contents
1
The woman the Marine sighted aboard a cargo ship with Sir Crocodile couldn't have possibly been the Hawkins Witch. No one had seen her in two years, so they wrote her off as some sort of groupie who followed them through Paradise, dissuaded by the Red Line. Descriptions of her varied: some said she was plain, others that she had the coloring of Kano Country, and still others said she was like a short Boa Hancock.
But to X Drake's eye, the clear photo of a woman speaking to Crocodile in profile and the grainy images of Hawkins' witch showed the same figure. So he raised hell on the hospital ship he'd been shunted onto once the Marine left Wano's waters until they made a detour, because he owed it to Hawkins.
"Tell her," the Magician had coughed out.
It wasn't as if they discussed you. Drake posed the question weeks prior without expecting an answer. That Hawkins didn't think he needed to specify "her" left Drake with this theory, and how your face twisted in shock and grief confirmed it.
Beautiful, Drake thought inanely as your broke his nose.
Hawkins was beautiful, too, in a way Drake sometimes noticed in men, and you were a wildcat who he initially thought the impassive Magician couldn't possibly abide, but now he imagined you giving chase and relishing being caught.
You were bold and clever and a true pirate.
In the sight of Grand Line Marine bases, you made a pretty penny off of soldiers and officers alike with your readings, which were reportedly matter-of-fact and grounded, nearly clinical compared to your captain's omens. You asked enough personal questions to seem like a spy that Marines and civilians nonetheless answered, utterly disarmed by your manner and now, Drake knew, by your beauty.
Sometimes, he imagined you and Hawkins together. You were so small that the rumor you were involved with Crocodile disturbed and aroused the Zoan user. Did Hawkins take his time with you, stretching you with his fingers, or did you rush him, begging cutely to be filled? He couldn't imagine you patient. Did you tease your captain all day, to be disciplined at night? Or did Hawkins worship at your feet, in awe a goddess chose him for company?
Drake wasn't ever so vulgar, but women didn't exactly jump into his bed, even if you did so to punch his lights out. If he fisted his heavy cock at night remembering your thighs straddling his waist or the scent of your perfume as you tried your best to crush his windpipe with your elbow, you ought to shoulder some of the blame.
He thought about returning the favor, your head locked in his beefy arm as he pounded you into the mattress, as you cried and apologized and thanked him for fucking you so good. He doubted Hawkins would share, but who else were you going to choke on while Drake slammed your hips back into his? Hawkins didn't seem like a messy eater—a messy anything, except for when the lifeblood rushed out of him—so to make up for it, Drake would pin your legs open and devour you like the animal he was, never let himself be. He'd make you take it no matter how you thrashed or your muscles burned, until you'd cum so much his face dripped with it, until you were so sensitive the barest brush of his cock to your folds made you whimper.
Would Hawkins sit back and watch his woman like he never could? Drake thought he'd watch you two happily, his cock aching and neglected as you cooed at him to wait his turn. You'd be a study in contrasts, your tan skin with Hawkins' pallor, truly black hair falling over your shoulders as Hawkins fucked up into you, because you'd ride so prettily. Or did you like to sit in his lap and tangle your fingers in the man's stupidly pretty blond locks? Drake watched your captain's hair sway along his back in Wano and thought about twisting it in his fist, and something told him Hawkins was used to it, how clearly you possessed him. "Hawkins' witch," they called you, like you were his, but it was clear to Drake who ensnared whom.
Why did you orbit such austere men? Did they even realize how sensual and hungry you were, how as you assaulted Drake your eyes raked down his chest to his torso, your pupils dilated, and you licked your pretty lips? Even aggrieved, you were flesh and blood, and he was willing to serve.
Drake had been a Marine since puberty. He was used to close quarters and keeping quiet or stealing some relief with a comrade, no attachments, but he was bound to you through the man you both knew, that he could admit to himself you both grieved. The Navy took you seriously now that you were part of Cross Guild. Through information requests, Drake learned you were from the North Blue, too, the same island as Hawkins. At the time he got his first bounty, you were considered a close associate of his mother, seen coming and going from his childhood home.
So you watched Hawkins grow up, and Drake watched him die.
The thought of what tied you sometimes settled in his gut like a weight, but then Drake thought of tying you, cuffing you, what your little hand with its slim fingers might feel like instead of his own. Drake was sometimes transfixed by how Hawkins handled his cards and spent an embarrassing amount of time studying photos of you in Paradise and wishing there was video. You might have hurt yourself taking your swing at him, and he'd soothe your knuckles and examine your hands. If you could take Hawkins, you could surely take Drake, and you'd wrap both your hands around him, a teasing grin on your lips. And what would you call him then? His name? A title, of which had about two too many? If he was just a pirate like the course set before him had he not run to Sengoku, you'd be on the same side of the law.
Only guilt kept him from completion. Guilt at leaving Hawkins behind, at being the one to tell you, guilt at being so consumed by two pirates, guilt at using and needing you like this. So he drew out this ritual for as long as he could, until it was painful, nevermind he was in a Marine hospital with only curtains for walls. He'd cum where you told him to—or would you defer to your captain, how he'd see you used?
