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The restaurant had been Cora’s choice.
It was a non-descript place, tucked away from the louder parts of the city, its front a simple veneer of outdoor plants and traditional signage. Inside, it was all exposed wood beams, neutral colours, linen napkins and low candlelight; elegant, without becoming stiff. The tables were spaced far enough apart that conversation felt private, yet close enough that the room retained a soft, sociable hum.
Law trusted his lover’s judgement in these matters. Sometimes simplicity and modesty were exactly what was needed, especially when the focus was not on spectacle but on two families coming together: the Donquixotes and the Trafalgars. Two very different sets of parents, two polar-opposite siblings, and Cora standing quietly in the middle, trying to make sure everyone had somewhere comfortable to unwind.
He had a talent for situations like this.
Cora understood people quietly, almost instinctively, and without fanfare or ego. He knew his father, Homing, would be more comfortable somewhere down-to-earth; somewhere warm and unpretentious, where people were not afraid to laugh too loudly. He knew both their mothers would appreciate somewhere intimate enough for conversation, and that Lami would only care whether the dessert menu looked promising. Law’s parents would not care much about the where, so long as the when worked around their schedules. Doflamingo, however, would sneer at anything that did not at least pretend towards refinement.
So, Cora had chosen somewhere that balanced all of them. A modest place with just enough polish to pass inspection, warm enough for Homing to relax, tasteful enough for the mothers to approve, and with a dessert menu that had made Lami’s eyes narrow in serious consideration the moment she sat down. It was, Law thought, very much like Cora: thoughtful without announcing itself, gentle without being weak, and far cleverer than people often gave him credit for.
At a large circular table, Law sat with his shoulder brushing Cora’s, one ankle hooked loosely behind the other beneath his chair. Their hands were, of course, linked beneath the table and resting on Cora's thigh; his palm warm and broad, fingers curled loosely around Law’s as though holding him was the easiest thing in the world. Law’s thumb rested against one of the old scars crossing his knuckles, the skin slightly raised there, familiar beneath his touch.
They had both dressed nicely for lunch, wanting to make some effort, considering they had both spent the entire day in sweatpants and not much else. Law had chosen a simple black turtleneck, paired with his customary jeans and boots, whilst Cora sat pretty in a dark knitted jumper over a pale blue shirt. The collar sat slightly crooked, because he had fussed with it too much out of nerves that always came out to play when family was involved. Law had initially fixed it in the lift of their penthouse building with a muttered hold still and Cora had smiled at him in that ridiculously soft way, which made Law want to either kiss him or bite him.
Possibly both. Especially because the man had messed the collar up within minutes of setting foot into the restaurant.
Across from them, Law’s parents were talking easily with Cora’s mother, Dulcinea. His own mother had one hand wrapped around a glass of white wine, her expression bright and amused as Dulcinea told some story involving Cora, as a young boy, a neighbour’s greenhouse, a football, and what sounded like an impressive amount of broken glass. Law's father laughed at the right moments, relaxed and attentive, occasionally glancing towards Cora with the fondness of a man who had known him for decades and had long since stopped pretending to be surprised by anything he did.
Beside them, Lami had somehow cornered Homing into an enthusiastic discussion about her veterinary course.
"–and the thing about big mammals, like the rhino," Lami was saying, hands moving animatedly, "is that people assume they’re simple patients, but they’re really not. Their symptoms can be so subtle. We had this big lump of a juvenile in, last week, because the keepers thought he was just being lazy, but actually–"
Homing leaned forward, enraptured, moustache twitching.
"–it was actually Hemochromatosis! Which, obviously, you must know, is more commonly known as iron overload disorder. It was horrible, but fascinating. I mean, not fascinating that he was suffering, obviously, but from a clinical perspective–"
Law hid a smile behind his glass of wine as he took a sip. Just shy of twenty, his sister sounded more like him every year, which would have horrified her if he had said it aloud. Lami liked to insist veterinary medicine was completely different from human medicine, because animals were more honest than people. Despite the fact that, only recently, Law had been forced to listen to her forty minute plus rant about a parrot that had deliberately bitten three students and then acted innocent in front of the vet.
