Categories > Anime/Manga > One Piece
Home, and Slowly
The train is done, Franky and Iceburg celebrate. And Franky is home at last.
?Blocked
Title: Home, and Slowly
Pairing: Iceburg x Franky like whoa
Rating: NC-17, also like whoa
Spoilers: Water Seven
Word Count: 3,000ish
Author's Note: I first wrote and posted this nearly a year ago, unbeta'd (shut up I didn't have one >.>). I dredged it up for an edit last month and, well, here it is. My only actual smut. Thanks to Tro (lj username megalotro) for quick edit and reassurance =)
Summary: The train is done, Franky and Iceburg celebrate. And Franky is home at last.
---
Home, and Slowly
-=-
The party lasted well into the night, sore muscles and bleeding fingers and dirty faces be damned. Tears flowed as often as drink, laughter rolled off the walls in endless waves like Aqua Laguna had come early; Tom's hearty guffaws counterpointing Kokoro's drunken snorts, Yokozuna's croaking hiccoughing in tandem with Franky's endless mirth, and Iceburg felt like his heart might explode.
It had started swelling dangerously yesterday, as they worked through the night to put the finishing touches on the Puffing Tom; had floated up into his throat, making him choke on his tears as he watched the huge train chug into the distance; had settled warmly back in his chest when Tom picked everyone up bodily to haul them home to drink past sundown. Their hopes, their dreams, the future of Water Seven had puffed away and come back safe and sound. This town where he was born, this family he had found - despite the bad trade and the government, despite the work yet to be done - their hopes were manifest now, clad in wood and iron, sturdy and strong and built with all the love and skill they could muster. He had watched Tom laugh that afternoon, loud and booming, watched Franky leap and shout himself hoarse. They'd both turned, for a moment, to plaster themselves against Tom's ample gut like they'd used to a decade ago, felt his heart beating steady and smooth like the roar of a steam engine, felt his sides roll like the lulling rock of a train going endlessly forward, and Iceburg had never felt prouder. Proud of Tom for his genius and devotion, of Kokoro for her strength and bemused encouragement. Proud of Franky, for finally growing up enough to work and sweat and bleed beside them.
The latter caught his eye just then, as Iceburg was staring at him in lazy half-drunken contemplation, and a wicked grin wound its way around the corners of his mouth. Franky staggered over to him from where he'd been dancing with Yokozuna at the far end of the table, stepping uncaring into mostly-finished food and tipping empty bottles everywhere.
"Hey B'kaberg," he slurred, dropping unceremoniously into a sloppy sitting position on the table, bare legs splayed onto the bench. "S' great to have the train finished, innit?"
"Nma, Franky. It's incredible."
"I helped, y'know," Franky proclaimed, puffing out his chest and grinning sloppily.
"Taaaahahahaa!" Tom guffawed from behind him. "Helped out like a man!"
"And he's throwing his chest out like you always told him to!" Kokoro snickered. "Our Franky chooses now of all times to listen!"
They laughed themselves to tears, leaning on each other, and Iceburg caught something warm and almost-surprised steal across Franky's face, honest in drunkenness. He thought he a saw a blush creep under the drunken flush on the younger man's features as well, and felt a smile stretch his face, so happy it almost hurt.
Tom wiped his eyes and cleared his throat with a deep cough and gurgle, reached out his huge arms to pick Franky up and pull Iceburg in close, press them to himself. Iceburg heard the low tremor in the merman's voice, felt the slow rush of his breath like the ocean as he rumbled, "I'm so proud of you both."
The room sobered for a moment, and Iceburg would have cried if he hadn't already done so most of the afternoon, out of happiness and exhaustion and the sheer overwhelming feeling of the day. He watched Franky instead, who was crying, bawling like he hadn't in years. Years and years of seeking acknowledgement for his unique, daring, dangerous, stupid actions only to find it in working with others, in being with people he'd finally accepted as his own.