But neither of you were there, so Drake tried his best not to. Again and again.
2
"What did you do?"
Drake woke in the Marine GS Hospital to Prince Grus slapping a densely printed flyer onto his side table. As his bleary eyes adjusted, he recognized the garish color scheme of Cross Guild's updated bounty announcement, the new dread of every Marine base. At the top was none other than Rear Admiral X Drake in his pirate regalia, with the five crown rating reserved for vice admirals. Bizarrely, he felt the corner of his mouth turn up in a grin.
"I relayed some news."
Drake, Grus, and Kujaku were the highest ranked members of SWORD, which officially answered to no one and followed no orders, so it was down to them to hold each other to account. Of course no one stopped Drake's partial-Zoan rampage on the hospital ship or warned him he was endangering his cover en route to Karai Bari.
His bounty, to his knowledge the first issued to a fellow pirate with a pre-existing price from the Marines, confirmed your position within Cross Guild.
"I read the med vessel's log. You took a detour."
"Seems you already know."
It was the closest Drake had gotten to apologizing to a fallen comrade's widow, but Hawkins was no Marine, and you were no wife.
"That, and those folders you have under your pillow." Drake felt a frankly pubescent blush rise to his cheeks. It was your slim file paired with a longer one on the Hawkins Pirates, of which the Marine—through Drake's intel—only recently confirmed you'd been a part. "Is she Wanoan? What news could you have for her?"
(You were darker than the women of Wano, your eyes subtly rounder, and Drake understood with perfect clarity how Hawkins was unmoved in the bathhouse after years at your side.)
"...if Cross Guild has some tie to that country, you should make an official report."
"You'll read for yourself soon."
Grus whistled. "Rest up, rear admiral."
"Rear admiral." Drake returned his short, joking salute even after Grus turned his back to leave.
The toll that Onigashima took on Drake's body was bad enough, but you reopened the wound in his neck left by the CP0 agent and broke his nose, a purely cosmetic change that wouldn't have bothered the scarred man if he wasn't suddenly self-conscious of being attractive. Not to women in general, but you. He decided to take it as a gift.
Besides these battle tokens, Drake was exhausted from two years under Kaidou and many more in deep cover. He should take this time to rest and take refuge in one of the Navy's most secure facilities, but part of him was relieved. Of course the ambiguity of his position meant he could change allegiances with the tide like he had in Onigashima, but if he as good as confirmed Cross Guild's—and Hawkins'—charge that he was "a Navy man," he could be free. Or a little less burdened. The problem was it gave him no reason to see you besides pursuit.
The sharp allure of your grief made Drake wonder how many siren's songs were elegies. He'd wanted to hold you despite meeting you that day. He wanted to promise you things he didn't have, like tender last words from Basil Hawkins, or a peaceful life he couldn't know held any appeal to you.
SWORD was the only unit in all the World Government capable of challenging an emperor like Buggy. They were stretched thin as it was trying to capture the other Warlords, and Drake now, bizarrely, thrilled at the duty before him. He'd take in Dracule Mihawk, return Sir Crocodile to Impel Down, and see you.
Rather than risk a repeat of Amazon Lilly, Drake opted for a battle at sea. Cross Guild's hideous flagship was on the move throughout Buggy's territory and expanding into that formerly held by Big Mom outside of Totto Land. Reconnaissance revealed Crocodile and Mihawk alternated captaincy as the other stayed behind to defend Karai Bari, while Buggy rarely appeared above deck, despite the masthead. Regardless of who had command of the Big Top Blaster, you were always aboard.
A captured former member of the Hawkins Pirates filled in gaps that their late captain didn't exactly rush to share with Drake in Wano. You were the crew's navigator with a strong preference for celestial navigation, something out of fashion for both the Navy and pirates who respectively relied on Vegapunk's radar technology and log compasses, and you left shortly after the Paramount War, when Hawkins entered the New World.
Cross Guild's ship had an observatory below the crow's nest. Drake was tempted to call you a princess in a tower, but you'd been sighted excising Crocodile's hook from Buggy's shirt collar, mediating between the men like you belonged there. Like you were happy.
Just like Drake told you your first love died, he'd take this crew from you, too.
It was after weeks of careful observation by the Navy's most discreet units, submarine and sailing ships alike, and two months since Koby's rescue from Hachinosu that Drake made his move. The Big Top Blaster left Karai Bari in the morning with Mihawk in command. If the soldiers Drake borrowed were cowed by the Marine Hunter, they didn't show it. He wanted to take the former warlords alive, and if Drake sank the ship, Mihawk could swim. As could you, Drake confirmed repeatedly with your former crewmate—"She's the only one Hawkins let save him from drowning"—unless you ate a Devil Fruit in the last two years.
Drake was astern a warship far, far away when he fell to his knees along with every other sailor on deck, and waves of utter despair worse than any he'd felt in battle hit him like a ton of bricks.