(Law had some patients like that, admittedly.)
But, of course, not every presence at the table was as easy to enjoy.
Unfortunately, Doflamingo sat two seats away to Law's left, with Cora in between. As always, he was impossible to ignore, even when Law was making a conscious effort to do exactly that. He lounged with that smug air of his: his shirt was too expensive, too gaudy and too open, his sunglasses were still on despite the lighting being nowhere near bright enough to justify them, and his grin was sharp enough to make Law’s fingers tighten instinctively around Cora’s.
Cora’s thumb stroked once across the back of Law’s hand; a small, silent reassurance.
Doflamingo’s attention was, luckily, nowhere near Law. It was split between two activities: needling Cora with the precise, practiced cruelty of an elder brother, and doting on his mother the moment she so much as looked in his direction.
"You always were dramatic, Rosi," Doflamingo drawled, swirling his wine lazily. "A greenhouse, really? Most children break a vase. You had to go for property damage."
Cora flushed faintly around the ears. "I was seven."
"You were, and continue to be, clumsiness incarnate."
"You encouraged me to kick it that hard and in that direction."
"I encouraged excellence and you failed to deliver it. Hm, how things haven't changed."
Without missing a beat, and not even glancing over, their mother interjected with a, "Doffy, darling, leave your brother alone. There's a good boy."
Immediately, Doflamingo’s grin softened into some kind of attempt at angelic. "Of course, mother."
Law stared at him flatly. Doflamingo noticed and that grin kicked wider once more, wicked in an instant. Beneath the table, Cora squeezed Law’s hand once with a silent plea not to engage, so Law breathed out through his nose and let it go. For now.
The food had not yet arrived, although the drinks had come quickly. A bottle of wine or two for the table, a prosecco for Dulcinea, a stout ale for Homing (the foam catching in his moustache), and whatever elaborate cocktail Lami had ordered because it had edible flowers in it. The delay to food should have irritated Law, who had spent too much of his life being a stickler for schedules and punctuality, but Cora was warm beside him, their families were laughing, and for once no one was bleeding, crashing, coding, or attempting to argue against medical advice.
It was almost suspiciously peaceful. Naturally, that was when things had to go – how was it that Penguin and Shachi referred to it as? Ah, that was it – tits up.
His attention had drifted to the point of contact where Cora’s knee pressed against his under the table, his eyes to the pale scar just visible at Cora’s wrist when his sleeve rode up as he reached for his glass. It was one of the old ones, from before his time in the Navy. Law knew the difference by now, knew the map of Cora’s body better than anyone, and he still sometimes caught himself cataloguing the damage with the grim, possessive concentration of a man who wanted to go back in time and argue with every wound.
And then, breaking through the dulled bubble of his thoughts, he heard his mother say, "–have to, when these two finally decide to get married–"
Law’s attention snapped towards her, even as he froze. Around the table, every separate conversation seemed to collapse and drop instantly. Lami stopped mid-sentence. Homing looked delighted, whilst Dulcinea set her glass down with the satisfied air of a woman who had known this ambush was coming and had chosen not to prevent it. Doflamingo went still, which – honestly? – Law trusted far less than movement.
Slowly turning his head, Law stared at his mother with burgeoning horror, but she simply smiled at him over the rim of her wine glass. It was a dangerous expression. He had inherited many things from his parents – his intellect, his stubbornness, his steady hands, to name a few – but that smile belonged entirely to her. It was the smile she had worn when he was fifteen and had tried to pretend he had not been awake for thirty-six hours, studying advanced anatomy texts for fun. She had worn it when he was seventeen and pretending he was not homesick during his first term away at university. She wore it now like a woman preparing to vivisect him with affection.
"Don’t," Law warned.
"I haven’t said anything."