"Does that mean you won't punish me if I steal something again?" Franky wailed, and everyone laughed again.
"I think you've earned a few mischiefs and a day off," Tom managed through yet more tears. "Both of you," he added with a would-be stern look in Iceburg's direction.
"Nma, Tom. I'll take a break, I swear."
Tom eyed him with drunken suspicion, but was quickly appeased, distracted by another drinking challenge from Kokoro. Iceburg got up to slide back into his own seat when a hand grabbed his from behind and a voice whispered in his ear with all the promise of an earlier wicked grin.
"I want to steal /you/."
He let himself be pulled along into the little side room, let their weight close the door with a soft thud as his arms twined lazily around a bare and bandaged torso-Franky had discarded his shirt at some point and was starting to work on Iceburg's black top, clumsy fingers splaying on his stomach. Their mouths melded; he tasted alcohol and tears and something close to whatever was tightening his own throat. Teeth nipped at his lips, a clever tongue only slightly awkward with drink slid warmly into his mouth. He felt a slow burn in his body: muscles sore from hours-days, years-of work; veins smoldering with the sluggish heat of alcohol; and, slow and thrilling, a languid blaze in his nerves, spreading indolently from where Franky's fingers slid over him, from his mouth and from where their bare stomachs touched.
He was content with this languorous pace, content to explore the familiar mouth, run his tongue over soft wetness, wrestling lazily with it. It felt good to have Franky so relaxed, had felt good to see him so happy today.
Iceburg felt a hand trail up his neck to pull at the smudged and dirty bandana, felt his hair fall around his face, caked in blood and grease, tears and sweat. They were both dirty, scabbed and scraped up. He didn't care.
Franky was pulling at his shirt, urging it up and him forward. Iceburg had the shirt half-off, up around his head, when he tripped and fell half on his bedroll. Franky snickered behind him, and he felt knees land on either side of him as the younger man leaned over him to breathe hotly on his exposed neck, pin his arms lightly above his head. Franky bit possessively at Iceburg's shoulder, slow and hard, and he arched involuntarily into the sharp touch, shuddered when those teeth moved to nibble a little too hard on his ear. He was warm from the weight on top of him, blinded and half-bound by the black fabric.
Franky's hands slid off his tangled elbows, and he was suddenly cold as he felt the warm presence at his back recede. Franky sat on his heels, low on Iceburg's back, planted his hands firmly on the bared sides, running them upward until they caught the shirt and pulled it off at last. Iceburg shivered as Franky's chest pressed against his shoulders briefly. He tried to roll over; Franky let him, shifting back until he was straddling Iceburg's hips.
He could half-see in the dark now, took a moment to stare at the soft play of light over a muscled body, smudged face, mussed hair. His sight was blurred; it seemed like there was water everywhere and he was floating, warm and heavy. He thought vaguely that maybe this was how it should be with them; or maybe how it shouldn't, all slow and lazy and relaxed. As often as they'd done this, it usually seemed more like fighting than sex, like one or both of them had something to prove, and Franky always held on too tight like Iceburg might let go before he was ready. He remembered Franky when they'd just found him, how he used to skitter away from any affection, how he tried so desperately to stand on his own. Remembered with a pang of guilt how hostile he'd been at times, how often Tom had had to turn that patient, smiling look on him and tell him to let Franky be.
He reached up, tugged on the flopped-over blue forelock until he could get his fingers around the back of Franky's head, pulled him down for another kiss. He wanted this suddenly, wanted to hold the stubborn idiot, wrap himself around him, tease and taste him until he got it through his head that he was /home/. They might fight and bicker, Tom might pound them both over the head, the whole town might hate them or love them, but this was home and family and working together and all those things he'd been asking for without daring to with his pranks and battleships and wide, defiant eyes.
"Nma," he whispered against wind and salt-chapped lips. "Let me."
