Written for an anon on tumblr, who wanted a mystery bookstore, Marco/Ace, modern au
Ace sighed as the rain turned from the annoyed drizzle to a full on downpour and scowled. Here he was in a strange city, with one twenty dollar bill in his pocket and nowhere to go. The plan had been to find someplace to work a few hours for some food, maybe even find some shelter, but in this rain that didn't seem likely. His eyes squinted into the downpour, looking for a bridge or anywhere dry and out of the way enough that no one would send him packing. Though with the rain he doubted anyone would care to check to vagrant.
The wind blew furiously as he rounded the corner, spitting rain into his face, and Ace shivered constantly in the cool air, clutching his worn jacket around his shoulders. In the dim street, a cheery light glowed, and he turned toward it automatically. An old fashioned wooden sign swayed wildly in the wind, and Ace barely made out its lettering through the sheets of rain.
Moby Dick, fine book purveyors
It was only mid-afternoon, though it was impossible to tell by how dark it was, and the shop was open by looks of it. Ace's hand reached out to the door before he'd even thought it over, but he shrugged mentally. He might as well warm up and hope for the storm to die down so he could get a feel for the city. They might even have something warm to drink, though he wasn't holding his breath, and he could ill afford to spend any money.
The bell of the shop jingled cheerfully, and at once Ace was bathed in warmth. He blinked in the light, shaking the water out of his eyes, and an old man got up from an arm chair behind the counter to greet him. Ace was taken aback at once by the man's warm smile as his eyes flicked over Ace appraisingly. There was no suspicion or derision in his eyes, just a warm curiosity that was hard to resent, though Ace tried his best, even as he dripped all over the beautifully polished wood floor.
After a moment's silence, the man nodded to himself and turned to turn on the kettle.
"Tea or coffee?" he asked, and Ace raised his hands.
"That's quite alright, sir. I don't-" he said, and the man turned back over his shoulder to squint at Ace. He resisted the urge to shuffle but just barely.
"You won't make an old man drink his coffee- you look like a coffee man, am I right?" Ace nodded when he was frowned at and straightened. "Good, you stand there now and let me get a towel." He started up the stairs behind the counter before Ace could react, and Ace's lips quirked, sure that even if he had any objections to this man's plans, they would be completely overridden.
The small store was stuffed ceiling to floor with books, shelves almost audibly groaning at the sheer quantity. They were arranged in a very confusing pattern. The books looked old, most of them, and expensive, but there was a section near the back that seemed to have more typical books. No matter where they were they were shoved in haphazardly, in precarious piles that looked somehow both as if they'd fall over if you looked at them wrong and like they'd been standing just like that for decades. The whole place was awash in a warm light, with airchairs that looked like you might never get out of them strewn about throughout the store.
Ace inhaled, savoring the comforting scent of books that wrapped around him, just as the strange old man came thundering back down the stairs. He held out a bath towel and tossed it at Ace.
"Thank you," Ace said reflexively and was rewarded by a smile.
"It's a miserable day to be out," the man said as he turned to fixing the coffee, a simple statement, and Ace nodded devoutly and began mopping himself up. "Looks like you'll be here a while."
"I wouldn't want to impose. I can't-"
"Nonsense, son," the man said, and Ace blinked at him, freezing in the middle of drying his hair. "I'm Edward Newgate, owner of this store, but most people call me Whitebeard." He gestured to Ace to hang the towel up by the gas fireplace and settled back in his chair, the coffee cups on a table near him. Ace gingerly sat in the chair next to him, his boots squishing with every step, his bag at his feet. The wind blew hard again, the glass rattling in the widows, but it seemed far away now.
"I'm Ace."
"I don't suppose you have some time this afternoon?" Whitebeard asked, and Ace held back a scoff, for it was surely obvious that Ace had nothing but time and nodded slowly instead. Whitebeard poured a generous dollop of cream into Ace's coffee, studied him for a minute, then added a few spoons of sugar. Ace wrapped his hands around the coffee mug when it was shoved at him, warmth seeping into him sinfully.
"Yeah, of course."
The first sip was delightfully scorching, and Whitebeard shoved a plate of cookies at took all of Ace's willpower not to devour the lot at once. Breakfast had been scanty and was a long time ago by now.
"I wonder if you might help me move some inventory then? I'd pay of course." Whitebeard's grin was contagious, and Ace found himself smiling back. "This old back's not what it used to be."
"I don't need your pity, old man," Ace said. "I'm fine."
Whitebeard sighed and looked at one of the massive pile of books. "It wasn't pity, son, but if you need to go, I'll understand."
Ace sighed, looking at the pile of books. It did look like a lot of work, especially for an old man. "I guess I could help for a few hours."
Even after a month had passed, Ace never stopped pretending he was going to leave the next day. Whitebeard had firmly steered him into a comfortably furnished spare room in his apartment above the shop, and Ace had been too exhausted to refuse the first real bed he'd had the chance to sleep in in weeks. The work Whitebeard had him doing was easy enough though, and it only took a few days before Ace was starting to feel like his old self, especially as Whitebeard insisted on feeding him all time.
