking good.” They pull Izzy’s shaving glass from the wall and hold it up. “Can you see?”
“Yeah,” Izzy says. “Hm. It’s nice rope.” He rotates his wrists. “Feels soft.”
“It is. Not so bad, huh?”
“I suppose not,” Izzy says.
Jim carefully replaces the glass on the wall and unbuttons their tight leather waistcoat, then their shirt, tossing both onto Izzy’s bed. They stand before him in their trousers and boots, enjoying the way his eyes rove over them.
“Don’t keep a man waiting, lad,” Izzy says, and excitement shivers through Jim’s body.
They square their feet, hooking their thumbs into the waist of their trousers. “Come and get me, then.”
Izzy laughs, and they can’t help but crack a smile too. They’re only a couple of steps away, and they quickly close the distance to straddle him. His legs are unbound so he can stretch and adjust as much as he needs. Jim takes a moment to simply stand over him, drinking in the feeling of control, the anticipation on Izzy’s face, before settling onto his lap and draping their arms loosely around his neck. They lean in, deliberately teasing, brushing their lips over Izzy’s. One kiss, and then when he’s opening his mouth for more, they pull away. “Oh, this is fun,” they grin, bumping their foreheads together.
Izzy shows a wry hint of teeth, “So it’s like that.”
“I think it’s however I say it is.” They know where they want this to end up, but aren’t sure exactly how they’re going to get there. Right now, they’re just enjoying playing with him.
“Aye aye, sir,” Izzy acknowledges.
Jim smiles wide and goes in to kiss him for real. His lips part immediately for them, face upturned to meet Jim’s, to take whatever they give him. They hold on tightly, kissing him deep and feeling their arousal building. It only gets more intense when they slide their fingers into his hair and he moans into their mouth – they have to roll their hips, bracing their boots on the deck and grinding against him. Izzy doesn’t struggle, but he keeps gasping, and they feel him growing hard inside his trousers. “Mm,” they hum, and double down. They’re getting wetter, and every time their clit rolls over his hardening cock, it sends a little jolt of pleasure through them. They love how much Izzy likes to be used, how much he trusts them to handle him right.
Despite how good it feels, they know they’re not going to come like this. They kiss Izzy one last time and stand up again, taking a second to collect themselves and decide what to do next. Seeing what they’ve already done to Izzy – the muss of his hair, the redness of his mouth, the strain of his cock against his leathers – they feel strong, handsome, powerful. Like they could do anything, and he’d let them. Like they’re going to rock both their worlds and Izzy will thank them for it.
They’re just not sure what to do next. They don’t really want to hurt him, after all.
Izzy meets their eyes, and it’s like he knows. “You can use your boot, if you like,” he says. At their hesitant silence, he glances down at his groin, and back up.
“Oh!” they say, and then they fix their face into something cooler, more serious. “I mean, yeah. I can do that.” They start talking again, getting their head back into it. “That’s what gets you hot, huh?” They lift their right foot and gingerly place their boot over the line of Izzy’s cock. They can just barely feel the shape and resistance of it under the sole, and they apply only a little pressure to start.
Izzy exhales through his nose, closing his eyes and shifting his hips slightly. “Yeah, I daresay it is. Harder.”
Jim rubs the sole over his cock and leans in, putting more pressure on him. “Like that?”
Another sound in the back of Izzy’s throat as he exhales, another wriggle of hips as he tries to tilt them upward. “Even more, lad, put your weight into it.”
Jim steps back and stares down at him. “Ask me nicely,” they say, and a flicker of fondness mingles with the desire on Izzy’s face.
“Harder, please,” he says. “Let me have your boot, sir.”
Jesucristo, that’s dizzyingly hot. “That’s better,” they say gruffly, and put it back.
They love these boots, knee-high with a series of buckles and straps going around them, and it looks perfect against the black of Izzy’s trousers. They vary the pressure, sometimes leaning in, sometimes backing off in a way that’s deliberately teasing. Izzy doesn’t try to give any further direction, just presses into it when they step down harder, and whines softly when they pull away. Putting their hands on his shoulders helps them balance, gives them even more leverage, and places their chest around eye-level for him. Let him see everything that he can’t touch, Jim thinks, stepping down harder. He’s practically humping the sole of their boot now, hips moving jerkily, soft moans escaping his lips, hair falling into his face. He might actually come like this, Jim realizes. Hot as that would be, they can’t ignore the urgent pulse in their cunt. They’re going to need him to stay hard.
“That’s all you get for now,” they say, putting their boot down to the deck again. Izzy can’t slump in the chair, not with the way he’s bound, but there’s a looseness to the posture in his lower body, the wide sprawl of his legs gone limp now that he’s not bracing against the deck any longer. He looks wrecked, he looks beautiful, and Jim’s heart leaps with pride and love. “You did so good, though,” they assure him.
