Archive of Our Own

He hears them before he sees them.  Izzy Hands’ distinctive thunk as he walks is unmistakable.  Word has it that he has a new leg, courtesy of an artisan at Port Royal, that bends at the knee, if such a thing can be believed.  Rumours aren’t always correct but the limp does sound less pronounced than usual.  Frenchie… Captain French, he amends, on the other hand, moves like a ghost and if it wasn’t for the fact that he was speaking, Steak wouldn’t have known he was there.  Frenchie was often clumsy but Captain French seems to have acquired a grace that he did not have before.

He waits patiently sitting like he was told to on the chair in the centre of the room.  He’s shaved his face and on a whim his chest too, unsure if his… guests would prefer it.  Too late now if they don’t, he can’t put it back, he thinks ruefully.  Everywhere else has been trimmed and is as neat as he can manage.

Not sure what to wear, he opted for a clean pair of linen trousers and nothing else, apart from the usual armbands and cuffs, and a little oil rubbed into his newly shaved skin.  Got to make a good impression, after all.  He’s used to being noticed but a little extra effort never hurts, especially as he’s well aware that Mr Hands is a details kind of guy.

It had surprised him when he wasn’t told to wait on his knees but it seems that Captain French is a lot more thoughtful than some of the men who have made use of him.  Mind you, he’s made them pay for the privilege.  He’s not a slut but Jackiez doesn’t pay well and everyone has to earn a living.

Tonight is not transactional however but an agreement based on mutual desire - Captain French’s desire to see his husband enjoying himself and Steak’s desire to finally get his hands on Hands, so to speak.  If it doesn’t pan out there’s nothing lost but he will be disappointed.  He’s hungered after Izzy Hands since the first time he saw him, over ten years ago, handsome and deadly and far too wrapped up in Blackbeard to notice anyone else back then.

The door is open a crack so he’d know when they were coming but he probably didn’t need to because he can hear Mr Hands grumbling already as they come down the corridor.

“Don't see why we can't spend the night on the ship, like everyone else.”

Captain French sounds patient and he’s obviously very used to dealing with his grouchy First Mate and husband.  “I told you, babe, I've got you a present.”

“A night on shore isn't exactly a present.”

“Did I say that was your present?”

The footsteps stop.  “It’s not?”  The husky voice holds a note of interest now.

They sound close, just outside the door and Steak feels tension coil in his belly.  He’s wanted this for so long but there’s no guarantee that Mr Hands will be amenable.  Steak has always been respectful to him, because it’s very stupid not to be, but everyone who knows him is aware that he has a thing for Izzy Hands.

Well, who doesn’t?

When he got the unexpected offer yesterday from Mr Hands’ Captain, well, he certainly wasn’t going to refuse.  Mr Hands apparently has a liking for big men and his husband is only too happy to indulge him from time to time.

“It’s not.”  Captain French’s slightly deeper voice sounds amused.  “You’re going to have to keep your eyes closed until we get inside though.  It’s a surprise.”

“I fucking hate surprises.”

“Oh, you’ll like this one.  Will you keep them shut or do I need to blindfold you?”

There’s something sweet and a little bit sexy about their bickering and it warms Steak to hear.  After all the shit Mr Hands went through with Blackbeard, it’s obvious that he’s very content and comfortable with this Captain, more than Steak’s ever heard before.

He hears a huff.  “I can be trusted to keep my fucking eyes shut, love.”

“I know, babe, but I don’t want you to spoil your surprise if you try to peek.”

“I’m not going to do that if you told me not to.  You know I’m good.” 

Steak smiles at the note of petulance in that husky voice.  Captain French seems so laid back and easy going but Steak suddenly gets an inkling of who wears the trousers in the Captain’s cabin and it’s not Izzy Hands.

“Most of the time, except when you're being a brat, and you know damn well you can be.”

Now the husky voice sounds smug.  “You love it.”

Steak hears the sound of a faint hum and… are they kissing?  Damn, he wants to see that.  Then Captain French’s voice returns, sounding a little breathless.  “Did not for one moment say I didn't.”

Sitting straighter, Steak tenses as the door is encouraged further open by a booted foot and Captain French pops his head around, sees him and winks, then backs in, bringing Mr Hands with him, his long fingers very firmly over his husband’s eyes.

“Are you looking forward to your present, dear?” 

Behind his makeshift blindfold, Mr Hands frowns.  “It's not my fucking birthday.”

“A man can't get a present for his husband?  Call it a belated wedding present.”

“Frenchie, we've been married a year and a half.”

Captain French smiles indulgently, and it’s clear to Steak that he loves his husband very much.  “Very belated then, wouldn’t you say.”

Mr Hands huffs again but is led meekly across the room, obviously used to doing what his husband says, which seems to confirm Steak’s thoughts of a moment ago. 

Steak takes a moment to admire, while he can.  Mr Hands is looking good, more than good.  Gone is that harried, stressed man never knowing what lunacy Blackbeard would do next and in his place is a sleek, satisfied man, at ease with himself despite the loss of his leg.  To Steak’s eyes he looks like a man who has finally found what he needs, and from the indulgent looks cast his way from Captain French, Steak thinks he knows what that is.  Israel Hands is a man who needs to be loved.

He still looks trim, no extra fat on his neat waist but he doesn't look gaunt like he did before.  His hair is longer but tied back neatly, displaying the glittering emeralds in his ears, courtesy no doubt of his husband. The trademark goatee and sideburns have gone.  Now he has the moustache and a thin stubbled beard which surprisingly makes him look younger.  His clothes look better too.  The shirt is still black, but it appears to be silk and much better fitted that his old linen ones.  There’s still a lot of leather of course but it’s also better fitted and clearly more expensive.  Captain Frenchie has obviously taken charge and upgraded the Izzy Hands look.

Mind you, Captain French is something to look at as well.  His clothes are also finer but very much in the style that he used to wear with little of the ostentation many Captains adopt.  He looks a little older but still has that youthful glow that he will probably never lose.  Captaincy and marriage must agree with him because he too looks sleek and confident but unlike many thrust into that position, seems to have retained his humanity and decency and not for the first time Steak wonders what it would be like to work on board the New Unicorn. 

It’s common knowledge that Captain French’s brand of piracy is very different now and blood rarely gets spilled, which Steak is all in favour of.  Just because he can fight, doesn’t mean he wants to all the time.  It would actually make a very nice change not to.  Some days it feels like all he does is knock drunken heads together.

“Ready, babe?” 

The Captain’s voice returns Steak’s attention and he stiffens on his seat.

Mr Hands gives a curt nod and with a grin, Captain French pulls his hands away.  “There you go, babe.  Happy annibirthary or whatever.”

Blinking, Steak watches Mr Hands look at him, then focus and look at him.  Green eyes rake over him in surprise and then with something much more interesting, something much hotter.

“Fuck me.”

Stooping a little, Captain French gives him a hug from behind, chin resting on his shoulder.  “If you want, babe.  He's your present, you can do what you want with him.”

“That's my present?  Him?”

“Uh huh.  Do you like it?”

Mr Hands’ eyes glitter and Steak doesn't know what to think.  This could be a terrible mistake, although Captain French didn't seem to think so when they arranged this yesterday.

He holds his breath, letting it out in a relieved rush when Mr Hands grins, showing those lovely white teeth.  “Yeah, love, I really do.  I suppose I don't need to ask what you get out of it.”

Tilting his head, Captain French kisses him.  “I get to watch you, baby, and you know how much I love doing that.”

Steak hitches a breath at Captain French calling Mr Hands baby.  It goes straight to his dick because there's something so hot about it, so unexpectedly affectionate yet also arousing.  He’d be the first to admit that he’s always had a thing for sexy older guys, add an element of danger and he’s more than invested.  As for watching the two of them kiss… that might finish him off.

Captain French gives him a kiss on the cheek.  “I’m going to sit in that lovely comfy chair, yeah?  Why don't you get us a drink, dear, and then go and play with your toy.”

Before he goes, Mr Hands catches his chin and pulls him into a kiss, a proper one this time and Steak can’t help the whimper that comes out of him as he watches them.  Izzy Hands knows how to kiss.

They exchange a couple of whispers that he can’t hear and then the Captain is making himself comfy, those long limbs stretching out as he reclines, an indulgent smile on his lips as he watches his husband.

There’s a tray on the sideboard with a bottle of brandy and three glasses.  Captain French paid for it yesterday and Steak brought it with him so he knows it’s the good stuff.  He hasn’t touched the bottle apart from setting the tray down. Mr Hands picks it up and nods approvingly, then pours out two glasses.  Steak shrugs to himself, he hadn’t really expected to be given any so it’s fine.

After giving a glass to his husband, a secret smile passing between them, Mr Hands looks back to him, taking a sip of the brandy.  “You liked watching me kiss my husband?”

It’s the first time Steak’s been spoken to and when he replies, his voice is rough.  “Yes, sir.”

“Because he’s gorgeous?”

He nods, swallows.  Puts his cards on the table.  “Because you both are, sir.”

Mr Hands cocks his head as though it hadn’t occurred to him that Steak was there for him.  He indicates to Captain French but doesn’t take his eyes of him, his gaze sharp and assessing.  “He paying you?”

“No, sir.”

He exchanges a look with his husband, Captain French grinning and raising an eyebrow, holding the kind of silent conversation that only two people who know each other inside and out can have.  He looks utterly relaxed and it seems very likely this isn’t the first time they’ve done this.

Taking a sip of brandy, Mr Hands grins suddenly and stalks forward, not stopping until he’s right in front of Steak, then straddles his lap in a strangely graceful but slightly lop-sided move to accommodate his leg.  It’s the first time they’ve touched and Steak wants to put his hands on those hips so badly, to run his hands over that butter soft leather and slide them back to the lovely arse beneath, but he hasn’t been told to do anything so keeps his arms down.

Close now, closer than he's ever been to the man, Steak takes in the details he’s never been able to study before.  The exquisite colour of his eyes, green yet almost gold at the centre, the lines around his eyes and his mouth that show his years but only serve to make him more handsome, the harshness in that beak of a nose, offset by how soft his lips appear. 

Almost with a smirk as though knowing exactly what he's thinking, the man puts a thumb on his bottom lip.

“Open up.” 

He’s been half hard since the two of them walked in but now he feels himself rising fully, that husky voice directed at him.

He obeys instantly expecting the glass to be held against his mouth, but instead Mr Hands takes a drink and then kisses him, trickling the brandy into him, and if he wasn’t hard before, he fucking well is now.  It’s followed by his tongue and he submits instantly, letting the man do whatever he wants.  Mr Hands tastes of brandy and tobacco and he absolutely does know how to kiss.  Steak feels an embarrassing whine leave him and he closes his eyes, knowing that he's going to do whatever this man wants.