He felt the huff of a snicker against his cheek. "Don't tell Tom, but I kinda stole something else, too." He felt Franky stretch out one long leg and kick something his way, inching it closer with his toes until he could reach it with his hands. Iceburg felt Franky scoot the bottle of cooking oil towards him, tacit, silent agreement as he kissed Iceburg again, leaning low. It tugged at him a little, that Franky wouldn't agree out loud, wouldn't admit that tonight and the few other times it had ended up this way... that it was all right, to be loved like this, when it wasn't just playing or fucking.
He let it go. This is how it was, and ten years later Franky was still that lost and stubborn little boy. And Iceburg was still sixteen sometimes, thinking that he understood anything about him.
He let his thoughts drift back to the body above his, instead, focused on getting that hot breath to hitch, getting those hips to buck over his own. He sat up, gathered Franky in his lap, kissed a lazy trail from soft mouth to the point of an unbandaged shoulder. Moved lower to suck on an exposed nipple as Franky panted wetly into the nape of his neck, kneading at his shoulders and hips. Ran his hands over rough strips of cloth until he hit skin, paused there to stroke and knead, scrape gently with his nails, reached for all those spots that made the other man shiver. He tucked a thumb into the hollow of one slim hip, beneath the elastic waistband, pressed in firm circles until Franky moaned a little too loudly and squirmed, wrapped lean, bare legs around him desperately. He could feel the younger man's muzzy impatience as he ground hot hardness, trapped under tight black fabric, into Iceburg's stomach. The movement caught at his own cock, and he hissed with pleasure and an edge of frustration.
He tipped Franky back then, caught the waistband of his swim pants and pulled them off, catching the bony ankles before the other could push himself back up. Stared again for a moment at the lean body under his, raking his eyes up the wiry legs, over the swollen flesh bobbing above a taut stomach, the still-broadening chest swelling slightly with shallow breaths before the upturned face. Franky looked confused for a moment before Iceburg hiked him up, gently as he could, leaning back with Franky supine atop him until he could part the firm cleft with his fingers, run his tongue wetly across puckered skin before pressing slowly in.
He felt Franky groan at the unaccustomed sensation, felt legs spread uncertainly wider around his head, granting him better access. He probed deeper, pressing into the back of a thigh with one hand, freeing the other to wrap around dripping hardness, stroke slowly in time with his wet thrusts. Heard Franky hiss something that might have been his name, raised at the end like a question. His neck was craning uncomfortably, and Franky's head, tipped back between his legs, was pressing against his own erection, frustratingly fleeting, but he almost didn't care as the body above his squirmed and stiffened, the cock under his hand trembled and jerked.
They were drunk; he couldn't make this last as long as he liked, and he lapped softly a few more times before releasing the shuddering thigh, fingers trailing in a slow tease over the twitching cock. Iceburg slid Franky off onto his back on the bedroll, lifting himself out from under him to crouch above him. He was painfully hard now, and Franky reached for the too-obvious bulge under his jeans, palming him firmly. Iceburg hissed again, his eyes sliding closed on the sight of Franky smirking and panting beneath him. Felt fingers fumble with the button and zipper, thought better of adding his own hands to the tangle and reached for the bottle of oil instead. Let Franky tug his pants down with his underwear, lifted one knee and then another, toed off his boots and both garments and kicked them aside.
His head was dizzyingly clear for a moment as he caught Franky's eyes. There was the faint din of the city's festivities outside, the closer sounds of Tom and Kokoro and Yokozuna still celebrating, his own harsh breath and the quick pants of the man beneath him. Franky's eyes were wide like they always were in these moments, like he was almost afraid and daring Iceburg to call him on it. He remembered how that had scared Iceburg the first time, that look of challenge and hesitant trust. He'd wondered what he'd looked like to Franky, months before that, whether he'd semed as terrified.
