Friendless

He just doesn’t really want anything to do with you, or at least no more to do with you than anyone else on the ship. Penguin and Shachi, who unfortunately clocked your affection for your Captain years ago, have come up with a long list of excuses as to why he hasn’t shown any signs of affection.

“He’s shy.”

“He gets embarrassed easily.”

“He’s worried about the power gap.”

“He only looks at you when you aren’t looking.”

“Yelling is how he shows his affection.”

And of course, your personal favorite.

“He’s just a nerd. He doesn’t know how to act around women.”

Shachi has repeated this one a lot, and as always you immediately dispute it. “That cannot possibly be true, Shachi.”

“Why not?”

“Look at him!”

“I know what he looks like. Doesn’t change the fact he gets nervous.”

“Captain has never, for even a single moment, shown any sort of hesitation or shyness in front of me. And he’s a grown man, a handsome one, not to mention a wanted pirate. You honestly expect me to believe he’s some shy little nerd who can’t bring himself to talk to me? He just doesn’t like me, Shachi. And that’s fine. I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

“Handle what?” Penguin’s voice echoes in the small room he and Shachi share, which you’ve decided to invade for the day. 

“Her pining for Captain.”

“Ah.”

You huff. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s like…a fact of life. Something so easy to brush past.”

Shachi narrows his eyes in confusion. “I thought you said that’s what you wanted to do. Be casual about it, and all.”

“Yeah, I want to. It feels different when you do it.” You’re pouting. You hate that you’re pouting.

Penguin gives you a pitying smile, dripping with good natured sympathy that makes you clench your jaw. “It’s tough, isn’t it?” He sits on the edge of his bed, careful not to shift you too much. He pats your shoulder, tutting quietly. “It’s hard to get over somebody you don’t really want to get over.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. You finally lift your head, and once you make eye contact, his smile turns a little more teasing.

“I know a great guy you could use as a rebound.”

You sigh. “Is it you?”

He laughs. “Who’s to say? You don’t need him yet.” His smile softens again, something more genuine. “But know that if you really do give up, there will be other guys. Other chances. Give this one a good shot, a real one, and if it doesn’t work out? Come talk to us, and it’ll all be alright.”

Shachi pipes up as well. “It will work out, really. But if it doesn’t…” he wiggles his eyebrows, and you can’t help but finally give them the laugh they were clearly aiming for. Which becomes a full on giggle fit once they light up and give each other a massive high five at their victory. The room is warm, and you finally forget your worries for a moment.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Law’s voice cuts through you like ice, and your laughter stops in an instant. Shachi and Penguin are unphased, of course, still smiling freely.

“I just got off of my shift, Captain. I was going to take a nap, but…” Penguin pokes your side, and you let out a soft squeak as you curl in on yourself. You don’t miss the way Law’s eyes narrow slightly at the contact, the way he seems to focus in on the noise. He must be annoyed with you, with how you’re taking up space somewhere you don’t belong.

“I’m also off shift.” Your voice is small, embarrassingly so. 

“I wasn’t talking to you two.” Law’s voice is just as flat and authoritative as always. He’s nothing if not born to command. You’d love to hear what commands he might give you, if–

No. Bad. Evil. Your mind betrays you, as it always does. You sit up so you can hide yourself behind Penguin, make yourself small and inconspicuous and hope that Law will stop looking at you with those beautiful piercing eyes. You don’t know how long you can be normal under such an intense gaze. 

“I’m on break,” Shachi defends, causing Law’s eyes to shift over to him. You can’t help but let out a sigh of relief as you feel the pressure of his gaze leave you, and you wrap your arms lightly around Penguin, allowing your forehead to fall forward and press into his back. You can feel the rumble of a laugh working its way through his chest, though you can’t figure out why.

Law’s voice is significantly harsher than before. “Well, end it.” You flinch, unused to him snapping quite so cruelly. Law may have a shorter temper than he would admit, but he never sounds quite so furious, especially not with Shachi and Penguin. He seems to realize this as well, because the next time he speaks is much gentler. “I–Just get back to work. I need everyone at their best right now.”

“Aye aye, Captain!” There’s a hint of chuckle in Shachi’s voice, for some reason. He stands, bed creaking as he does. “You can use my bed if you want to nap in here. Let Peng have his.”

You let out a soft whine, but peel yourself off of Penguin anyway. “No, it’s fine, I should get back to my room anyway. I need a nap before I do anything else.” You think you see Law nodding in approval out of the corner of your eye, but when you turn to look at him, his eyes are firmly on Shachi, glaring at his back as he leaves. Just wishful thinking on your part, as always. 

Penguin softly pats your back as you walk past. “Chin up. It’ll all work out.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“What’ll work out?” Law is staring at Penguin’s hand on your back.

“Nothing!” You try not to sound panicked. You fail, of course.

His eyes narrow.

“Sorry, Captain. This is a secret just for us lowly crew members. No captains allowed!” Penguin’s smile is relaxed and easy, and it almost manages to calm you down. You would love to play along, make a little joke out of it, but the idea of him finding out petrifies you. What if he’s disgusted by the idea? Horrified enough to kick you out of the crew, your home, your family? He wouldn’t, you know that, but the image in your head is so clear. Your chest feels tight, your head fuzzy, and you think at some point you started holding your breath.

Law makes a noncommittal grunt, scowl still clear on his face, but he leaves. A small mercy.

“Hey, take a breath, please. You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“I feel like I’m gonna pass out.”

“Are you gonna be alright to get back to your room? Do you need me to walk you?” Penguin’s hand rests gently on your elbow, and he looks ready to jump to your aid at any moment.

You give him a shaky smile. “I’ll be alright. Anxiety’s never killed anyone. Probably.” You take care to walk as steadily as you can out of the room, avoiding eye contact with your Captain, who’s waiting directly outside.

“You okay?” His voice stops you in your tracks.

“Yeah, I’m–” You see the disbelief on his face. “I’ve been better. But it’s okay. I’ll get there.”

“Are Penguin and Shachi giving you trouble? They mean well, but sometimes their jokes can go a little far. I–” He clears his throat, eyes glancing away for a moment. “I could talk to them. If you need me to.”

You chuckle. This means he really has no idea he’s the source of your anguish. Good. “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that. They’re actually helping me through something.”

He purses his lips. You imagine how soft they’d feel on yours. “Helping you through something?”

“Yeah. I’ve been struggling with it lately, and talking to them has really helped.” You stare intensely at the wall behind him, worrying that you’ll come undone and say something you can’t take back if you stare into his eyes for too long. Something about him just makes you want to melt under his gaze, and you can’t afford to give in to the impulse.

