Lessie @lessie-oxj - Tumblr Blog

,, Do You Right. ''

Pairing: Benn Beckman x F! Reader

Synopsis... it's easy to be charmed by a playboy like beckman, after all, he and shanks' catch the most eyes on new islands. you'd fallen for it over time, too, and even worse— the playboy himself found it hard to not try and pull you close. playful flirts between close crewmates soon become more real, in just two days.

Contains... SFW+NSFW, absolutely ridiculous and stupid scenarios, reader is implied to have some sexual experience, the red-haired pirates are crazy, everyone is too sassy for their own good, these pirates drink like 1000% concentrated alcohol, teasing, flirting as "jokes", shanks has an olympic medal in cockblocking (and might have a thing for you), why do all the pirates keep getting naked???, beckman is a gentleman sometimes, friends to lovers, red-haired crew gets some love, size difference, the reader exhibits slight masochistic behaviors, hair-pulling, neck kisses, marking, cunnilingus, first time, beckman is HUNG, protected sex, vaginal penetration, dirty talk, and mentions of threesomes. thanks for shaving your beard beckman!!

Word count... 23.5K.

A/N: a gift for @guillotine-enjoyer , one of the funniest and most genuine people here. most silly quirks here have been inspired by my personal headcanons and guillys inputs, i am so very happy of this work.

The pirate ship skipped across the seas, cutting through the waves on the ocean surface like a blacksmith's finest blade meeting a bastard's jugular. Stories full of laughter, rooms full of smoke, barrels full of alcohol— here were the red-haired pirates, back on the Red Force after a drawn out island visit. More liberation to do across the new world, the drawn out journey from the east blue heading to wherever the captain says. Things like that can't be helped.

“Oh- Oh please Lucky, you get drunk about as fast as a sister goes through a box of condoms! You’ve been giving this damn crew hope for twelve years straight that they can beat you, news flash, ain’t gonna happen! There ain’t a soul that can down more liquor than you!”

Slurred words and shouted confessions, feminine giggles from girls who were just there for a good time and the boisterous laughter of Lucky following the hammered speech of a drunken crewmate. The usual atmosphere of any old pirate ship, but it was special to each and every man on that crew, because this pirate ship was the only place they anchored themselves to. Spirits free, serious, melancholic, merry, dancing through time with a smile on their face and scars on their body, their reminders that they belong. But nothing like that's ever been included in the late night banter. After all, why would it? Deep down, they all know that they're happy where they are with Shanks guiding them.

A hundred men, and only one of you, all skipping across the sea foam with a smile to go along with all the foolishness.

Away from most of the chatter, you stand and lean against the railing up on the quarterdeck with your elbows digging into the carved wood, gales of angry wind turning your hair every which way trying to get it tangled instead of tamed. A wisp of a cigarettes smoke lingers near your cheek, caressing your face and allowing itself to be breathed in, accepted wholly. Sharply and abruptly, you wheeze and cough, eyes watering while you gaze in his direction. Guess the gales really do hate you, making sure you inhaled all that smoke.

“Can't the gentlemen put the smoke down for the sake of a pretty lady?” A sigh trails behind your last word laced with a playful lilt, and you turn to face the source of the smoke. His index and middle finger have a cigarette squished between them, the ash breaking off from the tip and flying away with the whipping wind.

“Benn Beckman putting a smoke down? That dog won't hunt!” A helpful Bonk Punch shouts from the main deck below, the fire of laughter roaring back to life. He sure isn’t helping you prove your point.

Beck licks his lips, before his cigarette dips back between them and another plume of smoke is heading for a direct attack on your nose and lungs.

“I’m a man with free will. Can't blame me for thinking the wind would be courteous enough to blow the ash and smoke out the way.”

Benn Beckman doesn't roll his eyes, men should respect and honor women; there shouldn't be any back-talk directed towards a lady. But it wouldn't be too far off to say he's got that same tone the captain does when he's acting “too big for his britches” as Beck would say. Sometimes that man lets his mature personality slip and that sassy young man shines through again.

“It should blow you— that sarcastic tone in your voice, too.” You scrunch your nose as the smoke hits you in the face finally, but then a giggle of yours finds its way into Beckman’s ears after you look at him awaiting a response. For a moment he looks deep in thought, but then smoke is slipping past his lips and heading for you again. It's on purpose, you realize.

You swat at the smoke and glare at Beckman, who simply grins with his cigarette between his teeth and lets out a soft, undetectable chuckle.

“Blow me? I knew you were a dirty girl, but never knew you were this damn bold.”

Amazingly so, you manage to fall deeper into his trap. That liquid courage isn't here to aid you with more snarky remarks and witty quips. The one time a pirate like you doesn't day drink.

“Well— I did say the wind. Not me.” You chew the inside of your cheek, staring down at your shoes. Shifting your weight on your heels while hoping you don't lose your mind the same way you do when you two get to flirting on drunken nights has become a shockingly normal occurrence.

“Really?” Beckman's drawl pokes out for another visit, something else that seems to occur more and more lately. His voice makes you think about him in ways no other crewmate of yours would, soon enough it might even make you think the cigarette smoke isn't even that bad as long as he can breathe it in your direction. Secondhand smoke can wait for your young heart’s beating to return to normal.

“Last I recalled, you said you wouldn't mind it either. Were those heated words just you tuggin’ my heart? Young ladies tend to have a taste for teasing after all, I guess.” He pretends to be upset, even pursing his lips to the side as he steps into place beside you, leaning over the railing as you do. His elbow bumps yours, some cigarette ash landing on your sleeve.

“Gonna say sorry now?” You tease back, huffing a laugh to mask the slight tension that you think may just be your imagination…

“Sorry. I’m real sorry, sugar.” Beckman rasps with a tone of sarcasm, smoke floating up into the sky as the wind calms for just this moment. The goosebumps forming all over your skin aren't just from cool wind, they're from perfectly normal words being spoken like they're the dirtiest thing in the world, and it's downright scandalous the way Beckman has got this way of teasing mastered.

Beckman smiles again, daring you to do something. His eyes are like a personal cheer for you, heavy-lidded and easier to get lost in than the florian triangle, they dare you to say something else, pushing you closer to the edge. Three steps away, and the leap seems so small— and it probably is, but your heart races like it would suck you in and swallow you whole. He really makes you think; why not take that leap?

“Hey, hey, hey, what's going on?” A different grin pops into the small box you and Beckman seem to have isolated yourselves in, slinging his one and only arm around you like you're his other half. Your boss has taken it upon himself to join you two up atop the quarterdeck, butting into conversations as he normally would. A slight scowl etches itself onto your face, and Shanks notices it before you can tense up and correct yourself in your head for being upset over something so silly.

Shanks chuckles and pats your back, then takes a few steps forward to start chatting up Beckman lively as ever. You don't have time for that, you remind yourself of a chore you have yet to do in the belly of the ship, and depart with a polite wave, just to get it out of the way. But really, is that convincing enough for yourself?

The day shifts into night, same as always. But the constant routine is comforting.

Even after every battle your crew fights, every achievement, every raised bounty, every letter from back home— the nights are still full of drinks and cheerful conversations reminiscing about the beginning of your journey, and you wouldn't change it for the world. Lazy partying and drawn out celebrations from the previous island continue out to the next one popping up on the horizon, the fast paced course the ship took through sea king dens while cutting other sea critters in half must have slipped your mind— you just barely remember Yasopp shouting about the next island “which should come up later tonight”; that was then and this is now.

Same as always, you find yourself relaxed over by the rigging, mindful crewmates putting out their cigarettes when they notice you, shouting and offering you a spot at their table to make sure you aren't tired of standing. And like always, you wave them off. Shanks delivers a brief announcement about how he's taking whoever wants to come along into the town to drop off the nighttime lovers, to which most everybody steps out onto the dock with their hands tenderly placed on their ladies. Maybe you wanna tag along, just to see where everyone else would plan to visit for their usual “spontaneous” bar or tavern visits. Boy, you still remember how quickly they spotted Shakky’s bar back on Sabaody.

You chuckle to yourself recalling the past, but then straighten up when you notice a familiar purple cloak decorated in swirls across the deck. He turns around, perking up when he notices you, too.

As Beckman walks up to you, he thoughtfully throws his cigarette down to the floor, stubbing it beneath his leather boot. “Ain’t you gonna go into town?” He calls out, baritone voice startling you and snapping the rest of your mind from your lingering daydream— then he's right in front of you, staring you down in a way that gets you squirming. He stares down at most everyone because, well, he's tall, but right now you know for sure he's really looking at you.

“Depends. Are you coming?” You shift your weight from one foot to the other, crossing your arms while you crank your neck to try and maintain eye contact.

“Want me to?” Quickly swiping his tongue over his lips, Beckman reaches into his pocket, the right one where he keeps his smokes at. His eyes catch onto you, and his hand falls to his side instead.

“You know the answer to that already, so don't you start.” A laugh follows shortly thereafter you finish talking, and you uncross your arms, nudging towards the direction of the wooden dock.

“Anything you want.” Beckman chuckles again, grinning at you while you both begin walking, slowly inching down the ramp until you meet the worn wooden dock.

“Whaddya say we go find the loudest bar and meet back up with the boss?” Beckman refers to the fact that your crewmates probably already dashed away after their ladies got their tickets back home, probably already infiltrated a local tavern. When do they not? When you start to pick up the speed on your walk, you take note of the fact that the wind has definitely calmed down compared to during the day. It might have just been the fact that the red force was going at full throttle, though…

“Here's to hoping he's fully clothed by the time we're there!” You snigger, raising an imaginary glass to the air in a toast, throwing smiles Beckman’s way. He lets a low hum echo from his throat, making fog appear as he exhales. Looks like it's colder than usual tonight.

“Sure you ain’t just saying that to jinx it? I remember we were up at Gartel Island, you were drunk out your damn mind whistling and hollerin’ when Shanks got up to his usual drunken striptease. Do you remember what you whispered to me?” He leans in close— real close, you can taste his breath when he looks into your eyes, he doesn't have eyebrows but you can definitely tell he would be raising one right about now.

“Benn Beckman, you say another word and my foot will be up your ass.” Warmth floods your body when Beckman recalls your drunken antics, which honestly isn't that embarrassing compared to what the other guys have done— for example; you take Lucky Roux's fashion show done entirely in women's clothes, changing in front of everybody included for free while he was stone-cold sober. Shanks also did his fair share of stripping, as Beckman mentioned just now, just about everybody has seen what he's packing. And surprisingly, Hongo is way up there on the podium with Shanks and Lucky, did you know that doctor is into hardcore BDSM? Who would've guessed? Not you, but you aren't going down that hallway ever again. Those three have done the most, you could talk for hours and that won't even be close to summing up what you've seen so far.

A hidden smirk creeps onto your face, before you're pushing away a fit of giggles. “Maybe I do wanna see.”

“Quit it with the perversion, girl. That ain’t how a lady acts.” Beckman shakes his head, a soft sigh escaping his lungs while he recites his signature line of teasing you about how a lady should act.

“Oh yeah? It's how this lady acts, though.” You laugh and remind him, but Beckman knows that. He knows you.

The earth crunches beneath your shoes, but it sounds like Beckman’s leather boots are popping the rocks like balloons with every step he takes. It's kinda funny, Beckman’s got a heavy step and every time he walks on the gravel it's like distant gunfire. Down with the passing thoughts, you two enjoy your comfortingly silent walk towards where you can definitely hear Yasopp loudly telling a story to what must be the whole town. Soon enough you start to pass houses by, then a few local stores, until the noise is deafening as usual, and a purple colored light pours out from a rather large bar, making you assume it's another one of those “trendy” ones that has live musicians and various other things to attract crowds. Before you begin to walk in, you sneak a glance at Beckman again, but he's completely stilled. He notices you, sparing a glance and reaching for his carton of cigarettes.

“Gonna have a quick smoke, might be a while.” Stopping for a moment, he looks over at you, but then averts his gaze to the cigarette coming up towards his lips. You still as well.

“Go on and have some fun, this old man will be there eventually.” The cigarette in between his lips strays to the corner of his mouth as Beckman flicks open his lighter, and the flame illuminating his face in warm orange-hued light reminds you of a time when you two barely knew each other, oddly. When he had a few grey hairs here and there, but not quite the mane full of ashen locks you know now, when Shanks was so eager to know your story that he tripped and fell face first. You brushed the little ragtag crew off at first, but they were persistent. Or at least Beckman was, he was the one who did all the coercing. A sheepish smile of yours is pointed down to the floor when you realize that he seems to be reassuring you, and it reminds you that Benn Beckman has caught onto your lingering looks long ago.

“Yeah. I might get a few drinks.” The tip of the cigarette ignites and he closes his eyes across from you, leaning against the tall fencing outside the bar and tilting his head back. He hums when your words reach.

“Yeah? Give ‘em a smile and they'll be a-pouring all night long for a pretty lady like you.” He throws your words from earlier that day back in your face, grinning as his eyes open, just to flash you a wink for a second. Then they're closing again. You start to giggle, and flash a smile that you aren't sure he could have noticed, and reluctantly you tense your shoulders to greet the crowd gathered inside the bar, swinging the door open and stepping in.