Iceburg leaned in close enough to see Franky's pupils dilated in need and drunkenness, kissed him to distract from the sound of the bottle popping open. He slicked the oil between his fingers, warming it, before sliding a hand slowly up the inside of one thigh, teasing slow circles around tight muscle before inserting the tip of one finger, thrusting slowly in. Swallowed the low moan that rolled from Franky's mouth into his as he slid in deep, pulled slowly out. He added a finger, and another, stretching Franky as if they'd never done this before, twining his tongue around the other's, kissing up a stubbled jaw line as Franky broke away to pant harshly in his ear. Felt him straining upwards, cock twitching.
He sat up slightly, still inside the younger man. Squeezed oil haphazardly over his own cock, groaning deep and low and he stroked himself to spread the slickness. He saw that Franky's eyes were closed, hips rocking insistently on Iceburg's fingers, cock bobbing invitingly. One hand counterpointing Franky's movements, the other stroking himself with would-be languor, he leaned over until he could catch that nodding head awkwardly in his mouth. Franky froze and let out a strangled cry. Iceburg knew he shouldn't linger, but he took in the whole length once, sucking and slicking his tongue over the hot flesh, flicking into the slitted head before letting it go and withdrawing his hand.
Franky propped himself up unsteadily on his elbows, panting hard, flushed from forehead to stomach. Looked at him like he couldn't decide whether to hate him or not, and Iceburg smiled. He pressed in, feeling the slick muscle resist for a moment before heat closed in around him and Franky collapsed onto his back again, eyes slipping shut even as he tried stubbornly to keep staring. He rolled his hips in short, slow thrusts, inching deeper until he was fully sheathed, head buzzing with liquor and the incredible heat and the sounds of pants and choked groans under him.
He held still for a moment, trying to settle himself, breathe, make this last. Opened his eyes, saw Franky's face, sweating and set inches from his own, eyes glinting with want and a touch of impatience and a little uncertainty. He pulled out and pushed slowly back in again, bracing himself with one hand and wrapping the other around Franky's cock, still slick with his own spit. Stroked and thrust in as close to tandem as he could manage in his state, stubbornly keeping the pace slow until Franky was moaning, nearly whimpering below him. The choked hint of his name made his fist clench a little harder around the twitching hardness, made his thrusts quicker, less controlled, as he felt the man under him shudder, knew he was closer than he liked. He would have slowed down, taken it back to the pace he wanted, but for the eyes snapping open below his, the slim hips surging forward to meet his, stubbornly hard and fast, and too quickly he felt Franky stiffen, felt the rolling spasm against his palm, the mind-melting clench around his own cock, and he pulled once, twice more before thrusting, quick and hard until he felt his gut tighten and the warmth that had been pooling below his belly spill outward, rocking through his body as his brain froze for a moment with the imperfect utter pleasure.
He breathed harshly for a moment, slid out and down with a groan, not caring as his chest met the stickiness of Franky's release. "Bakanky," he muttered, kissing softly at the sharp angles of chin and jaw. "Couldn't have let me let me do this my way, could you?"
"Sins'when do I let you tell me what t'do, B'kaberg?" came the groggy reply.
"This was your idea, idiot." He rolled them over so that Franky was half on him, searched with his toes until he found the blanket and pulled it over them. Wrapped his arms around Franky, dirty and wet and sweaty and not caring. They'd both have hellish hangovers tomorrow, and stiff muscles, and renewed aches in whatever injuries they'd managed to disturb.
"Would've done better t'steal s'more lickurrrr." The jab was indistinct, muffled into his shoulder. He was bound to wake with that arm numb and drooled on.
He pulled Franky in closer, letting their legs tangle, draping his arms across the other's back. "Love you too, jackass," he murmured. Franky snored in reply. Iceburg didn't care if he was faking sleep or had actually fallen into the drunken stupor his alcohol consumption for the night had long promised. Everyone was happy, the first step to reviving the island had been taken, Tom was guffawing away in the other room. Franky was stubbornly ignoring him as Iceburg drifted into sleep.
This was home.
---
End.
----------------------------------------
My first and so far only piece of actual smut.
