MASSACRE,

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ are you cracking jokes now? ❞ the revolutionary steps forward. he can't help but laugh a little, the sound musical. the humor was dry, deadpan — and especially funny because he knew lucci was likely being serious. still, it left him little guesses to what the gift could be. but he sees how tension rolls through the other, watches as his hand stills — and he seems to hesitate. lucci did not hesitate. he did not double think most things. sabo tilts his head, curious. whatever he was offering up was something important to him, and his curiosity piques further, impatience alongside it. he's about ready to pop in front of him and be annoying about it, when lucci turns to face him.

ㅤㅤㅤtheir eyes meet. sabo's lips part. the leopard looks so intense — so strikingly beautiful, that he finds himself further enamored. his gaze softens. he's so intent on staring down the man before him — that he hardly realizes he's opened his palm, hardly realized lucci has bestowed this secretive gift, until there is something cool around his left ring finger... something weighty.

ㅤㅤㅤhe glances down, his good eye goes wide, and his heartbeat kicks up so fast, he feels like it might leap out of his chest.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ lucci- ❞ sabo begins, his finely boned hand still resting upon lucci's larger one. the ring looks exquisite. so simple, but bright against his pale skin. obviously finely made with the composition to withstand his flames. his gaze flicks between the ring. then the leopard. then the ring. for once in his damn life, he's at a loss for words.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ you... ❞ his heart beats faster. it's hard to get air into his lungs. pink adorns his cheeks — his ears. he flushes all the way down his chest. he had known their bond permanent — in the scars they had given each other. but in some ways that had been for lucci, not for him. he did not possess those zoan instincts — but he was happy to oblige all the same. it was a demonstration of his own love and devotion. he'd never expected anything beyond what adorns his neck — and he'd certainly never expected rob lucci to extend something so blatantly soft, blatantly romantic just for sabo's benefit.

ㅤㅤㅤhis love makes him feel like he could die.

ㅤㅤㅤthe revolutionary is on his tiptoes then, a hand securing at lucci's shoulder, and the one now wearing the ring resting right upon his chest — so he might feel the coldness of it. sabo pulls him into a kiss — intense, sweet. it lingers in the scrape of his teeth, the unusual warmth of his tongue, and the gentle nuzzle he gives to lucci's jaw after. it's then he tucks close, his arms wrapping around the elder, and his face to his chest, right over his heart. he's careful to avoid touching his burns, but the embrace is warm, tight, and full of sabo's emotion. ❝ i love you. ❞ he says into the warmth of his skin. it's a thank you. it's a yes, even though he already belongs to lucci — but now the world can see it in a more... traditional sense.

even so, lucci is not quite ready for the way his lover reacts... cheeks so prettily flushed pink, like some inexperienced virgin receiving a kiss, clever remarks failing him as all air is kicked out of his lungs for what feels like an impossibly long instant. he distinctly hears sabo's heart drumming in his chest, loud against his ribcage, and one of the leopard's sleek, dark eyebrows arch in quiet perplexity.

at least until sabo latch onto him, slender arms tightly surrounding his torso and his face tucked against his scarred chest. it's a bit of a surprise, even though lucci half-expected a similar reaction would occur—they never hug for the sake of it, unless they're fucking, or lucci wants to bask in his lover's scent and leave another trail for him to indulge in later. or both, at times. but never like this, light-hearted, spontaneous, as if they had all the time in the world and the universe outside of the room stopped mattering. the assassin frowns, even though his arms shallowly mark their claim around sabo's shoulders and he leans a bit, nosing his golden locks. he detects a familiar trace of lavender, from his own shampoo. a memory of last night nudges deep inside him... the ring plucked from his unknowing victim, and shortly after, as though he'd offered a satisfying show, the agent that had approached him. rob lucci, he'd called, the massacre weapon.

‘hm-’  half in acknowledgement and half distracted, as though sabo's love confession had just snapped him out of his trail of thoughts, lucci searches for his gaze. blue into blue. ‘i went shopping, of course.’  eyes narrow, his scowl mildly easing as the sarcasm dripping from his words turns his voice acidic. surely the revolutionary can put two and two together, but the leopard cannot resist raising a hand to the side of his neck, catching the bloodstained hem of the collar of his own shirt. it falls temptingly loose around sabo's lithe frame. his fingers shift, catching sabo's chin and tilting his head to side as to get easier access to the slope of his neck—with the first buttons of the shirt undone, it is almost too easy to spot the beautifully scarred outline of his mating bite. lucci presses his nose against it, inhaling his scent before sucking a kiss on the tender skin.

