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Getting their collective crews ashore takes almost four hours, even with everyone aboard both ships keen to escape. The Tang’s provisions are low, and the aft rotor and engine need assorted repairs, and it seems to Law that everyone has decided that every minuscule thing that’s been ignored for months suddenly needs his attention. He answers questions, sorts out disasters, and tries not to get in the way of the quartermaster as she counts out their dwindling funds.
Eons pass while he waits.
Well; really it’s one of their more swift disembarkations, but by the time he and Luffy finally find each other—alone at last aboard the Polar Tang, stumbling together down to Law’s cabin—Law is in the most painful state of prolonged arousal he can recall, and it’s obvious Luffy is no less eager. Luffy is rough in his impatience, pinning Law to the door to unfasten his belt and jeans while Law fumbles open the lock and then pushing him cheerfully through.
Law likes him like this, more than he cares to admit. Likes it too when Luffy pushes him down on the bed, drags his jeans only far enough down and no further, presses his hands back over his head—careful, still, always, to put his weight on Law’s hands, not his wrists. The casual act of control sends a prurient shiver down through Law's belly, and he shudders in anticipation.
He’s been wet for the past hour, and Luffy’s fingers slide into him with obscene ease, making his back arch and his heels dig into the bed. Being forcibly splayed makes each push of those fingers that much more stunning, and Law gasps, “Fuck,” and, “oh, fuck—” as Luffy does just that, fucking him steadily on two fingers, then three. All Law can do in response is buck, and Luffy grins, not letting up: moves slowly down over Law's body, the arm that’s pinning him stretching long, and leans down to suck on Law’s clit.
“Fuck,” is all Law manages to get out before his first orgasm spasms through him, pleasure racing electric up his spine. Luffy keeps his lips sealed there as he comes, the tip of his tongue moving against Law’s clit, fingers unerring on the spot inside that can pull an orgasm from Law all on its own. Law can’t hold back his cry at the overstimulated spike that comes with Luffy pressing harder there, mid-orgasm: with his jeans still on he can’t spread any wider, and the sound is as much frustration as ecstasy, his hips bucking harshly up from the bed.
As he comes down from that first high Luffy moves fluidly back up to meet him, and Law smiles hazily at him as Luffy leans in for a kiss. He can taste himself on Luffy’s lips, filthily erotic, and he licks Luffy’s mouth clean.
Luffy’s cock is hard against his hip, and as they kiss Luffy shifts until his knees are to both sides of Law’s thigh, rolls his hips down. Law shifts with him, scooting down the bed until he can lie with his knee half-bent and his heel braced against the footboard, giving Luffy something against which to grind. Luffy makes an appreciative sound, rutting against his thigh; Law, made fascinatingly aware of the precise shape of Luffy’s dick and balls, has to reach down to touch himself while Luffy thrusts.
He comes a second time just before Luffy reaches his climax, squeezing tight around his own hand and groaning into Luffy’s mouth. He can feel Luffy’s grin at the realization, followed by a huff as he comes in his shorts.
Law thinks they might stop there, but Luffy keeps kissing him: turns, with his initial need sated, to the parts of Law that he’d neglected, hands sliding warmly under Law’s shirt. Law reaches to touch him in return, exploring the sharp planes of Luffy’s muscles with his palms, running his hands up into Luffy’s hair.
He does not expect Luffy to say, as he leans up to bite at Law’s ear: “Mm, Torao. Wanna spank you.”
The jolt that passes through Law is so savage that Luffy can’t possibly miss it, and Law can’t pretend it didn’t happen, even to himself.
“Er,” he says, his face hot, suddenly tongue-tied; and his cunt is already heavy with need again, mere minutes after his last orgasm, faster than he’s ever recovered before in his life. With effort, he manages to croak, “You—what?”
“Wanna beat your ass,” Luffy says, frankly, and kisses his neck, under his ear. “If you wanna.”
It’s all Law can do to stare at the ceiling, mouth opening and closing as he tries to pull together a cogent reply, vividly aware of the warm rush of blood down between his legs. After a moment, he manages, “How—would you do it?”
Luffy hums. “Bend you over your desk,” he says, and the shiver that passes through Law has as much to do with the words as the hot slide of tongue against the shell of his ear. “I’d use my hand. A little haki later, maybe, if you liked it. Or your belt. You’d feel it sitting down, after.”