He whines again when the mouth leaves him but it’s only for more brandy because it’s soon back and the smooth strong liquid fills his mouth followed by an eager tongue that explores him as he swallows.  Rough stubble scrapes on his newly smooth skin, the slight burn as delicious as the brandy.

He wants more, wants fingers in his mouth, wants cock, wants the hot salty spend, bitter and nowhere near as nice as the brandy, yet that he still perversely craves.

Shifting his weight, the man on his lap inches a little closer and he opens his eyes to see an amused look on Mr Hands’ face.  “Big everywhere I see,” he comments smugly.

Steak swallows.  “Yes, sir.”

It’s too much for a lot of men although most of them just want to fuck him anyway and he’s fine with that.  Mr Hands isn’t looking bothered by his dick though, just the opposite.  Then he frowns and runs a calloused hand down his chest.  “You do this for us?”

Nodding Steak feels himself flush, just a little.  “I thought you might like it.”

“I do, and I like that you took the trouble.  It’s going to itch like a bitch when it starts growing again though.”

Worth it if you like it, he wants to say, but isn’t sure if it’s too much so he just shrugs.

“So what is it you want?”

What does he want?  Everything, and then more.  “To please you, sir.”

“And does that include pleasing my beautiful husband over there?”

“Babe, he’s your present,” Captain French cuts in, sounding amused.

“Oh hush, you,” Mr Hands replies with an open affection in his voice that Steak’s never heard before but always suspected might exist.

There's a chuckle but Captain French doesn't comment further.

Those gorgeous eyes haven’t moved from his face.  “Question still stands.”

“Yes sir, whatever you want.  Any way you like.  Anything.”  Aware that he probably sounds like a slut, or at the very least overly eager, Steak finds he doesn’t care.  Izzy Hands is sitting on him, weight hardly bothering him, those leather trousers spread wide over Steak’s thighs and if this and the kissing were all he got today, the shaving and the wait would be worth it.

“Is that so?” 

Mr Hands voice is a low interested purr that winds its way down his spine and all he can do is nod.

“Good,” he says, more briskly.  “Apparently we're here to have fun, so if there's something you don't like, you tell me.  If there's something you don't want to do, you tell me.  All right?”

“Yes, sir,” Steak replies, surprised.  “Thank you, sir.”  Most just hand over their coin and do whatever they want to him.  He can take a lot so never expected such consideration, although he suspects that he should perhaps have expected it.  Word is that Captain French’s ship and crew is a very safe place to be for anyone who shares their tastes and inclinations.

Leaning over to put down the nearly empty glass, Mr Hands slips a little as only one leg is on the ground and Steak quickly takes him by the waist to steady him.  Huffing in surprise, Mr Hands just grins at him.  Steak had expected him to snap at touching without permission but he just hitches himself back, yet when Steak goes to withdraw his hands, the man murmurs, “You can keep them there.”

The warmth beneath his hands is intoxicating even through the leather and silk.  God, Steak needs to touch skin now, to unwrap the man from his black armour and taste him but he’s a patient man, he can wait a bit longer.

An arm goes around his neck and he hitches in a breath as cool fingers stroke through his closely cropped hair.

“Before we go any further, I’m going to give you a choice.  We can be Izzy and Frenchie and make it up as we go along, or Israel and Sir and you take direction.  Which would you prefer?”

Steak feels himself flush.  Like there’s any choice.  “I'll take direction, if you please.”

“Well, aren’t you a nice surprise.  I always wondered.  Anything off limits?”

“I don’t much like being knocked around but I'm good with pretty much everything else.”

Israel frowns.  “You get knocked around?”

He shrugs.  “If someone pays enough, sir.”

The older man lets out a bark of laughter even as the hand tightens at the back of his neck.

“No more Sir, you'll call me Israel.  He's Sir or Captain, if you prefer.”

“Thank you… Israel.”  It sounds strange to be calling him that but he likes it nonetheless, just as much as he likes the firm hand gripping him.

Then the hand grips his shoulder instead and Israel uses it to push himself off.  Still holding onto his waist Steak lifts him most of the way.

“Fuck me, you’re strong.  I can think of a lot of uses for that.”

There’s another chuckle from the chair and this time Israel throws his husband a wink.

“Think you’re strong enough to bear my weight and fuck me standing up?” Israel asks speculatively, as Steak reluctantly lets him go.

Steak nearly chokes.  “Fuck yes, sir... Israel.  Any time you like.”

The grin he receives back is positively feral.  “Very good to know.  Why don’t you show us what you’re hiding under those trousers.  As in, stand up and get naked,” Israel adds, perhaps realising that his instructions were not as precise as they could have been.

Going to the easy chair on the other side of the unlit fire, Israel adjusts its position before easing himself down and removing his leg.  Unlike his old leg this one is a beaten metal cup beneath the cut off leather, with the hoof part attached to it, and yes there's definitely a spring where his knee should be.  Steak would like to get a look at it at some point as it’s unlike anything he's ever seen before.

“Are you all right, Iz?” his husband asks, sounding concerned.

“Yeah, I’ve just been on it all day and it’s getting sore.  Reckon I can fuck well enough with it off.”

He sighs deeply as it comes off and stands it beside the chair, then looks up almost defiantly at him, indicating his truncated leg.  “This bother you?”

Steak shakes his head.  Yes, it bothers him but not in the way that Israel means.  It bothers him that Israel was mutilated by a man who never appreciated him.  It bothers him that Blackbeard did this to him.  Everyone knows that Israel loved him yet was cast over for that blonde idiot.  More than bothers, it angers him.  But... it's also a vulnerability and in removing it Israel is showing that he trusts him and that is something he never expected.  “No, it really doesn’t.”

Israel gives a tight nod and visibly relaxes, setting back in the chair.  “You have your instructions.”

Shit, yes.  Get naked.  Very aware of Captain French watching from the other chair, Steak stands and unbuttons his trousers, the only piece of clothing he’s actually wearing, and with as much finesse as he can manage lets them drop and steps out of them, then turns without artifice and bends to pick them up, gratified to hear two murmurs of appreciation from behind him, no doubt seeing that he’s oiled and ready for them.

He knows he's big everywhere and that appeals to some and not to others, but he happens to know, thanks to the good Captain, that what he has to offer is very much appreciated by both of them but especially Israel.

Folding the linen carefully he places the trousers over the back of his chair and turns to face them very aware of his cock jutting aggressively, but nudity has never bothered him and he stands proudly.

“Told you he was impressive,” Captain Frenchie... Sir, says smugly.

“That’s one word for it,” Israel agrees, tearing his eyes away from Steak to look at this husband.  “You get me the best things.”

“You’re worth it, darling.  You know I like to see you happy.”

“You like to see me fuck,” Israel snorts fondly.

Sir raises his glass.  “It’s a weakness.”

Israel smiles.  “Nothing weak about you, love.”

The back and forth between them is so comfortable that Steak doesn’t mind being ignored, because just for a moment he's given a glimpse of the genuine love these two have for each other, so obvious in their teasing.

Stretching out his long legs, Sir taps his foot on the floor.  “Babe, you're ignoring your present.  I'd be very upset if he got bored and left.”

Steak can’t help the snort that escapes him because it would take wild horses or a ship full of British soldiers to get him out of there right now, and they both know it.

“Can’t have that,” Israel agrees, turning back to Steak.  “Why don’t you come here and show me what your mouth can do.”

Fuck, yes.  Steak drops to the floor, thankful that it’s one of the more expensive rooms and carpeted with a large rug.  By the time he gets to Israel, the man already has his trousers open and his cock in his hand.

Steak can't see much but it looks thick and there's a smug little smile on Israel's mouth which grows broader as he pulls his hand away and Steak sees what he was hiding, a silver ring threaded beneath his cockhead and out through the slit.

“Fuck,” he whispers, entranced.  He seen these before and they always do something for him.  This one looks like it's been there a couple of years at least.

“Like that, do you, dove?”

“It’s perfect,’ he whispers, swallowing.  Just like you.  No one has ever once in his life called him a sweet name like that.  He’s always been too big, too dangerous, too… everything.  To hear it from the lips of Izzy Hands is… well, it’s damn fucking good, is what it is.  He’s too pragmatic to expect more from it than just a word and he’s well aware there’s nothing more on offer, but he’ll take whatever he’s given.

Israel’s cock draws his attention back.  It's not the longest he's ever seen but it is thick and he wants it in his mouth, that silver ring pressing against his teeth.

“My Captain likes me to wear pretty things for him.”  Israel’s gaze is hot yet still a little amused at his reaction and the way he says it makes Steak wonder if he means more than just jewellery.

Steak casts a glance to the Captain to see if anything shows on his face but he looks serene and a little amused too, as though knowing exactly what he was thinking.  That changes the moment Israel fists his cock and makes a deep satisfied rumble as he works his foreskin up over the ring and back down again.  Suddenly Sir is watching intently, the dark glitter of his eyes intense.  The man is hard and it's easy to see the outline of his cock in those tight pants but he’s making no move to touch it.  Those beautiful long musicians fingers look to be loose and relaxed on the arms of the chair.

A hand on his chin returns his attention back to Israel.  “Oh don’t worry about him, dove, we’ll get to him soon enough.  Be a good boy and take off my boot and my trousers.”

That's the kind of order that Steak likes, anything to get Izzy Hands out of some of his clothes.  Forcing himself to tear his gaze from Israel's cock, he removes the boot and the sock beneath to reveal a surprisingly elegant foot.  He’s always appreciated feet and this one looks to be well cared for.  Obligingly Israel braces himself on the arms of the chair and lifts his hips while Steak carefully pulls the leather over his arse and down his thighs.  There is a stocking of a kind over the truncated leg so he leaves it, concentrating on the soft leather.  While he is doing that Israel unbuttons his waistcoat, shrugging out of it and by the time Steak has removed the trousers altogether Israel is clad in nothing but his black silk shirt.

He's opened the neck showing off a muscular chest covered with thick greying hair and Steak wants to bury his face in it.

With a wicked grin Israel parts his thighs a little to display the three gold rings running up the crease in the centre of his balls.

“One for every year we've been together,” Israel supplies huskily.  “I'm due another in six months or so.”

“Do they hurt?” he asks, wanting to run his tongue over them.

It’s Sir who answers.  “They do for a while but that's what he likes, isn’t it, love.”

“Yeah,” Israel answers breathily, and for a moment another one of those silent conversations is taking place, then Israel returns his attention to Steak.  “To work, dove.”