He hums, eyes briefly fluttering closed. “I see. Well, I’m glad you have their support.” Is it just you, or is his voice a bit colder than it was before? “I’ll leave you be. Have a nice nap.”

“Thanks, Captain.” You try not to run back to your room until you’re sure he can’t hear your footsteps anymore. You change out of your boiler suit, desperate to be in something more comfortable than this, and throw yourself into your bed face first. You press your face into your pillow, trying to ground yourself. You aren’t allowed to imagine what it would feel like to lay on Law’s chest instead, his hands on your back, tracing meaningless patterns into your skin. You aren’t allowed to imagine the warmth of the blankets as his, or the comfort of your weighted blanket as his arm around your back. You certainly aren’t allowed to cry about the fact that it isn’t him, and that it never will be. Because that would mean you weren’t getting over him, instead getting lost in a fantasy of what can never and will never be. And you have no time for fantasy, despite what your heart keeps trying to tell you. 

You dream of him, as you always seem to.

You could cope with it, if it were simply sex. If it were about nothing more than his cock and his hands and the way his voice penetrates deep into your bones whenever you hear it, turning you pliable and needy. But today’s dream is one you’ve had before, and one you always dread.

I love you. His hands are gentle as they wrap around your waist, pulling you close. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. His nose nuzzles against your neck, tickling you and making you giggle.

I love you too, Law. I think I always have. Your hands rest on his chest, and you can feel his heart beating below your fingers, quick and thundering. You smile. Nervous?

Of course I am. Look at you. His eyes bore into yours, and you can see the affection flooding them. His nose brushes against yours, his lips growing closer, and his eyes flutter shut.

Yours shoot open.

No matter how many dreams you have about Law, you can never kiss him. How sad, that your brain can imagine a hundred ways he can fuck you and not one in which gives you the one thing you’ve been craving most.

You throw off your covers and throw on a bra, not bothering to get fully dressed. You need some air, which is unfortunate, considering the Tang won’t surface for at least another day or two. You can at least go downstairs and find a window, press yourself against the glass and pretend you’re out in the cold of the ocean, at peace with the world around you. You can avoid passing Law’s office, and hopefully that means you’ll avoid the man himself. You don’t want to burst into tears the moment you see him, and you feel too soft and fragile right now, like your edges are crumbling. Half of you is still in the dream, melting into fantasy, and being snapped into reality with a single look might shatter you.

You pad quietly out into the hallway, unsure of what time it is, not wanting to wake anyone. It’s impossible to tell what time of day it is on the Tang when you’re underwater, lit only by harsh fluorescents that constantly buzz. It’s peaceful, feeling the cold metal of the floors seep through your socks and hearing the quiet thunk of your footsteps muffled by the fabric. 

“Are you heading downstairs?”

You turn to see Bepo, shifting uncomfortably on his feet, papers in hand. “Yeah, I am. Why? Do you need something?”

“Can you run these to Captain for me? I would, but–” 

You see him wince as he speaks, and you immediately know what the problem is. Before you can even think about it, you’re swiping the papers from his hands easily. “Yeah, of course, big guy. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you so much!” He’s off in an instant.

You stare at the papers, willing yourself into reality. You’re going to bring something to your captain. The man you have no other relationship with. Just doing your job. And afterwards you can go back to your room and cry all you want, if you really feel like you need to.

Law should be in his office right now, buried up to his neck in paperwork. It doesn’t feel great to add to that pile, or to let him see you so underdressed, but Bepo needed help. You can’t let him suffer just to avoid some embarrassment. You make your way down, knocking lightly against his office door.

No voice calls you inside.

Strange. He should be here. Maybe he fell asleep at his desk again. You’ve heard the others scold him for that dozens of times, and you’ve caught him yourself once or twice. He’s going to ruin his back if he keeps doing that. You crack open the door, ready to shift him into a more comfortable position, but you find your Captain isn’t actually there at all. His desk is a mess, papers everywhere, a sharp contrast from the neatly organized shelves and minimalist look of the rest of the room.

“Maybe I should tidy up for him,” you mutter to yourself. Law hates asking for help with things he believes he should be able to handle on his own, but clearly this is getting away from him. And even if he wasn’t grateful for the intrusion, at least it might lighten his load a little. You’d do nearly anything to ease your Captain’s burdens, if he’d just let you.

Before you realize it, your hands are on the papers, your former fragility forgotten as you get lost in the calm that such a mundane task brings you. You start by simply organizing the papers into stacks based on their titles and a quick skim of their opening paragraphs. You don’t read any further, not wanting to read anything not meant for your eyes, and you quickly find you’re able to organize everything into three neat stacks: medical papers, ship logs, and a third stack of anything that doesn’t fit into the previous two. You’re nearly finished when you find a title that makes you pause.

You can’t figure out what What You Can’t Have could mean, or what this bundle of papers is doing in Law’s office. Skimming the first few paragraphs doesn’t give you any explanation, until you start reading more closely and see a name: Sora.

Everyone in the North Blue knows about Sora, Warrior of the Sea, and everyone on this ship knows it more intimately than most. Your Captain’s fondness for the series and your fondness for him means you know it very well, well enough to know this is not one of the noncanonical (but still official) spinoff novels, or a novel adaptation of one of the comics. There’s a character you’ve never heard of before in this, one that, if you were a more paranoid person, you would suspect is based on you. She can’t be, of course. That would be ridiculous. But as you read her introductory paragraph, you can’t help but notice she bears a striking physical resemblance to you. Same hair and eye color, same height, same build. But she can’t be you. She’s described as seductive, enchanting, and many other things you know nobody would ever say about you.

You should put this down. But the writing style is so familiar, and so are the handwritten edits in the margins. Your captain wrote this. You had no idea this was what he did in what little spare time he has. You keep telling yourself to stop reading, to tuck it away and pretend you didn’t see it, because really, you know he wouldn’t want you to have seen it, easily embarrassed as he is. But there’s so much passion in the words, so much care, and frankly? It’s good. Really good. You think he has some real talent, in something you would have never expected him to even try. His care for the series oozes from every word, and he’s really good at building tension, and–

Oh.

Your captain hasn’t just been writing fanfiction about his favorite hero.

He’s been writing smut.

Really good smut, honestly.