"You’re about to."
His father chuckled. "Your mother is simply making conversation. Aren't you, Liesel."
"No," Law corrected. "She’s loading a weapon."
"Oh, hush," she said, waving him off, offended in a way that was plainly false. "I’m simply saying it would hardly shock anyone, considering how long you've been in love with him. You two might want to, y'know, get on with it."
Cora shifted beside him, hand squeezing around Law's. He knew the blond would be staring at him with a bashful, toothy grin, but Law did not look at him; looking at him would make the entire situation worse. Cora embarrassed beautifully, which was one of his more inconvenient traits. His blush always began high on his cheekbones before spreading to his ears and travelling down this throat, and Law was not immune to it, even when they were surrounded by family.
So, he did the mature thing of closing his eyes and ducking his head.
Lami gasped, delighted. "Oh, we’re doing this?"
"No," Law said immediately, still refusing to look at anyone. A vein throbbed in his temple. "We are not doing this."
"We are absolutely doing this," Lami countered.
"Please don’t encourage Mama."
"Oh, I’m absolutely encouraging her."
Law opened his eyes enough to give his sister a withered look, only to see her twirling a long pigtail around a single finger, her head cocked; the epitome of innocence. She grinned, sharp and glinting.
His mother ignored them both. "We always knew Law was smitten. Obviously not at first, but–"
He heard a chair creak to his left and Law just knew Doflamingo, the asshole, was leaning forward; most likely with steepled fingers, like the dramatic villain he was.
Law rubbed the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. "Mama."
"What? It's sweet!"
"It's incredibly sweet," his father agreed.
Homing laughed, warm and low. "I remember him being very attached to our dear Rosinante, wasn't he, Dulci darling? Hardly left his side, when Rosinante was home from base! And he certainly hasn't changed."
Law turned his dour stare on him next, which was entirely pointless. Homing had known Law since he was a serious, sharp-eyed child who followed a twenty-something year old Cora around with a book tucked under one arm and a scowl ready for anyone who interrupted him. The man had endured years of Law’s childhood intensity. He was utterly immune.
Dulcinea laughed quietly from behind her hand, eyes bright with memory. "Oh, you should hear about how Rosi used to come home from babysitting the two of them and say, ‘That little boy has been arguing with me about bedtime again, how did you deal with it with Doffy?’"
"I had valid points," Law muttered.
"And I believe I called you a little shit, actually." When Law turned to look at his partner, Cora was giving him such a look of fond incredulousness. "Law, you tried to submit a thousand word proposal, proving you should be allowed to stay up until midnight. You emailed it to me. I didn't even know you had my email address."
Lami snorted into her drink. "Nerd."
Law’s mother laughed softly. "You were always so serious about him. It was such an adorable little crush you had!"
"It was not–" Law stopped, because denying it outright would be both useless and dishonest. "I was a child."
"You had a crush on me?" Cora asked quietly and Law rolled his eyes. He was asking such a thing, when Law had declared his love for Cora a thousand-times over.
"Allegedly," is what he answered with.
"Honey, you wrote his name in the margins of your science homework in high school, whilst Rosinante was stationed overseas."
Oh. This was betrayal of the highest order and his mother looked delighted with herself.
Cora’s mouth fell open. "You did?"
"No," Law lied, even as he recalled all the love hearts and Cora-san and Law or Mister Trafalgar Rosinante or Mister Donquixote D. Water Law or any other variation he could think of. His mother arched a brow. Law faltered. "Maybe once or twice," he amended in a mutter.
Lami slapped both hands over her mouth, eyes gleaming. Cora, unfortunately, looked as if someone had tipped boiling water down the back of his jumper. His face had gone red – not just a little pink, but properly, catastrophically red – even to his forehead, and he stared down at the table as though the wood grain had become suddenly fascinating.
"I need a cigarette," he whispered under his breath, earning a laugh from his brother nearby; a low, delighted sound that grated on Law's already raw nerves.
