Archive of Our Own ^beta

Izzy does not fucking like Bonnet’s stupid fucking assistant. He’s around now, all the time, as if he’s suddenly become Izzy’s assistant overnight.

He has an office in the new building, in a wing that will be remodeled last of all. It’s the biggest office of them all, because he’s the boss. Ed has an office here too of course, and so does Jim, Ivan—but there’s construction happening on most of the building, so it’s loud. It’s the perfect place for Izzy to go think, to work on the classes he’s been planning on little notebooks for years. He can listen to the background sounds of construction and feel like he’s taking first steps on something important.

But now the assistant is here. Always. Constantly. Even when Izzy tells him to fuck off, he’s waiting around the corner. He always has something to temper Izzy’s fury—sometimes it’s coffee or food, and sometimes it’s an amusing (and filthy) anecdote that Izzy never would’ve thought could come from such a mouth. Not that he’s noticing Lucius’ mouth. Or thinking of him as anything other than Bonnet’s annoying assistant.

“Don’t you have a fucking job?” Izzy asks one morning, when Lucius is setting a breakfast sandwich and a to-go cup of coffee in front of him. “I didn’t ask you to bring me breakfast—”

“You don’t ask me to do anything,” Lucius says. “Normally you order me around.”

“And you ignore me,” Izzy huffs.

“You’re not my boss, so I don’t actually have to do what you tell me,” Lucius reminds him with a delighted smile.

“So what the fuck are you doing here.”

“My job,” Lucius quips. “Eat your breakfast. We’ll go over your to-do list when you’re done.”

Izzy supposes he gets used to having the assistant around. That doesn’t mean Izzy likes him. He’s rude, for one thing, completely fucking bitchy. He talks back, rolls his eyes, treats Izzy—treats him the way he treats authority. Dismissively, without a care in the world, as if he could take it or leave it.

The most fucking annoying thing about the stupid fucking assistant is his stupid fucking dating life. Izzy should’ve known that Bonnet would have a twinky fucking assistant, who wears his shirts unbuttoned too low and his pants too tight. (His wit probably does it for a lot of people, Izzy thinks. Not that he’s one of them.) He’s apparently dropping in and out of different men’s beds like a wayward traveler, having adventurous sex with near-strangers, and then going home and telling his boyfriend all about it.

For lots of reasons Izzy doesn’t want to investigate, the thought drives him up a fucking wall. It makes him tender, sensitive, and liable to explode at any moment. Explode into what, he’s not sure.

“How does it work?”

He’s drunk, he tells himself—that’s the only reason he asks. He’d opened a bottle that someone brought to his new office and Lucius was just there so it seemed rude not to offer him a glass. And now the bottle is a little bit emptier and he’s sitting with his feet on his desk—because it’s his office so fuck it—and the assistant is still there. Looking at Izzy, blankly. He doesn’t understand the question clearly, so Izzy continues.

“You just see a guy you fancy and ask him if he wants you?”

A hint of a smile teases at the corner of Lucius’ mouth for a moment before it disappears. Then he shrugs, nods. “Depends on the circumstances. You know that—you’re not as hopeless as you seem, surely.”

Izzy scoffs, shocked and weirdly pleased by the backhanded compliment. “I’m not sure what you mean by that,” he says, maybe because he wants to hear Lucius say it.

“You date,” Lucius says somewhat insistently. “You must. I mean, you certainly did when you were younger—I’ve seen photos. You and Blackbeard stumbling out of clubs at two in the morning. You’re telling me no one ever took you home?”

He’s not wrong. Especially when he was younger, Izzy took advantage of being semi-famous, having the money to throw around on drinks. Ever since his break-up with Ed, things have…been a little different. Now when he “dates,” it’s hookups with guys who don’t know him, more for the physical release than anything else. He’s too anxious to sit around in pubs, waiting for someone who looks right; that’s what the apps are for.

But that doesn’t sound like what Lucius does. It doesn’t sound like he’s on any of the godforsaken apps—he just meets people. It all seems annoyingly easy for him.

“I take an art class,” Lucius says eventually, interrupting the silence that’s fallen over them. “Life drawing, twice a month. If I like the look of the model, I show them my sketch and ask to draw them again in private. That typically works pretty well.”

Like speed dating for horny artists, Izzy supposes. “And the boyfriend is just…fine with this.”

“Pete has his own thing,” Lucius says with a laugh. “A fencing club, if you can believe it. And he’s started taking kickboxing, but it’s just to get into the instructor’s pants.”

“How is that a relationship?” Izzy can’t stop himself from asking. “You might as well just be roommates.”

Lucius shrugs. “It works for us. Most importantly, it works for me. I like Pete, I like spending time with him and talking to him—and I want to do it every day, not just once in a while. But he’s not all I want.”

“You want him and all the other guys.”

“It’s not greed, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Lucius tells him. “I’m young and horny and there are things I’ll wish I did someday. Besides, some of us just aren’t built for monogamy, you know.”

Izzy does know. Izzy’s been terrified of that exact thing for most of his life. 

“And Pete knows that he’s special to me,” Lucius goes on. “He doesn’t need to be the only man I fuck to know that.”

Izzy looks down at his glass, wishes he weren’t quite as drunk as he is now. He bites back questions, things that he wants to know but doesn’t want Lucius to know he’s thinking about.

“What do you think, Izzy?” Lucius asks, and his voice is different now, not dry and sarcastic, but soft and encouraging. And he’s never actually called him Izzy before. It sounds weird coming from him. But then he goes on and it gets even weirder: “Do you want to be sketched?”

He doesn’t say it, but the implication is clear. Lucius isn’t just asking if Izzy wants to be fucked—that’s probably pretty obvious. He’s asking whether Izzy wants him.

“Fuck off,” Izzy says instinctively, biting the words out as threateningly as he can. He expects Lucius to needle him, tease him, keep pushing.

But he doesn’t. He just gets up, leaves his glass on the desk and knocks two knuckles against it. “Thanks for the drink,” he says. “See you tomorrow.”

“Call off your fucking dog.”

Bonnet makes a humming noise, mutters something to someone in the room. “Sorry, Izzy, you’ve caught me at a bad time. Can I call you back in a few?”

“I don’t need—this isn’t a conversation,” Izzy huffs, frustrated. “Just tell your fucking assistant to go back to his job at your office and leave me the fuck alone.”

“My, my, quite worked up this morning, aren’t we? Alright, one moment.” 

There’s quiet then, and Izzy assumes he’s been put on hold. Hold. Jesus fucking Christ, this fucking guy—

“I’m back now. What seems to be the problem?”

“The problem,” Izzy spits, “is that your lap dog is more of a nuisance than he’s worth and I’ll end up putting him down if you keep forcing him to do shit for me.”

“First of all,” Stede says, in that annoying self-assured voice of his, “no one is forcing Lucius to do anything at all. He’s actually taking a serious paycut to come on-board with the Allamby-Bonnet Association and quit his job with me at the architecture firm, and it’s because he’s excited by the idea just as much as you are. So—”

“You cut his pay, you sick son of a bitch? Do you think they’re giving away rent money at the fucking corner?”

There is a pause. Even Bonnet’s fucking pause sounds amused. “I didn’t cut his pay, Izzy, I don’t handle that and he was the one who wanted to switch payrolls. Trust me my office has been an ongoing trash fire without him.” 

“Then take him back,” Izzy nearly growls. 

“I’m afraid it’s not up to me,” Stede says. “You seem to be under the impression that I’m still Lucius’ boss, when he now in fact works for Mary.”

Izzy thinks he might’ve just had a stroke. “What?” he demands.

“Yes,” Stede confirms, “Mary is the lead on this project, Izzy, and she hired Lucius to help her stay informed on what’s happening while construction is still ongoing. I’m sure he does much more than that, but we haven’t really spoken in a number of days, so I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything more.”

“Useless,” Izzy mutters to himself, and hangs up.

So apparently Lucius quit his job. And he’s actually Allamby’s assistant. That makes this only slightly worse in that Izzy can’t seem to muster any real anger when he’s talking to Mary. She makes him feel like a child calming down from a tantrum, huffing and puffing through their emotions. He tries to interact with her as little as possible. So he can’t exactly show up in front of her and demand that Lucius fuck off back to whence he came.

Which means that Izzy is back in his office, staring resolutely at his desk while Lucius paces around, rattling off a list of tasks. He doesn’t seem…different. Bothered, at all. When barely twelve hours ago, he’d offered—he’d suggested—

Izzy doesn’t get this. Hookups with someone you don’t know, someone you never have to see again? Fine. But this, being around someone every day and knowing, and wanting … Not that he wants anything with the assistant. It’s just because he showed an interest, Izzy tells himself. The vulnerable part of him that feels too old and gray to attract young men anymore had preened at the idea that Lucius might want him, and that’s all this is. His ego. Nothing more.

Lucius doesn’t ask him again, even when they have another drink from the same bottle the very next week. They talk about Izzy’s first two years—only two years—at university, and about Lucius’ six years spent bouncing between schools. Izzy waits all evening, wondering when Lucius will try again, but he doesn’t do anything that might be considered remotely flirtatious. At least, nothing past standard behavior for Lucius. Izzy feels…disappointed. And then immediately guilty. And then just mad—at everything.

Being around Ed is…different now. Necessarily, Izzy knows. With time and practice, he’s getting better at putting Ed back in that box labeled friend only: do not lust after. He thinks it’s going to take a lot of fucking time, though.

They get lunch together on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Their lunch days, that Ed doesn’t forget, doesn’t schedule over. And yeah, Ed talks about Bonnet a lot but Izzy is learning to get over the way it makes him ache, the pang in his chest, because Ed is so deliriously happy. Izzy can see it on his face, hear it in the way he talks, practically fucking smell it on him. In all the decades they’ve known each other, Izzy’s never seen him so happy. An angry voice in his head asks why he couldn’t have done that, but the rest of him is warm with Ed’s contentment. 

Thursday afternoon, Izzy goes back to the new office. Construction has given up for the day and he’s burnt out, exhausted. He’s only intending to grab what’s left of the bottle and take it home with him, but when he steps into his office, the assistant is there.

“Oh, you’re here!” Lucius says.

“It’s my office.”

“You usually go straight home after your Blackbeard lunches,” Lucius says with a shrug.

“I don’t,” Izzy protests. “And don’t call them my—what are you doing in here anyway?”

“Just straightening things up. You always leave it a mess.”

It’s categorically untrue, Izzy thinks. His office is tidy, especially because it’s practically empty. There’s only a handful of things on the bookshelves, absolutely nothing on the walls yet, and only a stack of folders and a computer on his desk. “You’re lying,” he accuses. “What, are you fucking spying on me?”

Lucius rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so paranoid. You left in a hurry earlier, and I know we’re going to have to do half a million things tomorrow, so I just wanted to leave everything in its place.”

“Get out—fucking—go home early. Day’s over.”

Lucius shrugs, walks out from behind Izzy’s desk and grabs his messenger bag from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow,” he says, and it reminds Izzy, reminds him—

“Wait,” he says, before he can think about it. Lucius couldn’t really leave anyway, because Izzy’s standing in the doorway. But the assistant pauses where he is, a few steps away. “Why do you do that? You never fight me when I tell you to leave.”

Lucius looks amused. “I’m not in the habit of staying where I’m not wanted. And when someone tells me no, I listen.”

It should be a troubling sign to Izzy, that something so simple is new and shocking.

“Do you…want me to fight you?” Lucius continues, voice light in disbelief. “I’m at least four inches taller than you.”

Now it’s Izzy’s turn to roll his eyes. “No, I don’t want you to fight me. I just don’t understand…”

“What?” Lucius prompts. “What don’t you understand?”

“Why you’re not trying harder to seduce me.”

Lucius beams, which doesn’t really do anything to temper Izzy’s embarrassment.

“Since that’s what you do—you’re a fucking seductress and all that,” Izzy goes on, not sure who he’s trying to convince. “You’re here every day and what other reason do you have except to—” He grasps for the phrase Lucius used the other day, when referring to his boyfriend. “—get into my pants. So it just seems like if that’s what you’re here for, you should be trying a little harder.”

“That’s not what I’m here for,” Lucius tells him, and Izzy feels like curling into a ball and dying of shame. “I do actually have a real job.”

Right, Izzy thinks. Of course. He’s read into it, read into every glance and touch and probably even the line about being sketched—

“I do want that,” Lucius adds. “You. You just didn’t seem…interested. And I get it, I won’t say I’m not disappointed that you’re not attracted to me, but you can’t force these things. If I’m not your type, then I’m not your type.”

“I don’t have a type,” Izzy says. “And I—I must be twenty years older than you.”

Lucius smiles again, shrugs a shoulder. “Fifteen, but who’s counting?”

“What’s your fucking job?”

Lucius laughs, bright and loud. “Ms. Allamby hired me as your assistant, to make sure you stay on track while the building is being finished.”

“Someone else can’t hire me an assistant,” Izzy protests.

“You signed a contract in which you agreed to accept new staff hired by the Allamby-Bonnet Association as necessary for the launch,” Lucius informs him. “I’m one of those new staff members. Hi.”

He’s insurance, Izzy realizes. Because regardless of his career, the millionaire is always going to hire a babysitter to make sure he doesn’t fuck up their investment. There could be worse babysitters, Izzy knows, but he won’t pretend that the knowledge doesn’t sting.

“Oh lord,” Lucius sighs, making Izzy look back at him. “Where’d you just go?”

“What?”

