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Law’s never been to a beach bonfire party before. He’s barely been to any parties, if he’s being honest. His idea of a Friday night is a case review and a quiet hour alone in the call room before rounds start all over again. That’s been his life for as long as he can remember—pre-med to med school to residency, one long unbroken stretch of study, scrape, and surgical suites. Work is control. Work is order. Work is safe. Work is familiar.
But then there’s them. Law's so-called friends.
Shachi had cornered him in the hospital parking lot after a double shift, bouncing with excitement, high off bad coffee and a successful central line insertion, waving an open passenger door and two energy drinks like a bribe. Penguin leaned out the window, already wearing swim trunks under his scrubs, cheeks sun-pink from his mornings spent surfing. Law feels tired just thinking about it.
“Come on, Cap,” Shachi had said, grinning. “We’re going to the beach. It’s a chill night. No pressure. There’s a party– friends and friends of friends.”
“And Luffy’s gonna be there,” Penguin added. “I think you’ll like him. Trust me, Cap’n.”
They always call him Captain. Have since they were teens and Law used to patch up their scraped knees and worse, broken kids of broken families building one of their own. It stuck—even now, halfway through residency, grown-ass men in lab coats and nitrile gloves, they still defer to him like he’s the one steering the ship. Which, to be fair to them, he really is. Law’s the one who schedules the study nights, who checks in when Shachi’s charting goes sideways or when Penguin’s mood dips low and mean for no reason he’ll explain. He’s the anchor. The constant.
Which makes it all the more annoying that they’re almost always right about what he needs.
So now here he is, still in his scrubs, his ID badge shoved in a glove compartment, standing at the edge of a beach party that burns at his nostrils with driftwood smoke, wondering if he’s going to regret this in the morning. There’s a massive bonfire in the middle of the sand, surrounded by bodies in various states of intoxication and undress. Music’s playing from a busted Bluetooth speaker someone keeps smacking to get it back in sync. There’s beer in a cooler and weed in the air and people dancing barefoot on the sand, skin glowing shades of gold and bronze in the firelight.
Law’s halfway through his second drink and planning a ghost exit when it happens.
A voice cuts across the noise: “You’re Torao, right?”
He turns.
There’s a boy—a man, probably, but young. Black hair a chaotic mess under a straw hat that somehow feels timeless. He’s wearing a tank top with a cartoon skeleton on it and cutoff shorts so scandalously short they make Law choke on his drink.
“It’s Trafalgar,” Law replies, voice a little too curt. “My name is Trafalgar Law. Doctor Tragalgar Law.”
The guy beams. “I’m Luffy.” Like that should mean something.
Then again, judging by the reactions to him from half the people here, maybe it does mean something. The name gets thrown around a lot—apparently this is his party, or his friend’s, or maybe he just showed up and took over. He seems to have that kind of gravity. Oh, right, isn’t this who Penguin was trying to set him up with? Law’s been… not lonely but not not lonely, and his friends have been fussing over his love life—or lack thereof.
Luffy tilts his head, roving his eyes over Law like he’s sizing him up for something that isn’t quite ringing Law's danger alarms, but definitely isn’t casual. “You looked like you needed someone to talk to.”
“I didn’t,” Law says flatly.
Luffy grins wider and offers his hand. “Cool. I’m bad at small talk anyway. Wanna walk with me?”
Law opens his mouth to say no. He really does.
Luffy bites into a slice of watermelon he’s been holding in his other hand and pink juice spills down his fingers, sticky and bright in the firelight. He doesn’t break eye contact as he licks it off, like he doesn’t even know how obscene it looks.
Law’s brain short-circuits.
He stands up straighter, pulling himself to his full height in a show of—of what he doesn’t know. Intimidation, maybe? Sometimes his height is all he has. “Sure.” He walks past Luffy, who bounds over to keep up with Law’s long legs. He pointedly does not take Luffy’s offered hand.
The party fades behind them, the sound of music swallowed by the shush-shush of the waves and the occasional crack of firewood. The sand is cool underfoot, and Law’s arms are crossed tight over his chest like he’s holding something in.
Which he is. He always fucking is.
Luffy walks ahead, then sideways, then backward—he moves like a wind current, untethered, like the idea of going in a straight line never occurred to him. He talks as he moves, casually, like they’ve known each other for years instead of minutes. Something about the time someone named Usopp claims to have caught a giant goldfish, and how Franky (Shachi’s mechanic, Law’s mind helpfully supplies) keeps trying to build a motorized surfboard.
Law’s barely following the words, too caught up in the slope of Luffy’s throat as he tips his head back to laugh.
He’s fucking cute. Stupidly cute. Too cute, and it's lowering Law's defenses in a way he isn't quite ready for. Law’s eyes keep slipping to the dark line of hair under his belly button where it vanishes into those ridiculous shorts, to the long muscle lines of his arms when he stretches, to the crooked scar under his collarbone.
Law swallows.
It’s not even the beer—he’s had, what, two? He feels drunk anyway. Dizzy. Warm. He can’t tell if it’s the firelight, the ocean breeze, or the fact that Luffy keeps getting closer every time he turns to face him, like he’s orbiting now, not walking.
He's so engrossed in the rinse-cycle of his thoughts that he fully startles when Luffy speaks again.
“We should go swim,” Luffy says, bright and easy, kicking his sandals off. “Water’s warm as hell tonight.”
He grabs the hem of his tank top and peels it off in one motion, careless, and suddenly he’s all tanned skin and defined abs and muscle that doesn’t look like it should exist on someone that lean.
Law’s mouth dries out. His eyes flick away too fast, back again. Don’t stare. He’s not even being sexy about it—he just is sexy. Ugh.
Luffy grins at him. “You coming?”
And just like that, the mood crashes hard.
Because Law’s shirt is staying the fuck on.