Law pointed at Doflamingo without looking. "Not a word from you."
"I didn’t say anything."
"You breathed smugly."
"I can’t help how I breathe."
"You can help me and stop breathing entirely."
"Boys," Dulcinea chided.
Doflamingo smiled into his glass and said nothing further. Law distrusted that obedience more than open hostility.
His mother, apparently satisfied that she had drawn blood, continued with merciless cheer. "Oh, but Law, honey, don't you remember when you announced at dinner that you were going to marry Rosinante one day. I think you were… thirteen?"
It was now Law's turn to stare at the table, wondering when the ground was going to open up and swallow him whole. It did not. The world was rarely that merciful. Meanwhile, Cora made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh, might have been a plea for mercy, the heat of mortification radiating off him already.
"Oh, Matthias, wasn't it adorable?" his mother continued, laughing now. "So solemn. Very determined. He'd apparently researched venues and everything. Of course, the budget was nonexistent and–"
Cora laughed then, helplessly, still red-faced but unable to stop himself. The sound warmed something low in Law’s chest despite his own embarrassment. That was the problem with Cora. He made humiliation survivable by being unbearable charming through it.
Law glanced at him.
Cora was still looking at him, soft-eyed and flustered, his hand still wrapped around Law’s beneath the table. There were smile lines at the corners of his eyes now, deeper than they had been years ago. His golden hair was streaked with subtle silver, refusing to stay in place over his brow, curling at the nap of his neck. He had once been a clumsy, too-tall babysitter who tripped over furniture, burnt rice, and eventually let Law stay up later than he was supposed to if Law promised not to tell.
(Nothing to do with the manifesto, apparently.)
Now, he was the man who filled their penthouse with warmth. The man who left ridiculous love notes and jokes on the fridge, folded laundry badly but enthusiastically and dutifully, watered plants with military discipline, and woke from nightmares reaching for Law before he was fully conscious. The man who would rub Law's feet when he came home after twelve-hour shifts with aching joints and eyes held open with matchsticks. He was the man whose presence had become so woven into his life that Law could not imagine a future without his voice, his hands, his laughter, or even his ridiculous bunny slippers abandoned in the hallway.
"Apparently," Law drawled dryly, feeling his cheeks prickle, "I had long-term planning skills."
His mother beamed. "That’s one way of putting it."
Cora’s expression softened into something dangerously tender and, under the table, his thumb brushed across the ink on Law’s knuckles.
However, Lami, because she had no instinct for self-preservation and had clearly inherited their mother’s talent for turning affection into a weapon, leaned forward and asked, "So, at the wedding, who's wearing the dress?"
Law’s father nearly knocked over his wine. "Lami."
"What?"
"No one would wear a dress. They’re both men."
Lami gave him a look of profound disappointment. "That doesn’t stop someone wearing a dress. God, get with the times, dad. I can't believe you'd–"
Law, having already been dragged through one public humiliation and seeing no reason to suffer alone, leaned back in his chair and said, "Obviously, Cora will be wearing the dress."
For one perfect second, the table went silent.
Then, life exploded once again. Both Homing and Lami folded forward over the table, wheezing and guffawing. Law’s father shook his head, grinning despite himself. Dulcinea laughed with genuine delight, one hand pressed to her chest. Somewhere left, Doflamingo made a disgusted noise, and it echoed in his glass as he forced himself to drink.
Cora turned to Law, betrayal and disbelief written across every inch of his flushed face.
"Obviously?"
"You have the height for it."
"I have the height for…? Law."
"And the shoulders. The legs help, too."
Cora blinked, then seemed to consider this despite himself. His blush deepened until Law could see it creeping down the side of his neck. "You really think I would look good in one?"
Law let his gaze drift over him, slow enough to be deliberate. "You'd look good in anything."
Cora’s mouth parted slightly, pale lashes fluttering, betraying the thoughts that were swirling around in his mind.