“Something just occurred to you when I said that, you—” He breaks off and drops his bag again, closing the distance between them. Izzy flinches away from his closeness, but Lucius grabs his arms, stays far enough away that they can look at each other. “What horrible little thought just went through your head, huh?”

It’s the same voice he’d used the other night, soft, curious, with the hint of an offering. Izzy swallows tightly, torn between the urge to shove him away and the annoyingly persistent desire to capture his mouth.

“Izzy,” Lucius says. “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing,” Izzy dismisses, but he doesn’t move away from Lucius’ touch. “Just didn’t realize Mary thought I needed a nanny.”

“Oh, Izzy, that’s not—I’m not your nanny, you fool. I’m a glorified cell phone, a calendar that can think. I’m here to help you, not to monitor you.” He squeezes, pulls his hands down Izzy’s arms and folds their fingers together. Izzy stares, unsure what to do. Then Lucius continues, “And I don’t just go around flirting with everyone I work with, since you’re probably going to assume that next.”

Izzy may have been assuming that, yes. “It’s not my business,” he says.

“I actually think flirting with coworkers can lead to all sorts of drama I’m not interested in,” Lucius goes on. “But you’re easily the hottest coworker I’ve ever had, and I have poor impulse control.”

It’s his ego—his stupid fucking ego. He likes feeling wanted. That’s all it is.

“I do have a boyfriend and I do fuck whomever I want that wants me back and if that isn’t what you need”—not if it’s not something he can deal with or if he can’t handle that, just if it isn’t something that he needs, as if he gives a shit what Izzy needs —“then that’s absolutely alright. It’s still a treat to work next to someone beautiful and if you don’t mind the odd flirt here and there that’s extra fun.” 

Izzy feels barrelled over, knocked down, wiped out. It’s not just compliments or how straight-forward he is. It’s the fact that that’s who he is as a person, a guy who just wants to have fun. It’s so foreign to Izzy, who treats fun like a punishment, like something he should feel guilty over. 

“So do you mind?” Lucius asks. “The flirting? ’Cause I’ve been trying to keep it to myself, since you turned me down the other week.”

Izzy wants to argue, to say that he never turned Lucius down because Lucius didn’t offer him anything. But he knows it’s not true. “It feels like you’re making fun of me,” Izzy confesses, because he can’t think of a better way to say I hate the flirting, please don’t stop.

Lucius’ mouth drops open. His hands squeeze Izzy’s and Izzy remembers that they’re still connected, still touching. “It’s difficult for me to believe no one flirts with you,” Lucius says. “You’re so…”

Izzy tenses, hearing all the things guys tell him when they meet face-to-face— old, short, hairy.

Then Lucius finishes with: “...distracting. It’s hard not to look at you.”

That’s new, at least. “You’re distracting too,” Izzy admits. He doesn’t like it, doesn’t like the fact that the guy seems to be in his thoughts all the time lately, that he’s a middle-aged man thinking about Stede Bonnet’s fucking assistant (and it doesn’t matter if Lucius works for Mary now—he’ll always be Bonnet’s assistant in Izzy’s mind). But it’s true, and he’s feeling just safe enough to say so. Even though he knows he shouldn’t, knows that Lucius isn’t what he wants, can’t be what he wants. 

If he’s ever going to move on from Edward, it should be with someone his age, older even, someone as tired and broken as he is and too old for things like clubs and kids and whatever else young people still hope for. Definitely someone who at least pretends to only have eyes for him and not someone who tells him to his face that he’ll easily fuck whomever the mood strikes whenever he wants to. But he’s told him, hasn’t he, and that makes it all so wildly different. He’s not sneaking around, not lying, not gaslighting or trying to pretend that he’s above communicating. And that makes him utterly different from every other guy Izzy’s dated.

“Still want me to cut out early?” Lucius asks, looking down at their still-joined hands. “Or maybe I could…stay?”

Stay and do what? Izzy isn’t sure. But he kind of wants to find out. “Yeah,” he says. “Stay.”

Lucius pulls him into the office completely and shuts the door, the sound of the lock making his throat tight. It’s mid-afternoon, sun still high in the sky, and Izzy’s never messed around at his workplace before, let alone in the middle of the fucking day. There’s something so scandalous about it, something that makes his blood race with anticipation. There is also fear, a healthy amount of it probably, because this will make him a hypocrite and because there is nowhere to hide. Maybe it’s only that Lucius has got a thing for well-tailored clothing and more-salt-than-pepper hair; that doesn’t mean he’s going to like what he sees in broad daylight. 

“I can convince you if you want to be convinced,” he says calmly. “Seduce you—like you said. But not coerce you. You know the difference, right?”

Somehow he manages not to make that sound patronizing as all fuck so Izzy does manage to nod. “Yeah, s’pose I do. I’m not typically one to be coerced, anyway.”

“I believe that,” Lucius says with a smile. “You’re a stubborn one.”

“How would you?” Izzy asks. “Seduce me.”

Lucius tilts his head, looks Izzy up and down coolly, as if he’s an exam that Lucius has been studying for. “You want a drink?”

Well, his mouth is dry. He nods, and Lucius takes his hands away, wandering over to the little bar by the furthest window. Izzy is surprised to find that he misses the feeling of their fingers intertwined. He doesn’t think about it for long though, because he’s too busy watching Lucius pour two glasses of bourbon. They’re short pours though, not even a shot. Lucius hands him a glass and clinks his own against it.

“I’d get you a drink,” Lucius says, eyes meeting his intently. “If I were trying to seduce you out in the real world. If I didn’t know you. I’d buy you a drink.”

“Didn’t buy this one,” Izzy points out. He’s at a loss for what else to say, so he throws the alcohol back, hoping that it calms his nerves.

“Guess I should stick to our real world, then, huh?”

Our. That doesn’t make Izzy’s stomach twist, doesn’t make his palms sweaty—he doesn’t want our. He just wants to get laid.

“I thought I was doing pretty well the other night, when we were sitting in here, talking.” Lucius takes a step back, finds Izzy’s desk chair and falls into it gracefully. He crosses his legs primly, pant leg lifting over his ankle. It’s truly a sign that Izzy’s gone too long without sex when he’s attracted to someone’s ankles. “I think that’s the best way to seduce you, probably. Actually get to know you. I pay attention, I’m very good at it.”

It doesn’t really make sense—Izzy doesn’t talk to the people he fucks. But Lucius is right. It was working for him, sitting alone, sharing a drink. It was enough to make Izzy want.

“I don’t want to assume though, it can really ruin things. Was there something you had in mind?” Lucius asks. “Something you want to do? Something you want me to do?”

So much fucking talking. He thought when he asked the simple fucking question, Lucius would get into whatever sweet-nothings he uses to pull guys. He didn’t think they’d keep making conversation while most of the blood in his body rushes toward his dick. He’s feeling properly impatient as he steps forward, putting himself between Lucius and his desk, taking Lucius’ glass from his hand.

He sits himself on his desk, pushing back so his feet are off the ground. And then he hooks those feet in Lucius’ chair, pulling him closer. “You could put your mouth to better use,” Izzy says, and he’s too turned on to care that he sounds like a bad porno. 

Lucius doesn’t seem to mind either. He arches an eyebrow in half of a challenge, but then Izzy starts undoing his belt and he grins, hands coming up to Izzy’s waist. “Okay,” he agrees. “I like that. You can put your hands in my hair, but don’t pull too hard, and don’t choke me—it’s not cute.”

“I won’t,” Izzy says, and silently curses how weak his voice sounds, how fragile. Like he’s a teenager getting his first blowie instead of an old man cliche, fucking his decade-younger assistant in his office. As tragic as the thought is, it isn’t enough to dissuade his erection—it might even encourage it. Maybe cliches aren’t as bad as they seem.

Lucius doesn’t even touch his cock, not with his hands. He squeezes Izzy’s thighs, pulls himself closer, and then just kisses the tip of his dick.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Izzy rasps, looking up at the ceiling, looking anywhere but down. 

“Sorry, habit,” Lucius mutters, and then there’s his tongue and—

“ Fuck.” Izzy closes his eyes, hands balled into fists at his sides.

“Tell me if there’s something you want,” Lucius reminds him. “Or if there’s something you don’t like, tell me that too.”

“Please stop fucking talking,” Izzy groans.

Lucius laughs softly, grabs one of Izzy’s clenched hands and brings it to his own neck. Izzy is so surprised he has to blink his eyes open, meet Lucius’ gaze as he says, “Hold onto my hair. I like it, I promise. Okay, done talking now.” And he tilts his head so he can drag his mouth up and down the side of Izzy’s dick, slobbering all over him.

Izzy resists the urge to swear again and goes back to closing his eyes. That was safer. With his eyes closed he can’t watch the way the dark-haired man bobs up and down on his cock, can’t see the way spit drops from his mouth, the way his eyes flutter closed as he settles into the rhythm. With his eyes closed, Izzy can only imagine those things.

It’s not that Izzy hasn’t had his dick sucked, it’s just that… Well, it’s not exactly like people have been lining up to do it, have they? At least not since he lost whatever might have been described as abs, and his body hair started going gray. No one wants to suck an old dick. And Izzy feels like he’s been old for ages. But maybe it’s not so simple, because he’s here and Lucius is there, sucking him down as if he’s starving for it. Even when he was young, no one ever touched him like this, Izzy is almost certain. No one ever moaned around his cock in their mouth like they really wanted it, like it was all they wanted. But that’s exactly what Lucius sounds like, encouraging Izzy with wordless noises, one hand holding Izzy’s balls, the other gripping his thigh.

Izzy’s never felt so wrecked so quickly, so readily broken down by a pretty mouth. He has to look, can’t keep his eyes shut any longer, when he feels Lucius’ throat contract around him. He has to see what it looks like, his cock all the way buried in this man. And the sight makes him fucking gasp, makes him shudder and moan and get that much closer to coming. Because there are tears in Lucius’ eyes, and there’s spit running down his chin, and he generally looks as wrecked as Izzy feels. He tugs gently where he’s got a good grip on Lucius’ hair and is rewarded with a soft moan, a confirmation. He’s just as into this as Izzy is.

The shiver down his spine makes his vision blur and he’s so very close—for some reason the sight of Lucius in his lap, in soft red cotton and a gauzy scarf against the dark denim covering his own thighs, has him reeling. Everything about the picture is intoxicating, ten times more arousing than Izzy was expecting. He wants to wait, wants to see what other noises he can make Lucius make on his cock, but he’s too fucking close.

“I’m gonna,” he warns, and Lucius just—gives him a thumbs up. A thumbs up?

He sucks harder, holds Izzy’s balls tighter, teasing the skin with his fingertips, and the fucking lunatic is trying to coax him to orgasm, trying to make him come in his mouth holy fucking shit—

He distantly hears the strangled moan that accompanies his own orgasm, too lost in the pleasure of it all to care. He tries to keep as still as he can, but his hips jerk forward anyway. Lucius dodges appropriately, Izzy assumes, because when his brain is working again, the man is sitting up straight, wiping his face with his sleeve. And Izzy is sitting on top of his desk, hunched over, knees trembling. It’s a good thing he’s not standing right now.

Izzy puts his dick away while he avoids Lucius’ gaze, probably unnecessarily embarrassed given the last few minutes. While he’s doing that and trying to compose something between a dismissal, an apology, and a plea for a repeat, he feels lips pressed against the side of his neck. 

His first instinct is to flinch away from the touch. But it actually feels…nice. Izzy’s eyes slip closed again and he doesn’t push Lucius away when he steps completely between his legs, arms slipping around Izzy as he kisses down his neck. Izzy can feel Lucius’ own erection against his inner thigh, but he’s not even doing anything with it, not trying to get closer, grind against him. Lucius is just standing there, holding him.

Izzy normally hates this kind of thing. (It’s not really “cuddling” but it seems fucking close.) But right now it feels like a balm on tender skin, like a cool drink on a hot day. So Izzy leans into the embrace, tilts his head and lets himself be touched for another few minutes. 

Then the post-orgasm neediness fades, and Izzy doesn’t feel quite so friendly anymore. He sits up, scoots back, tries to put on his most intimidating expression. “Guess it worked,” he says.

Lucius arches an eyebrow, smirking. Izzy doesn’t think about those lips on his cock. “What worked?”

“Your seduction.”

Lucius laughs, head thrown back. If Izzy stares at his neck for a moment, it’s his own business. “I guess so,” Lucius says. He backs up out of Izzy’s bubble and Izzy is both relieved and frustrated to lose his body heat. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he says, all chipper and hanging his bag back on his shoulder like nothing, like he’s not still pretty hard against his too-blue slacks. He gives Izzy a peck on the cheek, soft and quick, and slips out of the office. Izzy sits there for another long moment, wondering how the fuck his life came to this.

He sits down in his desk chair—the same chair Lucius sat in while sucking his dick—and notices Lucius’ glass. He takes it, drains it, and considers getting up to get the bottle for all of thirty seconds before there are footsteps in the hall.

His heart thuds a little bit faster in his chest. Is Lucius back? Does he want to say something? And if so, what could it be? But he has to readjust his expectations on the spot when instead of Lucius pushing into his office, it’s Ed.

Izzy shoots to his feet, suddenly paranoid that there’s going to be a piece of evidence, some proof of what he was just doing. It occurs to him in that same instant that if Ed had been only a few minutes earlier—dear God. He’s gonna be sick.

“Whoa, mate, the fuck is wrong with you?” Ed hurries into the office, putting a hand on Izzy’s back. “Sit down, Jesus Christ—there’s no way you have food poisoning.” Of course not. They had lunch at Jim’s truck today.