Yasopp is up on the stage, talking about a story different than what echoed throughout the island earlier and making various hand gestures that don't give you a hint as to what they could be— Lucky is surrounded by what seem to be the usual crowd of barflies itching to win bets, and Shanks is surrounded by flirty waitresses. Truly just another day as a pirate. For a moment you look around, not sure whether to just drink and eat or sit and play spades so you don't look lonely, but Shanks hops up from his seat across the bar and makes a beeline towards you, a perplexed expression splayed across his face.

“What’s this? You and Beck arguing? Where’s the big guy at?” Shanks’ face is flushed almost as red as his hair, and you look a little confused as to how he let himself get drunk so quickly, it had only been maybe twenty minutes since you and Beckman decided to set off from the ship. Nonetheless, you turn off your brain for a little and smile at him, stumbling a bit when he once more throws himself nearly straight on top of you, his cheek pressing onto your shoulder as he bends his knees to reach your height.

“Don't tell me you two broke up! I was just about ready to plan the wedding. I’d officiate it and everything, and we could have… Special Lucky Style Catering™! Maybe he'd get onto making that stew he made, remember? It was after we left Marineford… I think?” Shanks is all slurred words and warm breath laced with the smell of spiced rum, so you pat his back and take a step back for some air, no mind paid to his normal teasing about the mysterious relationship you share with Beckman.

It's not any kind of secret that you and Beckman have something that's a little more than just friendly chats going on, it isn't just the laughs you share that bellow across the deck— it's how he talks to you like he's interested for once, not the same flippant tone he uses when the boss asks him a stupid question, it's the way he shys away from staring at you too long, eyes darting away like it burns— it's the fact that he teases you more than everybody else, and not the usual kind either.

Maybe it's the way he entertains your playful and drunken flirts, offering a wave of his hand or an innocent chuckle that differs from the slaps to the back of the head when someone else is too drunk and starts talking to Beck like he's the next lady they wanna bed… He likes to say it's because you're a lady, but that isn't why you get such special treatment, and most everyone knows.

Even when Beckman is friendly to you, it isn't the same when he's friendly with the rest of the guys, and it isn't just the charm he uses to slip his fingertips into the waistband of a different pretty lady's pants. Everyone knows, and maybe even you do. But are the two of you ready to acknowledge that together?

“Okay, let me be serious for a bit. Just a little nosy… what's the relationship between you and him, anyway?” Shanks places his index finger onto his nose, eyes struggling to stay open and on you. You pause, eyes looking from side to side, not a single soul seems to be looking at the two of you— besides the waitress with her jealous glare. If you wanted, you could be truthful and upfront about it for once, but you have a better option in mind. You brush past him, heading for an empty seat beside Gab.

Shanks groans loud enough to alert Yasopp, who tells him to “shut his trap” over the microphone that has suddenly appeared in his hand, eliciting laughter all around. Gab nods to you and orders you a drink, patting your back in a friendly gesture, and he’s smiling, too, teeth and all.

Throwing back a few drinks passes more time than you ever remembered, but the lively atmosphere probably helped you laugh the passing time away. You aren't drunk, it's the damned parties that built up your alcohol tolerance, but you're still no match for Lucky. Tipsy is the word of the day, and your memory flips back to the pages you previously read over an hour ago.

Your eyes flick to the now open doorway, the air shifting when Beckman is peeking inside the establishment, and he scans the area very briefly before his eyes find themselves boring straight into yours. He doesn't smile, doesn't scowl, doesn't narrow his eyes, and his usual smoke isn't in sight— he's in front of you before you can do a double-take, and then he takes you by the hand murmuring words so quiet you definitely can't even hear amidst the chatter.

Eventually, you manage to realize that he's asking you to step outside with him when he gently tugs on your hand. Lacking the reason or wanting to do anything that isn't being dragged around by him, you let him reel you in, leading you outside in the alleyway behind the bar, a place where you now realize only the softest whispers and secrets matter.

“Are you gonna eat me?” A joke escapes your mouth before you can put much thought into it, and you try to refrain from stepping too close to the walls and corners, who knows what the drunkards got up to better than you did? Not a damn soul. Alleyways were for passing out in and slipping away to pee in when the bathroom had a long line, every time you find yourself on an island the crew further proves this point, scattering like the seeds of a dandelion when the wind blows, you still manage to find a good amount of them in an alleyway. In the moment, the situation didn't seem too odd, just another moment you spend with your closest friend.

But it hits you now, you realize that you and Beckman are alone together again.

“Maybe. It’d put my tongue and teeth to better use.” Beckman offers you a playful smile and flirty words, but it's the same jokes you pass back and forth every other night. His fingers twitch and his hand instinctively jerks to his pocket, but he refrains from smoking with you nearby him, and you can't help but relish in the feeling of him caring for you. It eases your anxiety, but the confusion regarding why you're worried pops up soon thereafter.

“I’m actually not sure if we're on the same page. I might just be confusing myself more thinking about this.” You admit with a sigh, furrowing your brows and placing your palm to your forehead to display your confusion.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He snickers, adding fuel to your fire with a tease.

The night now seems to carry a special scent, something both equally pleasant and unpleasant, the smell of petrichor stains the air, which is now littering droplets of water. Rather quickly, you find your clothes begin to stick to your skin as the sky pours down onto your body, showing not an ounce of mercy. Though, your wet skin isn't entirely unpleasant, you actually think some of your best memories involve the rain in some way. Beckman grunts softly, approaching you as puddles on the ground begin to form, the soft pattering of raindrops quickly turns into a torrent of tears from above— threatening all with a flash of lightning and crack of thunder performing in the sky.

Beckman’s purple cape finds itself draped on top of your head, the rain dripping down towards your feet instead of further soaking your body. But Beckman himself is very quickly growing wet, his black shirt sticks to his body like glue, or maybe it's better to say it's like a second layering of his own skin. His pants seem to be suffering the same treatment, the fabric darkening rather quickly, coiling itself around his thighs and getting heavier as it soaks up the water, contouring his body in ways that you definitely shouldn't acknowledge— not aloud, at the very least. You turn away from him, facing the ground instead, because you're sure he would do the same for you had he not allowed his cloak to dampen instead of your own clothes.

He notices your flustered state, despite your body being turned the other direction entirely. He sighs, boots splashing water your direction while he gets closer to you. The rain stops for nobody, and yet you feel like a cloud will open the sky somewhere in the distance.

“Don't be scared.” Beckman says it with this oddly serious tone, like he’s truly attempting to soothe you after you've seen something frightening. There's no smile creeping up in his words, but you can tell it's a crude joke you would sooner hear from the boss rather than Beckman, but you’ve joked like this enough together, so it isn’t like it’s his words bothering you. Then, you let out a huff of laughter, effectively calming your beating heart enough so you can mumble something about going back to the ship.

“As much as I’d like to stay and stare, I don’t feel like catching a cold.” You begin to walk out of the alleyway, and a loud laugh follows you, so close to you that you think Beckman was right next to you. But at that moment, you couldn’t sense him.

“Don’t you fancy staying and starin’?” Beckman speaks loud enough for you to hear over the pouring rain, but you bite your tongue and keep walking, lest you actually do try. A dangerous man like him isn’t any good for an impressionable young lady like you, temptations spilling from those lips of his make it easier to forget that unspoken rule of piracy— no dating within the crew, and one-night stands are especially taboo, no matter how nonexistent the boundaries are between said crewmates.

Then, the teasing you throw back doesn’t make it seem like he’s the only dangerous one. While you continue walking, the heavy feeling of being watched lingers for a while as you head back on the path you and Beckman took to the bar, and you continue to tread slowly, but you don’t want to admit to yourself why you’re walking so slowly in a violent downpour like this one.

The feeling of him watching is what you seek more than anything else, and when it rises to the sky and dissipates into the air, you sigh and start to walk with a little more purpose, lifting the collar of the cloak hanging over your eyes to make sure you can actually see where you're going.

Only when the red force slowly rocks on the surface of the sea as if to say hello to you, not that far away, you relax a little bit. When you walk out onto the dock and head towards your home, the wood is wet and subsequently slippery, so you try to steady yourself as you head up the incline of the ramp. You wobble a bit without any assistance, to which a laugh heads your way. Normally Beckman heads up with you in times like these.

Disregarding anything and everything else, you beeline straight towards the showers, swinging open the door to the bathroom and stepping in onto linoleum tiles, wiping your shoes off so you don't track any pebbles from the gravel or dirt onto them. Beckman’s purple cloak slinks off your body and lands with a displeasing plop sound before you can remove it yourself, the rain soaked into the fabric splashing onto your shoes and ankles. It stares back at you on the floor, begging to be wringed out or picked up off the floor at the very least.

Sighing, you instead tear off your clothes— quite literally, your shirt managed to rip during your battle of tearing it off your skin, and undoing your bra seems even more challenging when you're wrangling your wet hair out from the clasp. Tossing the two aside, you kick off your shoes, which fly towards the wall, leaving a faint print. You try to take off your pants which were already a struggle to get on, but they get stuck right around your ankles, so you spend a while jumping and kicking, finally freeing yourself from your cotton restraints. Only then do you finally get to take your shower.

But the cloak keeps looking at you. And it makes you think of Beckman. When you scrub your scalp, closing your eyes, there's a flash of him in your mind— you crack open one eye to peek at the cloak, but you didn't anticipate how quickly the lather you worked up in your hair would drip down your forehead, and you're effectively blinded.

The rest of your shower goes smoothly besides the occasional knocking, until you actually step out. During your scramble to get to the bathroom, you forgot a change of clothes.

Then, barefoot and covered by only a towel, you make the brave decision to run out into the hallway to your quarters, no time to lose considering the rest of the crew could come back any given time. Many others don't fear their nudity, nor do they fear being caught whilst exposed, but you aren't one of them— that definitely sets you apart from a crew who just can't seem to keep their clothes on when the general public isn't watching. So, you hurry across the hall with long strides, staring down at your bare feet instead of anything else.

Faster than ever, you manage to dress yourself. A simple shirt and pants, but it's not long before you remember your forgotten shoes and Beckman’s cloak.

When you tread back to the bathroom, you're relieved to see that they're still there, and you try your best to tidy the mess you’ve made. The bits of gravel clung to the wall are gently scraped off, and the bits on the floor are swept, then the dirt is mopped. Beckman’s purple cloak is thrown into the washing machine, paired with extra scent beads. He would appreciate it.

A sharp knock sounds at the door, and you excuse yourself, exiting into the hallway once more, planning to head to bed or something.

Benn Beckman has a different idea.

And so, when you look up from the ground, you catch sight of him as he leans against your bedroom door, a cigarette hanging from his lips while he seems to be waiting. He turns his head to the side, leaning back a bit just to where his skull would make a soft thud against your door. Beckman looks down for a brief moment, backing away from your door and heading for you instead.

“Just a second, I’ll put it out.” Beckman hums, plucking the cigarette from his lips before staring at the floor, contemplating if he should really put his cigarette out inside as the smoke trails towards the ceiling, sure to leave its scent festering much to many's dismay. He knows you don't like it when he smokes around you, or anybody for that matter, he always tries his best to respect you in that regard, save for earlier that day.

“Don't stop on my account, if you look that good doing it.” You speak up before he ends up adding another burn mark to the hardwood floors everyone tries their best to maintain. Beckman normally tries to be mindful of these things, as does everyone else, but you can't help but notice pirates don't care all too much about small scratches or marks on the ship, unless it's actually broken or causing issues. Beckman is one of the more neat ones on this rowdy ship. Another one of his chuckles hits you in the face like a gust of wind, and then the game starts over again— more flirting while the night is still young.

“You gonna start this now? I can do this all night, sugar.” He smirks, challenging you with his serious eyes. That gaze full of intensity from earlier is no longer uncomfortable, rather, it's taken on the familiar playfulness that you've grown to appreciate more than anything else. The games you two play regardless of curious people, where you get so caught up in each other's smile and laugh that nothing else exists besides you two.

“Are you sure of yourself, old man? Isn't it past your bedtime?”

When you laugh at your own remark, Beckman can only inhale once again, filling his lungs with more smoke. He stares down at you with what seems like something other than friendly flirting on his mind, and the smoke escapes his lips to disappear into the air. But you think it's wrapped itself around your neck instead, because you choke suddenly— your face feels so warm and it's like the wind is knocked out of you. Acknowledging your heart feels more difficult and tiring as time goes on, and you still haven't asked yourself if it's okay to even consider at a time like this.

“I can go all night, every night. Just tell me if I end up tiring you out, young lady.” Benn Beckman challenges you, this time in a new way. His flirts and lazy grins promise you that it's just banter, but his eyes tell you things that his usual body language masks. Beckman is looking at you in a different way during this late hour, his face is showing something you solemnly see. And you find yourself wanting to challenge it, despite everything you've told yourself previously.

“Oh yeah? Is that so?” It's meant to come out as a tease, but it's laced with a mist of desperation with darker notes of desire and longing. Your chest tightens, because you hadn't meant to give yourself away so soon, because you don't want whatever this moment may be to end so quickly, your eyes can lock onto his because you suddenly feel like you're lost at sea.

“Don't go around giving me eyes like that. I might get the wrong idea…” Beckman speaks slowly, stepping just a little closer, but it's just too close— and you're only a shuffle away from being pressed against him. Locking eyes with him feels like peering into a sea king's very soul in this moment, it's intimidating and both exhilarating to you.