Giving in to the temptation Steak dips his head lower and runs his tongue up Israel's neat decorated balls, pushing each ring up with his tongue as he goes past it and hears two in-drawn breaths.  Then he realises that's why Israel moved the chair, so that his husband would have the best view.

“Do that again,” he’s instructed so obeys but this time catches the first in his teeth giving it a tiny twist before he moves on to the next.  He breathes deeply loving the smell of leather and soap and beneath that the faint tang of sweat and musk.  Israel has washed recently and well but Steak wants to taste the sweat and the musk much more than soap.

Israel's voice is a surprisingly deep purr.  “Fuck, that’s good, dove.  Now my cock, mouth only.  Put your hands on my thighs if you need to.”

He doesn't need to but he wants to.  He wants every tiny bit of contact he can have to savour once this is over, and while he has a question to ask them later, even if they say yes, there’s no guarantee this will happen again.

Both thighs feel muscular beneath his hands and he tries not grip them too tightly as he sucks the head of Israel’s fat cock into his mouth, the ring a fascinating addition that he runs his tongue over and accommodates without any problem.  It’s different but he likes it and he wonders if Israel's husband did it for him and the thought of that turns him on even more.  Sweet liquid coats his tongue, Israel already leaking and he briefly savours it before sinking down, grateful to be given this. 

Steak loves sucking cock, the taste, the feel of it, the fact that he holds a man's most precious possession in his mouth, loves that he can make someone else feel so good.  And yeah, he’ll admit that the subservient perversity of it works for him too.

He grunts as a hand grips his hair and although it’s short, it’s just long enough.

“That's it, yeah, just like that.  I knew you'd be a good little cocksucker.” His eyes flutter shut at the thrill of those dirty words given in that breathy raspy voice, and he hollows his cheeks, licking and sucking down the delicious length of it, Israel somehow managing to make him feel small and pathetically needy.

“You love it, don't you, another man's cock in your mouth.  My cock in your mouth.”

He nods as best as he can as he pushes it into the back of his throat, hearing a grunt of pleasure from above.  Working his way back up to take a quick breath and sink back down, the reality of Izzy Hands in his mouth so much more than his fantasies.

“I bet most of them get it wrong.   Fuck, do that again... They look at a big guy like you and expect you to be the one giving the orders.”

On his knees with his mouth full of cock, Steak can only nod again, a flush reaching his cheeks at Israel’s words.  “But I think you just want to be somebody's good boy.  No… I think you want to be my good boy.”

Looking up into that unflinching green gaze, he nods even harder.  He really does.

“Oh dove,” Israel murmurs with surprising self-control considering what Steak is doing to him, “you’re just a big fucking puppy, aren’t you, all sweet and eager to please.”

That shouldn't sound so hot, it really shouldn't, yet he feels a flush that goes straight from his face down to his dick.  It hasn't been touched yet and it twitches alarmingly.

Eager little puppy.

If he had a tail he’d be wagging.

He whines when he's pulled away, the ring knocking on his teeth.  Israel’s breath is a little faster, his lips glossy where he’s licked them, and Steak feels deprived of his prize.

“That’s enough for now,” Israel rasps, as he releases him.  “I’ve already come once today and after this I probably won’t be able to again until tonight.  I have to take my age into account, unlike my husband there who can get it up at a moment's notice.”

“You shouldn’t go around looking so fucking sexy then,” Captain French cuts in mildly.  “I take no responsibility.  Now’s a perfect example of what I mean, yeah?  You should see yourself, looking like a proper slut with your cock out and that fuck me look on your face.”

They are looking at each other and Steak can't help but watch.  Israel licks his lips again, worrying the bottom one into his mouth for a moment and then grins, sultry, wanton and breathtakingly beautiful.

“Yeah, that's exactly what I am, a fucking dirty slut and you love it.”

Despite the exchange being hot and a little playful there's something about it that is also intensely private and for a moment Steak doesn't feel that he should be a part of it.  Until Sir laughs, a delighted sound, and the spell is broken.

“Little shit,” he says affectionately.

“Never denied it,” Israel responds smugly.

Fuck, these two are going to be the death of him.

Israel hitches forward and leans up, before sliding his hands onto Steaks shoulders, encouraging him around.  The fingers have callouses and the roughness is strangely erotic, or maybe it’s just the fact that they belong to Izzy Hands. 

“Look at my Captain.  Isn't he beautiful?”  The voice is low and husky and close to his ear and he wants to kiss that mouth again so badly.

It’s not hard to agree.  “He’s gorgeous.”  Sir really is lovely, with his honey gold skin and fine elegant features.  He had always thought Frenchie was handsome but he has blossomed as Captain French and a little age and confidence has refined his features more.  Like Israel, he is truly beautiful.

He is also watching the exchange with interest, no less hard.

Lips ghost over his ear, making him groan.  “I know that mouth of yours is good, dove, but he’s longer than me.  Can you take a cock down your throat?”

He nods, just as happy to take Sir’s cock, especially when Israel will be watching.  He hasn’t even seen it yet but he wants it.  “I had a misspent youth.”

Israel barks a laugh.  “Didn’t we all.  Then why don't you crawl over there and show me what you can do, because I really think I'd like to see that.”

“Baby, he's your present,” Sir protests, although there's a dark glitter in his eyes that says something different.

“Yes, he is, and I want to see how pretty you are when there's a mouth wrapped around your dick because normally I'm a little busy.”

The captain gives a grin that is all teeth, and waves magnanimously over himself.  “In that case, be my guest.”

Israel lets go and Steak doesn't need any further encouragement.  He crawls to Sir and settles between those long legs.  As far as he's concerned he's been given permission so he nuzzles down, mouthing over his trousers along the man's straining cock.  He smells good, spicier than Israel, but just as clean and inviting.

“Good boy,” Israel praises.  “Get it out and lick the head.”

“You’re telling him what to do?  Kinky.”

Israel snorts.  “You have more fucking kinks than I've killed Spaniards.  Indulge me mine.”

Cursing tight trousers with hidden openings, Steak finally finds the way in and pulls them out of the way.  Sir’s cock springs free, long and dusky and pretty, and Steak can well understand Israel’s desire for it.  It’s a cock that you’d feel but wouldn’t split you in two and the absolute perfect length to go down your throat.

Obeying instructions, he licks the head, lapping the liquid already seeping out, the taste similar but subtly different to Israel, but no less intoxicating and he hears a deep rumble of pleasure from above.

“Good boy, now down all the way.”

Needing to brace himself on something, he’s surprised when Sir taps his thighs and he puts his hands on them gratefully, trying to keep the pressure light as he takes the cock into his mouth and works his way down.  It’s different from Israel’s, of course, but no less delicious and he wants to take time and savour, but he was given an order so takes a quick breath and pushes and suddenly it’s there and his eyes are watering and he can’t breathe and it’s so fucking perfect he could cry.

“I always... fucking hell... indulge you, m’dear.  Only last night you were very well... ahhhh... indulged.”

Pulling back enough to snatch a breath he sinks back down and moans contentedly when long fingers tangle in his hair, not holding him down but he wouldn’t mind if they did.

Wouldn’t mind?  Fuck that.  He’d fucking pay.

“You didn’t make a bad job of it,” Israel sniffs, and Steak can imagine the sparkle in his eyes as he teases his husband.

“That’s not what you…” the hand tightens as Sir groans, “… said last night.”

Israel hums his agreement.  “That’s it, dove, perfect,” he praises, back to Steak now.  “I know he doesn’t look it but he’s wound tighter than a spring.  Will you let him fuck your throat?”

Surprised to be asked and it not just be assumed, Steak pulls back just enough to breathe and nod, warm with the praise, and closes his eyes, content to be used.

“There, he wants it.  Fuck his throat, love.  I want to watch you come.”

“You’ve got a plan?”

“Darling, I've always got a plan.”

Pulling back to take a breath, the hand in his hair pulls him the rest of the way off and his eyes are forced up to meet Sir’s.  “Are you sure?” Sir asks, brow crinkled with a frown.  “I’m not going to be gentle.”

Steak moans.  Oh god, that’s even better.  “Please.”

Obviously liking his response, Sir grins, showing those lovely teeth.  “Fair enough.”

He isn’t gentle, and it’s perfect.  The hand in his hair grips tighter, holding him in place and Steak moves his hands to the arms of the chair, giving Sir room to flex upwards as he fucks his way into his throat, filling him with that elegant cock.  It’s rough but not without thought, every few thrusts, he’s pulled off just enough to get a breath before being pulled down again and he closes his eyes, submitting completely to the cock battering into his throat.  Is this what the Captain does with his husband, fucks his throat roughly until he comes?  His own cock throbs at the thought of it because for all his languid grace, Sir has shown another side of himself and Steak likes it just as much as Israel obviously does.

He feels Sir stiffen, cock starting to throb and the hand in his hair tightens.  “Fuck fuck fuck, mouth or throat.  Decide now.”

Like there is a choice.  He wants Sir’s load in his mouth, wants to taste it and eat it all up, just like Israel does.

Then the hand loosens giving him the choice and he backs up just in time for the first splash to hit his tongue and his mouth is filled with hot bitter spend, salty and unpleasant.

He loves it.

He savours and swallows, still suckling, milking Sir’s cock for everything he can get and only stops when his head is pushed away.

“Too much, too much, fuck,” Sir grates, cock leaving his mouth with a slightly obscene sound, although probably no more obscene than the noises they’ve already made, and shares a wide slightly wild grin with him.  “Fuck me, that was good, pet.”

He nods, still getting his breath back, accepting the compliment with a grin in return, and wonders if pet is an English thing.  Either way he likes it.

Sir surprises him by offering him the glass of brandy.  “Want to clear your mouth, pet?”

He doesn’t, not really, but he accepts it anyway to be polite, and takes a couple of sips, enough to mask the taste but not completely remove.

Giving a deep rumble of satisfaction, Sir pats his thigh and Steak hesitates, not sure what he’s supposed to do so the hand returns to his hair and guides his head down, Sir stroking his head like he would a dog.  “That was brilliant, pet, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” he acknowledges, closing his eyes and gratefully accepting the petting.

“Steak, is this all right?” he’s asked quietly, after a moment’s pause.  “Are you enjoying yourself?  I know what you said you wanted but it's not supposed to be all about us.”

Taking a deep satisfied breath of his own, he glances up at the Captain.  “It’s perfect but I appreciate you asking, Captain.  Is Mr Hands okay?”

Captain French’s eyes flicker across to his husband warmly.  “Oh, Izzy’s having a fine old time.  Don't worry about him.”

There’s a huff.  “I am right here, you know.”

“And looking very handsome, my love,” Sir placates, eyes twinkling.  “As well as a bit slutty.”