“I’m fine,” Izzy says, shoving him away carelessly. He does sit down though, because he feels a little lightheaded. “You just startled me, fuck off.”

“Alright, sorry.” Ed takes a few steps back, crosses his arms over his chest. “I realized I forgot to ask you to bring me your copy of that Kosher cookbook when we saw each other earlier, and I figured you were coming right back to work so I’d catch you here. You look like you saw a fucking ghost, or—well, like you fucked a ghost. Are you fucking ghosts?”

Of course the person he sees immediately after fooling around with Lucius is the one guy who can read him like a book. There’s no point in lying, he supposes. “Bonnet’s assistant sucked me off,” he admits easily. He wants to say it, wants to tell someone, and the only person he can tell something that like to is Ed anyway. It hardly matters that Izzy has a load of confusing feelings for the guy—they’re best friends, and they talk about dicks sometimes. 

“No shit! What? Since when?”

“Like three minutes ago.”

Ed lifts up his arm like his team just won. “ Iz !”

“Shut up,” he mutters, trying to move stuff around his desk just because he can’t sink into the Earth itself.

“The fuck I will, look at you—I should have known,” Ed says confidently. “You look well fucked!”

Izzy sputters, unable to come up with a response for a moment. The first sentence that comes to mind is, “He has a boyfriend.”

Ed’s smile drops. “Ah.”

“They’re open, I guess. Poly, or whatever.”

“What? Lead with that, you fucking—” Ed scoffs, rolls his eyes. “Always finding fucking drama, Iz. Was it good at least? It looks like it was good. You look all glassy-eyed and—”

“The cookbook’s in your office next door,” Izzy says. “In one of the boxes on your desk.”

“Are you gonna see him again?” Ed asks. “Since he’s giving you midday blowjobs at work, seems like maybe you’re gonna keep seeing him.”

It’s the question on Izzy’s mind too. He technically has to see him, has to work with him. But that’s not really what Ed’s asking. “Dunno,” he says, shrugs. “Not sure all that stuff is for me. Multiple partners.”

“You don’t have to date him, Iz,” Ed laughs. “He’s not my type but he’s pretty cute, got a nice arse. There are worse ways to spend your free time.”

He’s not wrong.

Izzy wakes up with a hardon that could cut diamonds, still half-stuck in his dream, where he’s got his fingers tangled in short, black hair, guiding a slick mouth over his cock. He groans as he wakes fully, rolling onto his stomach. He’s being an absolute fucking idiot—of course his solution to getting over his best friend is getting under his thirty-year-old assistant. It’s a mid-life crisis if he ever was going to have one. He still jerks off and only feels guilty about it after he’s come, when he’s getting ready for the day.

He’s sitting at his desk when Lucius arrives, strides in with his usual to-go cup and breakfast sandwich. Lucius says hello with a smile, not a hint of awkwardness about him.

Izzy can’t take it, how simple it all is to Lucius when reality is so much more complicated. “How are you like this?” he demands after Lucius has dropped the food on his desk.

Lucius doesn’t react, keeps looking at something on his phone. “Like what?”

“Like…” Izzy struggles a moment for the words. “Like you didn’t suck my dick yesterday.”

He smirks now, looking up. “I’m good at compartmentalizing. Do you want to talk about it now?”

“No,” Izzy says firmly, because he definitely doesn’t.

“Alrighty then. You have a phone call with Mary and some of the board in an hour, so eat your breakfast and go over the update email I just sent you. Let me know if you have any questions.” He knocks lightly on the doorframe to Izzy’s office, smiles, and disappears. 

Izzy grumbles to himself, but opens the email and unwraps his breakfast sandwich.

It’s true, Izzy doesn’t want to talk about it. He may, however, want to do it again. As soon as possible. And also other stuff, maybe with his mouth this time, his hands. He has a suspicion that Lucius would be okay with that.

He can’t get the words out later, when Lucius is going on about something he needs to do over the weekend, giving him plenty of time to interrupt, to ask, to just bloody hint, but he can’t. He can’t find the words, doesn’t know how to ask, when he knows it’s such a terrible idea. 

Finally, Lucius says, “D’you have plans tonight?”

Izzy thinks of all the reasons he shouldn’t, all the reasons hooking up with Lucius is a stupid, regrettable idea. Then he thinks about how good it was, when Lucius touched him. “Want a nightcap?” Izzy asks. “At my place?”

It’s distressingly normal, sharing a ride back to his apartment, settling on his couch with a drink. Lucius seems to be capable of endless sentences, chattering on about nothing. Izzy’s only barely listening, mostly focused on his own internal debate. His reasons for not wanting Lucius in his home are outweighed pretty easily, though. Because Izzy’s painfully attracted to him, and wants to do way more than just fool around in his office.

He has to admit that it’s different though. Not just because Lucius is Lucius —bitchy, lewd, witty—but also because they know each other. This isn’t some guy Izzy’s exchanged a handful of messages with and never plans to see each again. Izzy knows things about him, and he knows thing about Izzy, and they have to see each other every fucking day. But none of that is stopping him, stopping either of them apparently.

Lucius keeps moving closer to him on the couch, touching him in small, perfectly innocent ways. All of it—the inane conversation, the casual touches, even the fact that he knows Lucius—is working way too well for Izzy. They’re talking about fucking football and he’s half hard.

“Do you want to kiss me or are you just thinking about yesterday?”

Izzy blinks his eyes back up to Lucius’. Shit. Fuck. “Both,” he answers honestly.

Lucius smiles. “Come kiss me, then.”

It starts slow, cautious, but it only takes a minute for Lucius to tilt his head and kiss Izzy harder, slipping his tongue into Izzy’s mouth. He’s good at this, Izzy thinks, trying to keep up with the enthusiastic pace Lucius has set. He’s really, really good at this.

“Show me your bedroom,” Lucius says.

It’s awkward at first, because of how different it is, because this is someone he knows. But being naked and in bed with someone you’re attracted to soothes a lot of tension, Izzy finds, because he’s not worrying so much about what the morning will bring once he’s straddling Lucius on his sheets, both of them panting into each other’s mouths. It stops being tense and starts being easy, the simplest thing he’s ever done, to kiss this man while they both work to stretch him open, fingers fumbling together with lube, occasionally laughing softly into the darkness.

Riding him is easy too—even though his muscles ache and he’s probably trembling an embarrassing amount, Izzy is helpless but to fuck himself onto Lucius’ cock, take his pleasure greedily, and feel an inordinate amount of pride at the noises Lucius makes against him. Eventually, Izzy can’t be patient any longer, can’t just rock up and down like he has all the time in the world. As he gets a hand around his cock, Lucius starts sucking on his throat, jackrabbiting his hips hard and fast against him, and there’s not much to do after that, because Izzy is coming before he even realizes it, gasping and groaning in quick succession.

He can feel it, when Lucius comes too, the way he shudders and jerks and sounds like he’s dying. Izzy savors the feeling of breaking someone down in his arms and grins at the ceiling while Lucius’ head is still buried in his chest.

Neither of them break the silence for a long while. Izzy goes to the bathroom, does the minimal appropriate clean up, and returns to bed without having any kind of freak out. Maybe he’s still come dumb, or maybe he’s just exhausted—either way, he stretches out in bed and closes his eyes while Lucius takes his own turn in the bathroom, and congratulates himself on an evening successfully executed.

Sometime later there’s a voice: “Izzy?”

“Hm.” He’s half-asleep, comfortable and worn out. When he opens his eyes, Lucius is wearing his trousers, buttoning his shirt.

“I have to go,” he says, wearing a sorry smile.

Izzy blinks. He didn’t really think about it, but he supposes he expected—well, he thought Lucius might stay, since they were talking about weekend plans earlier. “It’s fine if you stay,” he hints.

Lucius’ smile grows, pleased now. “I appreciate that but I actually do have to go. Pete and I have rules, and one of them is home by midnight, every night, unless previously discussed, and this definitely wasn’t.”

Fuck. Pete. Rules. Home. It’s the hammer that shatters the half-baked dream Izzy’s been unconsciously concocting—Lucius is just a guy he works with, a guy he fucks. But he’s not Izzy’s. He belongs to an entirely different man, someone he goes home to every night, even when his dick has been in someone else.

As if sensing his discomfort, Lucius kneels on the mattress again, leaning closer to Izzy. He grabs one of Izzy’s hands and pins it above his head, leaving them pressed chest to chest. Before Izzy can say anything—and he’s not really sure what it would be—he’s been kissed, hard. And it’s a good kiss, the kind of kiss that should happen before you fuck, not right when you’re about to walk out the door and go home to your boyfriend.

“I had a great time,” Lucius says with a devious smile, still pinning Izzy to the bed. “We can have a sleepover some other time.”

Izzy’s Google searches become so embarrassing that he considers destroying the entire phone. There are rules and they all vary and it isn’t for everyone and it definitely isn’t for him. It can’t be—he’s a jealous son of a bitch. He couldn’t even stand it when Ed had legitimate business trips that Izzy booked himself, spent the entire time wondering who would catch his eye and take him away. 

But no one can take Lucius because he isn’t Izzy’s. He already told Izzy who he spends his time with, at least the one that matters to him, and that makes a difference apparently. Izzy didn’t think it would but apparently it does, because instead of spending his lonelier nights consumed by jealousy and bitterness, he spends it wondering how best to spend the next night Lucius gives him some spare time. 

The expectations are set. Maybe it’s his age or his exhaustion, but maybe it’s just coming to terms with an arsehole like him not getting to have things like this for himself. Not a live-in boyfriend who comes home every night or a partner to grow old with. Instead he gets this, fun freewheeling sex but at least it’s with someone who knows his name and his coffee order. A decent compromise.

“Would you be interested in meeting Pete?”

“I don’t do threesomes.” It’s his first thought, naturally, because they’re lying in Izzy’s bed. It feels obvious, that that must be what Lucius is suggesting.

But Lucius responds, “Oh, well, that’s good information to have but I meant more like for brunch. You know, outside, fully-clothed brunch. Not like you and me last week.”

Izzy doesn’t even have to think about it. “Why the fuck would we do that.” Not a question, because there isn’t an answer. They wouldn’t have a “fully-clothed brunch.” Jesus fucking Christ—especially not with Lucius’ boyfriend.

“I mean, we don’t need to but you and I spend a pretty steady amount of time together. It’s kind of weird you don’t know Pete.”

“It’s kind of weird your boyfriend wants to meet your not-boss-who-you-fuck, isn’t it?”

“I accept your judgemental statements as part of your learning process,” Lucius says sagely, “but that’s not a yes or no on mimosas.”

“Do all the guys you fuck meet your boyfriend?”

“No. And I really think you overshoot how many guys I actually fuck but no, this is not like a regular thing. That’s why we’re discussing it, Iz.”

It’s weird to hear anyone other than Ed call him that, Izzy realizes with a start. He had a boyfriend for a while who called him Israel, but everyone just calls him Izzy—Ed’s the only one who uses that nickname. Izzy’s suddenly not sure whether he’s touched or freaked out by the intimacy of it, the simplicity with which Lucius has fit himself into Izzy’s life.

“I don’t really wanna talk about your boyfriend while my balls are out,” Izzy mutters. “And I don’t think I want to meet him either.” It sounds difficult, sitting down and meeting— knowing —the man that Lucius goes home to. It sounds like it would be the end, and Izzy’s too selfish to let this end yet.

Lucius sighs. “I honestly think it’ll be easier for you. If you know him.”

“Why the fuck would that be easier?” He thinks it’s a fair question. Knowing Pete exists is disquieting enough.

“Because you act like you’re my mistress or something,” Lucius says, with only a hint of accusation in his tone. “I can tell that you feel guilty and I don’t think it’s because we work together, so the only option is that you’re still processing this whole non-monogamous thing. I think meeting Pete will help with that, the processing.”

Izzy has a lot of guilt about things. But not about Lucius going back to Pete. Wanting Lucius to stay, wishing Lucius were his —he feels guilty about that, definitely. “If anyone’s a mistress, it’s you,” Izzy grumbles. Thirty years old, not a fucking wrinkle, not a gray hair. Izzy feels simultaneously ancient and young again when he’s with Lucius.

“If I were your mistress, you’d be fucking me in a hotel room, not your big, comfy bed in your cozy apartment.” Lucius stretches as he speaks, squirming into the sheets. He knows how captivating he is, Izzy’s sure. “But I’m not your mistress and you’re not mine. Neither of us are in monogamous relationships, and we’re adults having fun, safe, sane, and consensual sex.”

Izzy’s pretty sure some of their sex isn’t all that safe or sane, but he’s not complaining.

“And I’d like to enjoy our time together without you pulling all these faces that say you’re thinking about something else. Something that upsets you.” Lucius rolls onto his side, pressing close to Izzy again. “We should at least talk about it.”

“To process,” Izzy says.

“Exactly.”

Izzy shifts closer, smirks. “You’re getting hard again.”

Lucius shrugs. “You’re naked. That’s pretty normal for me. C’mon, seriously—what questions do you have? I’m an open book.”

The trouble is that Izzy wants to know everything. He’s ravenous for information, every little detail about Pete, about their relationship, about why it is that Lucius keeps a boyfriend at the same time he sleeps around. But he also knows that once he lets himself ask, he’s not going to be able to treat this very casually anymore.

Lucius is kissing his neck now, hand on his chest. Izzy rolls fully onto his back and pulls Lucius with him, until the man is between his legs for the second time today, nuzzling into his chest hair. “You can’t distract me,” Lucius says, but he doesn’t stop.

