So Be It
Tough conversations don't always have to end things.
Notes: This fic was written while listening to Bones by Ben Howard.
The night air was cool, damp with oncoming fog. Moonlight filtered through the trees, leaving speckles of ghostly light across the ground, over the mist that covered the foliage, growing sparser and sparser the closer he got to the beach. Smoker reached the edge of the trees, the shore stretching and curving. He closes his eyes, haki giving him a ripple effect of the world. A mouse rustles under a patch of seagrass. Two loons glide soundlessly overhead. Sand crabs burrow beneath the sand.
And a human sits close to the water.
Smoker opens his eyes, gazing at the figure in the dark. The dying embers of a lighter flash. The ocean tide rolls in, coming up to the edge of Law's boots, the next wave sure to wash over the leather. His dark hair absorbs all light, living obsidian.
His eyebrows furrow as the smell of cheap tobacco overpowers the salt of the waves. Smoker approaches slowly, cautiously. He expected Law to leave hours ago. He always left before Smoker was awake, his submarine sinking beneath the waves. He never said goodbye, just disappeared without a trace.
But not this time. Before dawn, Smoker awoke to a pair of golden eyes staring at him for a long, silent moment before vanishing.
But now, Smoker had found him. He comes to a halt, just a scant few feet separating them. Law's eyes are deep pockets of shadow that roam across the waves and focus on nothing. There's no sneer or frown or irritated scoff on his lips.
No shy, timid smile, like the one he'd gifted to Smoker just a few hours prior, his fingers gently tangling in Smoker's hair, his bronze skin glowing under the lamp light.
No, something had changed. Now there was just an emptiness.
The waves wash in, coming closer and closer, reaching Law's feet, the water splashing over him. Still Law doesn't move. The cigarette dangles between two of his fingers, the tattooed letters on his hand just strange shapes in the dark.
Smoker watches a fiery dying piece of ash drop to the wet sand.
"Didn't know you smoked, Law," he says. The words rumble through the air. Like thunder far off. His eyes flick over the horizon, to the clouds gathering at the edge.
Law says nothing and that - that - screams something is wrong. Law taunts, goads, snarks, snaps, rolls his eyes, and sasses. It's what makes sparring with him a mental exercise as well as a physical one. It's what makes his stupid plans worth following.
It's what makes pulling soft moans and whispered compliments from his throat so compelling.
Smoker steps closer and nudges Law's shoulder with his knee. The feathers of the pirate's ebony cloak shift in the breeze. Law continues to stare out at the water, his golden eyes hooded and unreadable. Smoker's lip curls in irritation. He sinks down and jostles Law's shoulder with his hand. His skin is so pale against the blackness of Law's coat, it seems to glow. "Oi, Law," he growls.
Law blinks once, long and slow, turning to look at him. Smoker watches his gaze flick across his features, something unspeakably sad in it. Sadness is not something he's ever come to associate with Law. Melodrama, cunning, some… sense of inner turmoil, and rage. All encompassing rage. But not the long shadow of despair.
"What kind of future do you want, Smoker-ya?" Smoker blinks, the question unexpected.
"What the hell kind of question is that?" he settles onto the sand, leaning back on his hands.
Law stays quiet and looks back out towards the ocean. The tide creeps ever closer. "The kind that has to be asked," he says after a time. Smoker makes a noise in the back of his throat.
"Can you cut the cryptic shit Law?" he growls, but knows immediately that he should have kept playing along by the way Law stiffens. He sits up and yanks a cigar from the holster on his arm. Fuck it, too late now, and he'd rather have this Law, the irritated and huffy Law, than the strange person sitting next to him.
"We slept together last night," Law near hisses, his gold eyes sliding over Smoker.
"Don't know if you haven't noticed, but we've been doing that for the last year," Smoker says around the cigar in his mouth. The nicotine washes down his throat in a soothing wave.
"Don't be fucking dense," Law snarls. Smoker turns to eye him, going quiet himself.