He’s had top surgery—years ago now—but the scars are still there. Ragged lines, sharp and pale across his chest, stark against his skin in the moonlight. He doesn’t mind them most days. Sometimes, he even likes them. But under the wrong eyes, they’ve always felt like a confession he didn’t mean to make. Something to put him in danger when he should be having fun.
And ugh, Luffy. He’s dangerous in a different way. Too casual, too unfiltered, too fucking beautiful. The kind of person who could make you believe in things. Law doesn’t trust people like that. He’s not sure he even trusts himself around them.
The scars would be obvious. The story they tell, even more so. And worse than being seen is being misunderstood—the wrong kind of curiosity, or that soft-eyed concern people like to pass off as kindness when it’s really all they can do not to stare at Law like a zoo animal. Or worse—when someone he’s interested in is suddenly not interested upon learning he’s…. Well, what he is vs what he isn’t. Law assumes Luffy is attracted to men given Shachi and Penguin’s enthusiasm for getting them to talk but beyond that Law has no way of knowing if he’s….
Ugh. Swimming. Right.
Oh, and swimming in his boxers? Wet fabric clinging to every nook and cranny, leaving nothing to the imagination. It’s all too risky. Too much.
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, blinking like it might help chase the tension off. It doesn’t.
“I’m good,” he says, tight. “Not really dressed for it.”
Luffy tilts his head, looks at Law like he’s a fucking idiot. “So undress.”
Law laughs—too hard, too sharp. It breaks out of him like pressure through a crack in his chest. “Yeah, I’ll pass.”
The silence stretches. He can already feel the moment souring. Can see Luffy’s interest evaporating, like condensation on a window. You’re blowing it, some voice in his brain whispers, cruel and so, so familiar. You’re finally talking to someone who doesn’t treat you like a case study or a walking résumé, and you’re acting like some uptight prick who doesn’t know how to have fun—
But then Luffy just drops to the sand, shirtless and grinning, completely unbothered, and looks up at him like none of it’s weird. Like Law didn’t just panic his way into a rejection spiral.
Law stands there, arms crossed tight again, tension crawling down his spine like it wants to burrow straight into bone. His jaw’s clenched so hard it aches. He should go. He should say something cutting and walk away and pretend this night never happened.
Luffy tilts his head like he’s studying a particularly stubborn puzzle. “Are you always this grumpy,” he asks, eyes glinting in the moonlight, “or is that just for me?”
“I’m not grumpy,” Law mutters.
Luffy’s smile kicks wider. “You so are.”
He flops backward into the sand like it’s a bed made for him, staring up at the stars, elbows tucked behind his head. “It’s a beautiful night,” he says. “I’m hot. You’re hot. I wanna swim with you. What’s the problem?”
Law glares. “Maybe I don’t feel like being on display.”
Luffy lifts his head just enough to look at him, serious now—but not gentle. There’s nothing condescending in his face. “Then don’t be,” he says. “You don’t have to take anything off you don’t want to. But if you’re worried I’ll look at you weird or something—” He pauses. “You’re wrong.”
Law blinks. “What.”
“You’re wrong,” Luffy says again, simple and warm, like he’s pointing out a fact. “I’m not gonna think anything weird. Except maybe that you’re hot. I’d really like to go swimming with you.”
That gets him. A little spark of laughter escapes before Law can smother it. Luffy is so fucking earnest it’s honestly refreshing. He sighs, tips his head back, stares at the sky for a second like it might offer divine intervention.
Then, finally, he exhales.
“Fuck it.”
He peels his shirt off fast, like if he hesitates, he’ll lose his nerve. The sea breeze hits his skin and he exhales through his teeth as goosebumps break along his arms. His chest is silvery in the moonlight, scars soft but distinct, and across his body, the black ink of his tattoos gleam in the darkness. Luffy makes a surprised noise behind him.
“Whoa,” he says, eyes wide, already moving in a slow circle around him in the sand. “Your tattoos are so cool. Did they take forever?”
Law blinks. That wasn’t what he expected Luffy to focus on. “Yeah,” he says carefully. “A while.”
Luffy crouches down a little, still staring at the ink on his arms and chest and back like they’re a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “They look like something with a story,” he says. “They look… heavy.”
Law swallows. The words come out slow, almost reluctant. “They’re for someone.”
Luffy glances up at him. Waiting, not pushing.
Someone I loved, Law thinks. Someone I lost. But saying it feels dangerous, like offering a wound for inspection. Still. He says it anyway, voice soft, chin tilted slightly down. “They’re for someone I loved.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Luffy nods once, like that makes perfect sense to him. He reaches up and presses a hand to his chest, fingers splaying over the large, gnarly scar across his chest.
“Yeah,” he says simply. “So’s this.”
Law’s breath catches.
Luffy doesn’t make it into a big deal. He just grins after, the same wild, bright grin as he’s had this whole time—but something’s shifted. There’s a stillness under it. Something grounded and real, that looks almost foreign on this newly-met wonder of a boy.
Law’s throat is tight. He looks away, clears it. “You’re weird.”
Luffy snorts. “Yeah.”
He shrugs then shucks his shorts, drops his hat on top, and runs straight into the water without another word, yelping at the cold but laughing all the same. He was not wearing anything under the shorts.
Law watches him for a second, stunned.
It isn't... well, it isn't because of Luffy's body—though it is something, and Law does not pretend he isn’t absolutely staring at Luffy’s tight little ass as he runs towards the waves—but because of how easy he makes it look. Being in the world. Being known. Naked on a beach, whatever.
Law steps into the water slowly, letting the warmth rise up his legs, his hips, his chest. It buoys him. Makes his body feel less sharp. Less weighted.
They tread water side by side, not touching, not talking at first. Just the hush of waves and moonlight and the sound of Luffy breathing. The pulse of Law's heart thrumming louder and louder in his chest.
