Chapter 7

The gentle click of the latch settled in the heavy air as Zoro stood outside the door. He breathed in the stale must of the hall as he collected himself. Once steady, he headed back towards his room as though nothing was wrong, despite his disheveled appearance. With even strides, he mounted the stairs and was on his way down the hall towards his room.

Over the past few weeks, this had been the routine: after dinner, go with Mihawk to his quarters. Sometimes they talked. Often they made out. On two occasions the shichibukai had given him head, but never asked for it in return. They were never more intimate than that. Though it baffled Zoro that his teacher would go so far as to threaten him yet not demand sex, the young swordsman had to admit he was relieved that was the case.

As he clomped along, he turned his thoughts from his predicament and instead focused on his most recent lesson. Mihawk had told him that reactions came from the spine more than anything. Control of the back—both one's own and that of the enemy—is control of the battle. It was something Zoro inherently understood and had already been taught as a child. Why was he being taught what he already knew?

He returned silently to his room, gazing down at his swords as he sat. Mihawk refused to let his student come armed into his chambers, though Zoro doubted it would make much of a difference. After all, he could not learn from a dead man.

For a while he thought, his eyes locked on his swords in the dim night light. He wondered what his teacher's game was, a curiosity that had plagued him since this incident began. He wondered just how far Mihawk was going to go—just because he had not done anything yet did not mean he was incapable of it. He had Zoro's back, so to speak, and that was the worst of it. Of all the things he knew about Mihawk, he knew the shichibukai was honorable. Haughty at times—he could afford to be—but honorable. Blackmail was below him. Not only that, but he had been surprisingly on-edge lately, like a tightrope walker on barbed wire. It was a little disheartening to see someone he looked up to in such a vulnerable state. He could feel Mihawk's unease becoming his own.

He blew out his candle and lay down. For what felt like hours he stayed awake, his mind still running in circles. Annoyed with himself, he rose, heading barefoot and shirtless down the hall. Back and forth he paced, trying to figure a way out of his predicament—after all, he had no interest in Mihawk sexually or romantically. After a while of pacing, he returned to his room and gathered his swords before heading out into the night.

Cool breezes slipped past the swordsman as he strode across the main courtyard. They tousled his hair and tugged merrily at his pants, all the while sighing to the trees and stones. He passed silently through the massive, dilapidated arch that separated the castle from the rest of the ruins, his hand running over the smooth stones. As he meandered farther and farther from the looming structure, Zoro's mind kept working on the problem like a dog chewing leather.

What if Mihawk refused to let him leave when the two years was up? Would he be strong enough to escape? Probably not, at this rate. His crew needed him, and more importantly, needed him strong. What good could come from being the shichibukai's plaything? He stopped a moment and swayed with the breeze.

Perhaps he was going about this the wrong way. He had been in worse situations before and come out stronger for it. Obviously, Mihawk was not trying to hurt him—he would never have been so restrained with Zoro if that were the case. But it was difficult to tell just what the shichibukai wanted from him. Did he want love or sex or company? Of those things, only sex warranted this kind of extortion, yet it was the one thing Mihawk did not push for. Zoro wondered if he could use this to his advantage.

For a moment his mind stopped, and his legs continued carrying him towards the shore's distant song. He weaved between piles of rubble and annihilated buildings. Though faint, the stench of decay lurked beneath the ruins. Somewhere in the night, the hoots and screeches of a fight broke out. Zoro subconsciously tilted his head to the sound but continued on his way. At his side, one of his blades clacked quietly as he surmounted a pile, the rubble grinding into the soles of his feet. He navigated by touch and smell and sound until the slight surf numbed his calloused feet.

Sea foam blew up and around the young swordsman as he considered his encounters with his teacher. For the most part, Mihawk was taciturn but passionate—something that surprised Zoro little. His eyes were always piercing, which was also unsurprising, but there was always something more to them. Zoro could not quite pin what lurked in his teacher's eyes, but it seemed familiar, as if he had felt it himself at some point. It always made him tense just a little more then he cared to admit, like a rabbit watching a predator.

