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“This is so fucking stupid,” Law hisses, for possibly the fourth time since he started working on the ten million tiny buttons vaguely fastening the loose, fluttery white blouse he’s being made to borrow.
As if standing in the middle of Hawkins’ occult-cluttered bedroom in his briefs and nothing else hadn’t been embarrassing enough, now he has to deal with the side effects of the theme Kid had picked: that being, ‘gay pirate.’ Law is so invested in the buttons, which appear to be multiplying as he goes, he doesn’t even think to dodge the tiny black skirt Hawkins throws at him over his shoulder, leaving him momentarily blinded by thin, flouncy ruffles.
“As far as losing a bet to Kid goes,” Hawkins sighs where he’s staring into the flamboyant goth vampire depths of his closet, “Him putting you in a skirt is letting you off easy.”
Law grumbles and shakes the skirt off his head, then launches a counterattack against his mutinying buttons. “Why do you even have so much gaudy shit? You cannot possibly dress like this all the time.”
“Fascist beauty standards are never in the cards, Trafalgar. Anyway, you should be grateful that Kid picked my wardrobe.” Hawkins glances back over his shoulder, loudly judging Law while he shimmies the layered little skirt up over his hips. “He was thinking about using Killer’s instead. Have you ever worn a denim miniskirt?” Law glowers up at Hawkins through his mussed bangs, then goes back to trying to coax his decidedly sentient shirt into the loose waist of his skirt, assuming that his poor ruffle-wrangling form will answer that question well enough.
If only looks could kill. Completely unfazed by Law’s glared daggers, Hawkins lets out something like a pathologically bored sound of triumph, then turns and hands him a long pair of thick black socks. “You’ll need these. The boots you were wearing are fine.”
“Oh, good,” Law spits, midway through falling on his ass in another failed attempt at herding his shirt.
By the time he has the (admittedly very cozy) thigh highs pulled up, boots laced, arms pissily crossed through the swaying sea of ruffles pouring down his chest, Law is so tired of Kid’s shit. Hawkins’ judgmental stare really doesn’t help, especially because he keeps squinting at Law’s scrawny thighs and letting out those sorts of ‘hmmm’s that overstay their welcome by a good few consonants, thus prompting Law to snap, “What?”
“That skirt is far more piratey on me,” Hawkins decides, which Law finds inexplicably offensive. Fortunately, Hawkins clarifies the offense for him by droning, “On you, it’s more... gothsluts subreddit. I think it’s because you have no ass.”
The temptation to inform Hawkins that he is single handedly keeping Law’s therapist in business is strong, but the vain fuck would take it as a compliment. Instead, Law rolls his eyes as loudly as he can, then follows Hawkins out of his patchouli farm of an apartment and down the hall, heading back toward the bass-boosted nightmare that is Kid and Killer’s place on party night.
When Hawkins drops a hand on the door handle, he pauses before opening it, turning to glance at Law over his shoulder. “Before you ask, no, I don’t want those clothes back.”
“I’m not paying you for them,” Law huffs, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He’s no fashion expert, but whatever sorcery is animating the ruffles alone must cost a fortune. “Why don’t you want them?”
“Because,” Hawkins sighs as he shoves the door open, “I’ve met your boyfriend.”
--
Drake, meanwhile, is still sitting right where Law left him: parked awkwardly at the end of the couch in front of the TV with Kid’s egregious manspreading badgering ever further into his personal space. Kid has long since cannibalized Law’s vacated seat with his massive thighs, and Drake is just wondering if Kid is going to cannibalize his seat with him still in it when the front door swings open.
He may be in dire need of better company than his friend-in-law’s right kneecap, but that isn’t the only reason Drake perks up when he sees his boyfriend stalk back into the apartment.
For as much as he’d complained when he lost his incredibly ill-advised bet against Kid, Law seems entirely at ease in the tiny black skirt Hawkins stuffed him into. The sway of his narrow hips as he crosses the smoky, crowded apartment just barely shifts the layered fabric over his thighs, revealing a few bare inches of golden skin between the hem and his black thigh high socks that, in Drake’s perfectly unbiased opinion, are practically screaming for the bruised imprints of his teeth. The fact that they aren’t marked up already is a pretty atrocious failing on his part.
Perceptive as always, Law barely has to make eye contact to see right through Drake. He’s already got that wicked little smirk painted over his thin lips, clearly emboldened by the horny panic that must be wildly apparent on Drake’s burning face. Rather than come right to him, though, Law makes a pit stop between Kid and the TV, being as in the way as he possibly can to get his friend’s attention.
“Oi, Trafalgar—”
“You’re the one who said I had to show you, Eustass-ya. Are you quite satisfied?” Law huffs, hands resting on his hips.
Kid barks a laugh. “I only threw that clause in to make sure you didn’t just dress up and go home.”
“Like I would,” Law sneers, in a tone that leads Drake to believe that he had considered it numerous times while he was gone.
“Yeah, whatever.” Kid gives him a thoughtful once-over, somewhere between leering and studious, but Law isn’t paying attention. He’s back to pinning Drake in place with that sharp gaze, the corner of his lips hooked up, eyeing him up and down in a decidedly provocative fashion until Kid demands his attention again. “Do a spin.”