“Just thinking,” Izzy dismisses. Fine, he figures he can start with something safe. “How long you guys been together?”

“A little over three years.” Lucius kisses each of his nipples chastely, gently, and then again with tongue. Izzy threads a hand through his hair and swallows his approving noises. “We moved in together so fast we might as well have been lesbians.”

Izzy’s cock twitches between his legs, showing interest. He was just fucked within an inch of his life not twenty minutes ago though, so it’s only a twitch. And that’s good, because Izzy can not suddenly be aroused by Lucius talking about domestic bliss with another man.

“What else do you wanna know?”

The only thing Izzy wants to know, the only thing that drives him crazy not knowing, is what Pete looks like. In Izzy’s head, he’s six-foot-five, dark hair and sexy stubble, in his twenties. Izzy knows he’s an architect, so he’s probably annoyingly well-educated and well-paid. This is the most Izzy’s thought about Pete for an extended period of time, and he’s not loving it.

“Iz,” Lucius says, his voice ringing through Izzy’s down spiral. “It won’t freak me out. Ask me.”

Izzy lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Can I…see a picture of him?”

Lucius huffs a little laugh and rolls off of Izzy, reaching off the bed for his jacket. He fumbles for a moment in the pockets and finds his phone. The light from the screen illuminates Lucius’ face and Izzy is struck for a moment by how different he looks like this, his hair messy and his skin blotchy pink.

“Here’s his instagram,” Lucius says, and offers him the phone as he sits up.

Izzy’s never been more sure in his life that he’s being pranked. That this is a fucking joke, that Lucius keeps coming home with him because… Because what? Because he’s into short, pudgy, old guys?

Pete isn’t the six-five twentysomething of Izzy’s nightmares. He’s a thirtysomething, bald white man with gray in his stubble. He has a round face and he’s definitely shorter than Lucius and—it’s almost crueller, Izzy thinks, than if Lucius were fucking a model.

“You’re fucking joking,” he says, because he can’t not.

“Oh, the picture of him with Obama? Yeah, that’s definitely photoshopped—”

“He’s—” Izzy bites back the insults that come to mind, the things that he thinks but knows aren’t polite to say. “Do you have a thing for guys who look like hobbits then?”

He expects Lucius to laugh, but he doesn’t. He tilts his head, fixes Izzy with a look. “You do that a lot, you know. Talk about yourself like a charity case. Like you’re not sexy as fuck.”

Izzy’s neck feels hot. “We’re not talking about me right now.”

“Yeah, but the thing is I think we are,” Lucius says. “When people are monogamous and they cheat on their partners, they usually say something like…they had what their partner was missing or they were looking for something different. So you thought Pete was something you weren’t, and now you’re realizing maybe you’re more alike than you thought and it’s freaking you out.” Lucius’ hand starts on his bicep and trails down his arm, coming to twist his fingers with Izzy’s. “This is good, because maybe you guys are alike and maybe that will help with the processing. Talk to me. And don’t be an arsehole about it.”

“I’m your type then?” Izzy grumbles.

“Clearly,” Lucius says, squeezing his hand. “And so is Pete. And you do have things in common but I’m attracted to you in…different ways.”

This is dangerous, Izzy thinks. Super fucking dangerous. Listening to a guy he’s in bed with talk about things he likes about Izzy—this is a recipe for disaster. “What is it about him?” he asks, because that’s slightly safer.

“He’s a dick to everyone except me,” Lucius says, smiling softly now. “He makes me laugh. He treats me like…he wants to take care of me. He also makes shit up constantly but never about important things—he’s always trying to impress me even when he knows he isn’t fooling me.” 

Maybe it’s not as safe as Izzy thought, because his gut is tangled in a knot. Even though he knows it’s fucked up, he can’t help but think: I make you laugh, and I take care of you, and I’d never, ever lie to you.

“And he’s a total freak in bed.” Lucius elbows him, needling him, obviously trying to make him smile. “But we trust each other a lot, which is important when you do stuff like this.”

“Stuff like me?”

Lucius laughs and he takes it as a win, a conversation tabled or finished or at the very least survived in favor of screwing around one more time before he has to give him back to the world and to Pete and to the reality of what this is. 

Lucius doesn’t bring brunch up again that day and Izzy wonders for a moment if this is some kind of polyamorous pop quiz that he has completely failed. He is probably frowning much too deeply at the risotto if the toe prodding at his side is anything to go by.

“Get off the counter.”

“No,” Lucius says with a smile. “Why does the risotto smell like lemon?”

“Because it’s fennel and lemon risotto,” he says in what Ed has decided to dub his teaching voice.

“Ooh, I haven’t tried that before! See this is fun, just annoying you while you cook. You should have more people do that.”

“Annoy me while I cook? I have a whole staff for that.”

“Pff—it’s not the same. All they do is say yes, chef with like slightly annoying variations in tone.”

He sits across from Lucius on the counter top, which makes the other man grin in victory as they eat. He likes to watch his face dance when he takes the first bite of whatever he’s made. Izzy has never been like Ed that way, never cared what people think of his food so long as he’s proud of it and knows he made it well. But he likes the way Lucius giggles like a child when he enjoys a new flavor. 

Lucius never makes a big production of leaving but Izzy always knows when he’s going by the way he starts rounding up his belongings and starts humming in the bathroom as he makes himself some version of presentable. 

He hears the prodding of the glass container he sat on the counter as Lucius emerges. 

“Oooh leftovers?” 

“For Pete,” he says as he busies himself with the dishes. Lucius never helps with those—calls it a blurred boundary of professionalism since his actual job is cleaning up after him and keeping him on track. Really he just doesn’t want to do the damn dishes, but Izzy’s not going to argue about that.

He feels the palm of the other man’s hand against his cheek and doesn’t even contemplate resisting it, just follows it as it brings him into a deep, lingering kiss, the kind that leaves him thirsty and hungry and wanting.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Iz.”

Seeing Ed is getting easier and easier. Seeing Ed with Bonnet is just as annoying as it’s always been, Izzy is pretty sure. Or, if it is any easier, that slight ease is completely nullified by the fact that they now apparently feel comfortable enough to kiss in front of him. He wishes they were still awkward, toeing around him like he were a bomb ready to explode. But instead, he’s sitting in Bonnet’s fucking apartment, eating food cooked by Ed, and it…doesn’t suck.

Ugh. What a nightmare. But it’s a nightmare that’s made ever more interesting by Mary’s presence, and some other rich fucks whose names Izzy can’t remember, because Izzy’s at a fucking dinner party. He drinks and eats and does his best not to rub anyone the wrong way. Mary keeps smiling at him, looking over at him like she’s checking a temperature gauge before it gets too hot. Izzy keeps wishing he’d said no to this, but he’s not very good at saying no to Ed.

In the kitchen, where Izzy’s gone for a breather and to refill his glass, Ed claps a hand on his shoulder. “We’re glad you’re here, mate. Stede wanted you to meet some of these funding blokes and you need to get out and socialize some more, you know?”

“I’m socializing plenty,” Izzy dismisses.

Ed chuckles, shrugs. “Okay, you need to get out and socialize with someone other than Spriggs.”

Izzy looks down at his glass, the honey-colored alcohol, and says nothing.

“You’re seeing him a lot, huh?”

Not that Izzy keeps track or anything, but yeah, Lucius comes home with him a few times a week, stays the night once or twice, maybe even spends a lazy Sunday in bed. It’s the most consistent sex Izzy’s had since he was dating Ed. That’s what’s screwing with his head, he figures, how much time they’re really spending together. “We work together,” he tells Ed, because it’s the obvious response.

“Edward, darling, will you grab another bottle of chardonnay from the—” Stede pauses, looking between the two men. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

“Nah, love,” Ed says easily.

First the kissing, now the pet names—Izzy’s in hell, isn’t he? Forget a nightmare, he’s dead and gone to hell.

“Just giving Iz a hard time about the thing he’s got going with the boy.”

Izzy sputters, embarrassed and surprised. But he shouldn’t be really, because of course Ed was going to tell Bonnet. They’re together all the time and they presumably have to talk between annoyingly endearing displays of affection. He prickles anyway, frustrated to learn that his business is an ongoing conversation between the two of them. “First of all, don’t call him that—he’s thirty and it’s fuckin’ weird.”

Ed laughs, holds his hands up in a gesture of innocence. “Anyone whose joints don’t pop is a kid to me.”

“Second of all,” Izzy goes on, ignoring him, “don’t talk about my love life with him.” He hardly resists the urge to sneer. Things may be better between him and Bonnet—Izzy has accepted that he’s the love of Ed’s life or whatever the fuck, and they’re capable of conversing calmly, most of the time—but that doesn’t mean the rich arsehole is his friend. 

“I assure you, your romantic drama is quite safe with me,” Stede says, smiling calmly. “It’s not as though I have anyone to tell.”

Except for his entire office, where Pete still works, where everyone knows Lucius.

Izzy turns back to Ed, panicking just the right amount. “He’s literally the worst person you could’ve told.”

“Oh excuse the hell out of me,” Ed laughs in that booming voice of his, deep and rich and annoyingly captivating. “I thought I was talking about who you were fucking, not your love life. You owe me an entire night of drinks for that.”

Izzy hadn’t even realized the slip until Ed threw it back in his face. And now he’s slack-jawed, shocked with himself. “That’s what I meant,” he says weakly, takes a sip of his drink. 

“Maybe Stede can give you some advice, since they know each other,” Ed says, and Izzy knows he’s teasing now, enjoying this way too much.

“You’re such a fuckhead,” Izzy grumbles.

“I thought you’d be in a better mood, since you’re getting laid all the time.”

“I might be in a better mood if you weren’t fucking bothering me.”

“You really are teenagers,” Stede assesses. “When you’re together, you turn into teenage boys.”

Ed stands up straight, frowning now; he seemed to take Stede’s description as an insult. And, well, it certainly wasn’t a compliment. “Aw, c’mon, love—it’s only fun. Like you and Mary talking about my arse the other night.”

“Okay!” Stede says, clapping his hands together. “I’ll grab the wine and go back to the guests. You two…do whatever.”

Izzy thinks that’s a good idea. He doesn’t really want to hear anything about Ed’s arse right now.

When Stede’s gone, Ed knocks his arm into Izzy’s shoulder. “So you’re into him. Like really into him.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

God, Izzy’s hopeless. It’s not a no. Because Izzy’s known for a while now—at least a few days, probably longer if he really examines it—that yes, he is really into Lucius. Inexplicably.

“Is that something you can do?” Ed asks in a mortifyingly earnest tone of concern. “The whole ‘my boyfriend’s boyfriend’ thing?”

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “Doesn’t really matter, though. He’s—it’s not like that. We’re just…screwing around. He has a boyfriend and that’s a separate…thing. As far as I know he’s not shopping around for a harem.”

“You should ask him then,” Ed says.

“I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can.”

“I can’t,” Izzy insists. Because if Lucius knows what he wants, knows what a possessive, jealous fucker he is, he’ll stop coming around. He’ll stop coming home with Izzy, stop leaving his scent in Izzy’s sheets and his scarves littered around, stop sitting too close to him in his office and touching him so casually. It’ll be over, and Izzy will have lost the one thing in ages that’s actually made him feel happy. “Do you know what happens to greedy bastards like me, Edward? They die alone. Leave it be.”

Izzy goes, takes his drink and leaves the kitchen that was once Stede’s but is somehow now StedeandEd’s and tries his hardest not to think about how all the men he wants want someone else.

“You look fucking horrible.”

Izzy doesn’t lift his head, doesn’t even blink. “Charming,” he tells Lucius. “This a new seduction technique? It needs work.”

“Have you been here all night?”

Izzy glances at the clock in the corner of his computer screen, which tells him it’s just past eight. “Nah. Woke up at 3 AM, couldn’t go back to sleep.”

“So you went home for about four hours and then came back for no apparent reason,” Lucius summarizes. “You could’ve called me, you lunatic.”

“Why would I do that?”

Lucius tuts, coming fully into his office. “Drink this,” he says, putting Izzy’s coffee in front of him. “Although I’m not sure I feel great about giving you caffeine right now. You should probably just go home.”

“I’m fine,” Izzy says. “Honestly, ’m not tired.” That may be because of the espresso machine he’s hiding in Ed’s still-packed office, but Lucius doesn’t need to know that. “There’s stuff to do today, anyway.”

“Nothing important. Seriously, Izzy, you look exhausted. There’s a couch in the third office—you could at least take a nap.”

The third office, past Ed’s, that’s hypothetically reserved for Jim. Lucius has been using it as his own homebase while he helps Izzy out, but Izzy’s never been in there, only glanced in when walking past. Like everything else between them, spending any amount of time in a space that’s so clearly Lucius’ sounds heady, intense, even though it shouldn’t be.

“I’m fine,” Izzy assures him again. “Just—will you take care of a few things for me? Please?” He hates actually asking, actually using Lucius like an assistant despite the fact that it’s his job and he does things for Izzy all the time without being directly asked. He hates even more that he can see the way Lucius slips into professional mode, getting ready to listen to whatever Izzy needs.

Izzy avoids his gaze, looks at his desk or his computer as he lists off a handful of things he hates the thought of doing. It’s mostly interaction with Mary and/or other board members, plus an update memo he hasn’t started yet, and Lucius just nods silently, occasionally typing something on his phone.

“You’re also supposed to meet with Stede this afternoon,” Lucius reminds him. “He’s coming down to chat with the contractors and he wants you to be there.”

At the beginning of this project, Izzy had felt optimistic about the fact that Stede was a professional architect, could take his vision of a culinary institute and translate it into a real building. Now, it’s a nuisance. He’d rather have a stranger, rather have anyone other than his best friend’s boyfriend.