Law can’t help himself. His thighs close around a sudden, pulsing bloom of arousal, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut, has to take a minute just to calm himself down, lest his brain boil from the heat of his sudden desire. Shame coils down his spine, so erotic in aspect that it forces him to file a fundamental realization about himself into the cabinet of his brain—well in the back, so he can ignore it the rest of the time.
When he’s managed to find his way back to something approaching lucidity, he hears himself say: “All right.”
Luffy grins, pushing himself up to his arms, and gives him another kiss—reassurance or appreciation, Law doesn’t know—before bouncing easily off the bed. “C’mon, then.” A few quick strides take him to Law’s writing desk, and Luffy leans back against it, bracing himself on his hands. His golden-brown skin is slick with sweat, shining everywhere—on his bare chest, on his arms, everywhere not covered by his tattered shorts—and Law can see that he’s half-hard again already, the swell just visible in his jeans.
Luffy catches him looking, and gives a lascivious grin, thrusting his hips forward. The change in posture outlines his cock, which stiffens further with the attention, rendering him lewd half-dressed Adonis.
Law, pulling his own pants up so he can stand, tries not to think about how Luffy’s dick would feel in his mouth if he went down on him now. If he started Luffy off through his jeans, tongue firm against that tiny forming stain, lips tight around the rough denim, struggling to fit more . . .
Then again, it’s better than thinking about what they’re actually going to do. Law bites his lip, and goes to join Luffy at the desk.
Pauses uncertainly before him, and Luffy takes the lead, guiding him to stand facing the desk, a step away from its edge. He steps fluidly behind Law, and coaxes him into position: presses gently down on his back, murmurs for Law to spread his legs wider, grab a proper handhold, hitch himself up.
Thus Law finds himself firmly bent over, legs spread just past shoulder width, hands curled around the opposite edge of the desk and ass thrust in the air. His fly is still open from before, and Luffy yanks his jeans and underwear down, leaves both taut around his ankles.
The warm slide of Luffy’s hand up the back of his thigh—not quite slipping between his legs, callouses rough on the swell of his ass—nearly makes Law’s eyes cross. It’s an intensely possessive gesture, gentle but firm, and Luffy tells him, “You look so good,” making him flush.
Making him wet, again, starkly obvious now that he’s bent over for Luffy, and Luffy sees, laughs, “Torao’s so excited,” rendering Law more self-conscious still. Luffy’s palm moves lower, squeezes, makes Law bite his tongue lest he emit some terribly undignified sound. “You must have done something bad, to want it like this.”
Law shudders, and tries to ignore the maddening throb in his cunt, no longer relieved by any pressure. He feels intensely exposed—can picture how he must look from Luffy’s perspective, the image arrestingly lewd.
“Tell me something, Torao.” Luffy’s palm stays on his ass, and Law is so, so aware of that hand, of the strength behind that confident press. “Tell me what you think you deserve to be spanked for.”
Law knows his own eyes are owl-wide. “I’ve been thinking. About you,” swallow, try not to come just from Luffy’s hand on his ass, “about your hands—about your cock”—oh, god, so much about your cock—“about things I want you to do to me.”
He’s dripping. Dripping, sloppy down both thighs and agonizingly slow in between, biting his tongue hard in an effort to distract himself from how badly he needs to close his legs.
“Mm,” Luffy says. “What kind of things?” His tone suggests a mild, absent-minded disinterest, but the press of his hand on Law’s ass grows more firm.
Like a threat.
Like a promise.
Law breaks instantly. Gasps out, “About choking on your cock. About sucking you off—about you fucking my mouth”—god, but he wishes he had something in his mouth now, not least because it would keep him from talking—“about getting on my knees and taking it, swallowing it when you come.”
“Wow,” Luffy says, a little stunned and plainly delighted. “Torao really does need a spanking.” Thoughtfully, he adds, “You can suck me after, if you want.”
Law can’t do anything else: he moans, and thinks, head swimming, Yes.
Luffy, his hand still resting casually on Law’s ass, speaks again. “Okay. I’m going to get started.”
Law swallows, and opens his mouth to acknowledge—
—only to have a stunned gasp escape him instead as Luffy’s hand comes down in a sharp blow across both cheeks, the sting more surprising than painful. He’d known exactly what to expect, and yet somehow the psychological twist of the thing still renders him shocked, the full realization that he’s being spanked only dawning now.
By Luffy. Bent over the desk in his own cabin, with his pants around his ankles and evidence of wanting it making a mess between his legs.
Oh, god.
