Agreeing to train Stede Bonnet in the art of sword fighting hadn't been his best decision. But it also hasn't been his worst, either. He was an annoyingly attentive student. Eager and curious and willing to put in the work, even if just to prove Izzy wrong. He was also a sore loser, which was pretty amusing considering he had lost every sparring match they had attempted so far.
His grasp of the basics was reasonable. His fighting talk was terrible. He always turned up for training in a clean outfit and was upset when it got marked.
It seemed all Izzy could think about at the moment was Stede fucking Bonnet. How his perfect hair bounced with his movements. How his red cheeks and panting breath was endearing and uncomfortably erotic at the same time. How his strong hands felt when he pushed Izzy away after a failed feint.
It was driving him crazy.
"Get your fucking foot back," Izzy barked, snapping the side of his sabre against Stede's thigh. "How many times am I gonna have to fucking say that?"