Sensing the opportunity, since everyone had turned their attention away from them and back to each other, Law leaned closer. He lowered his voice so the words were for Cora alone, lips brushing the shell of Cora’s ear as he murmured, "Besides, I’d enjoy the easy access."
Perhaps he had misjudged the timing of his teasing. Or maybe Cora had, incorrectly, decided to try and take a drink. Instead, he inhaled water and was instantly choking violently into his napkin, shoulders jerking, face scarlet as he spluttered hard enough to rattle the table.
The laughter vanished.
"Rosi!"
"Darling–!"
"Are you all right?"
At least it had taken the spotlight off of Law, and he could be spared further humiliation. For now.
The conversation never left his mind.
Not the talk of weddings, exactly – that part had not startled him as much as everyone seemed to think it should have. Law had mentally married himself to Cora years ago, somewhere between the first morning he woke to find Cora making coffee in his kitchen and the third time he came home late from surgery to find dinner kept warm, the bath run, and Cora asleep upright on the sofa because he had been determined to wait up. A legal ceremony was going to happen. Obviously. Eventually. Law had made peace with that before anyone else had thought to tease him about it.
It was not the wedding that lingered. It was the concept of the dress – specifically, one of them wearing one.
The idea had lodged itself beneath his ribs and refused to move. It followed him through work the next week, slipping treacherously into his mind between consultations and surgical briefings, flickering at the edges of otherwise clinical thought. He could admit, privately and with no intention of ever confessing it to anyone, that perhaps he had imagined Cora in a dress before. Not often, and definitely not in any organised way.
But sometimes the mind supplied images without permission, and Law’s mind – traitorous and anatomically informed as it was – had excellent taste.
His lover in something structured, perhaps. A bodice cut like a bustier, firm enough to accentuate the pillowy heft of his chest and his tapered waist, leaving those powerful arms bare. Something that showed the strong line of his shoulders, the muscles of his back shifting beneath pale skin when he moved. Layers of petticoats, maybe, absurd and impractical and soft enough that Law could lose himself in them, could press close and disappear into all that fabric in order to drive Cora crazy – hiding away to indulgently suck that huge cock he couldn't get enough of. Fuck, he could kneel and keep Cora's dick warm or suck his soul out and no one would know.
It was a good image, a distracting image. But worse than that was what Law, himself, had said.
Easy access.
The words had been meant to fluster Cora, and they had succeeded beautifully. Law could still see him choking on his water, ears red, one hand flailing blindly as everyone panicked around him. It should have ended there, a private joke sharpened by public embarrassment. Instead, the phrase stayed in Law’s head and sunk its claws into the very meninges of his brain.
Easy access.
Cora’s hands were large, and they were warm and capable and talented. Law knew too well what they felt like against his waist, his hips, the insides of his thighs. He knew how nimble they felt across his chest; the gentleness those hands could bestow, and the strength beneath it. He knew what it was to be pinned by them, steadied by them, cherished by them until his careful control unravelled, thread by thread. The thought of fabric between them – as an invitation, rather than a barrier – made heat curl low and persistent through him at the most inconvenient times.
Easy. Access.
He imagined Cora crowding him against the kitchen island in their penthouse, all amused surprise turning gradually into intent. He imagined the rustle of a skirt, the warmth of Cora’s body close behind his, the way Cora would ask once – soft, careful, breath puffing against an ear – before slipping fingers beneath the hemline, touching him. He imaged those broad palms sliding over the bare skin of his thighs, unseen beneath layers of cloth; private despite the openness of the room.
Easy. Fucking. Access.
He imagined too often. His days were filled with distracting thoughts, and his nights were worse. He knew those thoughts were affecting him. He knew he was becoming insufferable with how he lost focus, lost trains of thought, lost his composure at the slightest inconvenience.
So he did it – he bought one.