A low whistle interrupts your moment. And of course it's none other than Shanks.

“Where was my invite? Can I still get in on the action?” Shanks was slurring his words, and Beckman could only let out the usual exhausted groan when he had to basically parent him.

“Where's the cape? Cloak? Cape? Must be nice with two arms… Double the biceps to show off…”

Shanks flexes his singular arm theatrically, his eyes half-lidded and staring so far away you suspect he'd gotten himself into another drinking competition. He pauses his drunk mumbling to hold up his finger, pointing it in between you and Beckman.

“Wear protection. Don't end up like G…” Was all he managed to say before he crashed to the floor.

Beckman frowns at the sight of his captain sprawled out on the floor yet again, although it wasn't like that would ever change— he was sure when he was old and slouched over Shanks would still be drinking all the same because he's “still got his twenty-year-old liver”, in Shanks’ own words.. It might just be the fact that he's a pirate. Beckman wonders if all pirates drink insane amounts of liquor by default. Seeing the crew he’s on, that may as well be true.

No use questioning it, Shanks just drunkenly cockblocked him again. Beckman just doesn't feel right letting his poor captain lay there.

He looks over at you again, but takes a long stride back this time. You look down at your captain as well.

“I should've expected this. He's in for an earful tomorrow morning.” Beckman can only glare at your unconscious captain, dreading the fearsome red-haired captain's hangover more than anything else. He spares you an apologetic glance, but focuses on hoisting Shanks over his shoulder, heading off into the direction of the senior officers quarters. He'll probably go to bed.

And you decide that you should too. After such excitement today, all you feel like doing is resting, even though you thought that this night would be a late one that lacked the usual partying. The night is long, and sleep is ducking around corners fast enough to evade you until the sun rises— it's reminiscent of your very first night on the red force, unfamiliar with pirates other than the old timers who never quite made a name that would stop by your home town, you were suddenly thrust onto a pirates crew— one that shot faster towards the stars than anybody had even planned for, a hotshot like red haired shanks was the last person you expected to call captain.

That uncomfortably scorching sun from that first morning as a pirate seemed so distant, and yet it was here again, visiting like an old friend.

“Oh fuck. Was I really going to screw Beckman?” While your morning voice was unpleasant, the realization of your feelings was more shameful than anything else. The short hours of night you wasted being restless wasn't spent on thinking of your actions, rather you thought of how frustrating it was being unable to sleep. Using the time you should have spent working out your feelings, you did pretty much nothing. And you only started thinking once you spoke aloud.

A sharp knock sounds at your door, signaling that today your crew sets off again— meaning whoever it was is here to send you for supplies. Limejuice speaks this time.

“Wakey wakey! We got a long voyage ahead of us, so supply runs today! The boss says that…you and Beckman are getting the booze! Hop to it!”

Shanks was already up? And you were going with Beckman? Why him? Could they.. know? More paranoid than ever, you swing open your bedroom door with such ferocity you think the handle could have broken a hole in the wall, and Limejuice shrieks upon seeing you. Maybe you should have looked in the mirror first.

Do they know about your heated exchange with Beckman? How do they know?!

“Why Beckman?” You sound out of breath.

“Uh… Why not? You two get things done quicker together, plus you always like to bring back gifts since Beck pays for whatever you want. You okay?” Limejuice doesn't get an answer, other than your door clicking shut.

Unable to still your beating heart, you only manage to dress yourself as slowly as possible. Your shoes, your usual everyday outfit, and a lot of courage. You sure talked big, thinking back on it— you have barely any sexual experience and still manage to make all those sex jokes, on top of the playful flirts you throw at your closer companions. But just a few hours ago it was… different. You were crazy— driven mad by whatever it was that drew you to Beckman, the same thing that helped him bed more women than you know. First times are supposed to be vulnerable and loving, aren't they? Why can't you stop thinking about this?

In all honesty, you want to tell yourself to shut up but it wouldn't be very effective.

You feel an immense sense of dread, the walk to your bedroom door suddenly feels like a journey to the executioner's platform, and you're not sure you're able to kneel and look up at the sky before you get yourself killed. Obviously you won't really die, but the embarrassment makes you feel like it's pretty much imminent.

The back of Beckman's head makes its way into your line of vision. Now you can't go back, so you’ll just keep everything locked inside.

“Are you ready?” You reach out to poke his hip and grab his full attention, startling him a bit. When he turns around, a lit cigarette hangs from his mouth, looking a little more bent than usual, as if he might have crushed the pack of cigarettes.

“Sure am. Thanks for washing my cloak, by the way. You forgot to dry it, just letting you know.” Beckman flicks off the cigarette ash onto the deck, blinking a few times at you before giving a nod of his head, and turning back around, shifting on his feet.

“If you pick everything apart then maybe I shouldn't be doing nice things for you.”

“I didn't mean it like that, now...”

You only roll your eyes at him.

As you two head into town, the silence lingering between you two that would normally bring you comfort only makes you feel more uneasy. Each step you take makes your knees feel like they're about to give out at any moment. But you don't let that weakness overtake you, and instead march forward with renewed vigor— in order to keep from having an anxiety attack of some sort. The lack of conversation around your “moment” last night has you on edge.

The more you walk, the more you think, and the more you start to think of it… Every thought slips from your mind, and only your feet hitting the ground are left, you aren't aware of anything else. Until, you find yourself stumbling while Beckman reels you closer by your wrist, stopping you from walking straight into a nearby puddle. A kid running nearby finds himself not so lucky; excitedly stomping into it only for him to be buried waist deep inside the not-so-innocent puddle.

He screeches, and you stifle a laugh, and you intend to move on until the poor kid starts to hyperventilate, wriggling around as if he was stuck inside quicksand . You end up breaking from Beckman’s grip, reaching out to hoist him up, but it's rather difficult with his desperate thrashing about— and he ends up flinging mud onto your shirt.

Even though the poor boy has started sobbing hysterically, you help him escape his predicament. He cries a few moments longer until he realizes the pressure of the hole swallowing him no longer remains. A cheerful smile breaks out onto his face, the childish one that reminds you of how you used to be. It's sweet and adorable, until he runs into your legs, hugging them. As if splashing mud onto your shirt wasn't enough, this devil child is clearly hungry for chaos.

“Thank you! A princess saved me! But wait, does that mean I'm the princess? But you're pretty like one, so I guess you're the princess!”

He’s hopping up and down, shaking you and threatening your balance, all while soiling your clothes more and more with each hop. It isn't until a woman calls out a name— presumably a family member calling for him, that he releases you and runs off without another word. You feel betrayed. And muddy.

“Well. Guess we need you out of those clothes.” Beckman smirks, incredibly proud of himself. His words don't have the same comedic hit as they normally would, and you know this means something, but what? Still, you smile, stepping a bit further away from the mysterious puddle; or pothole?

“Take them off if you want. Nobody's stopping you.” You try your best to ensure that your response matches his energy despite how you feel, managing a cheerful tone. But instead of making you giggle, you feel like you want him to take your response seriously— though he has no reason to.

“Let's finish this up quick.” Beckman guides his hand towards your upper back, pushing you forward with him in the direction of various street vendors, all seeming to offer alcohol. When you pick up your feet and start walking on your own, his hand falls back to his side.

“Yeah. We’ll probably need double the amount for me.” Though you’re smiling, your words aren't usually as playful as they would normally be. You get the feeling that if your feelings don’t resolve themselves soon, you're gonna be competing with Shanks to see who drinks the most booze within the next few days.

“Why’s that? You in a bad mood?” Instead of chuckling and going along with it, Beckman picks up on something hidden in your words, perhaps the tone of your voice wavered slightly, or your eyes may have darkened. Ceasing all movement, and with him as a witness to you freezing up at his confrontation, he can easily guess that something is in fact, up. The two of you know that this won't be something he can just move on from, and while he awaits your response, you try to search for a way out.

Maybe you can run away…? That's out of the question, seeing Beckman run is horrifying. He would probably catch you before you can even break into a sprint. Is running a viable option here? Perhaps being intensely vague is the answer, maybe it would remind him to back off.

But he isn't exactly one to “back off”...

Maybe stay silent?

Beckman clears his throat, shifting on his feet slightly while he looks away, staring off into the crowd at the variety of people gathered about— and it all feels suddenly foreign. The realization hits him harder than any blow he's suffered throughout his entire pirate career when he can only think of a singular incident that could make you act this way towards him. He just knew it had to be him. When somebody else pissed you off, you always ran to him to complain, to which he would give them a stern talking-to.

Beckman had always been there for you, he would let you grumble about whoever took your leftovers, who used your body wash, and every other thing that seemed to come to mind; it was always him you ran to.

Instead of a prideful smile, a regretful look dawns on his face.

“Let's go in that alley real quick. For privacy.”

How wonderful— you can tell he's caught onto you. Even though you know this talk is gonna be painful, you reluctantly trail behind him, your heart stinging at the realization that he isn't holding onto you along the way. This is gonna be a serious talk. Beckman is scary when he's serious. When you walk, it feels like your legs are just dead weight again, there's anxiety making your heart rate spike, and the noisy and cheerful crowd makes you want to lash out. You, too, feel full of regret. Regretting being so vulnerable and giving him bits of the truth before you could figure it out on your own; regretting the fact that you let him draw you in so easily.

But when you stop just a few paces in front of him, standing before him like a showdown is bound to occur, the things you wanted to say in that hallway all still seem so true. Except, you aren't just thirsty for him— you want to be seen by him, and you want him to hear you.

But you wait for him to speak first, same as always.

“Listen. I know what’s got you all twisted up. Bet you know exactly what it is, so there ain't no use beating around the bush.” Beckman sucks in air through his teeth, glancing at you warily.

Taking a few careful steps towards you, he looks right into you again. Here it comes.

“Just let me know what you're thinking. Only good a man can do is listen when a woman speaks. Tell me what you feel.” His fingers twitch, unsure of what to do without a cigarette lit between them. Despite him being a little fidgety, he's doing his best to make sure you feel comfortable enough to share your thoughts aloud.

But you don't even know what to start with. And you try to convey it the best you can in your head, but your mouth ends up closing and opening like a broken automatic door mechanism without a single sound escaping. After some internal struggling and making yourself look like a fool, you manage to speak, and though it's only a single sentence, it changes the situation entirely. “What do you feel? About me, I mean. It feels like we're playing a game of poker; neither of us will win without a showdown.” The moment you rest your mouth, Beckman looks bewildered.

Because his expression is just so unnatural— you panic, clearly confused whether or not your words were extremely offensive to him, or if he was having an internal crisis. This wasn't the collected man you normally knew.

However; the wide eyes turn inexplicably soft, displaying fondness meant for behind closed doors. His mouth slightly agape morphs into a soft smile, one that shows calmness despite your very own panic.

“Don't do that. Y’know good and well I asked first, woman.” He crosses his arms over his chest, still donning a smile.

“Well, I asked second.” Suddenly, you feel a little playful, and your response mirrors that.

Beckman smirks at your retort, suppressing his laughter.

“I’m in love with you.” He chuckles, covering his face with his hand; his snickering turns into full blown laughter, and he has to bend over to even attempt and catch his breath. “Been lovin’ you since the first time you smiled at me. Those giggles that you gave me after I had to tell everybody off the very first day you joined us were like music to my ears. Listening to you talk is the highlight of my day, darlin’. I won't never let you forget it.” He's still laughing, and the pure joy in his voice leaves you flabbergasted.

“You dick— are you fucking with me?” You gasp, reaching out to grasp the hem of Beckman’s shirt. Anger, confusion, and joy well up inside of you— it's too much, so you grab at him as if you were going to drift away again. Gently, you shake him, and he lets you rock him back and forth, before he grasps your hands in his, stopping you. Your hands fit inside of his own easily. Suddenly, you're even more flustered.

“Say it. What do you feel about me? Y’can't dodge it now.” Beckman smirks, gently holding your hands. Shooting him a dazed look, your face feeling hot with embarrassment, you can only give an awkward laugh and look away. He frowns, swiftly fixing your gaze back onto him by guiding his hand towards your chin, making you face him. He's got his serious look again. The frown that shows he means business is quickly replaced by his usual lighthearted smirk, calming your nerves a bit. “Don't say anything dirty… yet.” Beckman adds, chuckling.

Despite your answer still being unclear, it's like the cloudy sky parted just enough for the light to shine down on him the second he confessed his feelings. It might be because he's older and therefore more mature; but he looks like he's going to be at peace whether you accept or reject his feelings.

Your eyes pan towards his lips.

“Watch it. I need words, not actions.” He scolds.

More nervous laughter. And as if it pains you to speak, your words are strained, and clearly telling of how embarrassed you feel. “I love you. You make me feel… things. A lot of them. Don't make me go into detail yet, I’m already feeling like a child being scolded in public. Even though we don't have a crowd watching.” You clear your throat, trembling beneath Beckman's touch, which still remains. He releases your chin, but you stare still into his eyes. Vessels of the soul, speaking to you in ways words and actions cannot, and they tell you the truth. Beckman is in love with you— and you love him too.

“Will you make me yours then, sweetheart? Whatever way you want, I’ll take it. Even if it's a slap across the face, I'm glad to accept.” He leans in to whisper it in your ear, and there's no doubt that he wants to be yours in the moment. But you're suddenly shaking with nerves after his breath fans across your neck, only for him to pull away barely a second after.