You lean against the desk, completely enraptured by his work. The tension between Sora and this unnamed woman is astonishing, every single word winding you up tighter as you wait for the dam to break. Before you know it, you’re fully bent over the desk, clutching the page in your hands, trying not to rub your thighs together at the very graphic descriptions of what Sora is doing with his hands. You imagine Law’s hands, lithe and long, sliding under your shirt like Sora’s do under this mystery woman’s. You imagine his breath puffing against your ear as he instructs, be good for me, now, and maybe you can finally get what you want, just like Sora does. You imagine him moving impossibly closer, feeling his hardness press into your thigh as– 

“What are you doing in here?”

You freeze. Your captain is standing in the door, papers in hand and scowl severe. If you didn’t know better, you would think for a moment his eyes lingered on the cleavage you’re showing by leaning over this far. But you do know better, so you tell yourself he’s simply observing the papers in your hands, even if his gaze seems aimed too high for that. You shoot up, papers still in hand, shirt riding up in the process, and god does it look like his eyes dip down to your exposed midriff in the process. But they don’t. You have more pressing matters than your delusions, anyway.

“Hi Captain!”

“...Hi.”

“I–Um. I was organizing your desk for you.”

His eyes linger on the three stacks of papers, humming quietly. “I see that. …Why?”

“Bepo had me run papers down to you, but you weren’t here, and–and your desk was so messy, so much messier than usual, and I was worried maybe you were overwhelmed and I thought it might help.” You’re speaking a mile a minute, clutching the papers close to your chest in some desperate attempt to ground yourself, but the sound of the papers wrinkling causes him to glance down and now you’re sure that just for a moment he was looking at your boobs and you’re far more flustered than you were when you began.

And even worse, he smiles. It’s a soft, gentle thing, which sneaks so slowly onto his face you don’t even know if he realizes it’s there. But it is. And it’s beautiful. “Thank you, then. I appreciate the thought.”

Your grip eases on the papers for a second, and the crinkling brings his attention back to them. You don’t know what gives it away, but with the way his eyes widen slightly, the way his lips part, you know that he knows what you have in your hands. The way he whispers your name, the fear in it, makes your heart clench.

“Captain–”

“Did you–I–” He takes a breath, gathers himself. “Did you read anything you weren’t supposed to?”

God, you did. You’re halfway through a sex scene, flushed and flustered and thinking about your captain in ways that are wholly and completely inappropriate. You’re panicking. You can’t let Law see how flustered you are, can’t let him realize that you were fantasizing about him, lusting after him in his office while he’s out like some kind of pervert. So, trying to turn this around on him, throw him off his rhythm, you decide to make a deeply out of character choice.

You open your mouth, taking a dramatic breath as though you're going to start reading aloud, and you can see the panic in Law's eyes. Before you can decide between reading and handing it over to spare him the embarrassment, you hear “Shambles!” as the papers in your hand are swapped with the ones he walked in with. You're momentarily disappointed, before you look down and are struck with intense and all consuming delight.

In trying to get the fanfiction out of your hands, Law has, in fact, given you more of his fanfiction to read.

You gasp quietly, cheshire cat grin widening. Law looks at you with confusion, clearly still so thrown he hasn't realized what's just transpired. In your current state, you can only think of one way to inform him.

"Her hands were soft and gentle, so small compared to his-"

"STOP." He lunges forward around the desk, powers forgotten as he decides to bullrush you to get the papers out of your hands. His hands wrap around your wrists, and before you know it you’re pinned against the desk, chests pressed together, his leg pressed between your thighs. You flush, overwhelmed by the sensation of his hard body against yours, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Do you think this is funny?”

You open your mouth to respond, but his lips are so close, and you feel something else pressing into your midriff. You make a small choked noise, and his glare doesn’t dampen.

“Are you trying to embarrass your captain?”

“I–uh–Captain–” You can barely squeak out anything, and he presses closer.

“Answer me.”

“You’re so close.”

He pauses.

He blinks.

And suddenly your captain is across the room, face bright red, holding his papers in front of his chest like a shield. “I–um.” He stares at you a moment, his eyes moving from your face to your chest to your hips and back up, and suddenly the papers shifts down in front of his crotch.

He couldn’t…

Could he?

Before you can process this, he’s speaking again, his tone far less authoritative than it was before. “How far did you read?”

“Uh–pretty far.”

You could swear his voice cracks a little as he whispers, “Oh god. This is–you were never supposed to see that.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep reading, it was just–it was really good.”

He stares at you a moment, mouth agape. “What?”

“It was–I liked it a lot. I didn’t even mean to start it, I just couldn’t figure out what pile to put it in, and then I got really invested, and–I’m really, really sorry, Captain.”

“You liked it?” His eyes are narrowed, looking at you like something dangerous, like if he shows a moment of weakness you’ll pounce. He approaches you slowly, inching closer and closer.

“...Yeah. I did. I was really impressed, actually. I didn’t know you were a writer.”

He scoffs. “I wouldn’t call myself that.”

“Why?”

“I just…don’t know if I’m good at it.” He sounds small in a way you’ve never heard him. You’ve never seen Law less than confident before. He absolutely radiates it, a constant smug grin and twinkle in his eyes. It suits him far better than slumped shoulders and wringing hands.

“Are you kidding? It was amazing. What I was able to read, anyway. I couldn’t bear to put it down.” You reach for him for just a moment, your hand ready to touch his shoulder, but something in you pulls it back. You can’t bring yourself to touch him, not as you are. 

He won’t look at you. You can feel his regret in sharing, in allowing his mask to crack slightly. There’s a bitterness to his tone as he snaps at you like a wounded animal. “You expect me to believe that? That you didn’t just read it to laugh at me?”

You can’t keep the pity off of your face. His first instinct is always to believe he’ll be hurt, that an open hand is a sign of a slap, and not a kind touch. “Why on earth would I do that, Captain?”

His shoulders unknot a bit as he thinks it over. You have never done anything to hurt him, and to tease in such a cruel way is not in your nature. He’s not relaxed, not quite, but he isn’t ready to run anymore. He leans against a nearby table, parking himself at a distance but assuring you he won’t go further. “I suppose you wouldn’t. …So you really liked it?”

The way he’s looking at you is so fragile, so soft. You feel your heart clench at the sight of such a guarded man looking so adorable, though you know he would hate to be called such a thing. You can’t help the affection that leaks into your gentle smile as you look at him. “I really did.”

He huffs, trying to bring back up his walls, but he can’t hide his relief, and his continued interest. “What did you like about it?”

“I thought the descriptions were very vivid. It was…” It feels like crossing a line you can’t uncross to call it hot, but he’s looking at you so expectantly. “Very stimulating.”

Something akin to a smirk grows on his face, offset by the dust of a blush on his cheeks. His voice is an octave deeper when he speaks. “Simulating?”

