𝐂 𝐋 𝐎 𝐒 𝐄 𝐃   𝐒 𝐓 𝐀 𝐑 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑     for     @smokedanced​​   //    𝐈𝐒𝐑𝐀𝐄𝐋

[ STRADDLE ] : while sparring, sender gains the upper hand and pins the receiver in place, straddling their waist in the process. + reverse

Stede would have loved to spar with Edward. He's not blind to the homoerotic tension that could be had rolling around on the ground, the bluster of a challenge with racing heartbeats and touching bodies. It's a euphemism without even trying to be. Tragically, Edward's knee is in no shape to be tussling, at least not without proper cause.

And therefore he ends up matched with Izzy.

The funny thing is, he's not blind to their homoerotic tension either, unless by choice, which he does choose to do, on occasion, if Israel is being particularly annoying. But today, he's feeling honest, which means he has no problem admitting to himself that their very first meeting - Israel shredding his shirt with his sword - had been one of the most attractive things ever to happen to him, and nearly every interaction ever since had brought just a little bit too much of a racing heart with his frustration.

Truly, this moment has potential.

They've dueled twice - both times Stede has won due to being underestimated by his opponent, for his guile and wit is had been strong enough confuse and distract. He's not confident he'll be able to get away with a third time. And yet.

It's very easily done, honestly. Israel may be better trained by far, but Stede is larger, and much stronger than he looks. He shoots Izzy a compliment - a genuine one - and it throws the first mate off enough that he doesn't slip away this time, out of Stede's grasp the way he has been all this time, quick and agile as he is, and Stede overpowers him through blunt force alone, pushing forward, with a foot placed behind his leg to send him sprawling backwards. Stede hurrying to pin him - his knees pressed into Izzy's thighs, giving Stede a bit more control that in if he were to simply straddle the man, his arms pinning Izzy's wrists to the deck with a surprising amount of force.

The position brings their faces terrifyingly close together. Stede pants with exertion, his hair mussed and his skin covered in a fine sheen of sweat, his teeth bared in a confident grin. He's high on his win, and in the euphoria of it, he blindly thinks that it was a wonderful idea to take his shirt off prior to the fight - he's having an excellent time flustering Mr. Hands as much as possible, and something warm and content and fluttering appears in his belly with his bare chest pressed down against Izzy's. Consider it a gift - he'd clearly wanted to see, tearing Stede's shirt to shred like that, the very first day they' met.

" How's that for a win, eh? "   He's happy, he won, and Hands out to be proud of him as his tutor, but he doesn't expect him to be - none of his tutors ever were - he is happy anyway, and will be no matter what sort of insult is given. He won.

" Two out of three? "