Now is time for your actions to speak, you suppose.

When you step up on the tips of your toes, Beckman lets out a huff of laughter, instead opting to hoist you up by your hips, bringing you just about eye level with him. As you wrap your legs around his waist, instinctively trying to not fall, he bounces you up a little, and for once you're able to look down at him. But his hand placement makes this romantic moment seem a little… heated. With his fingers spanning out across your ass, but his palms pressed flat against the back of your thighs, you feel like if you hesitate longer, he'll let go of you.

After a short pause, your arms wrap around his neck, and you lean back a bit, adjusting yourself the best you can in mid-air. Beckman keeps his eyes on you, all the way until you finally lean in closer for a taste.

And this new flavor is nothing like you’ve had before.

Not many have faced your lips, and not once has a kiss ever felt like this. It could be your feelings towards him, forming a grey mist and intoxicating your mind until nothing else comes close to satisfying you the way he does, or it might just be the fact that Beckman isn't ordinary, not at all. Locking your lips with his own isn't too special, it's clear that there's a gap between you two in terms of experience, but it should have been a normal kiss.

There's nothing to get drunk off of but him, nothing here to get you higher than his grip on you, and with each passing second you get more lightheaded.

It might just be the fact that you haven't pulled away from him yet. Facing him is like a fever dream, and kissing him crumbles your understanding of your reality as you know it. Were you ever meant to take him as yours? What would you have done if he belonged to another? Is such a thing possible? Feeling his touch on your body affirms you, but just not enough, with your eyes closed tightly it feels like the only thing before you is a lie. A kiss from him alone has made you question reality itself.

A sharp pain shoots through the back of your neck, and it feels like something's pulling at your hair from the root. The size of the hand grasping you suggests that it's Beckman, and you get confirmation when you yelp and your eyes shoot open. He's panting, another anomaly.

“Slow down, girl. You tryna take me out already?” Beckman scolds you, though his tone is firm, he's got a smile creeping up on his face. He quickly releases his hand from your hair and neck, but a dull ache lingers with another sensation. “Probably shoulda handled that better. Ended up grabbing you by the scruff like a feral cat, I shouldn't have.” Shadows of shame and guilt linger in his eyes, but his hold on you is still solid— it's just now that you realize he’d been holding you up with one hand for a while now. It's your turn to feel embarrassed, now.

“No complaints here. You should do that more often.” A playful laugh and your half-joke half-truth help you process the fact that you and Beckman are a thing now; it seems too good to be true, but the lingering taste of cigarettes in your mouth helps pull you back to earth. Now that you two have officially become a couple, and your internal conflict is resolved, you suddenly remember that you two were sent to retrieve booze. Beckman, on the other hand, doesn't seem too concerned with the alcohol, and is much more invested in you at the moment. That damned smile tells you that errands aren't his priority, and they've been forgotten since you showed him what you wanted.

“Want me to grab you by the hair again?” Suddenly, he whispers in your ear, still every bit playful but with an intent that certainly isn't just to make you giggle a little bit. It sounds like a serious request. A smile of your own dazzles your face. “Does the responsible Vice Captain truly think it's acceptable to ditch a booze run for a lady?” Despite your lighthearted teasing, you begin to coil yourself tighter around him, resting your cheek on top of his head with a satisfied smile.

Beckman thinks it better to remind you that he would, in fact, drop anything for you; he begins to do so by pressing soft, fluttering kisses against your jawline. It catches you completely off guard. Though as his lips persist in their gentle shower of love against your skin, you start to heat up, unable to resist the stimulation in such a sensitive area, but you relax the best you can, in spite of your arousal beginning to crescendo. Contrasting all the kisses, his tongue moves deftly to meet the soft skin on your neck, the whispered touch eliciting a squeeze from your thighs which couldn't possibly tighten themselves much more around his waist.

Depraved and perverted thoughts plague you deeply, whispering poison into your ears about the possibilities you could open up, but, preserving some morality— you refrain from doing so.

Not completely, anyways. Your elbows still find themselves resting on top of his shoulders, but your hands find themselves tugging gently at the ends of his slicked back hair, not trying to harm him, but using it as an anchor instead; a reminder to be mindful of your actions, as you are technically still in public. A stinging pain threatens your dignity, stemming straight from your scalp, which now has Beckman's large hand tugging at the roots of your hair once more. Faced with Beckman being so amative, a moan threatens the barely-there stillness in the alleyways air, but a quick and harsh bite to your lip maintains it, muffling your moan.

“Are you really—”

Before you can question if he wants to go all the way inside of an alleyway, he reminds you of the man he is with a soft nip to your neck, and a loosened grip on your hair, which then de-escalates to a tender massage to the area affected by his earlier stunt. “If I was anybody else, maybe. But I’m yours now. Lemme getcha down.” You feel yourself being slowly lowered to the ground, but you feel as if you’ll barely be able to stand once again, though the reason now differs from what hindered your will to stand earlier.

“I’ll toss you over my shoulder if I have to. But I got barrels to carry, too.” After shooting you a look, you nod and put yourself back together quick as can be.

You start to walk in front of him, but once again, you’re hindered by a grip on your wrist. It doesn't remain there for long, because it soon moves to engulf your own hand. Only then does Beckman start to walk.

“You're a romantic, aren't you?”

Beckman shakes his head at your triumphant smirk, but breaks his brief silence with a comment that makes you begin yours.

“You’re thirsty, aren't you?”

Despite you shooting him dirty looks the entire time, he isn't fazed, and instead focuses on hitting stalls that cater to universally favored kinds of booze, ordering egregious quantities of bottles and the occasional barrel, helping you by carrying the fragile glass and a barrel here and there in a shocking display of strength, which makes yours dull in comparison, though you're confident the average marine doesn't hold a candle— you're just surrounded by absolute monsters. After carrying around what feels to be a few Lucky Roux sized barrels, Beckman locates a wagon, placing the barrels onto the device and pulling it along with you two, finally reaching to grasp your hand in his once more…

But you're still carrying more than half of the glass bottles you've bought, and your hands are full. Seeing your struggle, Beckman smiles, but because of the pile of bottles obscuring your vision, you can't see him. Met with this safety hazard, Beckman frees one of his own hands with ease, guiding you with his hand on your lower back.

Walking with poise regardless of the amount of bottles you carry, and with a guiding hand, you make it to the ship without further incident. You hear the sound of the ramp being raised, then Shanks barking out orders, and finally, Beckman speaks up.

“Set 'em down in front of you.” A flicker of his lighter is heard despite the heavy footsteps and chatter around you two, and not long thereafter you bend over and breathe a sigh of relief, your arms feeling a little sore, but the feeling isn't all that bad. When your vision is no longer obscured, the first thing you see upon standing straight is Beckman, holding his hand up to shield the flame of his lighter from the wind, cigarette in his mouth and a warm glow illuminating his face. You’re on deck, and everybody is already falling into place with their own crates of loot, some looking like life has drained from their eyes, and others looking like they won the lottery.

“I’m more hungover than the morning after I joined…”

“I got a discount! That woman was giving me the eyes, I tell you!”

“Hah! You? The eyes? She probably just saw me walk past!”

“You wish!”

Beckman turns away from you to exhale the cigarette smoke he’d gathered in his lungs, the wind picking up and whipping against you two as the ship begins to glide across the surface of the ocean yet again. Though changes have occurred, you don't think tonight will hold any surprises.

Maybe Shanks will finally win against Yasopp in a game of cards without cheating, or everybody will keep their clothes on and finally stop playing strip poker, there could even be a new competition to emerge— but all of those things are incredibly unlikely, and you won't get your hopes up when it comes to things like that. Actually, you have a question that needs a bit of answering at the moment. With your newfound romantic relationship, you're a little lost on a few things, still. Would it be appropriate to announce it to everybody? Should you let them figure it out?

Beckman's opinion matters in this, certainly— you sort of just want him to help you figure it out.

“Beck?” You begin speaking softer than normally, turning to face Beckman, with the sunset slowly but steadily painting the sky a wondrous work of colors, Beckman's shadow begins to cast itself high over you. He taps ash from his cigarette, which the wind carries away from you, and gives you a questioning glance and a curious hum.

“How do we go about telling them about us? I mean, I’ve never been in a relationship like this before, and I don't feel comfortable keeping secrets from the guys…” Even though you're asking for his input, and will most likely go with whatever he says, you still think of all the outcomes each method could yield. There could be drama, disbelief, disapproval, maybe even disappointment… If you're with Beckman, does that mean the playful flirts and jokes with everybody disappear?

You can't tell if you're gonna miss that, or if it's disrespectful to do so. So many questions about your relationship remain, and it'd be awkward to interrogate him like an admiral.

“We don't. Won’t be no secrets, either. They've been joking ‘bout us being together for a while now, so we'll just see how long it takes ‘em to notice we're for real now. I got a bet to win regarding that.”

Just before you respond, he starts to walk away, but not before patting your ass gently in what you assume was reassuring— but may have been an action borne of his woman-loving and lustful nature. You can't even respond to his impulsive gesture— managing only a curious look that mirrored his from earlier.

“TIME FOR THE SETTING SAIL PARTY, EVERYONE!”

“Dying liver? Don't know ‘er!” Hongo laughs, sparking concern in only you, it seems. Guffaws and cackles overwhelm your senses yet again, and despite the usual calm not being there, you do your best to indulge yourself in the usual party life.

“Wait— don't go too crazy on the booze, we just got it!” Sparks of panic fly from your voice, but there isn't anything for it to ignite, because everyone else laughs and waves you off as if a lack of booze would ever befall onto them. Somehow it's like only you remember the great drought that nearly took everybody out right just a few years ago.

Hours pass, waves splash onto deck, yet the crew remains rowdy as ever, dancing so foolishly that the gods of rain are on the verge of causing a great flood to wipe every last one of you out. Limejuice pulls Hongo in for a dance, but he ends up sparking another argument between the two, Lucky marches straight into the battlefield with a plate of what looks like donuts, quickly diffusing the situation with the desserts by shoving them into their mouths, making them moan dramatically at the flavor, what looks like a cream filling flooding their mouth and seeping out through the corners. Rockstar breaks out into an uncontrollable laughter upon noticing the sight, throwing his cards up into the air; much to Yasopp’s dismay. Shanks also glances with a dangerously curious smile.

“What's so funny?” Limejuice hums, catching the attention of many. There's still some filling smeared on his lips.

“Oh, nothing… You sure got a mouthful of that cream, huh?”

“Huh? Yeah, guess so… Wait—”

Hongo starts to laugh, covering his mouth with his palm. He clenches his fist, massacring the poor donut in his hand, much to Lucky’s absolute horror. Limejuice starts to form a toothy grin.

“My babies! MY DONUTS!”

The events that conspired after Lucky fell to his knees in utter despair were definitely set to be in the history books of the red haired pirates. Laughs; groans; falling to the floor with laughter that worked their tear ducts to the point of crying; banshee screams coming from a stone-cold sober Lucky Roux; the cream filling smeared on Lucky’s shirt as he cradled the donut Hongo dropped during his fit of laughter as if it were his own child; Shanks’ own laughter was the straw that broke the camel's back, however.

Everybody was laughing, ridiculously shrill giggles and deep baritone laughs, even Gab’s kind face was twisted into a smile, which made your own smile pop out even if just for a second. The same laughter failed to arouse in you, but the sight was amusing. It was a little gross watching Limejuice accidentally spit his chewed-up donut on Hongo when he started to laugh with his entire stomach, but the tussle they had afterwards made you giggle, especially when Yasopp dove in between them like he was prepared to swim.

“IF YOU KEEP FIGHTING ME ILL STRIP NAKED! LIKE A TURTLE HIDING IN ITS SHELL, BUT IN REVERSE!” Limejuice shrieked, knocked to the floor by Yasopp’s dive, but Hongo scrambles to get back to him, pushing Yasopp out of the way, which results in him rolling around until he hits a wall.

Oddly enough, after you blink, Limejuice is in his skull printed boxer briefs, and for some reason, Hongo is shirtless. Shanks, upon seeing the commotion, also goes through the motions to strip himself of his clothing. From there on out, it's like a domino effect, shirts and pants pile up, and some even strip their underwear— Gab sits on the quarterdeck, sharp teeth showcasing a nervous grin as he removes his shirt as well, and Building Snake tosses his clothes down from the crows nest, still intensely scanning the horizon for any disturbances or disturbances to be.

It's still baffling how quickly these men get up to ridiculous antics whenever they're bored, and it's even more baffling watching Shanks run up the stairs to where Beckman stands by the palm trees, previously hidden from you, and yells at him to pull his shirt off, too. As if you weren't having a hard time handling a bunch of half-naked and fully bare men, Beckman obliges and pulls off his shirt, too.

The lights on the red force barely provide enough illumination for you to see, but you think that Beckman is laughing. Much to your dismay; Shanks runs towards you next.

“Hehe… You know what I'm here for.” He waggles his fingers in front of you like an old pervert, making you freeze.

“Absolutely not.”

“You're a damned hypocrite, lady! So you can ask me to strip, but when I ask you to, I’m met with rejection! Terror!” His bottom lip quivers, and his drunken attitude is enough to distract you from his naked body.