Credit for the "jackass" line to an lj icon by ironpuncher2.
Pairing: Iceburg x Franky like whoa
Rating: NC-17, also like whoa
Spoilers: Water Seven
Word Count: 3,000ish
Author's Note: I first wrote and posted this nearly a year ago, unbeta'd (shut up I didn't have one >.>). I dredged it up for an edit last month and, well, here it is. My only actual smut. Thanks to Tro (lj username megalotro) for quick edit and reassurance =)
Summary: The train is done, Franky and Iceburg celebrate. And Franky is home at last.
---
Home, and Slowly
-=-
The party lasted well into the night, sore muscles and bleeding fingers and dirty faces be damned. Tears flowed as often as drink, laughter rolled off the walls in endless waves like Aqua Laguna had come early; Tom's hearty guffaws counterpointing Kokoro's drunken snorts, Yokozuna's croaking hiccoughing in tandem with Franky's endless mirth, and Iceburg felt like his heart might explode.
It had started swelling dangerously yesterday, as they worked through the night to put the finishing touches on the Puffing Tom; had floated up into his throat, making him choke on his tears as he watched the huge train chug into the distance; had settled warmly back in his chest when Tom picked everyone up bodily to haul them home to drink past sundown. Their hopes, their dreams, the future of Water Seven had puffed away and come back safe and sound. This town where he was born, this family he had found - despite the bad trade and the government, despite the work yet to be done - their hopes were manifest now, clad in wood and iron, sturdy and strong and built with all the love and skill they could muster. He had watched Tom laugh that afternoon, loud and booming, watched Franky leap and shout himself hoarse. They'd both turned, for a moment, to plaster themselves against Tom's ample gut like they'd used to a decade ago, felt his heart beating steady and smooth like the roar of a steam engine, felt his sides roll like the lulling rock of a train going endlessly forward, and Iceburg had never felt prouder. Proud of Tom for his genius and devotion, of Kokoro for her strength and bemused encouragement. Proud of Franky, for finally growing up enough to work and sweat and bleed beside them.
The latter caught his eye just then, as Iceburg was staring at him in lazy half-drunken contemplation, and a wicked grin wound its way around the corners of his mouth. Franky staggered over to him from where he'd been dancing with Yokozuna at the far end of the table, stepping uncaring into mostly-finished food and tipping empty bottles everywhere.
"Hey B'kaberg," he slurred, dropping unceremoniously into a sloppy sitting position on the table, bare legs splayed onto the bench. "S' great to have the train finished, innit?"
"Nma, Franky. It's incredible."
"I helped, y'know," Franky proclaimed, puffing out his chest and grinning sloppily.
"Taaaahahahaa!" Tom guffawed from behind him. "Helped out like a man!"
"And he's throwing his chest out like you always told him to!" Kokoro snickered. "Our Franky chooses now of all times to listen!"
They laughed themselves to tears, leaning on each other, and Iceburg caught something warm and almost-surprised steal across Franky's face, honest in drunkenness. He thought he a saw a blush creep under the drunken flush on the younger man's features as well, and felt a smile stretch his face, so happy it almost hurt.
Tom wiped his eyes and cleared his throat with a deep cough and gurgle, reached out his huge arms to pick Franky up and pull Iceburg in close, press them to himself. Iceburg heard the low tremor in the merman's voice, felt the slow rush of his breath like the ocean as he rumbled, "I'm so proud of you both."
The room sobered for a moment, and Iceburg would have cried if he hadn't already done so most of the afternoon, out of happiness and exhaustion and the sheer overwhelming feeling of the day. He watched Franky instead, who was crying, bawling like he hadn't in years. Years and years of seeking acknowledgement for his unique, daring, dangerous, stupid actions only to find it in working with others, in being with people he'd finally accepted as his own.
"Does that mean you won't punish me if I steal something again?" Franky wailed, and everyone laughed again.
