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Despite not having any interest in it, Smoker knows far too much about the personal life of his subordinates. Far more than he’d like.
That petty officer who’s usually at the docks when he comes back in the afternoon with his haul of pirates has a brother and sister who both want to enlist. The seaman who only joined because it was either that or a couple years in jail spend her free time and all her spare money on learning set design in the hopes of joining the Loguetown Opera and working behind the scenes. That one doctor who is always on Smoker’s case about lung cancer smokes weed on the side to deal with the pressure of having the nephew he raised getting a bounty of 500k as a bandit in a neighboring island.
He can tell similar details about all the marines working under his command, things that will never make it in their official files.
Tashigi, as well. For all that she can’t shut up about her dream and her love for swords, she’s tight lipped about her personal life. It mostly comes from her awkwardness and her inability to fit in when not discussing her favorite weapons, but she’s also a private person. He still knows she had a relationship for a few months with the receptionist at her optician, before breaking it off by mutual agreement when the two women found that being geeks together didn’t make a relationship, especially when they weren’t being geeky about the same thing.
He knows she’ll grow out of her awkwardness as she gains more confidence in herself, and this is half the reason why he agreed to take her with him on what was supposed to be a solo mission through the Grand Line. The other half was because this was the first time she had stood up to him, and he’d be a hypocrite to chase after his version of Roger and deny her her own. That she has never shown any interest in him and won’t expect anything physical from him as they travel together also may have played a part in making that decision.
His Billower Bike can comfortably sit two, but there’s no way to avoid the closeness when they take turns sleeping at night when they’re too far from land, wrapped around the other staying awake and on guard. After weeks at sea, barely stepping foot on various islands long enough to determine Baroque Works wasn’t there, he had gotten comfortable with her grip around his waist when the sea got rough, her hands never wandering or lingering for longer than what was necessary to prevent her from falling into the ocean.
He thinks she, too, is getting used to their closeness. They way she relaxed after the first night he spent curled in the backseat, one arm wrapped around her middle and the other under her seat for balance, was subtle but revealing.
By the time they reach Renaisse in a last-ditch attempt to track down Baroque Works, they move more easily in each others space than they ever had in Loguetown. They’re pressed shoulder to shoulder—or, well, shoulder to elbow—as they listen to the snippets of conversation the communication outpost caught between Zero and that blonde kid in the Straw Hats.
(Smoker isn’t about to forget the voice of someone who so cockily said “I got this” to his face.)
Once they are done listening to the recording, they call for backup. He can tell that Mr. 11 won’t talk, or at least not without a lot more torture than Smoker is comfortable with, and they need someone to take him off their hands to squeeze every bit of intel out of him.
The transponder snail dies with a last wheeze, and with that the knowledge that someone with connection to the Marines is in charge of Baroque Works remains with only the two of them. He’s glad that he hadn’t kept Miss Friday alive, because he doesn’t want the rest of the Navy to have that knowledge. It was someone on the inside that betrayed the existence of the outpost and the contents they have access to.
He’s not surprised when the operator at Marine HQ tells him that Garp’s ship is the closest to their location. The Vice Admiral had been on its way to leave the East Blue with his trainees, it was the reason he had been in Loguetown just a day behind the Straw Hats.
“Now I’m absolutely getting that shower.” Tashigi comments loud enough for him to hear when he hangs up with HQ.
“Go for it. I’ll keep snooping.” He doesn’t tell her to keep her weapon close just in case, but the way her hand close on its hilt tell him she’s aware she needs to. “Needs the key to my bike?” He asks her. He doesn’t lock it down, given that it’s powered by his Devil Fruit and nobody can steal it from him, but the trunk is still locked.
Her mouth tilts in the way that indicates she’s unsure about her answer. He gets it almost immediately—since it’s a marine outpost, they will have a clean uniform her size in storage, and it’s better than wearing the same clothes that are starting to smell of smoke and salt; but for someone as sensible as Tashigi, it would look to much like stealing from the dead.
He doesn’t care. “Grab a uniform from the locker rooms, we need to look sharp in front of the Vice Admiral.” He orders. She can tell he’s giving the order for her conscience, but her tiny smile when she says “Yes sir” tells him she appreciates the thought.
She leaves him alone in the communication room, and his thoughts immediately turn to Garp. He hadn’t expected to see him so soon, mere weeks after their last encounter that had left him weak at the knees, and he doesn’t know how to feel about it.
Anxious, that was for sure. Whether it was good or bad anxiety, he hadn’t yet decided. Garp had shown that he—somehow—could tell exactly what Smoker needed and didn’t need, and hadn’t cared at all for his own pleasure. But Smoker hadn’t yet had the opportunity to listen to his advice, hadn’t decided if he really wanted to try to find someone else who could bring him the benefits of a sexual encounter without the sex. It wasn’t like he had the opportunity anyway.