You shiver. “I–uh–yes. The leads had really good chemistry. I never imagined Sora would be so…charming. And I liked the woman too, though I have to admit I didn’t recognize her name.”

He nods. “You wouldn’t. She’s an original character.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I wanted to try my hand at something new, and I didn’t like pairing him with any of the canon characters so I just…made one up.”

You shift nervously on your feet, thinking about how remarkably familiar her description was. “So you made her just for this? Didn’t even give her a name?”

“I haven’t decided her name yet, but I’m working on it. And yeah, she’s just for this. Why?”

You want to be subtle, ease your way in, but your mind is running a mile a minute and frankly subtlety has never been your strong suit anyway. “So…is she supposed to be me?”

He shoots up so quickly he nearly falls over. “What? No! No, why would you think that?” He looks absolutely mortified, like he’s praying the floor swallows him whole. He looks about two seconds away from shambling himself out of the sub and letting the ocean take him away.

“Well in her intro, when you describe her…she looks a lot like me.”

“...She does?” He seems genuinely surprised, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Why are you asking? You’re the writer! You didn’t realize?”

“No, I…” He’s blushing to the tips of his ears. “She was just supposed to be a beautiful woman. I didn’t think that hard about what she looked like beyond that.”

“She has the same hair color and eye color as me, you describe her as around my height, and the dress she’s wearing in her intro is my favorite color.”

His shoulders are so tense they’re practically up over his ears. If his voice cracks when he yells, you’re kind enough not to acknowledge it. “I didn’t think that much about it! I just thought of a beautiful woman and I described her.”

“So when you think of a beautiful woman in your head, you see me?”

He doesn’t answer.

You try to hide your giddy smile. “That’s sweet, Captain.”

He avoids eye contact so aggressively you swear it must be hurting him at this point. “It wasn’t–I–I didn’t notice. You don’t think it’s…creepy?”

“That you think I’m beautiful?”

“That I wrote porn about a woman who looks exactly like you.”

“Oh. When you put it like that I guess it doesn’t sound great.” He tenses again, so you rush to reassure him. “But no, I don’t think it’s creepy. It’s not like you meant to, or anything. Or that you wrote about me and like, another member of the crew or something. Why would I be mad that I just happen to be exactly your type?” Your heart is beating out of your chest as you try to portray a confidence you certainly don’t feel. 

“Right. Yeah. I–There’s nothing wrong with that.”

He didn’t deny it.

“And it’s…great porn, honestly.”

Your delivery is so awkward the tension finally breaks as he laughs at you. “I appreciate that. I worked hard on it. But I’m not sure on some of the descriptions.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure it reads as true to life.”

“Does it need to?”

“No, not really, fantasies don’t have to be realistic. But…I can’t help but think about it anyway. What if part of it is so unrealistic it takes you out of it entirely, and I just didn’t notice? Or didn’t know because I’ve never tried that specific thing? Do you know what I mean?”

You do. You know insecurity in your work, the way it whispers in your ear. You know that words are not enough reassurance to silence those whispers. You want to help him, even if you don’t know how you could.

“What if we…tested it? To see if it’s realistic?” You can’t believe the words that just left your mouth. From the look on his face, Law can’t either.

“What?” A beautiful crimson streaks across his face and up to his ears, heat radiating off of him.

“Oh my god. Forget I said that, that was so inappropriate, I’ll just go–”

“No!” He’s so loud you both flinch, and he seems surprised by his own objection. His long fingers are wrapped around your wrist, and you can feel his calluses brush against your skin. God, what you wouldn’t give for those fingers to be somewhere else. “No, don’t–don’t leave. I think–I would–um. I’d like that.”

You blink. “You would?”

“Just to…test it. To make sure my writing is accurate. I’m a perfectionist.”

“Right.”

“Yeah.” His eyes flicker down to where he’s holding you, and to your surprise, he doesn’t release his grip. He tugs you closer, pressing your chests together, and you can feel his warm breath in his ear. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Law.”

“What?”

The deep rumble of his voice is commanding in a way that has you rubbing your thighs together. “I want to hear you say my name. Call me Law.”

“Yes, Law.”

You can feel his smirk as he whispers the next words in your ear. “Good girl.”

Heat rushes to your face, and you bite your lip to keep from making any deeply embarrassing noises. He chuckles as he pulls away, and you see no trace of his earlier apprehension or nerves. You suppose Law has always been a good liar, always putting up the front of the proud, confident, and unshakable Surgeon of Death. What is this but another part for him to play?

“How did it start again?” He places his hands on your hips, leading you away from the desk and toward the wall. “She and Sora meet up in the club, strike up a conversation–”

“Can we skip to the good part?” You hate how needy and breathless you sound. You’re already worked up from reading, from hearing him speak, from being so close, that you think if you spend another minute without some kind of release you might explode.

He chuckles. “I guess we can skip forward a bit.” He presses you against the wall, hand sliding to your thigh. You shiver, but he stops right before his fingers slide under your shorts. “But have you been good enough to earn it?”

You whine, a pathetic, wounded sound that comes from deep within you. For a moment, you see his facade slip as he swallows, trying not to give away how much the sound turned him on. But after a moment his mask settles back firmly in place, and you’re both ready to continue the game. “Please, Law. I’ve been good. I’ll be good.”

His smile is all teeth as his fingers find their place inside of you. First one, pumping slowly and deliberately, curling to hit your sweet spot just right. He moans quietly in your ear at the feeling of it. You know his line before he says it. “Do you feel that? The way you’re pulling me in? You need me bad, sweetheart, don’t you?”

He inserts a second finger right as you open your mouth to answer. “Ahh–Yes! I need you!”

He pumps harder, faster, and his other hand starts to wander towards your chest. His lips find your neck, nipping at the point where it meets your jaw, making you gasp again. His hand gently squeezes your breast through your shirt, and he can feel your hardened nipples through the fabric. He chuckles. “Yes, you do. Nobody else can make you feel as good as I can. You know it. That’s why you’re here, that’s why you’re so drawn to me. On some level you know: it’s just you and me. We’re all there is, all that matters. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Law! Yes!”

His free hand effortlessly removes your shirt, and you gasp as you’re exposed to the air, your back pressing into the cold wall. He removes your bra next, letting out a soft hiss of appreciation when he finally sees them fully exposed. “As beautiful as I imagined,” he whispers, seemingly to himself. You don’t remember that line.

His mouth finds your nipple easily, sucking and nipping as you threaten to come undone under his attention. His fingers are still moving, his thumb on your clit, building the tension in your body until you feel like you’re going to explode. You’re so very close to the edge, close enough that in your pleasure you forget the next part of the story for a moment.