‘do you really want to know?’ 

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ hm. ❞ his scowl deepens, he's about to protest lucci moving at all. but the leopard will rarely be told what to do, and his protests are muffled anyway as a sharp, dangerous nail scrapes along his teeth. the gesture is not comfortable. it makes sabo shiver almost unpleasantly, but the connotation of the act curls heat into his gut, hit at his fingertips, and...

ㅤㅤㅤhe looks stunned, when lucci reveals bits of bare throat to him.

ㅤㅤㅤhe wouldn't call it a gesture of submission. lucci, of course, did not submit. but it was a gesture of want — a request. sabo was not a zoan. he was not a leopard. he did not have lucci's animal instinct or anything like it. but he had the roaring burn of flame, the passion that kindled his entire being — the heat that so often demanded to consume lucci. fire was greedy. fire was selfish. it took and it took for little care of the world around it. it would burn out the shells of entire nation's in it wake if it meant consuming what it wanted.

ㅤㅤㅤsabo was fire. he would do the same.

ㅤㅤㅤit's not graceful, and it's not quick. he lacks lucci's instinctual grace — but the revolutionary dives downwards, and sinks his teeth into lucci's flesh with one shallow bite. his canines cover stussy's markings perfectly, and his jaw is strong enough that the flesh gives, and small amount of blood trickles into his mouth. but it's not deep enough. it wouldn't scar, it wouldn't be permanent-

ㅤㅤㅤsabo's mouth heats to an uncomfortable degree.

ㅤㅤㅤsuddenly, all four of his canines burn. the sink deeper, the flesh gives more. blood flows and then ceases as the wound is cauterized from the inside. sabo reaches out, one hand finding lucci's, lacing their fingers together to give him a squeeze. it has to hurt — he knows it is burning, but sabo doesn't care. he will cover those scars with ones of his own making — and the world will see and know that lucci is his, his, his-

ㅤㅤㅤhe unlatches with a gasp, jerking upright.

lucci's teet morph into deadly fangs that scrape his bottom lips, and he has to draw from every ounce of self-control he has not to answer the pain that sabo inflicts with an equally vicious bite, one meant to kill instead of claim. the leopard inside him demands it. he snarls when sabo's searing fangs pierce his skin, blood drumming in his temples, but then ...

then the agent replaces the animal. lucci buries every sound that threatens to spill, lips pressed and eyes squeezed shut; he steadies himself the way he's been taught, his breath even and his tension released in the single, powerful grip that tangles in the mess of sabo's golden hair. everything burns—the fresh wounds on his chest, his lover's teeth in his neck, and the assassin's sweat glistens beautifully on his naked skin as he feels, for a moment that seems to last forever, that he is indeed being scorched from within. even so, he makes no sound. not a curse muttered under his breath or a shallow gasp of air. he takes it quietly, gritted teeth and all, until—slowly, sabo pulls back. only then lucci allows himself the luxury of a sharp intake of breath, panting heavily as his cheeks presses flatly against the sweat-soaked pillow.

glacial eyes follow the trajectory of sabo's frame as he leans back.

‘ngh...’ 

then the animal is back, because the revolutionary grinds down shallowly on his pelvis and pain and pleasure almost too swiftly blur. heat pools in his groin. the leopard, regardless of his physical wellbeing, wants to mate. they both want it—there is a darkness in the cloudless blue of sabo's good eye, a flush in his cheeks, and lucci does not have to meet his eyes to recognize the familiar scent of his arousal filling his nostrils like a sweet blood trail. his other hand, the one still pinned on the mattress by the intimate weight of their laced fingers, distractedly returns sabo's light squeezing. ‘you— ’

  lucci's fingers loosely disentangle, his hand raising to wipe his brow. there is something feral and beautiful about the way he finally looks up, splayed as he is in the evening dimness, lamplight illuminating his half-naked, bandaged body.

‘—know that you will have to fix these stitches again by the time i'm done with you?’ 

you're mine too. don't forget it.

ㅤㅤㅤhe inhales sharply. he kisses lucci harder, and the assassin responds in kind. sabo loved him all the more for it.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ mm, no. ❞ it's an almost cheerful response, said as he lay a peck upon soft — silken lips, ❝ next time — it'll be someone more important. ❞ a promise. a vow. there's a flicker of life in his blue eye, matching the way his hands slide over lucci's broad chest, feeling his muscles through soaked fabric. another kiss, another breathless exchange. they could fall into bed now and he wouldn't mind it, but lucci has other plans.

