The fight is always between us. Its the struggle between what is and what is, what he is and what I am, and how those two things are meant to be twined in conflict, to never know a moment of peace.

Peace is over-rated. Peace is rest and stillness and ending. This never ends or slows down or gives in to pause. The chase is never over, no matter if he, or I, or both are caught. This runs free.

This is freedom and captivation. It is distrust and want. It is a connection beyond those things that can be named; an anonymous truth that neither of us understand or offer consideration. It is dark and shameful to me. It is dark and shameful like the boy himself; stretched out beneath me as naked and tempting as black disgrace. My hands are on his flesh pressing him to the mattress, pulling him against me. I want to shift my wrists and dig my fingernails deep into the body until he bleeds and screams for me to stop.

He won't stop coming here. He won't stop coming to me, and thinking that he is just as caught in this as I am is the only thing that keeps me sane.

"Why are you here, Portgas?" I ask him this every time. Sometimes he answers and sometimes he doesn't, and I prefer the latter.

"I feel safe with you." he breathes carelessly against the blunt edge of my collarbone, smirking against my body. It is an absurd thing to say.

"You know, you really fucking shouldn't." I breath back as I drag my hands up the slick flush skin to rest on and wrap around his taut pale throat. I squeeze and move to speak into the vulnerable hollow of his ear.

"I'm going to lock you away, pirate. I am going to lock you away and you are never going to get out." and, god, the idea is pure sex and sensation, so I lick along his jaw line to make him pant.

"You make me wanna-"

I cut him off with a nicotine kiss. I don't want to hear what he has to say. I couldn't give a shit about his wants, or desires, or what drives him to me.

Ace slides down my body. I arch up to give him room, but I remain on top. My hands move to grip the cool metal bars of the headboard. My grip tightens and I imagine that it is the boy's throat still caught in my clutch. The columns bite and bend.

Outside of this, pirates run with greed, disregard, and threat. I can feel their lawlessness always with me pulling me to them. They demand things of me. They demand the hunt and capture and the return to order. Filthy creatures who I will bring to heel. I swore it to him on his last dying breath; the King who smiled and fell.

In this bed is utter chaos, and if I were any less of a man I would be terrified by my actions. But I am too lost to be apprehensive. I am too far gone to try and bring even an ounce of sense and discipline anywhere near this raunchy brat twisting between my legs and gripping the thick muscle of my hip.

It becomes too much too soon, so I release one hand from the headboard and reach down to grab at the thick mess of black hair. I pull hard and he slides up and against my body until we are once again pressed chest-to-chest. I yank my fingers from his hair.

"Ow, Old Man!"

I snort in irritation, and smack him on the top of his head.

"You are so fucking annoying, brat."

He huffs and rubs at the abused part of his skull. I roll my eyes and begin biting down his throat because looking at his pout makes me want to say stupid things. I leave marks along my path because I know it annoys him since I will not allow him to do the same to me. I reach the dip of his clavicle which is the silhouette of lust, and fasten my lips there to suck hard.

He gasps and pushes himself closer to me, and I can feel his sex pressing against my lower belly seeking relief. His right leg hooks beneath my left knee binding us even closer. He rubs against me impatiently, although he knows that I will not be rushed.

"You are such a wanton little slut." I murmur as I nip along his shoulder. He laughs in response. The agreement in that sound undoes me, so I bite down hard to cause pain. I do not stop when he starts struggling against me, or when he smacks at my shoulder and the back of my head. Only when I feel the sting of heat prickling a threat along my skin, do I carefully release the damaged flesh from between my teeth and raise my head to meet his eyes. The tips of my fingers blur to smoke.

His eyes are dark like our connective, and they are to me the color of calamity and life's disruption. If I had the choice, I would get up and walk out without ever turning eyes back. I would leave him to his own destructiveness. But, Ace does not bring choice, he brings demands and distortion. I'm going to scream if I don't hurt him soon.

"You want to play this game, Portgas?"

He smiles but he's pissed and bitter, and I give him my hardest glare but I am so turned on that I can barely stand it. You will never understand what this is like unless you've ever reached this point where love and hate are the same fucking thing.

This is the worth of us. This is the worth of everything. We are at the point where I don't know if we're going to fight or fuck or kill or die. I love this. I love –

The room begins to heat sharply, and the corners of the bed are a smoky haze. This is so far away from rationality and conscious decision and my heart-swore duty. They mean nothing to me now, now that I know this, now that I have this, and he moves and I move and –

The End