The first time Marco realises Sabo truly trusts him is when he appears without his cravat
It means alot, sabo doesnt willingly show his throat to just anyone, certainly not a thousand strong crew as big as whitebeards family
Hes seen glimpses with Ace, the tuck of the fabric starched and high in the hollow of his throat hiding the welts from a hot hungry mouth searching to claim the seams of the man that slipped through his fingers at such a tender age
Never been allowed to touch for himself, Sabo is always taking great care to give people a good look, but never enough information to make do with, perfectly pleasant, perfectly willing to do his fair share of anything that will give him what he needs to know.
But here he is now, standing mid deck, below deck near the second division bunk rooms, collar laid out wilted like the petals of a fully blooming lily, the long muscular expanse of his neck exposed to all, one bite faded matching the teeth pattern of Ace’s (Marco would know, he has all their dental records with only Ace having such protruding canines, not that those marks would belong to anyone else)
He approaches with intent, not because he thinks Sabo needs to hear him but because he seems deep in thought and giving him time to wrap up would yield a better response than if he didnt
“Hot isnt it?” Sabo says in lieu of a greeting, turning to look at Marco in that sincere way of his, curved smile, blinded eye squinting to match
“Youd think it gets easier with time, but now that youve mentioned it, its been a while since we last made port at a summer island.” Marco agrees, hes decided on shorts today, his longer trousers fitting a colder climate would be uncomfortable and sticky in the humid weather, he doesnt know how Sabo can stand his heavy double lined vest in this heat
Marcos gaze strays to where Sabos collarbones shine with sweat from within the open flower of his shirt, his scar looks darker with the heat, more red more angry, the tight musculature of his chest mesmerising him briefly, another treat, considering Sabo usually kept his shirt on during intimacy
He meets Sabos gaze, mirth glowing in those deep eyes, humour looks very good on the chief of staff. In the same way calculating deep thought does too, the same way laughter and fury looks good on Ace.
“I was going to head out and check if the local library had anything useful.” Its not an outright invitation, Sabo never asks Marco to do anything or for anything, but its the most open of a request that he will ever be privy, the phoenix agrees
“Wheres Ace?” They match each other step for step, an uncanny ability of Sabos that Marco alikens to how felines step in their own pawprints to mask tracks.
“Dunno, he’ll make it known if he misses us.” Sabo shrugs, rolling up his sleeves and Marco has to thank the seas, the sun the stars for this beautiful sunny gorgeous day because Sabos forearms are self made weapons of pure strength and beauty. If he were a better artist Marco would’ve liked to draw him, though life drawing was better in Ace’s hands on the rare occasion he was able to stay put long enough to finish something
Its true though, Ace would sniff them out one way or another if he wanted their company, Marco’s delighted to have Sabos sole attention for once personally and selfishly speaking
They depart the Moby and wander into a town enthralled with colour, burnished copper and gold with grains of sand streaming silkily around their ankles and feet as they walked through a well trodden street
“Youre unusually quiet.” Sabo observes, in the way Marco never notices because hes still looking down the back of Sabos nape, at the dark golden curls of his hair where sweat soaks into the shirt, along his skin, in the crevices of his scar and turns the tip of his nose and ears pink
“Am i?” Marco glances down, to the side, back to meet sabo’s tilted gaze, sunlight turns deep blue and the opaque white of his eyes to something like the innerglow of a glass marble. that same smile curves Sabos lips. Marco doesnt feel caught though
Flustered yes, but because theres a feeling in his stomach, warm swooping and aches in his joints, like his phoenix when promised the joy of the open skies, tampers down on those flames that plumage threatening to burst free from his breast
“Compared to your usual self, id say so.” Sabo agrees and Marco couldve sworn, hes not completely sure, that the belt around Sabos waist is gold. Segmented, square golden links, the one he lost a few weeks ago—no because it was stolen.
Crowding Sabo closer to a side street enveloped in shade the shape of dancing palm fronds, Marco reaches out to snag the belt, his eyebrows raising in silent question.
Sabo doesnt even play demure, his coyness is always an act and never the truth. He loves this game, Marco’s seen them play it, Ace without a favoured accessory and, Sabo, soon after with his prize flaunted at every opportunity
“Do you like it?” Sabo asks, a wiry tangle of blonde hair falls over his good eye
Marco slowly brushes it away with a gentle hand, tucking the lock of unruly hair back in place, Sabo blinks and inhales when Marcos hand hovers and with the same slow intent, rests the outside, wrist twisting to brush knuckles down the swoop of his exposed neck.
“Yeah.” Marco unglues his tongue, voice syrupy and his teeth humming at the sweetness.
“Thanks, got it from a friend.” Sabo licks his lips, he never looks away, he is bold. Its one of the many things Marco admires (loves, adores)
“My mistake, an acquaintance.”
“Do i happen to know this acquaintance of yours?” Marco guides Sabo up, back into a sand scoured brick wall, hot to Sabos back from the sun saturating it to the core
“Pretty sure you do.” Sabo shifts to hook a booted foot around one of Marcos bare calves, the unmistakable metallic clinking of the belt between them and the press of muscle to muscle
“I dunno, gonna need a name.” Marco thumbs along the pristine white of Sabos collar, unfurling the cotton, presses out the shape of the starch, leaving his mark
“Mm, he had a really forgettable name.”
“I’m sure you can remember if you gave it some thought.” Marco feels the vertigo in his chest again, the same kind he always feels when he transforms fully.
“Started with an M.” Sabo leans in after a long moment of faux thought, tongue peeking out between his lips, smiling teeth.
“Cant say i remember any more than that.” Sabo has the theatrics in him to sigh loudly, his posture saturated with disappointment, as if this truthfully eating away at him. Marco curls his fingers into the collar of Sabos shirt, tugs him in
“Perhaps this will jog your memory.”
Beneath the fronds of dancing palm and flowers the colour Ace favours the most above all.
And when they separate, Sabo looks at him, gaze zigzagging over Marco’s features and Marco eases up on the space between them, its too hot for this, damn the library—
“Damn the library.” Sabo says hotly
Metallic clinking, mismatched eyes flicker down to see—
“Damn you too,” Sabo laughs, but Marco is already two paces ahead, wings sprouting from his arms morphing wrist to shoulder blazing feathers and Sabo’s claws clip his ankle and Marco somersaults out of reach, challenge simmering between them both
Sabo tilts his head, a new smile emerging, same kind that Ace wears when he hunts, when he has something to chase
When he has something to win
Marco isnt a sore loser, but seas below will he let Sabo get the best of him right now