Luffy’s hand comes down again, harder, and Law manages not to moan. Clamps his mouth shut against any further embarrassing sounds, and tries to find the sweet thread of pleasure-pain as Luffy’s hand comes down again—and again, and again, building to a steady rhythm.
A warm sting starts to blossom in the abused part of his buttocks, and he’s abruptly certain that that’s the part he’ll feel later, trying to sit down in public. Thinking about that makes his thighs quiver with the desire to squeeze—fuck, fuck, he’s so wet—but doesn’t, quite, push into the sensation that he almost knows, can feel ghosting just out of his reach. He wants—he needs—
“Luffy,” he gasps, the end of the word sliding up into an ah! that’s almost enough to make him regret having opened his mouth. “Luffy, the belt.”
Luffy’s hand pauses mid-strike—the sting of his blows lingers pleasantly in Law’s buttocks, a low buzz—and Law can’t see his face but he can hear the wide-eyed expression, the mixture of surprise and excitement. “You want me to use it?”
“Fuck, yes,” says Law, and tries—struggles—to be patient as Luffy moves behind him, kneels to tug the belt out of the loops in his jeans. Looks over his shoulder as Luffy wraps the leather around his hand until only a shorter strap remains, the perfect length for swinging.
Luffy’s eyes flick up to meet his, discerning. He must find what he’s looking for, because a moment later he steps back again, brushing his hand lightly across the top of Law’s ass. “Are you ready, Torao? It’s really gonna hurt, this time.”
“Yes,” growls Law, and grips the desk tighter, readying for the pain—
—and feels all the air leave his lungs, jolting with the blow, eyes going wide. The bite of the belt as it slaps across his tender cheeks is so intense it makes Luffy’s earlier blows seem a mere gentle caress, and for a moment even the aching arousal in his cunt fades from his awareness, overshadowed by the pain.
Behind him, Luffy pauses. Gives him a few seconds to process, and asks, “Still wanna?”
When he’s caught his breath, Law manages, “I’ll kill you if you stop.”
He hears Luffy laugh, and the sharp swish of the leather—and then his attention is fully occupied by the belt coming down across his ass, each slap all-new and bruising. A smack against where his ass meets his thighs makes him jump, and a strike just above that—where Luffy had focused his efforts with his palm—makes him cry out again, louder. A vertical blow landed expertly between his buttocks nearly makes his eyes roll, and with every blow the pain twists into pleasure, sends the blood rushing to his swollen clit.
A dozen blows in Luffy pauses, and says—his voice thick with what Law recognizes distantly as lust—“God, Torao, I wish you could see how you look right now.” His fingers brush one of the bite marks from the belt, and Law jolts—gasps as Luffy’s fingers drift lower, dip between his legs into his slick. “Fuck,” Luffy says, with feeling. “You really like this.” And then, with renewed purpose: “Torao, you’re gonna feel this for weeks.”
Law has no trouble believing that, this far along. Concealing his inability to sit from the crew promises to be a challenge, but he doesn’t dwell on it now, beyond the preemptive spike of humiliation. Focuses instead on the sound of Luffy taking a step back behind him, trying to prepare himself for whatever comes next, relishing the deeper sting lingering in his rear.
The next blow from the belt makes his mouth fall open, and Law realizes—with a sudden, terrifying clarity—that Luffy has just gotten serious.
The blows that follow are an education.
Those first dozen strikes with the belt, he learns, were as a sample platter is to the main course: momentary bursts of flavor to whet the palette, the better to appreciate the full-scale experience. Each blow had been fresh, sharply varied, a new vista of sensitivity revealed with each slap. Law, enduring them individually, had felt a secret pride: pride at how well he’d taken the blows, how well he’d acclimated to each successive strike, how well he’d maintained his composure.
Luffy spanks that arrogance out of him, methodical.
Takes to the task with the same kind of single-minded determination he applies to everything, each strike fast and harsh, working up a rhythm and switching without pause. No longer is Law on the receiving end of erotic experimentation, little teasing slaps with a precision instrument: this is Luffy spanking him for real, hard and steady and punishing, just like Law deserves.
Each slap across his ass rings loud in the room, and it’s the sound of it that keeps Law so viscerally aware of his reality: that he’s bent over a table, ass in the air, being spanked like a misbehaving child. So focused is he on the sound—on the realization of his shame—that it takes him several minutes to notice that he’s started crying, heaving silent sobs as Luffy spanks him raw.