He clears the outpost, finding nothing but a few ransacked rooms and dead bodies. Baroque Works agents mostly work in pair, according to Garp’s briefing, so he’s not surprised not to find any more enemies—yet three people attacked the Shells Town base, so he’d wanted to be sure.
“Captain? I’m fine to take over watch.” Tashigi is light on her feet, and her footsteps only give Smoker a second of warning before she enters the room. How someone so small and so stealthy can be so clumsy at times is a mystery to him.
She changed into a proper marine uniform under her blue jacket, swapping her usually pastel shirt into a white one. Her glasses are still foggy from the steam, and her wet hair sticks to her forehead.
“The base is empty. Baroque Works only sent the two of them.” He tells her.
“Good.” A worried crease appears between her eyebrows. “The lockers are that way, and the bath in this other corridor.” She explains, pointing. “If you would follow me?” He doesn’t think anything of the strange undertone in her voice as she guides him first to the lockers, where he picks up a clean pair of pants and underwear—his only replacement jacket is in his bike.
It’s only when she opens the door to the public bath that he realizes why she had been concerned. It’s stupid, he realizes, to have expected private shower stalls. This is a marine outpost, low manned and out of the way as it is, and of course there would be no expectation of privacy in the shower.
“That’ll be all, petty officer.” He tells her dryly when she hesitates at the door.
With a sharp “sir”, she closes it behind her.
Bathing is an activity he has to be careful for, but he’s used to it, and he barely feels the drain on his powers as he scoop out water to clean his hair, washing down the smoke stuck through the stands. He doesn’t take long, wraps a towel around his waist as he exit the bath.
His jacket smells like stale smoke, his newfound cleanliness allowing him to smell it when he couldn’t before, but it doesn’t smell like sweat and that’s good enough for him to put it back on.
It takes a few hours for Garp to reach them, the sun starting to disappear below the horizon in a blaze of pink and orange. Tashigi salutes him, which both men ignore.
“My men will take care of the dead and securing the assassin you captured.” Garp says. “I’ll debrief you, Captain.”
“Tashigi.”
“I’ll show them around, sir.” She says before he has to order her.
With a nod, he follows Garp back to his vessel. The dog figurehead was a little much in his opinion, but it was very much part of Garp’s image at that point—Loguetown sold replicas of his dog mask at each celebration of Roger’s execution—so he didn’t comment out loud.
He ignores the newly enlisted cadets tracking their progress as they cross the deck. He’s not surprised to hear his name whispered a few times. They’re all from the East, and he has a reputation there.
“About that agent you captured…” Garp trails off as they reach his private cabin, letting him start his report.
“Mr. 11. Tashigi is the one who captured him, his partner didn’t survive a baseball to the throat.” He’s not one to take credit for the success of another. “He’s not talking, but one of the transponder snail survived long enough for us to hear the conversation he and his partner were so desperate to hide.” He summarizes the exchange and the conclusion they reached in a few words.
Garp is pensive when he’s finished.
“You know something I don’t.” Smoker accuses.
“The involvement of Alabasta’s missing princess only muddies what I know.” Garp shakes his head. “No, this is something you will have to investigate on your own once more.” The both know involving the rest of the navy would only create more of a mess at this point. Pained humor twists his face. “At least you got your wish of chasing after the Straw Hats.”
Smoker doesn’t gloat. He still would have rather chased them from the start, rather than playing catch up as they’re doing now.
With him getting his order to keep on following the tracks laid out in front of him, there’s no more work to discuss. His skin tingles as he remembers what happened the last time he was alone with Garp, and he puts his usual two cigars in his mouth, inhaling deeply. He expects Garp to take them as he did the last time, to push him over his larger desk, but the Vice Admiral doesn’t make any move in his direction. Instead, he puts more distance between them, going around the desk and pushing his chair back, sitting in, thighs spread wide.
He looks at Smoker calmly, silently, and while his gaze is intense it doesn’t carry the weight of expectations. It takes him a moment to understand that this is Garp letting him set the pace, letting him decide whether he wants to continue what they started in Loguetown or not.
He exhales slowly through his nose, emptying his lungs in a rush of white smoke. Sex, intimacy, is always something that was forcibly taken from him, the weight of expectation of an entire system quieting his protests. For Garp to now let him chose, to let him be the one to offer…
Tashigi had done the same earlier, he realizes, even though the situation was reversed. She put herself in a situation where Smoker could demand her presence with him in the baths, but let him decide whether that was something he wanted from her or not.
He should proposition Garp, do what is expected of him. Yet, in that moment, he believes the Vice Admiral would reject him if he felt he was doing it for the wrong reasons. The thought embolden him, and he imagines what would happen if Garp did accept. Would he take Smoker’s offer of a repeat as a sign that it’s time to move onto the sex he had avoided earlier? Or would he find a new way to get Smoker out of his mind without stomping all over his desires?
