#silkendandelion

~*~

For all of Crocodile’s love of gold, and the flash of truth in the eyes of his opponents as the arc of his blade reaches it’s apogee, the sea was his first. His greatest paramour, a punishing lover that shouts and thrashes as much as she laves his skin with warm foam, cleansed of lesser men’s blood and graced by a crown of coral while she whispers:

My king.

So he procured a ship. To be close to her, to see a better, wider world than the one he knew, one overflowing with gold and power. He fled his home country on a stolen carrack worthy of his ambition, and filled her with a crew that was appropriately dangerous, loyal enough, who called her La Forza Dorato.

Today, years later and under such a bright sun, he wanted to be nowhere else.

“Captain!” A young crew member called to him, where he stood on the pier. He had already forgotten this one’s name. “Your list is exhausted, Sir. We sail on your command.”

“Immediately.” With only his word, they bustled to begin loosing the sails, and he remained on the dock long enough to light his cigar. His left thumb flicked open the solid gold lighter with a bright ping, while his right shielded it from the passing wind.

Thwip, thwip. But it only sparked. He clicked his teeth, about to bark out an order for one of the crew to hop down and buy lighter oil before they departed, until a man spoke up beside him.

“Need a light?”

An elegant hand with a calloused forefinger offered him a flame, attached to a man younger than himself but certainly not a boy by the creases along his eyes. Strikingly violet eyes among tan skin and dark, expressive brows that matched the mane of thick, black hair draped down his back, pulled neatly into a leather hair cord. Crocodile’s gaze flickered from the silver lighter to the twin swords on his hip, both the same shade of moonlight.

“Thank you,” he replied, polite but curt, and head bowed to accept.

“Is this your ship?” The stranger turned to his boat, wandering nearly onto the ramp until the crew gathered to block him, ready to defend.

“Oh—have I overstepped?” He chuckled nervously—handsomely, Crocodile hesitated to admit—and he nodded to his pirates to relax.

“Only fools wander onto a pirate ship of their own free will. Or stupidity.”

“I assure you, it’s foolishness, really,” the stranger explained. “I’m on pilgrimage from a Paradise island. If you have work for me, I promise to work hard.”

The crew grumbled in a ripple of protests, unimpressed by his fine-tailored clothes and sturdy boots, worthy of an adventure, sure, but only barely broken in. On that, Crocodile agreed, hesitant to entertain any self-proclaimed mercenary who, despite the hand-me-down rucksack slung over his shoulder, smelled of expensive perfume when the wind picked up his long hair.

“Are those swords just for show? Or do you claim to be a professional?” He pulled back his cape with his left hand to show the rapier on his own hip, a golden blade with a spiral hilt, too heavy to be a dress sword and proportionate to his tall, wide body.

“Why don’t you find out? Or are you just the captain?”

Crocodile had killed mouthier fools for less lip, but the mirth in those eyes, dancing among purple firelight and hinting of mischief, made him want to find out. He took a long drag off his cigar to keep from smiling, though it nearly turned into a scowl when the stranger spotted his decision—and had the audacity to grin at him.

Careful, beautiful stranger. Looking at men like that tends to make promises I doubt you could keep.

“You will refer to me as such.”

“Yes, captain,” replied the stranger with a deep, flourishing bow. “River Joel Faustina, at your service.”

“Shall I call you River?”

“Please,” he replied, beaming like his new captain had committed some incredible deed by merely offering him employment. Conditional upon his performance, of which pretty smiles held exactly zero weight. Crocodile rolled his eyes as he gestured for them to board, at the same time his crew were already scattering to enact his anticipated command.

“Let’s go!”

~*~

Crocodile ruled his ship the way he governed his heart: loyalty must be earned, obedience is non-negotiable, and failure often proved to be a fatal mistake. As to why the fool was still alive, even he didn’t know.

Perhaps he found his perseverance endearing, determined to haul sails and throw freight with the brawniest of his crew no matter how it reddened his fingers, his fine clothes beginning to fray with the strain of manual labor. Perhaps it was because Crocodile often forgot himself, unabashedly studying his newest sailor piling all of his hair to the top of his head between orders, and clicking his teeth that he was never wise enough to begin with his hair up. Surely, the ditsy stranger had to know how the loose pieces stuck to his neck in sweat-soaked petals, how the pieces curling around his chin in the humidity were capable to cause insanity.

He suspected a long plot, one where the stranger knew exactly the picture he painted when he stood by the railing to wring his shirt dry, the long line of his back tempting Crocodile to press fingerprints into his skin, until he was love drunk and bewitched, too warm and drowsy to prevent the robbery of more than just his jewels. That in mind, he respected the stranger’s dedication to his scheme, putting in long hours day after day, from his calculated “good morning, captain” at first light, to sending him dark eyes across the fire of the evening, and further flaunting himself across his captain’s restless dreams.

“I don’t like him,” Crocodile declared to no one.

For as long as he’s sailed, Crocodile always ate last, preferring to eat alone, and only after he deemed the day well and truly finished, the sun long gone. Despite his singular statement, containing it’s own beginning and end, the crewmate who poured his ale felt the need to reply. For tonight, on this subject, he would allow it.

“No one does. But, he does as he’s told. So how much can any of us complain?” They shrugged.

“He can’t be trusted.”

“I wonder where he goes every night, when he sneaks out of his bunk like none of us have ears.”

The clatter of Crocodile’s fork to his plate caused the startled crewmate to flinch. A coat of sweat began to dot their pallid skin, as they watched him slowly replace his fork to the napkin. “When would I have learned of these nightly occurrences, if I had not spoken?”

“I-immediately, captain, as—” They swallowed around their tight throat. “The moment I knew what it was the brat was uh—up to.”

”We’ll never know then.”

Crocodile’s rings caught the candlelight in a deadly flash, the promise of a permanent end to their business as he wrenched the crewmate up by his shirt.

“WAIT! You can’t—DON’T—”

A door opening elsewhere startled them both to silence, the cabin perfectly still while they both listened to it close, and the joining patter of feet on the deck. He tossed the man away, suddenly uncaring to enforce his own rules, to the grateful pounding of the frightened crewman’s heart.

“Get out,” he said simply, eyes and ears still trained to the almost imperceptible noise of footsteps.

The man scrambled to leave him alone, dashing off to go through the door they had heard open, while Crocodile ventured the opposite way to the deck. Empty, he believed at first, awash with moonlight and the white noise of the endless sea, enough to rock the ship but not to wake the crew in their beds. Against the railing, he spotted him, the sneak, his face turned to the damp wind, and… standing there?

He waited long breaths for him to reveal a snail phone, communicate to his handler he was getting close to his target, or mark notes in a pocket journal about his plot to fell the rising pirate before he became too powerful—but he only stood there. Basking in the moon, catching spray on his cheeks and gazing out at the sea like he was in love with her too.

Perhaps there was no plot after all, and his newest sailor was simply a fool. Nothing more. For now, there in the dark, damp and awed, he knew only one truth: that he found him beautiful.

~*~

Did he know his captain watched him walk the deck every night? Wondering what he scribbled about in his journal, a salt-stained book with it’s leather worn soft? Does he know he captivates me?

“It’s poetry,” he answered when questioned one morning at breakfast. The pirates at his elbows leaned to see the pages better, and the stranger had little mind to cover up or pretend to be embarrassed.

“What’s a man like you doing out on these seas?” Another one asked.

“I’ve come to see the world,” was his simple reply. “Find a new home, maybe find love.”

From the doorway of the galley, Crocodile blew smoke from his mouth, an olfactory announcement of his presence. The stranger was the only one to raise his head and meet his guarded, golden stare. “You’re a fool for that too.”

He rumbled some warning to the crew about other ship’s in the area, determined to appear indifferent to the stranger’s show of vulnerability, like he hadn’t fled to the sea for the same.

~*~

That night, as Crocodile sat beside the window in his quarters, smoking and thumbing a book without absorbing the pages, he wondered why the fool was late. 18 minutes, according to the golden watch in his pocket.

Tch, he clicked around his cigar, and was about to pour himself a drink when he heard the crew quarter’s door opening.

“A night for star gazing, eh?” He said quietly to no one, seeing the stranger come to the deck without a book or his pen. The night was perfect for such, their ship drifting aimlessly on a glass sea, the air warm and sky clear. His thoughts drifted back to the dark liquor on his desk. Would tonight be the time he went to him with two glasses and a hope fluttering around his insides? He seized the crystal glasses before he lost his nerve, grabbed the neck of the bottle, but—

The sight of endless skin outside the window froze him where he stood.