They drop down between his legs and begin unlacing his trousers, teasing and nuzzling a little at his inner thighs, smelling leather and musk and the no-nonsense castile soap he uses. They didn’t think far enough ahead about getting his trousers off, what with his wooden leg, but they’re able to open them and tug them down his hips enough that his cock springs free, red and damp at the tip. “Haaah,” Jim breathes over it, glancing up at him mischievously before standing again.
They kick off their boots and retrieve the bottle of oil from their pocket, then shimmy out of their trousers. Naked, they run their free hand down their body, letting Izzy look. Their clit pulses as they pass their fingers over it, swollen and sensitive; they make a vee of their fingers and pinch it between their knuckles. Fingers sliding down between their legs, they spread their folds and dip the middle two fingers inside, continuing to grind against the heel of their palm. “See what you do to me, papi?”
Izzy nods, taking it all in. His cock twitches, rock-hard from being under Jim’s boot, and Jim is ready to use something else on it now.
“Hold this for me,” they say, pressing the vial of oil into his bound hand and straddling him again. His cock is hot and thick in their hand. Holding it in place with their open palm, they rub it over their clit.
“Ohh,” Izzy sighs, bringing his head forward to bump Jim’s shoulder. “That’s it, use it.”
They do. They hold onto him with one arm, bodies pressed close, and use his cock like a toy to rub over themselves again and again. Izzy’s mouth finds the crook of their neck and kisses there, moans open-mouthed against their skin, bites down and sucks like he’s pouring all that he feels for them into that point of contact. The other point is burning against their pulsing clit, everything growing hot and damp and increasingly desperate. They rub his cock over themselves, pace growing more and more frantic until they’re finally coming, empty cunt squeezing and voice growing loud and high with abandon. Izzy’s voice joins theirs, him taking almost as much gratification in their pleasure, and Jim wouldn’t even mind if he came from this too.
But when they catch their breath and look down at him, forehead sweaty and face smiling, he’s still hard, still waiting.
They take his face in both hands and kiss his mouth. “Santo Dios,” they say. “Gimme the oil.” Of course, he hasn’t dropped it. They stand to slick him up. Themselves too, in the back where they’ll need it, and then they tilt their hips forward to guide him in. The head rubs over their rim before popping inside; they pause to adjust to the stretch before sinking down any more. Izzy is breathing heavily, his rasping voice breaking through on every breath.
“I’m not gonna last long,” he says, torso straining against the ropes as he sucks in air.
“Good,” Jim growls. “Because I want you to come.” They sink down a little more, holding tightly onto the back of the chair, letting another inch or so inside. Their thighs are still shaky from coming, but they rock up and down, slow and steady, until Izzy shudders, hips suddenly jerking up. Jim has seen it enough times now that they can tell that’s it for him, coming before he’s even fully inside. They keep moving, like they’re pulling it all out of him, until he goes still again with a full-body sigh.
Grinning, they kiss him; after a quick cleanup they set about untying him. “Next time, less clothes,” they say. “Now that I know how to do the ropes myself.”
“All the skills a sailor needs,” Izzy quips, despite the exhaustion in his voice. They want to get him untied quickly, get him something to drink and a cuddle in bed. All the things Fang had told them, a serious look on his usually smiling face, that they couldn’t skip, no matter how tired they were and no matter what Izzy said. “It’s for you, too,” Fang had told them, and while they feel fucking great, they figure Fang knows his stuff.
Once Izzy is untied, he unstraps his golden leg – “Been pushing against it a lot,” he explains – and undresses before lounging on the bed. Jim plops down next to him as they are, and offers him their flask.
“It’s just water,” they say. He’s trying not to drink anymore.
“Ta,” he says, and takes a few swallows.
Jim has some too, and then they curl up next to him. “Feeling alright?”
Izzy pulls them closer, against his bare chest, where it’s warm and sturdy and safe. “Never better,” he assures them. “You?”
“I’m great,” Jim says. “Feels good.”
“You’re a natural,” says Izzy. “You’ve just got to be confident. Oh.” He looks down at them sternly. “And clean up your fucking boots, they’re an absolute disgrace.”
“Hey!” Jim cries. “What’s wrong with my boots?”
“They need a cleaning, conditioning, and shine. They’re dull as shit,” Izzy informs them. His arm around their shoulders is strong but playful. “We’ll clean them up before I let you do that again, yeah? I’ll show you how.”
Jim settles back down again. “Alright. That’s fair.”
“You’ve got to take proper care of your things, right? That’s how they last.”
Jim thinks about everything in their new life that they want to keep. Their home, their lovers, the feelings inside their chest that seem to get stronger every day, but always with room for more. They want to maintain it all, tend to it, bring it all into the sunlight so it can grow. “Yeah,” they say, snuggling against Izzy. “Sounds good to me.”