Law's lips on his forehead, fingers gently brushing through his hair, the sound of his heartbeat under Smoker's ear. Their fingers tangled together under the sheets. Contentment, gentle and unexpectedly soft, filling his chest.
"What is this about Law?" Smoker says, a wave reaching the edge of their boots. Law looks at him, and Smoker can see the way his white hair gleams in the moonlight reflected in Law's eyes.
"...What happens if we want more?" Law says, his voice so very quiet and so very fragile. Not at all familiar. Smoker looks away from him and out at the ocean. The clouds in the distance. The slow fade from deep inky black to navy. Soon to gray and soft periwinkle.
Truthfully he doesn't know how to answer. He never expected this to become a possibility. The first time they fucked was against a wall in an abandoned bar on an island Smoker couldn't remember the name of. It should have been a fight but instead he ended up with his back against the wall and Law's lips wrapped around his cock.
But now...now he followed Law's vivre card to hotels and inns. Pressed him gently onto soft sheets. Now they ordered room service and Smoker listened to him explain medical texts and he let Smoker curse and snarl about politics and philosophy.
"More huh?" he breathes out a plume of smoke. Law looks away, down at the sand.
"...What kind of future do you want Smoker?"
He bit down on his cigar, the fibers flattening under the pressure of his jaw. He didn't think about the future. Well. No. He focused constantly on the future. The war that would eventually come. The ways that the world turned and how history was forged. But his own future?
Beyond chasing Straw Hat? Beyond living through whatever shit the world was going to throw at him and his men? Smoker shifted his heels in the sand.
A pelican swooped low over the waves. Buying a home somewhere, raising a few kids? Was that what he wanted? It wasn't something he didn't want. A place to return to each night, not to be on base or at sea.
Law sliding his fingers up Smoker's side, gazing down at him as Smoker wrapped his legs around Law's narrow waist. That unexpected and warm upward quirk of his lips.
"What kind do you want, Law?" He took in the smaller man's profile from the corner of his eye. The tips of the clouds were beginning to glow silver in the graying sky.
Law's shoulders hunched. "The kind we can't have," he murmured.
Irritation bubbled under Smoker's skin. "What, a house and brats? You never struck me as the type."
Law looked at him sharply and then away. He flicked the butt of his cigarette into the waves and gripped his upper arms, his tattoos now readable in the early light. Smoker raised an eyebrow. Maybe Law did want that. A normal life. Guilt settled across Smoker's shoulders.
"I just don't want to have to hide it," Law said at last. Smoker stared at him, taking in his rumpled black hair, the way he was biting his lip, how white his knuckles were on his arms. It took a lot for him to admit that.
Affection broke over Smoker like a wave and he leaned over, turning Law's head to meet his gaze as he pressed their lips together. Law froze then shoved at his chest. "What the fuck are you doing?! We're in the open!"
"So be it," Smoker murmured. Law opened his mouth in disbelief, irritation, so familiar, drawing his eyebrows down. Those pretty golden eyes began to burn.
"What the fu-" Smoker cut him off.
"I want a future with you in it. And if Straw Hat can become King of the Pirates, then I won't let that go." Law blinked at him and mouthed Straw Hat under his breath. Then he laughed. Heat crept across Smoker's face, over his ears, down the back of his neck. Smoker pulled away, crossing his arms and glared in the direction of the rising sun.
A hand reached out and tugged on his fingers. Smoker turned to look at Law. His breath left him in a short burst. There it was, that tiny smile. He swallowed.
Law pressed his lips over Smoker's as the sun emerged over the horizon and a wave washed over their feet.
Notes:
My 50th fic and I'm back on my SmoLaw bullshit! I will be writing more of them soon, look for a fic in late July. :)
Anyway, they hurt me, and ya'll asked for NSFW angst, so here you go. But also, I like writing them having hope.
As always, thank you for reading and you can find me on twitter at buggyisbest!