"I think you've earned a few mischiefs and a day off," Tom managed through yet more tears. "Both of you," he added with a would-be stern look in Iceburg's direction.
"Nma, Tom. I'll take a break, I swear."
Tom eyed him with drunken suspicion, but was quickly appeased, distracted by another drinking challenge from Kokoro. Iceburg got up to slide back into his own seat when a hand grabbed his from behind and a voice whispered in his ear with all the promise of an earlier wicked grin.
"I want to steal /you/."
He let himself be pulled along into the little side room, let their weight close the door with a soft thud as his arms twined lazily around a bare and bandaged torso-Franky had discarded his shirt at some point and was starting to work on Iceburg's black top, clumsy fingers splaying on his stomach. Their mouths melded; he tasted alcohol and tears and something close to whatever was tightening his own throat. Teeth nipped at his lips, a clever tongue only slightly awkward with drink slid warmly into his mouth. He felt a slow burn in his body: muscles sore from hours-days, years-of work; veins smoldering with the sluggish heat of alcohol; and, slow and thrilling, a languid blaze in his nerves, spreading indolently from where Franky's fingers slid over him, from his mouth and from where their bare stomachs touched.
He was content with this languorous pace, content to explore the familiar mouth, run his tongue over soft wetness, wrestling lazily with it. It felt good to have Franky so relaxed, had felt good to see him so happy today.
Iceburg felt a hand trail up his neck to pull at the smudged and dirty bandana, felt his hair fall around his face, caked in blood and grease, tears and sweat. They were both dirty, scabbed and scraped up. He didn't care.
Franky was pulling at his shirt, urging it up and him forward. Iceburg had the shirt half-off, up around his head, when he tripped and fell half on his bedroll. Franky snickered behind him, and he felt knees land on either side of him as the younger man leaned over him to breathe hotly on his exposed neck, pin his arms lightly above his head. Franky bit possessively at Iceburg's shoulder, slow and hard, and he arched involuntarily into the sharp touch, shuddered when those teeth moved to nibble a little too hard on his ear. He was warm from the weight on top of him, blinded and half-bound by the black fabric.
Franky's hands slid off his tangled elbows, and he was suddenly cold as he felt the warm presence at his back recede. Franky sat on his heels, low on Iceburg's back, planted his hands firmly on the bared sides, running them upward until they caught the shirt and pulled it off at last. Iceburg shivered as Franky's chest pressed against his shoulders briefly. He tried to roll over; Franky let him, shifting back until he was straddling Iceburg's hips.
He could half-see in the dark now, took a moment to stare at the soft play of light over a muscled body, smudged face, mussed hair. His sight was blurred; it seemed like there was water everywhere and he was floating, warm and heavy. He thought vaguely that maybe this was how it should be with them; or maybe how it shouldn't, all slow and lazy and relaxed. As often as they'd done this, it usually seemed more like fighting than sex, like one or both of them had something to prove, and Franky always held on too tight like Iceburg might let go before he was ready. He remembered Franky when they'd just found him, how he used to skitter away from any affection, how he tried so desperately to stand on his own. Remembered with a pang of guilt how hostile he'd been at times, how often Tom had had to turn that patient, smiling look on him and tell him to let Franky be.
He reached up, tugged on the flopped-over blue forelock until he could get his fingers around the back of Franky's head, pulled him down for another kiss. He wanted this suddenly, wanted to hold the stubborn idiot, wrap himself around him, tease and taste him until he got it through his head that he was /home/. They might fight and bicker, Tom might pound them both over the head, the whole town might hate them or love them, but this was home and family and working together and all those things he'd been asking for without daring to with his pranks and battleships and wide, defiant eyes.
"Nma," he whispered against wind and salt-chapped lips. "Let me."