Once-fine linen pooled around bare feet, and the stranger stepped from their puddle to approach the railing, the night bathing the entirety of his skin a dark, deep blue.

“What is he—wait! Fool!” Crocodile ran from his quarters too late to catch him, just in time to watch him dive over the railing and down into the warm water. Bubbles preceded his resurfacing, among a gasp of delight and a handsome, shamelessly giddy smile.

“What are you doing?” Crocodile scolded down at him, quietly lest the crew wake and his voyeurism be revealed completely. “Are you insane?”

“Oh! Hello, captain,” the stranger replied, wading happily like he wasn’t being glared at by his highest superior. “Would you like to join me?”

“Get back up here—that’s an order. Storms can roll in at a moment’s notice.”

“Sky’s clear, captain. It’s only you and me,” he said, paddling onto his back to show him the planes of his body, chest barely breaking the surface and modesty only partially maintained by the black, shadowed water.

“Do you have any idea the kinds of animals that live in these deep waters?”

Dark eyes find his, and the mesmerized sway of his mind suddenly feels too much like falling over the railing. “I’ll protect you, captain.”

Absurd. Impudent. Brat. Crocodile cursed him repeatedly as he yanked at his clothes. But, with every article he tossed to the deck, his annoyance dimmed, soothed by the promise of warm seawater and a welcoming soul. He dove over the railing, the water parting for his large body in a burst of bubbles that tickled along his skin with the melodious laughter above him. Coming up for air promised the sight of the tempter up close, dotted on every inch of his skin with droplets of diamond—but he found he was gone.

“… Where—,” he gasped, startled at the brush of skin against his legs, and a dark shape darting beneath the rippled surface. What could easily be an expert swimmer or fish revealed itself as a man some meters away when the stranger reappeared. Beneath his wet lashes, he found his own yearning reflected back at him, alongside the same glimmer he saw at the docks all those weeks ago. The one that promised to either transform or drown him.

“If you catch me, you can kiss me,” promised the stranger.

They dove beneath the waves, and Crocodile soon realized he chased a native of the sea, as fast as any animal, breaking the moon beams that shone down through the water with the strong arc of his body to remain just out of his reach. He tumbled over the net of his hands with ease, exciting bubbles around them with his need to tease, to tighten his nimble limbs around the struggling thump of Crocodile’s vulnerable heart.

But Crocodile was also born to the sea, a predator of his own environment, and asking him to give chase was a simple request, as effortless as the yield of the stranger—this siren’s body when he folds into the hands that ensnare him. First, by the gentle grasp around his ankle, then sliding up the length of his legs to hold him in the wrap of his arms. With his delicate organs separated from the predator’s wide palms by only smooth skin dotted with moles, he offered Crocodile the air in his lungs, the warmth of his blood rising to his face as they finally catch their breath.

“Caught you.”

Under the compounding heat of his gaze, the water felt suddenly cool. Their limbs remained intertwined as he realized the only reason he held this creature of the sea—a man with a name, he reminded himself—in his hands, able to feel the thump of his pulse and the puff of his breath across both their lips was because he swam into his net of his own free will. Were he to deem his captain unworthy to touch him, he would have swam to the bottom and drowned him.

Yet here he floated, soft and beguiling, like he might dissolve into foam if Crocodile didn’t kiss him right this moment.

The slam of a door on deck flinched them apart, and Crocodile covered him with his body, despite them both bare, able to be seen completely if only the ripples calmed. Incoherent, sleepy grumbling floated down, among the sound of a zipper.

“How rude. Hey—” River called when a big hand clamped over his mouth, barely heard over the sound of liquid over another part of the railing they couldn’t see. Crocodile kicked them towards the netting along the side of the ship, quiet enough the sailor must have believed them to be fish, and left them alone to wander back to the cabin.

Among the silence, Crocodile realized with devastating clarity, lips still tingling where they had nearly touched, that he could not bring himself to continue.

Nevermind the moment being shattered by a weak bladder, their focus had been elsewhere long enough for Crocodile’s doubt to creep back into his edges. Cold, sour doubt, the worry about his worthiness of love, and wondering if River could smell his weakness. Wondering if he would still want him if he knew the fragility of his heart. Unbecoming, he believed, of a dangerous, cruel, and ruthlessly resourceful pirate. To remain apart was to protect his most vital asset: himself.

“… You should be in bed,” he said quietly.

“But—”

“That’s an order. River.” He couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, not when he might see the breaking of his own heart reflected back at him.

“Yes, captain.”

River climbed the net first, crestfallen, and Crocodile could not even bring himself to admire the back of him as he shed water and fumbled back into his clothes. He took no delight in going back to his quarters, clothes in hand, to lie down alone. Damp hands scrubbed down his face, reaching for a cigar to soothe the sting of his self-inflicted isolation. A punishment? For what, the imagined sins inflicted upon him by people he had already killed?

No, he thought as he flicked open the lighter. For my own weakness. That I replaced the chains of the dead with my own shackles. He does not deserve their weight, and neither do I.

Smoke wafted to the ceiling in lazy plumes, filling his lungs with the blanket of a hard decision.

The next time I hold him, he will have to decide: be mine, or find a new captain.

~*~

“No breakfast today, captain?” A crewmate asked when they were called to fetch his neglected tray and an empty carafe.

“How long until we reach the next island?” Crocodile asked instead.

“Day after tomorrow, captain. Our supplies will hold, despite how much that flimsy swordsman eats.”

He spun his cigar over the ash tray, tired, unseeing eyes scanning the correspondence and notes sprawled across his desk. “Perhaps… he will not be with us much longer.”

“Anything else, captain?”

“That will be all.”

Once his door clicked closed, the silence all but clawed at his nerves. He placed a record on his gramophone, finding comfort in the little band inside the tin speaker, and the weight of his rapier in his left hand. A few practice strokes, precise, gentlemanly, sharp in every way he was also. Were he to lose his hand, his ability to fight, he wasn’t sure it wouldn’t kill him, or worse perhaps, leave him alive.

He wondered if River could love a version of him without his sword, a man who would surely crawl from bloody ashes refusing to die, one who no longer cared to smother his rage. After all, even whole he was still that man. To love someone, to be theirs and keep them, was to love both who they are and who they could become.

A knock at his cabin door tells him the sun had set while he was in his head, the entire day lost to his sword strokes and spinning thoughts. The turning of the knob without his permission tells him exactly who stands on the other side, and River slips between the door and the frame to encroach on his habitat with little care for how he might be received. It clicks shut behind him, at the same time Crocodile’s scolding dies on his tongue.

He stands in night clothes Crocodile had never seen on him, a long linen shirt fluttering around his calves, his body bared as if he were nude by the glowing orange of the lamp light behind him, while his hair and limbs drip seawater onto the floor in gentle patters. The cloth soaks through where it touches his skin, framing goosebumps and tight nipples that perked up on the walk from warm water to the cool, dry cabin.

“Are you going to send me away? Captain?” His quiet voice startled Crocodile from his ogling.

“Why?” He manages with a dry mouth after a moment, and River opens his mouth to reply but he was not finished. “Why do you torment me? What do you want?”

“How do you not know? Can’t you see me?”

The slam of Crocodile’s palms on the short bureau behind River startles them both, caging him between corded arms that strain his dress shirt. He dips, poised to rumble the penultimate question against the warm skin of his neck where his pulse flutters against his lips. Between his legs, Crocodile’s knee keeps him spread, vulnerable, at the mercy of his crazed musings, and squirming as the furniture digs into the give where his rear meets his thighs.

But his question goes unasked. So he decides, as he stands close enough to see his own burning want reflected back in blown pupils, feel the impatient quiver of him against his body, that whatever his answer might be, he needed this night first. One night to begin a lifetime of bliss, or a special, singular night to carry him through.

“River.”

“Yes, captain?” His pink tongue flicks out to wet his dry, bitten lips.

“No. None of that,” he growls in the space between them before surging forward to lock their mouths together, tongues sliding as he grips the back of his thighs to hoist him onto the bureau. Both of them grab and yank at the bottom of River’s shift, hoisting it up to pool in the bend of his thighs so he can cage Crocodile’s waist between his thighs the way he himself is trapped between the hard planes of his body and the wall.

“Captain, we—”

A jeweled hand grabs his jaw, thumb digging into the joint, and keeps them impossibly close to let every letter of his order vibrate in his blushing throat. “Say my name.”