"Perona," he heard a low, dry voice say. "I thought you packed the sea prism cuffs."
"You know I hate touching those!" a high voice, much higher than yours, shot back.
"Keep him down, then."
Drake felt a boot knock into his hip, and saw the sky and Dracule Mihawk's plumed hat as the swordsman stepped on his shoulder, hard. Another rush of dread swept through him before Mihawk unceremoniously dumped him overboard, not into the sea but a small boat no one had ever reported travelling at the Big Top Blaster's side that could only be Mihawk's personal vessel.
Mihawk kept a cruel boot between Drake's shoulders, pressing the Marine's chest into the hull as he coldly bisected the warship and odd, feminine laughter bubbled in the air. Drake should have felt horror at the fate of his comrades, but his thoughts raced through sorry, I'm sorry for failing, for leaving him there, for coming here, for being born with such speed and acuity he almost missed the boat he was in being raised portside of the Big Top Blaster.
Another set of boots climbed into the boat where it hung from the davit. Drake felt the weight of stone handcuffs land on his back below Mihawk's foot, and slim fingers locking them in place.
He'd only spoken to you for a few moments those months ago, but his body knew your smooth, throaty timbre.
"Rear Admiral," you greeted as Mihawk dragged him to his feet. Your eyes briefly flicked up to his, an incredible distance that made Drake wonder, obscenely, how he dared dream of tasting you. "Who gets the bounty if we're the ones to capture him?"
Mihawk chuckled. "Like you need the money."
"You did most of the work."
"But," Mihawk said, "he's only back for you. Aren't you, Diez?"
Drake winced at his father's name, and tried his best to avoid looking at your face as the shorter man somehow kept his posture uncomfortably straight. He still had tears in the corners of his eyes, whether from Mihawk's strength or the despondence he'd been hit with. You looked him up and down, your gaze dragging down his bare chest and lower. To his humiliation, his blood followed you like a magnet, and—you blushed.
So damn pretty.
You ignored Mihawk's comment, ordering Buggy's men take Drake to a room below the fo'c'sle that could have been the captain's quarters, for all he knew, dimly lit by only a small pothole through which he could see men's shoes walk along, how it peeked onto the quarterdeck. In addition to the sea prism cuffs, they bound him to a too-small chair with ropes beaded in sea prism stone, and he had to splay his long legs to get anything resembling comfortable with the throbbing ache between his thighs. You closed the door to the passageway with your hip, and his eyes adjusted to the dark to see you leaning against it with your arms crossed.
"You'll want to compose yourself before anyone else notices," you said mildly.
What a euphemism.
The half-dark only refined Drake's other senses. He could hear you breathe like it was against his neck. He could smell your perfume like he was buried in you. He was so aware of you his skin burned.
He grunted. A rude response, but all he could do not to say anything.
"I'm so curious what part of all this does it for you," you continued. "Mihawk's very handsome."
Despite it all, he laughed. A short bark, more of a cough, but a laugh.
"Now," you said. "Would you like to meet your other captors—" plural captors other than Crocodile? "—after making a mess, or do you want some help?"
Help. "The price?" he said.
"Let's just add it to your tab."
"As if you get nothing out of it."
"Like?"
"Humiliating a Marine. Shooting the messenger."
"You think I hold grudges?" you said. "If anything, I should thank you. Though, of course, he's alive."
Hawkins survived? It was almost enough to shame Drake into composure, as you said, but then—
"W-what are you doing?"
You'd closed the distance while he was stunned silent at your revelation. Seated as he was and in such an inadequate chair, you were nearly eye level. You kept your hands primly behind your back, but you bit your lip as you studied his face, and if there was more light he knew he could look down your shirt.
"Just remembering what I'm working with."
There was absolutely nothing immodest about your attire, but to Drake you might well have been naked, how the spices of your perfume filled his nostrils besides your clean, natural sweat, which even now he thought of licking from every inch of you.
"Say the word, rear admiral."
"Please."
Your grin in the half-light was feline, and he knew more than ever that he was prey even as you sank to your knees. He could have cum just from your elegant hand ghosting over his belt buckle, how carefully you only touched the belt and his pants' button and fly, and he groaned aloud at the lightened pressure.
"What is your proper title?" you murmured as you nudged the fabric down, and he hissed. "Rear admiral, captain—"
"Does it matter?" he rasped.
"I like giving men their due."
"Whatever you want, please—"
He choked as you swatted his bulge through his boxers.
"Such a pretty sound," you cooed, and repeated the motion more gently. Drake groaned.
"R-rear admiral is fine."
You licked your lips, audibly. "Kind of a mouthful."
Siren, he thought as you finally dragged his underwear down. His heavy cock sprang free, leaking and proud against his bare stomach. You exhaled through your nose, an almost-laugh.
"What?" He was so sensitive in every sense of the word.
