Small warning: there's a pretty brief mention of masturbation in this chapter but it's very vague so I'm conflicted about whether or not I should change the rating—but if it bothers anyone, I will! So basically, yeah, all my chapters are short. I'd like to write longer ones, but I'm a slow writer and I work full-time so I don't really have the time to invest into longer chapters. Also, thank you to all the people who have reviewed thus far! I really appreciate it.
Quite easily, both males fall into a comfortable pattern: of coffee (black, for Law, and smothered in milk and sugar for Luffy), crumbly banana nut muffins, and cloud-swirled tables. There was a café in the library, of course, but Luffy had chosen to conveniently ignore that fact, and Law decided to play along with him—stowing his laptop safely into his backpack and following the teenager through alleyways and rain. Luffy didn't have a set destination in mind—"It's an adventure," he had said, a cheery smile lined with sunlight playing on his lips as he slipped off his flip-flops. Eventually, the two had stumbled upon a quint, little store aptly named, 'The Coffee Bean'; the tables inside were old and worn, chipped wood twirling artfully on the tops. And maybe it should have been awkward—but rather, Luffy is impartial to such emotions, and Law simply doesn't care. The elder had slouched back in his chair as Luffy talked, fingertips tracing the marks splayed over their table (tucked away in the corner of the café). Instead of looking into Luffy's eyes, Law stared at the crumbs sticking to the corner of the teenager's mouth—all of which was left of the muffin they split in half.
Luffy talks too much. Law talks too little. Maybe they're a match made in Heaven. Luffy is just a little smitten with Law's tattoos and the small twist of the man's mouth as he smiles. "Give me your phone number." He doesn't poise this question with as much subtly as when he asked Law to coffee (okay, so he wasn't subtle then, either); after all, Law hadn't turned him down then, so why would he now?
It doesn't take Luffy very long to learn that Law doesn't actually smile—not with his lips, at least. No, instead, there's a small curve on one corner of the man's lips and a slight pucker, but moreso, there's a smile in his eyes. Luffy can see it in the glimmer behind coal and storm-gray, coated with eyelashes. Law has short eyelashes, he notices. "No please?"
"Please," Luffy says. And he means it.
There isn't a single part of Law that can refuse the boy.
Luffy's spine is curled over the arm of his (or rather, Makino and Shank's) (mom and dad's) sofa, mouth parted and eyes fluttered shut as Nirvana's 'Pennyroyal Tea' blast through his headphones and reverberates through his brain. He's actually fairly apathetic towards the fabled band (he leans more towards acoustic and airy—due to Ace's influence), but it's Law's favorite song. And that means a lot, but right now, it doesn't carry much weight on Luffy's shoulders. His legs are crisscross-apple-sauce and they bounce as a big lug of one hundred and fifty-three pounds throws himself onto the couch to join Luffy.
Barely, Luffy lifts his head, peeking a single eye open to get a face-full of a grinning Ace. Broad shoulders are still clad in his work shirt, the scent of plastic and generic groceries clinging to the elder. His older brother's lips are moving, speaking, but of course Luffy doesn't hear with his headphones cupped over his ears. Lazily, a hand flits up, sliding a single ear cup behind his cartilage. Nirvana is still lambasting the silence, but at least he'll be able to hear Ace now. He blinks slowly, cheeks feathered with long lashes and droopy lids. "What was that?"
Ace's lips pucker into something of a wry smile. He wrinkles his nose, the freckles peppering over his skin being crinkled up as well. "You're listening to Nirvana? You're not going to hop onto the Kurt Cobainism train, are you?"
"Says the one who knew it was Nirvana," Luffy retorts dryly. "Is that really a thing? Kurt Cobainism?"
"Oh, you are so sheltered."
"And whose fault is that?" When they were younger, it was most definitely Luffy who had a brother(s) complex. He was that annoying younger sibling who insisted on being around whenever Ace or Sabo had friends over and would try to delve into their world of lockers and free periods. The axis shifted as the three boys grew older though; Luffy found his own circle of friends, own interest, and the two older brothers found themselves missing their cute little brother who idolized them. So, of course, the only option for them now is to be fiercely over-protective.
Ace doesn't get a chance to reply. Luffy's phone lights up, vibrating in his hoody pocket, and the boy's attention is almost completely invested onto the device. And the elder watches as his little brother's face brightens up, lips splitting into a wide, toothy grin. Big enough to make his eyes scrunch up. His cheeks are rosy, flushed in a glow of happiness. Ace squints. Squints even more, and watches the light reflecting off of Luffy's eyes. The expression on his brother's face is a foreign one—one he's never seen the boy direct towards Usopp (Luffy's best, best, best friend), or Nami (their neighbor, and second-best as Usopp likes to say), or him and Sabo, or Makino, or well, any of their family and friends. A sort of dopey joy lined with reverence. Almost as if he's—-"Do you… Have a crush on someone?" he asks, in mild disbelief.
Those ebony irises flash to Ace instantly, thin lips parted—it seems Luffy is in disbelief as well. "Wha—- Of course not!" His text—to Law—is sent and Luffy locks his screen, shifting his headphones to rest on the crooks of his neck. The mobile device is stuffed into his pocket, hidden like a dirty little secret. And Ace is staring at him with the most dumb expression, eyes wide and gaping, so Luffy shoves the other away and marches up the stairs to his room, completely intending to lock himself behind the door until dinner time.
Luffy so does not have a crush.
Okay, so maybe Luffy has a crush; and it's completely terrifying. This isn't some tale of betrayal, or of a man in love with his lack of commitment. This is a tale of assumed asexuality and aromanticism and an utter uprooting of beliefs and comfort. Wood crackles and snaps, Luffy groans into his pillow, and he's so hot and humiliated—half-hard in a ripped pair of basketball shorts and pressed against his mattress. Which isn't extremely unusual—asexuality is such a broad spectrum and he gets just as aroused as the next eighteen-year-old boy, but there was always a disconnection between his brain and body. Luffy would just feel, but he'd never think, never think about people, and certainly never think about a twenty-two-year-old man covered in tattoos.
He groans into his pillow again, biting down on the cover, and turns his head barely on a pivot, looking at his clock that illuminates 3:02 a.m. Barely, he can hear the strumming of a guitar coming from Ace's room. Luffy is filled to the brim with a rush of shame and guilty-pleasure as his hand, sandwiched between his mattress and his body, slides down his stomach, fingering at the waistband of his shorts.
He's in the solitary comfort of his room, Ace won't hear a peep from him, and it isn't as if he hasn't done this before. Yet, for some reason, Luffy feels as though the world is watching him.
Masked behind a bated breath, he mumbles in the darkness, "Law."