A splash, then Luffy says, “I like the way you talk.”
Law blinks at him. “I’ve been told my voice is… attractive.”
Luffy grins. “Nah. It's not that. More like you think everything through before you say it. Makes me wanna listen real close.”
Law doesn’t know what to say to that. So he doesn’t say anything.
Luffy swims closer. And when he presses their mouths together, it’s sudden but not forceful. Soft and testing, wet with saltwater, warm and a little awkward. A smile in the middle of it. It's so nice Law forgets to breathe. But he doesn’t pull away. His hands are warm underwater. His eyes are open, waiting.
Law exhales into him. “I don’t… usually do this.”
Luffy smiles against his mouth. “Cool, neither do I.”
And then he kisses him again—this time a little deeper, a little messier. Their teeth bump, and Luffy makes a surprised sound, then grins and tries again. His lips are plush, soft but insistent, and he tastes like salt and heat and the memory of something sweet– watermelon juice sucked off sticky fingers.
Law lets himself melt into it, just a little.
Luffy’s hand drifts up his side, tentative at first, then bolder, fingers gliding over the inked lines of his tattoos, the firm plane of his stomach. His touch is curious, reverent in its own chaotic way, like he’s learning Law by feel. Every part of Law’s brain that usually screams danger, control, stop is quiet for once.
Luffy presses closer, their chests brushing with every shift of the tide. His thigh slips between Law’s legs, just enough to tease.
“Luffy,” Law warns, voice low.
“Mmh?” Luffy says into his mouth, completely unbothered.
Luffy kisses him again, deeper this time, mouth insistent, open and wet and so eager. His tongue slides against Law’s, playful but searching, and Law lets himself sink into it, lets the water hold him as his grip slides to Luffy’s shoulders.
And then Luffy’s hand starts moving down. Slowly. Almost curiously. Like he’s not entirely sure where he’s going—only that he wants.
His palm glides over Law’s ribs, brushes the curve of his waist, then lower still. His fingertips dip just beneath the waistband of Law’s sea-soaked boxers. He doesn’t go for anything, not right away, teases the edge of skin, dragging slow, lazy circles there before moving back down over the fabric.
Law’s breath stutters.
Luffy hums—a low, pleased noise like he’s found something exciting. And then he leans in and bites gently at Law’s lower lip at the same time as his hand presses lower, cupping Law through the fabric with a pressure that’s more exploratory than bold.
Law’s whole body jolts. Fuck.
Even in the ocean—surrounded by chill and current—he feels wet, aching and hot where Luffy’s hand presses. He can feel himself throb, body so sensitive it feels like it might tear open on sensation alone. The friction of damp cotton against his cunt is maddening, his dick already swollen, nerves sparking with every slow grind of Luffy’s palm.
“Luffy,” Law gasps, voice barely more than a breath.
Luffy kisses him again. It’s messier this time, a little wild, a little greedy. His free hand slides up, over Law’s stomach, finding the faint trail of hair that leads down. He follows it with his fingertips, then drags his nails gently through it, scraping just enough to make Law’s whole abdomen tighten.
Law clutches at his shoulders. He’s dizzy. The water feels far away, the world narrowing to the glide of fingers and heat of mouths, the pulsing want between his legs.
Then—just as Luffy’s fingers slip properly into the waistband, start to breach the edge, just as he grazes Law’s slick, swollen sex—Luffy sucks in a breath at the exact wrong time, too transfixed on his hand below the water to realize he was dipping his nose and mouth under the waves.
Luffy immediately chokes.
He jerks back coughing, spluttering violently, flailing like he’s forgotten how to float, let alone function. Saltwater shoots out of his nose, eyes bugging as he claws at the air.
“Oh my god,” Law blurts, instinct taking over. He lunges forward, wraps an arm around Luffy’s chest, and starts dragging him toward shore. “You idiot.”
Luffy is still hacking. “I—cough—I had it—ugh—under control—”
“You did not,” Law snaps, breathless and absolutely mortified, hauling him through the surf like a drowned cat. His dick is rubbing against the seam, his boxers are soaked. He cannot believe this is happening.
They collapse into the sand, a tangle of limbs and salt and shivering laughter. Luffy rolls onto his back, chest heaving, wiping at his eyes.
“You could have died,” Law mutters, straddling a line between fury and hysterics.
Luffy’s still coughing, but he’s also laughing, wheezing between each breath as if nearly drowning was something that happens to him often.
“The ocean has never liked me,” he manages between sputters. “I think it’s jealous.”
Law stares at him, brain short-circuited. His heart’s still hammering from panic and arousal and god knows what else. Luffy looks like a wreck—hair wild, lashes wet, seawater dripping off every inch of golden, naked skin—and Law is acutely aware that Luffy is hard.
They sit in the surf, water rushing up around their thighs and pooling back out again, moonlight slicking across their bodies.
Luffy leans back on his hands, still catching his breath, and Law can’t help it—his gaze drags down. Broad shoulders, lean chest, the heavy line of Luffy’s cock standing proud between his legs. His throat goes dry. Law lets himself look. He has a nice cock, thick and long, the base disappearing into an unruly thatch of black hair. There’s something wild and a little feral about Luffy. It’s hot. Really, really hot.
Fuck, he’s beautiful.
Law looks away fast, but not fast enough. His face burns.
Luffy notices.
He tilts his head and grins, all teeth and mischief. “Like whatcha see, Torao? Lookin’ at me, huh?”
Law tries to scoff. It comes out hoarse. “You’re naked. It’s not like I have a choice.”
“Could’ve looked at the moon,” Luffy says, scooting a little closer. “She’s nice tonight.” And the moon is nice—full and glimmering silver across the dunes.
“Could’ve not tried to drown yourself groping me,” Law mutters, but it’s weak now. His pulse is racing again, not from panic this time.