ㅤㅤㅤsabo does, indeed, follow. he doesn't hesitate much either. a shower would do him so good — restore some luster to his wilting blond waves. so he waits only a moment, before stepping over the seastone bracelets to pad after lucci. he enters the then steamy bathroom just in time to watch the elder slip past the glass pane, and moves to follow suit. first his linen trousers, then the button up top. they join lucci's pile of clothes, and sabo slips under the spray — only to immediately groan. it feels heavenly. for a second — the revolutionaries eyes drift shut. for a second, he basks in the waves of warmth over his pale skin — before his gaze flutters open and locks with his lover. his jailor. his everything.

ㅤㅤㅤsabo slips back into his arms as easy as breathing.

ㅤㅤㅤtheir naked bodies mold perfectly, and sabo lets his fingertips drift over a few minor scrapes on lucci's abdomen, along his arm. they'd heal quickly and easily, knowing lucci. ❝ do i want to know where you were? ❞ he utters the question almost rhetorically. he's sure he doesn't — yet morbid fascination denotes he asks, this curiosity to poke at his own raw festering wound... or to perhaps see if lucci is emotionally aware enough to not disclose the information. but he is also greedy tonight, and clearly tired from the seastone. his touch does not waver. he raises one of lucci's hands — running his smaller digits over the fine bones, admiring how easily they hid his razor sharp claws. his head lowers. he kisses one digit. then the next, and the next. their eyes meet again.

‘hm?’

the momentary interruption loosens lucci's grip. his hand falls all the way along the side of sabo's body until it finds his slender waist, while the other is raised to the revolutionary's lips. his claws retract almost reflexively when sabo kisses them. does he want to know? images from his last mission flash vividly through lucci's mind. hot water strokes their bodies, steam already beginning to rise. of course he doesn't want to know. the exact number of one of the remaining revolutionary cell he slaughtered is lost on him, though it's been thoroughly noted in his report. maybe there were sabo's friends among them. lucci's eyebrows knit, a frown tearing through his relaxed expression as he leans to give a punishing nip to the shell of the other's earlobe. ‘fixing your messes.’

an unfair exchange, but it had worked all the same. their insignificant lives for sabo's. if nothing else, the elders had been reminded how detrimental it would have been to lose the massacre weapon in such a complex moment, where ambush and assassination skills could make the difference between a victory and a failure. his hand escapes sabo's grasp to find his chin, tilting it up to capture his mouth into another heated kiss. he meets no resistance, only desperate need. he dives hungrily as their tongues lock with filthy abandon. the hand that gripped the revolutionary's waist shifts to prop them against the shower wall as the intensity of their kiss burns brighter, and fuck, he—

‘missed you.’ he growls against sabo's lips, with the sound of falling water as his only cover.

ㅤㅤㅤyou smell mine. sabo want's to tell him that he is lucci's — that he has belonged to him for a very long time now, but something tells him that the elder is more than aware, judging by how he's so thoroughly scented him over, and over, and over again... sabo has never claimed to be anything but indulgent, and if he said he didn't enjoy lucci's almost insane possessiveness... well, he'd be lying.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ can you even write sonnets? i'd pay good money to see you try. was that a part of your- ack! ❞ it's not really a surprise that lucci manhandles him so expertly — and even now is skilled enough to surprise sabo with the movements. realistically, he could fight back — they could always be evenly matched. but he likes how easily the leopard puts him in a vulnerable position. it's reminiscent of the night prior — when lucci had pressed his face into these very pillows and thrust into him until sabo whined from overstimulation. he's not sure he can offer that caliber of intensity this early in the morning, but...

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ mm- ❞ lucci's body is a dream. he envelopes sabo's lean form easily. their nudity is a promise of something coming — and frankly, he's already raising his hips just slightly, spreading his bite riddled legs and peeking over his shoulder at the elder with keen interest. the grind earns lucci a pleased noise. sabo's back arches, and then- sabo is suddenly sitting straight up in bed — curiosity written on his face and hair almost comically ruffled. whatever indignation he felt at any morning sex being interrupted is dashed by the prospect of a gift... from lucci. who didn't really give gifts in a traditional sense, unless the bodies of one's enemies or sabo's favorite risotto counted.

