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“…Why’re you still here?” Lucius stills, a small furrow forming in-between his brows. He’s still holding onto Izzy’s injured wrist—the skin chaffed skin is hot beneath his fingers, and smells sweetly of the chamomile salve that’s resting on the nightstand just a few inches away—but he’s no longer massaging Izzy’s skin, and Izzy finds he misses the sensation.
“What do you mean?” He asks. He wishes that Izzy were looking at him, but understands that, even in this headspace, it’s easier for him to talk about topics that have the potential to be… incredibly emotionally taxing… if he doesn’t have to make and maintain eye contact. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”
“Bullshit.” Izzy snorts, “You got what you wanted. You don’t have to stick around to…” Izzy turns his head—just a little—to look at where Lucius is holding onto his hand. “What the fuck are you doing, anyway?”
Lucius motions to the groove that the ropes had worn into Izzy’s skin—specifically, to those places where the skin has started to chafe and flake. “You know… chamomile has a number of healing properties.” Izzy’s eyes narrow a little, “When added to a lotion or salve, it works wonders for lessening skin irritation.”
“…Tell me that you stole that shit from Bonnet, and I’ll take that tin and shove it so far up your ass you’ll taste it in your throat.”
Lucius just rolls his eyes, far from intimidated but willing to play along… to an extent. “I didn’t steal it from anyone, least of all Stede.” He says, “I have a small stash of it that I keep as part of my aftercare kit.”
Izzy blinks, “…After what?”
“Aftercare.” Lucius repeats, “…Where you tend to your partner after a scene?” Even if he cannot see the vast majority of Izzy’s face, he can feel the older man’s confusion… and it makes something ache inside of him. Had he..? Could it be that Izzy had never had a partner who’d taken the time to perform aftercare before?
The more he thinks about it (and the longer Izzy continues to stare at him, face coolly blank, eyes narrowed in confusion), the more likely it seems… and the more upset he feels on Izzy’s behalf. For once, he finds himself at a complete loss for words. Well, no… that’s not exactly true. There’re a lot of things that Lucius could say right now… but none of them are what Izzy wants—or needs—to hear, and so he bites his tongue. Instead, he focuses his attention back on Izzy’s chaffed wrist. The irritation really isn’t all that bad, but it’s right where his shirt cuff sits, and Lucius knows that, without proper care, even the slight pressure from the weight of the fabric will be too much for him. The discomfort will make him irritable, and an extra-irritable Izzy isn’t anyone’s idea of a good time. And so he resumes his gentle massage, humming softly underneath his breath—
The gentle pressure against his skin soothes Izzy back into a light doze… Lucius’ thumbs press into his skin, framing his pulse-point, and work their way out in tiny little circles. When he’s certain that the salve has been evenly applied to every inch of affected skin, he wraps his wrist loosely in gauze and moves on to the next. Tending to this wrist requires that Izzy roll over, which takes a bit of cajoling on Lucius’ part… When he finally coaxes Izzy over onto his back, he’s not surprised to find Izzy’s eyes are red and swollen, the ghosts of tear tracts on his cheeks.
It's impossible for Izzy to hide in this position. Lucius tries not to call attention to the tears that’re still streaking down his cheeks—he thinks that these might be… cathartic tears, the result of experiencing a tender touch after a rough scene for the first time in… likely ever, and if that is the case, then they need to be shed. Scooping up a bit more of the chamomile salve, he gently works it into Izzy’s skin… and then wraps it in gauze, pressing a kiss to Izzy’s pulse point for good measure. Izzy makes a small, broken sound in the back of his throat, and Lucius kisses him again… and again… and again…
Izzy isn’t used to being treated gently, which is a damned shame, because while it’s nice to take him apart, to break him into hundreds of tiny little pieces… it’s just as nice to slowly and carefully piece him back together, to watch the dozens of emotions flicker across his face as he presses kisses to his sweat-slick skin and gently cradles him in his arms.
Izzy shakes like a feral kitten that’s just been spooked, but he doesn’t pull away… and Lucius gets a little bolder.
