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Izzy awoke to a sudden splash of cold water in his face, and he only opened his eyes for a brief moment before he discovered it was salt water by the way it stung.
“Rise’n’shine, Iz,” Blackbeard said in a deep voice that seemed to reverberate in the small space and assault him from all angles.
His whole body ached from sleeping on the bare floor, but he braced his hands on the wall as he hoisted himself to his feet. He blinked through the pain and the tears, tried not to imagine how red and swollen his eyes looked.
“Yes, Captain.” He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. “Good morning, Captain.”
Blackbeard stood in the doorway with the light pouring in behind him, his face darkened by shadows. “Y’ready to explain yerself?”
Izzy held his head steady and his shoulders back, chin jutted in the slightest defiance. “There was a problem with the locals. I took care of it.”
“Not like that,” Blackbeard growled and stepped closer to crowd him against the wall. “We don’t kill civilians.”
“And I don’t let fucking civilians talk about the fucking Captain Blackbeard like he’s a fucking joke,” Izzy spat back.
A hand shot out to grab his throat, squeezing with enough pressure to hurt. Fire and lightning shot through his limbs as he struggled to catch his breath.
Blackbeard’s face was an inch from his own, and in what little air Izzy could suck in, he could taste the tobacco smoke.
“A joke?” Blackbeard moved his thumb to press the nail against the underside of Izzy’s chin. “The only time a joke is taken seriously is when it’s true. If y’took it seriously, then that means y’think it’s true.”
“No,” Izzy managed to wheeze. “But it was… disrespect.”
With a snort, Blackbeard let go of him, and just stared while Izzy gasped and coughed.
He put a gloved hand to his own throat, feeling the place where fingers had gripped him, trembling a bit as it continued to hurt.
“Sometimes, I think you do this to piss me off.” Blackbeard touched him again, softer this time, just one finger on his chin to tilt his head back. “If y’want me t’discipline you, y’could just ask nicely.”
Izzy didn’t waver. He didn’t let a single feeling through, none of the excitement or the desire or anticipation. He kept his face the perfect mask that he wore to hide the depraved man that lay beneath.
Blackbeard’s eyes searched his own, half-lidded as he seemed to consider the lack of a reaction he was given.
“I can’t have m’first mate actin’ out.” He drew his fingertips down Izzy’s neck and put them against his racing pulse. “What’ll it take to get you t’step correct?”
The fingers hooked into the collar of his shirt and yanked him forward, and before he could react, Blackbeard’s teeth were on his neck and he could feel his whole body react to the pain.
“I’m sorry, Captain,” he said while his knees buckled. “But it was—necessary.”
He felt Blackbeard’s growl more than heard it. He felt the blood pool beneath his skin and knew the bruises left behind would show the marks of each individual tooth. He felt the air heat between them as the twisted game began, a game of push and pull, of take and taken.
One day, it was going to go too far, and he couldn’t fucking wait to find out what it felt like to be as broken outside as he was inside.
Blackbeard let go and spun him around to shove him into the wall, arms pinned behind his back and legs knocked apart by a boot. He was trapped between the solid wall and the firm grasp on his wrists.
“Why don’t y’try that again?” Blackbeard hissed in his ear, breath hot against the sensitive skin. “It was a good start.”
Izzy stared at the wall his nose was pressed against. “I’m sorry, Captain.”
The hiss fell into a purr. “Good.”
“But—”
Fingernails dug into his wrists, pulling them up, threatening to dislocate his shoulder from the force. “There’s no fuckin’ but.”
Izzy wanted him to do it. Rip his arm out of the socket. Wound him in a way he’d never recover from. Permanently ruined by this beast of a man.
“If I didn’t put them in their place, you sure as fuck wouldn’t,” Izzy said, biting his lip while his pleasure couldn’t be seen.
“Y’think I can’t put someone in their place?”
There was a sound of leather moving against leather, a sliding hiss, and then he felt the man bind his hands together with a belt. It was pulled tight enough that it felt like he might lose them to the lack of circulation.
Wouldn’t that be deliciously ironic? Izzy Hands, the man with no hands. Blackbeard could have them. He could keep them or toss them overboard or do whatever he wanted with them.
All of him belonged to Blackbeard. None of him was his own.
“Remind me again, Iz. What’s your place?”
“At your service.” He closed his eyes and said with full reverence, “I live to serve my captain.”
