Chapter Text
Izzy notices 3 things immediately upon waking up:
First: this is not his bed (far too soft, and are these silk sheets?!)
Second: he has the mother of all headaches
And third, and most alarmingly: there is a very tall, very warm, and very naked body wrapped around his own.
What the fuck is happening? And who the fuck is behind him holding on to him like he’s…well, like he’s something to hold onto? He can’t see the man’s face where it’s buried in the curve of his neck, and he’s still too stunned (and possibly concussed?) to move right now.
He rakes over yesterdays events in his head, hoping it’ll clue him in as to where he is and how the fuck he ended up here. They were at the Republic of Pirates, and then that ponce Ricky blew everything up, and then.. and then he was on the Revenge and.. and..
“Edward?” He tries, barely a whisper, as if even speaking his name aloud would cause the warmth surrounding him to evaporate and plunge him back into a cold, empty reality.
But nothing happens.
He risks a glance down to the arm slung over his waist and.. oh my god..
His whole body goes still. This isn’t Edward. He barely registers the twinge of disappointment that comes along with that realization because he’s too busy with the utter shock of this one. He knows these hands, has watched them dance over countless pages.
Izzy’s internal panic is interrupted by the most piercing and obnoxious ringing sound he’s ever heard. Lucius finally stirs behind him, stretching lazily with a groan.
“Can you get the alarm, babe? My head is killing me.”
What. The. Fuck.
“Izzy the alaaarm” Lucius whines.
But he’s frozen in place. How the fuck is he supposed to stop it?? Lucius grows impatient and rolls on top of him, reaching across to the small table near his head and tapping on a small black object with his finger. Finally, that incessant blaring is silenced, and Lucius relaxes above him, his head dropping to rest on his chest.
“Gotta do everything myself around here.” He mumbles quietly, nuzzling impossibly closer.
He’s dreaming. Or he’s going insane. Or…what if he’s… The absurdity of this whole thing hits him all at once and he practically leaps out of the bed, shoving Lucius to the side.
“Heyy, what the hell Iz.”
“No, what the hell to you? Where am I? Why are you..why are we..what was that thing..what’s fucking happening right now?!”
“Woah slow down, babe, are you okay? Come here.” He’s sat up now, patting the space beside him, but Izzy ignores him, pacing the length of the bed.
“See? That. That right there, we don’t do this.” He gestures between them wildly.
And then he remembers.
“This isn’t real,” He laughs hysterically, hands gripping his hair, “none of this is real!” He can feel hot tears streaming down his cheeks, but he can’t stop fucking laughing.
“Izzy you’re scaring me,” Lucius stands and cups Izzy’s face in his hands, “hey, look at me.”
His thumb gently stroking Izzy’s jaw, he tips his chin up to lock their eyes, “this is real,” he grabs Izzy’s hand and brings it to his own face, “I’m real.”
Izzy collapses against him. He feels real. Solid. But none of this makes any fucking sense.
…
Okay, so Lucius is real. This is actually happening. Fuck.
“Where am I?”
His own voice sounds small and far away. He leans back to look at Lucius’ face and wishes he hadn’t. He doesn’t need his fucking pity. Like he’s some helpless broken little thing. He knows how he must look. Hell, he’s half expecting Lucius to call him mad and tell him to get the fuck out. It’s what he would do. But instead, the boy guides them back to the bed, brings Izzy’s hand to his chest, and says, “You’re safe. You’re home. In your flat, in your bedroom, with your boyfriend-that’s me by the way, in case you forgot, which, it seems like you might have?”
Izzy can’t bring himself to speak. His eyes are still fixed on their hands where Lucius has them pressed against his own heart. Boyfriend? Home? He’s never had either of those things, never could in his line of work. Not with Edward…
Lucius’ voice drags him back to the moment, “Hey, it’s okay, we’ll figure this out. I know you’re confused right now, god knows I am too. Just tell me what you remember.”
