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Quayside	By : aemillia Category: +M to R > One Piece Views: 1906 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: One Piece belongs to Oda Eiichiro, Shonen Jump, Viz, Funimation, and a bunch of other people. No profit or harm is intended from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Quayside
- 1
The muscles under his hand, steely cables of thigh whose proper names Ben would no doubt know, were strong and unmoving beneath the soft questing, testing tips of his fingers. Tense, and that just wouldn’t do for his purposes. Shanks edged forward until his knees bumped into the next high step of the wharf and closed the now-small gap between himself and his first mate. Ben was warm against his cheek as he laid his head along the outer curve of one buttock but he could feel the faintest of shivers shake the older man as he spoke. Ticklish breath and the tiny scratches of his beard playfully caressed exposed flesh in place of his hand, trying to ease and rile in the same measure.

“Tense, Ben? Relax. We’re in a pirate-friendly town and even these kinds of people expect the worst sorts of perversions and immorality from us. If we get caught somehow, nobody’s gonna be shocked or even care. No matter whatcha think, we ain’t that scandalous.”

A heavy-sounding sigh hissed its way through clenched teeth, ripples of slight motion caught against Shanks’ face as Ben shook his bowed head in the safety of the shadows. “Shanks.” And that was a good sign, his name rather than his title. A pause, pregnant with aspersive possibilities, stretched between them before another chuff of air left his first mate. “Someday,” Ben said, wryly rueful as he gave in and opted for a different tack. “I’ll remember that shame does not figure anywhere into your conception of honor.”

That brought a grin to Shanks’ face and he nipped lightly at Ben, laughing when that earned him a snort and a wriggle that tossed his cheek free of its pillow. “And you love me all the more for it.” The captain patted the top of Ben’s ass familiarly and trailed his fingers lower until they snagged on the waistband of Ben’s pants. “C’m~on,” he added, wheedling slightly because he knew just how weak Ben was to that tactic even if he grumbled and denied it. “Yer gonna get me back for this no matter what so you may as well just give in and enjoy it. I KNOW you do even if ya won’t admit it. ‘Sides, yer more than halfway there already.”

The battle was already more or less won since he had gotten his first mate that far and it was only a matter of Ben finally conceding that point. Shanks tugged lightly again at the fabric bunched mid-thigh and decided that a polite request wouldn’t hurt. “Please? Pretty please with whiskey and rum and buxom bar wenches on top?”

Silence held between them for a long moment before Ben let out an exaggerated groan of faked pain. “Do you have any idea how decidedly impolitic that sounds given our present circumstances?”

“What? You don’t like wenches?” The innocence in Shanks’ tone was belied by the slight quaking of his body as he held in the laughter that threatened to escape and ruin his game.

“Maybe I just don’t like YOU.”

Familiar ground, these insults, and white teeth flashed in the darkness as a knife-edge of a grin flickered across the captain’s face. “Well, you’re a pretty damn poor excuse for a wench yourself Beckman, but you don’t hear me complainin’ about it.”

Over the soft rustle of cloth, Ben’s voice jibed back, a bit strained as he struggled one-handed to keep his balance and get his pants out of the way at the same time. “That was a complaint right there and if you aren’t satisfied, I’d be more than happy to allow you to direct your patronage elsewhere.”

Careful shifts of weight and quick pulls found the olive material gathered as an extra cushion beneath Ben’s knees, the upper parts of his legs now fully exposed to the faint light of the sliver of moon that shone over Shanks’ shoulder. The captain deftly slipped forward again, this time into the frame of hard-soled boots, and he used a careful hand to press on an ankle until it eased over, giving him more room to work and move. “No,” he breathed, tracing a fingertip from the back of Ben’s knee slowly up the center of his thigh. “You’ll do.”

His lips followed suit a beat behind; soft kisses pressed into the back of his first mate’s other leg until his teeth closed gently over the beginning swell of buttock. Shanks nipped there carefully, juggling the balance between too harsh to be enjoyable and too light, to which Ben had proven susceptibly squirmy in the past. The swift intake of breath and the tensing of the muscles beneath his mouth urged Shanks away though he placed a final kiss there, tongue laving across the shallow indentations his teeth had left in smooth flesh. He straightened, looking down with a decidedly possessive leer at the man kneeling before him, drank in the view before he once again crowded forward.

The quay steps were hard and unyielding beneath and against his knees and the edge of the upper step bit into the captain’s waist as he leaned down, hand sliding up beneath the cotton of Ben’s shirt to rest between his shoulder blades. His thumb kneaded small circles into scarred flesh, slabbed muscle toned by years at sea and the weight of a heavy gun. It was meant as a comfort, as were the whispered murmurs pressed by his lips into the knob of bone that marked the end of Ben’s spine. Quiet private words that had no place outside of the shadows, they still demanded to be spoken from time to time and Shanks meant all of them, knew they were understood and accepted when the air around him remained silent but for his own voice and that of the sea.