The blushes rises to flood his cheeks, a challenge if Crocodile had ever seen one, to turn his entire body pink to match. “But you said when we first met—I mean, someone will hear us.”

“They would not come through that door even if they believed you were being murdered. Don’t tell me you are shy?” River’s answer comes as an unabashed moan, Crocodile’s reward for sucking hot kisses into the junction of his neck and shoulder while wide, greedy hands knead and pull at the flesh of his hips to drag their erections together through their clothes.

“The man who came to my quarters in nothing but a shift has no right to be shy.”

He hauls him into his arms but does not move to the bed, instead setting him down on the table where his dinner had lain only hours before. The sigh of anticipation that stutters from River’s chest urges him to continue talking, to keep working his body with his voice. All burgeoning promise and smoke, the one that has him leaking into the crumpled mess of his shift with thoughts of Crocodile using those big hands to yank him back into his stroke on every single piece of furniture in the room.

“With the ease you stripped yourself bare to jump into the sea, I do not believe the moon can see any more of you than it already has.” Crocodile’s words were punctuated by shoving his shift up to his chest with one hand, bearing all of him to his hungry gaze as his other hand pulled open the buttons on his shirt. He yanked his belt open to give himself some modicum of relief, sighing hot when thinner hands slipped themselves into his trousers to stroke the clothed outline of his cock. Relief indeed—but tonight, he had no patience for mischief.

”What if someone had seen you?” He reached passed him for the oil (the same bottle he had used to maintain his rapier earlier in the night), and the scent of cloves drifted up from where he hastily slicked his hand. Long, thick fingers briefly massaged the skin behind River’s sack, down over nearly the entire cleft of him until he pressed one inside.

“Or did you want to be seen?”

To the pounding of his heart in his ears, and the rhythmic flex of River’s hands on his shift as he obediently keeps it lifted out of the way, he bullies in a second finger. For all his intent to stay still and let his lover adjust, be tended to, River’s hips squirmed in restless circles, tempting Crocodile to be mean to him with the little moans that puff from his kiss-bitten lips. But, for them to collide in a wave that swallows them both, he needed to hear from those lips he was wanted, even if the answer came ripped from River’s throat in the wail of his ecstasy.

“Answer me.” His fingers continued to drag over sensitive walls, pulling out just to shove back in again, again, pressing to his spot on every entry with an insistent curl. “Did you want to be seen? Eh? Would just anyone do?”

“N-no, I never—they wouldn’t,” he stammered out, his breath stolen by the lightning bolts of pleasure beneath his navel that lit up his entire body. A plea laid across his tongue, ready to be sprung but Crocodile’s fingertips refused to let him breathe enough to confess, like they were intent to keep him drunk and babbling until he could no longer recall excuses.

“O-only you. Only you, Captain, wanted y-you to see me. See me, fuck me—” A loud moan chopped off his words, loud enough to wake someone if not for Crocodile smothering his lips with a wet kiss, sucking on his tongue as he swallowed the cry caused by a third, thick finger. He consumed his sounds with a greed he hadn’t realized he could have for anything but gold, possessed to wring River’s body of every heaving breath and take them selfishly into his own lungs—

Until he had everything he could give.

River’s body rattled, toes curled hard enough to hurt as he wrenched his lips back on a ragged gasp, hips bucking into Crocodile’s soaked palm until he broke on the choked, shameless cry of his captain’s name. He moaned his crest to the ceiling, legs beginning to shake when those fingers refused to stop pistoning inside him. Crocodile almost regretted being so aggressive, but seeing those violet eyes shine with tears, lips equally glossy with drool as he called his name for the entire sea to hear—he wanted to reward him with blinding, wracking pleasure until he could recall no other words.

In the sudden quiet, he reached to soothe him, brushing his palms down his sides and hauling him into his arms to bring him down slow. For a long moment, there was only the sound of slowing breaths, their matched heartbeats pounding against the other’s ribs, until River’s eyes finally peeled open at the beckon of his voice.

“Did I break you?”

His answer came as a surge of energy in a desperate kiss, arms flung around his neck and a mournful sound pressed between his lips. Even through the tears, his eyes shone wetter than before, prompting Crocodile to wonder if he had made a terrible mistake.

“You made me come. Didn’t you—don’t you want me? To be inside me?”

The tight squeeze of his hands on River’s quivering waist dries those tears awfully quick.

“What kind of men have you allowed to touch you, that you would think one is enough?”

He isn’t prepared to watch storm clouds roll into his eyes at his question, elegant hands suddenly gripping into his shirt to shove him back from between his legs. For a shorter man, he carried a strength Crocodile had yet to witness in action, now aimed at himself as he wrestled them down onto the bed to perch above his hips in a tall line that spoke of some kind of pride.

In his miles of moonlit skin he saw it: the threat to be drowned by a man he didn’t fully understand. Yet, it only made Crocodile want more, grabbing for a life preserver in the strong thighs draped over him, and watching River toss his shift somewhere into the dark.

“I’m tired of your questions. Your assumptions to know me, what I’ve done with my body.” Above him, his gaze, the weight of his brow sat open and startingly sober. Among the storm, he found another emotion, the precursor to love, so close to honesty, and yet Crocodile could not identify it as devotion because he had never seen it before aimed at him.

“From the day I came aboard this ship, I never pretended to want anyone else, never hid my intentions. I only ever screamed them if you would bother to look.” He swallowed around his resolve. “You don’t believe me, that I want you? I will show you.”

For all of Crocodile’s hard-nosed affection, his growled demands and confident fingers, the immovable line of him lies willingly supine under the smaller man, long legs parting for him to crawl off his hips and down between his knees.

He looks perfect this way, they think about the other, meaning the way River pulls his endless, black hair to the top of his head with the leather from his wrist, and Crocodile’s wide chest beginning to rise and fall faster, the muscles in his strong jaw clenching and releasing with anticipation River can see plain in the heavy, tight line of his cock against his hip.

The shock of a hot mouth against his tip makes him hiss, soothed by wet kisses along every inch of him that is revealed by River’s hands slowly peeling down his trousers. Momentarily, River ponders undressing him completely so they match, but finds he enjoys too much the sight of Crocodile half undone, shirt bearing his solid torso and lower-half exposed only down to the tops of his thighs. Perfectly disheveled, begging to be consumed, bared perfectly for the moon to see all of him too. Hard evidence it was River’s hands that destroyed him, who cared to reform him.

A telling bead of precum, worked up by River’s ardent staring, tempts him to taste, swipe the tang of him away and lead him between his soft, inviting lips. Crocodile’s answer is a long moan squeezed up from his chest by the squeeze of the throat around him, and betrays exactly how much he’s enjoying himself. His stoic face is unused to being scrunched in bliss by a feverish mouth taking him down to the root with just a few, determined swallows. River takes a moment to hold him there, nose pressed against the dark, neat hair on his pubic bone, for what Crocodile believes to be a breath-stealing, head-spinning eternity—until it’s gone too soon.

He thinks he might lose his temper when that mouth pulls off completely to speak to him.

“You are so much more than I imagined. Oh,” River panted into his skin. Red, slick lips mouth up to his flushed tip to suckle and demand for more precum until it rips a haggard groan from his chest, and Crocodile gives a flushed, pissy scowl, one that demands he stop fucking around.

It hardly frightens the man between his legs, not when Crocodile’s hair has fallen from his meticulous style in damp strands over his cheeks to match the shine of sweat on his forehead. Between his knees, the heat of him nearly steams where River breathes over his sack to roll them around on his tongue too.

Crocodile wants to complain about the crawl they’ve fallen into, demand he pick up the pace, but before he can arrange thoughts on his tongue he’s rewarded by those lips slipping back over him. They fall into an easy rhythm, one that slides hot and tormentingly slow over the entire length of him with every complete bob of River’s head.

A soft, yielding “fuck” flutters out above him, anxious thighs brushing his ears, and River takes the moment to admire the crimson flush creeping into the valleys of Crocodile’s chest, the bob of his swallow around an unguarded groan. Big, sword-calloused hands cradling the curve of his skull are their own reward, as are the little, muffled moans he lets vibrate along the cock in his throat, tempting those hands to squeeze into the roots of his hair.

Crocodile puffs out a quiet chuckle, needing it to be mean but the lack of air in his lungs is a powerful enemy. “Look at you. So haughty and spitting a moment ago. How quickly you’ve become docile for me,” he says, deep in his chest as his jeweled thumb smears a drop of drool away from River’s lip, across his cheek.