…Not immediately – and definitely not in person. He hesitated for days, though the nature of his hesitation changed over time. At first, it was a matter of whether he should do it at all. It was one thing to entertain a fantasy in the privacy of his own mind and it was another to place an order, receive a parcel, and stand in front of Cora wearing something that, for others, would be the butt of a joke. That was the part that unsettled him, because Law was not shy by nature. He could be direct to the point of brutality when he wanted something, and his relationship with Cora had never suffered from a lack of confidence in communication.
However, this felt different. It was not simply wanting Cora or being wanted by Cora. That was easy. It was familiar; a constant fact of the universe.
This new want was softer, stranger, more vulnerable. It required imagining Cora looking at him and wanting him in a way that felt almost too indulgent to ask for. It meant opening himself to possible ridicule from someone he loved so utterly and dearly. He could handle humiliation – the recent lunch, filled with familial teasing, spoke volumes on that – but not like this. Not at Cora's hands.
So, instead, hesitation became practical, because practicality was a safer battlefield, and soon his thoughts turned from
would Cora want to see me in a dress?
to
If I did wear a dress…
what would Cora want to see me in?
Law had no illusions about his own build. He was tall, angular, and muscled in a way that came from discipline. He was not blessed with Cora’s absurdly generous chest – bountiful tits had once come to mind, and then hated that his own brain had chosen those words – nor did he have the kind of narrow waist and rounded hips that dress patterns seemed to assume existed as standard for a dress-wearer. He had broad shoulders, long legs, and what he privately considered a blocky frame with no ass to speak of.
(He knew Cora would disagree with him, but that was a matter for another time.)
A T-shirt or sweater dress seemed safe. Something… simple. Something androgynous? But the more he looked, the more irritated he became. He could get the same shape by stealing one of Cora’s shirts or sweaters, and they had done that before – more than once, in fact. And it was fun. Cora always reacted well to Law wearing his clothes, usually by going quiet in a way that made Law’s pulse sharpen.
But that was not what this was – that was borrowing. This was deliberate, this was new, and it needed to be perfect.
He searched late at night while Cora slept beside him, the glow from his phone dimmed low beneath the duvet like he was doing something criminal. Cora slept heavily when he felt safe, one arm thrown across Law’s waist, his breathing slow and warm against the back of Law’s neck. Still, every so often, he would shift closer, as though some part of him checked that Law was still there even in sleep.
Law scrolled through endless dresses with increasing irritation. Too formal. Too bridal. Too short. Too long. Too many buttons. Too much lace. Too little structure. Too much structure. Why did half of them have cut-outs in places no sane garment needed to expose? Why was every size guide written like a riddle designed by someone who had never met a body?
Then he found it: a pale yellow summer dress. Law stared at the image for longer than he wanted to admit. The colour was softer than anything he usually wore, though something about it called to him. The straps fastened in bows at the shoulders and the waistline was fitted, pulled close enough that it might give his shape some definition, rather than hanging straight from his frame. The skirt was fuller, falling in gentle folds around the model’s legs, the hemline sitting just below the knees.
He paused. A quick glance at the description told him the model was five foot nine and wearing an eight. At six foot four, it would be shorter on him; not indecently, but enough – a tease.
His pulse gave an unhelpful kick.
Cora murmured something in his sleep and tightened his arm around Law’s waist. Law went very still, phone held uselessly to his chest, as though he had been caught. Cora did not wake. He only pressed his face into Law’s shoulder and settled again, warm and trusting and unaware that Law was currently debating whether a pale yellow dress with shoulder bows might be the very thing to ruin both their composure.
The size guide did not help and Law found himself frowning at it in mounting offence. Why were the sizes not in actual measurements? The fuck was a size twelve and how did it correlate between sizes ten and fourteen? Where was eleven??? He could read scans that looked, to most people, like grey fog and bad luck – but apparently buying a dress required divination.
He measured himself the next morning when Cora was in the shower, standing in their walk-in wardrobe in only his boxers with a tape measure wrapped around his waist and a scowl on his face. He checked twice, because he was not a barbarian, and then a third time, because the numbers still did not translate cleanly into whatever mystical system the website had chosen.
