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"Fraternizing?" Roronoa'd scoffed at him, and perhaps Blackleg was right: if Law had to deal with that smirk like he was the less intelligent between the two of them, day in and day out, he'd probably start fights with the swordsman constantly too. Law likes to think he's got a longer fuse than most, but then, he travels by submarine. Long stretches of routine and monotony and the mental blank space passing for zen that it breeds will do that to you. The tradeoff is, when that balance is significantly disrupted--like, say, half of the most batshit insane crew you've ever met suddenly occupying precious real estate on the same crammed ship as you for an extended voyage towards imminent peril--it wears all the harder on you.
Which was sort of the reason he's here in the first place. He'd snapped at Roronoa, Roronoa had casually, bluntly, outright rudely suggested he just needed to get his rocks off, Law had sarcastically challenged him to either project on someone else or hold his tongue if he didn't want it cut out. This was a miscalculation on his part (hardly the first he's made with regard to the Straw Hats; depressingly certain not to be the last), as Roronoa had raised his slit eyebrow with insulting deliberateness and said plainly that that was an offer, Torao, he thought he was being clear. And that had led to Law raising this question.
"Be serious," Roronoa'd said, "I'm not asking to marry you. Sex isn't fuckin' complicated."
And Law knows he usually has better impulse control, but for whatever reason hearing that made him repeat his earlier mistake--one doesn't simply lay a challenge in front of Roronoa Zoro and expect him to back down from it, especially in an arena he suggested. Law had looked him in his single eye, curled his lip meanly as he stepped in and lowered his voice for the most degrading proposition he could think of on the spot.
"Then you're not going to have a problem with me fucking your tits, are you, Zoro-ya?"
In hindsight, it’s embarrassingly stupid. What did he think he was gonna do, scare him off? Not likely. Roronoa's smirk evolved into the same wicked grin he held that white blade between his teeth with, and he answered, "Took you long enough to ask, after all that staring."
Law had nearly relieved him of his head right there but his own cooler one (and his idiot libido) had prevailed, and here they are now: Roronoa splayed like a huge, lazy wildcat on Law's own bed, Law pointedly not thinking about how wide his own thighs have to part to accommodate Roronoa's muscle-thick torso, eyeing the line of the huge, ragged scar bisecting him shoulder to waist, the shade of difference in their complexions.
Then he actually does what he threatened he would, and Law is suddenly thinking about much, much less. Roronoa's skin is warm, shockingly soft, and the scar turns to a slippery-smooth ridge of texture with a little bit of lubricant slathered on it. Pulls at the piercings adorning the ridge of his cock in a flat out delicious way. Law's chasing the feeling before he's finished picking it apart and processing it fully, his body shuddering three steps ahead of his mind.
"Looks like you're in a better mood already, Torao."
Law glares down at him through the heat, receives only a smug, amused grin. "Either use my actual name," he growls, "or shut up."
Roronoa lifts his chin oh so slightly, like he's making a show of thinking about something. Law selfishly takes the opportunity to tilt forward and rub a wet patch into the hollow between his collarbones, biting down a sound at the sparks this sends skittering up his spine. He blames the dry spell he, admittedly, has inflicted on himself for how close he feels already, just from this. Just from squeezing generous handfuls of Roronoa's chest around his dick and watching himself slide through with a frankly obscene ease.
The swordsman's chuckle is a low, pleasant vibration on the insides of his thighs. "Make me. Torao."
The insinuation is blatant and far too tempting to ignore.
No complaint is raised at Law's hand snatching at his hair, the yank forward. Law's helpless. The inside of Roronoa's mouth is hot, slick velvet. "Fffuck," he breathes out, a hoarse whisper, easing into the bliss of it. Roronoa squeezes his thigh encouragingly, thumb sliding along tense muscle. Unfairly assertive, for someone in his position. Law rocks in, shaky as he clings to his self-control, fighting the powerful urge to plunge in deep until he stops thinking.