Is that how it appears, captain?

River’s eyes flick open, dark as the depths of the ocean that housed creatures more dangerous than either of them, and promising to ruin him on his own pride. They steal the rest of his breath, trading air for lightning in his veins, all while never ceasing the steady rhythm of his head. One of River’s hands, the one that had contented itself to rub over the firm planes of Crocodile’s abs while he pleasured him—suddenly slipped away.

But, Crocodile hardly had the mind to count limbs, not when a tongue prods the hole in his tip, massaging his foreskin and coaxing his eyes to close, assuring him he was the one in control. A pretty thought, pretty as the man who knows the truth, the one collecting his own precum to nudge behind his balls, lower, lower still, and massage over Crocodile’s hole.

His eyes fly open, face suddenly as red as his chest, shooting up to his elbows like River can’t feel him getting even harder against his tongue. “You little—brat—”

“Push me away, then.” That mouth, that smirking mouth lay open to let his cock slap on his glossy tongue. “I’m a swordsman too, certainly no waif, but you and I both know I didn’t lay you down on this bed against your will. If I’ve overstepped—stop me. Tell me to stop, Crocodile, if those rippling muscles have suddenly failed you.”

The pleased chuckle he breathes over the tip of his cock coincides with Crocodile’s surrendering sigh, and the impossibly long line of him falls back to the pillows with the dizzying slide of River’s finger inside him.

“Add another, hurry up—”

“Ah,” he tuts at him. “I will treat you with the care you showed me. Even if you didn’t wait very long at all,” River chuckled again, and Crocodile’s teeth clicking in annoyance turns a huff of pleasure when he gets his request.

He wants to be infuriated at the impudent swordsman for pushing him down and taking liberties with his body, but he can’t feel anything beyond the eager, searing heat that keeps swallowing his semblance of thoughts through his cock, and the expert, clever fingers massaging his inner walls so thoroughly.

River holds back a teasing comment about “who’s docile now” as he opens his eyes to admire him through the tears pooling on his lashes. For all River’s calm voice spoke of control, he knows neither of them can deny their body’s reaction, from his wet cheeks at his throat being filled dutifully over and over, to his hard cock between his legs that throbs as Crocodile writhes on his fingers, long legs restless against the sheets as his sturdy body shakes and cock swells in his throat. Such the cycle continues.

Below him, Crocodile melts on the simmering heat filling his body, threatening to burst from his cock and yet it doesn’t, can’t, as it’s held back by the distracting hand leaving fingerprints on his insides, all over his swelling prostate. He’s in a loop of pleasure, riding higher to a place he hasn’t seen in so long, so out of his reach from atop his throne. And yet here he was, moaning, gasping for air on the sticky, devoted affection of the man who came to his quarters and presented himself first.

The barrage on his senses retreats suddenly, and Crocodile nearly begs for the high, wounded sound he made to remain their secret. Luckily, River looks to have no intention to tease him as he wipes his lips clean with his arm, using his slippery hand to stroke over his own cock. By the glow of the oil lamp, Crocodile can see all four of his fingers shining, but recalls no pain when they had entered him. And they must have, if the openness of his hole is to be believed, felt by a quick touch of his own fingers.

“Why did you stop?” He rasps into the humid air between them.

River answers by leaning over him, hair mostly fallen from it’s quick style, pupils blown as they keep him pinned to the pillows, all while his greedy hands knead at Crocodile’s strong thighs. “Do you believe I want you now?”

Crocodile means to fire back some quick-witted, biting retort, until his thighs are hoisted up, baring his hole and held aloft by deceptively strong arms.

“I’m sorry you haven’t come yet… Would you believe that I want you if I had let you come in my mouth, showed your seed to you on my tongue before I swallowed it?”

“You are…” Crocodile growled out, golden eyes equally blown as his hands grabbed at the sheets. “A cruel, impudent little thing.”

The calloused hands on his thighs flex. “Cruelty recognizes itself, Crocodile, and I think you need better proof of my intentions.”

“I believe you.”

His ragged gasp as he breathed in, so unlike the Crocodile that strangled control from every aspect of his life down to his pleasure, desperate and—if River was anymore bold—vulnerable, had them both snapping to each other's gaze. For a moment, only the sound of the ocean outside filled the warm room.

“I believe that you want me, and I want you. Beautiful River, handsome poet, I want you, so—” Any more words were swallowed by the moan in his chest as River surged forward, bracing his hands beside his ribs and pressing his cock inside in one firm thrust.

River’s hips meeting his stretched rim comes with Crocodile’s big hands on his body, one in his hopelessly lost hair bun, the other on his lower back to feel his muscles clench and twist. “Come on, you wanted to show me proof. Or is this pretty face the extent of you? Your pretty cock—”

He’s interrupted by the throw of his hips, an honest moan worked up from both of them when River grabs at the mattress for leverage to work Crocodile’s body harder than his fingers could ever hope.

“I am more than this pretty face,” he pants over him, one hand leaving the bed to grip his thigh and spread him wide to bury himself even deeper. “More than the swords at your disposal. I will ruin your body, your soul.”

Crocodile’s head, also hopelessly mused from it’s style, presses to the pillow with the force of his hard, steady strokes. Quiet, panting moans leave his lips in rising succession. He touches River’s bicep where one of his arms keeps him braced, fingertips scratching him gently in a way that might have been reserved for admiration if not for the drop of drool that escaped his clenched teeth. Breathing is so hard suddenly, when he can easily look down to see the poet’s pretty cock disappear inside him, his own lying neglected and useless in a puddle of it’s own pre against his stomach.

He can’t help but be impatient, especially after being denied his orgasm down River’s throat, and reaches down to stroke himself off. His breath rises again, shorter, more labored as River shifts his knees to match his attention to Crocodile’s prostate with his wrist’s efficient, choppy rolls.

“That’s it, come on. Come for me,” River coaxes him, voice rising, whining and urgent like he was the one approaching orgasm and it flings Crocodile over the edge with a punch to his diaphragm that comes out as a deep, cracked groan. His vision blurs for long moments, white and crackling at the edges, until he comes back to himself to realize the rhythmic thumping against his flank has not ceased. River’s still at it, dragging him out of the dredges of over-sensitivity and back on the road to another, stronger orgasm.

Perhaps he will drown him anyway.

“I’m sorry it look so long for you to come, but I—,” River swallows around his dry mouth, “I will make you come again, I promise.”

“You stupid poet, you beautiful—” His words hold no bite as they wheeze from his wet lips, choking on air when River threads his elbows behind his knees to spread him wider, impossibly so as he leans over him to capture his lips.

He feels himself blush to be pressed completely open, River’s soft thighs rubbing against the skin of his hips to fuck him slower, deeper than he had before, the length of his cock dragging against Crocodile’s most sensitive places for the entirety of his stroke. It made kissing nearly impossible, not when the overworked neurons in his brain are firing off at a rapid pace and his body has begun to melt into the sheets.

“Kiss me, please, I need you,” River whimpered against his tongue, like he didn’t have him folded in half, moaning on his cock and golden eyes dripping tears down his temples and into his hair. Crocodile seized him to bring them chest to chest, one hand tangled in his hair, the other gripped on his rear to press the shape of his rings into his heated skin. Dizziness crept into his vision, he knew he was flying too high, only able to wrestle a few words from his vocabulary beyond the fluttering in his chest and the boiling just beneath his skin.

“Mine, all mine. Always,” he panted, his glassy eyes causing River to wonder if he meant him or his cock. The lightning in his belly begged it was the former.

“Yes, yours. No one else’s. Only you, captain, it’s always been you,” He moaned out, nearly a sob as Crocodile’s head flopped uselessly to the pillow. In the fog of his cooked consciousness, he still felt River’s forehead press to his temple, mouth hot near his ear, begging his words to be heard clear and coherent among the humid air between them.

“I’m yours, Crocodile, only yours for as long as I live.” The rhythm of his thrusts wavered as Crocodile’s mouth dropped open, dumbfounded to feel him swell even harder inside him, right against his sweet spot. “Command me, fuck me, use me as you wish.”

The storm rising beneath his ribs burst suddenly, flooding his body to the tips of his fingers and toes, his internal muscles squeezing unbidden, and they both call each other’s name over the ocean rushing in their ears. To Crocodile, it felt so different from the orgasm he had impatiently wrung from himself earlier, hand stripping his cock while he allowed River to sweeten the deal with his dutiful stroke. But this, this, River was in control of his pleasure, fucking it deep from within the most molten parts of his core and pushing him impossibly higher with every hungry, obedient thrust.