Right. He can do this. “I- I was shot. Made it back to The Revenge. Last thing I remember is Ed crying, then it all went black. And I woke up here.”
“The Revenge? As in..the pirate ship?”
“I’d hardly call you lot pirates,” he scoffs.
“Izzy, look at me. What year is it?”
Izzy rolls his eyes, frustrated, “What kind of question is that? It’s 1717 twatty, isn’t it your job to know the fuckin date?”
Lucius is silent for an unbearable few moments, brow furrowed, that fucking sympathetic glint back in his eyes. “It’s 2017, Iz.” He starts, carefully. “You weren’t shot. We aren’t pirates. I’ve never even been on a boat.”
“What? 20- No, that’s- that’s not possible.” Izzy looks down at himself for the first time. Sure enough, there’s no bullet wound. Not even a scar. And…holy shit.
“My leg,” he breathes in disbelief. He was so caught up in the insanity of this whole thing that he didn’t even notice. He lifts it up, stretching his knee out straight and wiggling all five toes. “I don’t- but how?” He asks, mostly to himself, as he runs his hands across the length of his calf.
“Gonna need some more context for that one babe.”
“My leg, it- it was gone. You really don’t remember?” He looks up at Lucius, his eyes silently begging him for any sign of understanding, anything to show he isn’t alone in this.
“Sorry love, pretty sure I would’ve noticed if you were missing an entire leg,” he says instead, the cheeky bastard.
Izzy rubs his hands over his face, letting out a long, exasperated sigh. So he’s on own. And by some fucking cosmic twist of fate he’s ended up 300 years in the fucking future with a new body and, for some godforsaken reason, a new Lucius too.
He glances down to his leg again. Still there. And still completely bare. Hes suddenly overwhelmed by the vulnerability of his current state. Fuckin naked as the day he was born, in bed, with Lucius fuckin Spriggs. Who would’ve guessed?
“Where are my clothes?” He asks. The twat actually pouts at this, like Izzy just kicked his damn dog, not asked for a fuckin shirt.
“But why do you need clothes when you look this good without themm,” he whines, looking up at him through his long lashes with a playful sincerity that makes Izzy’s skin prickle and a heat creep up his neck.
“Fuck off Spriggs,” he says, shifting uncomfortably.
Lucius rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically, “ugh fineee,” he points to a small dresser across the room, underneath some sort of large black painting made from a material Izzy’s never seen before. Must be another one of those ‘300 years in the future’ things. “Shirts are in the top drawer, pants in the second. Since you insist.”
Izzy crosses the length of the bedroom, pulling open the first drawer. It’s filled to the top with soft shirts of all different colors and styles. These are all his? He asks Lucius as much, to which the boy laughs and tells him it’s nothing compared to his own collection. Izzy grabs a plain black one and pulls it over his head, then opens the next drawer, equally full, and takes a pair of what he assumes are pants, turning to hold them up to Lucius.
“The fuck are these?”
“Jeans,” he answers, giggling fondly.
“Rather wear my fuckin leathers,” Izzy grumbles, mostly to himself, as he steps into the strange pants. It’s then that he notices the pictures sitting on the dresser. He and Lucius, arms wrapped around each other, Lucius pressing a kiss to his cheek. One that’s just him, about 30 years younger, in some kind of black robe, with a frankly ridiculous hat, holding up a piece of paper, and smiling. Another of the two of them at the beach, kissing properly this time.
“Did you draw these?” They look far too real to be sketches, but he knows Lucius is rather skilled.
“What? No, those are photos. I wish I could draw like that.” He laughs.
“Photos?” Izzy turns the word over in his head, coming back with nothing. Some kind of fancy painting he guesses.
“Yeah, like pictures? Photographs? Like with a camera?” Izzy stares back at him blankly, confusion plain, “right, Mr. 1717, I’ll explain it all in a bit, but first, I need coffee or I’m actually going to die.”