Until his fingers leave you.

“No!” Your head slams back into the wall as you wail, tears welling up in your eyes. Law seems unaffected, pulling back from you as he slowly inserts his fingers into his mouth, savoring your taste. The only sign that you’ve shaken him is the clear strain of his cock under his jeans, desperate to be free.

His fingers leave his mouth with a pop, and he smiles at you, eyes half-lidded. “Did you think it was going to be that easy? That you would just get what you want, no questions asked?”

You whine, the sound filled with genuine despair. The room is silent for a moment as he stares at you, waiting for your next line, and you try to remember the part you’re supposed to play here. You just barely manage to grasp it, breathlessly saying, “I thought you were a better man than to leave a lady wanting.”

He slides off his tank top, revealing his beautiful tattoos to you. “Oh, honey, this isn’t about what you want. It’s about what you need. And how wonderful it’ll be, once you’re so on edge you can barely stand it, and I finally give in to you. Can you imagine it?” He pops the button of his pants next, sensually sliding them and his boxers down to expose his bare hips. “What it’ll feel like, when I’m finally inside of you?”

His cock is finally free, bobbing in the air as it leaks with precum. He looks painfully hard, and you swallow as you briefly imagine it in your mouth. You’d give almost anything to taste him right now, but that isn’t a part of the scene.

“You’ll feel so full, honey. Imagine how good it’ll feel to cum on my cock. Isn’t that worth the wait?”

“God, yes.”

“Good girl. So agreeable.” One hand finds your hips as he uses the other to line himself up. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, god, please.”

He slowly slides in, feeling the drag of every inch of his dick against your walls. He makes a strangled noise at the feeling, burying his face into your neck as he desperately tries to catch his breath. He stops once he’s fully sheathed in you, giving you both a moment to adjust.

And then another.

And another.

“Law?”

You can hear him chuckle against you. “What, darling?”

“Please, Law.”

He pretends to ponder whether or not to give in for a moment, keeping you in suspense, before he relents. He pulls away from your neck, revealing his extremely red face. His voice may be calm, but the rest of him cannot hide the effects you’re having. “What do you want, sweetheart? Use your words.”

You know the line you’re supposed to say next. She tells Sora she wants relief, wants him to move, wants anything that she can have. But you’re soft, and weak, filled with want. You cannot help but think of your dream this morning, what you were denied and what you’ve always wanted. So you speak the honest truth. “I want you to kiss me.”

He stares at you for a moment, eyes searching yours. You see your own want reflected in him, an affection that makes your chest ache. Then a smile blooms across his face, one gentler than you deserve. The line he says next is Sora’s, but what comes after is all Law. “Whatever the lady wants,” he murmurs, before his lips meet yours.

The kiss isn’t fireworks, or an all consuming flame, or any other way you’d ever heard such a thing described. It was tender, it was kind, and most importantly, it was Law. You’d never wanted anything else. It finally confirms to you that this isn’t a dream, that he’s really here, pressing you against this wall, a desire burning in him that only you can satiate. The lust is still here, the heat of your bodies intertwined, but there’s something tender and real beneath it. 

Once you both pull back, panting, you look into his eyes and know the scene is well and truly over. Now it’s just you and Law, breaths mingling and hearts pounding. He smiles at you, a nervous, delicate thing, his confidence left behind with the script. He’s breathless as he whispers, “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do that?”

You let out a soft, unsure laugh. “Is that Law talking, or Sora?”

He brushes his nose against yours. “It’s all me. It always has been.”

You can’t help your lovesick smile, dripping with a saccharine fondness you couldn’t hide if you tried. You meet his lips again, a kiss with a little more fire, a little more desperation. You try to convey everything you can’t say aloud: the years of yearning, the pain of thinking this moment would never come, the euphoria of learning you were wrong. Your hands press against his chest, his pulse fluttering under your fingers in unison with your own. You wrap your legs around his waist, desperate to pull him ever closer. He lets out a soft sound, almost a whimper, at the feeling of your lips against his as you clench around him. His tongue slips into your mouth, and once again the air around you grows ever hotter.

“Can I move?” There’s a whine to his voice. “Please.”

“Please do,” you moan, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your chests together. 

He needs no further instruction, thrusting harshly, hips rutting against yours. You can feel him struggle to hold himself back from pounding into you at a bruising pace. His hands grip your hips, his nails digging in as he clenches his teeth.

“You don’t have to hold back, Law. I’ll take anything you want to give me.”

He struggles to speak through his self control. “I want to enjoy this. I want to take my time.” Another deliberate thrust has you dragging your nails down his back, making him moan in your ear. “I want this to be as good as it can be for you.”

“This is–ahh!–already better than I’d ever dreamed, Law.”

One of his hands moves to your clit, his fingers starting a steady motion. “Not good enough,” he mutters. His lips find your neck, placing open mouthed kisses along its length, his teeth grazing your skin. You feel yourself coming close to cumming again, your voice growing louder, echoing through the room as you babble. You don’t even know what you’re begging for, the words please and more and Law are all you can say, all you can think. There is nothing in the world beyond the feeling of him against you, inside of you, his soft lips and callused hands. 

You expect him to rip away your pleasure again, but when he briefly stills, your babbles turn to sobs anyway. He pulls back to look you in the eye, take in the sight of the tears running down your face, and you can see him soften once again. His hands and hips start moving again immediately as he presses soft kisses against your cheeks, clearing away your tears.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s alright. You’re doing great. I won’t take it from you again, I promise.” His voice is filled with pity. “You’ve been so good, you can take what you want now.” He builds you back up quickly, his hips pressing into yours even faster than before. You can feel yourself about to burst, and you slam your lips into his, moaning into his mouth. The dam finally bursts, and the pleasure nearly blinds you as you clench around him, his hips struggling to keep moving with how tightly your legs are wrapped around his waist. Your orgasm is what finally makes him break, filling you to the brim as his movements stutter.

You bask in the feeling for a moment, both panting and dripping with sweat, his cock rapidly softening inside of you. Your head lolls forward, pressing into his shoulder, and you press a kiss against his sticky skin.

“Was it worth the wait?” He tries to ask the question in a teasing tone, but you can hear the insecurity underneath it.

“It was worth everything and more.” You shift to wrap your arms tighter around him and nuzzle your face into his neck. 

You can feel the rumble of his chest as he chuckles, gathering you up as he slips out of you. “Agreed.” He kisses the side of your head, an action so filled with care it nearly makes you burst into tears again. He tries to lower you onto something, making you pull him closer and whine. “I just need to set you down for a second, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”

“No.” You sound like a pouting child, making you cringe, but he laughs fondly anyway.