The sweet, keening moan above him is a treat, along with the last pleas of stuttering hips pumping him deep with a liquid heat that sweeps his insides to the corners of his soul. An apology, he thinks, for the ache in his hips as River finally lets his legs fall to the side.

He contemplates scolding him, picking the pieces of his pride off the floor to remind the other man he did not have permission to come inside him, until a muted thump to the mattress captures his attention first. Beside him, River lies bathed in moonlight, wearing his sated flush like a silk chemise, and decidedly too endearing to shout at. He sighed at length, supposing he earned it, after coaxing him to come twice on his cock and hard enough the second time to hit his own face with his seed.

But who would he be if he didn’t complain a little?

“Ugh. You come into my room, make a mess of me and my bed. I don’t suppose you intend to clean up after yourself, do you?”

“Shall I use my tongue? It will only take a moment.” River jumped up to lean over him, beginning to suckle the semen off his abdomen with a happy hum, to Crocodile’s flustered outrage.

“Outrageous, mischievous—hrn.” A strangled sound fell from his tired lips when the tongue moved to lap at his hole, interrupted by Crocodile’s firm hand in the roots of his hair. He dragged him back up for a kiss, tasting himself in their shared sigh, and a fond calm settled over them as they parted with a wet sound, not unlike the waves after a storm.

Crocodile anchored his stare by the firm grip on the back of his neck. “Did you mean what you said?”

“Every word.” River answered without hesitation, and let their foreheads gently thump together. “Do with me as you wish. Forever.”

“Promises like that, to a man like me, are liable to breed hatred eventually. You will come to resent me.”

“No, I won’t. Not this time.”

~*~

“Captain? What’s it say? Who’s it from?” Bepo asked with a furry, rumpled brow.

The paper was flawed, containing a repeating mark from a poorly damaged press, and even at arm’s length Law could smell the bergamot perfume soaked into it’s curled edges. It fell open in a long ribbon, folded at least twice to fit in the plain envelope, and he clicked his teeth.

Skimming revealed it to be the rambling affection of a Revolutionary, he believed the same one he treated after the Battle of the Best. A thank you note—a startling thought. It wasn’t hard to recall that long, chaotic day, the difficult surgeries that followed, and his unexpected patients. Guests, he hated to admit.

“Get on! Quickly!” He shouted over the deafening roar of the battle, swords clashing and cannon fire. For Law, he saw his target, Monkey D. Luffy, lay limp and bloody in Jinbei’s arms, exhausted beyond defeat and all but broken.

The fish-man was rightfully skeptical of neither submarine nor captain he recognized, even as he himself hung half-useless in Buggy’s arms, the only reason they hadn’t plummeted to the freezing ocean below. But with Akainu recovering behind them, sure to be back in the fight the moment he dealt with the revolutionaries—time was precious.

From the deck, Law and the Heart Pirates watched the surrounding Marine ships preparing their guns.

“Do you want both of you to die?!” He tried again. “I’m a doctor.”

Buggy shook his head. “This doesn’t feel right, Jinbei, maybe we should—”

“Put us on the submarine.”

“Think about it longer, maybe?!” Buggy gave a tired huff, and pitched him towards the vague direction of the submarine.

Meanwhile on the ice shelf, Aurelio’s lungs burned, all but seared from closing the distance between himself and Akainu. One after another, the revolutionaries, he and his friends had been defeated, half-charred and perforated as they used the last of their strength to push the Admiral back. With the Whitebeard pirates scattered and the marines pushing forward, the fact Aurelio that was conscious was the only reason there was anyone to peel their bodies from the battlefield.

He felt for Iva and Inazuma’s pulse, smearing blood where he touched but finding them alive. Behind him, River lay all but gone, having passed out when Aurelio cauterized his wounds. In his defense, Aurelio had warned him it would be the most painful thing he ever did.

Materializing in a whirl of sand, Crocodile knelt by River’s side, finding the weak pulse in his wrist. He wanted to speak, some sigh of relief River lived, but instead he dodged Aurelio’s rokushiki, a shave to get close and a bullet of light from his finger, close enough to nick Crocodile’s face.

“Get away from him!”

Still reeling from his own wounds, Crocodile found he had no strength to pretend to be anything besides enraged. He wasn’t some common criminal, he cared for River. Always, after everything. Though, for all his wounds screaming at him, the part of Crocodile’s brain that relived his mistakes on loop was all too ready to remind him why. Why Aurelio looked at him with bloodshot eyes and bared teeth, a promise of an impending death if he took so much as another step.

Crocodile lowered his hook. “He needs a doctor or he’s going to die!”

“I’m working on it. When he’s awake, he can choose to talk to you all he wants, but when he’s vulnerable, you deal with me.”

Aurelio had expected a scathing retort from the former warlord, appropriately venomous, perhaps his own promise to settle their differences later, but all he received was calm. Crocodile stood away with arms by his sides, his golden gaze empty of all but compliance.

“Do not let him die.”

“You don’t get to ask me that.”

They parted in silence, and Aurelio carefully stacked all three revolutionaries in his arms to carry them with his sky-walk off the forsaken battlefield, towards the submarine in the harbor. On the deck, the Heart Pirates had already taken Luffy down to surgery, and their captain shouted for them to dive.

“Captain! Look!” Bepo halted him, pointing at the sky towards the battered Aurelio and his armful of unconscious friends.

Crowded by the smell of salt and gunpowder, and as pressed for time as they were, Law had no reason to acknowledge him. “We’re leaving, Bepo, I don’t know who that is—”

“That is the strangest way to beg for your life.”

Crew and captain whipped around to face him, taking in his desperate stare and arms beginning to shake, legs nearly to failure where he held their combined weight in the air. Blood dripped over his knuckles where someone’s wounds weren’t holding. “You remember us from Sabaody, yet you would turn us away? Doctor Trafalgar Law?”

“This isn’t a lifeboat, and I don’t answer threats—”

“So take them!” He shouted, voice hoarse from calling his friend’s names, each one louder than the last as he watched them fall to Akainu. “I’ll be fine, I always am, but they deserve to live!”

Law looked from Aurelio to the brunette on top of the pile, his distinctive blue-black hair and (once) fine clothes. River, he remembered.

He recalled first seeing them in the auction house, how River had stood up in a crowded room and offered every berry he had (which was millions at the time), to buy the freedom of the Oasin who knelt on the stage.

“Only 800 in the entire world, the Oasin is a beautiful addition to any collection, best displayed how they live in the wild, studded with gold and dressed in blue,” the auctioneer said.

He remembered the fight that followed, of Jean Bart saying goodbye to the Oasin as River gave her the money, what looked like all of it, and a kiss on the forehead that must have tasted like his tears.

They spoke for the first time after Law watched Aurelio rest his friend against a tree in the heat of the battle, alone where he believed River would be safe, and suddenly off to fight again with just a few comforting words Law couldn’t hear.

“Hey.” Law shook him, gently. “Wake up. Are you all right?”

River’s eyes peeled open, surprised to see a stranger above him. “You’re the doctor from the posters. The rookie pirate Rayleigh spoke about.”

“I guess. Are you hurt?”

“Oh no, I’m okay,” he smiled, drowsy and sore. “I got caught up in some trouble recently, and haven’t healed yet. Aurelio’s definitely going to scold me when he gets back. He cares so much.”

In the present, Law combined both his memories with the man before him, distress rolling off him in waves, and the pile of broken revolutionaries he carried with what looked to be the last of his emergency reserves.

“Come on,” he jerked his head to signal Aurelio was clear to board. “Hurry!”

“Do you know them?” Jinbei asked Law as they all rushed inside, washed by the rotating red lights that signaled the submarine was beginning it’s descent.

“I’m not going to let them die,” was his answer, one Jinbei readily accepted.

~*~

After a deceptively short pursuit and the hours upon hours of touch-and-go surgery that followed, Law was allowed to rest. In their rooms, all the wounded were cared for, sleeping, including the revolutionaries, Jinbei, Luffy, even Ikkaku who had sprained her wrist during the chase.

In his quarters, he flopped down into his desk chair and tossed his hat aside, right onto the stuffed owl who sat on his pillow.