Never in his life has anything humbled him with such savage efficiency. In the moment—tears and snot running openly down his face, jeans still caught around his ankles, his entire universe shrunken down to the kiss of the belt against his backside—Law is more humiliated than he has ever been, caught in the apotheosis of his shame.
He deserves this. He knows he does, and he’s suddenly certain that after they’re finished here everyone will know just what he’s done, will see through him to his dirty secrets and his sins, to how much he deserves this and worse. To how gladly he’d bent over to pay penance, and how poorly he’d held up under the pressure.
The thought leaves him soaking himself with the strength of his arousal, legs trembling underneath him. The evidence of how much he wants this is almost worse than all the rest, and it makes him cry harder as Luffy spanks, and spanks, and spanks.
He can’t help his audible sob when Luffy stops, half relief and half desperate refusal, keep going, please, harder.
But Luffy sets the belt down on the desk, and takes a step back to unzip and shove off his own pants. His hands grab Law's buttocks, squeezing where his blows have landed, and he spreads Law starkly open, making Law gasp in indignity as much as pain.
Luffy leans forward, slow.
The hard line of his cock presses firm between Law’s cheeks. Law, absorbed by the sensation, can’t seem to get enough air into his lungs to make a sound: just squeezes helplessly around him, and wishes immediately that he’d had enough control not to give himself away. Splitting him from behind Luffy’s cock feels extraordinarily thick, bigger than Law knows it is, and he can feel Luffy’s arousal, Luffy’s tension, right up against his—
“You’re doing so good, Torao,” Luffy says, interrupting his full-body awareness, and Law nearly whimpers with the praise. “You’re being so good for me. It’s gonna hurt so bad, later.” His dick twitches as he says it, and pressed where it is Law feels it, so vivid that it makes him gape. “Do you like this? I wanna hear you say it.”
The word leaves him in a pitiable mewl. “Yes!”
Luffy rolls his hips again, slow and savory, plainly relishing Law’s responsive squeeze. Hums, and says, “I wanna hear you say it for real. What do you like?”
Another roll of hips, another squeeze of Luffy’s hands, and Law sobs with the intensity of arousal that punches down through him. “I like—I—” it takes him a few tries to catch his breath enough to force out the words, “I like it when you beat my ass,” and, the rest tumbling out in a rush, “I like it when you bend me over—when you spank me, fuck,” another shudder runs through him, “oh, god, let me finish, Luffy, please.”
“Not bad,” says Luffy. “Good boy.”
And pulls suddenly back to deliver the final blow using his palm, haki-laden, right across where the belt has done its work.
The strength of Law’s orgasm buckles his knees.
He comes—and comes and comes, currents of pleasure walking up his spine for seconds that stretch astonishingly long. His mouth is open—his eyes rolled up—his hands vise-like on the edge of the desk, and the instant after he realizes what’s about to happen he squirts, hot down one thigh and right onto his jeans, his own slick splattering his ankles.
It’s good—so good he can rank it without hesitation as the best orgasm he’s ever had—and mortifying, when he comes back down, swimming out of his post-orgasmic haze to hear Luffy swearing steadily behind him. “Fuck, Torao. You came all over.”
Law steals a glance over his shoulder. Luffy is staring mesmerized between Law’s legs, inspecting the results of the orgasm he’s wrung out of him, and Luffy says again, “Fuck,” reaches without looking for his dick.
“Use me,” gasps Law, looking back at the table so Luffy doesn’t see his tear-streaked face, or the want that he knows is written there. The thought of Luffy jerking himself off after giving him an orgasm like that is unbearable, and he manages, “Fuck me. Between my legs.”
Luffy, thank god, understands: his hands grasp Law’s hips, and Law is treated to the breathtaking experience of the hot girth of Luffy’s cock nudging now between his thighs, just grazing his clit. He shifts, squeezing his legs together—he and Luffy gasp together at the sensation, at the relief of pressure—and then Luffy starts to move, thrusting, his cock sliding into the tight space between Law’s cunt and thighs.
Law’s own arousal comes back with a speed and force that should surely be impossible after an orgasm of that magnitude. He’s devastatingly oversensitive—his ass burns, and he feels the drag of Luffy’s cock against his clit with agonizing clarity—and still, still he’s wet again, smearing copiously over Luffy’s length with each forceful thrust. Luffy thrusts in with ease, slippery with his slick, and Law is immediately, overwhelmingly, razor-edge close.