"You should take the day off today, son." Whitebeard waved away Ace's protest before he could get it out around the bacon and eggs he had shoved in his mouth. "Marco's coming in today, so I'll be fine. It's a gorgeous day, and you should get to see some of the city."
"Marco?" Ace asked, and Whitebeard beamed, pride radiating from him.
"My first son," he said, and his eyes grew distant for a moment before he shook himself. "You remind me a bit of him, actually. He walked in here much like you did. It was storming that day too."
"Oh," Ace said and bit down on his lower lip. Other people had been dragged into this weird kidnapping rescue situation? "Your first son? How many do you have?"
"Fifteen," Whitebeard said, then he shot a glance at Ace, mischief dancing in his eyes. "Well, sixteen I suppose," he said and Ace barely saved himself from spitting out his coffee and glared at him.
"Must be quite a sight at Christmas," he managed at last, deciding to ignore the implications, and Whitebeard laughed. He didn't need nor want a father.
"Never a dull moment with them, that's for sure. I've been lonely lately, as the last moved out last year, but they're all off chasing their dreams, and what more can a father ask? Christmas is quite the even though, you're right about that son."
Ace wanted to tell him there would be no way he'd be there, that he wasn't one one of Whitebeard's family of strays, but something held his tongue, as warmth coiled in his chest. He might have only known this man for a week, but something about his open affection, his oh-so-practiced way that Whitebeard never really asked anything from him, but was just there, offering a helping hand in a way that didn't make Ace feel quite so lost anymore without smothering him.
Still this wasn't the way it was supposed to go. He was striking out on his own. If Whitebeard had sons, he wouldn't need Ace's help anyways. When he left, he'd bring his stuff. This was a nice stop, but he really ought to be going, continuing his journey. Nevermind that he didn't have a destination or goal- whatever he was aiming for couldn't be found here in a mysterious bookstore with an old man who collected strays.
"I'm not going to be one of your sons, you crazy old man," he said stubbornly, crossing his arms and scowling, and Whitebeard's answering smile could only be described as indulgent.
"It's your choice, son."
The door to the apartment opened, and Ace turned to it in surprise, shifting into a defensive posture automatically.
"Good morning, Pops..." A blond man strolled in and trailed off at the sight of Ace. His brows raised, and once again Ace found himself under scrutiny. "Hello."
"Good morning, Marco."
"Hi," Ace said and was rewarded by an understanding smile, one that had Ace scrambling for words or wits or anything really, but Marco just pressed on.
"He's not as insane as he seems," he said and winked at Ace, who raised his brows, recovering his equilibrium. Whitebeard's son might be ridiculously attractive, but really, no one can pull off winking without looking like an utter dork. It was oddly endearing though, and Ace quashed that thought at once. Or tried to.
Ace leaned towards Marco, like he was going to tell a secret "I think it's just contagious," he fake whispered, then turned to Whitebeard. "Luckily I'm immune," he said, and Whitebeard exploded with laughter.
"Off with you, son." Whitebeard waved him off. "Dinner's at seven."
"Bye, old man." Ace felt his throat tighten, and he rose and slipped out the door. He wouldn't be back for dinner anyway. "Thank you."
It was only when he was halfway down the street when he realized he'd left the bag with all his stuff in the apartment, and he swore.
Tomorrow then.
When Ace came back, the store was closed, but when he tried the door, it was unlocked. Ace hesitated a moment, then shrugged and entered, locking up behind him and frowning at the lamp they'd left on for him as he turned it off. He climbed the stairs, and found the apartment door waiting open invitingly.
A rich smell greeted him, and Ace sighed appreciatively as he walked in the door. A laugh startled him, and he turned to see Marco was still there, reading on the couch. He set aside his book with a smile.
"Nothing smells as good as Pop's Beef Stroganoff," he said, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. He patted the couch next to him, and Ace found himself sitting next Marco before he new it. He narrowed his eyes at Marco suspiciously, which just made his smile grow.
"What?"
"You do it too, just like he does."
"Like Pops? What?" Marco's honest look of bafflement had Ace's lips twitching with a smile..
"The thing."
"The annoying thing where he just says something so reasonably you find yourself doing it even though you weren't sure you wanted to?" Marco asked, affront oozing out of every word, even as Ace nodded. "I most certainly do not." Ace looked pointedly at the couch he was now sitting on and then back at Marco, who looked absolutely horrified at the revelation.
He grinned at Marco and made a show of getting up to go to the kitchen to see if he could help. Marco followed him in, and Ace watched in fascination as they bickered good naturedly and got dinner on the table. Talk at dinner was lighthearted, and though Ace mostly observed, lively enough. He could clearly see the affection between them, nothing quite like he was used to, but it was still readily apparent in the way they traded news.
It made him miss Luffy.