“Alright. A few more minutes. But I have to clean you up eventually, and then we need to find a place a bit more private to settle in, don’t you think? Or at least somewhere more comfortable.”

You hum quietly, pressing your nose further into him. You can worry about logistics in a few minutes. Right now you just want to bask in his warmth, in this dream turned reality, in the absolute joy of your feelings being reciprocated. “I really didn’t think you liked me,” you mutter sleepily. “I’m glad I was wrong.”

“I could say the same,” he murmurs into your hair.

You laugh. “Shachi and Peng are going to be so smug about this.”

“They are?”

“They’ve been trying to tell me for years, and they don’t get to tell me I told you so very often.”

“They were telling you too?” He laughs. “We could have done this months ago if we’d just believed them.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, your eyes starting to slip shut. “You’re worth the wait, though.”

You can hear the smile in his voice as his hand rubs soothing circles on your lower back, luring you further into sleep. “Yeah. So are you.”

“You punched him through a table,” you snapped, stalking across the deck.

Kid spread his arms like that was supposed to explain itself. “He was staring at you.”

“He had eyes.”

“He was using them wrong.”

You turned on him. “That is the most idiotic thing you’ve said tonight.”

He grinned. “You sure? Night’s young.”

You grabbed the nearest empty bottle and threw it.

It smashed against the wall behind his shoulder.

“Oh come on,” he said. “You can aim better than that”

You ignored that.

“You embarrassed me.”

“I defended you.”

“You started a brawl because a man looked in my direction.”

“He looked too long.”

“So you destroyed a tavern?”

“Wasn’t that sturdy.”

You threw another bottle. He ducked this time, laughing.

“Keep throwing things at me and I’ll start thinking you want my attention,” he said, stepping over the glass.

“I want you to stop being a fucking idiot.”

“Then you’re going to be disappointed.”

You reached for another bottle.

His hand clamped around your wrist before you could grab it.

“Enough,” he said.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

His grin came back, slower this time. “That’s my girl.”

You tried to yank free. He let you struggle for half a second, clearly enjoying it, then stepped in closer.

“You’ve been running that mouth since we left the tavern,” he said.

“You earned every word.”

“Yeah?” His gaze dropped, then dragged back up to your eyes. “Keep running it and I’ll find another use for it.”

Your anger caught, twisted, and turned into want.

Kid saw it happen and looked unbearably pleased with himself.

“Oh, that shut you up.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You went quiet.”

You shoved at his chest. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

He grabbed your hand and leaned down until his mouth brushed yours.

“You hate that I’m right.”

You turned your head and bit his lower lip.

Kid went still.

Then he laughed, low and rough, and the sound snapped through you harder than the rum.

“Watch it,” he said, voice dropping. “You start that, I’m finishing it.”

“Big threat.”

“It’s a promise.”

This time, when he kissed you, there was nothing playful about it.

You hooked your fingers through his belt and yanked him in hard enough to make him stumble half a step. Kid laughed against your mouth.

Behind you, somewhere across the deck, someone groaned.

“Captain,” Wire called, exhausted, “not on the deck.”

Kid broke the kiss just enough to glare over his shoulder.

You smiled against his jaw. “Afraid of an audience?”

His eyes cut back to you.

Then he hauled you over his shoulder in one sharp movement.

“Now you’ve done it.”

His eyes held yours. “Am I?”

“Less severe.”

“That is a disappointing description.”

“Less terrifying, then.”

His eyes moved to the exposed line of your throat, where your collar had shifted.

You felt every inch of it.

“I assure you,” he said, “I remain terrifying.”

“You seem pleased by that.”

“I am pleased by what it does to you.”

Heat climbed your neck.

You looked away first, and that seemed to amuse him.

Mihawk reached over, took the glass from your hand, and set it on the table beside his own. The motion was calm. Polite, almost.

“You are not as composed as you pretend,” he said.

Your breath caught. “Neither are you.”

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then he leaned closer.

Not enough to kiss you. Enough to make the invitation plain.

“No,” he said softly. “I am not.”

You should have said something clever. But his hand moved to the bare line of your throat, gloved fingers fitting there with terrifying care.

Not squeezing.

Resting there.

Your breath caught beneath his hand.

Mihawk’s eyes darkened.

“Mihawk,” you said.

His fingers flexed once, controlled and possessive.

“I have been patient,” he murmured.

“With me?”

“With myself.”

Your chest tightened.

His mouth hovered near yours, close enough that the next breath felt shared.

Then he paused.

Waiting.

The smallest smile touched his mouth.

“Say it,” he said.

And because you were tipsy, and because Mihawk had finally let you see how badly he wanted to hear it, you whispered, “Kiss me.”

So he did.

You looked at him over your drink. “Did you?”

“Mhm.”

“What happened to it?”

He tapped his temple with one finger. “Rum.”

You laughed, and his smile widened like he had won something.

“That laugh.” His voice dropped lower, warm and pleased. “I like that laugh.”

“You like a lot of things when you’re drunk.”

“I like a lot of things when I’m sober too.” He moved closer. “You. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

His brows lifted. “Entirely, then. Since you’re being difficult.”

“You’re very charming tonight.”

“I’m very charming every night.” He paused, considering. “Tonight I’m just honest faster.”

You tried not to smile. Failed.

Shanks noticed immediately. His fingers traced your shoulder, light and lazy, before settling.

“There’s my girl,” he murmured.

Your stomach dipped, ridiculous and helpless.

“You’re drunk,” you said, quieter now.

“I am,” he agreed easily. His gaze moved over your face, not hiding a single bit of the fondness there. “Still know you’re pretty.”

“That’s your great observation?”

“No.” He leaned in until his mouth was near your ear. “My great observation is that I’m the luckiest bastard in this whole sea because you let me come home to you.”

The teasing left you for a moment.

Shanks pulled back just enough to look at you, his smile smaller now. Sweeter.

“You mean that?” you asked.

“Baby,” he said, soft and certain, “I mean it sober. I just say it prettier drunk.”

You smiled and kissed him softly.

The crew erupted into whistles from across the tavern.

Shanks smiled against your mouth.

“See?” he murmured. “They agree.”

By the fifth, your skin felt warm for reasons that had nothing to do with the bar.

“You’re staring,” you said.

Law leaned back in his seat, one arm stretched along the booth behind him. His glass rested in his other hand.

“No, I’m not.”

“You definitely are.”

“Then stop looking back.”