He moans openly now, sounds pouring from him unrestrained, and Luffy is just as uninhibited behind him, loud and crude. “Fuck, Torao. You feel amazing, your ass is amazing, wait ’til you see—red all over—you’re so wet, Torao, that’s so fucking hot, I can’t believe I made you spray like that, all over everything just from your pussy—”
The deluge makes Law’s face heat all over again, embarrassment wreathing him in an intimate pink fog. It nestles lovingly between his legs, up his cunt, up his ass, coats his teeth and his tongue, pools between the blades of his shoulders, and it’s all he can do to plead, “Luffy, shut up”—but Luffy’s too far gone to pay him any heed, and Law’s hyper-tuned arousal spikes higher with each vulgar word, with each thrust.
With each time Luffy tells him, in excruciating detail, how good he looks when he comes.
Until he does, again, his shout bouncing off the cabin walls.
Luffy buries himself deep in the same moment. Law—spills—
—right on his cock—
—“Fuck yeah!” shouts Luffy—
—and as his thighs squeeze and his pussy gushes he feels Luffy coming, too, cock pulsing, whooping as his come splatters down the side of Law’s desk.
And just like that, they’re done.
They lie collapsed on top of the desk, after, breathing like they’ve just run a duo marathon, plastered together with slick and come and sweat. Law’s ass smarts from the pressure of Luffy slumped against him, and he can feel Luffy’s cock going soft where it’s pressed between his legs. His thighs are covered with his own come, drying sticky, and his legs tremble from the exertion, even now that they’re no longer holding his weight.
It feels unbelievably good.
Luffy manages to speak first, though the words still come out mostly a gasp. “That—was—awesome.” He wiggles his hips, just slightly, and Law twitches his legs apart, letting him pull away. “You came all over my dick.”
The stamina Luffy displays by springing right up and walking around the edge of the table strikes Law as deeply unfair. He himself stays collapsed, unable to muster the willpower to so much as worry about what Luffy’s going to think when he sees his face.
Luffy, peering down at him, only gives an enormous, indulgent smile, and scrubs his thumb across Law’s cheek, then under his nose, rubbing away the tears and snot from Law’s earlier undignified bawl. “Aw, Torao, you cried so much! Your face is just as red as your ass.”
“Luffy,” Law says, thoughtfully, looking with a great deal of interest at a point on the ceiling, “if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to be the first-ever specimen of spontaneous death from embarrassment, and then you won’t ever get to spank me again.” The words spank me come out with surprising ease, this time, but then; it’s hard to be abashed about the utterance when his ass is scarlet with welts.
“Stay here,” Luffy says—as if Law could do anything else, in the moment—and heads for the washroom attached to the cabin, stretching his hands over his head. “I’ll clean you up.”
True to his word, he comes back with a wet towel, and cleans first Law’s face, rubbing away the evidence of Law’s failed resolve—then his ass, making Law hiss in pain—and finally his thighs, wiping away the drying come and scrubbing the skin fresh. Law feels decidedly more human again, after, and while Luffy goes to clean himself up he stands to lean against the desk, hip against the edge.
He tries to sit first, of course, habitual, and discovers the full extent to which he’s not going to be doing that.
Probably for weeks.
Just like Luffy said.
He groans, and tells Luffy—still in the washroom—“I can’t believe I let you talk me into that. How am I supposed to avoid sitting down for weeks without arousing suspicion?”
Luffy ducks back out, grinning—he’s clean, water dripping from his hair, towel thrown over his shoulders—and says, “’S’not like I had to try very hard. I dunno, Torao.” He hops up to sit on the desk next to Law, and reaches out to brush Law’s hip, right on the edge of the welts. His voice dips lower: “You’ll figure it out. Every time you sit down you’ll think about me, and remember how you got these.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Luffy’s expression is satisfied, eyes half-lidded with a job well done, and it takes all of Law's will to keep from kissing him again.
But Luffy’s intuition never fails, and he stretches up, capturing Law’s mouth in a lingering kiss. His hand wanders to palm Law’s ass, and Law likes it, likes the way it makes him wince, likes the way Luffy acts like his hand belongs there. There’s no doubt in his mind that he’s going to feel the bruise from that final bare-handed slap longest of all, branded with Luffy’s mark.
It makes him feel owned, and cared for, and loved. Good, in all ways.
And like he’s got more truly mind-blowing orgasms in his future, when they inevitably do this again.
He says, when they pull apart, “Next time—you should use your haki from the beginning.” His face only heats a little, saying it.
The way Luffy lights up at the suggestion makes it worth it, all the way down.