Luffy shifts onto his knees, water dripping from his skin as he closes the space between them. He cups Law’s face in both hands—no hesitation—and kisses him again, slow and sweet and just a little wild. Law leans into it before he can stop himself, hands coming up to Luffy’s sides, thumbs brushing damp skin.
Luffy deepens the kiss, pressing forward, and Law feels him start to push, trying to guide him down into the wet sand.
Law plants a hand firmly on Luffy’s chest. “I am not fucking you in the sand.”
Luffy blinks, genuinely startled, and then his face lights up with absolute glee.
“I can fuck you?”
Law stares at him, caught off guard by the pure, delighted honesty in his voice. “I—yeah. Sure. Just… not here.”
Luffy looks so delighted it makes something in Law's chest flip. He grabs Law’s hand and kisses his knuckles. It’s chivalric in a way that makes the walls of Law’s cunt clench. Fuck. “Okay,” Luffy says brightly. “Then let’s go somewhere better.”
Law groans, heat flooding low in his gut as he lets Luffy pull him to his feet.
He has no idea what he’s gotten himself into. And he’s never wanted anything more.
They pull their clothes on in the dark, skin still tacky with salt and adrenaline. Law shakes out his scrubs, dragging them over damp skin. He leaves his soaked boxers in a heap by the dune grass—there’s no salvaging them. He’s not thinking clearly enough to care.
Luffy doesn’t bother buttoning his shorts. He just tugs them up and grabs Law by the wrist, grinning.
“C’mon,” he says, yanking him toward the parking lot at the edge of the beach.
Law stumbles a little, barefoot in the sand, holding his shoes, still trying to get his heart to stop pounding. “Where are we going?”
Luffy doesn’t answer, only pulls him through a gap in the dunes until the beach gives way to gravel and scattered cars. At the far end of the lot sits a truly absurd van—massive, round-edged, orange as a creamsicle, with a huge smiling cartoon lion painted on the hood like it’s coming straight at you. The license plate reads SUNNYGO and there are tangerines hanging from the rear-view mirror and a red and white striped sun guard across the dashboard.
Luffy slaps the back of the van proudly. “Ta-da!”
Law stares. “This yours?”
Luffy laughs. “Shi shi shi! Yeah! Franky made her all sweet for me.”
He wrenches the side door open with a creak and flicks a switch just inside. A trail of fairy lights blinks to life across the ceiling, casting a soft, welcoming glow over the inside. It’s surprisingly cozy. A mattress takes up most of the floor, tucked between low crates stacked with clothes and snacks and tangled charger cords. Polaroids and scraps of drawings are taped to every surface—photos of people, so so many different people, some crooked, some overlapping, some curling from the summer heat.
The whole thing smells like ocean salt and sunscreen and faintly of weed. It shouldn’t be appealing. It should be insane to be in this guy's van... home?
Law steps closer, blinking. “Do… do you live here?”
Luffy, already climbing inside, glances over his shoulder with a grin. His hair’s still damp from the ocean, curling at the ends, and his eyes are lidded, low and full of something dangerous.
“Sometimes,” he says. He hangs his straw hat on a peg at the back of the front seat. And then he reaches out and pulls Law in by the front of his shirt, shutting the van door behind them. The moment the door clicks shut, the air inside the van turns instantly thick with heat.
Luffy’s already on him—pushing Law back against the mattress, kissing him like he’s starving, like he hasn’t already had a taste. His hands are everywhere, greedy and warm, sliding under Law’s shirt, tracing his waist.
Law shudders, gasping into Luffy’s mouth. His knees feel unsteady. His whole body’s still buzzing from the ocean, the alcohol, the kiss, him.
They stagger more on the mattress, half-falling onto it, limbs tangling. Law’s shirt comes off, damp and crumpled, and Luffy moans when his hands slide over Law's tattoos, his scars. He palms Law’s chest with intrigue, eyes dark.
But even with Luffy’s body pressed full against his, his cock hard where it nudges Law’s thigh, even with the fairy lights catching in his eyes like stars—Law’s stomach flips.
It’s too much. Too good. Too easy.
Reallly, that’s what gets him.
“Wait,” Law says softly, breath catching as he pulls back, blinking up at Luffy in the soft glow. “Do you—” His voice breaks. He clears his throat. “Do you mind that I’m trans?”
Luffy blinks, expression blank for half a second, as if the question didn’t compute.
“What?” he says, tilting his head like a dog hearing a weird sound.
Law exhales, frustration curling under his ribs, not at Luffy but at himself—for breaking the mood, for letting it creep in. He lifts a hand, gestures loosely down his own body. “I mean… this. I’m—” He swallows. “Most guys aren’t into it.”
There it is all out on the table. Cold and sharp.
Luffy just stares at him for a beat longer before he busts out laughing. It bursts out of him bright and stupid and unfiltered, and Law flinches, embarrassment crawling hot up the back of his neck.
“I’m serious,” Law snaps, but Luffy’s already leaning in again, smiling against his mouth.
“I am too,” Luffy says. “I’m into Torao.”
Law freezes.
Luffy licks his lips, eyes crinkling with joy. “You’re hot. And weird. And smart. And your voice makes my spine feel funny. You’ve got cool tattoos and eyes like you don’t sleep and you’re so bossy.”
He kisses Law again, slower now. “I’m not into anything. I’m into you.”
Law exhales like he’s been holding that breath for a week, a month, his whole damn life. He wants to say something—thank you, maybe, or fuck, or I think I’m going to fall apart if you keep looking at me like that—but Luffy is already kissing down his throat, tugging at his waistband.
Law lets him.
Luffy kisses down his chest with single-minded focus, mouth dragging over every inch of inked skin. His hands don’t stop moving—palming Law’s ribs, skimming his hips, thumbs grazing the soft curve just above the waistband of his pants.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” Luffy says, like it’s an afterthought, like it’s the truth. “Like, I wanna eat you up.”