Roronoa's deceptively passive, for his part. No wasted movement; he lets Law lead him, only shifting position for his own comfort, and then only minutely. He seems more than content to let Law rut against his tongue, curling it dexterously around the tip, a gleam to his eye like the edge of one of his blades. It makes Law's stomach flip to see it; he's reminded, quite suddenly--Roronoa could probably do this for hours if he wanted to, courtesy of santouryuu, and as if reading his mind the swordsman rolls his tongue through his slit, right where it's most sensitive. Law can't bite back a whimper fast enough, something dense forming in his chest and the pit of his hips, drawing his balls up tight.
There's a flush forming across the bridge of Roronoa's nose, spilling into his cheeks. It's a fucking dizzying realization, somehow, that he's turned on by this too. Law hauls himself out of the swordsman's mouth before he embarrasses himself, breathing out hard, fingers flexing and relaxing on Roronoa's chest. He's sure he can feel them shaking, but there's a quiver to the grip the swordsman's found just above his knee. Law figures he won't bring it up.
He doesn't; the glint to his eye assures mutual destruction if Law breaks his silence, so they both just stare at each other--Law panting, Roronoa swallowing, sticking the tip of his tongue out to glide along his upper lip. Roronoa's grip tightens, the other hand coming up to mirror; he pulls Law back from where he retreated until his balls are snug with the very bottom of his sternum, fitting Law's whole cock in his cleavage. Demanding, with another long, slow lick, his head pushed all the way forward to tease a drop of precome out with his tongue.
He's smirking when Law's eyes uncross. "Torao," he goads, and his voice is a tone deeper, he's pressing on Law's thighs so that they, in turn, press his ample tits around Law's aching dick, and god, Law is only human.
"Zoro-ya," he huffs, canting up, gripping at Roronoa's broad, thick shoulders and folding himself far enough for the leverage to grind hard and slow into the valley of his chest. This time he doesn't resist the full-body shudder it rips out of him, chases it until his spine feels like water.
He comes clawing Roronoa's shoulder with one fist and the sheets in another, bony knees pressing blanched marks into sturdy ribs. Shaking, swearing under his breath and gasping. Roronoa let go of one of his thighs at some point, and between the tinge of urgency to his expression and the tremble in his open-mouthed panting, he can guess what it's up to. He drags his gaze up Roronoa's face just in time to watch it hit him, a ripple and a flutter in his eyes and his head craning back, a low, deep groan rolling in his chest. Law feels it.
He doesn't know what compels him, then. Just that he sees Roronoa tilt his head a bit up, a bit to the side, leaving himself exposed and finally not watching, and he has to take advantage somehow. Law draws his nails firmly down Roronoa's shoulders, over the rise and fall of his collarbones. Watches intently as the pleasure crests in him, feels out the solid muscle of his chest, down to the tight buds of his nipples. He's not rough, suddenly; only rubs in firm, insistent circles, rolled between his fingers. The effect it has on Roronoa is incredible for how subtle and devastating it is; his lips press tight in a thin line, a shudder runs strongly through his whole frame. Law forces his breath into shallows.
That's good for him, Law notes in a part of his mind not devoted to baldly memorizing how Roronoa looks when he comes. He likes that. Heat curling in his gut, Law lets one nipple go and fumbles his hand back, unsure why, until he finds where Roronoa's hand is fisted around himself. He's wet to the touch, on the backs of his fingers and the spaces between, where Law slots his own and, on some selfish whim, strokes with him until Roronoa's voice trembles out in a low, involuntary moan.
Maybe he wanted to get Roronoa back for how quickly he brought him to the edge earlier. Maybe he's played himself yet a-fucking-gain, because Law is fairly certain he's going to be seeing that face, hearing that sound, for at least the next two weeks' worth of wet dreams. In the privacy of his own head, he curses.
Wano is too goddamn far away.