Law’s eyes narrow, then flick away from Drake, which is more of a disappointment than anything else. As naked as he feels with Law looking through him like that, Drake is admittedly a sucker for his boyfriend’s attention.
“You must be joking.”
Rather than retort, Kid leans back into the couch and tips his beer to his lips, his expectant stare unwavering.
Once he’s taken the time to roll his eyes at a volume comparable to the rest of the apartment, Law does a rapid three-sixty on the heel of one boot, coming to a stop looking even less impressed than he’d started. Even the way he holds his arms out screams sarcasm, but since the snark isn’t being aimed at Drake, he takes the time to notice something other than Law’s thighs and his lips.
Tiny as the skirt is, the long, flowing sleeves of Law’s top may actually be longer. That would be more interesting to Drake than it is, if not for the fact that the surprisingly opaque lace hides all of the tattoos littered along Law’s strong arms. His intricate chest piece is criminally covered up too, concealed somewhere under a flouncy fall of gauzy cream-colored ruffles, which starts halfway up his throat and doesn’t let up until the shirt dips into the high waist of the skirt.
Well, Drake supposes it hits the theme, but he still has quite a few qualms with the shirt Hawkins picked. The most pressing of which being that even though Law has all this gorgeously inked golden skin, every inch of him is covered up aside from his face and the thin, pristine stripe across his narrow thighs, the one spot Drake somehow missed in his most recent fit of feverish affection.
Then again, that taunting window might be intentional. Only being able to see that much is driving Drake out of his mind with the desire to shove his head under that skirt and atone for his carelessness.
“I’ll take your thirsty silence as approval,” Law says dryly, drawing Drake out of his lovingly chompy daydreams. He’s not surprised that he entered some kind of horny fugue state, weak to Law as he is, but Kid being stunned speechless even for a moment is a real feat.
Ignoring Kid’s delayed grumbling about not being thirsty, Law moves out from between him and the TV, coming instead to pluck Drake’s forgotten beer right out of his hand. He drains the remaining half in a few good gulps, presumably as a treat for having to deal with Kid and Hawkins. Wholly unfazed by his boyfriend’s highway robbery, Drake watches the steady bobbing of Law’s throat as he swallows, showing signs of life in his vacantly mumbled, “Welcome back.”
Law hums his acknowledgment, then chucks the empty beer can in the general direction of Kid’s head. Since that doesn’t get Kid to close his legs and make room for him again, Law just turns around and parks his ass right in Drake’s lap like he belongs there, long legs crossed at the knees. As used to being used as furniture as he is, Drake still freezes, because there are a hundred different places he wants to put his hands right now, and none of them are going to fly in such a crowded room.
In the moment Drake spends flustering, Law makes himself quite comfortable slumping back against his chest, then jerks his chin toward the TV. “I miss anything?”
Drake had honestly been paying attention to the match while Law was gone, but it seems his brain hadn’t bothered committing any of it to memory, having dumped it all out in favor of memorizing the sway of Law’s hips. He can’t even think straight enough to come up with an excuse, so instead he clears his throat, then admits, “I... can’t remember.”
He can’t blame Law for snickering at his expense. “You get shitfaced in the twenty minutes I was gone?”
Seeing as Law stole the last half of his only beer, Drake is pretty confident that his memory loss isn’t alcohol-induced. He ducks to press his lips against Law’s pierced ear, using the proximity to lower his voice the way he knows his boyfriend likes. “I’m not drunk,” he rumbles, unable to look away from Law’s thighs, those few bare inches of soft skin pressed tight together now that he’s sitting down. “I just have better things to look at than the TV.”
Law sinks further into him with a pleased sigh, his face impressively neutral aside from the faint pink flush dusting over his cheeks. It’s easy enough to mistake for a buzz, especially with his pretty honey eyes warm and hooded, but Drake knows better.
“Isn’t that a shame,” Law chuckles, the picture of composure even with Drake’s cock starting to chub up between his ass cheeks. Even worse, he tilts his head back and idly trails his fingers through the sea of ruffles making up his top, wetting his lips with a lazy sweep of his tongue. He traces a well-hidden line of fastenings from his throat all the way down to the high waist of his skirt, easily commanding all of Drake’s attention before he teases, “And it took me so long to button this damn thing, too. I was hoping you’d get me up to speed.”
Drake knows Law doesn’t actually care about this match. He just took that bet against Kid because he’s a competitive little monster, especially when he’s around his rowdier friends.
Swallowing heavily, he flicks his burning gaze to Law’s. The heated mischief he finds there is enthralling, but Drake still gets it together enough to croak, “Keep that up, and you’re going to get yourself in trouble.”
There really isn’t any point in giving Law warnings when he’s in this kind of mood. All it does is encourage him to escalate.
Looking entirely too pleased with himself, he gives Drake this wicked little smile, then uncrosses his legs just to cross them the other way slow and deliberate, coyly inching the fluffy hem of his skirt up his slender thighs. The calculated motion lets him roll his hips down into Drake’s lap, too, the seemingly casual shift of his weight grinding his cock even deeper between his cheeks.