There’s an even louder huff.  “Only a bit?  I’m slipping.”

“Let’s ask your toy, shall we?  What do you think, pet?  Is my husband looking handsome to you or slutty?”

Lifting his head, he looks over, drinking in the sight of Izzy Hands, clad only in his shirt, hair loose and falling over his brow, leaning back in the chair, brandy glass in hand and a smug smile on his lips.

“Handsome,” he whispers, feeling his heart thudding in his chest.  “Very fucking handsome.”

Of course Israel looks like a slut as well with his open necked shirt showing off his chest and his muscular leg despite his modesty arranged shirt, but that’s secondary to how beautiful he is.

Under his gaze the smile becomes more genuine and the merest hint of a flush touches Israel's cheeks. “That’s enough of that,” he says a little gruffly to hide his reaction.  “I’ve not finished with you yet.”

Israel pats the arm of the chair and Sir taps him on the shoulder.  “Go back over there, pet, your Master wants you.”

The whine that escapes his throat is utterly mortifying but it's not like he can take it back or that no one will have noticed.

How is it possible that these two know exactly how to play him?  Is he that transparent?

“Sorry,” Sir grins, with an impish look on his face and very not sorry.  For a moment he looks exactly like the con man he used to be, and probably still is for all Steak knows.  “Couldn’t help that one.  I don't think you minded though, did you, pet?”

It's not really a question because they all know he liked it.  It's not like he has much dignity left anyway after sucking both their cocks.

“Ignore my twat of a husband, dove.  You did that really well.  Are your legs good to stand?”

Crawling back over, Steak nods.  “Yes, Israel.”

“Of course they are,” Israel smirks and pats the arm of the chair.  “Stand here.  I’m not much good on my knee these days but I’m perfectly capable of sucking cock sitting down.”

“Oh god,” he breathes, wide eyed, realising what Israel’s going to do.

“Just Israel will do,” the man replies with a smirk.

Scrambling to his feet, Steak stands where he’s told.  “Fuck me, that’s a thing of beauty,” Israel murmurs, taking hold of him and giving a couple of experimental pumps.  “You'll come when I tell you to and not before.  You get close, you tell me and I'll stop, yes?”

Swallowing heavily, he nods.  “Yes, Israel.”

“There’s my good boy,” the man says and takes him into his mouth.

Hard wet heat engulfs him and he gasps something, he doesn’t know what, then stifles it with a gulp.

Israel takes hold of the base of his dick with his right hand, the one usually encased in leather, and then pulls off it, grinning wickedly.

“I’m not going to attempt to take this monster down my throat.  Probably could but I wouldn't talk for a week.  You want to make noise, dove, you make noise.  I don't care who the fuck knows what we're doing in here.”

The hand is slowly moving up and down while Israel talks, seemingly with a life of its own.  “Thank you, Israel,” he groans, because it never hurts to be polite to the man holding your dick.

“Hold on to the back of the chair,” Israel instructs, “other hand on my head.  You may not grip or push but you can touch.”

Israel’s hair is soft, silky when something in his head expected it to be coarse and he gives an involuntary sigh at the touch of it on his fingertips.  He hadn't expected this, to be allowed this kind of contact.  Israel surprises him at every turn.  In truth, he wasn’t sure what he expected but it wasn't how the two of them are together, how generous they are with their intimacy and how much they have shared with him.

Then the mouth is back on his cock and anything resembling intelligent thought goes out of his head as Israel’s hand pushes his foreskin up, tongue delving within even as it’s sucked, to swirl exquisitely around his sensitive head.

“Is he doing that thing with your foreskin?” an amused voice asks, nearby.  “Fucking amazing, isn’t it.  He’s the best cocksucker on the ship.”

He feels Israel’s huff of amusement on his cock and he pulls off long enough to respond, “Like you’d know,” before taking him back into his mouth, this time sinking down as far as he can go.

Steak trembles, hoping his legs won’t give way.  Israel’s mouth is skilled, decadent, a luxury he’d normally never be able to afford.

Forbidden to take hold he stokes and pats Israel’s head and is surprised to receive an answering hum of approval, so carries on even though his base instinct is to grab.

“Your mouth is all I need, babe, but I trust everyone else’s judgment.”

Everyone else’s?  Even though Israel’s mouth is one of the best he’s ever had, he can’t help but let that distracting thought slither through his mind, and what it implies.  Izzy Hands fucks the crew, or they fuck him.  He’s so lost in the heat around his cock and the images in his head that he doesn’t notice the feeling at first, until he does and pats Israel’s head in warning.  “Close, sir.  Please.”

Please what?  He’s fucked if he knows but he was told not to come so he won’t, unless Israel wants to make him to punish him.  It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.

But no, he should have known these two aren’t like that.  With a final lick Israel withdraws and the sudden cooler air on his cock makes him shiver.  It’s warm in the room but it’s nothing against the heat of Israel’s mouth and if he had the choice, he wouldn’t want any other mouth on his cock either.

“Good boy.”  Israel looks flushed, like he hadn’t wanted to stop but not doing would interfere with his plans.  “Come lower.”

Bending enough that Israel can get a hand on the back of his neck, he’s pulled into a fierce biting kiss, teeth and tongue and he surrenders to it, wanting more, wanting to be pressed down and fucked and made to feel small. 

When Israel lets him go, he’s panting and so hard he could come just from that if he concentrated.  “Go and sit on the end of the bed and keep your eyes on me.  Don’t touch yourself.  In fact, sit on your hands, that way I know you’ll behave yourself.”

He wants to protest that he wouldn’t disobey an order but thinks better of it.

“Don’t be mean, Iz,” Sir admonishes mildly, watching with obvious amusement.  “Your puppy’ll do anything you say.”

“I’m not being mean,” Israel replies, primly adjusting the shirt over his groin, “I am mean.”

Sir huffs as though he knows better, then he looks slyly at Steak.  “Do you think he’s mean, pet?”

“No, sir,” Steak returns, not sure how well he hides the thrill of Sir calling him pet. “I’d say firm but fair.”

He’d be their pet, if they wanted.  Just for a while.  A few years, maybe.  Maybe that wouldn't be enough.

“Well, he’s certainly firm,” Sir points out, taking another sip of brandy.  “Are you planning to do anything with that, love?” he asks archly.

Israel smirks.  “I am, yeah.  I’m going to put it in my puppy over there, and then you are going to put yours in me.”

Oh.  Fuck.  Yes.

Steak swallows, feeling his hole clench in anticipation.  Hands still beneath his thighs, he tries not to squirm.

“If it hasn’t escaped your notice, babe, I’m the only one who’s come so far.”

There’s a mischievous glint in Israel’s eyes that Steak would never have expected.  “Don’t you worry about that, I’ll soon have you up to the task... Captain.”

“Oh, low blow,” Sir says admiringly.

Israel shrugs.  “It works though.”

“Hmm, somewhat.  Is that all you’ve got?”

Israel gives him a sultry look.  “I think you’ll find that I have a whole range of weapons in my... arsenal.”

“You fucking tease.”

Watching the back and forth, Steak suddenly understands that Izzy Hands is truly happy.  The sexual frisson that sparks between the two of them is clearly incredibly strong after over three years together.  Whatever sexual games they get up to, the love between them is so solid it makes his eyes mist over.

The man he remembers, angry, exhausted, always dancing to Blackbeard’s insane tune is very different to this sleek, content man, at ease in his body, despite its scars and the damage inflicted upon it.  He has watched the changes over the last couple of years whenever the New Unicorn has been in port, Israel and his Captain inseparable, and suspects that they both had a part in remaking him to the seemingly content and surprisingly relaxed man he is now. 

“Is it working?”

Sir rubs a long-fingered hand over himself suggestively.  “Starting to.”

Israel gives him a smile that reminds Steak of a shark.  “Let’s get it the rest of the way, then.  Move that beautiful arse of yours, I have some work for you to do.”

“I have to work?  I’m not sure I can move.  I’ve just had my brains sucked out of my dick.”

Israel snorts.  “The amount I suck you off, if that was the case you'd be a jibbering idiot by now.”

“How do you know I'm not?”

“I wonder sometimes.”

“Rude.”  Sir gives a deep sigh as he tucks his cock away.  “What does the light of my darkness want me to do?”

“Thought you might like to open me up and give our toy a good show,” Israel says casually and Sir’s eyes spark with interest.  “Did you bring…?”

Sir pats his pockets.  “Of course I did.”

Seemingly ignored, yet knowing much of this is for his benefit, Steak watches Sir get up and stretch languidly, his legs not looking anything near as wobbly as he professed.  Then he walks over and sinks to his knees, pulling his husband down into a deep urgent kiss, both hands cupping Israel’s head possessively.  It’s hot and beautiful and makes a lump form in his throat.

“Lord above,” Sir breathes, when their mouths part, “look at you.  You’re still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

“And you are my world, my love,” Israel murmurs back simply, eyes shining.

Lost in each other, they are in their own place for a moment and Steak holds his breath, not wanting anything to distract them.  They are perfect, these two, so in love and unafraid to show it in front of him.  It makes him want to kneel at their feet and be their plaything for a very long time.

Then Sir kisses him again but more playfully and rocks back on his heels.  “You’re going to fuck him first, right?  Because I really want to see that.”

Still with his hands under his thighs, Steak flushes.   He doesn’t know if Israel wants to use his cock and he won't be upset if things don't go that way but after Israel asking if he could fuck standing up he kind of hopes.

“Kinky man,” Israel rasps fondly, stroking through Sir’s beard.  “I want you to open me up for you, love.  I’ll make sure he’s open enough.  That alright with you, dove?” Israel calls over to him.  “Me putting my fingers in you?”

Is that all right?  Fucking stupid question.  He’ll beg if he has to.  “Very very all right.”

He’s answered with a smug grin.  “Yeah, thought so.”

“Shouldn't need much though,” he feels the need to add.  “I did it just before you got here.”

“Still going to check.”

Getting up on his foot Israel turns around and hops up to kneel on the overstuffed chair resting his arms along the back to hold himself up.  It’s a smooth practiced move and one he’s obviously done many times but it angers Steak on some level that Israel was mutilated like this.  He is no less for the loss of his leg, he is still magnificent for all his shorter stature, and still the finest sword in the Caribbean but the unfairness of it grates with him.  Israel Hands should be whole and not have to make such allowances.

He’s distracted from his darker thoughts by Israel’s shapely thighs and the black silk above them, the shirt just long enough to cover his behind.

Getting to his feet, Sir studies the chair for a moment and clicks his tongue, shaking his head.  Walking around it, he kisses Israel’s brow and with hardly any effort moves the chair, changing the angle so that Israel’s arse is almost in profile and Steak can see Israel’s face at the same time.