Law huffs a laugh, but it dies in his throat when Luffy noses at the front of his pants, all but chuffing like a dog.
“You okay?” Luffy asks, voice low, hands stilling for a moment. “Want me to stop?”
“No,” Law says, more breath than sound. “Don’t stop.”
Luffy grins and mouths at him through the fabric, slow and wet and teasing. Law’s hips jolt, heat sparking low and tight, his cunt aching with every pass of Luffy’s mouth. The damp cotton of his scrubs is clinging now, soaked through from arousal and saltwater, and Luffy groans like he can smell it.
“Oh,” Luffy says softly, eyes going hazy. “Oh.”
He peels Law’s pants down, and Law lifts his hips for him, shame forgotten, replaced by the dizzy rush of being so seen. Luffy tosses the pants aside without care and settles between his thighs like he’s claimed the spot.
He looks up once, through his lashes. “You ever been eaten out right?”
Law blinks. “I… what?”
Luffy doesn’t wait for an answer.
He leans in and licks a fat, wet stripe from the base of Law’s cunt to his dick, tongue flat and hot, then does it again, slower, laving over Law’s folds. Law’s whole body jerks.
He’s been gone down on before—technically. Quick, messy, impatient things. Usually done with the clear intention of getting through it so something else could happen. Law had stopped hoping for more.
But this—this is not that.
Luffy moans into him like he’s feasting. Like he loves the taste. His hands grip Law’s thighs tight, pulling them open wider, spreading him out under the soft lights. He dives back in without hesitation, tongue swirling, lips latching onto Law’s throbbing dick with maddening focus. He splays a hand at the top and thumbs at the hood, exposing Law’s glans and laps at that and oh fuck. Law chokes on a sound he didn’t know he could make. His back arches.
Luffy eats like a man starved. No finesse, not really—but god, so much want. His tongue flicks and slides and presses just right, learning as he goes, responding to every gasp, every tremble, every twitch of Law’s hips. And he doesn’t rush through it like a chore, doesn’t push for more right away. He is fucking worshipping Law.
Law’s thighs shake. He tries to hold still, but Luffy won’t let him.
Somewhere in the middle of it, Luffy’s hand shifts, sliding between Law’s legs. His fingers trace lower, slow and slick, until one pushes in—then another. He works them gently at first, curling up inside like he’s searching for something, and then—
He finds it.
Law cries out, vision blurring as he comes. Luffy doesn’t stop, fingers fucking him through it as he tongues around where they press inot Law's body.
Every now and then, Luffy pulls back just far enough to whisper something half-coherent—“so wet,” “you taste so good,” “I wanna stay down here forever”—before diving right back in like he means it. And all the while, his fingers keep moving, pressing right against that sweet, aching spot deep inside.
Law’s fingers grip the edge of the mattress. His whole body is trembling now, slick coating his thighs, his dick throbbing under Luffy’s relentless mouth and those perfect, perfect fingers.
Law is still shaking when he says it, voice hoarse but steady: “Please fuck me.”
Luffy freezes where he’s kneeling, eyes going wide. Then he grins brightly and laughs, loud and gleeful. “Shi shi shi… Really?”
Law drags him down by the wrist and kisses him, deep and messy and full of heat. His mouth tastes like salt and Law’s own pleasure, and it makes his toes curl.
Luffy groans into it, then pulls back, scrambles over to one of the crates, and starts rummaging like a raccoon in a treasure chest.
“Hang on—hang on—I know I had—”
Law, breathless and dazed, props himself on his elbows and watches as Luffy tosses out a tangle of items: a fancy looking gold lighter that is almost certainly not his, a half-eaten bag of chips, an archeology textbook that is also almost certainly not his, what looks suspiciously like a slingshot/water gun hybrid, and finally—
“Aha!”
He pulls out a beat-up box of condoms like he’s just unearthed sacred treasure.
“Got ‘em!”
Law covers his face with one hand and laughs. “How old are those?”
Luffy tears one open with his teeth—clumsily, excited—and rolls it on with a little awkwardness. It’s cute. His cock is flushed and heavy, bobbing slightly as he crawls back over Law with that same manic energy but a new kind of gravity in his eyes. “I got ‘em like two months ago, never needed ‘em though.”
He leans in, forearms bracketing either side of Law’s hips, and his voice softens.
“Is this okay?”
And somehow, that question—after everything—makes Law’s heart clench in the most dangerous way. That boyish, wrecking sincerity like everything about you matters to me right now.
Law swallows. His throat’s tight. His body’s still singing from his orgasm, oversensitive and wanting.
He reaches down between them, his tattooed fingers curling around Luffy’s cock, guiding it lower. His other hand fists the mattress. He cants his hips up, slow and sure, and meets Luffy’s eyes.
“Yeah,” he says. “I want this.”
Luffy presses in slow.
Law gasps, hips jerking as the stretch hits—just a little too much, just enough burn to make his breath catch in his throat. It’s thick and hot and so deep, and even though Luffy’s moving gently, carefully, it still feels like Law’s being split open around him.
His fingers scrabble at the mattress for something to hold onto, but there’s nothing except Luffy—Luffy’s hands on his hips, Luffy’s breath ghosting across his cheek, Luffy’s mouth brushing his stubbled jaw as he murmurs, “You feel so good, Torao—fuck, you’re perfect—so tight—”
Law makes a strangled sound. He can feel Luffy inside him, every inch, every twitch of his cock, thick and hot and stretching him perfectly. His cunt clenches around it, too sensitive from the orgasm Luffy already tore out of him, but hungry for more.
It’s almost too much.