Your breath caught before you could help it.

He saw.

The noise around you blurred into clinking glasses and laughter from the crew. Bepo was half-asleep against Penguin’s shoulder. Shachi was loudly losing at cards. No one was paying attention.

Except Law.

He set his glass down and tilted his head toward the empty space beside him.

“Come here.”

Your stomach dipped.

“Why?”

His eyes dragged over your face, slow enough to be deliberate. “You ask too many questions.”

“And you give terrible answers.”

That almost-smile came back. Softer this time. More dangerous.

“Come here,” he repeated.

You should have argued. You were good at arguing with him.

Instead, you slid out of your seat and crossed to his side of the booth.

Law caught your wrist before you could sit. His hand slid down until his fingers threaded loosely through yours.

“You’ve been avoiding me all night,” he said.

“I have not.”

“You have.” His voice was low. Rougher than usual at the edges.

You swallowed. “Maybe you’re imagining things.”

Law tugged once, and you practically fell into the spot beside him.

“Easy there,” he said, steadying you with one hand at your waist. “Don’t make me catch you twice.”

It had to be the alcohol.

Yours, maybe. His, maybe.

Maybe neither.

“I don’t imagine things.”

“No?”

“No.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth.

Then back to your eyes.

The room suddenly felt too small.

“You’re tipsy,” you whispered.

“Maybe.”

Your heart kicked. For a second, neither of you moved.

Then his fingers loosened to give you the choice to pull away.

You didn’t.

Law noticed that too.

His mouth tilted.

“Good girl,” he said quietly.

“People have courted with less.”

“You would know?”

You looked down at the first page before he could see the corner of your mouth move. “Are you asking about my romantic history, Captain?”

Law went still for half a second.

There.

Barely anything. Not enough for anyone else to notice.

But you did.

His fingers flexed once around the clipboard he still held. Then he looked away and clicked his tongue.

“I’m asking if you can count to fifty without turning it into a problem.”

“Probably.”

“That isn’t reassuring.”

“You keep assigning me things anyway.”

“You keep standing where I need you.”

That hit strangely.

He seemed to realize it at the same time you did.

The infirmary quieted around the words.

Then Bepo walked past with a crate in his arms, and both of you looked away like you had been caught doing something worse than standing in the same room.

You took the reports. “I’ll have these done before dinner.”

“Good.”

You started to leave.

“Don’t guess,” he added.

You stopped in the doorway. “I would never.”

“You would.”

You looked back at him.

He was watching you now, expression carefully unreadable.

The bed at the inn sat between you anyway.

His arm around your waist. His breath at your neck. The quiet shock of him waking and pulling away like he had touched something he was not allowed to want.

Your face warmed.

Law’s gaze dropped for half a second. Then he turned back to the cabinet beside him and opened it with more force than necessary.

“Go count gauze,” he said.

You obeyed before you could say something stupid.

By dinner, the ship had settled back into its usual rhythm.

The mission was over. The crew was tired, bruised in small places, and more interested in food than conversation. Shachi complained about the rain having ruined his good boots. Penguin told him he did not own good boots.

Law sat at the end of the table, listening more than participating. That was normal.

The way his eyes found you once across the room was not. It was brief. Nothing anyone else would notice.

But you felt it like fingers at your wrist.

You looked away first.

After dinner, you finished the inventory logs. Then you checked a crate of sealed bandages. Then you reorganized two drawers in the supply cabinet because your hands needed something to do.

Not here.

He had said it like a promise.

He had not brought it up since.

Neither had you.

That was the problem with Law. Silence did not feel empty with him. It gathered weight. It became its own conversation.

Later, after most of the ship had gone down for the night, you saw light under Law’s door.

For a moment, you considered walking away. Then you raised your hand and knocked once.

“Come in.”

You opened the door.

Law was at his desk, a stack of charts spread in front of him. His hat was set aside. His hair was a mess from his own fingers. A cup of coffee sat untouched near his hand.

You looked at it.

Then at him.

“I came here to bully you into resting.”

That made his pen stop.

Slowly, he lifted his eyes to you.

“You’re going to bully me.”

“Yes.”

“In my room.”

“You left the light on. That’s basically a cry for help.”

“It is not.”

“It was either that or a lure. I chose the less concerning option.”

Law leaned back in his chair. “You could leave.”

“I could.”

Neither of you moved.

His room was familiar, though you had never spent much time in it alone. Desk. Books. A coat thrown over the back of a chair. Kikoku resting within reach.

And the bed.

You tried not to look at it.

Failed.

Law noticed.

You cleared your throat and stepped fully inside. “How long have you been awake?”

“A normal amount.”

You came closer and picked up the coffee before he could stop you. It was cold.

You held it out accusingly.

Law looked at it. “That was intentional.”

“You intentionally made coffee and didn’t drink it?”

“I was working.”

You set the cup down away from him. “Go to bed.”

“No.”

“Law.”

“I have three more charts to finish.”

“They’ll still be there tomorrow.”

You looked around his room until you found the narrow shelf beside his bed. You walked to it and ran your fingers along the spines.

“What are you doing?”

“Settling in.”

“You’re not staying.”

“You haven’t gone to bed.”

“That isn’t an invitation.”

“I didn’t need one.”

You pulled a book free and glanced at the title. Dense. Medical. Perfect.

You sat on the edge of his bed.

Law stared at you.

“That’s my bed.”

“I know.”

“You’re being difficult on purpose.”

“Only because you respond so consistently.”

His eyes narrowed.

You opened the book across your lap. “Finish one chart. Then sleep.”

“Three.”

“One.”

“Two.”

You turned a page. “One and a half.”

“That isn’t how charts work.”

“I’m not a doctor.”

“That has never stopped you from having opinions.”

You looked up at him then.

He was still watching you.

“One chart,” he said.

He resumed writing. For a while, that was all there was.

The scratch of ink. The soft shift of paper when Law reached for another page. You tried to read, but the words kept slipping out of order.

At some point, you stretched your legs out on the bed.

Law noticed.

He did not comment.

At some later point, you leaned back against the wall. Your eyelids grew heavy.

“You’re not reading,” he said.

You blinked. “I am.”

“You’ve been on the same page for ten minutes.”

“It’s a complicated page.”

“It’s the table of contents.”

You turned the page with dignity. “Now it’s not.”

Law made a low sound that was almost amusement. The book dipped slightly in your hands.

“Go to your room,” he said, quieter now.

“In a minute.”

Law’s pen stopped again.

“You’re going to fall asleep there.”

“Probably.”

“That isn’t your bed.”

“No.”