“A good man listens to a woman.” Parroting Beckman's earlier words, you cross your arms over your chest, turning on your heel so Shanks is only faced with your back. A few who noticed your exchange boo loudly, making you roll your eyes.

“Blah, blah, blah… You're starting to sound just like the old guy! Maybe the wedding is going to be soon. Or maybe it's because he's pregnant. Hm…”

“You deal with that. I’m turning in.” Gently patting Shanks bare shoulder, you walk in the direction of your quarters, not stopping for anybody. He doesn't bother you much more, but you know for a fact when he wakes up remembering the way he treated you, he'll freak out and apologize to you on hand and knees. You've never minded when they tried to include you in their stripping antics, after all, what's a little nudity to pirates? They're half naked all the time, anyways, so it probably makes sense that they want you to feel included.

Heavy footsteps trail behind you as you reach your bedroom door. There's an odd sense of déjà vu shooting throughout your fingertips.

“Beckman?” Calling out to the man behind you, there's a nervous feeling in your bones. His cologne mixed with the usual scent of cigarettes float towards you, but it's not there to torture you, instead, it feels like that's just a preview of what's to come, though you still can't process exactly what that means. Turning around to face him gives you whiplash, as he's still shirtless, all muscular and looking extra dangerous now that he's all yours.

“I want to tell you something. Won’t do me good keeping secrets from my woman.” He throws his cigarette to the ground, disregarding the already poor state of the planks, and stubs the already dying flame out. His boots hit heavy against the ground as he walks closer to you, making you freeze in place. He isn't scaring you, or intimidating you in any way, shape, or form, but he's definitely making your heart race. Your fingers are twitching and cracking for some action, inner thighs tingling upon the remembrance of how he held you by them back then, and your pulse thunders especially loud in your neck.

“You’re still in your muddy clothes from earlier. Couldn't love you any less, though.” Your face falls immediately.

“Seriously?” Scoffing, you turn and swing open your bedroom door, stepping inside to the familiarity of your plain room. No use in decoration when the rocking ship just throws your belongings around everywhere like they owe money. Your hand reaches to shut your door, eyebrow twitching in annoyance, but a large hand slams against it, stopping you from closing it. Beckman's holding your door open.

“Hold on now— I was just jokin’. Sorry.” He pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand, eyes closed with his face donning yet another smile, and he's clearly struggling to not laugh at you. “Don't be a stranger. You know I want you.” Beckman snickers, staring down at you again.

“Do I, now? I think you need to refresh my memory.” Like you were doing so before last night, you keep testing his limits. Though you made him break them the first time you kissed him.

“Sure can do, darlin’.”

Unable to contain the feeling of pure excitement rushing over you, a smile borne of absolute and pure joy etches a beautiful expression onto your face, and you can only turn away as to not reveal yourself. Beckman is still smiling, too, but he isn't half as secretive as you, all toothy smiles and glossed over looks shooting at the back of your head. While you refuse to face him, a dance of fire and need begin in the pit of your stomach, making your stomach participate in all sorts of acrobatic acts. Only when his hand guides your gaze back to him do you start to giggle. It's a little embarrassing , but the laughter is borne of nerves, so you hope he doesn't pay much mind to it.

After all, Beckman is one of the only people who knows you well enough to guess when things have gone awry, and he certainly wasn't the last person that could guess you weren't very experienced with men in this way. As a connoisseur of women, he began to catch onto such things, and though it was never explicitly stated, he knew various things about you. Regardless of all the women, he's fueled by a raging determination. Beckman is a disciplined man when it comes to varied circumstances, and he would not abandon his own principals in a time like this.

Disregarding the fact that he nearly drove himself wild trying to get into your pants the previous night, having to distance himself from you so that he wouldn't do something he assumed you would regret— and now blessed with the understanding that it wasn't just for a single “meaningless” night that you gave him such a concupiscent look, but rather, for a way to vent your feelings buried deep down. Fully realized, the intimacy between you two is entirely apparent.

“Look at me.” Beckman all but orders you, wrapping his arms around you, the warmth of his chest and stomach pressing into your back, making you shudder at the sensation of his bare skin barely shielded by the thin fabric of your blouse.

“Will you let me take it off?” He’s bent his knees just enough for his cheek to press against yours, a hand moving from around your midriff, sneaking up towards your jaw to turn your head towards him. On the other hand, his fingers dance across your stomach, drawing out more giggles from you, but it helps you process that he wants to take off your shirt. In an effort to help him, your own hands reach towards the hem, making Beckman stand back to give you space whilst you remove the soiled garment. When it's up and over, he creeps back up behind you, hands grasping your hips abruptly enough to make you cry out, but you calm down when they start to massage small circles into you with their palms.

Warm, slightly calloused, and significantly large hands grasp your skin, and just when you think you know what's happening, he's pressed against you again and offering something more exciting than before. There's something else prodding at your back this time, and the size of it alone tells you all you need to know, your body tenses involuntarily, flipping through pages of memories without call, to when the rain soaked through his clothes entirely. Realization hits you like a train—will you fit that ridiculously sized thing inside? Can you handle something like that?

Watchful as ever, lips press themselves against your now bare shoulder, a sneaky finger slipping beneath the strap of your bra. Under your breath, you whisper a shaky prayer to none in particular, followed by your hand reaching out to grip a finger straying from your hip, planning to dip beneath the waistband of your pants. Breathing shakily, you squeeze your eyes shut, preparing yourself for what's to come. It's not the sexual nature of this encounter that's frightening you, but it's the realization that you’d be giving yourself to him in an entirely new way, something you've just barely discovered. But you're sure he always belonged to you, as you did to him.

“I’m gonna carry you for a second.”

When it comes down to who has better reaction time, anybody would win over you. Because of this, you end up having a small heart attack when he lifts you into the air, only to gently lay you down on your bed before you can even reach out to grab him for security. Your bed must have reminded your lover of something sour, because he narrows his eyes more than usual, staring down at it with disdain as you are sprawled out on top of it. His stomach rises and falls with a deep sigh, the sight pleases you, but you don't think to question why he's sighing.

“Shoulda thought this through. Back up you go. More room on my bed, unless you want it on the floor.” Mumbling to himself, Beckman seems a little annoyed.

Beckman disregards the half-naked state you found yourself in, and reaches down to grasp your hand inside of his, hoisting you up and tossing you over his shoulder as if you were a simple barrel of rum. Terror shoots through you when he ducks beneath the door frame, and walks out into the hallway. Frantically searching the hallways yields no results, much to your relief, and everybody seems to still be out on deck, according to the loud noise.

“Aw man! Hey, where's Beck at?”

The chatter outside on deck makes Beckman perk up, and he speed walks towards his bedroom with a serious determination— but not without ensuring he not so sneakily gropes your ass, hand dwarfing it almost entirely. Feeling up your ass wasn't everything he got a hold of, his fingertips might have gone a little too close to the sun, which is, of course, your clothed heat. Now you're even more impatient. Eyes closed tight as if you were silently wishing on a shooting star, you don't even notice when you all but bounce on top of a bed, which is Beckman’s.

Opening your eyes wide in surprise after you nearly scream in shock, you can see a smoky grey wallpaper, a beautiful carved armoire, and the exceptionally large bed, that you assume was made for three, which you now lay on. Of course a womanizer has a bed made for three. He's big, but not that big, he could have sized down. Suddenly, you feel mischievous.

“A huge womanizer with a huge bed. What a surprise.” Snickering, you prop yourself up on your elbows, legs spreading out onto the soft cotton sheets as you look up at Beckman. Muscles flex as he turns back to shut the door, ensuring the nefarious amount of locks built into it are secured, you can only make the assumption that it must be to avoid being walked in on by Shanks. There have been a surprising amount of stories where your captain would sleep walk and end up in bed with another crewmate, more specifically Beckman, who had relayed the ridiculous stories to you after a few shots of whiskey, neat.

“Pretty girl with a bratty mouth. And she's got quite the body on ‘er, good enough to eat.”

Beckman looks back at you with a devious glint in his eyes. The good kind. Managing only an eye roll, you don't pay much mind to Beckman's words; at least, you pretend not to. Good enough to eat, he says… It reminds you of that rain-soaked night, the joke made in poor fashion, and you wonder if even then he knew he wasn't joking. “You’re a nasty man. Filthy, even.” Feigning annoyance, you place the back of your hand to your forehead, imitating a dramatic swoon, and shut your eyes. They spring back open once the mattress dips on either side of your thighs, and you’re meeting Beckman’s gaze again only to find that he's pressing kisses to your neck again, forcing your eyes to flutter closed.

Despite him practically caging you in with his body, it provides only comfort, his body heat flashes against your stomach in the same way the wave of warmth shoots between your legs, and it makes a soft moan escape you again. Beckman enjoys the small sound, licking softly at your throat, before pulling away long enough to nip at your earlobe, spending the rest of his time kissing alongside your jaw, suckling softly on your throat and collarbones, but never long enough to form hickeys. He was always the first one to comment on how childish it was for the younger men to have hickeys on their collarbones and necks exposed, scolding Shanks especially.

Benn Beckman’s experience shows in many ways, this isn't even half of it— it's not a quarter of what he could do to you, you're sure. He knows you, inside and out, all the complaints you threw at him, the bickering that suddenly wasn't funny when he teased you about a certain thing, it's all the tools he needs to dig your grave. But you might come undone before his belt does. Is this a normal thing? All you can think of is what comes next, and it's exciting, truly, but the moment presented to you has you shaking. Beckman leans in towards your lips, and your eyes squeeze shut. They don't meet. You chase his lips without a second thought, and he indulges you, satisfied with your chase.

Before you can deepen the kiss, you find that Beckman is already pulling away, shuffling backwards on his bed until his head is just above your thighs. This mattress is a ridiculous size. Fraternizing with your fellow crew isn't really allowed, says the pirate world. But when Shanks brought you back and Beckman showed his face, he should have known this would happen. Especially when you know Shanks was already expecting this.

“Want me to make you feel good?” Two of his fingers are already reaching down to trace your hip, jumping over the belt loops on your pants to reach your zipper. He pauses for just a moment, but he already knows your answer. Yes, you nod, but he stalls. You can read his mind at this point in time, but he still says it.

“You can do better than that.” It's clear and soft spoken, a quiet urging that seemed dull the first time you heard it, when you were sitting at a bar many islands ago, nursing a drink to commemorate your initiation. Beckman came up to you, commented on your drink choice, and spoke those exact words. You thought he was prick. He is, sometimes.

“I want you to make me feel good.” Your voice isn't nearly as soft as his, which would usually be the opposite.

He unbuttons your pants with a singular hand, like he deals with these things everyday— you know he does, or, well, he did. Soon enough, your zipper is unzipped, and your pants are being pulled down to your ankles, before Beckman tosses them onto the floor or a corner, you think. Your eyes remain laser focused onto him and his hands, the notion of him undressing you is more erotic and sacred than you'd ever remembered it when it came from someone else, something that would only earn a nervous smile has your heart skipping more beats than what's healthy. Maybe you need to see Hongo.

Slower than anything else thus far, Beckman's fingers run along your panties, gently teasing your clit through the fabric, surely leaving a mess in the thin veil left between your secrets and his drooling mouth making way for hot whispers. The fabric laps up what melts from your core, but your want proves to be too much for the soft cotton.

Beckman fails to hide his pleased smile.

One of his hands trails down his own body, and you can hear the soft clinking of his belt buckle being undone. The sound makes you jolt, pressing yourself into the fingertips which tease your clit. Beckman’s leather belt hits the floor as soon as your thighs tense up. So soon? Desire has been driving you crazy, and surely it has been doing the same to him, if you're every bit desirable as he says…

You continue to eye up the man below you, his breathing that remains out of sync with yours is a tantalizing glimpse into a future you wish could catch up sooner than later, and with that you manage to calm yourself. Only you know your body best, but Beckman is shaping up to be in competition with you. More successful with women than his own captain, if one person knows romance and sex, it's always going to be him.

“Not yet.” He reassures you as if reminding you not to shoot too early, all he's missing is the hand held up in the air, but it's resting between your legs, tugging at the trim of your panties to pull them aside and bare your body to him. As the air hits your cunt, there your body lay, nearly every inch throbbing with need, the rest of it is dusted with admiration, the kind you feel in your bones every time another touch lands itself between your legs. In an effort to relax, you take a few deep breaths. Beckman, perhaps wanting to spike your heart rate again, or maybe just impatient, stops your efforts when he tosses your legs over his shoulders, and hoists your hips up with his forearm just enough for your clit to meet his mouth.

All that sounds throughout the room is your quiet breath. The touch is earth shattering in its own way, but a kiss to your clitoris isn't all he has in store for you, you're sure.

“Tap me three times whenever you want me to stop.”

He peeks at you from between your thighs, giving way to another smile from you. Normally stood big and tall, you hadn't thought of how he would look on his knees, until he decided to show off to you tonight.

“Got it.”

He adjusts himself again, and presses a warm kiss right where you split open, his tongue wiggles out to lick at your opening, the sloppy kisses are like the ones he pressed to your neck, in the sense that they're making you feel so good, but they simultaneously remain detached from him just simply kissing you the way he would any other way. When his lips meet your own, it's a testament of passion, as his tongue touches your neck it's a tease he loves to drag on, but when his lips and tongue touch you right where you've been needing it, nothing compares. Beckman would agree, too.