He felt the huff of a snicker against his cheek. "Don't tell Tom, but I kinda stole something else, too." He felt Franky stretch out one long leg and kick something his way, inching it closer with his toes until he could reach it with his hands. Iceburg felt Franky scoot the bottle of cooking oil towards him, tacit, silent agreement as he kissed Iceburg again, leaning low. It tugged at him a little, that Franky wouldn't agree out loud, wouldn't admit that tonight and the few other times it had ended up this way... that it was all right, to be loved like this, when it wasn't just playing or fucking.
He let it go. This is how it was, and ten years later Franky was still that lost and stubborn little boy. And Iceburg was still sixteen sometimes, thinking that he understood anything about him.
He let his thoughts drift back to the body above his, instead, focused on getting that hot breath to hitch, getting those hips to buck over his own. He sat up, gathered Franky in his lap, kissed a lazy trail from soft mouth to the point of an unbandaged shoulder. Moved lower to suck on an exposed nipple as Franky panted wetly into the nape of his neck, kneading at his shoulders and hips. Ran his hands over rough strips of cloth until he hit skin, paused there to stroke and knead, scrape gently with his nails, reached for all those spots that made the other man shiver. He tucked a thumb into the hollow of one slim hip, beneath the elastic waistband, pressed in firm circles until Franky moaned a little too loudly and squirmed, wrapped lean, bare legs around him desperately. He could feel the younger man's muzzy impatience as he ground hot hardness, trapped under tight black fabric, into Iceburg's stomach. The movement caught at his own cock, and he hissed with pleasure and an edge of frustration.
He tipped Franky back then, caught the waistband of his swim pants and pulled them off, catching the bony ankles before the other could push himself back up. Stared again for a moment at the lean body under his, raking his eyes up the wiry legs, over the swollen flesh bobbing above a taut stomach, the still-broadening chest swelling slightly with shallow breaths before the upturned face. Franky looked confused for a moment before Iceburg hiked him up, gently as he could, leaning back with Franky supine atop him until he could part the firm cleft with his fingers, run his tongue wetly across puckered skin before pressing slowly in.
He felt Franky groan at the unaccustomed sensation, felt legs spread uncertainly wider around his head, granting him better access. He probed deeper, pressing into the back of a thigh with one hand, freeing the other to wrap around dripping hardness, stroke slowly in time with his wet thrusts. Heard Franky hiss something that might have been his name, raised at the end like a question. His neck was craning uncomfortably, and Franky's head, tipped back between his legs, was pressing against his own erection, frustratingly fleeting, but he almost didn't care as the body above his squirmed and stiffened, the cock under his hand trembled and jerked.
They were drunk; he couldn't make this last as long as he liked, and he lapped softly a few more times before releasing the shuddering thigh, fingers trailing in a slow tease over the twitching cock. Iceburg slid Franky off onto his back on the bedroll, lifting himself out from under him to crouch above him. He was painfully hard now, and Franky reached for the too-obvious bulge under his jeans, palming him firmly. Iceburg hissed again, his eyes sliding closed on the sight of Franky smirking and panting beneath him. Felt fingers fumble with the button and zipper, thought better of adding his own hands to the tangle and reached for the bottle of oil instead. Let Franky tug his pants down with his underwear, lifted one knee and then another, toed off his boots and both garments and kicked them aside.
His head was dizzyingly clear for a moment as he caught Franky's eyes. There was the faint din of the city's festivities outside, the closer sounds of Tom and Kokoro and Yokozuna still celebrating, his own harsh breath and the quick pants of the man beneath him. Franky's eyes were wide like they always were in these moments, like he was almost afraid and daring Iceburg to call him on it. He remembered how that had scared Iceburg the first time, that look of challenge and hesitant trust. He'd wondered what he'd looked like to Franky, months before that, whether he'd semed as terrified.