His hat flew up, suddenly thrown by the startled owl who was decidedly not stuffed—also yelling now—and Law’s frightened shout rang off the metal walls loud enough to wake the entire submarine. Loud enough Bepo came running to check on him, and not just because he knew exactly what had scared his captain to crack his voice.

“C-Captain! This is Rinai. She was complaining—” The owl squawked in offense. “Sorry! She informed me the others were snoring too loudly, and she needed a quiet place to rest. After all, your quarters are the quietest place on the ship. I meant to tell you but I forgot, captain, we’ve all been awake for so long.”

Law curled all his limbs away from the perturbed owl who sat on top of his books now, smoothing her feathers where his hat had ruffled her. “… Not in my bed,” he insisted quietly.

“I’ll bring you a pillow, miss.” Bepo bowed his head to the owl and went off to find her a suitable replacement.

After a few moments, the sound of footsteps wandered back to his open door, and Law expected it to be Bepo except the soft, tired voice that spoke up wasn’t the polar bear. “Damn. I’m lost again, this isn’t the bathroom.”

Law looked up from where he was almost asleep sitting up to find River staring at him expectantly. He had never seen him so haggard (even in battle), his long, dirty hair pushed away from his face, still brushed somehow, and a dark, achingly purple bruise around one of his striking violet eyes.

Law’s hands briefly scrubbed down his face. “It’s fine. I’ll show you.”

And then he paused. “Is that MY robe?”

“Hm?” River touched his bandaged chest with bandaged hands, bared by the loose, plaid robe that threatened to fall off his shoulder.

“Shachi gave this to me when I asked for something to wear. Rinai keeps most of my clothes in her pocket, but she’s asked to not be disturbed.”

Law knew his face must betray how little River’s statement cleared up any of his questions, but he was really too tired to care. How far away was the nearest island, anyway? Maybe they had a dinghy big enough for them all? So he might get some peace.

“I—fine.” He rubbed his eyes. “Let me show you the way to the bathroom.”

When they reached the end of the metal hallway, River spoke up. “… doctor?”

“Hm.” Law grunted his vague attention, and he turned to see the formerly extroverted, bright revolutionary standing a few paces behind him, downright wilted. Perhaps he was just exhausted or… shy? That certainly didn’t fit with Law’s current perception of him, the showy mercenary and resolute pillar of his people.

River’s bare feet shifted on the cold, metal floor, reminding Law they no longer quite saw eye to eye without his boots, and he waited patiently for him to speak.

“I wanted to thank you, you know? You saved all of our lives. Aurelio told me how many hours it was to treat all of us. My words are all I have, unfortunately.”

“Yeah, you bankrupted yourself on Sabaody.”

River perked to attention, visibly fluffed at the realization. “You saw that?”

“Everyone did. I don’t want your money anyway.” Law’s boots shifted in a mirror of River’s previous fidgeting, bordering on uncomfortable at both the ardent praise and River blocking his path of retreat back to his room.

River beamed at him suddenly, his smiling cheeks flinching where they pulled on his bruise. The answering twinge of Law’s heart worried him, feeling too much like a murmur.

“You’re incredible, doctor. I used to think pirates only cared about money. But you and Luffy continue to surprise me. I’m finding I quite like pirates, actually.”

Law’s neck and face flooded with a blush, his uncomfortable frown twisting back and forth. “Don’t get the wrong idea, I just know you’re broke. And I should have charged you double for the way Aurelio spoke to me.”

“He just cares so much, but I understand. I’ll apologize on his behalf then,” River bent in a poor imitation of his usual flourish, only able to bow until his bandages pulled tight, “I am so sorry, Dr. Trafalgar Law. Thank you again. From all of us.”

“Get—out of here,” Law grumbled, shouldering him out of the way to get back to his room where he wouldn’t be bothered by earnest mercenaries with soft hearts. “You shouldn’t be out of bed with your injuries, anyway.”

“Yes, doctor.” River smiled at his back.

“And call me Law!” He shouted with a slam of a door.

It was a good memory, warm, softer than he was used to. Now, he knew better.

He frowned down at the letter with only bruised, embarrassed disappointment, and recalled his new perception of River, the man that wanted his chest to tighten because it was all part of the plan.

It wasn’t hard for him to find what the underworld had to say about River Faustina, called “Kingfisher” where bounty hunters were concerned. Named for a hunting bird, Law found no one willing to refute the idea that the mercenary was equally a hunter: beautiful and sharp, unafraid to manipulate powerful people until his wants and desires fell out. Whatever he wanted from the Revolutionary Army, Law decided that wasn’t his problem, but the gentle, soft smile he cast up at him while wearing his clothes, was.

He took a moment to examine the innocently plain envelope, signed with the same flourishing hand as the letter. “It’s a letter from those revolutionaries we treated after Marineford. Nothing I have to answer,” he said to Bepo, and folded the letter for his pocket.

But the envelope wouldn’t crumple completely, and when he turned it out to his palm, a poker chip fell out, one carved with a red heart on the opposite face and belonging to some bar he didn’t recognize by name.

The last lines of the letter came to mind. “I’m working on getting my finances back, so watch your mail. Do you like hearts? Or is it a coincidence?”

“What’s wrong, captain?” Bepo inquired again, as Law slipped the chip into his pocket beside the letter.

~*~

“Sir, dinner is ready. Shall I prepare the dining hall?”

Crocodile looked up from his paperwork to the servant in his doorway. He blew smoke between them, already calculating how much work he had left, and the unusually calm air of the evening.

“…It’s quiet.”

“Yes, Sir, it is.”

Crocodile raised an eyebrow, and the servant scrambled for his manners.

“Pardon me—no one has seen Mr. Faustina since breakfast. Perhaps he has gone to Oasis?”

“Doubtful, King tide is tomorrow. Serve dinner in the study. Chill the wine.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Raindinners might have been the face of nightlife in Rainbase but, on a quiet weekday night, the secluded waters behind the property felt akin to living on a private island. Winding rivers gave enrichment to the Bananawani, with a few that were narrow enough they were relatively safe for swimming. Stone canopies and imported trees kept it shaded from the relentless sun, and automatic lights, triggered by the sunset, illuminated crystalline mosaic floors.

It paled in comparison to his home island but, since coming to the city almost a year prior, the saltwater swims were the most comfort River had managed to find.

Stopping by the shore, Crocodile watched him hoist himself out of the water, long, black waves stuck to his dripping skin as he let the water run off him in sheets. Crystalline droplets chased down the muscles of his abdomen, clinging to his golden jewelry and holding his bottoms flush to his hips. The warlord wanted to mention how much his hair has grown in only nine months but feared to break the facade they reserved for when others could see them. A false image that River shattered whenever he broke the script, like removing his bottoms in broad daylight when any of the staff could come outside and see Crocodile there too, incriminating, trying to appear nonchalant like a pervert would.

“I scrubbed the Bananawani. Could really use a bath.” River smiled as he pulled fresh bottoms up his legs. He redressed while Crocodile lit a fresh cigar, failing to look nonchalant.

“Dinner first. You’ve been out here all day, and I doubt you’ve nibbled off the Bananawani’s plates.”

“It’s funny, Coco keeps trying to share with me. I’m not sure how long I can keep pretending to accept until I hurt his feelings.”

“Just don’t be in the water when he figures it out.”

River’s laugh alerted the servants they had returned, and most took great care to not be noticed watching the pair as they walked together. There were already plenty of rumors about the handsome man from Alabasta’s territory island of Oasis who came to Raindinners nine months ago. They speculated his involvement in Crocodile’s business, how it related to Oasis’ position in the tumultuous political climate, but they all knew for sure that the two were involved. Crocodile’s rules of touch were absolute, yet curious eyes could sometimes catch him pushing a curl behind the other man’s ear, rest a hand on his back, or nudge his chin for a kiss—what the servants assumed would be a kiss were the pair not so quick to catch wandering eyes.

In Crocodile’s suite, his guest immediately spotted the papers in piles on his desk. “I’m not the only one who spent the entire day working.”

He gave a noncommittal grunt as he popped open the wine. “Your fascination with the Bananawani can hardly be called a job when I don’t pay you. And if I was your boss, we’d have to talk about the amount of time you spend sunbathing on the clock.”

“You are my boss.”

“You’re not on the clock.”

He cleared his throat when he saw River lean over his desk, mindful to keep his wet hair away from the documents that were sorted into categories but otherwise on display.

“What? Is it a secret? I saw Mr. 2’s name, I have some right to snoop when it involves my partner. Are we being deployed soon?”