Just a little, because he’s still a little worried that Izzy is going to shank him with some invisible shiv—
“How do your arms feel?” He asks. Izzy hums, and Lucius continues, “Legs?” Another hum. “Your back?” He’s already checked Izzy’s back to make sure that none of the welts were bleeding, but—
“I’m fine.” Izzy says. “You don’t have to…”
The corner of Lucius’ mouth twitches, “Izzy… I think we’ve established that, no matter how hard you try, you can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do.” Izzy offers a vaguely irritated grunt in response, but doesn’t say anything more. “If it makes you feel better, this is just as much for me as it is for you. It makes me feel good, to know I’m taking care of you.”
Izzy looks like he’s struggling with something… and then, “…My neck is kind of sore.”
“Is it?” Izzy inclines his head in what Lucius thinks is meant to be a nod, and Lucius takes that as his cue to shift them around so that he’s sitting behind Izzy on the cot, Izzy’s body resting comfortably between his legs. The change in position causes Izzy to blush, a deep red color rising from the base of his neck to settle in his cheeks—
“This… T-This is…” He expects Izzy to freak out, to try and climb off of the cot to put as much distance between them as he can. Instead, he just kind of… sits there, stock still, and waits, like he, too, is expecting Lucius to stab him—
Lucius touches him—softly, at first, like one might touch fine porcelain… and then, at Izzy’s dramatic huff, with a bit more intent. He aligns his thumbs with the length of Izzy’s vertebrae and presses down hard enough to make Izzy moan, then slides them down and out and… “Feel good?” He asks, after a terrific crack has Izzy melting against him, absolute putty in his hands.
He hears something that sounds suspiciously like a sniffle, “It doesn’t suck.”
A snort, “William Shakespeare you are not.” Silence… Lucius dares to press a kiss to one of the tattoos on the side of Izzy’s neck, “But that’s okay… I doubt he could make the word ‘fuck’ sound quite so poetic.”
“Oh, fuck off.” Izzy says, without an ounce of heat behind his words.
Lucius pretends to think about it for a moment, before shaking his head, “Nah… I think I’ll just keep holding you instead.”
Though Lucius would never admit it aloud, Izzy is actually kind of perfect for cuddling—he’s just the right size to be the perfect little spoon, with just enough meat on his bones that Lucius’ body isn’t being poked or prodded in any particularly tender places. He’s warm, too—in a comforting sort of way, like the warmth of a fire on your skin after a long day spent playing in the snow. (With all of that anger he keeps bottled up inside, it’s really no wonder that he runs hot). Lucius finds himself burrowing closer, unconsciously seeking more of Izzy’s warmth… Izzy leans into him in turn, his dark eyes heavy with a mixture of exhaustion and pleasure as Lucius’ hands continue to work the tension out of his neck. After a few moments, he branches out to begin massaging Izzy’s shoulders and upper back, as well—
Not surprisingly, the man is layers upon layers of knots… and it’s near impossible to apply the requisite pressure to release those knots in this position. Lucius’ hands are fairly strong, true, but he sincerely doubts that Izzy has relaxed a day in his life—he would have a much easier time loosening and releasing the knots if Izzy were lying flat on his stomach, but the idea of moving Izzy right now is just... no. Right now, the cuddling—and the skin-to-skin contact—is doing wonders for the both of them. He thinks that Izzy might slowly—but surely—be coming around to the idea that he has no intention of leaving him to deal with this on his own… that he’s worthy of Lucius’ (and whomever else he chooses to share his bed with) care and affection… that sex can be about so much more than pain…
He can have both—the pleasure, the pain… the comfort, the soft reassurances…
…Just when he thinks that Izzy’s relaxed enough to fall asleep, the man tenses once again. Lucius frowns, unsure if he’d done something wrong… and that’s when he sees it. Izzy’s cock is full and leaking, pearls of tacky white pre dotting his scarred and tatted skin. Izzy squirms, like he can somehow hide the evidence of his erection from Lucius’ wandering eyes… like the fact that his getting hard in the first place is something to be ashamed of… and that simply won’t do. Lucius shifts, reaching down to take Izzy’s cock in hand. He pauses, a hair’s breadth away from Izzy’s swollen flesh, and asks—
“Do you want me to?” He asks, because this is all very new—both this thing between them and whatever it is that Izzy’s experiencing—and he doesn’t want to overstep. Izzy has some… incredibly concerning ideas about bodily autonomy, and he wants to make it clear that here, in this space, he always has the power to say ‘no’—and Lucius will always listen.
