A/N: This just kinda came to me. This is alternate universe. So no Mera and no _ powers... I actually disagree with SmoxAce, as Ace is now and will forever be mine, even if Oda's name is stamped on his forehead. Yeah, well...my name is stamped on a place where the sun don't shine! I WILL have him, Oda, I swear it! Anyway, if I can't have Ace, then Smoker (the next best match for our favorite narcoleptic pyromaniac) can. Enjoy.
Damn brat. He knows just how to piss me off. He likes to piss me off; he thinks it's amusing. He also likes it when I'm frustrated and annoyed, which is most of the time he's around. Actually, it's the entire time he's near me. Damn kid just gets a kick out of bothering me. Like right now. He's giving me that damn grin, and I know he's got that fucking look in his eyes, though his blindingly orange hat is covering them. One small thing to be thankful for.
"Are you really just going to give up, Junsho?" And here, Smoker's eyebrow twitched infinitesimally, as both he and that brat knew he didn't formally become 'Junsho,' a commodore of the Marines, until their return from vacation. Yet another indication of the kid's incessant urge to vex him. "You're a Marine, very resourceful and well-trained, you'll figure something out. But as you're standing there like an idiot, this sauce is drying. When it's completely dry, I'm going to wash it off and leave the pool. And you'll get nothing."
An incentive to find a way to get to Ace in the center of the huge pool, and quickly, though neither Smoker nor the brat could swim. Why were they even at the pool, then? The kid had talked him into it, babbling about natural light for tanning (as if the brat wasn't already browned, and Smoker himself had always been too pale to tan) and enjoying the clear, bright weather. Truly, it was beautiful. The Marine was glad Ace had also managed to persuade him to book them both a vacation to the Bahamas. The sun shone more brilliantly than any diamond, the crystal sea swelled with perfect waves, the golden beach with its tiny seashells and tinier crabs was a better picture than any color-enhanced brochure, and Smoker had checked them into a five-star hotel at the very edge of the Caribbean waters. It was a stunning location for their Valentine's Day weekend getaway.
And here they were, at the hotel pool, with no one around. And Ace was covered in liquid chocolate and lying on a blowup floaty lounge in the deep end, strategically out of reach. Therefore, Smoker was quite hard. And while he generally didn't much care for sweets, he ached for that chocolate. Which brought the Marine back to needing to reach Ace, though he'd never let the brat know. The kid would never let him live it down. Smoker could imagine the horror, the constant teasing, even worse than it currently was. Which was daunting, indeed.
So. He couldn't swim to the brat. He couldn't jump to the brat; the diving board was at the far end of the deep part, while Ace was in the center. He couldn't float to the brat, because that brat had the only floaty device he could see. He couldn't go find a floaty thing, because surely the kid would be gone when Smoker got back. He couldn't borrow the lifeguard's floaty life-saving device, because Ace had dismissed the young woman when they'd arrived at the pool. The hot, raging stiffness in the Marine's swim trunks began to pulse painfully. So. He'd have to sprout wings and fly, over the pool, over the treacherous water too deep to reach the bottom, to the one person who annoyed him most. And yet he would risk drowning in order to fuck him. That was a no-brainer. Just look at the kid!
Smoker began to pace, stalking like a great cat from pool end to pool end, never once lifting his eyes from the horrifically wonderful Portgas lazing out of reach. The water was so still, the blowup lounge did not drift, and there was no wind. Maybe, if he could make a breeze...but the kid would probably just paddle the lounge back to the pool's center, chuckling at his Junsho's pathetic and desperate attempt for the whole six inches he would drift. That also ruled out making waves, then.
The soon-to-be commodore could no longer stand, much less pace; he near collapsed in front of a giant roll of plastic floats used to split the pool into sections, his hard-on bobbing dejectedly inside his trunks as he fell. Smoker leaned back against the roll of floats and stared at his crotch; it sympathized with him, obvious by the way it pulsed slowly and without hope. The man knew jerking himself off was pointless. The true prize, the only thing that would satisfy him entirely, involved cleaning the incredibly cruel brat currently out of reach, and then taking his ass firmly in hand and attempting to teach him some manners. Not that that ever worked, but merely attempting was fun and oh, so satisfying.
So, what was he left with? Smoker dredged up all his knowledge of pools: what made them work, how deep was too deep, various pool rules, what was smart and not so smart to do around pools, proper pool temperature and chlorine content, pool accessories and tools. The captain couldn't break the sides, it was a legitimate concrete in-ground pool. He couldn't drain it or change its temperature, the controls were locked away behind a clear plastic cage. Faking a fall by the poolside was impossible; the brat would see right through it, and besides, there was no spilled water to slip on. That left... And right out of the blue, Smoker had an idea. He fought hard to maintain a straight face. Nevertheless, the brat on the floating lounge twitched and looked up from under his hat; he could sense that Junsho had a plan.