“I didn’t get the opportunity to ‘find my pleasures’ on my own.” He says, chewing on his cigars. He would usually speak his mind more clearly, but he wants to see if Garp remembers their conversation in Loguetown and if he’s right to trust him not to push too far.
“Come here, then.” Shit, Garp will make him take the first step, make the first move toward something he’s not sure he wants. It would have been easier if he had taken charge and dragged him. But now isn’t the time to hesitate. He wants to at least see what Garp is offering, and won’t let his nerves get the better of him.
He circles the desk, stops in front of Garp, close enough to tower over him. Garp’s eyes tracks down to the floor before going back to his face, and Smoker follows the silent order, folding down to his knees in front of him.
“Good.” Garp praises, straightening up from his lounge. With one hand he removes the cigars from Smoker’s mouth, the other passing through his hair, tucking still humid locks of hair behind his ear. He guides his head into resting against his knee, his hand a comforting weight on the side of his face. “Relax.” He commands.
This time, Smoker tries. He put his hands palm down on his knees, tries to breath out the tension in his shoulder, and let himself slump against Garp’s leg, dropping out of his marine-trained rigid posture.
Garp rewards him and starts moving his hand. He rubs his scalps in a soothing manner, thumb caressing the shell of his ear, playing with the strands between his fingers. His eyes are intense, focused on Smoker’s reaction as he takes what he is given. The Captain’s gaze doesn’t leave him, letting him see everything he’s feeling.
They stay like this for a time, Smoker kneeling in between Garp’s legs and letting him play with his hair. It’s calming him down, blunt nails scratching down his neck, and soon the only thing holding his weight is Garp’s leg.
When he’s fully relaxed, Garp brings his other hand back, Smoker already opening his lips before he has to ask. This gets him a pleased smile as Garp presses both index and middle fingers into his mouth, pushing them into his throat, his hand cupping Smoker’s chin as he represses his instinct to gag. He inhales slowly as the hand playing with his hair prevents him from rearing his head back.
Drool leaks out of the corner of his mouth and he has to swallow, taking the fingers deeper.
“Open up.” He hears after some time, and he opens his eyes, not having realized he had closed them at some point. He feels like he’s drifting away from his own body, the only thing tethering him to the world Garp’s hands on him. He follows his order and the ring finger joins the other two.
“Good boy.” Garp whispers, appreciation in his tone as Smoker starts lavishing them with attention. Smoker looks up to see his eyes are blown wide, blue barely visible. He flushes, both at his obvious appreciation and at the words. He feels like a dog, kneeling at the feet of another man, but it’s not humiliation that courses through his veins.
He fully loses track of time, can’t swallow back a moan of protest when Garp free his mouth. He ignores Smoker’s protest, press his face further against his thigh, and let him re-center at his own pace, his hand a solid, unmoving weight against the back of his neck.
When he feels ready, he nuzzles into his thigh before pushing himself away, straightening up. He looks at Garp, still so composed despite the lust shining in his eyes. His hand hadn’t gone further down than his neck, they’re both still fully clothed, and Smoker doesn’t understand.
“What do you get from this?” He asks, voice even rougher than usual. “Don’t tell me you don’t want more.”
“If I want more, I can get it from someone who’s willing.” He sees that Smoker isn’t satisfied with his answer. “ I’m in charge here, Smoker. I’m a Vice Admiral, I walk into a Marine base and I’m immediately the highest ranking officer. I have to take care of all my subordinates. So this isn’t about me, this is about you. Giving you the tools you need so you don’t snap in the field.”
He takes the time to turn the idea around in his brain. He doesn’t think he was close to snapping, but, well. There was a reason he spent hours of his day in Loguetown meditating. It had only taken him—shit, he doesn’t know how long, night had fully fallen outside—so little time to relax here, in a way he rarely achieved on his own.
“How did you know?” He asks finally, getting to what has been bothering him since their first meeting.
“Someone who looks like you, not having any reputation for how good he’s in bed?” He asks rhetorically. “You’re also not the first person I’ve met who had to fake his interest.”
He had never thought about it. Did officers really have a reputation on how well they fucked?
“Nobody had put you in your place since you got your own command in Loguetown, right?” Garp checks. “You don’t need to fuck someone, but you still need some sort of intimacy. How stressed had you gotten since you entered the Grand Line?”
“I don’t get stressed.” He replies instantly. Garp’s unimpressed look make him grimace. He didn’t get stressed, he got tense or angry instead. He could recognize that his temper had been better recently, and he hadn’t snapped much at Tashigi despite their unsuccessful hunt getting on his nerves. “Better.” He finally recognizes.
“See? Find someone that can get you out of your head.”
He had friends in the Navy he could talk to, people he had gone to the academy with that he was likelier to run into now that he was on the Grand Line, who knew what he was like. He doubted he would return to Loguetown after he had captured the Straw Hats and found what was happening in Alabasta.
“Think about it.” Garp presses.