“I can ask him to reschedule,” Lucius offers. “It’s early enough in the day, he won’t mind.”

“Yeah,” Izzy agrees, eager to take the easy way out. “Reschedule it. I can’t deal with Bonnet and his fucking suits today.”

“I think he’s very stylish, but okay.”

The worst thought ever occurs to Izzy, something that maybe should’ve occurred to him ages ago, all things considered. And as soon as it does occur to him, he can’t decide whether he actually wants to know the answer, wants to be certain one way or the other, or if living in ignorance—while being persistently aware of this nagging curiosity—is preferable.

His mouth decides for him: “Did you sleep with him too?”

Lucius is quiet. He takes the coffee from Izzy’s desk. “Okay, you’re clearly not in your right mind, so I’m going to ignore the fact that that sounded suspiciously like a dig at me and my professionalism. We can talk about it more later if you like, when you’re not burnt out and keeping yourself awake through sheer force of will, but no, Stede and I never slept together. Is that all?”

Guilt chokes him. He nods, keeps his eyes down while Lucius goes, shutting the door to his office.

He wants to throw something, break something, but he doesn’t. He just sits there, leans back in his chair, eyes closed, and breathes for a moment. He’s really fucking this up—all of it. And Lucius is… He’s fucking patient, and calm, and he doesn’t even rise to Izzy’s bait when he tries to pick fights. He’s nothing at all like the guys Izzy normally dates, and that’s it, isn’t it? Because they’re not dating. And Izzy’s been letting himself live in a headspace where they are, where Lucius is his.

He knew this would happen, from the very beginning. He knew that getting in bed with Lucius would do all the things that good sex with someone he knows does to him. Why should it be any different, just because they work together, just because Lucius is a bit younger, just because—

He’s so fucking tired.

The next thing he knows, he’s being nudged awake.

“Jesus fuck.”

Lucius smirks at him. “Good nap? Would’ve been more comfortable on the couch.”

Izzy clears his throat, sits up straight. “Just resting my eyes for a sec.”

“Uh huh.” Lucius cracks open a water bottle dripping with condensation and holds it out to him. “I went out and got us some lunch. Gyro sound good?”

Lunch? He accepts the water, sips while his sleep-addled brain catches up. He runs his fingertips over the laptop mouse in front of him and catches the clock—almost 1 PM. He’s been asleep in his desk chair for hours. “Yeah,” he says. “Sounds good.”

They sit and eat. Lucius updates him on everything he’s doing. They talk about the Greek food cart where Lucius picked up their lunch. When the food is gone, Lucius—who dragged his own desk chair down the hall because there’s nothing but the essentials around currently—nudges Izzy with his foot and asks, “Why did you ask about Stede?”

Because I’m a jealous twat, his brain supplies. “Dunno,” he says. “You met Pete at work, right? There must have been other guys there that caught your attention too.”

“When I started working for Stede, I was twenty-two, and he looked at me like I was his son,” Lucius tells him. “Don’t get me wrong, I flirted with him a bit at the beginning, but he shut me down early. Nicely, politely, because he does everything with manners.”

“So you wanted to,” Izzy says. “Sleep with him.”

Lucius sighs, shrugs. “I don’t know. He’s handsome.”

Izzy pulls a face, and Lucius laughs.

“Okay, he’s clearly not your type, but…” He trails off, shrugs again. “He wasn’t interested. I stopped flirting with him. The end.”

“Is it an age thing?”

Lucius arches an eyebrow. “Do you want it to be an age thing?”

“Don’t be a dick,” Izzy protests. “This isn’t foreplay, I’m serious.”

The corners of Lucius’ mouth tug into a gentle smile. “It’s not an age thing. I don’t exclusively sleep with older men.”

Why are you sleeping with me? Izzy wants to ask, but doesn’t. He’s not sure he’d like the answer.

“If it matters to you for some reason,” Lucius says, “I’m much more attracted to you than I ever was to Stede.”

Izzy wishes it didn’t matter, wishes that that simple statement didn’t make his chest swell with pride. But it makes it a bit easier to breathe, which Izzy appreciates anyway.

They go home together a few hours later. Izzy tells himself that he’s going to practice, going to work on remembering that Lucius doesn’t belong to him. But in bed that night, Izzy sucks a nasty bruise into his throat and thrills at the sight, thinking mineminemine.

Even though he spends most of his days at the new offices now, he’s still Blackbeard’s sous chef. And that involves lots of parts of his old job, including helping man the kitchen at pop-up events. Because they’re still setting up the new business, their latest pop-ups are local, and Izzy’s able to walk from his place to the kitchen on the afternoon of the event.

Jim gives him a polite nod when he pushes in. Ivan and Fang are there already too, muttering to each other as they set up their knives. Roach is messing with something around the corner—Izzy can hear his voice as he talks to his mixer. He used to be the first one in the kitchen, but nowadays he’s the last.

“Mate, how excited are you about this duck?” Ed asks, grinning as he appears.

“Not as excited as you, Ed,” he answers honestly. “I’ve never seen a man this excited about duck in my life.”

They fall into the rhythm, like they always do. Shoulder-to-shoulder, like they’ve been for decades—Izzy loses himself in a kitchen with Ed, nothing weighing him down except for the time it takes to get plates out the door.

“Here,” Ed says, shoving a plate into his hands. “Go eat, take a dinner break. You’ve barely stopped for water for three hours and we’re only halfway done.”

Izzy’s not going to argue. In a perfect scenario, he’d take his dinner break in a lone corner where he can have some quiet, but there’s never any such thing at a Blackbeard pop-up. When he exits the kitchen and looks for a chair he can steal, he notices a familiar red scarf in the crowd. Lucius sees him too, because he smiles and raises a hand, beckoning him over.

A few people try to catch his attention as he makes his way towards Lucius, but he ignores them and sets his plate beside Lucius’ empty one on the standing table. 

“Hey, you,” Lucius says with a smile and then immediately and with no hesitation leans in to kiss him, soft and easy. 

Izzy is too shocked to do anything but let him. It’s chaste and short, and he pulls back just as quickly as he’d leaned in. 

“Everything was delicious,” Lucius informs him. “I had the braised pork tacos—genius idea with the fried shell. How’s it been back there?”

Izzy is still frozen, trying to summon words. I didn’t realize we kiss in public doesn’t sound like the best sentence once he’s given it a proper thought. “It’s fine,” he says eventually.

“Well you should eat,” Lucius says. Right, because Izzy’s just standing there like a fool, trying to process a simple kiss. But a kiss in front of a not insignificant number of people, plenty of whom know him, and here he is kissing a man who looks young enough to be—Izzy doesn’t want to finish that thought.

Lucius talks while he eats, and Izzy calms down a bit. He still feels like there are too many eyes on him, on them, but he tries to ignore them in favor of Lucius’ voice. He’s not so much listening to Lucius’ words, though. More just the tone of his voice, even and comforting.

“—could come over later, if you’re not too tired.”

“What?”

Lucius smirks, like he knows Izzy’s been tuning him out. “I said, I was thinking maybe I could come over later, if you’re not too tired. I know you’ll be working for another few hours, but you could text me. If you want me to come over.”

“Sure,” Izzy agrees, because he’s not going to say no. “I’ll text you.”

He almost jumps when he feels a hand on his lower back, but he realizes in the next instant that it’s just Lucius, stepping even closer. He leans in, mouth just above Izzy’s ear as he says, “You’re very sexy in your whites.” Then he’s kissing Izzy again—maybe a little longer than last time—and saying goodbye. Goodbye for now, at least.

Later, in his apartment, kissing Lucius against the door, he asks, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“About—about the uniform.”

Lucius grins. “Obviously. You’re all professional and authoritative. It’s very sexy.”

“I could…leave it on?”

Lucius’ eyes light up. “Yes, Chef,” he says, voice low and teasing.

Izzy shouldn’t like that. Fuck, he definitely shouldn’t get hard at those two simple words, because that could be a real practical problem for him in the future.

And yet.

Izzy’s only plans for the night are to go home, pour himself a generous drink, and fall asleep with the TV on. Until Lucius pokes into his office and says, “So, feel free to say no.”

Izzy arches an eyebrow. “Okay. No.”

“Yes, you’re very funny,” Lucius says dryly. “Look, I’m supposed to go to this cocktail event thing for the art college where I take classes, and Pete was gonna go with me but he’s stuck at work tonight. And one of the great things about having multiple partners is having a backup date so—will you go with me? You don’t even have to get changed, and there’s free food and drinks. It’ll be relatively painless, I promise.”

Izzy’s brain stopped working after the word partners. “Sure,” he says. “Free booze, count me in.”

In a large classroom with a stage in the middle of it, there’s a crowd of people eating, drinking, laughing. Izzy forgot, when he agreed to go with Lucius, that he hates mingling with people.

It’s okay though, because Lucius doesn’t go anywhere. He hands Izzy a drink and starts talking about the art classes he takes, and Izzy gets as close to him as he dares. People come up to talk to Lucius every so often and Izzy is introduced as my friend Izzy, which is at least better than my boss who I fuck. None of them draw much of a reaction from Lucius at all, at least nothing beyond hugs and polite small talk.

“Why are we here if you’re not friends with these people?”

Lucius just smirks, looking at Izzy in disbelief, as if the answer is obvious. Maybe it’s just the free food and wine. That explains a lot about Lucius actually, Izzy thinks. 

It’s an hour or so later, when he’s coming back from the toilet, that he sees Lucius in conversation with someone else. This guy is definitely the stuff of Izzy’s nightmares, the kind of modelesque guy that he assumed Lucius usually went for. He’s handsome, tall, with dark brown skin and a wide smile. He’s wearing a bomber jacket, dark jeans, nice boots. He’d be exactly Izzy’s type if it were 1998.

As Izzy approaches, he catches part of what the stranger is saying. “—remember you being a really great artist. It’s great to see you’re still keeping up with it.” The guy’s definitely Australian; Izzy’s never hated the accent more in his life.

“Oh there you are,” Lucius says, grabbing his arm as soon as he comes within orbit. He pulls Izzy close, leaving an arm around his waist. “Freddy, this is Izzy—Iz, this is Freddy. We had a class together a year or two ago.”

Freddy is even more attractive up close, unfortunately. But he looks confused by Izzy’s presence, looking back and forth between him and Lucius for a moment. “Nice to meet you, mate,” he says, even though it doesn’t really seem like he means it. Izzy is familiar with the feeling.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Izzy says, but he doesn’t mean it.

Lucius laughs, “Definitely not interrupting, babe.” Babe. Babe. Fucking what? “I’m sure Freddy has lots of people to say hi to, right? Thanks for dropping by, Freddy, see you around.”

When Freddy is gone, Izzy glares darts into Lucius. “What was that about?”

“A total creep,” Lucius says with a dramatic shudder. “He asked if I was here alone, I told him I was here with you, and he totally ignored me.” His arm is still around Izzy, keeping him close. “But now he fucked off, so thank you.” 

“I just stood here.”

“And you did such a marvelous job,” Lucius teases, eyes sparkling with delight. He glances down at Izzy’s mouth, asks, “It freaked you out when I kissed you at the pop-up last week, didn’t it?”

Izzy wants to deny it. Instead, he shrugs, says, “Maybe a bit.”

“Because it was unexpected or because you didn’t want to?”

Izzy has a feeling Lucius already knows the answer, but he’s gonna make him fucking say it. “Just unexpected,” he admits. “Didn’t mind it.”

“How generous of you.” Lucius’ arm goes tighter around him, his hand firm on Izzy’s hip. “Can I kiss you now?”

Christ. Lucius wants to kiss him now, here, in a room full of artists and art-adjacent people, some of whom Lucius has probably slept with. In Izzy’s fucked up brain, he hears that Lucius wants to claim him in front of all these people. “Yeah,” Izzy agrees. “Okay.”

They have really good sex that night, the kind of sex that leaves you gasping and shaking and wondering what the fuck just happened because your body feels ten types of weird and amazing. Izzy’s vision whites out when he comes and the next thing he knows, he’s being held, his hair stroked, his mouth kissed.

Jesus. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“Thanks for going with me tonight,” Lucius says when they’ve been chatting in the afterglow for a few minutes.

“Still don’t understand why you care about those things,” Izzy mutters into Lucius’ shoulder. Lucius is on his back, Izzy half on top of him. “Didn’t seem like you liked anyone there.”

“Those things are basically excuses to get drunk,” Lucius says. One hand is one Izzy’s back, tracing patterns into his skin with his fingertips. “I mostly wanted to go so I could show you off.”

Izzy thinks he misheard for a moment. “What?”

“Pete and I tend to go to those things for the free booze; when he couldn’t go I was just going to go home or go to yours and call it a night. But then I popped in and I saw you looking, you know, fucking gorgeous like you do—and I wanted to show you off.”

Izzy closes his eyes, tries to ignore the sudden urge to argue, to pick a fight. It feels like this so often with Lucius, that he’s making fun of Izzy when he’s being earnest. But it’s so hard to believe him, so difficult to trust a compliment for something he didn’t work hard on. When Lucius calls him beautiful, distracting, gorgeous—he didn’t do anything to accomplish that, to earn that praise. And it’s also not true. It doesn’t make any fucking sense. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense,” Izzy informs him.

“Don’t be tetchy,” Lucius says, digging his fingernails into Izzy’s back briefly. “It’s a compliment, Iz. Say ‘thank you, Lucius.’”