Captain French is very definitely stronger than he looks.

“This can come off,” Sir tells him, giving a little tug of the black silk, and Israel looks around to him.

“Really?” he asks quietly.  He doesn’t seem distressed at the prospect but he definitely looks unsure.

Stroking his flank, Sir leans in and murmurs something into his ear, then waits a moment until Israel nods, once.   Then kisses him lightly, before returning to the back and giving his arse a tap.  It must have been either an order or the right answer because Israel obediently pulls his shirt up over his head and drops it to the floor, not looking back.  If nothing else it’s a perfect illustration of the dynamics at play here, Captain French very much in charge of his husband when his husband wants him to be.

He forgets about that the moment Israel’s back is revealed and Steak understands his hesitation.  Israel had obviously kept wearing his shirt on purpose, not intending to reveal so much about himself, yet his husband wanted him to.  For what reason, he wonders?

Israel's back is covered in scars, old gnarly things, from a navy lash by the looks of them, and long ago.  Steak has seen plenty of those in his time.  They are not an unusual sight on sea faring men who share their inclinations.  More interesting are the welts diagonally overlaying the scars, red and angry, yet not breaking the skin and fresh, no older than a day.  Welts from a leather flogger, at a guess, delivered confidently and hard.

Further down there are bruises in various shades and ages, bruises that have been sucked onto the skin, done by someone who likes using his mouth, Sir he has no doubt.  And lower… six stripes across his arse cheeks, precisely laid and from a cane of some variety, fresh and raised and no doubt painful, yet Israel had sat on them without murmur, as though it was nothing, or he liked it.

Only the old scars are marks of violence, Steak realises, understanding them both better.  The rest of them, the welts and the bruises and the bites, are marks of love and he thinks he knows how it is between them now. 

Returning to his knees behind Israel, Sir strokes his fingers along the cane welts.  It looks to be gentle but Israel hitches in a breath and then lets it out slowly, dreamily, resting his head on his arms, and looking straight at Steak.

“Tell him,” Sir says softly, stroking the welts again, not raising his eyes from the sight before him.

Israel doesn’t move or look away, just gives a soft hum of pleasure, before speaking.

“He’s my husband and my Captain and my Master.  I belong to him utterly and completely and it pleases me to please him.  Anything you see on my skin, I wanted and begged for, and enjoyed.”

Hearing that husky voice talking so calmly about something so intensely private, Steak is lost for a moment, not understanding why they are trusting him with it.  Not that it makes much of a difference all told, but it’s something they could easily have hidden from him.

He swallows, needing to know.  “Why are you telling me?”

Sir looks at him, then shrugs.  “We trust you, and you'd see enough to make you wonder anyway.  Are you going to tell anyone?”

“No, sir, of course not.  I just... thank you.”

Then Sir grins and the moment is broken.  “You can thank me after he's fucked you.  You have no idea how good he is.”

Israel snorts, eyes still on Steak.  “Are you planning on opening me up sometime tonight or talking us to death?”

He's rewarded by a slap on his arse but just smiles crookedly.

Parting his cheeks, Sir licks firmly over his entrance, eliciting a groan.  “Let’s see how cheeky you are by the time I’ve finished this.”

What follows is a masterclass in opening someone up to be fucked, not to mention one of the most erotic things Steak has ever seen.  Sir uses his tongue, fucking Israel as deep as he can until he oils his fingers and replaces his tongue with two, peppering Israel’s cheek with open mouthed kisses; the furthest one so not to inhibit his view, alternating with licks along the red stripes.

Israel is panting now, moaning softly, eyes closed, mouth open, he looks lost in bliss and so beautiful that Steak longs to take his cock back into his mouth while Sir is fucking him with his fingers and be the one to put that look on his face.  His own cock is hot and heavy and so hard it almost hurts but he hardly notices against the show being put on for him.

When he gets to four fingers, Sir reaches around his husband, kissing his back, and cups his tit, obviously playing with his nipple from Israel’s sudden indrawn breath.  He’s still being fucked slowly by those long fingers and it’s a ridiculously pretty sight.  It’s obviously something he really likes because Israel’s back arches and Steak can’t tell if he’s pushing deeper onto the fingers or onto the hand pinching him.  Both probably.

Opening his eyes to slits, Israel bares his teeth.  “You had to go and do that.  How am I supposed to think now, you twat?”

Licking along a red welt, Sir grins against his skin.  “You need to think to fuck?”

“I have someone else here to make this good for, remember?”

Sir must pinch hard because Israel yelps and then exhales deeply, eyes fluttering shut again for a moment.  “I don't think our toy has any complaints.  Do you, pet?”

Apart from really wanting to get to the fucking part, Steak is having a wonderful time.  “Fuck no, sir.  Very happy.”

“Told you,” Sir murmurs, looking over to Steak and giving him a sly wink.  Withdrawing his hands, he gives Israel another sharp slap.  “There, babe, you’re done.  How does that feel?”

There’s a lovely deep sound, almost a satisfied growl, from Israel, and Steak watches him clench.  “Like I want to be fucked.”

“Soon,” Sir croons, wiping his oiled fingers on his shirt.  “We’ve got your puppy to take care of first.”

It’s only when Israel huffs and turns around to flop back in the chair that Steak realises his nipples are pierced too, although he should have expected it.  A silver ring is threaded through each one and like the ring in his cock look to be a couple of years old and just like with that one, he wants to put them in his mouth.

Still kneeling, Sir looks very pleased with himself, especially at the sight of Israel’s cock, hard and proud and glistening with liquid.  “What’s the plan, babe?”

“The plan, darling,” Israel repeats in his husky voice, smirking,  “is that you take your fucking clothes off, so that we can actually fucking fuck.”

Steak shifts and the bed suddenly creaks.  They both look at him, and then the bed, and he knows what’s going through their minds.

Israel doesn’t look happy at the sound.  “If the three of us start bouncing around on that bed we’re going to break it.  Probably all right to lie on it but fucking... not so much.”

Steak has never been small and it's not like he hasn't been in this situation before.   “May I?” he asks.  He hasn't been given permission to move but there's an easy solution to the problem.

Israel nods, so Steak stands and takes hold of the mattress, giving a heave and pulls it onto the floor, the bedding almost undisturbed.  “There,” he announces, satisfied.  “The floor’s good for it.”

The pair of them look at him, slightly astounded, and if he didn't know them reasonably well he would actually be offended.

“What?  I might be big but I’m not stupid.  Sir,” he tacks on the end, just in case, sitting back down on the bed frame.

“Never thought you were, dove,” Israel assures him, amused.  “Fucking glad you’re big though.”

Then he turns to his husband.  “You, clothes off, now.”

“Bossy bitch,” Sir teases, throwing him a mock salute.  Ignoring Israel’s answering snort, he begins to peel off his layers and what is it about pirates that they have to wear so many clothes?  Jacket, necktie, waistcoat all fall to the floor, Sir’s attention not leaving Israel even though his husband rolls his eyes at the untidy pile of clothes he is leaving.  When the shirt follows, Steak can’t help his murmur of appreciation at the body that is finally being revealed.

“Oh,” he breathes.

“Yeah,” Israel replies, just as reverently.  “Isn’t he.”

Slender yet finely muscled, skin the colour of soft honey with dark little nipples that invite a tongue, shoulders deceptively wider than they appear beneath the layers of clothing, Sir is a revelation, a vision, and although Steak’s personal taste is more for Israel's rangy fighter’s body it's still a beautiful sight.

Naked, Captain French is exquisite, no scars to mar his beauty, his only adornment the tattoo of a rose over his heart. 

“About fucking time,” Israel rasps in his best First Mate voice, although there’s a hint of amusement behind it.  “I’d like to do this before I die of old age.”  

“Always so impatient,” Sir grumbles lightly, crowding onto the chair over his husband and pushing him back, his extra height not just in his legs as he looms over the smaller man. 

Israel murmurs something back and they both laugh softly, and then they are kissing again and Steak honestly can't choose between watching that and Sir’s perfect peach of an arse because it's something he'd very much like to get his mouth on.

From his vantage point he can just about make out their cocks rubbing together and the flush on Israel's cheeks as Sir makes his way down his neck.

“How do you want us, babe?” Sir asks, into his skin between wet open-mouthed kisses.  “It’s your show.”

“Actually, I think it’s yours,” Israel returns breathily, tilting his head to allow better access as he slides a hand up smooth golden skin, the other tangling in lovely wild hair.  “Tell me what you want to see.”

Sharp teeth give his neck a little nip.  “You fucking your toy.”

Israel gives a soft moan that goes straight to Steak’s cock.  “You’re in luck then.”

Sir leaves his husband’s neck and kisses his cheek playfully.  “Thought I might be.  What are your orders, First Mate Hands?”

Still looking a little flushed, Israel indicates to Steak.  “He’s first and then you’re going to fuck me as soon as he's come.”

“That's your plan?”

“It's a good plan,” Israel responds smugly.

“It's a fucking wonderful plan and as your Captain, I completely endorse it.”

Israel nuzzles into his hair, chuckling softly.  “You are such a dick.”

“That makes a change, usually I’m a twat.”

“Not with your cock out, you’re not.”

Listening to them, the teasing, the intimate way they talk, and seeing how they are together, seeing the love, Steak feels a warmth that has nothing to do with his cock, or what’s about to happen.  He doesn’t feel left out watching them like this, just the opposite, he feels part of them because they are quite aware that he is here and yet they are not hiding themselves in any way.  Neither is this an act put on for him, this is simply how they are.  

Although it was a surprise at first, he loves listening to the teasing, loves hearing their soft words, especially because it proves that Israel is still Izzy Hands.  He might be owned by his Master, but he is still more than loved by his husband.

Climbing off him, his hair a little mussed, Sir perches on the arm of the chair, utterly unconcerned at his nakedness and waits for Israel, who takes a deep breath and points at the floor.  “On the mattress, dove, hands and knees.” 

Finally.

Steak obeys immediately, the orders exactly what he needs, and now they have arrived at this moment he can't help but wonder what he'll be allowed, if Israel will just fuck him or if he might be permitted to touch after.  He's waited a long time for this so he doesn't suppose it matters really.  He wants to please Israel and hopefully get the chance to do this again so he'll do whatever he can to make it good.

“Good boy,” Israel praises.  “Good puppy.  Stay right there.”

That’s a joke, the appearance of a kraken would not drag him away. 

Leaning over the armrest, Sir cups Israel’s cheek and murmurs something into his ear, so softly that it's barely audible but Steak’s always had good hearing.  “Do you need a hand, babe?”