(…Did he dare message someone to help him? Lami was a thousand percent out, as was his mother. Ikkaku, perhaps? She wouldn't tell anyone, but… damn it, no, he could do this himself. He was a grown-ass adult with degrees. Plural.)
In the end, he took a chance and placed the order before he could talk himself out of it, then closed the tab and slammed his phone on the dresser with a little too much force, heart beating far too quickly for a man who had just purchased an item of clothing.
(Or maybe it was because he bought something extra to go alongside the dress – an additional treat for Cora, if he enjoyed the main course.)
The parcel did not come to the penthouse. Instead, he had it sent to a locker three streets from the hospital, because having it arrive at home would have defeated the entire point. The packaging was not subtle. It belonged to one of those well-known fashion brands whose logo was less a mark of delivery and more an announcement, and Cora, for all his sweetness, was sharp-eyed and far too astute when Law was tying to concoct a plan. He would notice a parcel and he would ask. Law would then have to either lie badly or confess too early, and neither option appealed.
So, he collected it after work with his coat collar turned up against the evening drizzle and the parcel tucked under one arm like contraband. The walk home felt longer than usual, the lobby of their building too bright, the lift too mirrored. His own reflection looked calm, composed, mildly tired after a long day at the hospital, and entirely unlike a man who had a pale yellow dress and an increasingly elaborate fantasy hidden in branded packaging beneath his coat.
As soon as he arrived inside, Law shoved the parcel deep into the back of his wardrobe, behind a row of winter coats; a perfect spot, since they were in summer time. Then, he shut the doors and tried not to think about it at all, counting down the days until he would have an entire day away from the hospital.
He had never been so eager for a day off, nor so daunted by one. Usually, time away from the hospital was something Cora had to prise out of him with patience, threats, or the pointed placement of his schedule on the fridge with rest days circled in red marker, love hears included. Law resisted idleness on principle, because his hands preferred work and his mind preferred problems. Rest, when unsupervised, tended to feel too much like waiting.
Now, waiting had teeth – and they were sharp.
He was aware of the parcel constantly. Not in the dramatic sense. He did not stand in front of the wardrobe staring at it, because he had some dignity. But he felt it there, like a small source of heat behind the door. He thought of it when Cora brushed past him in the bathroom and kissed his shoulder. He thought of it when Cora leaned over the back of the sofa to steal a sip of Law’s coffee and made a face because it was too bitter. He thought of it when Cora’s hand settled at the small of his back while they walked along the street. Every time, Law’s mind supplied the imagined whisper of skirt fabric beneath those broad fingers.
By the time his day off arrived, Law had slept badly enough that his lie-in did not need much acting. He stayed in bed after Cora got up, one arm flung over his eyes, making a convincing show of being too exhausted to move. It was not entirely false; he was tired. His mind had spent half the night arguing with itself in circles.
This is stupid.
He'll like it… won't he?
What if he laughs?
He won't.
What if it looks wrong?
He'll still look at you like you're something precious–
Isn't that worse?
From beyond the bedroom door came the familiar sounds of Cora beginning his morning. Cupboards opening and closing, and the soft clink of mugs. The low burr of the radio from the main room, tuned to some station Cora liked because it played old songs and interesting facts in equal measure. A vacuum hummed briefly, stopped, then started again, which meant Cora had found something under the sofa and was probably muttering at it.
Law lay there and listened. Their home was high above the city, all glass and pale steel and clean lines, but Cora had made it lived-in. There were plants by the windows, throws over the backs of chairs, photographs tucked into places Law would never have thought to put them. A chipped, tea-stained mug from Cora’s Navy days sat beside an expensive espresso machine. Law’s medical journals shared space with Cora’s gardening books and recipe notes. Their life together existed in those small collisions.