Deeply, he inhaled the salted air, savoring it and letting it fill his mind before releasing it. He looked to the luminescent clouds and over the black horizon as his thoughts returned. More and more, he found himself coming out to the sea at night to reflect on his situation. Often he wondered about his future, and how it would be crippled by Mihawk's distraction. He wondered at what the shichibukai saw in him that was worth throwing away pride and composure. He wondered about the sex, about whether Mihawk would actually go through with the threat, and about how well he himself would handle it. Fighting enemies was easy for Zoro: he was not so sure about loving them.

Before he knew it, dawn had sneaked up on Zoro. He rose from the rubble on which he sat—at some point during his nightly musings he always ended up perched on a rock—and absentmindedly dusted himself off. The castle stood in defiance of the morning gray, so bold and blotting that there was no way for Zoro to miss it. He weaved his way back through the dilapidated city, his swords quietly clattering to themselves. Before long he passed back through the incomplete arch and into the castle.

He found his room with ease, and fell asleep even easier. It was only after he was woken a few hours later by Perona that he regretted staying up as much as he had. He refused to let it show. With vigor he ate—the ghost girl was slowly improving. He hustled through his exercises, ignoring just how intensely Mihawk watched him. Come evening all he wanted to do was sleep. If he had to be honest with himself, he missed the liberty to sleep as he pleased that he had on Sunny.

Dinner was silent. Zoro felt naked, having left his weapons in his room, but Mihawk had demanded it. He resisted the urge to eye the shichibukai, and instead focused on his food. Across from him, Perona took small bites, looking around her constantly. Though she had been doing that plenty lately, something about it bothered him. It reminded him of Robin when she had first joined the Straw Hats: there was no trust in the gesture. He wondered why the ghost girl did it—she was in no danger from him, and he doubted Mihawk would hurt her. He continued to eat, and after a while he ignored it, but his curiosity would not fade.

Despite how slowly Zoro ate, he was still finished before Perona. As he rose, he gave her a glance—she insisted that he take her plate as well as his own—and decided it would be a while still before she would be finished. He strode quietly past Mihawk, secretly glad for Perona's presence. With ease he descended the stairs, and only after he had meticulously cleaned his dishes did he return to the dining hall. The ghost girl was gone. Automatically, Zoro made for the remaining dishes.

"Do not worry about those," Mihawk commanded quietly.

"You're not going to clean this up," Zoro responded. As he stepped closer, the shichibukai grabbed his arm.

"No. She's going to clean her own mess, for once. You go ahead, I'll join you shortly."

Mihawk released his student's arm and rose, heading silently out the door. Zoro looked down at the abandoned plate, again grateful for Perona's presence. Without a second glance he left, wanting nothing more than to be gone when Mihawk returned. Although he was compelled to go to the shichibukai's room, Zoro was glad to travel by himself. What time he had to spend alone with Mihawk was already enough without the older pirate extorting more from him. In the back of his mind, he knew that was why he had been bade to leave his blades before dinner instead of putting them away after.

Zoro's hand trailed along the wall as he descended the stairs. Despite how many times he had visited his teacher's quarters, the change in pressure between the dungeons and the upper floors of the castle was still blatant to him. He traveled in darkness, something he was becoming more comfortable with these days—it was something else he could train. Navigating in the dark was easier for him, too, though he would never admit it aloud. The slight carving of Mihawk's door under his fingertips grabbed his attention.

The door eased quietly aside as Zoro stepped inside. Though dark within, there were enough remnants of sunlight in the window that he felt no need to light a candle. Yoru glinted feebly from her master's bedside in a taciturn greeting. The young pirate sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the black blade. For a while, he remained still, half thinking of how that blade had irreversibly marked him, and now here he was, not five feet from it. He had to admit, Yoru was quite intimidating even without her master present.

Gentle, flickering light approached, filling the room. Mihawk filled the door, near-dead candle in hand. For a moment he paused, eying his student. He set his light down and approached, sitting beside Zoro. The younger man ignored his teacher's shoulder against his, instead keeping his eyes on Yoru.

"You've been very quiet today," Mihawk noted.

"What, you wanted me to talk more?" Zoro did not turn to face the shichibukai.

"It's because you've not been getting sleep lately, isn't it?"

Zoro's head snapped around. "You've been following me."

"I like to make sure you get to your room safely."

"I don't need an escort; there's no one here."

Mihawk's eyes flicked away slightly. He said nothing for a while and simply stared into his student's eyes. Though Zoro tried to look for anything there that might give him leverage against the shichibukai, he could find nothing.