You let the book rest against your stomach. “Do you want me to leave?”

He did not answer right away. Then his eyes came back to yours.

“No,” he said.

“Then finish your chart.”

Law looked at you for another second.

Then he picked up his pen.

The scratch of ink started again.

You meant to keep reading. You even made it through another page, maybe two. Then the words blurred, the book slipped lower against your stomach, and Law said your name once from the desk.

You meant to answer.

Instead, the room went dark.

When you woke again, the lamp been turned off.

You were on your back.

Sometime during the night, Law had gotten into bed beside you. After that, sleep had done whatever sleep wanted, because he was half over you now, his weight settled along your side, one leg pushed between yours beneath the blanket.

His arm was low across your waist. His hand had slipped beneath your shirt, palm warm against your stomach, fingers curved near your ribs. Your own shirt had ridden up under his wrist.

So had his.

There was bare skin at his hip where the fabric had twisted, pressed against you every time he breathed.

You stared at the ceiling.

Law’s face was tucked near your collarbone. His hair brushed your jaw. His mouth was close enough to your throat that the next slow breath from him moved over your skin and made your stomach tighten beneath his hand.

You tried to shift your leg.

His thigh pressed down instinctively.

A small sound caught in your throat before you could stop it.

Law did not wake.

His hand shifted once, sleepy and unthinking.

You went still.

He was asleep.

His knee shifted once beneath the blanket.

You bit down on your breath.

His hand stayed where it was, warm and open against your stomach. Then his palm pressed a little firmer, holding you there like he had no intention of letting go.

You stared at the ceiling and did not move. Not because you couldn’t.

Because you didn’t want to.

You turned your head a fraction. His hair brushed your lips.

That was when Law woke.

His body went rigid against yours.

His hand did not move.

Neither did yours.

Your eyes stayed on the ceiling. His palm was still hot against your skin. His thigh was still between yours. His mouth was still too close to your throat.

You waited for him to pull away.

He didn’t.

His breath touched your neck once.

Twice.

Then, very carefully, his forehead lowered to your shoulder.

Your chest tightened.

“Law,” you whispered.

His voice came rough from sleep. “I know.”

Two words.

Quiet.

Heavy.

Not an apology. Not an explanation.

You did not know what to do with them.

His fingers flexed once, barely a movement at all. Your body reacted anyway, your stomach tightening under his hand before you could stop it.

Law felt it. His fingers stilled against you.

Then his hand flattened more carefully over your stomach, like he had realized exactly where it was and still could not make himself leave.

“I should move,” he said.

You closed your eyes.

“Are you going to?”

Silence.

His answer came so quietly you almost missed it.

“No.”

The word went through you slowly.

“Good,” you whispered.

Law exhaled against your shoulder.

His arm tightened around your waist, not by accident this time. His leg stayed where it was. His hand stayed under your shirt.

Deliberate.

Careful.

Still too much.

Not enough.

You covered his wrist with your hand.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

Eventually, because you were apparently determined to survive this by being difficult, you said, “You finished the chart?”

A pause.

Then, against your shoulder, dry and low, “That’s what you’re asking right now?”

“It was the agreement.”

“You fell asleep.”

“You were unsupervised. Anything could have happened.”

His breath moved against your skin in something almost like a laugh.

“Two charts,” he said.

“You said one.”

“You were asleep. I renegotiated.”

“That’s unethical.”

“I’m a pirate.”

You smiled.

Then his hand moved again.

His fingers slid a little farther across your stomach, slow enough that you knew he was awake for it this time.

Your smile faded.

Law’s mouth pressed once against your shoulder.

Brief.

Closed.

Controlled.

Then he went still, like he had not meant to do it.

You did not let go of his wrist.

“Law.”

His voice was low against your skin. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

He was quiet for a second. Then his hand tightened once beneath yours.

“Make me say something stupid.”

Your throat went dry.

You turned your head slightly toward him. “Like what?”

He did not answer right away.

His mouth brushed your shoulder again. Lighter this time. Almost accidental, except you both knew it was not.

“I sleep better with you there,” he said.

The words were so soft, so rough around the edges, that for a moment you thought you had imagined them.

You swallowed.

The joke rose first. Something easy. Something safe. You let it die.

Instead, you said, “Me too.”

Law went quiet against your shoulder.

Then his mouth moved lower, just enough to press against the skin near your collar.

His mouth stayed there for a second too long.

Then another.

Your fingers tightened over his.

His hand answered under your shirt.

The morning outside his room grew brighter.

You should get up. The crew would be moving soon. Someone would need him. Someone would come looking. The day would begin whether either of you were ready for it or not.

But not yet.

Not for one more minute.

You breathed in carefully.

Then out.

“I can come back tonight,” you said.

For a moment, the silence was so complete you could hear your own pulse.

Then his hand tightened under yours. “You don’t have to,” he said.

“I know.”

The answer took him a long time. When it came, his mouth brushed your shoulder.

“Yes.”

You closed your eyes.

Neither of you moved until footsteps passed in the corridor. Then Law lifted his head.

The loss of his warmth at your shoulder was immediate.

His hand slid out from under your shirt, careful now, almost too careful. You missed it before it was gone.

He rolled onto his back beside you and stared at the ceiling.

You did the same.

The space between you was narrow.

Not enough to pretend.

For one dangerous second, he looked like he might lean closer.

Then someone knocked on the door.

Both of you froze.

“Captain?” Shachi called from the hall. “You awake?”

Law closed his eyes. You pressed your lips together hard.

“Unfortunately,” Law said.

“You want breakfast?”

“No.”

“You sure? Bepo made rice.”

A pause.

You whispered, “You should eat.”

He turned his head just enough to look at you.

His expression was flat. His ears were still red.

“Don’t start.”

You smiled wider.

From the hall, Shachi said, “Was that a yes?”

Law looked back at the ceiling. “Yes,” he said, like the word pained him.

“Great. Also Penguin wants to know if—”

“No.”

“You didn’t hear the question.”

“No.”

Footsteps retreated down the hall.

The room quieted again.

You sat up first, smoothing your shirt with more attention than necessary.

Law’s eyes flicked to the movement.

Then away.

You pretended not to notice.

He sat up after you, one hand dragging over his face.

For once, he looked rested.

Actually rested.

The sight did something terrible to your chest.

You reached for your boots.

Behind you, Law said your name.

You stopped.

His voice was low. Careful. Still not looking at you.

“Tonight,” he said.

You looked back at him.

“Tonight,” you said.

His shoulders eased by a fraction.

Then he reached for his hat, put it on, and became your captain again.