"I almost made an awful pun, is all," you said as you scooted yourself closer, your hands on his splayed thighs, bound at an awkward width by his partial undress. Your breath danced across his skin. "Why 'Red Flag'? Little piggie playing pirate," you went on, and he knew his neck and chest blushed so furiously he had to look on fire. "If that's not bad enough, you have to court class war."
"You talk like a revolutionary."
"So do you. So did you."
With that, you trailed your dominant hand to the head of his cock and spread the not insubstantial precum from his slit with your thumb, slowly massaging it down his length. Drake threw his head back, his groan echoing off the underdeck for every sailor to know what sort of torture he was experiencing, but he didn't care. Until—
Smack!
Your open palm connected directly to the underside of his cock. He futilely thrashed his head as if he had enough range of motion to muffle his shout of pain in his shoulder, tears stinging his eyes.
"I thought these sounds were for me," you said lowly.
"Yes, ma'am." It slipped through his gritted teeth before he could stop it.
"Good boy." You returned to your ministrations, soothing the impact with firm stokes, his cock only leaking more precum from your cruelty. Drake was transfixed watching your hand move, its long fingers curled just so, the contrast of his red, angry skin and pale thighs to yours, slow, sure movements that kept him on a knife's edge. He wasn't convinced you wanted him to get off at all, and surrendering that to you was...
"Feels g-good, ma'am."
"Yeah?" Drake noticed you shift your weight, like you rubbed your thighs together. "That's sweet of you to say. But what are we doing about this?" The callused pads of your left fingers traced his balls, and his breath hitched at the different texture.
"You decide, ma'am." You preened at that, and to his shock, you leaned in close and licked one into your mouth. "Oh my god—" Through the partial darkness, your eyes shone with mischief and curiosity, like he was your toy, and you continued your strokes as you played with him with your tongue and lips. "You don't have to—"
You withdrew, and he whined at the total loss of contact, your hot mouth, your warm hands.
"I'm doing you a favor, aren't I?" You slapped him again, above his sensitive balls now wet with your saliva, and he groaned, too loudly. "Huh?"
"I'm sorry, ma'am," he whispered.
You leaned forward, blinking up at him in a way that would look submissive if his hands weren't cuffed. Drake almost cried at the wet kiss you planted on his sore dick.
"Are you gonna cum for me?" you said. "Drain these pretty balls for me?" Another kiss, lower. "Isn't it embarrassing, rear admiral? Needing a pirate to help you cum."
"Just you," he admitted, closing his eyes.
"Just—?" Despite what must pass for Mihawk's teasing earlier, your eyes were wide with surprise.
"Of course, ma'am." Drake would seize this chance to tell you, no matter how desperate, delusional it made him look. "You have no idea what you did to me."
"Made you stupid, based on this mission you've failed." You were panting, on your knees, but still in control, and he couldn't say he never imagined being interrogated like this. "What was your plan?"
"C-capture—" Your devilish little tongue licked a stripe from his balls to his thick cockhead, and he stuttered. "Capture former Warlord Dracule Mihawk at sea."
You laughed, low and velvet. "Idiot."
And when you slurped your lips around him and drew him to the back of your throat, Drake knew you were his punishment for that hubris. You fisted the length that didn't fit, still longer than the width of your palm, and stroked his balls with your other hand. He whimpered at the grip of your tight throat, a vice rather than the sting of your slaps, and you let yourself gag before you pulled off for air.
"You still don't have a bounty," Drake said, and tears sparkled in your lashline as as you recovered yourself, still working him with your hands. "I was going to take you alive and hide you from Crocodile somewhere."
"Like a wife." With that, you spat on his cock, not for any lubricant but to show what you thought of that. "Is that what Diez Drake wants? A quiet life. A cumdump wife."
"No!" But he was lying. He'd never dreamed of leaving the Navy until the day he broke your heart, and you broke his nose.
You rolled your eyes. "Let's not forget our task here, rear—" The rest of his title was garbled on the hot, wet lick of your taking him again, with renewed purpose. Drake knew he wouldn't last with the visions from painkiller-induced daydreams you'd revived, of taking you from piracy whether you wanted it or not, filling you with his seed day and night, worshiping and punishing you like he doubted someone as austere as Basil Hawkins or someone as selfish as Crocodile did. Because you weren't real to him until now, just a beautiful would-be widow his mind turned like a doll, but the real you—
Was ruthless. Ate him up like the animal he was supposed to be. You had your own ideas of him and were unimpressed, but still swallowed his thick cock down your throat almost like you liked him, along with its load of hot, thick cum. You coughed around him from the sheer volume, but gamely continued to gulp. Some spilled out the corners of your lips, and you left it there as you smiled up at him, almost innocently.
"Better?"
Drake nodded stupidly.
"I said—" You stood and yanked the lapels of his coat harshly. "Better, rear admiral?"
"…Yes, ma'am." Inanely, he inclined his head, in a salute or a bow.
And to his bewilderment, you kissed his nose. "I'm ahead of you here," you murmured, tender for the first time. "Taking you away from the Marine. Aren't I?"
Drake couldn't help his smile.
3
"I thought pigs couldn't look up."