Steak watches Israel's eyes flicker to him so quickly as to almost not have happened, and he understands.  Israel does not want to look weak in front of him.  Dropping his head, he faces the front, their perfect puppy, and waits, as instructed, more than happy to give Israel the dignity he deserves.

There’s a bit of shuffling and he feels something that could be a folded over pillow and realises that Israel is using it to support his truncated leg.  A moment later he forgets all about it as strong calloused hands pull his cheeks apart and a hot hard rod is rubbed up his crack, teasing over his eager hole, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Is this what you want, dove?” he’s asked solicitously, with just the right amount of amusement beneath the slightly mocking tone to take the sting out of it.  “Look at you, all eager for cock.”

He wants to say something vaguely intelligent but all that comes out of his mouth is an unintelligible noise as two well lubed fingers slide into his body, slick and hot.  He’s tightened up a little, as the muscle is wont to do, but that just means he gets the pleasure of Israel’s fingers inside him.

“That good, dove?”  

The raspy voice sounds calm and assured now and some ridiculous thought, deep in his brain, tells him that he’s in good hands and it makes him want to giggle.  Clamping down on it firmly, he nods, managing to groan out, “God yes, need you to fuck me... please.”

“You’ll get three fingers first,” he’s told, and yelps as a hand lands on his arse.  It doesn't really hurt it's just the surprise of it but if he was offered, he’d gladly take more.

He hears a dry chuckle.  “Thought you’d like that.  Next time perhaps.  My Captain is superb with his hands.  You wouldn't think so to look at him but those hands of his are as hard as iron.  I should fucking know,” he adds, a note that could be pride in his voice.

Dropping his head, Steak imagines Sir making his arse red with them.  “Fuck,” he whispers into his arm, not only that but Israel said next time and it’s more than he dared hope for.

Israel's fingers are hot inside him and he wonders what he looks like, if Sir is enjoying watching.  He can almost feel that hot hungry gaze on him and for a moment wishes he was smaller and prettier but then remembers that they are here because he is big.

“Can you come just from cock?” Israel asks, withdrawing his fingers.

Steak groans in disappointment, wanting them back.  “If it's a good cock, yeah.”

Sir gives a quick laugh and he sounds close by.  “Oh, but it is, it really is.”

Ignoring him, Israel continues.  “Here's what's going to happen, dove.  I'm going to fuck you and you have permission to come, but when you do, we’re done and my Captain's going to fuck me.  The longer you hold it, the more you'll get.  Without something in me I can go a good long time so don't you be worrying about me blowing too soon.  You good with that, pet?”

Nodding, he groans.  “More worried about me blowing too soon,” he grates and even as he does, something Israel said before comes into his mind.

I have someone else here to make this good for.

As in him.

As in making it good for him. 

He isn’t entirely certain why they should care but he’s definitely not going to complain.  Usually he’s just required to fuck or be fucked, whip or be whipped and he takes it all because he’s being paid.  No one realises that he does it because he needs to eat more than other men and food costs, and no one has ever thought about making it good for him.  Until now.

It slips from his mind as Israel’s words sink in.  When you come, we’re done.

Devious bastard, he thinks admiringly.  Can he hold it?  He’s not got a hair trigger but he’s never exactly been in this situation before where if he doesn’t, he stops getting fucked.  Then it’s too late to worry because Israel’s cock is pressing against him, pushing in, hot and hard and even after three fingers it burns but in the best way possible.  He makes another embarrassing sound as he feels something else, harder and less forgiving and remembers the ring and oh dear Christ above it’s good.  It almost pops through his ring of muscle, making him keen with the sting of it.  Hot and slick, Israel’s cock burns more with each inch as it gets wider and he knows now that he underestimated it even after it being in his mouth.  It’s not long but it’s thick.  Israel goes slow but makes no allowances and doesn’t stop until he’s pressing against Steak’s arse.

“You good?” he asks, voice strained and Steak marvels at how good the man’s control is, because he’s perfectly still inside him.  Strong hands are gripping Steak’s hips and it’s only then that he realises Israel is using them to brace himself and he doesn’t know why but he finds that thought of Israel using him in that way stupidly hot. 

“Fuck yes,” Steak manages, not sure how long his own control is going to last, but needing it to last long enough for a good fuck.  He’s not going to come, not yet, but he fucking needs to move.

“Good puppy,” he hears, then, “Darling, why don't you go and keep our pet’s mouth occupied.  You’ll see well enough from the front.  Fingers or cock I don't care but don't come, you're saving that for me.”

Despite the relationship these two have, Israel is still very good at giving instructions, well duh, he’s still First Mate Hands.  Sir certainly doesn’t seem to mind because he hears a murmur of approval, the sound of kissing and it seems that Israel has something new to torture him with.  His husband.

Kneeling in front of him, Sir gives him that wide con man’s grin and taps his bottom lip eagerly.  “Suck my fingers, pet.  If you're good I'll give you my cock, yeah?  Show me what good puppies do.”

It’s then that Israel chooses to adjust his position slightly and Steak moans at the minute movement, every nerve ending desperate for more and before he can even register it, Sir has stuffed his fingers into his partly open mouth and he closes around them without thinking.

“That it,” Sir croons, pressing his fingers down on Steak’s tongue, “good puppy.  You ready for my man, pet?”

He wants to answer, wants to nod his head and say that he's been ready for years, wants to move, but can do nothing but whine and suck those slim elegant fingers that are invading his mouth.  He wants… he needs… and he needs it now.

Israel's fingers tighten even harder on him and he knows there will be bruises tomorrow.  Just for a while his skin will wear the imprint of Israel Hands and he will treasure it.  Against him, Israel feels like a spring, coiled and tight, yet he doesn’t move.

Glancing up he sees that Sir’s eyes are on his husband, the glimmer in them full of anticipation and hunger.  “That’s it, baby, so good for me.  You want him?”

He hears Israel swallow and there’s a rough, “Yeah.”  Another swallow.  “Please.”

There’s another pause, just long enough to make the point, and then, “Go on, then, darling, have fun.”

It's then that Steak realises what Israel was waiting for.

Permission.

And that really shouldn't be as hot as it is.

He hears a whispered, “Fuck yes,” and then Israel’s rocking forward, small thrusts, small perfect snaps of his hips and Steak moans around the fingers, tightening around them, sucking with all the enthusiasm he gave to Israel's cock.  He's good at this, he knows, and if fingers are all he is given he will damn well make it good.

Each thrust into him makes him grunt.  They might be shallow, but they are also sharp and deliberate and Israel knows exactly what he’s doing to him.  Steak can almost see the man’s shark smile as he tried to undo him, under the watchful greedy gaze of his husband.

Then Israel’s leaning down over him, still rocking, and nipping small shallow bites on his back with those perfect teeth, not too hard but enough to add to the sensation and it makes his ignored cock twitch and throb.  Moments later, Sir pulls his head back and he whines as the fingers are withdrawn but then a hard cock is being fed into his mouth instead and his head almost shuts down as he’s thrust into at both ends.  Sir has very definitely risen to the occasion.

This time his head is held firmly in place as Sir thrusts shallowly, clearly not wanting too much stimulation yet but it’s still good and Steak has always made the most of what he’s been given.  It seems to be a signal though because Israel suddenly pulls out further and slams back into him, the force of it pushing him further onto Sir’s cock.

Oh.  Fuck.  Yes.

Desperately he wants to move, to meet the thrusts but he's held by Sir who is fucking his mouth shallowly, in sharp and delicious contrast to Israel fucking that magnificent cock into him. 

He’s Israel Hand’s toy and Captain French’s pet; right at this moment he wants nothing more.  He could die like this and he’d die happy.

Then Israel adjusts himself, clearly having no issue fucking without his leg, and the angle of his cock changes just enough that the ring presses against that sweet bundle of nerves as it fucks him and Steak knows that he's not going to last much longer. 

It seems that Sir knows it too.  Steak can almost hear the grin in his voice.  “You’re doing so well, taking us both.  You should see how good he looks fucking you, I could watch it all night.”

Then Israel joins in, a little breathless but still annoyingly in control.  “Are you enjoying the ring, dove?  My Captain loves riding me, makes him come like a fucking fountain when it rubs inside him.”

And that’s it.  He’s done.  The pair of them have wrecked him.  

He keens around Sir’s cock as sparks dance in his head, his body flooded with pleasure almost on the edge of pain, on the edge of too much, but he’s big and strong and he can take too much.  Until he can’t, and the force of his orgasm takes him by surprise, bullying its way into his balls, his cock and out onto the mattress beneath him, leaving him a shivering panting wreck.

Almost gently, both men withdraw and he almost sobs, wanting them back, not wanting this to end.  He drops his elbows to the floor, arms shaking and rests his head on them, disappointed with himself that he didn’t last longer although he’s sure that they both knew exactly what they were doing.

He knows they have plans now so he doesn’t expect the two sets of hands that stroke his back and Sir telling him that he was good for them.  What he does expect is for them to tell him to leave or at least to move out of the way but Israel lightly slaps his arse instead.

“Turn over, dove.  Not finished with you yet.”

They move back to give him room to turn and he flops to his right, not sure how much use he can be to them now and manages to avoid the mess he made on the sheets.  He’s barely settled when Israel taps his legs for him to put them together and then straddles him, moving upwards until he’s settled high over Steak’s hips, giving him the best view possible of those fantastic tits and his slick glistening cock.

“Can you take both our weights?” Israel rasps.  “If you can’t we’ll do it another way.”

“I can,” he promises, not quite sure where this is going.

Barely out of breath, Israel looks down at him with a wicked grin.  “You did very well but I really need to be fucked so you’re going to keep me steady, all right?”

It’s then that Steak realises they are going to fuck on him, like he’s nothing more than a comfy bed or a big warm cushion and that’s almost as good as what they’ve already done.  Maybe even better.

“God, yes sir, where...?”

Not correcting him for the sir, Israel taps the slightly fleshier part, just above the bone of his hips.  “Here, when he fucks me.”

So not yet.  Steak nods his understanding.

Getting to his feet, Sir gives a lazy stretch, showing off his lean and lovely body, grinning when he sees Steak’s eyes on him.  Unlike Israel his skin is smooth, nearly unblemished, his flat stomach leading down to that lovely wiry black hair and the eager prick jutting from it. 

Israel notices, of course.  “Pretty, isn’t he,” he remarks conversationally, as though his battering ram of a dick wasn’t hard and proud and distracting.  “Of course, he knows it, but for some weird reason he thinks I am too.”

“That’s because you are,” Sir rumbles, stepping over Steak’s legs and coming to stand behind him.  “What do you think, pet?  Is he pretty?”

