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He’s in his quarters, but no, he’s in Loguetown. He remembers. It’s humid. A storm is expected later.
There are people around, but he can’t focus on a single one of them. For some reason he’s on his bed. The wall that would normally be in front of it opens up to a view of the packed execution plaza. He’s clothed, and Ace is sitting in his lap sideways, naked. His arms are around Smoker’s neck, head resting against his chest.
“Do you have a good view?” He asks Smoker. Smoker does; he can see the execution platform clearly, can see the figures at the top, knows it’ll be easy to see Roger die. Smile, he thinks. Right? He’s seen this before.
It’s easy to cradle Ace’s body against his with one arm, small as he is. Smoker reaches between Ace’s thighs for a rub, and Ace moans in his ear. He’s hot and hard. No one around them pays any attention. Smoker keeps going, encouraged by Ace’s sounds. Dark clouds are gathering overhead. The wind is stirring up. Sheet are thrown in the breeze, whipping around them, the bed frame creaking.
“More,” Ace breathes. Smoker uses his teeth to strip off a glove and touches Ace with his bare hand, stroking. Ace gives a hot little gasp and his hips jump into the contact. His mouth finds Smoker’s neck, and he licks over the pulse point he finds there.
Smoker hears a low sound somewhere in the distance. The platform groaning in the wind? Then he remembers the execution. He can taste a strange flavor on the back of his tongue.
“Shouldn’t you stop—“ he starts, but Ace kisses the words away.
Lightning strikes.
-
Smoker opens his eyes. He’s in his bed, in his quarters, on his ship. Ace is beside him, naked—and asleep. He’s under Smoker’s sheets on his side, spooned up against him, undisturbed.
Smoker shifts onto his back, rubbing his stiff cock with one hand for some relief. He thinks about getting into the shower to jack off, but before he can leave the bed, Ace moves next to him, making a confused sound. He half rolls over.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Go back to sleep.”
A pause, then a soft laugh. “Nothing?”
“Shut it.”
“You can fuck me.”
“What?”
“I said, you can fuck me. If you want to. I might go back to sleep,” Ace says with a yawn, “but go ahead.”
“You’re sure?”
Ace smiles, like he’s sure Smoker’s going to do it. “Wouldn’t tell you go ahead if I wasn’t.”
“You’re barely awake right now, kid.”
A hand grabs his face and makes him turn to look; the kiss is an awkward angle, but it’s hot, Ace’s quick and clever tongue sliding against his. When Ace pulls back, his eyes are half-lidded.
“I’m awake,” he says. “Saying it’s okay, even if I fall back asleep.”
It’s a lot of trust, Smoker recognizes. More than he would’ve expected. There’s something else about it that surprises him, makes him hesitant to step over the line even with an invitation, but his head is too clouded by sleep and arousal to figure it out. The kid seems to read the conflict on his face wrong. “Think about it, but don’t worry about it.” He rolls back over, onto his stomach, facing away from Smoker, and yawns again. “Offer’s open.”
Smoker listens as the kid’s breathing evens out again. He stares at the ceiling, aching and thinking. The idea of fucking Ace again is enough to make him twitch. He thinks of the dream, the feel of Ace’s skin hot under his hand, and that’s enough.
Smoker pulls the sheets away, exposing Ace’s body. He’s stretched out, hugging one pillow. This way, Smoker can see the planes of his body, how the curves and angles of him look in the low light, where his freckles are. There are some across his shoulders and back, pinpricks of darker skin scattered. Smoker has seen them before, but never while Ace was sitting still.
Smoker has access to him with the way he’s laid out. He strokes his hand down Ace’s back, down the tattoo, to his ass and palms him, spreads him. Ace hums sleepily, but doesn’t otherwise move.
So different from how their fucking usually goes, with them both frenzied, gripping and gasping and grinding. He doesn’t always get to see so much of Ace’s body, with how often the kid flickers into fire. Not that Smoker doesn’t like it—love it—wild as Ace is—but there’s an appeal to going at his own pace, taking his time with Ace’s body. He finds more freckles, new to his attention, and scars, most of them old. He maps them with the pads of his fingers, cups Ace’s ribs to feel the rise and fall of his breathing, presses his thumbs to the dips just above his hips.
He’s still loose from the fucking they did earlier. Smoker slowly slips a finger in him, deliberating, before spreading out over the kid, covering him. He strokes his own cock, squeezing out a few drops of precome onto the small of Ace’s back, then slides inside. It always feels good; the high heat of Ace’s body, the angle, how he’s is still a little wet from before. He’d never been able to go this slow with Ace, now concentrating on the feel of it in the quiet of the room, Ace’s soft huff of breaths and the ocean the only sounds. He starts to fuck; Ace huffs out a breath, that’s all. Smoker sighs at the friction, but as ever it just makes him want more.
He can’t keep the angle up for long. He slides out and turns Ace onto his back. The kid sleeps like the dead, murmuring nonsense as Smoker positions him. He’s hard too, dick flush, against his belly. Smoker doesn’t touch, but he does look, watches as he fucks Ace, cock nudging against his prostate. There’s precome on his stomach. Smoker will have to touch him more, clean him after this...
He hooks on it. Runs his hands up Ace’s sides, memorizing every ridge and swell. His mind wonders for him if anyone else knows Ace’s body so well, and the thought curls upon him and turns his exploration to a hunt for every detail.
It’s more tender than he means it to be, brushing a thumb over a nipple and kissing one knee. Ace is so much smaller than him, and it’s easy to cover his body, touch evert part. He knows his thighs well, knows the shape of his calves and ankles and feet less. He hoists them up. Beneath him, Ace makes a sound.
“Feels good,” he mumbles.
“Go to sleep.”
“Think I could like this?” He gasps when Smoker changes his angle, arches his back for him. “Keep going.”
Smoker does, but he slows, fucking deeper instead. He’d never taken Ace like this before, it keeps repeating—taken his time. Ace never opens his eyes, but his mouth falls open. Smoker presses a thumb there to see Ace suck. When he comes, he hears the rush of blood in his ears; he fucks with his fingers until Ace comes too, to hear him moan.
He licks Ace’s stomach clean to feel the texture of his skin under his tongue. A hand goes to his hair and gives a slow pet, but when Smoker looks up, Ace is asleep again.
-
He wakes again when he feels Ace shifting next to him. When he opens an eye, he sees Ace sitting up, stretching and looking back at him.
A lot of trust. The act of it, for Smoker’s pleasure—possession, too, his own fault. Knowing more of the kid than he did before.
Ace slips out of bed. In seconds, he’s dressed, and he escapes out the porthole without a word.