Chapter Text
Izzy yawns and takes a gulp of his still-too-hot coffee, turning off his truck and stepping out into the cold morning. He takes his time walking into the restaurant, savouring the moments before he has to see whatever bullshit messages the close team left for him and his team.
He unlocks the kitchen door and goes inside, to see a fuming Jim, Oluwande trying to calm them down.
“Deep breaths, yeah?” Olu says, holding Jim by the shoulders.
“What is it today?” Izzy asks with a heavy sigh, taking his coat off and hanging it on the tree by the door.
Jim spits something furious in Spanish that Izzy doesn’t quite catch.
“They’re on your desk,” Olu says. “Go, I’ve got Jim.”
Izzy sighs again, briefly clasps Jim’s shoulder, and heads into the office to deal with whatever bullshit Lucius has left for him today.
There are a series of post-it notes on Izzy’s desk, all in Lucius’ beautiful script, with scrawls from Jim indicating where in the kitchen they were left.
Bain-Marie. Hi open team! Could you please make sure you’re washing this out occasionally? It’s looking pretty neglected! Cheers!
Stockroom. Morning openers! Izzy, could you please make sure when you’re ordering that you order enough stock? I’m out of napkins and Swede says he’s very nearly out of tomatoes.
“Order’s arriving today, you twat,” Izzy mutters under his breath, checking his watch. The order should be here any minute, and he has half a mind to call and ask for them to add extra napkins just to piss Lucius off. He goes back to the notes.
Dishwasher. Iz, this thing is really fucking broken, you NEED to get someone in to fix it. Thanks love!
“Don’t fucking call me Iz,” Izzy growls, grudgingly adding “call Jack” to his to do list.
“Another one!” Jim snaps, appearing in Izzy’s door with another post-it. “I swear to god, papito, if he keeps this up…”
Izzy takes the note from Jim. “I know,” Izzy agrees darkly. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Maybe have Stede do it,” Jim suggests. “There’s a 0.01% chance he’ll listen to Stede. There’s a 0.0000% chance he’ll listen to you.”
“Thank you for the thousandths addition there,” Izzy mutters. “I’ll see. Maybe Ed.”
“Is Ed coming in today?” Jim asks, surprised.
“Probably not,” Izzy admits. They haven’t seen Ed in a week or more.
“Yeah so. Stede then. Please.”
Izzy doesn’t say anything as Jim turns and walks away, but he needs to figure this out because he knows Stede doesn’t care.
“Well, how else is he supposed to communicate these things to you?” Stede had asked last time Izzy brought this up to him. “He’s being very polite, Izzy, I don’t know what more you want from me.”
Izzy had been fuming too much to point out that none of the other team members felt the need to leave passive aggressive fucking notes everywhere for their coworkers. He had been tempted to tell Stede that Jim would quit if Lucius didn’t stop, but Stede had already walked away.
By the time Izzy gets through Lucius’ never ending notes and gets out to the kitchen proper, the order has arrived and Olu and Roach are putting it away while Jim furiously chops vegetables at the prep station. Frenchie sits beside Jim, peeling carrots and carving little faces into them.
“I understand your need to chop Lucius to tiny pieces,” Izzy says to Jim, “but this is not the best use of Frenchie’s time.”
Jim glares at him before muttering, “fine!” and taking the knife from Frenchie.
“Very realistic,” Izzy says to Frenchie, holding up a carrot with a face and beard.
“Aw cheers, mate,” Frenchie says, blushing.
The rest of morning prep goes smoothly, as it always does. It’s not until the afternoon crew arrive that the kitchen at Blackbeard’s Bar and Grill starts to go sideways. By then the openers have already been on shift for nearly 8 hours, they’re tired and sniping and Lucius always waltzes in two minutes late with that fucking straw in his mouth, utterly unable to read the room.
Today is no different and Izzy is about to go to Stede when Lucius gets there at 2:35, swanning in the back door and smiling and waving at everyone, asking how their shift’s been. He receives silent glares in response.
“Spriggs,” Izzy snaps. “Office. Now.”
Lucius puts the straw from his cup back in his mouth and takes a long sip, holding Izzy’s gaze, before shrugging and preceding Izzy into the office. Izzy follows and shuts the door behind him.
“These,” Izzy spits, picking up the post-its and shaking them in Lucius’ face, “Have got to stop. You’re fucking up the flow in my kitchen. I’ll not have it, do you understand?”
“Yes, Chef,” Lucius says, cheekily.
“Right,” Izzy says, throwing the post-its on the floor and crowding Lucius against the back wall. “You listen here, you little twat. If I fucking lose my morning crew because of your passive aggressive bullshit, I’ll be writing you up for literally every thing I can think of until Ed lets me fire you, do you understand?”
Izzy is spitting mad, and it takes him half a second to realize that Lucius is watching his mouth, his own jaw slack, and that, as close as Izzy is standing, he can feel Lucius’ cock, hard against his stomach. Izzy smirks, and Lucius inhales sharply, his eyes blown out and slightly glazed.
“Oh I see,” he murmurs softly, leaning in slightly so he’s a hair’s breadth from kissing the brat. “Little bratty, are we? You like getting in trouble?”
“No, Chef,” Lucius says softly, his cup falling out of his slack hand onto the floor.
Izzy backs up and Lucius whines, until Izzy puts his hand on the side of Lucius’ face, and he nuzzles against it. “Poor boy,” Izzy murmurs. “Just been trying to get my attention for months, haven’t you?”
“Yes, Chef,” Lucius says breathlessly.
“I’m sorry, lad, you should’ve said.”
“Didn’t know how,” Lucius says, pouting.
“No more notes, do you understand?” Izzy says sternly, sliding his hand around to grip Lucius’ hair tightly. Lucius gasps and nods. “Say “Yes, Chef”, so I know you heard me.”
“Yes, Chef,” Lucius says, gazing at Izzy as though he hung the moon.
“Good lad,” Izzy murmurs, and Lucius whines again. “Now. If you’re very good, I’ll take you out for dinner on our next day off and maybe let you come back to mine after. But only if there are no more notes. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Chef,” Lucius says, awe in his voice.
“Good. Now. Out you go, go do your job.”
“Chef, I…” Lucius glances down at his cock, straining against his pants.
Izzy has a half-second thought to make Lucius walk into the kitchen like that, let the whole kitchen know how hard he is, just from being yelled at. But he doesn’t know Lucius’ limits around that, so he takes pity on the boy.
“You have five minutes,” Izzy growls, knowing his tone will make it difficult for Lucius to obey and not even caring. Maybe he could find someone to take pity on him and bring him some ice. “And I want no complaints about you from the rest of the staff today, got it?”
“Yes, Chef.”
Izzy leaves the office, smirking. Jim looks at him expectantly.
“I think he got the message,” Izzy says firmly, and can’t keep the grin off his face as Jim turns away. What a way to solve his Lucius-shaped problem. Oh, this is going to be fun, he thinks, and makes his way to front of house to start helping with post-lunch cleanup.