Sir’s hands go to Israel’s shoulders who leans into the touch but his eyes never waver, his gaze hot and heavy with something Steak doesn't have a name for.  “Yes,” he breathes.  “He’s... beautiful.”

The Israel from earlier brushed aside complements but this Israel, loose and relaxed from fucking, just flushes slightly but accepts with a pleased little smile.

It's no less than the truth.  Steak has always been fascinated by Israel Hands, the neat precise killer with that voice and that nose and those eyes as sharp and piercing as a sharks.

“He is,” Sir agrees, sounding proud as he elegantly drops down to straddle Steak behind Israel, the weight of another body easy to bear.  “I tell him every day but he doesn’t believe me.”

He should, Steak thinks, because he is.  If he was mine, I’d tell him too.

Israel huffs but it turns into a low groan as Sir reaches around him to work his nipples, squeezing and flicking the pierced nubs of flesh.  His cock bobs and he gives a shivery gasp and his head falls back onto his husband's shoulder.  “Such a slut,” Sir whispers affectionately, into his ear. 

Steak watches Israel suck in a breath, his chest expanding, but when he breathes out it's long and slow.  “For you,” he agrees.  “My Captain.”

Sir growls softly and nips Israel’s neck with those sharp teeth.  “Manipulative little shit.”

That makes Israel laugh out loud, a breathy sexy sound that winds its way into Steak’s head.  “You fucking know I am.”

“True,” Sir smirks and rests his chin on Israel's shoulder, looking down at Steak.  “What do you think, pet, does he deserve fucking?  Did he make a good job of you?”

Steak swallows, suddenly very aware of Israel's hooded glittering gaze on him.  “Yes sir,” he says quickly.  “I loved it, came without touching myself.”

“Stop being a fucking tease, husband, and fucking fuck me,” Israel demands petulantly.  “This is my plan and I want to get fucked.”

A little disappointed that it's not him doing it, Steak watches the look of mischief on Sir’s face be replaced by hunger.  “And you will be,” he promises into Israel’s ear.  “You ready, baby?”

“I’ve been ready for the last week,” Israel grumbles, but this time it comes out as a whine, his bluster gone as Sir shifts a little behind him, a look of concentration on his face and then Sir’s hips are pushing forward and Israel’s face goes slack.  “Fuck yes, that’s it,” he rasps, as his husband fills him.  “Don’t fucking stop.”

Remembering, Steak’s hands fly to Israel’s waist, holding him lightly.  The man is soft and warm beneath his hands and he wants to kiss where he’s touching but he can’t take his eyes off Israel’s face, his lips wet and open, eyes closed and his breath coming in quick little pants as Sir rocks into him, sucking a bruise onto his neck at the same time, identical to the ones on Israel’s back.  The fact that they are doing it while straddling his body has Steak’s cock twitching and he’s usually a half hour recharge kind of guy.

“Such a good boy for me,” Sir murmurs into Israel’s ear.  “You feel so good, baby, so sweet and tight.”  He punctuates his words with tiny thrusts, one arm around Israel’s chest and the other still pinching his nipple.  “Tell you what, why don’t you lean forward and let your toy play with these.  His mouth isn’t doing anything and I bet he’d love to get his tongue on your tits.”

Steak and Israel moan at the same time and now Steak thinks about it, Israel is in the perfect position to do that.  Not waiting for a reply, Sir pushes Israel down, his hands going to the mattress to brace himself and Steak finds himself with a face full of chest hair and it doesn’t take much adjusting before he finds a nipple and envelops it with his mouth, latching on as though suckling from it and he feels Israel’s deep groan of pleasure at the same time as he hears it.  He can only concentrate on one at a time as his hands are still on Israel’s waist, steadying him, but he sucks and nips and works the ring with his tongue at the same time as Sir’s movements on him get a little harder, a little snappier.

Israel keens softly as though desperately trying to keep quiet but unable to help a little sound creep out.  “Oh no, you don’t,” Sir’s deeper voice commands, and Steak hears a crack.  “We want to hear you, Iz, don’t you dare try and be quiet.”

A shiver runs through Israel, no doubt from the slap on his arse, and then it's like the floodgates have been opened because he swears loudly, moaning with every snap of Sir’s hips, his breath faster and louder as the thrusts into him get deeper.  Steak might not be able to see but he can feel it well enough and it’s astonishing, life changing.  He’s being fucked on, hard now, Israel’s cock pressed between them, the slide of it perfect against his belly as Israel is jolted over him, so much that he can do little more now than lick over the nipple, not wishing to damage it.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Israel chants roughly, between indrawn gasps.  “I’m getting close.”

Sir stills and for a moment Steak thinks he is not going to allow Israel to come, but instead he pulls Israel back upright, wrapping an arm around his chest again.

Israel looks gone, his eyes are unfocused, his face is flushed, his hair is a mess and Steak doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look more beautiful.  Beautiful and wrecked, and Steak can’t help a flush of pride that he’s played a part in it.

“Use your hand, pet,” Sir instructs, breathing heavily as he starts to move again.  “Make it good and bring him off.”

There's no lubrication that Steak can reach so he spits on his palm and takes Israel gloriously in hand, enveloping the heated flesh firmly.  From the way it's jutting up it could almost be his own so he does what he likes on his, he squeezes just a little so that when he moves his hand the foreskin slicks up over the head and the ring.  Israel moans and tries to move his hips but Sir has him locked tight in place.

“Yeah, like that,” he grinds out, head falling back onto his husband’s shoulder.  “C’mon.”

That's all the encouragement Sir needs as he starts fucking into Israel harder now, short almost brutal snaps forcing his cock deep every time.   Steak matches it, working Israel's cock as if it was his own in perfect time to Sir. 

The air seems thick with the smell of sex and the heady scent of fresh sweat.  They are all breathing heavy now and over that is the sound of flesh slapping together and Israel's harsh forced out moans and Steak wants to remember this moment forever because he has never been part of anything so intoxicating.

The heat from the two men on his flesh is astounding, the rub of two sets of balls, their thighs around him, is like nothing he's felt before and he wants it again, never wants it to stop.

Israel's voice is suddenly higher, reedy.  “Oh fuck, fuck, that’s it.  Both of you, fucking harder.”

Ever one to obey, Steak tightens his grip and only manages one pump before Israel spasms and comes, shooting into the air, the piercing not stopping the powerful contractions but sending the come in an unexpected direction to splash onto Steak’s shoulder, branding him.  Then Steak feels the tremble in Sir’s thighs, the powerful pulses in his balls, and somehow it’s like Sir is coming in him too, that he is for a short time part of them and not just their plaything.

Gentling his hand, Steak milks the come from Israel until his hand is weakly slapped away.  “Too much,” Israel slurs, his head still back as his breathing slows.

With a breathless chuckle, Sir looks down at him.  “Yeah, forgot to mention that he’s a gusher.  I’ll clean you up once I’ve got my breath back.”

There’s a mumble from Israel that sounds very like, “Fuck off.”

It turns into a disappointed whine as Sir pulls out of him and a moment later, Steak feels warm wetness on his legs but it doesn’t bother him. Just the opposite in fact.  Israel leaking Sir’s come onto him is incredibly fucking hot and he knows he’s going to be wanking over that for quite some time.  

Unsupported now, Steak expects Israel to roll off and go to his husband but instead he just wriggles lower down his body and makes himself comfortable on Steak’s chest, sprawling over him as though he’s nothing more than a well-worn sofa.  “Your arm,” he huffs.

Confused, Steak glances at Sir but he’s ringing out a cloth in the bowl of water on the sideboard.  “My arm?”

“Put it around me, you twat.”

Returning with the damp cloth, Sir tends to Israel and then wipes Steak’s legs.  “Please excuse my husband,” he grins, far too put together after such a spectacular display, “he’s a cuddler.”

“Fucking am not,” Israel replies, the hint of a smile tugging one side of his mouth.

“And yet...”  Sir smirks as Israel sighs happily when Steak’s arm goes gingerly around him.

“You don’t have to do that,” Steak offers when Sir rinses the cloth and returns to wipe his shoulder.  The last thing he expects is for a Captain to wait on him. 

“Yes, I do, you’re busy,” Captain French dismisses, glancing at his husband fondly before returning that clever gaze to him.  “Did you enjoy that?  Was it what you wanted?”

“More than.  It was perfect.”

He’s answered with a wide toothy smile.  “Good to know, babe.”

The last thing Steak expects is to be cleaned up by Captain French but the man seems utterly unconcerned at doing such a menial task.  A hell of a lot of his expectations have gone by the wayside, he realises, battered into submission by these two most unusual men.

Another one falls into the abyss when the Captain flops back down onto the mattress and stretches out on his side, tucking himself inside Steak’s open arm and doing something Steak can only think of as snuggling up to him and using his arm as a pillow.  The absurdity of it is not lost on him, Israel Hands and Captain French are using him as a comfy piece of furniture again and he can’t bring himself to care, especially now he knows the way the two men are together, their relationship seemingly so complex on the surface and yet blindingly simple beneath, because that’s where the love lies.

A couple of years ago when he first met Frenchie at Jackiez, Steak had thought he was handsome but far too soft to be a pirate.  It took a while for him to realise there was a sharp brain beneath that deceptive exterior.  Now he sees an older man, comfortable with his authority but not dependent upon it.  A man seeking neither treasure or greatness, caring only for the treasure that he already has, the one resting on Steak’s chest.

Israel seems to be dozing.  He is warm beneath Steaks arm and breathing deeply and seems untroubled that Steak is touching the welts on his back.  Sir looks completely relaxed and unconcerned that his husband is sprawled over him so Steak takes his courage in hand because there may never be a better moment.

“Captain French, can I ask you something?”

He’s interrupted by Israel snorting although his eyes don’t open.  Not asleep, then.  “Fuck’s sake, Steak, after what we’ve just done, if we’re not playing it’s Izzy and Frenchie.”

Blinking in surprise, he looks to Sir… Frenchie, who smiles agreement.  “Babe, I’ve had my dick down your throat, we can dispense with the formalities now, don’t you think?”

Steak nods although stupidly he feels quite scandalised at the notion, even after everything they’ve done, or maybe even because of it.  There’s a definite hierarchy here and he has no problem being on the bottom.

“Frenchie,” he murmurs, tasting it on his tongue.  “Thank you.”

“No problem, pet,” Frenchie shrugs, then looks a little awkward.  “I probably should stop calling you that now.”

Steak flushes, trying to ignore the pang of disappointment.  “I...”

“He doesn’t want you to stop, love.  He likes it,”  Israel... Izzy cuts in lazily.  Even sprawled on Steak, his eyes are astute and there’s a small smirk on his lips.