Fuck. Fuck, Law’s so cute, it’s unreal. Even when he’s being a brat, pushing Drake’s buttons just to see how much he can take before he snaps, his allure is undeniable.
Delirious with the need to get this smug menace somewhere private so he can really get his hands on him, Drake hooks his hands under Law’s arms and hauls him off his lap and to his feet, trying desperately not to think about the accidental brush of his fingers past the hard nubs of pierced nipples through the lacy, clinging material of Law’s top. He pulls himself off the couch with matching urgency, but before he can usher his boyfriend toward the door, Kid leans his head back and groans, “Seriously?”
Drake’s face burns. He glances over, only more humiliated when he finds Hawkins sitting on Kid’s other side, a glass of red wine cradled in his long fingers. “I told you,” he drones, not bothering to keep the obvious judgment out of his tone. “One percent chance of survival.”
“Couldn’t even make it five fucking minutes.” Kid clicks his tongue irritably, then slaps a pile of crumpled bills into Hawkins’ non-wine hand. “You’re killing me, Diez.”
Were Drake in his right mind, he might be more indignant that their friends bet cash on how weak to Law’s charm he is. Unfortunately, he’s currently too bewitched by said charm to bother with it beyond an embarrassed grumble as he turns and elbows his way to the front door, pulling a snickering Law along behind him.
--
For once, Drake is glad he and Law live just upstairs and down the hall. It may not be out of hearing range of Kid’s more extreme shenanigans, but knowing that it’d take about a minute and a half to have Law spread out on their shared sheets may have been the only thing keeping Drake from bending his smug boyfriend over Kid’s bathroom sink, or somewhere else equally unsavory.
The moment he locks the door behind them, shoes and boots kicked to the side, Drake turns and shoves Law up against it, ducking to catch his lips in a feverish, needy kiss. He doesn’t bother turning on the lights, either, not when he knows his hands are put to much better use wrapped around Law’s narrow waist, gripping tight and pulling him close.
“I thought you’d like this,” Law sighs between kisses, fingers threading gently into Drake’s hair to coax his hair tie loose. “But I’m a little surprised by how much. If you have a thing for skirts, you should’ve just told me.”
“I don’t have a thing,” Drake wheezes. He tries to hide his embarrassment by nipping at Law’s ear, slipping his tongue between golden rings just for the way it makes his lover’s slender spine arch away from the door. Drawing his broad palm down that irresistible curve, Drake presses closer and slides one thigh between Law’s, which makes it impossible to ignore the flouncy material now bunching up against his hip.
Mouth running dry, Drake stares helplessly at the fabric just barely covering his boyfriend’s lap. Even in the dim, he can see the tent Law is pitching, absolutely thriving on all the brainless affection without an ounce of shame to him.
“I-I didn’t have a thing,” Drake admits, only growing more light-headed when Law rocks his hips along his thigh, the indulgent motion hiking his tiny skirt up even more. Lacy layers cradle his arousal almost coyly, while the friction reveals a few more inches of those tantalizing golden thighs spread so far apart by one of Drake’s, which only makes the pressing urge to mark up that smooth skin with loving, bitey kisses that much harder to ignore.
After a long moment, during which Drake may or may not have started drooling, Law breathes, “You like my thighs that much, huh?” Drake glances up at that mischievous face, enthralled by the impish curl to thin lips as they form the words, “You’re so easy, daddy.”
Oh god. As if Law didn’t have him wrapped around his little finger tightly enough as it is.
Drake squeezes his eyes shut, swallowing heavily. They’ve been together for years now, but somehow that weaponized pet name still catches him off guard every time, lighting a fire under his ever-present desire to give his pretty boyfriend anything he wants. His body’s reaction to Law calling him ‘daddy’ is entirely instinctual at this point, trained like a fucking dog to go full mast at the salacious purr of that silver tongue winding greedily around every letter.
Even if he wanted to, Drake couldn’t hide the effect that word has on him. He’s straining against his zipper already, shoving hard into the lace bunched up between their hips, his heavy bulge jutting prominently along the join of Law’s thigh.
Breathing a pleased hum, Law glances up at him through his eyelashes, lip caught between his teeth as he wiggles a hand between them to flatten his palm along the curve of Drake’s cock. Drake’s breath catches in his chest, his vision swimming even before Law gives him a loose, teasing squeeze. “Baby,” he chokes out, curling over his boyfriend to try and play off how eagerly he arches his hips into that slight friction.
Law breathes a quiet laugh, then presses his narrow body to Drake’s, leaning up onto his toes to whisper in his ear.
“Take me to bed, daddy,” he murmurs, his low voice raspy with arousal, sending a thrill all down Drake’s spine. Then, as if that wasn’t enough to have Drake bending over backwards for him, Law sighs, “Since you’re enjoying this so much, I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.”
Drake can actually feel his self control snapping like a rubber band, stretched far too thin for far too long.
With a brainless snarl, he hooks his hands under Law’s ass and hoists him into his arms, only encouraged by stockinged legs wrapping around his waist. By now he has enough experience carrying his reedy boyfriend around the apartment that he doesn’t need to look where he’s going, so he wastes no time in catching Law’s smirking lips again, feverishly tangling their tongues as he edges into their bedroom.