Izzy scoffs. He can’t think of the right way to say: You don’t show off a middle-aged man. 

“I wonder how many times I’m going to have to tell you how hot you are before you start believing me,” Lucius muses.

It’s not that Izzy thinks he’s ugly. He knows he appeals to a certain type of guy, but he isn’t a pretty boy either. Men like Lucius—fashionable, adventurous, social—aren’t typically drawn to, well, him. It’s still difficult to believe that Lucius not only wants him, likes having sex with him, but wants other people to know about it too.

“You want to be seen with me.”

“Yes.”

“You realize culinary fame doesn’t really translate, right? I’m not Gordon fucking Ramsey,” he mutters. 

“I don’t want to be seen with you because you have a JBF, Iz,” Lucius half laughs against his hair. “It’s because I pulled someone as gorgeous and grouchy as you. You’re growly and beautiful and I want people to wonder how I did it—how I caught your attention and how I’m keeping it. I’m an adorable little snack and people might believe you let me blow you in a dark corner after a bad day, but you take me out on your arm and you look at me the way you look at me and you whisper snark in my ear. I’m proud and I want to show you off. Do you mind it?” 

So what if he takes it like a claim, in his own head? Even if it is deluded and all in his mind—no one can take this from him, not this one moment, these sweet somethings and the way his fingers feel trailing pictures on his back. 

“No, I don’t,” he says like a confession, “I don’t mind.”

“Let’s have dinner,” Lucius suggests.

It’s a Monday morning, and up until this exact moment, they’d been talking about all the people who unfortunately need to be invited to the institute’s grand opening. “Sure,” Izzy agrees easily. It’s not usually how Lucius initiates the I wanna go home with you tonight conversation, but okay.

“With Pete,” Lucius finishes.

Izzy sighs, leaning back in his chair. In fairness to Lucius, it’s been weeks since he last suggested it.

“I’d wait until you brought it up yourself, but he wants to meet you. Probably because every time I bring leftovers back, it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten.” Lucius’ voice is sing-songy, sweet, seductive. “Just think about it, okay? Don’t decide anything right now and we’ll talk about it later.”

Izzy does think about it—he’s thought about it pretty often actually. Not just because Lucius talks about Pete regularly, but also because Pete represents something absolutely unknowable about their relationship. Pete is Lucius’ boyfriend, and yet he doesn’t stop Lucius from coming around and screwing Izzy’s brains out. That thought is too fucking perplexing to sit with for more than a few minutes at a time.

Almost as soon as Lucius leaves his office, Izzy’s already decided. Fuck it all, he actually thinks Lucius is right. Maybe it will be easier, knowing Pete. Maybe it’ll answer the questions burning in Izzy’s mind. Maybe he’ll finally understand how this works.

“I’ll cook,” Izzy says later, when they’re finishing work for the day. “For you and Pete.”

Lucius’ grin is intoxicating. “Thank you,” he says. “It’ll be fun!”

Izzy isn’t sure about that. But there will be lots of food, because he spends all afternoon stress cooking. Pete enjoys leftovers, probably because he likes heartier flavors of food that has rested and simmered in itself overnight. Why the fuck he cares what flavors Pete enjoys is not something he is going to be questioning at this time. They agree to meet at Izzy’s place on Wednesday evening, but Izzy can’t focus on anything he’s meant to be doing at work. By two in the afternoon, he’s packing up his things, mentally planning the best grocery store to visit on his way home.

“Oh we’re popping out early? Goody.”

“I was just going to pick up groceries for tonight —”

“I am excellent at groceries! I know where everything is in any shop,” he says as he packs folders and stray papers into his bag. “I’m super intuitive.” 

Izzy thought that Lucius would go home to Pete and they would both come to his door with wine, expensive but shitty, and it would be like a knife just seeing them there together at his doorstep. Instead Lucius slings his arm through Izzy’s and nods toward the exit and he decides not to question it. He’s done trying to guess which way Lucius is going to swerve. 

 Izzy guides him around the corners in the market and tries not to put on his teacher voice when he talks about how to pick the best of each kind of produce. Lucius stays hip-to-hip with him the entire time. 

Back home in his kitchen, Lucius is always close by, ready to hand him something. It’s not a smooth dance the way it is with Ed; instead, it’s all jokes and questions and kisses when he needs a spatula. But it’s more fun—or at least a different kind of fun. Less exhilaration and more…contentment. 

Lucius picks bites off of the cutting board and, as usual, he doesn’t help with any of the dishes. Izzy overlooks that because they make out a lot. Lucius may not be that much help in the kitchen but he’s comfortable to lean against, kisses the back of his neck while he sautees, and makes the time pass quickly.

“You know you don’t have to serve a five-course meal, right?”

“It’s not a—” Izzy cuts himself off, rolls his eyes. “It’s three courses.”

“With two entrées.”

“Not everybody eats red meat.”

“Pete does.” Lucius hoists himself onto the island counter, ignoring the way Izzy glares. “And he likes everything you cook. And are you…nervous? Wait, why are you nervous, Iz?”

“I’m not,” Izzy dismisses with a shrug. He’s not nervous. He may, however, feel slightly unprepared for how to behave around his assistant-turned-lover’s boyfriend. And being prepared is important. “This isn’t normal, though. You said you don’t normally—Pete doesn’t normally meet all the guys you see.”

“You honestly think I’m fucking half the continent and it’s really adorable. But you’re right, this isn’t something we usually do. It’s… new. This,” he says as he waves a hand between them, “is new.” 

New. New? “How d’you mean?” he asks, because he can’t fathom how anything they’re doing is new. They’re one of the biggest cliches to ever exist, he’s sure. They have semi-kinky sex almost always at his place—the times they’ve hooked up at the office are too embarrassing to count—and Izzy is ridiculously enamored with a man fifteen years younger than him. Surely none of that is new to Lucius.

“Pete and I have been together for a while and we have been deliriously happy that whole time and in that time I have fucked quite a few people—but not as many as you think. This, whatever we’ve got going on here? It’s not that. It’s something else.”

The spinach is definitely overcooking but what the fuck is he supposed to do with that? “For the love of all that is fucking holy, can you define ‘something else,’ you twerp?”

“No,” Lucius says with a grin as he steals yet another cheese slice. “That’s for us to figure out.”

A timer goes off and Izzy is distracted by the need to turn off the oven. Then there’s the buzzer, the sound that means Pete is here.

It’s surreal, answering the door to his apartment with Lucius by his side, as if they’re hosting, when really he is. But it’s also true that Izzy doesn’t really feel like Lucius is anything close to a guest in his home anymore; he has a drawer and has commandeered a fair portion of the closet. He does his laundry here, keeps his stupidly expensive hair gel here, and there are at least two pairs of his shoes by the door. They’re obviously not living together, but to say that this was exclusively Izzy’s space is…questionable.

Something about the way Lucius moves in that moment calms the knot of anxiety in him, how he swings, still on his arm, to kiss Pete’s cheek with a cheery “Hi, darling”, and then swings back to Izzy’s side. Pete is just as advertised, a perfectly ordinary man. If Izzy had any ties left to sanity and expectations he would be more shocked that a man who is neither particularly fit nor fashionable both lives with Lucius and works for Stede I-Iron-My-Jeans Bonnet. 

Dinner is awkward but not quite as painful as he feared. It’s awkward because Lucius sits between them, like he’s mediating some kind of business meeting. It’s less painful than he anticipated because Pete doesn’t seem to have an ounce of the fears that Izzy does. He doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest that his boyfriend has bits and bobs strewn all over another man’s apartment, or that he squeezes another man’s hand when he’s saying something particularly emphatic, or that he spends a substantial amount of time here. From everything he can gather from their extremely generic conversation, there isn’t anything about the situation that puts Pete off or makes him jealous or even uncomfortable. 

“So then he makes his Stede face so I know he’s going to be late to the rugby and I’m trying to—”

Lucius interrupts, “I’m so sorry, my what?”

“Your Stede face, babe,” Pete says as if it’s obvious—and it is actually. Lucius must know.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your Stede face,” Izzy finds himself agreeing with a nod. “The face you make when Bonnet texts you. Like you want to punch him and ruffle his hair; the order varies depending on the content.”

“That’s the one!” Pete agrees with a clap. “Always wondered if he has a Pete face.” 

“He does,” Izzy replies because apparently he has lost all control of his faculties.

“For real? I knew it! Oh, I wish I could see it,” Pete says enthusiastically. “I mean he definitely has an Izzy face. Well, it’s more of a wiggle? It’s a full body thing.”  

Izzy is suddenly painfully aware of the presence he has in Pete’s life even when he’s not physically there. Even when Lucius isn’t with Izzy, he may still be talking to him, and that feels weirdly against whatever boundary exists between Izzy and Pete. “I’m sorry about that.” It comes out automatically, a penance.

“Bout what?”

“Texting him when he’s home. I don’t always—” He cuts himself off before he can finish with think about the fact that he’s with you. He amends, “It’s not on purpose.”

Pete shrugs, casual as anything. “I don’t mind. Why would I?”

“It’s your home, your time.”

Lucius shifts in his chair and puts a hand under his chin, staying ominously quiet. Pete tilts his head to one side. “Well like—it’s Lucius’ home and time too. He can read his texts all he wants?” Pete sounds genuinely confused, like he’s missing something, and Izzy can’t believe he has to spell this out.

He can hear his heart pounding in his throat. “I mean—what I mean is.” He takes a breath, trying to figure out how to say: I’m apologizing for being the other man. “I realize that it might be an intrusion. I know there are rules.”

Finally, Lucius gets involved. He lays a hand on Izzy’s arm, says, “Iz, don’t hurt yourself—you’re not making any sense to him. Pete darling, Iz thinks you don’t like to think about him existing or the fact that we’re together while I’m home with you.”

And yes, that’s true, that’s exactly what Izzy thinks. Because he doesn’t like thinking about Pete, so why would Pete like thinking about him?

But then Pete says, “Oh! No. Totally fine. That’s Lucius’ business, and you make him all wiggly and smiley. You make freaking amazing food and you seem like a nice guy. Why would I mind?”

Izzy doesn’t have an answer for that and Pete launches back into this story about the rugby match, which leads to one thing or another and somehow they realize they were both at the WWE Sydney house show which, well… It’s a fun surprise. Fun. With Pete. As strange as the thought is, they actually get along. They end up watching some iconic moments on YouTube over beers and making Lucius groan in annoyed but obviously fond boredom. 

After an hour of that Pete stands up with a clap of his thigh and says, “Well, gotta be up early. You’re staying here tonight right, babe?”

“Yep, pick me up from work tomorrow?”

“You got it. It was nice meeting you, Izzy. You’ll have to come over to ours next time.”

“Sure,” Izzy agrees politely, even though he has no intention of doing that. 

Pete gets leftovers to bring home and Lucius kisses him briefly at the door; Izzy averts his gaze, feeling like he’s intruding. Then they’re alone again, just the two of them, and Izzy feels like shaking him, demanding that he explain every single second of that goodbye. But that seems like it might be a touch overdramatic.

Before Pete can even be in the fucking elevator, Lucius is pressed against his back, kissing the side of his neck. “See?” he whispers into Izzy’s skin. “Totally painless.”

Izzy would call it mostly painless, but okay.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re just as much of a wrestling geek as he is,” Lucius goes on, his hands roaming over Izzy’s chest, down his stomach and back up again. “What other secrets are you keeping?”

Izzy doesn’t get to answer because he’s turning around and kissing Lucius hard. He’s felt awkward about touching him all evening and now he just wants to be close to him, since he knows Lucius is spending the night. Lucius kisses back immediately, but more slowly, hands coming up to Izzy’s jaw to guide him.

When they part, foreheads pressed together, Izzy is running the past few hours back in his mind. And it hits him like a ton of bricks, what it means, what the “something else” is that he and Lucius are doing.

The words rasp out of him, sounding as shocked as he feels: “You like me.” He knows he sounds like an absolute idiot but it has to come out of him one way or another or it will drive him insane.

Lucius looks… He looks heartbroken. 

Oh no. Oh fuck. Oh, he’s such a goddamn fool. There’s something he missed, a rule he didn’t know about, a test he’s failed. Izzy starts to back away from him, to put space between them, but Lucius squeezes where his hands are on Izzy’s sides.

“No. No, no, no—come back. Come back to me, baby,” Lucius says, earnest and coaxing and bringing him close for a kiss again. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew. It’s so obvious to me. This is…so obvious to me. But... I think—you need to hear things sometimes, don’t you?” 

“I—” The words are caught in his throat and he feels like a child, cold and nervous. But no, that child was brave and strong and whole. He saw someone beautiful and offered him tea, and didn’t cower from laughing and playing and loving him. “I like you,” Izzy says, before can talk himself out of it. Lucius probably already knows, but it feels good to confess anyway. 

“I like you a lot,” Lucius says with a shy smile. “Why do you think I’m here all the time? I like you. I really fucking like you, Israel Hands, and I’ll say it as much as you need to hear it.”

That’s enough talking, Izzy decides. Lucius must understand because he kisses Izzy harder this time, threading his fingers into Izzy’s hair and letting himself be led backwards into the apartment. He peels his fashionable layers as he goes, kicking off his shoes—that Izzy nearly trips on—and tossing his jacket aside. Left in his nice shirt and jeans, he finally breaks the kiss, stops Izzy in the hallway to his bedroom.

“Can I do something?”

Izzy nods, uncaring—Lucius could do fucking anything right now, as far as he’s concerned. He’s half drunk on the knowledge that the guy he wants wants him back in a way he didn’t think was allowed. And he’s also becoming increasingly aroused every time he replays Lucius’ voice in his head: I really fucking like you, Israel Hands.