Your first time together, and the tart taste you leave on his lips is a flavor he knows he won't find anywhere else, a drinking source he would go to day after day, night after night, each and every evening, he would drop to his knees before you, not caring how sore they’d gotten, nor what other things he may have had in store that day.

This delicacy was something irreplaceable, an alluring gem lost at sea. He’d found it, after fifty years of his life waiting from the first breath he'd taken. It draws him in deeper, his tongue moves deeper inside of you, coaxing out more fluid; you're wet enough that he can't differentiate his own drool from your arousal. Your unclothed heat continues to wash out anything else he'd tasted earlier that day, which was mainly just the tobacco from his cigarettes.

In the warm lighting of his bedroom, the glistening liquid dripping between your legs patters against the sheets like the rain leaking on stormy days. Beckman’s tongue finds its way to the leak, plugging it right at the source with a practiced movement, honed over the years. His arms wrap around your thighs, squishing them and pulling you in close like a snare trap, until your lower body is hoisted up high by him. He’d shifted into his knees, and was still crouching, yet you felt the blood rushing towards your head slowly.

And still remains the gushing between your legs. This night is starting to feel like one that won't end, it shouldn't. What with Beckman’s skilled tongue massage, there’ll be tears to shed when he lets up lapping at your hot pussy.

A foggy feeling creeps inside of you. Biceps grip your thighs tighter, and your heels bang against hardened shoulder blades, instead of your murmured apology, a whimper comes out. The feeling becomes clear, and quicker than you'd ever had it. Beckman can surely feel your walls twitching, hear the breaths you’re sure are soft moans, and feel the way you jerk against his face, but tense up as if shocked by yourself.

With a smack of his lips to your clit, and a push of his tongue inside of you, only for him to pull it out and flatten it against the wetness of your cunt and firm clit, the man holding you by your thighs has you on the edge of greatness. But instead of your weak grasping at it with a floppy wrist, your eyes go wide before they squeeze shut, your legs jerk and your heels dig in an effort to scramble closer and closer, every thread of you is splashed with seawater, and not for the first time nor the last, your body bursts with life.

Something satisfying flourishes, in swirls of heated sparks from the wildfire inside, at this moment your skin feels to be glittering in artificial lighting through every crevice. The fire blazes still. Your joints stiffen, and your eyes creak open, gazing in awe at the way the fire spreads throughout even the tallest trees. In a beautiful, dangerous display, Beckman’s eyes are closed too while he bathes in the heat coming down on him. You peer at the man, beginning to feel that a fire is bound to happen within him soon.

As silent as possible, you're lowered back onto soft cotton sheets that smell like the hands that linger on your skin. Some parts are cool, others warm from your thrashing. Even the smallest twitches of your fingers and toes make you jerk harsher, but Beckman patiently waits, pants unzipped and belt long gone, he splays his heated hand across your stomach and rubs gently; everything melts away quicker. Still blinking away your bliss, you are finally able to take in the scene fully again, and find yourself paying the most attention to Beckman’s wet lips and moist chin. The lighting on his skin still finds a way to further arouse you, and your eyes go back to wandering as if you'd just entered his room for the first time again.

While you lay back and catch your breath, you find yourself closing your eyes, as if you were tired. It's not over yet, you know. After a moment or two, your eyes snap open, unable to ignore the feeling of Beckman shifting to loom over you. You look down at your legs, verifying that his pants are still there— he notices your worried expression, and barks out a laugh. “Scared? I’ll take good care of you.” As he speaks, he leans back down to your neck, kissing gently, slowly trailing his lips across your jaw until they press against your cheek, licking at the corner of your mouth until he finds himself pressed against your lips. Your eyes close again, and your hands find their way to Beckman’s back. It's still shocking to you that you can barely wrap your arms around him, and despite your efforts, your hands can't map out all of his back. Instead, they dance towards the back of his neck, pulling him in closer just as he attempts to pull away.

He grins into you, and presses his body into yours, but not before gently parting your thighs, trailing his index finger along your labia. Not once in your life have you recovered from an orgasm so quickly, ready for another. If it's him, you've decided that you’ll be greedy.

You breathe into him, and he inhales all of you. His middle finger dips between your labia, gathering the arousal falling from your slit and begins to press against your hole again, just to see if you could take it. The need inside of you catches you both by surprise by sucking in Beckman’s finger with a shocking urgency, as if he could let go of you at any moment— you pull away from the kiss, struggling to catch your breath. His finger reaches deeper than his tongue did, and Beckman swirls it inside of you, helping with easing your walls up enough so he could slip a second finger in.

His ring finger slides in right next to his middle one, the two digits cozied up next to each other as if they were one, they explore the inside of you, mapping out what spots to hit later on. A strangled noise crossed between a gasp and moan slips from you when you feel one of Beckman’s thumbs brush against your clit, while his fingers reach a spot deep enough for your whole body to go limp. All thoughts escape you, and the fingers inside of your warm pussy don't falter in their movements now that they seem to know just where to press. In a singular flick of his wrist, the man on top of you makes your own wrists crash weakly onto the bed, laying by your side.

Facing such sexual expertise, your body shivers. It doesn't feel real, how quickly he made you cum; with him beginning to finger you now, you worry that when his pants drop, you won't last even a minute. Even with all your worries, you remain impatient and anxious all the same, craving to the point there's vicious pangs shooting through your clit, and worrying to the point your thighs don't just shake from pleasure. Just for now, you're hoping so intensely that you can handle it.

Loving kisses like these remind you of heavy rain, bringing a warm air yet soothing touch. Your heart pounds rapidly, your body remains still, and whimpers ease their way past your lips when Beckman finds a steady rhythm to attend to. His fingers help your mind ease up, and as his movements continue their rhythmic thrusting in and out of your vagina, something inside of you tells you to open your eyes again, even if for less than a second. But you close them tighter. Beckman notices, assuming you're uncomfortable— his free hand slides towards your face.

“You alright?” His words are murmured against your skin, and he presses a tender kiss to your forehead, he waits for a response without another movement. It's a gesture that gives you confusing feelings.

“I’m good. I didn't mean to worry you.” Every vein in your body bulges. With gritted teeth, you avoid sounding whiny, but end up sounding out of breath in the process. Beckman blinks at you, and your eyes open again, to reassure him further. He hums, reaching his hand towards your cunt again, but the building suspense inside of you had dissipated quickly in your panic to get Beckman reassured. A quiet groan of frustration leaves you before you correct yourself. He stifles a laugh, and shakes his head.

“Just got worried about ya… Didn't mean to rile you up like that. How can I make it up to you?” Beckman smiles, his eyes fixate on your own. He retracts his hand from between your thighs, and raises it up to his mouth, and just as you think he might be wiping them off, his fingers find his mouth. His tongue licks between the webbing of his fingers, it's a tantalizing sight that makes your body heat up as if you didn't have his face between your legs just a moment ago. While he teases you with soft licks to his own hand lapping up all the arousal remaining on it, your eyes remain on him, unblinking. He's the first to break eye contact, and he does so by looking down at his thighs. When his hand falls, you follow his eyes, and meet them at the waistband of the black boxers, the bulge in them is intimidating enough to make your eyes scramble to look at anything else… But they simply can not. Is it really going to be as big as you saw? What if… What if it’s bigger?

You want him to just take everything off for you to see. Beneath your bra, it feels too suffocating all of the sudden, and you lift yourself off the mattress with weak wrists to undo the clasp in the back— you should have expected then, that Beckman would have wanted to do it himself. The heat is becoming unbearable.

“Gotcha.” With a sudden and surprising force, Beckman yanks you towards him, lifting you with ease as soon as he shifts his own body to sit upright, with his back against his headboard and your thighs over his own. A yelp almost escapes, but he holds the palm of his hand to your mouth, pressing his index finger to his own to shush you. On top of his lap now, you can definitely feel the bulge in his pants. The girth, and the length, both entirely foreign to you, because, well, you've never had sex with any men, much less Beckman. It's a life-changing experience, an event that allows you to see the world in entirely new colors; that was something Beckman joked about whenever asked about his sexual proclivities. It probably has much truth to it.

Some lewd fluids of yours soak through the fabric of Beckman’s boxers— just like that rain soaked night before, everything is visible, and this time you're not just staying and staring, you're feeling it. Beckman has a monstrously sized dick in his pants— maybe you knew that, with a man his size, and especially one with his confidence, that he would have something to back up his bravado and brags. But it's just downright unfair for a man to be so romantic, loving, funny, sexy, and still be packing what must be at the very least 15 centimeters. From what your inner thighs and clit can feel, it's got to be heavy, too. Something that thick shouldn't be attached to a man already so perfect.

“Fuck, that's… Is that gonna fit?” That last part was whispered, but Beckman had definitely heard it despite your efforts to cover it with your nervous laughter. He smirks. It embarrasses you, tenses your thighs and makes you press them together— but you grind against his hard-on instead. You wish something that sexy was planned, so that you could offer something that wasn't just a whine, something to make his brain explode the way yours is. Beckman can tell by the look on your face. You want it, and he wants to serve you in every possible way he can.

“Depends. How bad do you want it to fit?” A chill runs down your spine, Beckman’s fingertips alone could destroy civilizations— this touch was meant to be, right here and right now you aren’t sure you would have wanted to do anything else, you can’t tell right now, but with each soft stroke against your back, he might feel the same. In your lovey daze, you feel his fingers unclasp your bra in a singular motion, and the article of clothing slides down your shoulders for just a moment before Beckman throws it down to the floor, making sure to caress your arms as it slides off, but his gaze avoids your eyes.

It reminds you of the few rare moments you’d see him get “shy”, if somebody like him could feel such an emotion. Before, he had avoided looking at you too long, and right now he just can’t stop staring. His eyes are more intense than ever.

There’s a wild look in his eyes you solemnly see, it would be a blatant lie to state that it wasn’t hungry, his gaze is powerful and strong, and every feeling of his he wouldn’t say outright are swirling around in them. This look is thirsty, lustful, and still it feels so intimate and loving, and when you stare back at him you wonder if you’re giving him a look worthy enough, but you aren’t worried about much else. When his eyes rake over you, his hands do the same, they start at your thighs and trail upwards, but Beckman decides he needs a better look at you— grabs you by your thighs and lifts you from on top of his groin, albeit reluctantly.

Arousal sticks to your outer labia, and it’s clear there was more, but Beckman’s clothing has soaked most of it up. Before you can shake beneath his daring eyes, you tilt your pelvis towards him, offering a better view of your twitching sex, your eyes remaining cast onto your lover’s body while you feel your clit throb.

Soon enough, after getting another good look at you, Beckman sits you down onto the bed again, earning narrowed eyes from you; they turn wide when you see him tug his pants down. A sharp gasp escapes you, and you watch in real time as he removes his pants first— and then moves to tug at the waistband of his boxers. With bated breath, you remain focused only on his bulge, and this time you can’t blame it on anything other than your own lustful feelings. More than him, perhaps, you find yourself checking him out.

While you wait for him to shed the final layer of clothing, sitting patiently and quietly, save for your heavy breathing— he doesn’t make any further moves, and instead reaches a hand out to your face, pulls you in close to him, but doesn’t even glance down at his thighs. When you shuffle close enough for him, he hoists your bare pussy onto his exposed thigh, which you’d unfortunately failed to pay attention to during your previous fixation on his dick. Well, it’s not like Beckman won’t be getting undressed in front of you ever again. If you had it your way, he would be naked most of the time, his body is too much of a treat to be only for special occasions.

It takes a moment for you to adjust, but you do, wrapping your thighs around one of Beckman’s own proves to be difficult, considering the sheer width of them, and the battle you’re fighting to not drag your pussy along it, but you prevail. This time. Beckman's hand reaches for your face again, and pulls you close to him as if preparing for a kiss, but his warm breath hits your ear instead. “Will you do the honors for me, pretty?” He caresses your jawline, trailing his thumb over your throat and moving down towards your sternum, before he gently cups one of your breasts. He easily fits it into his hand, the same he likely would no matter the size.

Before you get caught up in his tender touches, it takes some effort to shake your eyes open and peek down at his lap. “I will.” With a shaky hand, you reach out to grasp Beckman’s waistband, squirming against his palm and fingers wrapped around your breast, surely he could feel your beating heart easily this way. Being so close to actually getting a glimpse of him in this way is thrilling, the excitement makes you shake, and it's in more than just one way. You dip two fingers beneath the elastic band, staring intensely at Beckman’s stomach and lap, you’re still unsure of what other ways he could rock your body once you pull his boxers down.

You move your other hand to the band, and slightly tug down the fabric. The suspension makes your pussy even wetter, and you shift your thighs nervously, still resting on Beckman’s own thigh— you hear a few lewd noises when you move, but ignore them in favor of uncovering the object of your attraction. When you tug his boxers down one more time, just another pull away from paradise, you shift closer yet again, to where your stomach is almost against Beckman's, one lurch forward from being pressed against him.

His hands make their way to rest on your hips, palms pressed to the bone and sprawling his fingers on your stomach, almost reaching to your breasts, despite the anticipation of it all, he doesn't seem panicked, and remains with his usual demeanor, continuing his soft massage on your hips.