"You should do more than just stare at the sea if you're going to be up all night," Mihawk finally said. "I would recommend something not involving your swords."

"Why not?"

"It is best for a warrior to have some recreation. We all grow stiff when we are tense for too long."

"I do other things."

"Training and drinking do not count." He paused a moment. "You do not have to come up with something tonight. Just keep it in mind."

Zoro grunted in response, his eyes returning to Yoru. He thought a moment in silence, grateful that his teacher had not tried anything yet, though it was not in his nature to rush things. A question came to his mind, one he had been asking himself since Mihawk instigated the relationship. He wondered briefly if it would be a good idea to ask. Quickly, he turned and faced Mihawk again, asking before he could convince himself not to.

"So... I still don't get it. Why do you have me here if you're not going to do anything?"

"Pardon?"

"You've blackmailed me to be here every night, you say you think you love me, and you stalk me apparently, yet you don't do anything more with me. The hell's the deal?"

Mihawk stayed silent for a moment, mulling over an answer, keeping his surprise off his face. Something about Zoro's tone was almost accusatory. He wondered if his student realized it. Slowly, he responded. "I have been trying to be respectful of your wishes, Roronoa—I know you would rather I not do more. If you want, I will cease restraining myself." His voice wavered slightly. "However, I am curious: what do you want of me, if you are so opposed to this?"

Zoro frowned as he gave the question thought. "A decision," he stated finally.

Silently, Mihawk weighed his options. He had already made himself the villain—why did he hold back? His gut told him he would lose something by letting go. Obviously he was losing something by being so indecisive—his student's respect. Perhaps it would be better to keep what he was sure to lose than try to feebly grasp an inkling. Besides, Zoro was practically inviting him.

"I want you," he said quietly, his voice threatening to betray nerves. Mihawk found it odd to be voicing such intimate desires. There was more he wanted to say, but he could not quite get the words to come. Doubts that had been haunting him for nearly two months nibbled at him. He was crossing a line that made his gut strain. He steeled himself.

"All right."

The shichibukai's eyebrows shot up. Zoro removed his shirt, some unreadable expression on his face. He rose and undressed silently, not meeting his teacher's eyes. Only after he was naked did Mihawk speak.

"I can?"

"You gave me no choice."

The accusing words stung, but Mihawk pushed the feeling away. He reached out slowly, taking Zoro's hand gently. It was warm and callused. With a slight tug, he enticed the green-haired man to sit beside him. Zoro plopped onto the bed like a dead thing, his eyes turned defiantly away. The blatant rebellion did not go unnoticed. Mihawk's mouth twitched in a frown. He was done with his gentility being spat upon.

He jerked his shirt off, tossing it to some corner of the room. The numbing rush of adrenaline shot through him. With more force than he meant, but still somehow not enough, he shoved his student back among the pillows. Mihawk towered over his student, strong arms supporting him. The two glared at each other for a moment in the half light of the room. Though the stifling air of the dungeon was cold, neither noticed.

Mihawk felt himself tense as Zoro started undoing his pants. He slid them away in a robotic gesture, his eyes fierce and blazing. Boldly, he grabbed his teacher's cock, already half-hard. Mihawk's entire form flexed. It felt amazing, but there was a hard edge to the grasp that he knew instinctively was meant to maim. He could see it in Zoro's eyes: he would not be defeated. The elder's eyes narrowed. A challenge sounded fun.

He leaned forward, lowering himself onto his elbows. "What do you plan on doing with that now that you've got it, Roronoa?" he whispered. His core flinched as the grip tightened. Zoro said nothing. His eyes narrowed. Mihawk leaned forward, grabbing his student's mouth and wrenching it open with his tongue. The exotic flavor burst into his mouth as he kissed the younger man passionately. Teeth dug into his tongue, but he refused to withdraw it. Mihawk's hand cupped Zoro's skull, fingers grabbing his hair and pulling. The teeth clenched harder, and the clamp on his dick tightened. He moaned slightly.

Zoro released Mihawk's tongue long enough to shove his own into the elder's mouth. He propped himself on one elbow, pushing up into his teacher while retaining his grip. Heat seared across his chest as his body ground into Mihawk's. He kept his eyes locked on the golden ones before him, unwilling to relent.