“And yet y’fuckin’ go out of yer way to provoke me.” Arms reached around him as if to embrace him, but hands roughly pulled at the front of his pants to undo them. “So let me remind you. You serve me, Izzy. Not the other way around.”
He breathed in to speak, but before the first sound could leave him, a hand shoved its way into his pants and grabbed the one thing he could never keep under control.
The rough callouses scratched the sensitive flesh of his cock that was already weeping in anticipation.
“You are mine.”
Blackbeard squeezed as he stroked from the base to the head, twisting his wrist on the stroke back down.
“This is mine.”
Teeth grazed the shell of his ear, then a tongue traced the same path.
“You live by my hand, an’ you’ll die by it, too.”
Izzy panted and shivered as he tried to keep his composure that was rapidly falling apart. “Yes, Captain.”
He couldn’t fight it. His hips moved, pushing himself into Blackbeard’s tight grip, and was rewarded with the sudden withdrawal of the hand.
“Now, what do you have t’say for yourself?”
Izzy dropped his forehead against the wall with a loud thunk. He breathed in through clenched teeth, tried to find his center, or at least somewhere close enough to it.
“I’m sorry. Captain.” He looked down at his erection that bobbed slightly in the cool air. “I was wrong.”
The hand was back, gentle now, brushing over his stomach and down along the curve of his hip bone. “And?”
His knees trembled as he watched the hand tease him by drawing near to the place that wanted him most without touching it again.
“You were right.” His eyes were locked on the fingers that moved their way closer, closer. “You’re always right.”
All at once, Blackbeard pulled away, withdrawing the entirety of his touch and warmth. Izzy nearly fell to his knees at the sudden loss that hurt more than teeth and nails.
“Good boy,” he said the way someone would talk to their dog, and it soothed the ache. “Now, finish yerself off.”
Izzy froze. His hands were still bound behind his back. He turned, slowly, to face his captain in his fully disheveled state, and saw the cold seriousness on the face that looked down at him.
Very carefully, he started to hunch forward and down to try to see if he could get his arms free by stepping through them, but he couldn’t reach. He tried the opposite route, tugging his arms and twisting his shoulders. He was stuck, trapped, bound and helpless.
“I’m waitin’,” Blackbeard said, a coldness in the dark depths of his eyes. “Y’live to serve me, don’t you?”
Izzy choked back a complaint. He fought the urge to demand to have his hands freed so he could accomplish the task. He looked up at his captain, at the man who could be merciless and cruel and sometimes weak until Izzy reminded him of who he was.
He was his fucking captain, and he’d given him an order.
He leaned his back against the wall and lifted a leg up until his balls rested against his skin. He all but squirmed as he tried to find some friction between his thigh and his cock, never taking his eyes away from Blackbeard’s face.
“At your service,” he repeated in a hoarse, desperate voice. “My captain.”
It wasn’t pleasant. It didn’t feel good in and of itself, an awkward shuffle of his leg that was more like a bumping against his groin than any kind of rub. But it was the eyes staring at him. It was the man standing before him. It was the presence of the idol he worshipped.
His lips parted and his breath caught in his throat. Humiliating. Squirming like some kind of half-witted imbecile. Unable to do something as simple as touch himself.
God, he fucking loved it.
There were no more words shared between them. Blackbeard stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his face impassive as he watched Izzy struggle to get off. He gave nothing away to coax or help him, just the phantom sensation of teeth that had left marks on his neck.
He shuddered as he recalled it. It had only been a moment ago, but it felt like a lifetime. It felt like it had happened to someone else, but the evidence was in his skin. He could still feel the pain. He dredged it up, replayed it in his mind, and imagined all the other places Blackbeard could bite him.
His head fell back against the wall as he started to feel hot and dizzy with the desire to be so thoroughly claimed.
That was it. That was all he needed. Just a bit of awkward friction and a mind full of the bruises and scars he wanted his skin to proudly display.
He collapsed against the wall as he came, nothing grand or impressive, just a release that splattered across his own legs and shoes. His chest heaved as the tingling sensation crawled up his spine, and he refocused his blurry vision to see Blackbeard’s unchanged expression.
“Don’t step out of line again,” Blackbeard warned, threatened… promised. “Or I’ll take somethin’ y’can’t get back.”
Izzy tried to nod, but he couldn’t manage the movement before his captain was already turning away. The door shut behind him and the lock clicked into place, leaving him in utter darkness again, still tied up, panting, and spent.
And beyond all words, so eager for what would happen next time.