(A/N; THIS IS SO OLD)
Mr. One watched as his partner stepped into the old bathtub, squeaking to herself as the hot water hit her skin. He sat in the far corner of the bathroom, Perched atop the sink, trying his best not to stare.
"It burns…" The bluenette whined, referring to the multiple cuts along her body.
The two had just returned from their latest Baroque Works assignment. They were both a bit battered, but Mr. One was convinced that it was nothing serious. Miss Doublefinger, However, was convinced otherwise, saying that the amount of dirt they were covered in was just as serious as any injury.
Hence the baths.
Watching each other was really just standard procedure.
(He didn't enjoy it, or so he kept telling himself)
He didn't make a point of watching women bathe, nor did she perform this duty for everyone to see. It was just a safety precaution, as they were both Fruit users, and being submerged in any type of water for a time was lethal to either of them.
Not that either of them was Silly enough to drown in a bathtub.
Mr. One glanced back at Miss Doublefinger, just in time to see the last of her blue locks slip beneath the surface. So he had spoken to soon. Grumbling, He moved over to the tub and reached in, catching her arm and pulling her back out.
"You dead yet?" He snarled, trying to keep up the appearance that he could care less.
(Maintaining the appearance was hard though. He had always hated lying)
"Don't get your hopes up, love." She snapped back, sliding back into the water so it would cover her chest.
He released her arm, and she let it fall onto the tub's edge to support herself.
"Can I ask why you don't have a shower?" He questioned, softer now, as he sat back down on the sink.
"You could, but you might not get an answer." She replied, closing her eyes.
"Don't be vague, woman, It's not becoming."
Miss Doublefinger remained silent for several moments, thinking of a retort, but soon abandoned the idea, bored of their taunting game.
"I've just never bothered repairing the old one. It's been broken since I bought this place."
Mr. One shook his head. He had such a lazy partner. Still, she had her better qualities…
Banishing the last thought, he refocused his attention onto her, studying her as she lay in the bubble filled water. Her eyes fluttered open again, and he noticed how dazed she looked.
"What are you thinking about, Mr. One? It's not like you to stare."
"Nothing, everything."
"Don't be vague, it's not becoming." She mocked, giving him a half-hearted sneer.
"Shut up." He retorted, not as angry as he sounded.
"Make me," she dead-panned in return.
"Do it yourself. I've better things to do."
Instead she shook her head and stuck her tongue out at him, and Mr. One had to suppress a chuckle.
(She was actually quite cute for a murderess.)
Silence followed the banter match in suite, making the minutes tick by slower than usual.
Of course, watching the clock probably wasn't helping, but He'd rather have watched it then get caught staring at her again.
The clock ticked once more before it was drowned out by the sound of bubbling water.
Alarmed, Mr. One looked back at his partner.
It was her. During his lack of attention, she had managed to slip father into the water, so that it reached just below her nose. The sound was her breathe being forced from her mouth.
If it was possible, she looked more dazed than before, her green eyes half closed with a vacant expression.
"Miss Doublefinger?"
She seemed not to notice his calling or his look, and continued to stare off into space.
(He was just the tiniest but worried, had he missed something? Was she hurt?)
"Alright, time to get out of the water." He growled, pasting a frown on his face.
Once more she did not acknowledge him.
Bending over the tub, he coaxed his arms through the tight spaces between her body and the porcelain till he got to a point where he could lift her easily. The position had him close enough to see the quivering of her nose as she inhaled. He was just about to move when she snapped from her trance, and he could feel her tense as she took notice of his close proximity.
"Mr. One, what are you doing?" she murmured, looking up at him with something he couldn't recognize.
"Pulling you out. You're acting funny."
(He was going his best to ignore the new heat coursing from his chest to some..LOWER.)
"I was thinking." She frowned, redirecting her gaze to his chest.
"Am I not allowed to space out when I think?"
Mr. One made a noise to respond but only managed to stutter as she began to slip.
"Oh!" she squeaked, trying to stay upright in his grasp.
He shifted his arm so he could support her properly-(it didn't occur to him to release her)-And she wrapped her arms around his neck in response.
He DID realize, however, their position. He could feel every detail of her bare chest pressing into his own.
(His stomach was doing acrobatics, and he was sure his face was scarlet)
She was sopping wet, he could feel that too. It was creating an odd sensation across the burn tattoo on his chest.
"And what were you thinking about?" He asked, In an attempt to distract himself.
"I-"she stopped, locking onto his gaze.
"Mr. One…"
He wasn't sure if she was answering or asking another question and a t that point, he didn't care.
His head dipped, just the slightest, and her hands tightened on the collar of his vest.
She pulled him forward suddenly pressing her lips against his in the process.
His elbows scraped against the porcelain, but he didn't care.
(Passion. He knew he shouldn't. It would jeopardize all they had accomplished.)
He could feel her tugging on his vest, beckoning him into the water.
(He shouldn't, but he wanted too.)
He complied before she had time to tempt him anymore.
Clothes were forgotten, and water was splashed.
By the end of the Day, when the floor held more water than the tub, they both knew how much fun devil fruit users could have in water….