Wrenching his head back, Mihawk broke the kiss. His arms folded, dropping his weight quickly—but not too quickly—onto Zoro. Though the younger refused to give quarter, he found himself pinned. His eyes did not waver.

"You should do something with that," Mihawk purred, undulating his hips, "Before I find something for it."

Zoro scowled, giving the member a somewhat sharp tug. He could feel Mihawk tense, giving him some grim satisfaction. He wanted to make the shichibukai regret extorting him, but somewhere in the back of his mind he felt relieved to see the return of Mihawk's commanding presence. The arm that had supported him slid down, resting him flat on his back. With both hands he worked, annoyed by the awkward angle yet watching the shichibukai's face intently. He was surprised to see hints of pleasure on the normally guarded countenance. Mentally, he took notes on what affected Mihawk the most.

Zoro felt the subtle shifting of weight as he worked his teacher's dick. He saw no indication on Mihawk's face to reveal awareness of it, but he knew it was an opening. In an instant, he stopped handling the taut member, jerked his leg up and gave himself leverage with his arms. Shoving hard, the younger swordsman rammed his shoulder and chest up into Mihawk's bulk, determined to topple him.

The bed complained as they rolled. Mihawk smirked up at Zoro, their noses inches apart.

"Are you actually going to do something with me, or are you just going to hold me at bay?"

Zoro scowled, opening his mouth to speak but stopping short as the elder began to kiss his neck and shoulders. He felt himself tremble. He had long been passive in these encounters. Granted, not knowing his way had never stopped him before.

"I want..." he faltered.

"Yes?"

"I want you to rub my dick."

A low chuckle rumbled in the shichibukai's throat. "You mean like this?" Hands slid gently down Zoro's sides, coming together and caressing his growing erection. The younger man's breath caught in his throat. Mihawk resumed his kisses. There was something about the way he worked that could rile Zoro up despite how loath he was to the relationship. It was maddening to him that he could not fight such basic urges. He wanted to do the same to his captor, but had no firm grasp as to how.

A thought struck him. "This isn't any different from what you normally do," he grunted, keeping his voice steady despite husky breathing.

"It isn't? Strange, I hadn't noticed." There was something in the dismissive tone in his voice that made Zoro scowl.

"Don't fuck with me," he growled.

Mihawk's hands stilled. "Didn't I say that's what I wanted, though?"

"No it wasn't."

"And didn't you want me to take what I wanted?" He leaned into Zoro a little, so that their faces touched.

"You didn't mention mind games."

Mihawk ignored the comment. "You demanded I take what I want from you instead of beating around the bush," he said quietly, his voice like iron, "You insisted on this, despite my objections. You had your chance to say no, Roronoa."

"No I didn't," he barked, "You can't blackmail someone and then tell them they've got choices."

For a moment, Mihawk thought of anything he might be able to say, but he was at a loss. He did not want this chance to end. Finally, he gave a small sigh.

"If you haven't noticed," he said quietly, "You have me quite firmly where you want me. Do what you will, but if I'm unhappy with the results, I'll do as I wish until I am satisfied."

Zoro snorted. "There's another empty threat."

Without warning, Mihawk's palm slammed into Zoro's chest, threatening to knock him off-balance. Instinctively, he clutched bed clothes and flesh, anchoring himself. They glared at one another again.

"You'd better hurry before I start acting on my threats," the shichibukai growled.

Zoro jolted back, his face ambiguous in the dark. He felt hands on him again, handling him in a way that flushed him with heat. If he were honest with himself, he would say he enjoyed the sensation. No, he more than enjoyed it. It was something he never wanted to end.

Now was not the time to be honest, though.

He pulled back, but the hands followed. Feeling his way, Zoro leaned back on his haunches, his own hands swatting Mihawk's away. Trembling, he took his cock in his hands and gently guided it forward, stopping as he felt flesh. His entire body ached from clenching so hard.

"Well?" Mihawk's voice seemed distant. The shadows of the room made the entire encounter seem unreal. Out of the corner of his eye, Zoro saw the silent gleam of Yoru. His own heavy breathing seemed to come from someone else entirely. The musk of sex filled his nose. He pushed onward.

Mihawk sucked in air through clenched teeth as he was penetrated. The pain shot through him in a way he was unfamiliar with, but he bore it. After all, he had asked for this. He could hear Zoro's audible gasp as he pushed his way deeper inside. Vaguely, Mihawk wondered what he felt like.