‘too difficult to wrap.’ 

lucci cracks a joke, and it comes off as almost pensively distant.

it's not that he's worried about the kind of reaction he might get. the mere thought is laughable enough that the assassin shrugs it off as soon as it intrudes his mind. the fact that it stayed there, lurking, long enough for him to consider to what extent sabo's opinions mattered to him irritates lucci—perhaps more than having to confront the inherent value of what he's about to do. he rummages in the pocket of his coat, then lets it fall again to the floor, something safely hidden in the grip of his clenched fist. there is no value, lucci tells himself. no pathway of intention in the stalking of some unfortunate bastard he'd later maul to death, and noticed, while he chewed on his writhing flesh, that he wore a small golden ring that would suit sabo's slender fingers much more prettily. yes, there was nothing else to it.

the clawed clutch of discomfort in his gut must be purely coincidental. lucci turns, his scowl sharp.

the assassin says nothing, too deeply focused as meanings stack in the back of his mind. he is not oblivious enough to ignore them, but not nearly knowledgeable enough to follow through any of those stupid rituals he's heard fools like panchax and kaku mention to him. he does not need to, anyway, because there is indeed nothing else to it. just another of his claim clinging to sabo's skin. the thought settles much more easily into him, and past that slight hesitation lucci grabs the other's wrist with his free hand, as his fist unclenches to reveal the shine of metal sitting at the center of his palm. this is the part where kaku said he was supposed to get down on one knee, and ask. well, he's not going to ask a damn thing—sabo belongs to him. that has been sealed with something more durable than metal. with blood.

ㅤㅤㅤwhen sabo exhales, he exhales smoke — not unlike an angered dragon.

ㅤㅤㅤdevilish fingertips seem to both goad and quell his rage. he touches sabo not impatiently, but in a way that beckons the revolutionaries further engagement — especially when the poor assassin tries ( and fails ) to sit up once more. stubborn bastard.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ mm. ❞ his legs flex beneath lucci's touch. the shredding of cloth reveals slivers of bare flesh on his upper thigh, suggesting his underwear was cut higher than usual. sabo pays no mind to that though, nor does he focus too much on those touches. he's too busy staring with religious intent at those two tiny fang marks. the hand at lucci's face drifts towards it again, rubbing over them once more to feel the difference in skin. down — sabo finally leans, but he completely ignores lucci's lips in favor of more closely inspecting the bite. his frown deepens. he ignores his goading. ❝ she latched onto you for awhile. ❞ the mental image supplied involves red lipstick surrounding the wound, bright on lucci's beautiful flesh-

ㅤㅤㅤtheir eyes meet, faces closer now. sabo's is still schooled into a horrible scowl.

not because he doesn't believe sabo capable of holding true to his promises. the fascination for his sudden display of jealousy stick to lucci like glue, thick and warm and molten like liquid glass; but sabo keeps promising, that fascination draws into expectant frustration, and the assassin feels edged in a way he doesn't like. and yet it's strange, how tame he is. he should tell sabo to get off, to stop making a scene, flip their position even at the cost of his raw wounds tearing and sink his teeth into the other's neck until he passes out. the ownership goes one way, and one way only.

lucci's icy eyes lid, countless hints pooling in them as he gaze locks with sabo. pain, fatigue—but something else too, something fiery. want, arousal. the clean, sharp edge of a challenge. it's hard to stay focused when his lover's inviting scent is all over him, filling his nostrils like a much needed breath of oxygen, and he can feel himself stiffen as the fleeting image of sabo riding his cock shoots a surge of need right through him. but his body is telling him to rest too, and lucci's vision blurs for a moment while he attempts to blink the haze away from the sight of the younger's face.  ‘you are not getting fire-’  lucci almost slurs. his eyes squeeze briefly, jaw tightening.  ‘anywhere near my hair.’ 

it sounds less final than the assassin intends it to, but enough that frustrations seems to flicker through sabo's good eye as he considers what must be a far too rational objection for the deeply irrational surge of possessiveness that clutches at him. lucci knows the feeling quite well. but it doesn't last long—a clawed hand reaches between them, lifting to sabo's mouth and urging him to open up for him. lucci's fingers do not plunge into that maddening heat as they have so often done before, rather they let the sharp end of his claw scrape the enameled row of his lover's teeth, saliva trickling down the length of his digit. then lucci smiles, almost absentmindedly, and tilts his head. his neck, with the two small scars punctured into his skin, in full display.  