Lucius guides him into the bedroom, hand in his, and starts unbuttoning Izzy’s shirt as they stand beside the bed, noses brushing but lips not quite touching. “I wanna tell you all the things I like about you,” he says softly, spreading the shirt and pushing it over Izzy’s shoulders. His hands are flat and lingering as they drag down Izzy’s torso, fingertips tugging on his waistband teasingly. “Is that okay?”

“Do we get to fuck in this plan of yours?” Izzy asks, because he just has to check.

Lucius laughs, a bright, happy noise. “Of course, baby, whatever you want.”

Izzy’s never been anyone’s baby. It should feel weird, he thinks, since he’s so much older than Lucius, but it doesn’t. There’s only the barest prickle of embarrassment when he realizes he actually likes it—he wants to be Lucius’, and if Lucius wants to call him “baby” then so be it.

Izzy starts unbuttoning Lucius’ shirt, since he needs to do something with his hands. He lets himself get distracted in touching Lucius, leans in to kiss him again before he remembers there’s supposed to be talking happening. Lucius indulges him for a long moment, kissing him deeply as they press closer together, but still pulls away too quickly, smiling like someone with a secret.

“Will you undress the rest of the way for me?” Lucius asks, as if Izzy is doing him a favor. He nods and it’s shaky but he does as he’s told, which in itself is a thrill that he’d hardly allowed himself before. He likes the not guessing—knowing what his lover wants from him so that he can give him that. 

“I like it when you do things because you want to please me,” Lucius says as he places a kiss on his shoulder. “Like taking off your pants or making crispy bacon.”

He bites back a laugh because he’s ridiculous, and that makes the other man tut. 

Lucius goes on, pressing careful kisses, soft like whispers, periodically into his skin as he goes. “I like your laugh when you don’t hide it, the one that comes from your belly and rumbles in your chest.”

Izzy almost starts to argue, to tell Lucius to quit it with the flowery language and just get to the main event—he didn’t realize that Lucius’ request was going to be their entire foreplay dialogue—but then Lucius is lifting his head and kissing Izzy’s forehead. It’s strange, because Izzy knows he shouldn’t be turned on by another man’s lips chastely touching him with no more passion than if he were taking Izzy’s temperature. And yet the simplicity of the touch makes him burn, makes him squirm and gasp and cling to Lucius’ arms as the man goes on.

“I like the way your forehead crinkles when you don’t taste enough salt.”

Izzy does laugh then, the sound startling out of him. Lucius doesn’t react, only trails his fingertips down Izzy’s chest.

“I like how broad and strong you are, and all this hair that marks me up, leaves me remembering how it felt to be in bed with you.” He shrugs Izzy’s hands off his arms and captures them in his own, putting them back by Izzy’s sides. He squeezes, threads their fingers together. “I like the way your fingers flex when you aren’t sure if you’re allowed to hold my hand and, baby, Iz, you can always hold my hand.”

It shouldn’t work for him, this soft, romantic thing. It shouldn’t make his blood pump faster, his skin feel too tight, but it does —he’s as turned on as he’s ever been with Lucius, and they’ve barely even touched. He leans forward and captures Lucius’ mouth again, desperate to kiss him, to actually put his hands on him. Apparently Lucius doesn’t mind the interruption of his monologue, because he kisses Izzy back while he takes care of his own clothes.

“Ready for bed, baby?” Lucius coos, a tone of teasing about his voice. He holds onto Izzy’s arse and rolls their hips together gently, just a hello, a notice that he’s just as interested in keeping things moving.

Izzy pulls him onto the mattress, not bothering to dignify the question with a verbal response. They kiss for a minute, hands moving, bodies grinding, until he can feel Lucius’ cock hard and dripping against his stomach. He’s going to do the normal thing and roll onto his front, but Lucius pins him with a hand on his chest.

“Not so fast. I like kissing you,” Lucius says. “Don’t you like kissing?”

“No, I hate it,” Izzy says, because he’s a dick.

But Lucius knows he’s a dick, so he just smiles. “Well then I guess I better keep talking.”

“Wait—”

“I like the way you curl around me in the morning,” Lucius goes on, before Izzy can stop him, “when you think I’m still asleep. And I like how you touch me when we’re at work, like you’re forgetting we’re not at home. We work alone most of the time, so really you should be groping me constantly and not feeling embarrassed about it.”

Izzy doesn’t want to think about what it’ll be like when the building is full of their colleagues instead of distant construction workers, when he and Lucius can’t just fool around in his office whenever they want. So he squirms toward the side table as best he can, impatient to get things moving. “C’mon,” he encourages, nudging a knee into Lucius’ side. “You can keep talking if you want, just finger me already.”

That must be a worthwhile compromise to Lucius. He retrieves the lube and sets to work, kissing his way down Izzy’s chest and settling between his thighs. As he goes, he says, “I like to find out tiny things about your life that you think don’t matter but they matter to me, so much. Your favorite song and the T-shirt you love so much even though it’s see-through and falling apart.” He pauses as he guides Izzy’s knees to his shoulders, nuzzles into the soft part of his inner thighs, and then finishes, “The little things that live here with you that you don’t let other people see. Thank you for letting me see them.”

“Fucking—kiss me.” Izzy is usually pretty demanding in bed, nothing new, but what is new is how raw he feels, how each demand is actually a plea, not far at all from begging. Because this is fucking with feelings, which he hasn’t done in a long, long time.

Lucius acquiesces, arching forward to kiss him as he slicks his fingers. It means Izzy is practically folded in half, but it doesn’t matter—the stretch is good, Lucius’ weight bending his body is good, and he’s achingly hard now, teased to his limit. “I like the way you open up for me, baby,” he whispers against Izzy’s lips, and pushes into him with two fingers at once. “You’re so good for me, you always feel so good.”

“Christ, Lucius, just—”

“I know, I know,” Lucius soothes, only somewhat condescendingly. “I’m getting impatient too. But you want to take my cock, don’t you, baby? Let me make it good for you.”

Izzy tries not to show the way a shudder runs down his spine, the way he wants to arch and moan and squirm. It doesn’t matter though, because once Lucius is really fingering him—which he does like a fucking expert—he doesn’t have the control to stop himself from doing all of those things. And Lucius just keeps talking. He keeps saying things, things about the way Izzy cooks, the way he gets out of bed in the morning, innocuous things that shouldn’t make Izzy feel as good as he does. (He absently thinks to himself that if he comes out of this evening with a stupid kink he didn’t ask for, he’s gonna be so fucking pissed.)

Then Lucius stops talking for a while, because Izzy’s cock is in his mouth. It’s almost too much, the fingers inside him coupled with the sensation of Lucius bobbing up and down on his dick, but Lucius stays pointedly away from his prostate and doesn’t do much in the way of sucking, mostly holding Izzy on his tongue like he’s a thermometer. And even that extremely unsexy thought isn’t enough to dampen his arousal. Because he’s being touched so intimately by a guy who likes him—everything just feels more.

The vague pain that had accompanied the width and pressure of Lucius’ fingers has long faded, and the only thing Izzy can think about is getting Lucius’ weight back between his legs. Izzy pushes his fingers into Lucius’ hair and tugs on a handful of it, pulling him off his cock. “Get a rubber on,” he urges.

Lucius hurries to comply, moving toward the nightstand again even though it means Izzy has to put his legs down. Maybe it’s silly, but he feels out-of-his-head sexy when Lucius’ head is between his knees, and losing that closeness makes something turn in his chest, makes him nervous even though Lucius moved away because Izzy told him to. As if sensing his discomfort, Lucius is back in an instant, covering Izzy’s body with his.

“Put it on me, baby,” Lucius says, putting the condom in his hand, still in its square wrapper. “C’mon, Iz, please touch me.”

If it were up to Izzy, he’d stay in bed touching Lucius all the time. And one of the nicest parts of him is undoubtedly his dick, which is just big enough for Izzy to feel impressed and not too big for him to feel inadequate. It curves slightly and always feels stupidly fucking good inside him, especially in his position, where Lucius can grind as deep as he wants and all Izzy has to do is cling with his legs and swear at the ceiling.

This is a little bit different, because once he’s got his knees hitched up around Lucius’ waist and has groaned through the first few thrusts, Lucius captures his hands and pins them both to the mattress, stilling his movements.

“Lu,” Izzy sighs, unable to care about the nickname, the endearment that he’s only ever thought and never said out loud. “What—”

“I’ve got you,” Lucius assures, kissing Izzy quickly. “I just want to hold your hand.” 

Maybe it should feel like a tease, a joke, but it doesn’t. Izzy wants to hold his hand too. So he squeezes where his fingers are interlaced with Lucius’, closes his eyes, lets himself be touched and held and fucked.

“Keep your legs around me, that’s it—fuck, you feel amazing. I have to—” He readjusts his weight slightly so that can get more leverage, planting his knees firmly before he starts rocking purposefully into Izzy. “That’s it—is that good, baby?”

“Yes,” Izzy gasps. His legs are trembling around Lucius and all he can focus on is where they’re connected—their hands, their chests rubbing together, their hips, where Lucius is inside him, fucking him slow and deep. Everything else in the world has dissolved and there’s only them, in this bed, right here and now.

Izzy floats like that for a long time, only vaguely aware of anything that isn’t Lucius on top of him and inside him, until he realizes that Lucius is talking again, right into his ear. “—the way you sound like this, when I’m fucking the thoughts out of you. Especially when you’re close, and you start whining like you’re dying for it—you sound so fucking good, Izzy.”

There’s more, about his legs, his tattoos, his arse. He’s only barely listening, too busy figuring out if he can come like this, without a hand on his dick.

Then Lucius kisses his throat and says, “I like the way you want me to stay but you never hold me back.”

Maybe it’s just the sex hormones and the endorphins and everything, but that’s the first time Izzy thinks he’s really understood what Lucius wants from his relationships—with Pete and with Izzy. To be wanted, to even be had, but not to be restricted, limited, stifled. It’s difficult for Izzy to conceptualize, who only knows how to love in overwhelming leaps and bounds—Love? Fuck. Love?—but he figures his feelings for Lucius, whatever they may be, could maybe be enabling, freeing, for both of them. He’s not sure how or what that really looks like, but he’s willing to find out.

“Please.” Izzy feels so close to breaking, to shattering into a million pieces in the best possible way, and he just needs Lucius to give him a push. “Touch me—please fucking touch me.”

“Of course, baby. You’re so patient, thank you, Iz—I got you.”

Izzy misses the feeling of Lucius’ hand in his, but he distracts himself by holding onto Lucius’ shoulder. And he doesn’t care so much once that hand is on his cock, stroking him from base to tip in long, sure movements. It’s just enough to take the pressure off, to make Izzy arch closer and shake.

It’s moments like these where Izzy is dangerously close to falling in love. It’s like he can feel it in his chest, not dissimilar to the way he feels his orgasm building in his balls—under the right conditions, this feeling could blossom into so much more.

Lucius keeps talking, muttering into his neck while he jerks Izzy off. Izzy can feel the way his hips are losing rhythm, the way his breath is faster and uneven, and he grins to himself as he chases his own release, certain that Lucius will follow.

“I got you,” Lucius says again, kissing his pulse point. “I got you, baby—you’re mine.”

Izzy gasps, sucking in breath like he’s drowning. Everything in his body is too much, is everything, and he can’t think, can’t process—

Lucius is fucking him with the urgency of a man on the edge, squeezing his hand, tugging generously on his cock. And he’s whispering into Izzy’s skin: “Mine, mine, mine—thank you, baby, so good—all mine, aren’t you.”

His eyes are stinging and he can’t squeeze a word out of his tightening throat. He can’t believe any of it is happening, not the strong and gentle way this man is fucking him or the fact that he could possibly understand, that all this time wanting to posses his lovers, all he truly wanted was to be claimed by them. He doesn’t want to keep Lucius shackled to him or even keep him all to himself—he just wants him here when he’s with him, wrapped up in each other, to know that when he waltzes away with a smile he will always come back.

He’s crying before he can stop it, tears streaming down his cheeks, out the corners of his eyes. And Lucius just keeps moving, kissing him, touching him, until Izzy is sobbing as he comes, shuddering wordlessly as every part of him tightens around Lucius. It’s so fucking stupid, he knows, but the tears are a mixture of relief and shock, even joy—he’s crying with joy. And he can’t stop, doesn’t want to stop, wants to stay here in this moment for as long as he can.

It feels like it takes ages to come down. He feels like he lies there forever and shakes, tears still flowing, as his orgasm rips through his body, leaving his extremities tingling. Lucius is a pleasant weight on top of him, hips still rolling minutely, and Izzy clings as hard as he can, trying to feel every last second.

“Fucking—mine,” Lucius rasps one last time and he stills, groaning as he climaxes.

It takes another few minutes of quiet closeness for Izzy to feel human again. Lucius is still mostly on top of him, although he’s pulled out and dealt with the condom, and he’s nuzzling into Izzy’s shoulder, brushing a hand through his chest hair. Somehow, at some point, he stopped crying, and now he’s just breathing hard, still holding onto Lucius as if his life depends on it. He resists the urge to wipe away the tear tracks on his face, not wanting to draw attention to them.

“You awake?”

Izzy’s eyes slip closed. Talking feels like a lot of work, but he makes himself say, “Yeah.” His voice is rough, raw.

“You okay?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you wanna…talk?”

“No.”

“Fair enough. I’m gonna get a washcloth, okay?”