The younger man stopped when he felt he could go no further. Muscles were taut around him, and heat enveloped him. Again, if he were honest, part of him wanted to stay like this for a while. Another part—a more primal part—clamored for action.

"I'm moving," he muttered, more for his own benefit than for his partner's. Though the undulation came naturally, he still moved slowly. Something felt off, but he could not tell what. Before he was aware, he felt himself pushing faster. The heat lured him in, pulled him in, held him in, and yet there was something raw about it that stung just as much as it intoxicated. His strokes became harder. Necessity forced him to grip Mihawk's legs for support. From some distance, he thought he heard the older man groan. He ignored it. There was a familiar tension building in him, like the swelling of waves. Zoro was determined to slam into it.

Even as he felt himself cum, he kept pumping, like his body was unwilling to stop. The room around him seemed to come back into focus, like waking from a dream. He could finally feel the cold air of the room on his slick skin, feel it in his open mouth and overworked lungs. He smelt the salt of sweat and the almost repulsive tang of sex. And he could finally hear the moans and demands radiating from Mihawk's core, which had been a constant groan in the background of their movement. His pace slackened and stopped.

"You haven't cum," Zoro muttered as he withdrew.

Mihawk leaned up on his elbows. "It's fine. I'm satisfied."

The younger man glared. "I'm not."

Before either of them could stop him, Zoro edged back. In one sweeping movement, he had the shichibukai's dick in his mouth. He picked up a steady rhythm, emulating what Mihawk had done for him over the past weeks. Ignoring his own rapid pulse pounding in his ears, Zoro instead focused on the jagged breathing and hearty rumbles Mihawk seemed unable to keep from producing. It surprised Zoro that a man who had been so quiet and composed in earlier encounters could be so loud now.

Firm fingers dug into his scalp and pulled, trying to wrench him free. The tugging only encouraged him to go faster. He stroked and squeezed Mihawk's balls with one hand while the other explored beyond the groin, much to the shichibukai's apparent delight. He thought he heard a protest, but it was weak and almost instantly drowned out by another ecstatic call.

In his fingertips, Zoro felt Mihawk shudder vehemently. Cum exploded into his mouth, which he kept shut tightly around the trembling member. The taste flooded his mouth and filled his nose and made him want to gag. He felt the hands on his scalp slacken.

"You don't have to swallow," Mihawk said quietly.

Zoro was more than happy to hear that. As he sat up, he tried to look at Mihawk's face, but the shichibukai had his head tilted back among pillows. For a moment, he wondered if he should say something, but he decided against it and slid off the bed. Gathering his clothes in silence, Zoro could not help but to snatch glances of the other man, who did not once move from his spread-eagle pose. Once dressed, he stalked out the door and down the hall. It annoyed him that the closest bathroom was not closer, but the liquid in his mouth made him hasten up the stairs. Before too long, yet not soon enough, he had found his way to the wash basin before expectorating.

After washing out his mouth, he started down the hall to return to his room, but something felt wrong. Without realizing it, he found himself descending the stairs in silence. His hand ran numbly across the doors. Instinctively, he stopped at Mihawk's door. Zoro hung outside for a moment, wondering silently to himself why he had returned. All he could say was that it felt wrong for him to leave. Without a word, he stepped back into the dark room.

"Move," Zoro muttered, returning to the bedside. Mihawk did not stir. Apparently he hadn't moved the entire time. Zoro scowled and sat on the bed. "Move," he commanded, more forcibly. The older man brought his head up to look at him. Saying nothing, he rolled out of Zoro's way. With a kick, Zoro was free of his boots, and he settled down next to Mihawk. After a moment of staring at the older man's back, he said, "Don't tell me after all this shit you're not satisfied."

For a moment, there was silence. "No," Mihawk finally replied.

"The hell do I have to do then?"

"No, that's..." he sighed. "No, I'm satisfied."

"Why aren't you looking at me then?"

"What?"

"People who...have sex like that. They look at each other when they sleep, right?"

Mihawk craned his head to look Zoro in the eye.

"Not always," he replied slowly, contemplating the question. He asked one of his own. "Have you never had sex before?"

"Not before coming here."