He got up abruptly and started gathering the dishes up. Marco and Whitebeard both turned to him, startled, but Ace smiled a little.
"I'll get started on the dishes."
He'd just gotten the sink to give hot water when Marco followed him in, the remaining dishes piled precariously in his hands. They started slipping, and Ace reached out to take the top half before they all fell.
"Thanks," Marco said, and Ace rolled his eyes.
"You could have taken two trips."
"But that's cheating!" Marco grinned at him nudged him out of the way of the sink. "I'll wash, you dry and put away."
"I got..." Ace huffed and got a towel off the oven door. "Fine."
Marco shut off the sink and started scrubbing, looking at the large pile of . "I really should get Pops a dishwasher for Christmas, don't you think?"
"He told me he likes doing dishes," Ace said, and Marco laughed, shaking his head as he rinsed the first plate.
"Yeah, but that's just the lie people without dishwashers tell themselves." Ace took the plate from him and started drying.
"I don't know, it's kind of soothing," Ace said, and he found the cupboard with the plates on the first try this time, which made him frown when he realized Marco was watching him, an expression he couldn't quite read on his face.
"True."
They did the dishes in silence for a few minutes before Ace drew in a deep breath.
"Why do you call him Pops?" Marco hummed and handed him the last dish. When he turned around, his grin was bright enough it reminded him of Luffy again.
"Because it makes me- us, really, we all call him that- happy."
Ace hummed. "I'm going to bed. Tell Pops I said good night." Marco's smile was too understanding, and Ace's shoulders itched with the weight of his gaze as he slunk off to his room, only realizing later what he'd let slip.
Marco started coming by multiple times a week after that and all fourteen of the others dropped by at least once over the next few months. Ace bristled at the thought that they'd avoided coming when he was settling in, like he was a stray cat that had to be introduced to the rest of the household or something. They were quite something en masse, and Ace's grin stretched at the thought of the last time that Haruta and Thatch had dropped by and dragged Marco and him out for some fun.
Whenever Marco would come, they'd spend the time between customers, arguing over books or just chatting. Marco had told him a bit more about his life before he'd met Whitebeard, and Ace had told him about Luffy, though he left out most of the details of his past.
It was Marco's day in the shop, and Whitebeard had excused himself just before the new shipment of books came in, claiming the need to watch his favorite home improvement show. Marco had just rolled his eyes, muttering to Ace that they'd be repainting the place before he knew it.
Ace glanced right behind him again to where Marco was restocking the thrillers that had just come in, back stretching and rippling as he reached for the top shelf. He tore his gaze firmly back to his own section. He trailed a thumb over the spine of the musty old book, mentally running through the alphabet and sliding that one into place.
He reached down, contorting to grab the next book without getting all the way off the ladder. Marco made a strangled noise, and Ace looked over to him just as he put his hand on the next book.
"You okay?" he asked, and Marco nodded tersely, still facing his shelf, and coughed.
"All that dust you know. You never get used to it." Ace hummed in agreement, tore his eyes away again, and stood back up on the ladder to put the book away. That done, he reached again for the book, straining to get one that was just out of his reach. His fingertips brushed it and he grinned, reaching out just a bit more. The world jolted as the ladder rocked, and suddenly hands gripped his waist and he was on the ground.
"You need to be more careful," Marco said breathlessly, and Ace's mouth went dry, his heart still pounding from almost falling off the ladder. They were pressed together, Ace's hands on Marco's chest, rising and falling with his quickened breath. Ace scrambled for words, but Marco was so close, and his mind was foggy. He licked his lips, heart clenching in his chest when Marco followed the gesture with his eyes.
"Yeah," he managed, his voice deep and gravelly. Ace was never sure who made the first move, but they were kissing, and the sheer relief of having Marco's lips finally against his own was dizzying. Ace clung to Marco's shirt when the kiss deepened, his knees no longer capable of holding him up.
Marco hummed into his mouth, and Ace found himself pressed up against the shelf he'd been stocking. It dug into his back, but he paid it no heed, wrapping a leg around Marco to pull him flush. They gasped into the kiss, and Marco tangled a hand into Ace's hair. He nipped at Ace's lower lip, sending sharp spikes of pleasure shooting through Ace. He dug his nails into Marco's back, breaking away to kiss down Marco's throat, nipping and sucking just like he'd most certainly not fantasized about this morning at breakfast. Marco moaned, and the sound was better than Ace could have imagined.
There was a movement out of the corner of Ace's eyes, and his eyes widened. He drew back, and Marco made a noise of protest before opening his eyes enough to see Ace staring behind him at Whitebeard, and turned enough to see for himself.
"I- We..." Ace started, and Marco just sighed, muttering something about being insufferably smug.
"Oh, don't mind me," Whitebeard said, his eyes dancing. "I'm just browsing. Carry on." He laughed when they both groaned and took himself off, back upstairs and Ace leaned back into Marco with a goofy grin.
"Now where were we?"