Luffy pulls out slow and pushes back in deeper, hips grinding, his pelvis pressing flush to Law’s hips. Law whimpers, nails digging into Luffy’s shoulders. He kisses the corner of his mouth, slow and sweet and completely at odds with the obscene slide of his cock. “Gonna keep you,” he mumbles, voice wrecked. “You feel too good to let go.”
Law shakes his head, dazed, overwhelmed, his thighs trembling. “Fuck, Luffy—move.”
That’s all it takes.
Luffy growls into his skin and shifts, hooking an arm under Law’s thigh and pulling him up—off the mattress, onto his lap, effortlessly. Law briefly ponders how much strength must be packed into his shorter, lithe body to manipulate him like this but then Luffy drops back onto his knees, thighs spread, the van rocking faintly beneath them and he starts to thrust.
Law cries out, high and wrecked, bracing himself against Luffy’s shoulders. Every push is deep, hard, his body forced to take all of it—every inch—until his cunt is stretched taut around him, slick dripping down onto Luffy’s thighs.
Luffy’s mouth is everywhere—his neck, his throat, the underside of his jaw. “Mine,” he mutters, kissing him there. “Gonna keep you. You’re so pretty like this. Can feel you everywhere.”
Law claws at his back, panting. He can feel Luffy’s cock dragging against every nerve, hitting just right with every thrust, grinding so deep it’s like he’s being claimed from the inside out.
His own arousal pulses with every thrust, leaking around Luffy’s cock and Luffy groans when it smears against his abs.
“You like this,” Luffy breathes, fucking him harder now, the wet slap of their bodies obscene in the close warmth of the van. Luffy's presence is so intense, it feels like the younger man is giving a fucking command. “You like me inside you. You want this—fuck, you feel so good—Torao—”
Law can’t speak. He’s shaking, fucked raw and open, gasping as Luffy’s cock pistons into him, as the pleasure builds sharp and unbearable and so, so good. He’s never been wanted like this. Never been taken like this—not just for his body, but for him.
Luffy mouths at his throat again, tongue flicking over his pulse. “So good,” he mumbles, drunk on it. “So perfect—mine.”
Law’s hips jerk, his whole body locking up. He’s close again, so close he could cry from it, and Luffy knows—feels it—because he shifts his angle, grinds in deeper, and Law screams. “S-Slow down, Luffy!”
But Luffy doesn’t slow. If anything, he fucks harder.
Law clutches at him, overwhelmed, body bouncing in Luffy’s lap with every brutal thrust. The van is rocking now, fairy lights swaying above them, casting flickers of gold across sweat-slick skin and flushed faces.
Luffy leans in and bites—right at the slope of Law’s neck, just above his collarbone. Not enough to break skin, but enough to make a mark, to sting to all hell, and Law shouts, hips stuttering. The sharp edge of pain feels so sweet. It’s too much. It’s perfect.
Luffy licks over the bite, then trails his mouth higher, dragging open-mouthed kisses along Law’s throat, his jaw, sucking a deep, dark bruise just under his ear like he wants to brand him. And he’s still fucking him—hard, deep, his cock dragging against every sweet spot inside until Law feels like he’s going to shatter.
And then Luffy’s hand slides down competently. Thumb pressing between Law’s thighs, finding his dick with perfect aim, rubbing messy, slippery circles in time with every deep grind of his cock.
Law howls.
His orgasm slams through him like a fist, sharp and brutal and too much. His cunt clenches around Luffy’s cock, pulsing hard, and he goes weightless—spasming in Luffy’s arms, thighs shaking, every nerve lit up and sparking like a live wire.
Luffy groans, voice cracking as he buries his face against Law’s throat.
“You’re the hottest guy I’ve ever seen,” he pants, thrusts becoming erratic, desperate. “So fucking hot, Torao—fuck—can’t—can’t hold it—”
Law’s still shaking when he feels Luffy jerk inside him, cock pulsing as he spills into the condom with a long, guttural moan.
They cling to each other through it—bodies locked, breath tangled, the van still creaking under the force of them.
Luffy’s head drops to Law’s shoulder. His hands stroke down Law’s back, soothing now, warm and grounding.
“You’re amazing,” he whispers.
Law doesn’t trust himself to speak.
His heart’s still racing, his whole body throbbing, slick everywhere. He’s marked up, used, held. Seen. Desired. Kept.
And for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, he doesn’t feel like a body to work around.
He feels like himself. He feels like.... yeah, himself. A guy who just got fucked, being held in the arms of the guy who fucked him. There's nothing more to it.
They stay tangled together for a while, Luffy’s weight still draped over him, both of them sticky with sweat and slick and the soft haze of aftermath. The van’s warm, the fairy lights flickering faintly overhead, and Law’s limbs feel loose and melted, like someone scooped the bones out of him and replaced them with seafoam and static.
Luffy eventually pulls out with a soft, murmured noise of protest—don’t wanna leave you, don’t wanna move, something like that—and rolls onto his side, tugging Law into his chest. It makes something flutter, warm and soft, in Law’s chest.
Law lets himself go. Just for a minute. He rests his head on Luffy’s shoulder, lets his hand curl around Luffy’s ribs. Their chests rise and fall together, breathing in sync.
Luffy nuzzles his hair, still catching his breath. “Hey,” he murmurs.
Law hums, eyes half-closed.
“Wanna be my boyfriend?”
Law freezes.
His brain stutters. Reboots. Crashes again.
“What?”
Luffy’s grin is soft, a little crooked, totally unbothered. “I really like you.”
Law starts laughing. He can’t help it. It bursts out of him helplessly.
“You’re unbelievable,” he says, covering his face with one hand. “We just fucked in a van. I don’t even know your full name.”
Luffy wiggles his eyebrows. “Monkey D. Luffy.”
Law snorts. “How about we try an actual date before we… figure whatever out?”
Luffy hums thoughtfully. “Okay. But you’re still gonna be my boyfriend.”