Frenchie leans up on his elbow.  “Yeah?”

There's no judgment in his voice but a fair amount of interest and Steak nods, flushing.  He likes being their pet, their good puppy.

With a yawn and a very self-satisfied stretch, Izzy pushes himself upright, settling himself easily across Steak’s hips again as he runs his fingers unselfconsciously through his hair tidying the long stands back into place.  Now Steak is not being distracted by the two of them tormenting him he can fully appreciate the full glory of Izzy’s furry tits and wants to put his mouth back on them and give them the worship they deserve, but he isn’t going to assume he’ll get the chance.

“This okay, dove?” Izzy asks a little smugly, knowing damn well where his eyes had gone.  “You all right down there?”

Steak’s stretched out on a surprisingly comfortable mattress with the two men who have just given him the best time he’s had in years.  He could stay here all week.

“Very,” he replies, then adds, “To both.”

There’s a tap on his chest getting his attention and he looks to Frenchie, seeing mischief in the set of his mouth.

“Put your hand on his thigh.  Can’t have him falling off,” Frenchie tells him innocently.

Izzy snorts but gives a little hum of approval when Steak tentatively slides his hand up warm smooth skin.  He has no idea what Frenchie is up to but he is never going to pass up the opportunity to touch Izzy Hands.

“What did you want to ask, pet?” Frenchie asks, reminding him, but there are two sets of eyes on him now and for a moment he thinks about backing down and making something up.  He knows he'll never get the chance again though so ploughs on ahead.  They can only turn him down.

“I want to go back to the sea.  I’ve been on land too long and I’m tired of it.  I was wondering if you might... have a job for me.  On your ship,” he finishes lamely.  Of course on their fucking ship, he chastises himself.  Where else would it be?

“You were a sailor?” Frenchie asks, surprised.

“Yes sir, then I got too big and ships wouldn’t take me because they said I’d eat too much.”

“And do you?” Izzy asks mildly, running a lazy hand absently over the arm that’s on his thigh.

He shrugs.  “I eat the food of two but I do the work of three so it evens out.”

“Any job?”

“Any.  I might be big but I’m not afraid of hard work.  I can climb rigging, load a cannon fast, shift cargo... fight.  I’m good with my fists and good enough with a sword.  Whatever you need.”

It seems a little weird to be having a conversation like this, naked with his prospective employers wrapped around him but he’s no stranger to weird, and they haven’t said no yet.

They glance at each other, Frenchie raising his eyebrows a fraction and Izzy giving a minute almost imperceptible nod.

Frenchie looks back to him.  “We don’t do as much fighting these days, although it’s good to be prepared.”

Izzy nods thoughtful agreement.  “We're not exactly pirates but we're not exactly not pirates.  That bother you?”

“No sir, not in the slightest, either way.”

He’d always sailed with merchant vessels but he has no objection to being not exactly a pirate.

Frenchie rubs his beard and then nods decisively.  “We leave in three days, can you get everything wrapped up by then?”

“You’ll have me?” he asks, not quite believing it.

“Just said so, didn’t we?” Izzy retorts, although they actually didn’t.

Steak can’t help his delighted grin.  “Thank you, both of you.  You won’t regret it,” he promises.

“See that we don’t.”  Izzy sounds stern but that’s offset by the fact that he’s naked and hot where he presses into Steak’s flesh.  It doesn’t carry quite the same authority as the black leather and silk.

“You’ll get a decent wage and an extra cut if we bring in a good scam.”

He’s still getting his head around actually going back to sea.  The notion of a wage as well is much more than he expects.  No wonder the crew of the New Unicorn are so loyal to their Captain and First Mate.

He stammers his thanks as Frenchie sits up and settles cross legged beside him, giving him a look he can’t interpret.  “One other thing.  We're very relaxed on the New Unicorn and there’s a lot of bed sharing, so if someone says no, they mean no and…”

“Captain, I would never!” Steak interrupts, tensing, surprisingly hurt that they would think that of him.  Just because he’s big, people always assume but he's disappointed that these two do.

Izzy pats his belly, placating.  “You didn’t let him finish.  He was meaning you, dove.  You can say no.  You don’t want anything, you say no and no one will press you.”

Frenchie looks chastened for a moment, before a grin lights up his face.  “Of course I meant you.  You’re almost as slutty a bottom as he is.”

“Rude,” Izzy retorts.

“We are for the most part a ship of sluts,” Frenchie continues, ignoring him.

“Apart from him,” Izzy comments, looking at his husband, amused.

“You know very well that you’re all I want,” Frenchie replies primly.

“But you like watching,” Izzy teases.

“I like watching you.”

Then they have another of those silent invisible conversations, Izzy with nothing more than a cocked eyebrow and Frenchie a crooked smile.  After a moment, the Captain nods and Izzy turns back to him.  “If you want to play with us again, dove, we'll be willing but it's not conditional.  You'll be free to do whatever you want.”

Steak freezes.  Despite Izzy’s next time, he really hadn’t expected this to happen again.  He was prepared to make the most of it and walk away and now they’re offering… what?  Play?  To be their toy again?  Christ, every day if they wanted.  He’d happily sleep on the floor at the bottom of their bed and await their pleasure.   “Yes,” he blurts out, then groans at sounding so desperate.  “Yes, please,” he adds, more slowly as Frenchie chuckles. 

“Now we’ve just got to think of where to put you,” Izzy muses, clearly unsurprised by his agreement to their offer.

“What about the ballroom?” Frenchie suggests, hand absently running over the tight fitting sock on Izzy’s damaged thigh.

“You have a ballroom?” Steak exclaims, confused.  It's not the biggest ship, surely they don't have room for one of those?

Izzy snorts.  “Don’t get excited, it's not as good as it sounds.  It's the room we keep the munitions in but it’s bigger than it needs to be.”  He looks back at Frenchie.  “We could empty my old cabin and put them in there. It’s smaller and nearer the deck which is better for us, which would free up the ballroom for him.”

Frenchie nods.  “That would work.  The alterations are going well so I’m sure the carpenters could knock up a bed.”  He looks down.  “A big bed.”

“I can sleep on the floor,” Steak interrupts, very used to beds not being big or strong enough for him.  “You don’t need to go to any trouble.”

“Rule of the ship,” he’s told firmly.  “Everyone gets a bed.  We spent too long sleeping on deck because there was only one cabin for crew to sleep in.  Now we have rooms and everyone gets a bed of their own or one to share and some privacy, although we still sleep on deck sometimes, for fun.”

The look on Frenchie’s face takes on a slightly furtive quality and suddenly Steak can't help but wonder about the nature of that fun, although from what he's gleaned so far, he suspects it has quite a lot to do with Izzy.

“John and Pete could empty it in no time.”

“John's hurt his back, love,” Izzy points out.  “Roach said that he has to rest for a few days.”

“Not a problem.  We’ll pay a couple of lads from the port to do it.  John can supervise, they won’t mess him about.”

“What about the stuff in my old cabin?”

“It can go in the hold, it won’t take long to clear it out.”

His two new employers are talking like he isn’t there while one of them is sitting on him and the other’s bony knees are pressed into his side.  It’s a little bizarre and surprisingly charming. 

“That’s settled, then,” Izzy announces decisively.  “You can join us earlier or be ready to sail in three days’ time.”

There’s an air of finality about it so Steak starts to push himself up, only to be pushed back down again.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I should go,” he says hesitantly, unsure against the sudden gleam in Izzy’s eyes.  “Let you have some time together.”

“Oh, we’re not done yet, dove.”  Izzy’s voice is a low purr and it sends a shiver down his spine.  “Are you done yet?” he asks his husband in the same tone, as though the previous business-like conversation had never happened.

Lazily, Frenchie stretches, his eyes a dark glitter and there’s something almost feral in them as he grins, displaying his sharp white teeth.  “Not even close.”

Steak watches, heart suddenly pounding, as Izzy pulls his husband in and kisses him hard, feasting on his mouth, all teeth and tongue and adoration. 

That's enough to bypass his recharge time and Steak feels himself filling out, swelling and pressing against Izzy, who pushes back into it and fucking grinds against him.

He hears a low desperate sound and realises that he's making it.

Flushed, his bottom lip swollen and lush from his husband’s teeth, Frenchie looks like a debauched angel.  Perfect, with his hungry eyes and golden honey skin.  The sight makes Steak want to taste him all over to see if he’s as sweet as he looks.  Maybe all he has to do is ask.

Steak doesn't know whether he's Sir or Captain French or Frenchie right now, but he wants him, wants to be used by him no less than he wants Israel.

And then Izzy is over him, arms boxing in his head and there’s gleam of anticipation in his eyes.  Hair falling forward he looks wild and wonderful and every inch the pirate he is.

“And what about you, dove?” he purrs, in that menacing rasp.  “Do you want us to be done?”

Steak wonders if it’s all right to say that he might be, in a couple of years or so.  Instead, he swallows and licks his lips.  “No, sir.  I really don’t.” 

Even though he can’t imagine what they might think of for round two after everything they’ve done so far, Israel it seems has other ideas because he grins tightly, not breaking eye contact, and pushes back.  The head of Steak’s cock slips into something hot and pulsing and tight, and even though Izzy’s stretched from Frenchie fucking him, Steak knows it’s going to hurt.

But maybe that's what Izzy likes because there’s a wild gleam in his eyes that could be pain or joy or maybe both, as he presses slowly back and perhaps with Izzy they are the same thing, as he grins that dangerous grin that's full of teeth and promise.

Steak feels something cool and slick being drizzled over his cock and then slender fingers are spreading it up and around Izzy’s rim where they are joined.  Grunting his thanks, Izzy closes the gap and kisses him, plundering him as he did his husband and Steak has the fanciful thought that he’s kissing Frenchie at the same time, tasting him through Izzy.

With a groan, Izzy bottoms out and drops his head onto Steak’s shoulder for a moment as he adjusts.  “Fuck, yeah.”

Between them Steak can feel Izzy’s cock filling, the ring hard against his belly and he can’t help his own hips from stuttering, despite how hard he’s trying to keep still.

With a sigh, Izzy rocks experimentally and gives a low rumble of appreciation, before growling in Steak’s ear, “You’d better be ready to last a good long time because I'm going to ride this fucking monster until my leg gives out and when it does, you’re going bend me over and finish the job.  Then we’re going to lie my husband down and thank him for getting me such a good present, yes?”

For a moment, Steak imagines Frenchie laid out like a feast for the two of them, but then Izzy does more than rock and sparks go off in his head.  He gasps and takes hold of his First Mates hips as he starts to move. 

“Very fucking yes.”