Drake followed the direction of your voice to see you climbing up the steep hill overlooking Cross Guild's camp where he sat directly on the green grass. The part of him that saw you as any other civilian wanted to stand and take the picnic blanket you had tucked under your elbow, offering his free arm to steady you on your way, but you had all the power over him in this domain, your domain. You were a queen in all but name, though you hardly acted like one, not letting the eager men of the emperor's former mercenary service wait on you like they did Ghost Princess Perona. The hitherto unknown Thriller Bark pirate was the true reason for Drake's defeat at sea with her curious Devil Fruit, and if he could only contact the Marine, she'd have a bounty on par with his own.
"Not a pig," Drake said, a lame and late response.
Karai Bari was quite temperate, but grew chilly once the sun went down, like clockwork; Drake would call it a spring island. The knit afghan you had draped around your shoulders reminded him you were from the North Blue, too. He couldn't stand to be aloof for much longer and helped you spread your picnic blanket out. As you rolled onto it and laid on your back, his eye couldn't help but trace the shape of your long legs under the skirt that pooled around them, some silky material that looked cool to the touch, and he wandered up, up to the juncture of your thighs before you patted the spot next to you.
"Here."
He obeyed.
This was the closest you'd been since you touched—more than touched, tasted—him on the ship that brought him to his current circumstances, and you kept a maddening distance in the intervening weeks. Upon his arrival, Crocodile had simply asked you, "You're certain?" and that was seemingly that.
Drake was more or less a prisoner of Karai Bari given nothing to do but "patrol" the land, busy work when the island was deserted except for Cross Guild. In that time he spotted this hill and decided it was the best natural observatory.
"You're here for the Arietids," you said.
Drake grunted his assent.
"They don't have anything to do with you, do they?"
"Hmm. No. The Moon is passing in front of Mars, though." You looked at him, and he thought you were stupidly pretty, your dark eyes shining even in the low evening light. "I didn't think the Navy trained in astronavigation."
"They don't. This is a hobby."
"Oh?" You laid your afghan over your legs and waist, and Drake almost shivered at the exclusion until you threw it in his direction, too. "I'm sure there's a story there."
"Don't act like you care," he grumbled as he felt the familiar scratch of wool against his skin.
"Who's acting?"
He knew from the minimal reconnaissance he directed from his hospital bed that you made some of your living as an astrologer, a reasonable con for Basil Hawkins' navigator to take up on land. Your navigational techniques were odd and old-fashioned. The last Marine known to work similarly was his fellow defector, Vice Admiral Jaguar D. Saul, killed in the Ohara incident.
"I've never been South," he found himself volunteering. "I've never seen the southern sky. So wherever I'm posted—"
"Or undercover."
"—the sky is the same one from..." He stopped. He didn't think of Minion Island as home. Was home the North Blue Marine base his father defected from? Or the town of Marineford, where he briefly enjoyed private housing as a rear admiral?
"Never?"
However variable the climate was in the Grand Line, it was still cut by the equator, so your surprise wasn't unfounded.
"That crew—" Even now, he felt little attachment to them. He hadn't been their captain since Amigasa Village, when he joined the Tobi Roppo and they were absorbed into the Beasts Pirates. "—was Marines angling to defect."
"So you took their trash with you."
Drake huffed a laugh. "Thought you'd side with them."
"I'm putting myself in your stupid boots."
"I'd like to see that."
It was flirting.
It was clumsy.
You turned on your side, not even pretending to look at the sky. "And what else am I wearing?" He felt his face and neck heat, and you laughed. "You're shy. A shy spy." Under the blanket, you hooked your fingers into the cuff of one boot. "This outfit's absurd. Is this your idea of a pirate?"
"Look. It's Mars." You were touching him, again, so close to how you did before.
"It's in sidereal Leo, tropical Virgo," you said, still studying his profile.
He gulped.
"How do you keep track of both?"
"I think I can pick out constellations. You'll have to give me some credit, rear admiral."
"But, uh—" Drake said. "What's the offset?"
"24 degrees, 44 minutes." You traced the edge of his boot cuff, stroking over the soft leather before withdrawing. "Almost a whole sign. What time is your meteor shower?"
"Before sunrise."
You paused. "You were planning to sleep out here?"
He shrugged. "Why not?"
You scooted closer to him. "Stupid. You'll catch a cold."
"You fuss over Crocodile like this?"
But he was lightheaded as you burrowed into his side, your forehead knocking into his shoulder. You were so warm and soft, your breasts pressed into his arm, your knees tucked up by his thigh.
"He sleeps in socks I knit him. Don't tell anyone."
Drake grinned. "It'll be the first line in his Marine file."
You rolled your eyes. "You're not going anywhere."
And if you meant from this hill, under the stars with you, he had no complaints.
4
Drake dreaded and savored the times you chose to visit him on Karai Bari. He couldn't make sense of your whims, but glorified prisoner he was—not unlike Hawkins in Wano—nothing filled Drake's days but patrol duty and staring at the ceiling of his tent until you came around.