“I…” He inhales shakily… And Lucius doesn’t press, because it’s a lot, he knows it is, and Izzy needs time to work through it all—to process. It’s hard to accept something good when everything you’ve ever known has been absolute shit. “Y-Yes.”
The word is little more than a whisper of sound, a hint of acquiescence to Lucius’ request… but it’s enough. (Maybe some other time, in the distant, distant future, Lucius will tease him… try to get him to be louder, to be more confident in asking for what he wants, but right now? Right now, this is more than enough). His fingers ghost over Izzy’s skin, at first little more than the promise of more to come… and then he takes him in hand and gives him a few tentative strokes. Nothing earthshattering… and certainly nothing as intense as what they’d engaged in just a short while before… but it’s not long before he has Izzy panting, the smaller man’s head dropping back to rest on his shoulder as he sweeps the pad of his thumb over Izzy’s weeping slit, gathering pears of pre and using them to slick his length—
His pace is slow, steady… He cannot help but smile as Izzy’s hips start to roll, easily matching his rhythm. Short, blunt nails dig into his skin as Izzy grabs onto the nearest bit of flesh he can reach and squeezes just hard enough to be painful. Lucius finds that he doesn’t care if he ends up walking with a very visible limp tomorrow… the sounds that’re falling from Izzy’s soft lips are nothing short of divine, and Lucius, suddenly greedy, wants more. If they were in a better position, he’d slick his fingers with some of the salve and see if he could find that tender place inside of Izzy that had the smaller man seeing stars—
As it stands, he quite likes their current position, because each roll of Izzy’s hips has him pressing back into Lucius’ cock. He’s not hard, and he doesn’t think he’ll get hard again, despite Izzy’s ministrations, but the pressure is nice. This position also allows him to turn Izzy’s head just enough to—
Izzy makes a shocked—yet distinctly pleased—sound when Lucius gently presses his lips against his own.
A second later, he spills. It’s by no means a devastating orgasm, but it seems to be exactly the thing he needs to finally relax against Lucius, the last bits of tension bleeding from his body. Lucius kisses him again, a hair softer this time, before shifting ever so slightly to clean off his hand. “There… Feel better now, love?”
Izzy doesn’t answer. It takes Lucius a moment to realize that that’s because he’s curled up against his chest and fallen asleep.
~*~*~*~
The crew of the Revenge is deeply unsettled. Today… is a most unusual day. Not only had Izzy allowed them to sleep in, but he’d actually praised them on the amount of work they’d gotten done that afternoon. On the rare occasion he stumbled across something that wasn’t quite up to snuff, he calmly walked through how it was meant to be done… and even, on occasion, demonstrated how to do so himself. Half the crew was convinced that he’d fallen victim to one of Mr. Buttons’ hexes. The other half was certain that he’d been cursed by a sea witch. Ed double and triple checked with Roach that the chef hadn’t added anything extra to Izzy’s food that morning and just barely managed to talk the crew out of tossing him overboard, just in case he really had been cursed somehow. Lucius was the only one who appeared to be utterly unperturbed by it all.
It's after Izzy offers to teach Stede how to tie a proper knot (to properly secure the books in his library) that Fang and Ivan finally pull Lucius aside and demand to know, “What the hell did you do to him?”
“It’s like he’s… broken.” Lucius would beg to differ—he would posit that Izzy isn’t broken, rather, he’s just beginning to heal from an injury he never knew that he had.
Lucius just shrugs, returning his attention to his sketchbook—he’s never been more interested in sketching Izzy, and now seems like the perfect time, considering that this is the first time since Blackbeard had boarded their little ship that Izzy doesn’t seem to care that he’s not doing his chores. “You should know better than that, boys… I don’t kiss and tell.”