“You’ll get your briefing when they do. We’re having dinner.”

River sauntered back to the table to see him trying to look unbothered, spinning a ring on his finger and wearing what he might have called a pout if his patience wasn’t already thin. Dinner was an important ritual for them, especially when they had neither seen nor heard from each other all day.

And Crocodile didn’t care to wait at all, let alone while he watched his insouciant lover meander around his apartment like he didn’t visit every day.

“...Crocodile.”

“Hm.”

River went passed his empty chair to get into the warlord’s space, placing a knee on the chair between his legs and reaching out to begin folding back the sleeves on his dress shirt. First his good hand, then his left, and Crocodile flinched when the cold metal of his hook brushed River’s thigh like he was the one spooked by it’s chill. When River finally began undoing the cravat at his neck, he spoke.

“What are you doing?” He said quietly, a fond rumble in his chest at the way his lover dressed him down. Were they a normal couple in a less complicated life, Crocodile could easily imagine those hands taking off his shoes after work, offering a variety of comfort after hours away.

His cigar rested in the ash tray while the Oasin leaned over him with intent, eyes lidded and the soft sweeps of his neck and chest close enough to see his heartbeat. Crocodile felt his pants tighten, it would only take one hand to pull River onto his lap and hold him still while he tasted the hollows of his collarbones. He knew from experience they tasted like almonds—

“Dinner is supposed to be a relaxing activity. You look a bit high strung.” A single, playful finger gave his belt a tug.

River’s teasing was cold water on his lust, and Crocodile pinched his smirking cheek as he finally pushed him away. He finished dressing down in his room, meanwhile his lover waited patiently for the click of him removing his hook, the muted sound of it placed on it’s cabinet.

Distracted by the wine, River didn’t hear him come back, making a startled hiccup when cool lips stole a kiss from the side of his neck, with jeweled hand holding his jaw.

“Eat your food,” Crocodile said in his ear, a quiet thunder that commanded obedience and sent a shiver down River’s spine. His eyes followed the hand that released his neck, and he watched Crocodile lower himself into his seat, fatigued by an invisible burden.

As River finally found his fork and managed to push down all the worrying questions he knew would go unanswered, he pondered how exhausted Crocodile looked.

They ate in a comfortable silence despite the way River inhaled all three courses before Crocodile even finished his palette cleanser between one and two. At the risk of their manners, he poured him another glass of wine.

“I saw Goillard’s poems in your bag. Have you finished it?”

River swallowed and nearly sloshed his cup in his burst of excitement. “I finished it this morning, I couldn’t put it down. Coco got frustrated because I read too long and his brushing came late.”

“He’s needy because you spoil him.”

They talked until the sun was long gone, lounging on the parlor sofa until they ran out of wine and wandered back to the study for dessert. Dessert became, “Let me take care of you tonight”, and Crocodile pulled away from cardamom-flavored kisses to remember he was supposed to have gone back to his papers after dinner.

“Am I that bad a kisser you remembered now? Maybe I should skip a few steps.” River went to slip off his lap and onto the floor between his knees when he felt Crocodile grab his arm.

“You’re distracting. Take off your clothes.”

“I don’t think that will make me less distracting.”

Crocodile allowed him to pull at his clothes but River only got him half dressed before he became distracted by his lover’s broad chest. His bold tongue lapped at his nipples, leaving Crocodile painfully hard in his slacks by the time he pulled his mischief maker away by a firm hand in the roots of his hair.

“Sensitive.” River licked his lips, a satisfied grin muting the huff of pleasure he made when Crocodile jostled the hand that restrained him. Crocodile thought about scolding him but couldn’t find the ire, pleasantly warm and treated to the sight of River as wound up as he was, tenting his robes and squirming to be set free.

“Don’t make me wait, Crocodile, I haven’t seen you all day,” River pleaded quietly, pressing their bare chests together where they were still half dressed and growing disheveled. The warlord obliged at a cost, releasing him only when their lips met.

Crocodile’s slow, thorough tasting of his tongue kept River distracted, tame enough to carry, and he tossed him onto the unmade sheets from that morning.

“I’m sorry I never made it to the bath.” River moaned when he felt teeth and a tongue sucking a mark into his neck, crowded into the pillows by his larger lover.

In rumpled sheets and docile violet eyes, Crocodile found himself helpless to a heady cloud of bergamot, starfruit, and salt. He kissed him until their tastes melded, breathing deep and holding him in his lungs until his chest ached. His wide palm swept over damp skin in greedy pulls, pressing them together until lavender marks bloomed in pairs. Teeth followed his tongue down River’s neck and into the collarbones that distracted him, leaving soothing licks to reward the whimpers that followed his teeth marks, and the whispering of their clothes finally slipping to the floor.

River never complained about any of the love bites, they were hopelessly soft in the way Crocodile never marked him hard enough to last more than a day, just enough he could feel his blood rise to the surface and throb against his teeth with the heartbeat in his throat and in his dick.

But River was as vocal in his pleasure as he was in everything else, making demands of the warlord in that impudent, saccharine voice and being so eager to please in return.

“I want you to suck me off. Please, Crocodile, won’t you?” He squirmed and Crocodile wondered if the Oasin would even last for it, nerves already tingling, cock leaking and smearing all over his belly from his restless wiggling.

“How could I refuse such a sweet request?” He inched his thumb into River’s panting mouth just to hear his mewl, circling his tongue and already planning to ask for the favor returned.

The heat over River’s body retreated with Crocodile’s body before it came back as a tongue sliding up the underside of his cock. He gasped to the ceiling, head pressing back into the nest of pillows while the tongue meandered across his skin. He reflexively grabbed at the pillow with one hand, the other combing Crocodile’s hair out of its style while his thighs shook around his ears. The perturbed crinkle in his brow attempted to deter River’s petting but Crocodile couldn’t manage to look terrifying with his mouth full, and his own cock was starting to ache at the sounds they made together.

Sweet whimpering, the wet slip of Crocodile’s rhythm, and their moans that trembled in his chest, keeping River restless under such thorough attention to every inch of him. Crocodile enjoyed his over-stimulation far too much to hold him down, and more than confident in his ability to handle one man’s wiggling while he pleasured him. Neither of them ever lasted long for oral anyway, they were always too occupied with the pretty picture the other made, of either the islander with a sun-kissed face that only ever ended up wet and messy, or the warlord that was never satisfied until he had swallowed every drop his lover could give.

“You always feel so good, Crocodile. Please, I—I’m gonna cum—please, I’m—Ah!” River gasped and yelped to the ceiling, the arch in his back supported by Crocodile’s palm as he came down his throat, sure that he was holding his lover’s hair too tight but unable to let go. Crocodile merely hummed and let him come down slowly, cleaning him in the silence with his lips.

The impossibly soft swipes of his palm over River’s belly and chest were calming, soothing, hardly indicative he was already planning his rebuttal. His lower back was beginning to complain, and his left shoulder certainly wished he would right himself, but his cock still hung heavy, a deep, throbbing red from watching him come apart, and he would sooner jump in the lake than let the beauty against his pillows leave without being thoroughly enjoyed.

“We can stop here if you want. You look tired,” He rumbled, hoarse and teasing as he pressed a nip of a kiss to his hip. It might kill him, his dick would certainly perish, but he would jump in the lake or worse if only his beauty wished it.

“I’m just catching my breath, I don’t want to stop,” River said and bodily beckoned him to come closer.

“Not until you fuck me—” Crocodile swallowed his plea by pressing their mouths flush, licking remnants of cum between them and holding him close enough to feel the aborted sounds in his own chest.

“Lay down. I can do it,” River said, eyes flittering between Crocodile’s eyes and lips.

The whispering of Crocodile’s hand removing his rings was his answer, and that strong grip returned as fingertips depressing the meat of his thigh, pricking barely before they’re warm again.

“I will give you everything you desire... But you’ve been awfully bossy tonight. I think I’ll just enjoy you at my own pace.” Nips and kisses to River’s shoulders turned his complaints into pleasured murmurs.

“No no, I wanted to treat you.”

Crocodile just hummed, pleased as he continued his distracted kissing. “You need only to exist and it is a treat.”

River sighed, eyelids fluttering at the sweet words spoken against his cheek. “I suppose it can’t be helped. A man with your pride would surely ignore his own aches and keep his lover distracted with poetry. I, the dutiful lover, will relent and eventually find myself hoisted onto strong thighs, our position flipped when the proud man believes I have forgotten… and I will take everything he has to give.”