Sometimes he thought you were friends. You asked him how he was settling in, made small talk about astronomy. Occasionally, you had a question about the Marine that he kept mum about, and you only laughed at his silence. You even made a show of keeping him company in public, sometimes leaving Crocodile's side to check on him, sometimes dragging Hawkins along like you were socializing two stray dogs.
Some days you took and took from him. The first time you sat with your legs splayed for him to return the favor you did him on Cross Guild's flagship, and he did so like a starving man, until you tugged harshly on his hair to make him slow down. The way you gasped when his teeth scraped harsher than he meant made him keep going, nearly sucking marks along your thighs before you shoved him away forcefully. Another day, you happened to stop by while he stroked himself hard and fast thinking of you, only you, and his neck heated even now thinking how he preened under your gaze.
Because you contradicted yourself, all confidence when he was at your mercy but embarrassed to know he coveted you now that he was free—well, relatively. And you controlled yourself, and he didn't know why.
You had just rolled off his bed, hopping on one balletic foot to get your clothes back on when he asked just that.
"Why not?"
He didn't need to be more explicit. You'd only rubbed your bare cunt over his cock toward a shallow release you could've achieved with your fingers, and he lazily pumped it while catching an eyeful of your tits as you dressed.
"Don't feel like it."
"Oh?" Earlier, you hesitated when you accidentally caught his head at your entrance, enough for him to dream you'd finally fuck him. "Too busy, I take it."
You rolled your eyes. "Like you're in a place to be jealous."
And you left him there, cock in hand, the scent of your perfume and sweat in his sheets and your panties stuffed under his pillow, which you didn't bother to look for. He made excellent use of them, and he was certain Basil Hawkins didn't do anything so dirty. Not Drake, though. You dangled these crumbs in front of him that he lapped up greedily. You wouldn't have left your first captain if he made you feel as wanted as you deserved, he reasoned. And the free range Crocodile gave you only perplexed him. If he was in the former Warlord's position, you'd hardly leave his bed, too satisfied to wander.
But you actually had work as Cross Guild's navigator, and it was a given that any of the men you shared your bed with were with you at sea, too. It was after one of these voyages, when the ship docked in Karai Bari's harbor, that your distracted gaze searched the crowd of Buggy's followers until it landed on him. Once you were close, you quietly said, "Tonight."
Drake thought he misheard. You never warned him, only showed up at his entryway and expected to be served.
You were surgically precise when it came to time-based, or rather astronomical language. If you said tonight, it meant well after moonrise. The moon was waxing, he noticed as he sat on a crate outside his tent, a slim crescent that didn't do much to illuminate the camp. He was glad he lived at the edge of it, away from prying eyes or interested ears, because you turned the corner looking like sin—in the hungry sort of prowl in your step, the bolder makeup than you seemed to prefer and certainly weren't wearing earlier, and the bottle of wine tucked into your arm along with two glasses in your fingers.
"Eager, rear admiral?" you murmured as you stopped in front of him.
"You look pretty," he said dumbly.
"Thank you."
You poured each glass with the practice of a sommelier, and he snorted. "Do we have Hawk-Eyes to thank for this?"
"This, and more," you said. "You're the best present he's given me."
"Flattered."
You tipped your glass toward him for a toast. "To Mihawk."
Drake grumbled, and after the clink and one sip he spent watching your lips and throat rather than savoring the drink, which was dry and dark. "If you're serious about 'tonight,'" he said, his voice a little rougher and thicker, "how about not mentioning other men?" He didn't know what possessed him, but in one quick move, he set his glass down and pulled you to him by your hips, and you bit back the merry laugh you'd let out at his expense.
"Rear admiral," you said, your tongue catching wine on your painted lip. "I like you like this."
"Like what?" He let one hand wander lower to your ass, and the other slid under the back of your sweater.
You took another sip. "You don't have to be so... docile, is all." He managed to unhook your bra with his large, clumsy fingers, and you made a noise in the back of your throat. "I've been waiting for you to snap."
"Snap." Drake repeated. "And then what?"
And there you were again, strangely shy and endearing when it came to the heart of these matters. Instead of answering, you downed your wine and rested your hands on his broad shoulders, so warm and small there even in Karai Bari's perpetual early spring chill.
"I need an order, ma'am."
Your eyes widened, and even in the near-new moon he could imagine your blush, and he relished that he could tease you like this. You drew him close and whispered in his ear, "Aren't you angry? You're our prisoner, after all."
Drake swallowed. "No. Not at you." He lost, is how he saw it, and part of him found it liberating, from the moment Cross Guild posted his bounty and declared him a loyal Marine for all to see. That you were the one to put heavy sea prism stone on his wrists made it sweeter.
"So noble. So good." You pouted audibly. "An order, then..."
"Yes, ma'am."
You pulled back and looked at him thoughtfully, your head tilted like a cat's, and his pulse thudded in his ears in anticipation.
"Take me."