Iceburg leaned in close enough to see Franky's pupils dilated in need and drunkenness, kissed him to distract from the sound of the bottle popping open. He slicked the oil between his fingers, warming it, before sliding a hand slowly up the inside of one thigh, teasing slow circles around tight muscle before inserting the tip of one finger, thrusting slowly in. Swallowed the low moan that rolled from Franky's mouth into his as he slid in deep, pulled slowly out. He added a finger, and another, stretching Franky as if they'd never done this before, twining his tongue around the other's, kissing up a stubbled jaw line as Franky broke away to pant harshly in his ear. Felt him straining upwards, cock twitching.
He sat up slightly, still inside the younger man. Squeezed oil haphazardly over his own cock, groaning deep and low and he stroked himself to spread the slickness. He saw that Franky's eyes were closed, hips rocking insistently on Iceburg's fingers, cock bobbing invitingly. One hand counterpointing Franky's movements, the other stroking himself with would-be languor, he leaned over until he could catch that nodding head awkwardly in his mouth. Franky froze and let out a strangled cry. Iceburg knew he shouldn't linger, but he took in the whole length once, sucking and slicking his tongue over the hot flesh, flicking into the slitted head before letting it go and withdrawing his hand.
Franky propped himself up unsteadily on his elbows, panting hard, flushed from forehead to stomach. Looked at him like he couldn't decide whether to hate him or not, and Iceburg smiled. He pressed in, feeling the slick muscle resist for a moment before heat closed in around him and Franky collapsed onto his back again, eyes slipping shut even as he tried stubbornly to keep staring. He rolled his hips in short, slow thrusts, inching deeper until he was fully sheathed, head buzzing with liquor and the incredible heat and the sounds of pants and choked groans under him.
He held still for a moment, trying to settle himself, breathe, make this last. Opened his eyes, saw Franky's face, sweating and set inches from his own, eyes glinting with want and a touch of impatience and a little uncertainty. He pulled out and pushed slowly back in again, bracing himself with one hand and wrapping the other around Franky's cock, still slick with his own spit. Stroked and thrust in as close to tandem as he could manage in his state, stubbornly keeping the pace slow until Franky was moaning, nearly whimpering below him. The choked hint of his name made his fist clench a little harder around the twitching hardness, made his thrusts quicker, less controlled, as he felt the man under him shudder, knew he was closer than he liked. He would have slowed down, taken it back to the pace he wanted, but for the eyes snapping open below his, the slim hips surging forward to meet his, stubbornly hard and fast, and too quickly he felt Franky stiffen, felt the rolling spasm against his palm, the mind-melting clench around his own cock, and he pulled once, twice more before thrusting, quick and hard until he felt his gut tighten and the warmth that had been pooling below his belly spill outward, rocking through his body as his brain froze for a moment with the imperfect utter pleasure.
He breathed harshly for a moment, slid out and down with a groan, not caring as his chest met the stickiness of Franky's release. "Bakanky," he muttered, kissing softly at the sharp angles of chin and jaw. "Couldn't have let me let me do this my way, could you?"
"Sins'when do I let you tell me what t'do, B'kaberg?" came the groggy reply.
"This was your idea, idiot." He rolled them over so that Franky was half on him, searched with his toes until he found the blanket and pulled it over them. Wrapped his arms around Franky, dirty and wet and sweaty and not caring. They'd both have hellish hangovers tomorrow, and stiff muscles, and renewed aches in whatever injuries they'd managed to disturb.
"Would've done better t'steal s'more lickurrrr." The jab was indistinct, muffled into his shoulder. He was bound to wake with that arm numb and drooled on.
He pulled Franky in closer, letting their legs tangle, draping his arms across the other's back. "Love you too, jackass," he murmured. Franky snored in reply. Iceburg didn't care if he was faking sleep or had actually fallen into the drunken stupor his alcohol consumption for the night had long promised. Everyone was happy, the first step to reviving the island had been taken, Tom was guffawing away in the other room. Franky was stubbornly ignoring him as Iceburg drifted into sleep.
This was home.
---
End.
----------------------------------------
My first and so far only piece of actual smut.
Credit for the "jackass" line to an lj icon by ironpuncher2.
Sign up to rate and review this story