Once he drops Law on the bed, Drake takes a moment to yank his own shirt off. He can feel hungry eyes on him, so it’s no surprise that when he looks up again, he finds Law lounging in the pillows like royalty, his long legs pressed together so Drake can’t see up his skirt. It’s a cloying display of modesty that doesn’t at all match the ravenous heat in his gaze or the curl to his bitten lips, looking very much like he’s getting exactly what he wants.
Drake is pretty sure Law isn’t hiding anything up there, not beyond the tight black briefs he begrudgingly wears whenever he knows he’s going to be stuck in jeans for several sweaty hours on end, but just the thought of pushing those bony knees apart and nuzzling into straining lace is enough to make Drake’s vision swim.
Then again, based on how dizzy he’s been since Law came back from changing his clothes, adding actual panties to the mix might be lethal.
Breathing a rough groan, Drake throws his shirt aside and scrambles onto the bed, his haste making him clumsy. Law snickers at him, but his lips part around a pretty gasp when Drake hooks his hands under his knees and firmly coaxes them apart to make room for his own, much larger body, as greedy and insistent as Law is giving him leave to be.
With Law’s legs hooked around his hips, Drake sits back on his heels and soothes his palm over the smooth, bare strip of golden skin between his thigh highs and his skirt. “This is the part I can’t get over,” he sighs, trailing his fingers under Law’s thigh as he traces around the top of his stocking. His lover’s smug smile widens, one eyebrow raised expectantly, so Drake continues, “I left all those marks on you last night, but the only skin this outfit shows is the one place I didn’t. You know how crazy that makes me?”
“And after you worked so hard to show everyone how good you are to me,” Law purrs, shifting his hips just to slide the hem of his skirt higher up his thighs. Easily hypnotized by his lover’s charm as he is, Drake’s eyes helplessly fall to watch, leaving him undefended against Law’s breathy, “Poor daddy.”
The pleased shock that rolls down Drake’s spine is dizzying, leaving his cock throbbing hard in his pants, but the need to make something clear grants him clarity.
“I don’t care about everyone,” he rasps, slipping his hands under Law’s knees. “I was working that hard to show you. Can’t have you forgetting there’s a reason you keep me around.”
Law’s eyebrows shoot up, but his crooked smile softens fondly. “I have more than enough of those. I think you just like seeing your hard work on my skin.”
Well, that too. Drake shrugs, then folds his lover in half, only a little smug about the indignant wheeze it earns him.
Hooking bony knees over his shoulders frees up his hands, so he wastes no time slipping his fingers into Law’s briefs and tugging. As he’s working his underwear down and off, Drake watches Law through his eyelashes, murmuring, “Just because they’re for you doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy them.”
Law breathes a huff of a laugh, one hand pushing the fabric of his skirt down between his thighs, which doesn’t do much to hide the hard ridge of his arousal. Drake can still clearly see the outline of him even through layered material, could easily lean down and put his mouth all over him without losing a hint of his usual accuracy.
Before he can indulge in a reward like that, though, he has to earn his keep properly.
Sprawling out on his stomach, Drake coaxes one of Law’s thighs over his shoulder, keeping the other held open to give himself room to work. He has no comment on Law’s playful modesty, not beyond a fleeting brush of his lips over inked knuckles on his way to nuzzle his stubbly cheek against the inside of Law’s thigh.
His affection earns him a soft sigh, strong muscles already relaxing in anticipation of the hot, wet kiss he presses there next. Law’s free hand comes to tangle into Drake’s mussed hair, then gives him an encouraging tug, which easily rekindles the feverish desire to put his mouth to good use.
With a growling hum, Drake opens up, then sinks his teeth right into the stripe of unmarked skin that’s been calling to him all evening.
Head falling back, Law gasps, “Daddy,” already trying to roll his hips up into Drake’s teeth. He muffles another brainless moan against Law’s skin, then pulls his teeth away to soothe the sting with the flat of his tongue, restlessly grinding his own hips down into the mattress just to keep his head on straight. The attention pulls the sweetest little moan out of Law, breathy and unmasked, as much a sucker for Drake’s spoiling as he is for those quick flares of pain.
Delirious with the desire to give him more, Drake shifts that thigh over his shoulder and turns his attention to the other, nuzzling another messy kiss against him as high as the skirt will allow. The shivering sigh that earns him is so damn pretty, so alluring he has to do it again, then a third time, until the need to suck a dark, loving bruise into flushed skin becomes too pressing to ignore.
In contrast to his bite, the steady, pulsing sting of his lips has Law melting for him. He loosens his grip on his skirt, instead tangling that hand in Drake’s hair as well, thighs spreading wide as he whispers, “Another one.”
Fuck. Drake is so, so weak. Law is a dream to look at no matter where his eyes go, but even if he closed them he’d still fall for his raspy voice, every tiny noise he deigns to share with Drake leaving his skull empty and his cock diamond hard.
With a rough groan, he dives under Law’s skirt and presses a hot, panting kiss to the tender join of his thigh, nudging his dripping cock aside to get even closer.