‘you have teeth. use them.’ 

his voice is dark, beckoning. honeyed with a challenge and a promise and something greater and rarer than consent. he won't bear the trace of that betrayal on himself a minute longer, but the trace of sabo's desire—that is something he can accept.

ㅤㅤㅤthe second lucci’s damp arms surround him, the majority of the tension seems to ebb from sabo’s shoulders. he sighs deeply, shoulders sagging, and his frame leaning back into the assassin’s bulk. there is no blood on his fingertips — no stains of ash on his skin. sabo knew what he was doing when he was out. who he was likely hunting and killing. but down down down he shoved that knowledge, and replaced it instead with the way lucci surrounds him, the way his now rain-soaked scent fills his nostrils and the other bathes him in affection that would’ve been so rare before.

ㅤㅤㅤsabo’s eyes drift shut. his hands fall to the arms around his body. “hm.” he tilts his head a bit further, well aware with what lucci wants. the scar pulls — his mating bite on full display beneath the light linen of his shirt. lightning flashes, and he catches sight of them in the window. lucci looks possessive, almost obsessed. sabo looks drawn, tired, but warm with affection. they are beautiful together.

ㅤㅤㅤ“can leopards catch colds?” he wonders aloud, as seastone bracelets clink to the floor — and he drops the key right onto the rug alongside them. sabo can’t help but groan in relief. immediate life returns to him, though not by much, but his body warms quickly, his blue eye crackles with flame, and he takes a moment to rest his head against lucci’s shoulder. he heats further, holding a hand away from his lover’s body. it flickers to life with flame, then haki, then flame again, as if he is readjusting to his own skin. “that’s better.”

ㅤㅤㅤslowly, sabo turns in his arms, unamused by the slide of wet fabric against his skin. he stares up into lucci’s glacial gaze, his hands settling onto his damp chest. the revolutionary blinks once, twice. thunder rumbles again, as if in warning. but sabo draws onto his tiptoes. he presses their lips together. the kiss he draws lucci into is slow, intense. it warms his core, his mind, and once more he feels just a touch more alive as they part.

ㅤㅤㅤit bubbles deep in his chest. some days he resents lucci, but when he’s gone for long periods…

‘i know.’

he does not say i missed you too, but there's a strange kind of urgency in the way he kisses sabo, in the way he touches him, like he has to reacquaint himself with every line of his body, every inch of skin. he is a touch more slender than he remembers, his waist thin and his hips bony, as if he hasn't been eating enough—lucci's frowns sets deeper. ‘try setting someone less important on fire next time.’  something in his voice strikes decidedly less annoyed about the fact itself and more about its complex consequences. it's clear that there won't be a next time, nor a chance for sabo to go anywhere supervised, but it's no use dwelling on that now.

before he may retort with any of his revolutionary bullshit, lucci kisses him again. it lingers, filthy and slow, as if trying to let that contact write the taste of sabo's mouth and the velvety slide of his tongue somewhere so deep inside the animal core of his brain, that he can never forget it. when the air they share runs out, though, lucci pulls back—stepping out of his lover's reach as he heads towards the bathroom. he does not look particularly happy to part, and he considers, briefly, hoisting sabo up in his arms and carrying him all the way there. he almost does, and only ultimately he decides against it. maybe it's just the grace of choice. maybe he knows sabo will follow, because being alone with lucci is better than being alone with himself.

he glances over his shoulder, before disappearing out of the room.

‘come on. i'm cold.’

ㅤㅤㅤthe fire of the revolution had burned out too long ago — the streets had ran red with the blood of his comrades. those that remained were either imprisoned, too useful to discard, or scattered to the seas. sabo was certain he would end up on the chopping block — he was certain his head hung from the fence would be just the sign people needed to quell their little uprisings. as it turns out — what was even worse was seeing him within the holy land, garbed in white and not looking the part of prisoner.

ㅤㅤㅤhe feels the part of prisoner though. he is a prisoner. certainly, he can go where he please in this home. and most definitely, he could even stride about. but seastone bracelets weigh heavy on his wrist — just thick enough to dull his power and make him a little tired, but not totally useless. even without them — sabo had preferred sitting at the bay window — staring off into the skyline from sunrise until sunset, as if it could provide him the answers he sought.