Law shakes his head, but he doesn’t pull away. In fact, he burrows in closer, lets Luffy’s warmth soak into him. Lets himself rest.
For a blissful moment, it’s quiet. Only the sound of their breathing, the faint crash of waves in the distance, and Luffy’s fingers tracing idle shapes along Law's spine.
Then—
BANG BANG BANG.
Something slams against the outside of the van. Hard.
Law jolts upright. “What the fuck—”
Luffy yawns. “Probably my friends, I told ‘em I was gonna try and get you back here when they said you were at the party.”
Law sits upright, his brain finally coming back online. “What?”
Another slam. “Luffy!” a sharp woman’s voice yells from outside. “Are you naked in there?! We’re going to the diner, you can bring your weird boyfriend! His friends are driving Zoro and Sanji.”
Luffy grins and flops back onto the mattress, arms behind his head. “Shi shi shi. Told you we were dating now.”
Law stares at the ceiling, every muscle aching, lips kiss-bruised, and heart doing something deeply stupid in his chest.
“Yeah, Nami!” Luffy calls back through the van wall. “We’ll meet you there!”
Law groans and drops back onto the mattress, burying his face in his hands. “You’re unbelievable, what the hell? You planned this?”
“Shi shi shi,” Luffy says, smug and satisfied. “You’re the one who said yes to leaving the party with me. Coulda said no.”
Law sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. “Fine. I’ll go. My phone and keys are still in Shachi’s car anyway.”
And then it hits him. “I don’t have any clean clothes.”
He glances toward the heap in the corner—his scrubs still damp and crusted with salt, sand clinging to every seam like punishment. His boxers are somewhere out in the dunes. Possibly being investigated by seagulls.
Luffy perks up. “I got you!”
He rolls off the mattress and starts rummaging through another one of his chaotic crates. Law braces for the worst.
The worst arrives promptly in the form of neon orange board shorts.
“Absolutely not,” Law says flatly.
Luffy laughs and tosses them over his shoulder. “Okay, okay, plan B.” He digs deeper, then emerges with a pair of faded jeans and a black tank top. “These?”
Law tugs the jeans on. They’re soft and roomy in the thighs, a little too big at the waist, but manageable with the button fastened and a sloppy cuff. He hesitates with the shirt.
It’s clearly been worn a thousand times—sun-soft and threadbare in spots, an old black tank with a weathered white anchor on the front. It smells like Luffy. Like salt and heat and maybe a little like summer itself.
“You sure?” Law asks, voice quieter now.
Luffy grins. “One of my favorites. Looks better on you, though.”
Law rolls his eyes, but he’s blushing all the way to the tips of his ears when he pulls it on.
They pile into the front of the van. Luffy backs out of the lot with one hand on the wheel and the other reaching blindly for Law’s thigh. The engine rumbles to life, and Law stares out the window for a moment, letting the night air dry the last of the sweat on his neck.
He’s not used to this—being wanted after. Being flirted with when the rush fades and things settle. He keeps waiting for the drop, the shift, the change in tone. It doesn’t come. Instead, Luffy glances over and asks, “Wanna put your feet on the dash? You look like a feet-on-the-dash kind of guy.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” Law says, but his voice is soft.
Luffy shrugs. “Yet.”
"Well, putting your feet on the dashboard is one of the best ways to fracture your hip or your femur in a car crash," Law says, drolly. "It's one of the ways people get injured the most in accidents, really horrific stuff."
"I'd never crash the Sunny," Luffy grins, "but I bet you've seen all kinds of shit at your job. You're so cool, Torao!"
"I guess," Law says.
They drive in companionable silence for a few minutes, the streetlights streaking gold across the windshield. Then, finally, Law clears his throat. "So. Did you really... plan this?”
Luffy shi shi shi’s under his breath, sheepish now. “Not plan, really. But my friends and your friends wanted us to meet. They kept saying you were cool, and smart, and grumpy in a hot way.”
Law raises an eyebrow. “Grumpy in a hot way.”
“That’s what Sanji said. Or maybe it was Robin. She works with your friend Ickycakes?”
“Ikakku.”
Luffy glances over, smiling. “Anyway, I’m glad it worked out.”
Law looks at him for a long moment. The lights, the his smile, the beat-up van. The reckless sincerity.
“…Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”
—
The Party Diner’s neon sign blinks like a beacon, casting everything in lurid pink and blue as Luffy pulls the Sunny Go into the parking lot. The place is half empty, but the booth in the back corner is loud enough to fill the whole building on its own. Luffy’s spent the ride prattling on about his friends– his crew as he calls them– and Law can’t help but feel excited to meet everyone properly.
Law sees them through the windows before they even make it inside.
Penguin and Shachi are wedged in with two guys who look like they’re about to make out or start beating each other up– if the way they have their foreheads pressed together as they argue is any indication. Zoro and Sanji, Law supposes. Across from them sit two women who radiate the specific power of beautiful girls who know they’re smarter than everyone else—Nami, auburn-haired and sipping something fruity, and Robin, elegant and unreadable even while buttering toast. The blue-haired guy in the tropical shirt must be Franky (he’s heard Shachi describe him as kind of a greaser). And beside him, dramatically miming something with wild hand gestures and a mouth full of fries, is a guy with a nose Law recognizes from Penguin’s party photos—Usopp.
And between Robin and Nami, half-shielded by a menu that he’s absolutely not reading, is a high school age intern from two rotations ago. Law squints.
Tony something. Tiny genius. Definitely not old enough to be hanging with this crew, but who is he to judge. He certainly went around with worse at a young age.
The minute they walk up to the table, it’s chaos.
“Nice outfit, Captain!” Penguin crows, grinning wide.
Shachi wolf-whistles loud enough to make heads turn as he gestures to Law’s neck. “Looking good! Lose a fight with a squid?”
