Arthur barks a laugh at that, it's loud and sharp and genuinely amused and he shakes his head. "And here I was hopin' to tell you all about how my daddy never loved me," he says, a little wry in the smirk that just barely pulls at his lips. "If I wanted to talk about my feelings I'd pay one of them workin' girls downstairs for their time, don't you worry about that."
He leans back against the door, thumbs tucked in his gun belt as he watches the other man disrobe and makes no move to join him. Doesn't even the minimum courtesy of taking off his weapons, just watches.
A little surprised by the man's age-- not disappointed, not at all, but generally if someone seeks him out this way they're younger than him. Sometimes moreso than he's comfortable with. He wonders what it is that brought him to Izzy's attention, but he figures after a moment that it's the same thing as everyone else. Arthur's built like a brick shithouse, he's sometimes affable but rarely nice, and he just seems like someone who'd be comfortable putting someone in their place.
"You got an out?" A safeword, he means. Doesn't expect he's gonna push this guy even close to too far, but he's been surprised before.
“Basilica,” he answers without hesitation or pause in his efforts. Rough and ready would be fine but Izzy treasures these clothes and they are his only set at present so he must preserve them.
Izzy straightens up and turns to the other man, weight on one hip. He’s got an attitude, even naked, even here to have the hell fucked out of him and then some.
Like his head and beard, the hair on Izzy’s chest and arms are salt and pepper, his skin is marred with hand poked tattoos and scars that could tell a thousand stories.
In truth, he’s about forty or so, but a life at sea is hard. He was turning grey in his first three years at Blackbeard’s side and blames the man entirely.
Arthur takes a moment, just a quick one to give Izzy a quick, appraising look. Approving, though he doesn't say a thing about it as he pushes himself off the door and saunters over to the other man.
"Really got a mouth on you, ain't you," he says, casual as can be as he moves around to his back-- he can practically taste how eager Izzy is for something hard and fast and that makes Arthur certain that this is something to take his time with. "We're gonna have to do somethin' 'bout that."
He takes Izzy's wrists, one by one, grip firm but almost gentle as he juggles them into the grip of one hand and takes his lasso from his belt.
"Now--" Of course, the gentleness is gone the next instant. He just wanted to get his hackles up about this not being what he was looking for for a moment. Arthur ties the rope around his wrists quick and rough, plenty experienced in tying people up so they can't escape, and he wraps the other end of the rope around his hand to make sure he won't lose his grip. "How much are you plannin' to fight me here, Israel?" He asks, not expecting an answer that's worth a damn. Especially not when he pushes at the back of his leg with a boot to drop him to his knees.
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He leans back against the door, thumbs tucked in his gun belt as he watches the other man disrobe and makes no move to join him. Doesn't even the minimum courtesy of taking off his weapons, just watches.
A little surprised by the man's age-- not disappointed, not at all, but generally if someone seeks him out this way they're younger than him. Sometimes moreso than he's comfortable with. He wonders what it is that brought him to Izzy's attention, but he figures after a moment that it's the same thing as everyone else. Arthur's built like a brick shithouse, he's sometimes affable but rarely nice, and he just seems like someone who'd be comfortable putting someone in their place.
"You got an out?" A safeword, he means. Doesn't expect he's gonna push this guy even close to too far, but he's been surprised before.
no subject
Izzy straightens up and turns to the other man, weight on one hip. He’s got an attitude, even naked, even here to have the hell fucked out of him and then some.
Like his head and beard, the hair on Izzy’s chest and arms are salt and pepper, his skin is marred with hand poked tattoos and scars that could tell a thousand stories.
In truth, he’s about forty or so, but a life at sea is hard. He was turning grey in his first three years at Blackbeard’s side and blames the man entirely.
“Put up or fuck off, Arthur.”
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"Really got a mouth on you, ain't you," he says, casual as can be as he moves around to his back-- he can practically taste how eager Izzy is for something hard and fast and that makes Arthur certain that this is something to take his time with. "We're gonna have to do somethin' 'bout that."
He takes Izzy's wrists, one by one, grip firm but almost gentle as he juggles them into the grip of one hand and takes his lasso from his belt.
"Now--" Of course, the gentleness is gone the next instant. He just wanted to get his hackles up about this not being what he was looking for for a moment. Arthur ties the rope around his wrists quick and rough, plenty experienced in tying people up so they can't escape, and he wraps the other end of the rope around his hand to make sure he won't lose his grip. "How much are you plannin' to fight me here, Israel?" He asks, not expecting an answer that's worth a damn. Especially not when he pushes at the back of his leg with a boot to drop him to his knees.