His enthusiasm pulls a louder moan out of Law, his thigh squeezing warm and soft against Drake’s ear before he spreads both legs dizzyingly wide. Unable to contain his rumbling appreciation, Drake laves his tongue over delicate skin, tracing a languid circle into the appealing little dip right where Law’s inner thigh meets his hip. He uses that motion to guide his lips as he presses another messy kiss there, relishing the sound of Law’s breath stuttering, then picking up quick and heavy when he finally gets to work leaving his mark.
“That one’s definitely for you,” Law sighs, even as he spreads his thighs wider as if in offering. “I’m not even going to see it, let alone anyone else.”
That statement alone is enough to make Drake groan. He pitches it into an agreeable hum, then pulls his lips off, giving the hickey one soothing lap of his tongue before he murmurs, “You’ll know it’s there.”
Law shivers at that, but if he had any smartass retorts ready, the slow downward trail of lingering kisses Drake leaves along his inner thigh banishes them. Eager to put Law’s growing bonelessness to use, Drake wraps his hands under his knees and pushes them back toward his chest, continuing on his way to press a lazy, appreciative kiss to Law’s tight hole.
A broad sweep of his tongue earns a quiet whine from bitten lips, his hips arching up for more. Drake can’t turn down an opportunity to please his demanding lover, so he folds him back further and rolls his tongue against him harder, only encouraged by the hands grabbing and tugging on his long hair.
By the time he’s licked his way inside, Law is squirming for him, gasping and arching as best he can with Drake holding him down. He’s making all these adorable little noises, too, panting out faster and needier the tighter he squeezes around the tongue steadily lapping into him.
When he pulls his tongue back to mouth a wet, affectionate kiss against Law’s hole, Drake really means for it to be a reward. He barely makes it halfway through the motion before his lover’s despondent little whine has him rushing to stuff his tongue back into him, licking into him quick and deep to make up for pulling away to begin with.
Sudden as it is, his feverish apology has Law’s back arching up off the sheets, his startled moan sweet and airy.
Drake wants to do even more than this, to touch and suck and lick in every way he knows to please him, but before he can, Law pulls firmly on his hair and snarls, “Daddy, come here,” like he’s been trying to break Drake out of his trance state for a while now. Oops.
He lingers just long enough to complete his half-finished kiss from before, his lover’s pretty hole flushed and wet under his lips, before sitting up and guiding shaky legs around his waist. Predictably, Law tries to use that leverage to yank him closer, but all he succeeds in doing is hauling himself right into Drake’s lap. Honestly, it works for him either way, but the embarrassed little grumble Law lets out is a damn good bonus.
Face flushed pink, Law spits, “Lube,” even more demanding when he’s flustered.
With a quick nod, Drake leans over toward the nightstand, trying not to get distracted by Law’s clever fingers disappearing into the loose ruffles of the top he’s still wearing for some reason. It doesn’t take him long to fish the bottle out of the drawer, but by the time Drake sits back on his heels, Law has already lost his patience with the fastenings, and is now outright trying to rip the shirt open.
Drake sets the lube to one side in favor of gently catching Law’s wrists, bare skin exposed by virtue of his endless sleeves being caught around his elbows. “Do you want help?”
“They’re multiplying.” Rather than try to fight the cage of Drake’s fingers, Law grumpily relaxes into it, huffing a sigh into his bangs to blow them off his forehead.
As cute as that is, Drake figures he should do something more helpful than sitting around swooning over his boyfriend. He brushes his lips over inked knuckles, then lets go and slides his hands into the pile of sheer fabric now sprawled all over Law’s chest, searching for anything that feels like a button.
“They’re small.” Drake glances up at that, distractedly watching Law’s fingers curl into the pillow under his head until he clarifies, “The buttons.”
“Oh.” Drake leans in and pushes the ruffly material out of his way to get a closer look, but when he finally sees the fucking army of pinprick-sized knots supposedly holding this thing shut, he admittedly feels some measure of despair.
Seems like Law’s shredding idea was more well-founded than Drake thought. It’s kind of a shame; despite the many problems he had with this top, there’s no denying that his lover makes it look damn good.
While he’s still hesitating, Law budges his knee against Drake’s hip to get his attention, then says, “I don’t have to give it back.”
Drake raises an eyebrow, fisting his hands in bunches of filmy fabric. “Do you like it?”
The wide, crooked smirk that curls Law’s lips goes straight to Drake’s cock, but not as much as his purred, “With that many buttons? Absolutely not.”
Oh, thank god.
A flex of his biceps and the sound of the dainty fastenings ripping apart fills the room, chased by Law’s delighted little moan. Drake doesn’t feel an ounce of remorse for them. He’s more careful pulling open the stiff fabric around Law’s throat, but once he reveals enough bare skin to press his lips to, Drake doesn’t hesitate to maul his way through the rest of the buttons.
“Wow, daddy, you really are needy,” Law gasps, his teasing grin not diminished in the least by his aroused flush.
Flustered as he is to be caught so red-handed, Drake can’t exactly deny it. Instead, he makes quick work of untucking the shirt and finishing it off, sparing only one long, indulgent stroke of his palm down Law’s bare, inked chest to the high waist of his skirt before sitting back on his heels and reaching for the lube again.
“Wait.”