Drake should have said something, but he was all motion, all instinct as he stood with you in his arms, and you hooked your legs around his waist with a satisfied hum as he carried you to his tent. He all but growled against your neck, "Take you, ma'am? However I want?"
"Yes, yes—ah!" You gasped as he sank his teeth into your shoulder.
"You'll tell me if it's too much."
You nodded seriously. "Promise." At that, he set you on the edge of his bed like something precious and knelt before you, and you laughed nervously. "What are you, proposing?"
"You're too damn short," he grumbled, and didn't ask before he claimed your mouth in a kiss for the first time. You moaned, winding your arms around his neck, your knees falling open to pull him to you. You tasted like wine and lipstick that he knew was all over him now, and he didn't care. He took a moment to slide your sweater over your head, and you shimmied out of your undone bra and kept kissing him, along his jaw and neck while your heavy breasts fell into his waiting hands.
"Why now?" he said as he squeezed, drawing a gasp from you. "You like that, ma'am?"
"Fuck, don't—call me that—ah!" He grinned at how easy it was to fluster you, just rolling your nipples with his thumbs.
"Why tonight?" he repeated.
"I—the moon's in Sagittarius," you rushed out, hiding your face in his shoulder, and he laughed in disbelief.
"That's not it. Seriously?" He stopped playing with your tits to bring one hand to your throat, not with any force, just moving your jaw so you'd look into his eyes.
You grinned, bringing your own hand over his. "Well, the moon rules my fifth house."
"Uh-huh." The two of you discussed astronomy, not astrology, so he had no idea what you meant, but his cock was grew harder and harder at your little noises, at the way you pawed at him. "Shouldn't that happen every month then?"
"Good, rear admiral," and you kissed his chin, over his scar, and didn't elaborate as you brought his other hand back to your chest. "Keep going."
"How?" He lightly slapped your left breast, and you whined. "Like that?"
"Yes," you hissed. "Harder." He obeyed, to your pleasure. "Fuck, yeah. You don't need convincing, do you?"
"Convincing?" He alternated, fascinated by the bounce, how your skin turned red. "Who wouldn't listen to you?"
"I thought you—ah!—didn't want to hear about other m—ow! Fuck. Thank you, da—Drake, good boy."
He wasn't stupid. "What was that?"
In a blatant distraction tactic, you kissed him hard, laying backwards so he could do nothing but follow, hovering over you with one knee digging into your hot, exposed panties and the other in the mattress, trying to keep his substantial weight from crushing you. You licked at his teeth and slid your tongue against his, moaning and sighing as you shrugged his jacket off his shoulders. Drake hissed as you ran an exploratory hand over the planes of his chest and abdomen, and the top of one of your socked feet rocked against his crotch. You grinned against his mouth. "Sensitive, rear admiral?"
"You like your titles," he muttered. You called Crocodile "sir," and still called Hawkins "captain," even years away from his crew.
"Fuck me." You kissed him, almost sweetly. "Please. I can take it."
His brow furrowed at that. "What do you—"
Your pretty skin was already flushed, but the way your eyes darted away made him think you were somehow sheepish now.
"Drake," you said. "Come on."
"...What?"
You blinked, and dragged yourself up his bed, leaning into his pillows. "How many women have you fucked?"
Confused, he took your proffered foot has a sign to help you finish undressing, obediently stripping off your black lace socks and avoiding the temptation to steal them. "I've... been fucked more," he confessed, for some reason. For some reason he trusted you.
"Hm." You flexed your foot en pointe and rested it on his shoulder, giving him a glimpse of your panties, their front panel visibly darkened with your arousal. "So that cock of yours is mostly decorative."
He colored, gripping your foot and digging one large thumb into your arch, to which you moaned. "So?"
"No one's told you you're stupidly big?" You said it plainly, like it was an observation. "Biggest I've ever put in my mouth, at least."
Drake stilled. "Excuse me?" Crocodile was a good eight inches taller than him.
You rolled your eyes like he spoke out loud. "In my experience, height isn't a huge differentiator."
He knew he was bright red. "You talk a lot."
"Shut me up, then."
Drake didn't know what came over him. Your cheek, your earlier hope—or challenge—for him to snap, but he was on you in an instant, and you gasped in surprise as he folded your knees up into your chest, not even removing your skirt or underwear as he buried his face there.
"Oh fuck, d—Drake—ow!"
He sucked at the thin skin of your thighs, and lapped at the fabric of your panties, and bumped his nose into the sweet musk of you like a meal. "So wet, ma'am," he growled. "From being a damn tease."
"No—" you denied, and he scraped his teeth over where your hot little clit must have throbbed, earning a choked moan. "I'm not—"
"You are," he muttered, "and I don't know how anyone puts up with you." At that, he smacked you where your ass met your thigh, and you thrashed, nearly kicking him if he didn't encircle your ankles in one large hand. "You said I can take you how I like, didn't you?"
"Yeah, fuck, yeah—" Smack! "AH!" You really cried out at the pain, but rubbed your thighs together, whimpering.