Disbelief shot across Mihawk's face for a moment, but it was missed in the dark. He rolled back over, laying face-to-face with Zoro. For a moment, he just looked into the younger man's face, surprised to see it a mix of honesty and mild embarrassment. Finally, he gently rested his hand and Zoro's hip.

"You should sleep on this side," he said quietly. Without a word, they somewhat awkwardly switched places. Once they had finally shuffled the pillows and pulled the blankets into place, they settled in a jumbled way. Zoro was out almost instantly.

Mihawk padded silently through the dark hall, his mind unwilling to let him sleep. As he came to the stairs, he turned one-eighty and paced in the other direction. He ignored the chill of the hall, as it had long since turned his extremities numb.

Each time he passed his door, he resisted the urge to peek inside to see if Zoro still lay asleep in his bed. His mind replayed their encounter on a loop, invoking memory in the dark. Shadows of the touches and caresses lingered on his skin, as though he was caught somewhere between the present and the past. The spice of Zoro's kiss stuck in the back of his mouth. Yet sweet as the memory was, his gut clenched.

Mihawk wondered if Zoro had enjoyed himself. The way the younger man had thrown himself into it suggested that he might have, but that could have just as easily been his normal fervor. It could have been impulse—Mihawk had to admit that his first time had not been glamorous, but he remembered desperately wanting it. There was always the chance he had been faking. The shichibukai frowned. Zoro's constant mentions of extortion made him sore.

Not to mention there was the problem of the blackmail. It kept him up at night—like it was doing now—and filled him with regret. As a swordsman, it told of his abandoned restraint, which he only now realized had been what he risked losing by sleeping with Zoro. It showed the weaker side of him that would get him killed if he were to let anyone see it. Letting Zoro that close was a terrible idea, especially when Mihawk was trying to teach him better. He sighed—he was a horrible teacher. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered how long it would be before Zoro used this weakness against him.

That was the other truth that haunted him: Zoro clearly did not love him. Sure, the young swordsman may have looked up to him at some point, even if it had been as a rival, but there was no doubt in Mihawk's mind that he had lost whatever admiration his student held for him. The relationship was disingenuous, which ate away at his conscience. His stomach clenched again.

Mihawk's mind blanked a moment as he came to the stairs again. His hand fell on the stone banister as he stared up the staircase. Again, he mentally replayed his encounter. Quietly, he sat on the bottom step, gazing into the darkness.

Forcing the relationship had been a mistake, Mihawk had realized too late. He thought over the last few weeks and about how his guilt and shame had been berating him for even considering extortion. It had been a moment of weakness that was now being thrown back in his face every time he saw Zoro's look of disdain. He was stuck with the consequences of his weakness.

Like lightning, realization struck—he had forced Zoro to have sex with him. Yes, he had been goaded into it, but he could have easily backed out. The thought made him sick with himself. It did not help his conscience any that it had been Zoro's first time.

Jumping to his feet, Mihawk was up the stairs in a flash. Down the hall he strode, and before long he came to Zoro's room. Silently, he gathered his student's blades and carried them gingerly at his sides, muttering apologies to them. Before long, he returned to his quarters and stepped inside. The green-haired man was still dead asleep, much to Mihawk's relief. Quietly, he set the three swords beside their master and stepped back, giving them a final look before grabbing his coat and leaving once more.

The night air was beautifully liberating. Sea breezes cooled him in a way that did not chill, and they seemed to whisk away his thoughts. Brilliant cloud-light filled the sky, freeing Mihawk from the phantoms that hung in the shadows of the castle. He left his nightmare behind him as he weaved his way towards the sea.

As he perched among the rubble and gazed out at the endless sea, peace settled over him. Mihawk knew everything would not be all right, but he found he was all right with that. He knew he was now stuck with the consequences of his actions, and he was all right with that. What he was not all right with was the fact that he had used blackmail at all, nonetheless against someone he felt he loved.

Perhaps, in the morning, he could work on remedying that.

AN: So it's been a while. I apologize for the lack of updates, but I've been settling in at a new college. Let me tell you, four year institutes are a lot fiercer than a two year community college! As ever, I'd like to thank my lovely beta Rhov for being patient with me, as I'd like to thank all you lovely readers for your continued support and attention. I hope you guys continue to enjoy the story as I can manage to produce it!

As I Am,

Lady Spritzy

1/13/15