Law’s voice freezes him in place. Pleased as always with Drake’s easy compliance, Law wets his lips with a lazy sweep of his tongue, then purrs, “Your ass looks great in those jeans, but they chafe. Take them off.”
Drake blinks widely, then looks down at where his dick is still trying as hard as it can to break out. Honestly, he’s kind of stunned that he hadn’t even thought to pop his fly open. Law’s charm really is hypnotizing.
Giving Law’s knee an apologetic pat, Drake hurries off the end of the bed again, making quick work of unfastening his jeans, then shoving them down along with his underwear. While he’s doing that (and trying not to fall over), Law wiggles back up the bed into the pillows, seemingly determined to be comfortable while he watches Drake’s heavy arousal bob. As used to that hungry gaze as he is, Drake still flushes hot at the salacious little smirk Law gives him when he sees what a mess he’s making already, so worked up just from putting his mouth to good use.
With an appreciative sigh, Law sinks his teeth into his lip, staring right at Drake as he thumbs open the cap to the lube. He must have snagged it on his way up. It’s probably too late to help with this part, but Drake crawls back onto the bed anyway, making himself comfortable kneeling in the space Law makes for him between his thighs.
As he’s hastily slicking his narrow fingers, Law breathes, “I’m not feeling too patient, daddy.” Drake nods agreeably, his eyes caught on the hand that dips between stockinged thighs to rub against his flushed hole, his cock jumping at how effortlessly Law fits his fingers into himself. “See? You did a good enough job yesterday, so quit treating me like glass and fuck me like you mean it.”
Every drop of blood in Drake’s brain rushes south so fast it leaves a fuzzy halo around his vision.
Huffing a low growl, he snatches up the lube from the sheets and dribbles a pool of it into his palm, mindlessly getting himself nice and wet. While he’s doing that, Drake budges his knuckles against Law’s and pushes his hand aside, then tips the bottle against him, pouring more lube inside of him to try and compensate for their mutual hurry.
“Daddy—”
So impatient. Not like Drake can blame him. “Alright, pretty thing,” he murmurs, pulling his hand away from his throbbing arousal.
Once he’s capped the lube and put it aside, he wraps his hands under Law’s knees and folds him in half again, rubbing his aching length all between his cheeks just to tease them both. He’s only briefly distracted by the sight of Law’s pierced cock making a slippery mess of his flipped-up skirt, but an impatient rush of breath urges Drake to file it away to obsess over later.
For now, he eases his hips back until the tip of his cock nudges against Law’s flushed hole, then presses forward, rumbling gratefully when inked fingers come to guide him home.
As the soaked head fits inside, Drake tries to steady his breathing, even weaker than usual to the mind-blowing clutch of Law’s reedy body trying to take him. He’s so tight, so wet, but more importantly, he’s so damn cute with his brow furrowed and one hand knotted into the pillow under his head, his dark flush nearly reaching the hard nubs of his pierced nipples now.
God. How is Drake supposed to resist a face like that?
Bracing his knees in the sheets, he pins Law’s down to his chest, waiting until his lover’s next shivering exhale to bury himself to the hilt in that exquisite heat in one insistent glide.
At this angle, Law must feel every inch of Drake’s cock as it rides past his sweet spot. It’s written all over his face, in his lust-clouded eyes, in the pleased little smile painted over his bitten lips, in the breathless, purring hum that escapes him when Drake’s hips finally shove up against his ass. Even the thick material of his thigh highs can’t hide how his toes curl in pleasure, lazy satisfaction radiating off of him in waves like a cat in a sunbeam.
As much as he’s clearly enjoying himself, it isn’t long before Law starts squirming again. He’s trying to spread his stockinged thighs wider, but all he really succeeds in doing is drawing Drake’s gaze down, down past flushed, freshly-laid marks, down to where Law is soaking wet and stretched wide around the root of his cock, taking every inch of him like a fucking dream and still demanding more.
Fuck. There’s nothing he can do against that.
Groaning brainlessly, Drake uses his grip on Law’s thighs to hold him still when he rolls his hips back. The despondent whine Law breathes at the loss is just as effective the second time; Drake doesn’t make it far before he has to ram his cock back into him, bottoming out and grinding hard just for the way pretty golden eyes flutter.
In the brief moment Law’s sway over him weakens, Drake gets himself together and starts moving, pounding into his scrawny boyfriend deep and quick before he can recover.
The angle makes it so easy to shove his cock all along Law’s sweet spot, which makes his tight wet heat even tighter, so good to fuck into Drake can’t help doing so. No matter how clumsy or insistent he is, Law always gets off on the rough treatment, writhing and arching and letting out all these sweet, breathless little noises, clamping down around him so perfectly Drake has to drop his head to look.
It’s a close call, but he survives the mind-blowing view of Law’s pierced cock caught between his thighs, dripping and smearing slick precome all over his hiked-up skirt, his balls drawn tight leaving plenty of room for Drake’s cock stuffing him full.
As if feeling it wasn’t enough, he can see how tight Law is, clinging and squeezing around him, but the slippery wet slide lets Drake move as hard as he likes, giving him all the freedom he needs to reduce his pretty boyfriend to a puddle. Tightening his grip under Law’s knees, Drake pulls those narrow thighs further apart and pins them down to the sheets on either side of him instead, bending him so far back his skirt flips up to his chest, his heavy cock slapping against his flat stomach with every demanding thrust.
