Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece or it's characters, nor do I own the song or the lyrics to "The Ocean," and I am making no money off this story! "The Ocean" belongs to Mae, and One Piece belongs to Eiichiro Oda.
I'm on my knees, between his legs, and I can't seem to get enough of him. His taste, his smell intoxicating me. I want him. I always have. I can't deny it anymore.
When I glance up, he's looking at me, and I feel myself grow harder at the look in his eyes.
Predatory. Just like the look he gets before he slashes down an enemy with those gleaming blades of his.
He wants this – wants me.
His hand brushes through my hair lightly, as if he's testing the way it feels against his fingers. As if he hasn't done the same thing a thousand of times before.
Only this time, it's different, and we both know it. He can feel the change in me, and he welcomes it, moaning at the desire now obvious in my eyes.
I release him gently, and he slides slowly from between my lips, before I crawl up his body to attack his mouth.
The muscles are hard beneath my fingers, and I marvel at the feel of them. He always amazes me – his strength, his speed are fascinating to witness. And now, to feel those strong muscles quivering under me gives me an undeniable feeling of power.
My tongue pushes into his mouth as my fingers probe gently, deep inside him, slicked with vegetable oil from one of the cabinets. His tongue fights mine for dominance, though we already know that tonight, for the first time, he is the submissive one.
He breaks away from me, gasping and throwing his head back, as my fingers curl against that one spot. I'm astounded that I found it so easily, though I suppose when the same thing has been done to me so many times, it would be natural to find it quickly in him.
I can't help but stare at him as he pants for breath. His eyes are half-closed in pleasure and his chest is sweaty and heaving. He is the embodiment of any fantasy, especially my own, and my breath catches in my throat as I watch him.
"God," I choke out. His eyes slide to my face, and I can feel my very soul being devoured by those deep green orbs.
His voice is quiet and restrained, as he whispers my name, and I can see the uneasiness reflecting through his eyes. He's never done this before. Neither have I, for that matter.
I remove my fingers carefully, when I feel I've done all that I can. I know that he is going to tell me to just do it, going to put on that macho front of his, but I know him too well. Not for the first time, I'm going to ignore his demand.
His eyes squeeze shut as I slowly push into him for the first time. He's so tight that spots are already dancing in front of my eyes from the pleasure, and I have to struggle to control myself. By the time I am completely inside him, his breath is wheezing past his lips, and my fingers travel over his hips and his stomach in an attempt to smooth away his trepidation. I lean over him and press my lips to his, a silent apology that I already know he accepts.
I kiss him for several moments, before a shift of his hips draws a moan from my deep in my chest, and I break away to look into his eyes.
"Move, already," he growls, glaring and baring his teeth.
Smirking, I pull out and reenter slowly, torturing myself and him, and he grits his teeth at the feeling.
"I'm not made of fucking glass, asshole," he grunts. "Fuck me, already."
That's one command that I'm happy to obey. I hook an arm under one of his knees, and pull his leg up until his positioning is perfect, before slamming hard into his body.
He throws his head back again, crying out. I've never heard these sounds from him before, and the sheer knowledge that I am the one forcing them out pushes me closer to the edge. Unthinkingly, I disentangle one of his hands from where it was clutching the sheet at his side, link our fingers together, and bring out entwined hands up over his head.
I slam home again and again, becoming dizzy from the heat and the pleasure. I am not going to last much longer, and from his reactions, neither will he.
My other hand slides between us, working him swiftly and steadily, and he reacts to the new sensation by arching into it, and reaching for me with his free hand. He would never admit to it, but when he is emotionally attached to something, he becomes very contact-oriented. His fingers wrap around the back of my neck to pull me to him. I comply, leaning over him to press hungry, open-mouthed kisses to his jaw and throat, before ending at his lips. The sparse contact between our mouths could hardly be called a kiss, and we simply hold ourselves in place, panting, breathing each others breath, until I nip gently at his lower lip with my teeth.
His response to my small love bite is stronger than I anticipate, and his head is thrown back hard, as his entire body tenses. It seems that small show of affection has pushed him over the edge, and he comes hard in my grip, tightening his hold on my hand and neck painfully, and choking on my name as though his throat has closed up around the word.
The sight is more than I can handle. My vision blurs and a muted curse passes between my lips as I spill into him.
I can't help but collapse onto him as every ounce of energy is drained from my body, and I barely have time to pull my hand from between our sweat-soaked bodies before my chest meets his. We lay together silently, save for our panting. My nose is pressed to his throat, and I am unable to control the urge to lick away a drop of sweat that passes before my lips. He shivers at the contact.
"Oi," he mutters.
"Hmm?" I have no energy left to respond with words.
"You still alive?" His hand pulls out of mine and his arm wraps around my waist. As he shifts, I slide out of his body, and we both moan.
"Hmm…" The fingers of the hand at the base of my neck thread gently through my hair, and he chuckles.
"You have no stamina," he mutters, but the venom that accompanies insults when he deals them out in front of the others is not there. In its place is a sort of fondness that always manages to make me smile.
I mumble something against his throat that could be interpreted as "fuck you," but don't bother to voice it loud enough to be considered an actual statement. Then, I lift my head to look into his face. "Wait, what the fuck are you talking about? You came first, asshole," I grin.
I hear his teeth click together as his mouth snaps shut, and he glares at me. I can feel the amused smile that tugs at my lips. "What? You thought I didn't notice?"
He grunts, and pulls my head back down to rest on his chest, his thumb tracing lazily over the sensitive skin just behind my ear. My eyes fall closed, as I enjoy the sensation.
I love these moments, when it's just the two of us. I could care less that the bed we're lying in is fitted with filthy sheets, or that it's within a small, cheap motel room in a nameless town. I only care about the fact that I'm in his arms. I love his arms. I love him.
My eyes spring open, and I sit bolt-upright as the realization sinks into my mind.
"Fuck, what now?" he sighs. It seems I've disturbed him just as he was drifting off to sleep.
I blink a few times, before I realize that this information is not new to me. I realize that I have known all along. All the 'why's and 'how's escape me now, but I'm too tired to think about it right this minute.
Instead, I settle myself over him again, kissing his toned chest before I tuck my head back under his chin. "Nothing, shithead," I murmur against his still-cooling skin. "Go to sleep."
He grunts, and wraps his arm back around me, again, settling one hand in my hair and the other against the small of my back.
Thoughts are racing through my head, but his hands playing over my flesh are making me comfortably drowsy. "Love you, marimo-head," I mumble, unconsciously letting slip the words that have been running through my head.
His hands stop suddenly, and his whole body tenses, and for a minute, I am afraid he's going to grab one of those swords from beside the bed and run me through, naked or not.
But he doesn't. He simply sighs and lets his hands begin their aimless trek across my skin. As the tension drains from his muscles again, I begin to drift to sleep, having just confessed what I should have guarded with my life and gotten nothing in return. I would cry, but it seems like such a stupid thing to do that I want to hit myself for even thinking it.
A long while passes, and neither of us speaks. In fact, the only movement between us is his hands skimming along my back. I guess he thinks I've fallen asleep, because he begins to hum quietly, something he only does when he's alone.
His arms tighten around me, and it's only then that I recognize the tune. I smile as the soft, off-key music lulls me to sleep. The words to the music run through my head, and I fall asleep with a smile on my face.
You come over
Silence broken by your voice in the dark.
I need you here tonight
just like the ocean needs the wave.
Fall around me now,
like stars that shine and brighten the way.
I need you here tonight just like this night it needs the rain.