“No,” Izzy protests. “Stay.”

“I’ll be right back.”

“ Stay.”

“...okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

“G’night.”

Lucius huffs a laugh. “Goodnight, Iz.”

He wakes as if from the dead, feeling heavy and satisfied. It’s later in the morning than he’s used to, the light streaming in at a different angle in a different shade. A few weeks ago he might have felt alone, wondered when Lucius had scurried away and left him. Now he doesn’t consider that an option and he’s soon alert enough to hear the sounds of him in the kitchen, puttering about and singing badly under his breath. 

On the bedside there is a tall glass of water with a scrap of cardstock leaned against it—a sketch of a potted plant that has an astonishing resemblance to Izzy with the words drink up, you beautiful dehydrated bitch scrawled below it. 

He finds Lucius where he expects him, wearing his loud obnoxious boxers and nothing else while he prods around the kitchen for breakfast. He can smell coffee and hear soft terrible singing and fuck him, he loves this.

“Morning.”

“Morning, baby! Did you drink water? No coffee before water.”

“I’m a very hydrated bitch, thanks.”

Lucius laughs so much better than he sings and he comes around the kitchen island with a mug of coffee, which he hands over with a kiss. It’s everything. 

“I wanna talk,” Izzy breathes out.

Lucius grins. “Love that for us.” 

Unfortunately that’s about all Izzy has in him, warmth and contentment and the vague notion that they should talk about it all. But no words came.

“Alright,” Lucius says softly as he takes his hand, “what about I start?”

He takes a gulp of coffee and nods.

“Last night was pretty intense—for me at least—and if I was, you know, not imagining things…you were having a pretty intense time too. Is that right?”

He nods again. Nodding is easy.

“You liked it,” Lucius says, a statement, “when I called you mine.”

“Yeah,” he finally rasps out.

“Can you tell me a little more, Iz?”

“What do you want to know?”

“What do you want?”

“You. Not…not like—I don’t want you just for me, or to take you away from Pete. He’s…he’s a good man. He loves you. And I…” 

He’s run out of words again, but Lucius is still holding his hand, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles. 

“I’ve been in love before,” he says quietly, almost into the coffee, “with…”

“With Edward?”

He’s back to nodding but this time Lucius just waits, sipping his own coffee and keeping his expression calm and open and patient.

“I think—I always will. Not because he’s my best friend, it's… I loved him my whole life, I don’t know how to stop.”

“Do you want to stop?”

“I want you,” he grinds out, wishing he could make sense of it for himself. He sets his cup down and pulls his hand away from Lucius so he can bury his face in his hands and try again. With his face still covered, he says, “I want you to…keep me. Even if I never stop loving Ed.”

There’s a moment of quiet where Izzy wants to lose his shit, wants to panic and scream and run right out the door so he doesn’t have to face whatever it is Lucius is building himself up to say. But he forces himself to stay put, to breathe, because what happened last night makes him think that whatever is keeping Lucius from jumping in with reassurances isn’t necessarily bad.

“I want to keep you,” Lucius says, almost a whisper. His hands come up to Izzy’s wrists, taking them away from his face, but Izzy keeps his eyes down. “Iz, look at me.”

He doesn’t want to—it’s too scary, too much. But he also doesn’t want to look anywhere else. So he lifts his gaze, stares back into Lucius’ eyes and feels his heart lurch into his throat.

“I don’t want you to stop loving him,” Lucius tells him, hands slipping into his. “That love—that’s special. Unconditional. One in a million. Why would I want you to give that up?”

“Because you deserve that—what I gave him—what the fuck else have I got? I’m empty and used up and I’ve got nothing left to give you,” he finds himself saying again after all these months. “Shucked fucking shell,” he whispers to himself. 

“Who told you that?”

“What?”

“Who told you that you’re empty?” Lucius demands, voice stronger and clearer now. “Because you love someone, that means you have no love left in you? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

And for Lucius, sure, maybe it is—he clearly has enough love to go around. But Izzy isn’t sure that he can do that, that he can keep loving Ed the way he does and still belong to Lucius the way he wants. It feels problematic at the very least and like a recipe for disaster, for hurt feelings and ruined relationships, at worst. “It’s not like you and Pete,” Izzy tries to explain. “You can’t keep me if I’ve already given myself to—to someone else.”

“You love Edward and you want me, want me to keep you—you want to be mine. And you think that you can’t hold all of that inside you. Look at you, Iz; you’re shaking with how much that love fills you.” Lucius squeezes his hands again, and it reminds Izzy of that first time in his office, Lucius talking to him in that seductive voice, reassuring him that he wasn’t there as Mary’s spy. God, so much has happened since that day, since he let Lucius between his legs. “Iz, nothing about you feels empty to me. Nothing about us, the time we spend together—I don’t know where you got this idea, but it’s bullshit. Did he—did Edward say—”

“No,” Izzy says, stopping him before he can finish the thought. “No, I just… It’s how I feel. I guess.”

Lucius doesn’t speak for a long second. Then, softer now, he says, “Tell me why, baby. What feels empty?”

Izzy prickles, defensive for no real reason. “This is ridiculous. It isn’t important.”

“Why would you say that if it wasn’t important?”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“Izzy.” Another squeeze of his hands. Lucius steps closer, pressing his forehead to Izzy’s. “This isn’t a test. I’m not judging you. I’m trying to understand. Just tell me.”

He doesn’t have to think very hard. The feeling is always there, always threatening to come out. “I spent thirty years giving him every part of me. I don’t know if there’s anything left.” Anything other than sex and sarcasm, which Izzy does pretty well with Lucius, he thinks. But there should be more. He should be able to give Lucius more.

“So what would you call this, then?” Lucius asks. “Don’t you give yourself to me every time we’re together? It’s not nothing, Iz, it’s enough—it’s more than enough. It’s everything.” 

“You deserve everything,” he manages to say, even though his throat feels dry despite the water and coffee. Lucius makes an expression that pirouettes between delighted and heartbroken before he leans in to kiss him again.

“Promise me something,” Lucius mutters against his mouth, in between lazy kisses. 

“Mhm.”

“Promise you’ll tell me when you think things like that—bullshit about yourself like that.” Lucius doesn’t let him respond immediately, kissing him harder for a moment. When he pulls back, he brushes a thumb over Izzy’s bottom lip and says, “If you need me to remind you how important you are, how special this is to me, I’ll do it. I’ll do it as often as you need me to, baby.”

“You’re special to me,” Izzy says, the words welling in his chest.

“Promise me,” Lucius says again.

“I promise,” Izzy whispers, and pulls him in to kiss again.

They need to go, need to get dressed and get out the door and be productive members of society. But Izzy’s the boss, so if he pulls a guy who likes him back to bed for a little bit longer, who’s going to tell on him?

When the construction is complete, KRKN is a grand campus, shiny and new and elegant. Izzy probably won’t say it to his face, but Bonnet actually did a good job turning his decades-old doodles into a fully functional culinary institute. And now that everyone is in their offices and the business is opening up to the public, there’s something that’s Izzy’s —something that he gets to lead. It’s a good feeling, unfamiliar but thrilling, and it fills him with a confidence he’s sure he’s never experienced before.

That confidence could also have something to do with Lucius. Izzy isn’t trying to investigate it too much, but he’s fairly certain that he stands taller and does his job better when Lucius is right there, waiting to be of use. If any of the staff—Jim, Ivan, Fang, and a handful of new faces—notice anything, they don’t say anything to Izzy. But he isn’t stupid enough to think that people don’t notice. Especially since he and Lucius are in his office with the door locked quite a bit.

Fuck it, he decides after he catches two of the new staff watching him and Lucius as they chat outside the main exit. Izzy wracks his mind for their names—Frenchie and Feeney. They’re both smoking, and Izzy is sure that there’s a cigarette between Feeney’s fingers. He’s not so sure about the other man.

Pete is picking Lucius up tonight, and Izzy’s waiting to say hi before he heads home himself. He slips his hand into Lucius’, not yet risking a glance back at the men not-so-subtly looking at them.

“Frenchie and John are watching,” Lucius says, as if Izzy didn’t know. “Is that okay with you?”

Izzy shrugs, brushes his thumb over Lucius’. “Just wanted to hold your hand,” he says.

Lucius beams. “Always,” he says, squeezing gently.

“Go on and kiss me,” Izzy tells him. “Might as well give ’em something to talk about.”

He doesn’t hesitate, swooping in to kiss Izzy sweetly. It could be chaste, if Izzy let it be, but he tilts his hand and parts his lips, pushing forward into the kiss. He lets himself melt into a headspace where they’re alone, just the two of them, and he genuinely forgets for a long moment that they’re making out like teenagers in front of people who work for him.

They’re interrupted by the honking of Pete’s car. “C’mon, hot stuff,” Pete calls through the open window. “Howdy, Izzy—I’ll have him back to you bright and early tomorrow.”

“Not that early,” Lucius quips. He pecks another kiss against Izzy’s mouth, squeezes his hand one final time. “Party tomorrow. Don’t forget to bring your whites to the office.”

“Text me to remind me,” Izzy says, and Lucius agrees with a smile.

The party is an annoying necessity—the grand opening for KRKN. It’s an open house for everyone to explore the campus, and of course they’ll be cooking for an audience for the first hour or so. But then all Izzy has to do is meet people and talk about his project, about his passion, and as long as he has his people there, he’s not going to be worried about it.

Well, maybe a little bit.

Especially if Stede Bonnet insists on whispering in the back of his fucking kitchen.

He prefers the whispering to the outright shouting when Stede calls out an exuberant and obnoxious, “Excellent job, Izzy!” 

He only rolls his eyes and carries on with his work until he hears Lucius give a really-much-too-loud whisper to Bonnet: “It’s ‘Chef,’ actually.” 

It takes a good amount of self control not to drop his tools and march to the back of the kitchen to shut Lucius up with a kiss and then kick all of the extra people out. 

“Excellent job, Chef!” Stede shouts.

He’s seconds from making a scene—he doesn’t care that Lucius is the one Bonnet’s talking to, defending his professional honor—when the two of them exit with Mary, the three of them making for the hall. Good riddance, Izzy thinks, and goes back to his work.

Later, after the presentation and the popping of champagne, Izzy finds a kitchen to hide in, just for a few minutes, just to catch a fucking break.

He’s only there for about two minutes when the door opens. “Should’ve gone upstairs if you didn’t want to be found, mate,” Ed says, coming into the room. “You good?”

“’m fine,” he dismisses. “Taking a break.”

Ed is quiet. He pulls himself onto a counter on the opposite side of the kitchen. He’s wearing his whites, his hair tied back, hands clasped in his lap. 

There’s a pang in Izzy’s chest that seems to just always be there when Ed is. But it’s a different kind now, not one that sinks into his gut and threatens to tear him apart from the inside. This one sits in his chest and stays there, warm, still, content. He’s not angry anymore, not really. How can he be, when his best friend is so ridiculously happy, when they communicate better than they have in years, when he’s gotten everything he’s asked for these past few months?

“I can make excuses if you wanna cut out,” Ed offers eventually. “Just increase the drama anyway, I bet the funders eat that shit up.”

“What if I suck at it?”

“At what?”

“At being the boss.”

Ed scoffs. “Impossible, man. We’ve been prepping for days and you ran us smooth as anything tonight—even the newbies pulled it off without a hitch. You’re great at this, Iz, don’t forget it.”

“One good night doesn’t mean anything,” Izzy starts to protest.

“We’ve had hundreds of good nights,” Ed says with a grin. “Thousands. Nights you made sure happened because you are excellent at this. And we’re not done yet.” He hops off the counter, closes the distance between them, and pulls Izzy into a hug. It’s not something they usually do, he knows, but if not tonight, when? Izzy lets himself relax into it, grateful, relieved, comforted.

“Knock knock,” Lucius sings out from the door, absolutely not knocking. “Are you two hiding out here?”

“Not very successfully,” Izzy grumbles, but he’s not upset. In fact, he’s glad to see Lucius, who he hasn’t had a moment with all evening.

“Come find me later,” Ed says, patting him on the back. He mutters a greeting to Lucius as he passes, and Izzy has a moment where he marvels at the simplicity of the interaction, the acquaintanceship of the two men he would do anything for.

“You’ve been very popular,” Lucius says, coming further into the room and standing in front of Izzy, one hand coming to his waist. “Keep losing you in the crowd.”

Izzy steps forward fully into his space, kissing him quickly. “Come home with me tonight.”

“As if you have to ask.” Lucius initiates the next kiss, deeper and longer. When he pulls back, Izzy is breathing harder. “My boyfriend, the boss—it’s extremely sexy.”

Boyfriend. Boyfriend? Boyfriend. “Boyfriend?” Izzy asks, because he can’t stop himself.

“Yeah,” Lucius says, smiling now. “If you—if that’s what you want.” 

Is it? Can he? If he gives himself completely, can he trust that Lucius finds that to be enough? Ed’s words ring in his head: Is that something you can do? The whole “my boyfriend’s boyfriend” thing? Yes, he thinks. He can.

“Yeah,” Izzy says. “Yeah, I want this.”

He captures Lucius’s lips again, dancing between claiming and begging, biting and soothing. 

Izzy is happy. Izzy is generally a grumpy old bastard with years of longing on his shoulders, but he feels light now. He is happy and light like a thirteen-year-old boy taking a chance on the boy on his porch. He is happy and light like watching the gleam of pride in Ed when his crew called him Chef. He is happy and light like seeing Jim grin the first time he called them Chef. Izzy is happy and light like he found what Izzy was lacking, which was nothing at all.