Shyness be damned. Law deserves to be spoiled for looking this fucking good, so Drake ducks to press his lips against his lover’s ear and growls, “You’re taking daddy’s cock so well.”
Body going deliciously taut with pleasure, Law chokes out a loud, pleading whine and opens his hazy eyes to stare down between them, desperate to see for himself. Just to drive home how well he’s doing, Drake fucks him harder, faster, pulling out until only the head is left spreading him open before ramming back in to the hilt, his own impressed groan rumbling against Law’s flushed cheek.
“See that?” Drake gasps, delirious praise spilling out of him unfiltered. “I’m never sure if it’s even gonna fit, but you always take everything I give you and demand more like the greedy little thing you are. But now look at you.” He shoves his weight into Law and grinds down hard, licking his lover’s panting cry right out from between his lips before murmuring, “You look like you’re barely keeping it together. Does daddy’s cock feel that good?”
Apparently out of words, Law nods frantically, his short nails scrabbling over Drake’s shoulders. His neediness isn’t lost on Drake; he knows Law’s body like the back of his hand, knows all his tells better than his own native language, knows exactly what it means when Law forgets how to use his words for anything other than shattered little pleas.
Cock throbbing hard, Drake looms over his pretty lover, fucking into him until hazy golden eyes cross before whispering, “You’re gonna come already, aren’t you, kitten?”
With another sloppy nod, Law’s hips snap up as best he can, the rest of him melting back into his pillows so he can meet Drake’s ravenous, affectionate gaze. He looks so gorgeous when he lets himself be taken apart like this, overwhelmed pleasure clinging wet to his long eyelashes, his breath escaping him in sobbing moans, but he can never take Drake’s feverish bullying for long.
Broken and squeaky as it is, Law’s rushed “daddy” is about the only warning he can manage before he clamps down tight.
The feeling is fucking devastating, leaving Drake burying himself deep and rolling his hips in needy, rutting grinds, his own snarling groan pressed to Law’s sweaty temple. As good as it feels, though, Drake wants his perfect lover to feel even better, so instead of seeking his own pleasure he dedicates himself to helping Law ride out his orgasm for as long as he can take it.
Shoving his needs aside is an easy enough task for him. Seeing Law like this never gets old, and without even trying he finds himself hypnotized by the way his boyfriend squirms when he’s lost in pleasure, tensing and whimpering with every thick splatter of come he shoots into the crumpled layers of his skirt. All the way through, Drake worships the sting of tattooed hands clawing at his biceps, the mindless little whines that slip from Law’s lips as he starts peaking out, the sticky wet mess spreading between them, his own head empty but for the soothing, encouraging whispers he always has for the tail ends of Law’s orgasms.
It’s only when Law’s noises start sounding overwhelmed and Drake has to bury himself to the hilt and hold still that he realizes just how desperately he wants to keep moving.
A twitch of Law’s stockinged thigh is enough to have Drake’s aching arousal throbbing and pulsing, jumping so hard Law must feel it, based on the brainless huff he lets out. It won’t be long until he’s good for it again, but for now Drake has to pull out, because he can’t spend another moment stuffed inside that brain-melting heat without plowing his fucked out lover through the mattress.
Law grumbles at the feeling of Drake slipping out of him, but lets him go, one arm lazily slung over his eyes. The long, flowing fabric of his sleeves gets caught up in his heavy panting, though, layered lace sticking to his flushed lips, so Drake isn’t surprised that when he finally unfolds his boyfriend and eases his quaking legs to one side, Law uses the opportunity to flop gracelessly onto his stomach, trying to get the remains of the shirt off with noodly arms.
Always eager to help, Drake curls his fingers into the shirt, coaxing it over bony shoulders, then down and off his arms. Law lets him take over, huffing a content sigh into the pillow his face is buried in, which does not help with the whole wanting to fuck him thing.
He just has to wait a little longer. Just has to let Law catch his breath, give him time to recover.
Then Law wraps his now bare arms around his pillow and melts, his skirt barely covering the slight curve of his ass, thighs carelessly sprawled apart in a way that pushes his hips into the air just the tiniest bit.
The fat, heavy spurt of precome that spills out of Drake might embarrass him, if every fiber of his being wasn’t so intently focused on the shrouded apex of Law’s thighs.
“I hope you’re not waiting around for an invitation,” Law mumbles. Drake glances up at him, biting his lip at the lazy, sated gaze his boyfriend tosses him over his shoulder, but before he can ask him if it’s too soon, Law distracts him entirely.
He spreads his bony knees even wider, then arches his flat little ass right off the bed, shifting his skirt up just an inch, just enough to really give Drake something to look at.
“Weren’t you the one who dragged me all the way home to have your way with me?” Law purrs, all sweet and relaxed like the intense curve to his long, slender spine is the most natural thing in the world to him. “You can’t do such a good job of getting me off and then sit around with blue balls, daddy. It’s not fair.”
Drake doesn’t have a response to that. Not beyond the choked hum he lets out, and the thick, persistent stream of precome dripping from his cock to the sheet.