Even though you’re taking quite some time just to get his dick out, he doesn’t seem too upset, instead, he presses his hands deeper into your skin, effectively soothing you without another utterance from his lips, but he’s sure you wouldn’t have minded. One final thought sparks in your mind, just before you finally tug them down, you wonder; can I take it? Looking back up at Beckman, he doesn’t tell, only spares you a look, and that one look was all you needed.

Finally, you tug the fabric down, uncovering him entirely. Almost immediately, his cock springs out from his boxers, his hands don’t falter at all during your hip massage, and continue moving as if he didn’t have you staring in shock at what he’s got between his legs right now. It slaps against your stomach as you tug the fabric down as much as you can, earning an involuntary moan from you, one you’d wished you had been able to muffle, considering the volume. Warmth creeps against you, beginning at your stomach, trailing down your legs to where you remain rested on top of Beckman’s thigh— you can feel yourself throbbing at the sensation, and you think your heart may have stopped, or it’s simply beating too fast, because it’s apparent to you just how impressive the man you can call yours really is.

He’s not circumcised, you haven’t seen many dicks, but Beckman must be the biggest; when it comes to the girth, that is— that would have been eye-catching by itself already, if he didn’t have so much length for you to stare at. From what you can tell just by eyeballing, his dick must be 25 centimeters, which is already terrifying to stare at. He hasn’t shaved, but it isn’t messy down there like you’d expect from a man, he’s trimmed himself nicely, but he’s still got a bit of a bush, which you enjoy. What you don’t enjoy is how you’re thinking of ways he could cram that thing inside of your vagina, but fail to come up with any logical explanation on how that monster could fit even the tip inside of you.

Speaking of the tip, he’s leaking pre-cum, a pearly white color, just like the ones on his earrings, but it’s a bit transparent. A weight removes itself from your hip, then you hear a drawer opening, you don’t blink, instead, your hands release the elastic of his boxers, before falling onto your thighs.

While Beckman rummages in his bedside drawer, your body shakes with disbelief, and before you can stop yourself, a shaky hand is reaching for the base of his penis, gripping it softly in a somewhat awkward manner. He doesn’t even flinch at the touch, merely offering a soft glance that you can’t even see before he settles back down, now with a condom in hand.

Your hand can just barely fit around him, that transfixes you even more. Retracting your palm, your pointer finger drags along the length, tracing from his frenulum to the head of his dick— you gather the leaking pre-cum on the pad of your finger, and shudder at the sensation. Not quite cum, but it means you're close, right? Er, maybe not get ahead of yourself…

“I wonder what’s gettin’ you so worked up and wet… See anything you like?” Beckman teases you, making you jolt as if you were caught doing something that you weren’t supposed to, pulling your hand away, and to that reaction; he chuckles. “It’ll fit, even if it’s just the tip. I promised to take care of you, didn’t I?” For a while now, he’s been able to tell just what you’re thinking of, what might worry you, all from a quick look into your eyes; despite his rhetorical question, his words carry a sincere air, one you trust more than anything.

Once again, one of his hands reaches for your cunt, and it’s this notion that pulls you fully from your daze, making you lift your hips just enough for two of his digits to slide between your labia, gathering the slick gathered, rubbing your needy pussy for just a moment, before he pulls away, making you huff out a breath you had held in— you’re tempted to drag his wrist back, but he’s probably checking if you’re ready. You feel shaky when he grabs his own cock, pulling it away from where it comfortably laid against your stomach to slip on a condom he’d quickly unwrapped; you watch him roll the latex on, he does it easily, and you almost lose yourself watching him.

Beckman taps your hip to catch your attention, letting go of his cock to grasp your sides. When his length slaps your stomach again, that’s when your head snaps back to him; he leans in close to your face, pecking your lips as you blink, and pulls away to speak once more.

“It’s your first time; do you think you wanna get on top, or have me on top of you?” He hums, drawing shapes on your skin with his thumbs

“Uh, I don’t— I don’t know, really.” You admit, feeling a sudden frustration at your indecisiveness.

He tilts his head to the side slightly, barely enough to notice.

“I can help with that.” Beckman declares, sliding his fingers down your midriff, to your hips, stilling for just a moment.

“Do you like being held like…”

“This?” His hands grip your ass firmly, making your breath go away, his fingers span across your thighs, rubbing your skin a bit more, the touch sending shivers down your spine.

“Or…” Faster than you can process, he grasps your waist firmly.

“Is this better?” Once again, he flips you over, and you bounce against the mattress, you’re starting to think Beckman is really liking manhandling you, especially when the smile on his face grows whenever he picks you up or slings you around. Because you somewhat expected it, you aren’t all that surprised by him pinning you down this time, but you are certainly thrilled by it. One thing you’d especially liked about him pinning you down, was the fact that his dick was resting against your pubic mound, just close enough to your clit, but not exactly there yet, he could have seen it on your face, but he awaited verbal confirmation.

“I want you on top.”

He smiles at that, and leans in close to you. But the look in his eyes is different, you recognize the look— but you can’t do anything about it. One more time, hopefully the last, he hoists you up, and moves your head to lay on the various pillows laid about his bed, they smell like his cologne more than he does at this point in time, all you can smell from his skin is sex and sweat. Beckman shifts his body, leaning over you in a sort of plank position for a moment, before he shifts to a better position, he holds himself up with his forearm, and his other arm is occupied reaching into his nightstand drawer, you start to wonder what else he might be rummaging around for.

“Lube. We’ll need lots’a it, even though you’re soaking my damn sheets… Best if we get you nice and lubricated, so it’ll slide in real easy.” Beckman reads you once again, and you can only offer a shy look to the corner of the room.

“Embarrassed? Cute, but it’s good you're wet. The more you relax, the better it ends up feeling.” He looks back at you, brandishing a clear container filled with a gel-like substance; you don’t have lots of experience with lube and the like, but the guys have dragged you into sex stores to browse the wares, and you've been handed a pamphlet. You definitely don’t have half the experience Beckman has, but you aren’t completely clueless when it comes to sex. “I’m not clueless, you dick.” Managing a raised brow, you reach up and gently slap the side of his face with your hand, making him chuckle.

“Yeah? Watch out then.” After being given such a short notice, you don’t have enough time to react to him squeezing lube out of the bottle onto his fingers, even less when the cold gel meets your warmth, earning a yelp from you, before you hit Beckman in his ribs with your foot in retaliation. “Fuck you—” When his fingers slip into you, the tension in your shoulders lessens, and the rest of your body loosens up at the stimulation, despite your annoyance with him smearing cold lube onto your pussy, his skills make you forgive him, and they make you breathe a shaky moan just as easy.

The lube melts as it comes into contact with your warm skin, dripping down towards your ass from your pussy, it’s a lot messier now. You look down at him, between his legs, and notice that he’s lubricating himself a fair amount too, you shake in excitement.

“You’re about to, settle down now, girl.” Sparing not even a single moment, Beckman grasps your legs, his palms hook beneath the back of your knees and push them towards your chest, you can feel every inch of you pulsating with renewed vigor, adrenaline teeters off the edge of a cliff inside of your veins, not daring to shoot through your body yet, but it waits for the right moment, the moment Beckman would at long last penetrate you.

Before you really know what you’re doing, only feeling the wetness of the lube from his fingers on the back of your knees, your own hands grasp your legs, holding them in place where Beckman had lifted them. He looks curiously at you. “Fool around some?” It’s a joke, but it doesn’t embarrass you any less, if your hands weren’t holding your legs, they’d either be covering your face or slapping him, you suspect he wouldn’t care either way, as long as you aren’t legitimately uncomfortable.

“Ready? It’s gonna be a big stretch. Not as bad as being stabbed— if it feels like that, tell me. Because it shouldn’t.” His attempt at a pep talk turns into something less helpful and motivating, into something a tad sillier, and maybe a little concerning. “I’m ready.” You nod.

Beckman doesn’t waste any words after that, all he needed was your confirmation, and for you to be in a position comfortable enough for the two of you, just so he wouldn’t hurt you. Quickly, he holds the base of his cock, pressing the lubricated tip into your vagina, he’s making sure to provide stimulation to your clit, just enough for you to stay relaxed, and not too much, he doesn’t want you to climax until after he’s gotten at least the tip inside. At first, it doesn’t sting, but the more he pushes himself in, he meets some resistance, and that's because you’re realizing you haven't taken anything as wide as him inside of you, not any toys, and certainly not another man. Beckman knows this, but you feel a little panicked, especially with his earlier words.

Instead of offering comforting words, he thinks of a better solution; Beckman leans in towards you, brushes his nose against yours, and pulls you closer for a kiss. For a moment, you relax again, pressing your lips to his and allowing yourself to be taken away by the gentle caresses of his tongue against the inside of your cheek, the taste of him is comforting to you, your muscles which had previously tensed up relax again, and as soon as you were softly moaning into his mouth, he presses himself deeper into you. The tip of him stretches you out with such ease, despite your earlier panic over whether or not it would be hard for him to cram himself inside of you, the panic in your mind melts away, and you feel your pussy tingling for more.

Eyes shut tight, your hands grip your own flesh, your lips chase your lovers, and his own don't allow themselves to escape yours, his breath is taken in by you, your inhales are his and his exhales are yours, the two of you breathe each other in all over again, as if it's the first time. Beckman presses you deeper into the mattress, the soft pillows stuffed with cotton seem to rise above you and swallow your head whole, tickling the sides of your neck as you kiss him, keeping your legs spread.

Beckman presses the head of his cock deeper inside of you, in tune with his tongue daring to lick along your teeth, they take risks that yield great rewards. Very quickly, you find yourself adjusting to his girth, you think it could be the lube aiding— or maybe that Beckman keeps turning you on even more, if possible. Deeper he goes, testing your limits, and he's yet to reach them.

The pleasure is undeniable. You find yourself unable to hold back from being noisy, and instead let your jaw go slack as you moan into his mouth, each time he moves deeper, you swear you can take even more than he's giving to you now, in your lust hazed state, you pull your legs back closer to your chest, and Beckman, now able to push himself deeper inside of you without holding himself by the base, shifts more of his weight onto you, driving his cock even deeper into your vagina, touching parts you’d barely ever reach during masturbation.

Shock shoots through your body at the realization of the fact that you're actually able to take something so ridiculously sized— it drives air from your lungs, and you pull away from his lips, gasping for air in a desperate attempt to not pass out, whether it be from surprise, pleasure, or lack of oxygen. It could have been all three.

Your eyes shoot open, staring down to where Beckman splits you apart, and suddenly you feel weak. Somehow noticing you, he leans back and offers a better view, but yet, he doesn't stutter in his movements, not until he manages to slip himself halfway inside of you, filling you up enough already, in your opinion, but there's no such thing as too much Beckman. He doesn't say anything, but he does lean forward, obscuring most of your view as he licks your neck, nipping at it as he pulls your hips up to meet his.

Now that caught you off guard— especially when you felt him still going deeper, you don't even know how deep he's in now exactly, but with how thick he already is it feels like he should be fully inside already. But he isn't, he's pressing himself deeper each second, his neck kisses aren't enough to distract you from the sting and arousal his cock is causing you.

It's dragging against your walls, and for some reason your cunt just can't stop dragging him in deeper, threatening to swallow him whole, even if your mind screams out to you that you couldn't possibly take him all on your first try— your hands get shakier by the second, they can't even support your legs anymore, which end up nearly falling, before you instinctively wrap them around Beckman’s lower body to the best of your ability. He seems to like it and that's just about the only thing you can only assume his twitching inside of you is caused by. When you wrap your arms around his upper body, spanning your hands across his back, he grunts.

Everything in your body screams. His cock gets sucked in deeper, and your clit throbs more, the deeper he ends up, the more wet you get, and the wetter you are, the easier it is for the rest of him to slide in. “Greedy thing, huh? That's alright. Gotta feed her good then, yeah? What do you say?” Beckman sucks in air through his teeth, hanging his head to hide the way his eyes shut so tightly, but he manages to make sure you hear him loud and clear, how strained your pussy is making him sound.

But you don't think another centimeter would fit. This time, you are sure, more sure about this than anything else.

When you try to speak, nothing comes out. All that escapes is a pure, filthy, loud moan, stemmed straight from your heart and from Beckman’s thrust forward, over your own noise you can barely hear him mutter a soft apology that you wouldn't want either way, not when he's got your poor cunt stuffed to the brim, he doesn't have anything more to offer, and you couldn't even fucking take it if he had anything else. This is a first, for the both of you.

The very first time you've had sex like this, and the first time Beckman has had somebody take his whole length in one night, he will admit he was impatient thus far, his foreplay should have lasted much, much longer, because he knows that he's big, but he couldn't help it. You were far more greedy than him, it seems, when you see how deep he's gotten inside of you, it's a wonder he hasn't done harm yet, other than make you moan loud enough to wake the dead just by bottoming out inside of you.

You cry, every last muscle of your body jolts in surprise and pleasure, it's both terrifying and mesmerizing for Beckman. It terrifies him how loud he's made you, he'd nearly thought he hurt you with that selfish thrust, and it's wholly mesmerizing how your face looks when you cry out like so, but the best part would have definitely been feeling the way you clenched so harshly onto the base of his cock, trying so desperately to suck more inside of you, but nothing else comes.