He spanked you again and again until your ass and thighs were red, redder than your tits, and he soothed the skin with his palm before saying, "Get on your hands and knees," he said, not believing his own ears.
"Yes—yes, rear admiral—" You sniffled as you complied, and he admired the picture you made as he climbed off the bed, undoing his belt and pants. You squeaked as he pulled you to the edge by your hips.
"Tiny woman," he muttered, and grabbed his pillows to shove them under you. "You're good?"
You looked back at him, your face pretty and teary as you grinned. "More than good."
At that, he ran his hand down your spine to arch you to his liking, and nudged his cockhead against your clothed cunt, smearing his precum over you.
"Oh god," you swore.
"Not yet."
"Fuck you."
He moved the elastic to the side and pressed two fingers into you. You moaned. "So tight," he marveled.
"Please," you begged. "Please, Drake—"
He decided to be mean. You clearly liked that in your men. "What did you call me earlier?"
"W-what?"
"I'll take you like you asked," he said, "but only if you say what you mean. For once." He curled his thick fingers like he was digging, and he found a spongy bit of flesh that elicited a short scream from you.
"What do you mean 'for once'?" you huffed, like you weren't humping back into his hand like a desperate thing.
"You have trouble being honest, ma'am."
"Do not." He smacked your ass again. "Ow!"
"Say it."
"I don't know what you're talking about." He scissored a third finger into you, and you whimpered.
"That's not even half of what you're asking for," he said. "You've got a big appetite, hmm?"
"Please," you said again. "Please, daddy."
It took all the soldierly discipline he had in him not to cum at just those words.
He carefully removed his fingers, which glistened in the low lamplight of his tent, and spread your lips with them so he could line up his stupidly big cock with your fluttering entrance. You moaned low, almost guttural as he pushed in. "Oh god..."
Drake grit his teeth. It was almost too tight, tighter than your throat he still couldn't believe he'd cum down. "Relax," he rasped. "You're pushing me out."
You laughed in disbelief. "Fuck. I'm trying." You arched your back more, putting more weight on one elbow so you could rub your clit. You were audibly wet, the cotton of your panties utterly soaked, but you rolled your hips to chase the friction, easing more of him inside as you went. He groaned as more heat enveloped him, and when he finally fit most of his length, the sight was obscene and utterly satisfying.
"Fuck," he swore, settling his hands on your ass. "You're incredible."
"Move." Your whine turned to an open-mouthed moan as he did, shallow thrusts that gave way to a force he would've considered brutish if you weren't so clearly delighted.
"This is what you want, huh?" he found himself saying. "Someone to bully you? What, they're too nice?" He couldn't believe it, but you nodded in your near-delirium.
"They—care too much—" you choked out.
"Spoiled woman," Drake muttered. "Some of the strongest pirates in the world at your beck and call and you want this?" At that, he rolled his tip harshly into the spot he found earlier, and you clawed at his sheets.
"Yes, thank you, daddy—please—harder—"
You gripped him so tightly he didn't know how he managed to move, but you shuddered and gasped and surrendered to him so completely he didn't want to think about tomorrow, going back to seeing you not be his, because this was the stuff of dreams ever since he laid eyes on you, something forbidden and vibrant and alive when he felt lost. "Please—" he echoed, not caring it was pathetic. "Don't play with me anymore."
"P–play?" you stuttered. "Oh fuck—what do you—"
"You're so careless," Drake said, and you gasped as he gripped your ass harder, driving you closer and closer to the edge. "Just tell me you like me."
"That's—fuck, oh my god—it?" you moaned. "Of course I like you—"
"Could've fooled me."
"You're so needy, Drake." You were fully complaining now, even as you threw your hips back to meet him. "I never—oh—say this shit with anyone else."
"Maybe that's your problem."
"What—oh—oh my god, I'm—"
You came suddenly, with a muffled scream that left you boneless, but Drake took your hands in his behind your back to hold you in place. "I'm not done, ma'am."
"God, you're a beast," you laughed. "Yes, keep going—fuck—it's hot—"
"What?" he grunted. "You like this?"
"Yes. Use me, please—"
Drake knew he wouldn't last long after you, not if you kept begging him like this, and he barely managed to spill his cum on your ass and over your underwear with a bone-deep groan. He leaned down and nipped at one cheek playfully before collapsing on the bed and pulling you over him.
"Drake," you said, your voice a little tired as you laid your head on his shoulder. "Thank you. Really."
"...Anytime."
And he meant it. He really didn't think he was being naive: in all of Cross Guild, you were good, so good that his private fealty to you couldn't possibly be a mistake, not like his years in the Marine. It felt better to put his faith in a single, fallible, intoxicating person than the leviathan to which he'd dedicated most of his life.
Not that he'd ever tell you. That if you ever wanted to leave piracy or leave this crew, he'd follow you and kill anyone who interfered.
Because now you bit your lip again and dragged your hungry gaze down his body. "I have a question you might find a offensive," you said lightly.
"What is it now? Pervert."
"Have you ever fucked in your Zoan form?"