He reaches one shaking hand out, steadying his fingers by sprawling them over the back of Law’s thigh, his thumb tracing along the soft inside like before. It’s just as hypnotizing as it had been the first time, if not more so now, because even though Law is pleased and boneless, he’s still arching his ass back for more, less an offering and more a demand.
Swallowing heavily, Drake comes to kneel behind his lover, his vision swimming with frantic arousal. He’s not too dizzy to see the flushed weight to Law’s pierced cock, though, already half hard hanging between his sprawling thighs like he’s never gone soft to begin with. That puts to rest any fears he’d had about Law’s sensitivity, but as he moves closer and steadies his cock, Drake still murmurs, “Sorry, baby,” the pad of his thumb soothing over Law’s flushed, fucked-open hole.
Cheek pressed into his pillow, Law breathes a sleepy-sounding hum, but since Drake doesn’t know how to put to words how badly he wants him, he settles for leaning down and pressing a clumsy kiss to his lover’s temple, sealing his preemptive apology.
The loud, pleased sound Law makes when Drake rams his cock back into him is going to be jackoff material probably forever, but the way he squeezes is what leaves Drake briefly blinded.
“Fuck,” he gasps, muffled against the top of Law’s head. Even after coming once already, he’s so tight, so hot and wet Drake has to brace his weight on his forearms to stay upright, his hips pressed flush to Law’s ass and grinding restlessly. How the hell he hadn’t been taken apart by Law’s immaculate body earlier, Drake has no idea, but he feels like he’s making up for it now, as incapacitated as he is just being buried inside again.
The helplessness passes quickly. He has the sneaky, rolling arch of Law’s ass into his lap to thank for that.
With a brainless growl, Drake caves to the deafening, greedy urge to move. He doesn’t mean to fuck so selfishly, but once he starts he can’t stop, curling over his boyfriend and railing into him deep and rough and desperate. Law feels incredible, wrapped around every inch of him and still swaying back into every thrust to make sure Drake isn’t holding out, arms wrapped around his pillow like it’s the only thing keeping him from floating away.
Nuzzling behind Law’s ear, Drake pants, “Feels so good inside you,” pouring all of his gratitude, all his appreciation into his praise and earning the sweetest gasping cry for it. His own whimper is too quiet to match, but Law definitely hears it, seeing as he draws even tighter around him in response.
Fuck, Drake can’t handle this. The thing about seeking his own pleasure is that, with Law, it never takes long to find it.
Quickly fumbling through the layers of Law’s skirt, Drake wraps a hand around his aching cock, drawing feverish circles between the studs of his piercing just to earn another of those squeaky noises before he starts jacking him off. “‘M gonna come, kitten,” he groans, only encouraged by his boyfriend’s demanding whine.
“Hahh, fuck,” Law gasps, rolling his hips between Drake’s lap and his hand with a sinuous grace that comes very close to knocking him out. That alone leaves him riding right up to the edge of ecstasy, but then Law takes a shaky breath and looses it in a rushed, sobbing, “C’mon daddy fuck your come inside me stuff me full I want it all,” which is a level of specificity Drake has never gotten out of Law before, and which he will be committing to memory just as soon as he’s back from Saturn.
He’s vaguely aware of how loud his own desperate moans are as he ruts his come as deep into Law as he can get, but Drake is much more interested in the breathless, noisy cries his lover buries in his pillow as he does, his own come spilling hot and wet over Drake’s knuckles. Knowing that he managed to get Law off again sends Drake even further into orbit, all but clinging to him as he mindlessly strokes him through it, the ragged growls he breathes against his pierced ear all pleasure and appreciation and affection.
It takes him some time to recover, but when he does, Drake is more than a little pleased to find Law still panting and molten, the picture of sweaty bliss. He stirs when Drake nuzzles another brainless kiss against his temple, but freezes up just as quickly, opening his eyes to cast a wary look over his shoulder.
Before Drake can figure out how his tongue works to ask what’s wrong, Law wheezes, “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget to nut again. Don’t get used to it.”
Drake blinks widely, slightly distracted by the wide variety of reds his lover’s face cycles through before he puts together what Law means. As cute as it is that he’s embarrassed by his needy babbling, Drake doesn’t want to dissuade him from doing it again, so he simply smiles and leans in to kiss him, soothing his hand along Law’s cozy thigh high until he relaxes for him.
--
Somewhere around dawn, slumped on Kid’s couch in the depths of a persistent red wine ordeal, Hawkins glowers down at a new text from Trafalgar that reads: “where do you buy gaudy shit?”
Oh god. Hawkins has to find someone else to blame for this.
He drops his phone on his chest and squints around, then narrows his focus toward the kitchen, where Kid is keeping his pounding head on ice in the sink. Perfect.
Hawkins huffs a loudly beleaguered sigh, then calls, “You created a monster, putting Trafalgar in a skirt.”
Sounding very much like he has one and a half feet in the grave, Kid groans, “You didn’t have to make him hotter.”
Since Kid is more likely to die than expand on that thought at the moment, Hawkins elects to take it as a backhanded compliment to his wardrobe and calls it a day.