Law closes his eyes briefly, considers violence, then reopens them just in time to see Zoro raise an eyebrow and Sanji flick his lighter with an amused smirk.
Luffy laughs, all teeth and sunshine, and tugs Law by the wrist toward the long curved booth like nothing’s out of the ordinary. He slides in first, right into the corner, shoving everyone else, and yanks Law down beside him.
Before Law can say a word, Luffy’s already reaching across the table to grab a handful of fries off someone’s plate.
“Hey!” Nami says, slapping his wrist.
“You weren’t eating them!” Luffy protests, already chewing.
“I was going to!”
“You always say that and then let them get cold!”
Law settles beside him, still a little pink, and tries not to smile. It’s impossible. Everyone’s laughing—Nami trying to stab Luffy’s hand with a straw, Penguin cackling, Robin sipping her coffee like she’s above it all but definitely enjoying herself.
Franky lifts a massive hand in greeting. “Welcome to family dinner, bro.”
The kid leans around his water glass. “Hi Dr. Law,” he says shyly.
Law blinks. “Um, hi. Chopper, right? I remember you from when you were… wait, how old are you?”
Chopper shrugs. “Fifteen. Accelerated program. Nice tank top.” Oh, right. It is so clearly one Luffy must wear often.
Law opens his mouth to respond but is promptly distracted by Luffy leaning into him again, casual as gravity, one leg draped over his like they’ve always sat this way. Luffy’s already reaching across the table with alarming confidence, piling food onto a plate like it’s an Olympic event.
Law takes a breath.
Everyone around them is talking at once—Zoro and Sanji bickering about something they’ve probably bickered about for years, Penguin and Shachi reenacting something from the bonfire using only a spoon and a bottle of hot sauce, Robin quietly adding fuel to the fire with one perfectly timed comment while Nami rolls her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out.
It should be overwhelming. It is overwhelming. But... Luffy’s pressed warm and firm against his side, and beneath the table, their knees touch. He smells like the sea and diner grease and a little bit like sex and Law has to be honest with himself, he can't wait until they have sex again.
Law lets the noise of everyone wash over him. He feels… good. Settled. Like something in his chest has stopped buzzing.
Across the booth, Penguin leans around Franky and points a french fry at them. “See? Matchmaking works. You all owe me.”
Nami scoffs. “Excuse me? This was my idea. You two thought he was out of Luffy’s league.”
“Was not,” Shachi mutters. “I just said he looked like he’d ghost Luffy mid-date.”
“Wrong again,” Penguin says smugly. “He’s here, isn’t he?”
The debate gets louder. Someone brings up a group chat. Usopp starts scrolling to find receipts.
And in the middle of the commotion, Luffy reaches down and threads his fingers through Law’s under the table.
Law isn't sure anyone has held his hand since—
Law looks at Luffy—messy hair, stupid grin—and, before he can overthink it, leans over and kisses him on the cheek.
The table goes absolutely feral.
There’s a new wave of gasps and cheers and dramatic declarations. Zoro mutters something under his breath that might be “why do they get to have PDA.” Chopper claps. Robin raises her mug with a quiet, knowing smile.
The waitress shows up in the middle of it all, unbothered. She’s got dark green hair piled on her head in a bandanna and two pens behind one ear, and she doesn’t even blink at the chaos.
“Hey, Luffy,” she says like she’s known him since birth. “You want the usual or somethin’ new?”
Luffy immediately rattles off a list that includes pancakes, curly fries, a milkshake, and another milkshake. Law suspects Luffy is a bottomless pit.
“And for you, handsome?” she asks, turning to Law with a bright smile.
Law doesn’t miss a beat.
He glances at Luffy, smirks back. “I’ll just share with my boyfriend, thanks.”
This time, the table erupts.
There’s shouting, whistling, someone slapping the table hard enough to make the plates jump. Usopp yells “Go Luffy!” and Nami lifts her arms like she just won a bet. Zoro groans into his hands, like he just lost a bet.
“Shi shi shi— Torao!” he beams, completely radiant.
Then he grabs Law by the front of his own shirt and kisses him—deep, open-mouthed, tongue and all, right there in the middle of the booth like no one else exists. The table roars in response. A spoon clatters to the floor. Someone yells “Get it!”
Robin, serene, just smiles into her coffee and says, “Oh my.”
Law’s ears go bright red. He kisses Luffy back anyway, helpless and stunned and grinning against his mouth.
When they break apart, Luffy leans in like he never plans to move again, draped against Law’s shoulder, hand still resting lightly on his chest, his straw hat smushed against the back of the booth. The noise around them doesn’t die down so much as blur, soft at the edges, a bubble of heat and sound and something terrifyingly close to belonging.
Law—kissed breathless, blinking through noise and neon, Luffy’s weight pressed against him like a secret he doesn’t have to keep—sits still in the warmth of it, trying to understand what’s just happened.
Luffy is talking. Laughing. His fingers curl loosely around Law’s wrist like it means something. Like he means something.
Across the table, Penguin and Shachi are smiling at him. He's ready for them to tease him relentlessly but they're just smiling, warm and kind. Like they knew. Like they’ve always known, like proud older brothers who are glad he’s found joy.
Law doesn’t know how to be this person, the one who’s wanted in front of a crowd. Who’s kissed like it’s allowed. Who doesn’t have to hide the shape of his want or the seams of his body. He doesn’t know how to be held, not like this, not in the open. Not like a declaration.
But Luffy’s still looking at him like he’s beautiful, and Law can feel it settling into him: a weight, a warmth, a recognition. Not the shock of being discovered, but the soft, steady ache of being seen.
Like Luffy reached inside his chest, brushed past the rough edges, and decided to stay.
Law exhales, not quite smiling. Something bigger than that. Something quieter.
Okay, he thinks. Okay.
Let them look. Let them laugh.
He has never felt so real in his life.