“That’s it. Look at that, you got me down to the damn base, atta girl. Doesn't hurt, does it? I was being selfish with that, but you did so good, I’m so proud of you.” Beckman huffs, his chest heaves as he stares down at you in awe, and his instinct tells him to press his pelvis closer to yours, not wanting even a glimpse of his cock to be seen outside of your warm and throbbing cunt, and it's clear your body feels the same way as well.

His hands are desperate, not pathetically so, but they're moving fast towards your hips, pulling you closer onto him and grinding your clit against his pelvis, and you both still end up wanting more. “I think I’m in heaven. I died and they sent me somewhere I don't deserve to be—” Choking out a whimper, your arms and legs tighten around his body to the best of their abilities, and it's confirmed that you're too far gone when your body grinds against his through sheer instinct.

Beckman breathes out a laugh, and smiles one of the biggest smiles you’d ever seen, it's all for you.

“You’re meant to be the smart one. Certainly not an Angel, but the most precious woman I've met, you make me so selfish, I won't be able to let you go after this one.” Despite the sweet words, you can barely understand them, nothing besides the last part actually processes in your brain, and fuck, he sounds so sexy and possessive that you can't help but clamp down onto him, seeing a somewhat unknown side to him is enough to bring tears to your eyes, and they might as well. A humming starts inside of your chest, your thighs feel all wobbly, and your legs are so weak that they can't hold onto Beckman for much longer, your arms have the most strength in them, but they too, feel weakened.

Beckman holds onto your thighs, keeping you in place whilst he slowly pulls his cock out of you, this makes you panic and try to wrap around him again in a horny attempt at keeping him from escaping, but his grip is firm. A warm tear graces your face, dripping from the corner of your eye to your earlobe, Beckman reaches down to kiss the trail away, his kisses are even sweeter in this moment, but you still shake.

He pushes his hips back into yours, burying himself back inside of you in one expert movement, the realization that he wasn't escaping is calming to you, but the sensation he’d provided makes your heart pound, and fills your bones with a powerful song, one that speaks of passion a thousand different ways, yet the melody remains so gentle and sweet, like a first love. The relief is so powerful, that when it mixes with your pleasure, the product is like lighting a fuse.

“Don't be too harsh on me. I’m old now, and I can't do it the way I used to, I don't have the same stamina as I did back then. I’ll make it up to you, since you didn't get to experience my best.”

If this isn't Beckman’s best, you're certain that you would have died inside had you developed serious feelings for him earlier, and pursued a relationship. Right now you're barely holding on, simply just a thrust or two away from something dangerous, something that only Beckman can provide for you. Not a word slips past your lips, but a moan rings out when Beckman slides himself half way out this time, grabbing your thighs for leverage as he prepares to thrust back inside of you.

He kisses your cheek, burying his face into the crook of your neck and biting down on your shoulder as he prepares himself for what he's bound to help unleash, he's happy just to hear you cry out in bliss even if he doesn't achieve the same. With your stubbornness, however, you might try your best to return the favor, even if he protests.

His hips push themselves into you, showing you as much mercy as he can manage, but Beckman is reluctant to give you anything that isn't his all, he feels as if he isn't performing the way you deserve. Still, his thrust remains powerful, driving you into the mattress with a surprising force, and he parts your thighs a little more for him to fit inside easier. The pleasure ripples through your skin, it slips deeper inside, your nails claw at his back when you feel your orgasm tearing into your skin, perhaps just a single exhale away from consuming you wholly, taking you over to the point of no return.

Beckman rubs the underside of your thighs with his thumbs, tying more knots in the bottom of your stomach, forcing your pussy to suck his dick deeper inside of you, and your body is torn between driving him deeper, wanting more, and pushing him out, attempting to escape the disaster sure to ensue.

“Beck— I can't take it.” With a heaving chest, your voice sounds strained, painfully so, you're not used to hearing yourself sound like that, and it’s shameful seeing just how shameless you’ve become. What you’d promised you’d never end up doing is happening at this exact moment, the Vice Captain of the red-haired pirates, Benn Beckman, has you beneath him. Not only that, but you’d professed your love to him, as he did the same; it would be hell if the rest of the crew found out. But it feels like you’re halfway to heaven the second he breathes against the side of your face, beginning to speak in a low tone.

“Don't you worry about a thing, pretty lady. I got you, you know I do.” His hands release your thighs, and reach out to grasp your waist, snaking around them until he pulls you into an embrace warm enough to burn you. Your chest meets his, he can feel your heart thumping, you can feel the softness in his firm chest, you unbury your fingernails from his back, they find themselves gently raking down his spine to the best of your abilities, grasping onto something with a gentler approach. Beckman calms you, despite not being truly panicked, he took the time to reassure you, even if he knew that those words of yours were a cry out for help, a plea for release.

One more thrust grants you that wish, like a shooting star, your body slams into the earth— it stutters when Beckman presses your hips into the mattress, thrusting into you at an angle now, and he hits a spot that makes you sob aloud, at a noise level you don't think you’ve ever reached before, the words that utter from your lips— blessings and curses all directed to nobody in particular— are loud, you couldn't even dream of lowering your voice, because Beckman’s cock is angled towards a spot inside of your cunt that you'd never been able to reach yourself, he’s not letting up when he thrusts against it, he holds you down and fucks you into the mattress without any care for anything that isn't helping you experience the absolute best during your orgasm, he only focuses on reaching that especially warm place inside of your pussy.

Every muscle in your body feels so tight and yet so loose, your legs try and kick, but they're so weak that they feel like taps against the mattress, and even then you can't move them much, Beckman's hands are pressing your hips deeper into the mattress, his face is one of pure concentration, all he needs to see is your body falling apart and bursting with pleasure, he doesn't pay much mind to the stimulation your spasms cause on his cock, he doesn't want to scare you if he ends up getting lost in his own orgasm, though he would certainly like one.

It takes a minute, but your body stops shaking, outwardly at least. Inside of your head, your thoughts and inner monologue swimming around make no more sense than staring at a poneglyph does.

Though you aren't shaking, you're unable to sate the tightness below, Beckman slows down his thrusts, timing them with each pulse of your cunt ringing through his own body. Every time your muscles contract, he pushes himself deeper, when they loosen he slides out just enough to time his next thrust for when you're clamping down on him, his movements seem natural to him. Tears gather on your bottom lashes, threatening to spill and erupt along with your sobs of pleasure— being so vulnerable like this soothes you, even if it's embarrassing, you feel happy that you were able to share more of yourself with him.

He seems happy, too, though you couldn't possibly focus on his face through your blurry gaze, the energy he delivers between your legs speaks to you, but it could just be the absolutely crazy orgasm he'd delivered to you, and that was just the second one.

Your spasms lessen in frequency, and eventually you’re lying limp against the sheets, Beckman holds onto you with a gentler grip now. He finds it senseless to remain inside of you, especially when he notices your tired expression, and he takes extra caution as he slides himself outside of your cunt, making you whimper, but nothing too serious, thankfully. The loss of his girth inside leaves you feeling empty. He fills the hole left behind with a peck to your lips, cusping your face with one hand as he watches you continue to catch your breath. Before you can relax, your body jerks, you realize that he didn't cum.

“Wait— but you didn't finish… I finished, twice, you didn't even get close, did you?” A look of worry flashes across your face, you furrow your brows and search for a confirmation while Beckman idly presses his thumb to your bottom lip.

“S’alright. I felt good, that's what really matters. I know you didn't get any sleep last night, neither, what with our… Unresolved issues at the time.” With a knowing look, he looks off to the side with a smile, sitting up and pulling himself off the bed. For a moment, he looks down at his thighs with a contemplating expression, before you watch him pull his condom off, pulling the waistband of his boxers until they're wrapped comfortably around his hips.

“Don't say that, it's making me feel worse. You don't want anything else from me? I want to make you cum.” You have to make sure you don’t sound too hoarse, but the exhaustion in your voice is evident to him, he can see it in your eyes even when you try and clear your throat. When he tosses the condom into the trash, he sits back down in bed with you afterwards, smiling.

“We got the rest of our lives to do that.”

“You mean, until you can't get it up?”

“If I can't get it up when I’m with you, do me a favor and shoot me dead. There isn't a date crueler than that one, especially when I’ve been eyeing you up for a while now.” You watch him closely as he reaches into his bedside drawer once more— pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Maybe it's full of condoms, lube, and cigarettes. That seems like a Beckman thing to do.

“You’ve been checking me out that long? So you're a pervert now?” You tease.

“I sure don't need this from the woman who's go-to dare in drinking games is to make men strip. Too many times I’ve seen you throw money at the boss like he's a hooker, just to get him to strip more.” He turns to face you, hanging his usual cigarette between his lips like a tease, he chuckles, and you suddenly get a bold idea. With such speed, despite your nerves being shot, you pluck the cigarette from his lips and hold it between your pointer and middle finger. Beckman laughs.

“It's a miracle I can tolerate you.” He shimmies closer to you, and your eyes are drawn to his clothed cock again. He still looks hard, and you frown at the sight. Beckman takes this as an opening, and snatches his cigarette back, stealing a brief kiss from you in the process, but he doesn't light it, and sets it down on his nightstand instead. “Can you walk?” He asks a simple question, which immediately prompts you to try and stand up. You toss your legs over the edge of his bed, not before you scoot closer to it, and press your feet to the ground. When you try to lift yourself onto your feet, you fall back with a defeated expression.

“No.”

“I knew the answer anyways. Need me to carry you to the bathroom? Go get you some water? Anything you want?”

“I want…” Huffing, you roll over onto the bed again, and stare down at Beckman’s bulge.

“Another time. You need some rest before you're ready for another ride.” Beckman shakes his head, but he does show you a rather pleased smile.

“Okay, but are you sure? I mean, I can—”

“What you can do,” Beckman begins.

“Is quit all that worryin’, and start closing your eyes. I’m all yours right after you get some sleep.” He yanks a heavy blanket over you, the warmth takes you in instantly, and you snuggle into the fabric, exhaustion finally deciding to make its appearance into your story, and it just kills you that Beckman is so selfless. “I’m staying?” Sleep seems inevitable, it leaks into your voice and out into the room.

“I’d hope so. Unless the boss tries to sweep you off your feet, we shouldn’t have any problems. No more stupid question, you’re obviously sleeping in bed with me.”

Beckman continues to talk, even though he knew that you had long fallen asleep from the sound of his voice, and the aftermath of the sex you two shared. Something so sweet happening to a man like him isn’t entirely unexpected, but it's more shocking when it's with you of all people. While you remain deep in your sleep, he absentmindedly strokes your skin, not wanting to leave your side, he doesn’t dare to even consider looking away from you, even when his eyes eventually close, he’s still as close as possible to you, pulling your exposed body to his as he allows sleep to take over from there on out. When a new day dawns, you awaken in a warm bed, right next to Beckman, just like in the dream you’d had, but it’s currently your reality.

He sleeps peacefully next to you, thankfully not snoring like any of the other guys when they pass out drunk on your shoulder. Shanks was by far the worst… You still have nightmares about his snoring, which must be done to spite the world, considering Hongo said he has zero health issues.

Not wanting to wake him up, you wobble out of bed, gathering your scattered clothes from the floor, preparing to head out to the bathroom. A deep sigh escapes when you realize that your shirt is nowhere to be found, and your pants are still soiled with mud from that darned kid, who you wish nothing but the best for, even though he has inconvenienced you today. Despite the fact that both your clothes and you are dirty, you re-dress yourself, just missing your shirt, but it shouldn’t be that big of a deal… Glancing at the clock, you notice that it’s noon.

Beckman is still asleep, and considering he wakes most everybody up, they should all be hungover and sleeping. Taking this into consideration, you undo the complicated locks on Beckman’s bedroom door, and step out into the hallway, but you crash into a figure, whose arm was reached out to the doorknob you’d just pulled back. This figure has one arm; It’s the boss. You feel like you want to throw up.

He’s more naked than you, but you still move an arm to cover your chest, hoping he’s either still drunk, or too tired and hungover to notice your lack of a blouse. It takes every ounce of willpower to act unbothered, but when he starts to smile, your composure cracks little by little.

“Oh? What’s this? You’re topless, messy hair, you smell like…” Shanks smirks, pausing as if to think, he holds his chin between his thumb and index finger, he looks almost fox-like right now, his red hair is tousled and he smells of rum, nothing out of the usual, but you’re especially panicked, because above all else, you don’t want your boss to think you’re easy, but you don’t want to take the time to explain that you’re in a relationship with Beckman, you just want to take a shower and get something to eat.

“You smell like Beckman, and debauchery.” He sticks his tongue out at you, giggling now. “Think about inviting your boss next time— I hate when you guys leave me out!” Before you met Shanks, you never thought you would meet a grown man who pouts unironically, but you seem to get proven wrong more and more everyday, because the dumbass never stops pouting, like a kicked puppy. Shame floods you when you find yourself actually starting to consider it, and you turn back ready to respond, but Shanks seems to have already found an answer in your silence.

“Woohoo! See ya tonight!” He skips away, leaving you utterly bewildered.

Instead of braving the day, you find the option of returning to bed with Beckman much more comforting, you can only hope Shanks is nice enough to not spread things around… Most of the time, he isn’t.

But it wouldn’t be so bad, and if it was, Beckman promised to take care of you.

END.

you made it!!! consider a comment and reblog :P

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

Lessie