This the greed they talk about in the bib…*gunshot*
This was one of those rare nights that he wasn’t spending in his workshop. It had only taken a full day of your begging to break him. All of that whining about wanting to fall asleep on his chest was getting under his skin. You insisted that you could count on one hand the times that he actually got a full nights rest. He was a man that lived for the night hours. At least that’s what he told himself.
Laid beside your snoring body, Eustass Kid felt his stomach announce its scheduled hunger. Usually, Killer or Heat would have dropped off a snack to his workshop. Tonight he is left to his own devices. As quietly as he could, he got out of bed and left you there while he sought out sustenance. It was a tempting thought to tinker in his workshop while he ate, but he knew he would get an earful from you if he did.
The gentle rock of the Victoria Punk seemed to have done the trick of putting his rambunctious crew to bed. It was never this calm during the day. The only sign of life Kid encountered on his way to the kitchen had been Killer throwing him a wave from the crow’s nest. At least the trusted vice captain wouldn’t be able to stop the captain from gathering a midnight snack that would fully satisfy him. With that in mind, Kid thought that maybe he should make this schedule a regular thing. Especially when it falls on the night that his favorite food was served at dinner.
You know the safety you felt from his presence is what lured you into such a deep sleep, but you find yourself slowly waking. The scent of raw sex was no longer what filled your shared quarters. No. Your nostrils were being invaded by the smell of…barbecue ribs?
“Kid,” you croak with sleep lacing the single syllable of his name.
There is no answer. You know he’s there though. You’d never mistake the feel of him in any room.
Was that slurping? You crack open one eye. Darkness still fills the room. Was that smacking? Had a wild animal somehow boarded the ship and snuck into the room? Impossible. You’re at sea. Still entranced by your fleeting sense of slumber, you can make out the large figure of your other half. You tiredly reach back and flick on your bedside lamp.
There he was in all his sauced glory. Your eyes lock onto the source of the feral sounds you had heard. His mouth was practically covered in Killer’s homemade barbecue sauce.
“Sounds like you’re eating the wettest pussy on the Grand Line,” you sass.
“Had that earlier,” he taunts while holding out what appears to be the last rib on his plate,”My compliments to the chef. Pussy was practically falling off the bone, Babe.”
You take a small bite of the tender rib.
“That it? I had your mouth full of more meat than that earlier.”
“Good fuckin night, Kid,” you snap while turning your back to him and turning off your lamp, “and don’t get that fuckin sauce all over the sheets.”
“These sheets are covered in cum and you’re bitching about barbecue sauce?”
There’s silence. You hear him moving his plate to his nightstand. There’s more silence. Your covers are ripped off, and a crushing weight presses you into the mattress. He’s on you! Dragging his sticky hands and face all over your bare chest.
“Shhhh! People are sleeping.”
He flicks your lamp back on and admires his work. There’s barbecue sauce smeared all over your skin.
“Be still, Babe,” he orders, “I gotta clean up this mess I made.”
That threat wasn’t believable as his tongue trailed over your chest.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
“I’m all sticky,” you pout.
His hand reaches between your thighs.
Ok. Maybe there is a combination midnight snack that he can’t get in his workshop. Peanut butter and jelly might be typical, but when could he get pussy and ribs like this again?
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