Ace sucks in a shaking breath, then another. Another, trying to push past the quiet, animal part of him that’s half-convinced there’s no room for breath, no space left inside him for his lungs to inflate. He braces sweating hands and trembling knees and tips his head back, lets his mouth and throat both open, just — tries to get some fucking air.
He’s drowned before, but never like this.
“God, f-fuck, fuck,” He gasps, ragged. “Why are all you bastards so fucking big?”
The hands on his waist (The stupidly, unnecessarily fucking huge hands on his waist, the hands that are wrapped fingertips-to-thumb around his entire goddamn waist, literally nobody needs hands this fucking big—!) squeeze once, not quite gentle, but sturdy. Holding him while he fights for air that just won’t come.
“Ha, can’t back out now! Winner gets to top was your rule, Commander, not mine.”
Ace hasn’t ever thought of himself as the stereotypical lazy Logia, letting his devil fruit do all the work for him, but apparently he’s been relying on it more than he realized because having it cut off like this feels insane. There’s so… much, of him. All wet, red muscle and straining skin and tendons pulling to their limit, holy shit he has never had this much trouble taking a dick before.
“Shut up! Shut, shut up, I’m not tapping out. Just. Just gimme a sec…”
Those stupidly huge hands, heavy and cold with all their gold rings, adjust against his hips. Thumbs rub little circles into the dimples on either side of his spine. Ace clutches white-knuckle tight at muscled forearms, just looking for something to use to fucking brace himself while he drops down another inch. Stops to breathe. Carefully, carefully, takes another. Feels every single part of his body as it struggles and fights and is forced open, open, open.
This time it comes out slow and slurring, all dazed hunger and heat in his belly. “Oh my god, you’re so big.”
“Gonna give a man a big ego talking like that! Zehahahaha!”
Hot in his belly in more ways than one. Ace and Teach have fucked before, but now, with that fruit of his, it’s completely different. This doesn’t feel like sea-stone or Haki, it doesn’t feel like anything has been taken from Ace — in fact, it feels like Ace can’t do anything but take it. Like he’s being overloaded, stuffed so full…
Teach smears a kiss over Ace’s shoulder, the scratch of stubble another one of those things that feels so different like this. (He should have grown his facial hair out before he started calling himself Blackbeard, and yes, everybody did make fun of him for it. That didn’t stop the big dumb bastard from jumping the gun.)
“Here,” Teach rumbles. “Let’s try this.” Then he’s lifting his head a little, calling “Lafitte!” out across the barren stretch of battlefield.
One of his creepy new crew mates, the one that looks like a mime, comes literally tap-dancing up to them. His face is pleasant, but his eyes are empty, like all the Blackbeard pirates. When Ace asked about that earlier, Teach had said he wasn’t interested in starting a family of his own, he just needed some extra hands that wouldn’t talk back. Ace had called him spoiled.
Now, Teach bosses his new crew mate like a man might command a dog, calling him to his knees in front of Ace. “Give him your mouth,” Teach orders.
Ace would squirm if he wasn’t literally fucking impaled. “Uh,” He says. “I’m not — I dunno, Teach. I don’t need it.”
“Don’t be so stubborn.” Another kiss, this one between his shoulder blades, right where Ace knows the very top of Pops’ mark is inked into his skin. Teach stays there for a second, nuzzling sweetly. “This’ll probably be the last time in a while that you and I get to do this. Lemme make it good for you.”
He rolls his hips, just a little, forcing another few inches of stupid huge cock into Ace’s struggling body. “Besides,” Teach drawls. “I’d like to actually get to fuck you at some point today, and that doesn’t seem like it’ll happen any time soon.”
“Oh, fuck you!” Ace sputters, but he’s clawing at Teach’s forearms and gasping for air again, so. Maybe he has a point.
“I don’t.” Ace stops. Swallows. Leans his head back against Teach’s barrel of a chest and breathes in the scent of sweat and sea salt on his skin, the stink of burning hair from where Ace’s fires singed him, the iron of blood on both of them. It was a damn good fight. “I don’t want some stranger touching me.”
“Aw, don’t think of it as a stranger.” Teach shifts to rest his chin on top of Ace’s head. “He’s barely even a person at this point. Think of it like using a toy.” One of those massive hands moves to cradle Ace’s dick, only half-hard despite everything Teach is doing to his body right now. Teach’s fingers are hot and rough with sailor’s callouses. His rings are cold and smooth. “Lafitte’s gonna get you all warm and relaxed for me, and we’re gonna enjoy this last fuck while we can. Got a problem with that, Firefist?”
“You are such a bastard,” Ace says, mostly just for the sake of saying it. “Do I have a choice?”
“Zehahaha! Not even a damn bit!” Teach’s hands, stroking over Ace’s body, huge and strong and making him feel so small. Teach’s teeth tugging at the shell of his ear.
Teach’s voice, going deep and hungry and so unlike it usually is, all the jolly humor gone. Just darkness left.
“I won,” Blackbeard tells him. “And to the victor go the spoils.”
Ace closes his eyes so he won’t have to see it, but he feels it when Blackbeard’s crew mate leans in close and opens his mouth. Hot breath, wet tongue, coaxing Ace back to full hardness. Ace twitches into it, then goes loose from the pleasure, and another finger’s width of Blackbeard’s dick is forced inside his straining body.