Those were the last precursors, the final steps of the dance, and no preamble was necessary as Shanks stroked his fingers back along the hard sweep of Ben’s spine, dipped his thumb into the shallow depression at the end, and dragged it down. Strong fingers fanned out over one firm round of muscle and gripped it firmly, parting cheek from cheek until there was space for the tongue he flicked lightly over hot flesh. Ben went utterly still in his grasp, goose bumps breaking out across the skin beneath Shanks’ palm, anticipation and a vague sense of nervous propriety keeping the first mate from quite giving in yet to the captain’s actions.

Shanks lapped his way down, savoring the texture of impossibly smooth skin against his tongue and the mingled taste of sweat and the mineral flavor that clung to Ben from their earlier trip to the baths. The tight knot of muscle that was his goal was tense at first beneath the tip of his tongue. So he kissed it instead, a sloppy sucking sort of kiss that elicited him a strangled noise from the direction of Ben’s head and a general relaxing of the first mate’s body. Shoulders dropped as Ben slumped forward to bury his face in his arms, traitorous mouth biting hard into his wrist, and Shanks could feel the tension disappear from beneath his hand. It was gone as well against his mouth as he tongued once again at cinched flesh, his determined prodding rewarded as the tip of his tongue slipped inside.

He could feel the clench and release of the impossibly heated muscles around his tongue as he drove it further, a pulsing sensation that was answered by the throbbing of his cock. The roaring of his blood in his ears drowned out the susurrations of the waves, was in turn smothered by the wet, choked groan that was dragged out of the body beneath him. Shanks allowed himself a tiny smirk, enjoying the way his light beard caught and prickled against sensitized skin, and redoubled his efforts. Any trace of delicacy was gone as he thrust his tongue into Ben’s saliva-slick hole, flicking it in and out and getting deeper with each push.

The near-molten heat went straight to his cock and made him almost dizzy with want. Shanks had thought to torment his first mate, spend several long minutes using just his mouth to drive Ben out of his mind. But between the ache in his balls and the way Ben’s muffled noises were making him want to drive a real cry or two out of the other man, he just had to revise his plan. Far sooner than he had anticipated, Shanks released his hold on Ben’s buttock. Heavy testicles weighted his palm for a moment before he edged his fingers back, wormed them up next to his mouth. Lips and tongue and two fingers fought for space, found it as they worked together to stretch and coax looser the passage into the older man’s body.

A pleased moan and a demanding backwards thrust met Shanks’ successful location of Ben’s sweet spot and the captain considered his job well done as he drew back, hastily climbed to his feet and wrestled his pants down. Damp fingers ghosted over the hot, needy skin of his cock as he watched Ben spread his knees farther, expose all of himself to the Shanks’ greedy eyes. The captain pressed forward, guided his cock between the parted swells of Ben’s ass, and rubbed it down until it rested snugly against the first mate’s anus. He pushed, firm and steady, until he felt the ring of muscle give. The heat and pressure had been intense on his tongue but felt close to mind-blowing on his cock and Shanks pitched forward to wrap his arm around the bottom of Ben’s ribs, hips already finding their rhythm.

“Ah…f-fuck.”

Cursing, Shanks buried his face in Ben’s back and moved. Fast punishing strokes were driven into the first mate and were met with tight clenches and a refusal to yield and just take what the captain had to give. The body under Shanks shifted, jerked as Ben adjusted his stance and finally reached to wrap a hand around his cock. Shanks could feel the muscles beneath his cheek move as Ben stroked himself and the captain adjusted, timed his thrusts to match. He wasn’t going to give in first, not when he’d originally intended to get the other man off with just his mouth and fingers, wait until they were back on the ship to take his turn. Experience found him the right angle and need did the rest of the job in making his first mate come undone. Ben practically did the work himself, snapping his hips sharply back into every thrust.

When Shanks relaxed his python hold around Ben’s middle and snuck his fingers down to tug lightly on his balls, the captain got his cry. A brief shout, some sort of variation between a name and a curse that was quickly muffled as Ben bit his lip, it still went straight to Shanks’ cock and he fucked his way through the sudden clench of muscles around his cock, drove as deep as could. He came babbling oaths and endearments into Ben’s shirt, and he was grateful for the broadness of his first mate’s back as he sagged against it, letting the older man hold him up as he caught his breath.

It was a matter of moments for Shanks to straighten, find his balance and tuck back in. Ben took a little longer, hindered as he was by the ‘helpful’ hand the captain offered in trying to clean him up. Knees protested a bit too much when Ben tried to stand and he opted to sit for a moment on the step, looking out at the ocean. A bit of his hair was standing up and Shanks used that as an excuse to plop himself into Ben’s lap, reaching up ostensibly to push it back down but ruffling his fingers through steely strands instead.

“We didn’t get caught,” he murmured, raining small kisses down on Ben’s temple and the top of his head. “Tolja we wouldn’t.”

“That you did.” Ben’s concession was grudging but he curled an arm around the captain’s waist all the same.

Shanks smiled, a gentle happy content sort of smile, and pressed another kiss to his first mate’s lips. Ben could feel it when his lips edged up into a more wicked grin and didn’t react quite fast enough to dump the captain out of his lap before Shanks hopped up and merrily danced down the quay in the direction of his ship.

“You ain’t such a bad sorta wench either, Beckman. How much for yer services for the rest of the evenin’?”
- 1
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Quayside