He gasped when Crocodile’s hand gripped his thigh hard enough to mark and pushed his knee back to his chest.

“You’re especially mouthy tonight.”

“And you’re stubborn as always.”

A simple look commanded River grab his other knee to spread himself in offering to dark eyes. With a little logistics, a little inventory, Crocodile managed to find the new bottle of lubricant as River dutifully held back his own legs, fingers flexing in anticipation.

“I’m shaking—maybe I should roll over.” River smiled awkwardly, chewing on his lip and staring at the man between his feet.

“Do as you please for now. But I want to see your face when I’m inside you.” Crocodile watched him roll onto his stomach, smoothing his palm up his spine, careful only to touch him with clean fingers.

“Breathe in… breathe out.”

The breach of his entire middle finger was a welcome surprise if the arch of River’s spine and pleased huff was any indication. Too pent up to go slow but still worried for his comfort, Crocodile busied himself with crooking the tip of his finger from every angle except the one he needed, massaging him and working him open in the most cruel way. In and out, he only allowed him the faintest tease of attention to his prostate, content to bully him with self-indulgent prodding.

Beneath him, River was losing himself, panting in only minutes from just a single thick finger, hands kneading the comforter and eyes unfocused as he tried to wet his lips.

“Please, Croc, it’s so—please, anything,” He mumbled.

“Anything?” Crocodile hummed deep in his chest, unable to stop himself from leaning down and kissing the sensitive spot on his oblique.

“More of this? Shh, shh, I’m sorry. Breathe in… breathe out.” He added his ring finger, simultaneously biting the oblique under his lips to drive his keen higher.

The extra stretch had them both forgetting the pace they originally set, and a few more minutes had River on his elbows, swinging his hips back to meet Crocodile’s knuckles on every stroke. The latter knelt enraptured as he watched him lose his usual composure, moans hiccuping from his kiss swollen lips with every impact, eyes glassy and focused only on chasing the sparks that zipped up his spine with every brush of his prostate.

Crocodile’s dick ached, throbbing all the way to his own hole to be inside the man who struggled not to howl into his own fist. He couldn’t help but begin sucking kisses into the flushed muscles of his back, arms tensing around him as he panted into his damp shoulder blade.

“Easy, River—” I’m going to cum too soon.

“—Mm, mm, I don’t want easy, I want you. You’ve gotten quite comfortable back there.”

The yelp River gave when he pulled out his fingers, maybe too fast, and flipped him onto his back satisfied the part of him that was still bothered by River’s lack of fear. From the first day he came to Rainbase, the Oasin never hid he was a sarcastic, indulgent layabout that couldn’t have a single serving of wine without sleeping wherever he fell. He obeyed orders barely when he obeyed at all, telling Mr. 0 off and hanging up the snail phone to the horror of onlookers. Even at Raindinners, River’s socialite hobby was supposed to annoy him, the gambling, drinking (after his tolerance adjusted), the way he convinced the bartenders to put everything on the house tab.

But the way he lit up when Crocodile came through the front door, abandoning his chips and dashing over has him stuck. Onlookers have gossiped for months, they know to keep their distance while River goes to his side to welcome him home.

It’s the closest Crocodile has ever come to something that resembled domesticity. He can’t give it up, and it terrifies him how much leash one man has made for himself, inch by decadent inch.

A hand toying with his dick yanked him back to the present, and he saw River waiting not-so-patiently against the pillows.

“Lost you for a minute,” He said while taking back his mischievous fingers.

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“It’s not too late to let me ride you.”

Crocodile yanked him further down the bed until they were lined up finally. River managed to secure a single pillow, knees spread wide and staring up at the predator above him with a surrender to be eaten. They butted heads most days and argued most nights but River would do anything for him, and he knew he was cherished in return. He reached out to hold Crocodile by his larger, corded shoulders, hands skittering across his strong, firm chest, and they slipped together with a harmonious sigh.

Crocodile sat up to adjust the angle, removing those wandering hands to press him flat. “Stay still, you’re awfully—oh—tight.”

He grabbed the foot tickling his rib and squeezed. “I mean it.”

Uncharacteristically, River relented, kneading the duvet he could reach, eyes shut and trying to control his breathing. But as hard as he tried to be obedient, he couldn’t stop his insides from rippling, searching for friction from the dick keeping him open.

Crocodile could only bear it for what was probably seconds, pulling back his hips until only the ruddy tip was inside before pitching forward and startling a moan out of them both. Sitting up was easier on his back and he began a faster pace than they were used to, chasing his pleasure while River moaned his praise, bound to be spoiled by Crocodile’s relentless rhythm. The latter lifted his chin to close his eyes, already anticipating that watching his noisy bottom would end him too soon.

A pinch to his nipple had him fixing River with an embarrassed scowl—and that was a mistake. He watched him lick his thumb, resuming his fixation on Crocodile’s right nipple while he struggled to keep up, glassy eyes letting tears fall into his hair, and kiss-bitten mouth hanging open while he panted his pleasure.

“Are you trying to finish this early?” Crocodile exhaled hot, hips beginning to falter in their rhythm as he moaned through gritted teeth.

“I’m not, ha... I can’t hold on. I’m trying, shit, I’m trying.”

He watched River’s jaw stutter, how his almost-purple cock was so hard and wet he leaked over his hip and onto the sheets with every throb. River’s whimper rose into a frustrated yell when Crocodile went to the root and stayed still, pressing them together and resting on his elbows beside River’s shoulders. Iron-hot hips slowed to a simmer as he drove them higher at half the speed, barely leaving the slippery heat before pressing even deeper.

But the danger in Crocodile’s new plan of slow and steady was that now he was in range of that mouth.

He couldn’t think with the molten tongue on his neck, and a kiss only offered a silver of reprieve. His brain was already threatening to melt from his ears from the scalding pressure around his cock, he needed all the mercy he could get in the relentless wash that River was to his senses.

“You—oh, fuck,” He panted against the younger man’s mouth. He couldn’t finish his thought, head too foggy and hot, wanting explicitly to say ‘You’re mine’ and unable to catch his breath. Somewhere under the heat, he wondered if the words left unsaid were a blessing, unable to be proven wrong by refusing to exist.

Later, when he wasn’t already rung out by a man who hadn’t left his pillows once, he’d try again to think.

“Feels so good, my Crocodile,” River moaned so clearly he couldn’t pretend he didn’t hear him. He declared it with a possessive swirl of his hips, pressing his legs against the arms that held him wide, and as confident as every word that came from his mouth. The suddenness of Crocodile’s release slammed into him white-hot, leaving his world soundless and too-bright long enough he wondered if he had fallen unconscious.

He forced himself back to the world of the living, if only to confirm he hadn’t crushed River under his dead weight. Beside him, the man was almost asleep, spread akimbo like the bed was his own with a shiny splatter of cum on his own chest and neck. (Crocodile made a mental note to berate himself later with the embarrassment of how that situation could have gone, perhaps with River unsatisfied and smushed beneath an out-of-practice, unbelievably rude man).

Some time later, River woke him from his self-depreciation with a hand on his face, moving his hair from his eyes like his own bangs weren’t sticking to his cheeks in damp curls. He held a hot towel (When did he prepare that?) and gently coaxed them both clean. Crocodile tried to look disapproving that River cleaned him first but was distracted watching him drag a clean corner up his flushed chest, passed the beauty mark on his sternum. He touched his chin finally, and the realization he made River come hard enough to get his own face had his dick give a single, exhausted throb.

He interrupted the housekeeping to offer his chest for River’s lounging pleasure, taking the rag and tossing it to somewhere with a wet slap. Damp curls pressed under his chin as they settled together, the scent of shampoo and salt tempting him to close his eyes.

He tried to remember if he’d left any lamps on, but knew his muscles wouldn’t move unless he smelled smoke.

“Crocodile.”

“Hm.” He was sure he turned off the one in the study but the one in the hall was unaccountable—

“Are you sure you want me to stay?”

Crocodile’s eyes flicked open to the ceiling. “Who said you’re staying?”

“You did when you brought me in for a cuddle and looked like you were halfway to sleep just now.”

“There’s your answer. Go to sleep, River.” His warlord voice had no bite in the afterglow, warm and sounding more like an annoyed lover who was yanked from their almost-sleep.

No, he definitely turned off the lamp in the hall.

River’s nails drew soft shapes on his chest in the silence. “… I’m going to the bookstore tomorrow. Do you want me to bring you something?”