ㅤㅤㅤwhy? was the first one. why did they lose? their cause was right. their wants just. and yet it was all over? just like that? just like-

ㅤㅤㅤa cloud rolls in front of the sun, and he looks away. his gaze catches the bed that occupies much of the room — one side sleep rumpled from him, and the other untouched. he's unsure how long lucci has been gone. a few weeks maybe, and he was never sure how to feel during those absences either. was he relieved to rid himself of his complex desires when it came to rob lucci? was he happy for his own space? deep down — he knew the answers to those questions. for while the world moved on, sabo's feeling stayed the same.

ㅤㅤㅤlove.

ㅤㅤㅤwhat a wretched, horrible thing. he'd told himself that the day he'd looked lucci in his glacial eyes, and his world had fallen apart. he'd told himself that too — when it was lucci's attachment that kept him from dying after he'd burned that celestial dragon from the inside out. sabo was at many points, a fraction of the man lucci had become attached to — and yet the leopard remained all the same. sabo supposed he was guilty of the same — albeit, the seastone and orders against leaving without an escort were an appropriate deterrent.

ㅤㅤㅤhe sighs, the sun moves across the sky. more and more clouds roll in. hours pass. he turns away food — only a bit of wine, to numb the edges. darkness falls — and with it, the rumble of thunder.

ㅤㅤㅤthunder. lightning.

ㅤㅤㅤsabo closes his eyes. his shoulders tense as another rumble shakes the air. rain begins to fall — splattering against the glass. a candle gutters, lightning flashes — and sabo swears he feels something pulling at him. something close — something near-

ㅤㅤㅤthe bedroom door swings open with a flash of lightning.

ㅤㅤㅤlucci, despite being soaked through by the storm, looks as handsome as the day they'd first fought. sabo turns to face him, rising from his seat at the bay window. he doesn't stride forward — doesn't meet him with touch as he once did. but lucci at least receives a somewhat wan smile, and can watch in real time as sabo's shoulders relax with some sort of relief. ❝ you're back. ❞ he says quietly. a rumble of thunder and flash of lighting is his answer. he hears hattori's damp wings fluttering down the hall. privacy, then. ❝ here i was- ❞ sabo turns — presenting his back to lucci. he stares outside once more. stares at that rain, those rolling rain clouds. is dragon still out there? was jackren? could they muster forces, could they-

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ -just getting to plotting my grand escape and destruction of the holy land. such a shame. ❞

the incident with the celestial dragon had nearly screwed it all. reassuring the elders that he was capable of handling sabo had not been an easy nor pleasant talk, and the only reason the revolutionary had not been publicly executed was because lucci had bargained for him to wear seastone cuffs whenever he had to be left alone. he knew what this meant, but he preferred him a little tired than hanging in a public square—the assassin had considered, as if the thought itself did not leave a bitter taste in his mouth. he had killed people for less severe crimes than setting a celestial dragon on fire, and yet there he was, negotiating sabo's life as if it was worth more that the one he took. which it was, but lucci had pushed that thought in the back of his mind, and from that day onwards he kept the key to sabo's seastone bracelets secured in his breast pocket.

when the door to his bedroom quietly opens, he cannot help the tired sigh that escapes his lips. he finds sabo sitting by the window, where he'd been watching the heavy downpour as if some kind of revelation could be found in the rattling of rain against the glass. perhaps, some kind of escapism. lucci says nothing at first. he lets his top hat and coat fall to the floor. ‘you picked the wrong day.’ he comments, plain annoyance creasing his handsome features as he reaches for a towel to dry his hair. water drips to the floor, making a small puddle at his feet. his soaked clothes stick to his body, and the urge to just rip them off to get rid of that uncomfortable sensation is strong. instead, with the towel curtaining half of his vision, he starts flicking the buttons one by one—the jacket goes first, then the white shirt underneath.

he thought a much needed shower after a week-long mission was going to be at the top of his priorities, and yet lucci wastes almost no time before his wide stride covers the distance between him and sabo. powerful arms surround the revolutionary's waist as he is tugged into a quiet embrace, lucci's cold, wet skin slotting perfectly against that warm body. he cannot resist nuzzling sabo's neck, hungrily inhaling his scent as those lips linger dangerously close to the mating bite adorning the younger's flesh.

‘mhm,’ the leopard hums, his damp black hair tickling the back of sabo's neck. i missed you, it seems to say, though no such words escape him. ‘how about you plot your grand escape while you join me in the shower?’