Law wanted this, he realised – not just the fantasy, not just the heat of the passion that would ensnare his mind and body as soon as Cora got his hands on him. He wanted the moment before: the look, the surprise, the shared moment of anticipation, the proof that he could step out in something soft and strange and chosen, and Cora would understand the offering beneath it.
He got out of bed before he could lose his nerve.
The parcel was exactly where he had hidden it, absurdly bright even through the shadows of hanging coats. Law pulled it free, hugged it against his chest, and crossed quickly into the en-suite bathroom. He locked the door behind him.
For a few seconds, he simply stood there with the bag in his hands. Then, wild and almost angry at himself for hesitating, he tore the plastic open. The dress spilled out in a fall of citrus fabric, softer than he had expected and lighter than seemed reasonable for something that had occupied so much space in his mind. He held it up by the straps, watching the skirt unfurl in a flow of chiffon and cotton. It was pretty, there was no getting around that; pretty in a way Law rarely allowed near himself. The shoulder ties dangled in neat lengths of satin ribbons, waiting to be fastened. The waist was tight, with the skirt split into a cotton underskirt and a layer of floaty chiffon on top, which shimmered in the light.
Something else dropped from the folds and landed soundlessly on the bath mat.
Law looked down. A pair of frilled panties lay at his feet, in the same pale yellow as the dress. Oh. How could he have forgotten the extra treat, the dessert he'd added to the order? He bent to pick them up, the soft silk brushing over his fingers, and a laugh almost escaped him. The contrast between his tattooed hands and the delicate yellow fabric seemed like something designed specifically to undo him.
If the dress failed, he thought, at least he could distract Cora with these. The thought should have steadied him.
(It did not.)
He set the underwear on the closed toilet lid and turned back to the dress. The torso was stretchy, mercifully, and there was no zip. That, at least, felt like a small kindness from the universe. Law had not relished the idea of contorting himself into some complicated garment alone in the bathroom while Cora vacuumed outside, one wrong movement away from having to call for help and explain exactly why he was trapped half-dressed in yellow fabric.
He stepped into it carefully and drew it up over his hips, then his waist, then fitted the bodice into place. The front was open and cut low in a way clearly designed for someone with breasts; on Law, it did something else entirely. The neckline framed his chest rather than filling it, exposing the tattoo spread across his skin. The upper curve of the flaming heart seemed to dance over the triangles of the bodice, dark ink against pale yellow fabric. The smiling face sat lower, safely nestled where the dress came back together at his sternum.
The dress was shorter on him than it had been on the model, as expected. Instead of ending below the knee, the hemline touched the tops of them, hinting at a glimpse of thigh. The waistline fit better than he had feared, drawing in enough to give shape where he usually saw only straight lines and severity. The skirt softened the rest of him, its fullness making his legs look even longer, his shoulders broader by contrast.
When his fingers went to the straps, he realised his hands were shaking, making him pause, irritated by the betrayal. He had steady hands; he had built his life on steady hands. But the ribbons trembled between his fingers as he tied one shoulder, then the other, single-tied bows that sat soft against his skin and could be undone with the slightest tug.
That detail caught at him, making him pause. The thought of Cora’s fingers, careful despite their size… ribbon slipping loose… the quiet surrender of fabric giving way.
Law exhaled slowly through his nose and turned towards the mirror. For a moment, he did not know what to think. What he was wearing… it was softer than his usual clothes, unfamiliar against his skin. It made him too aware of himself: the length of his body, the breadth of his shoulders, the way his thighs brushed bare together.
And the colour – yellow… suited him, it seemed. Something in the back of his mind preened at the colour, feeling a strange sensation that he could only ascribe as home. It contrasted with his dark skin and he knew that would also drive Cora crazy.
Lifting a hand, he smoothed his palm down his front. The fabric followed the motion beneath his fingers, soft over muscle, soft over the body he had spent years perfecting. He had expected to look ridiculous, and some part of him had prepared for it – almost wanted it – because ridicule would have been easier to dismiss than this.
This was not ridiculous – it was certainly strange, it was definitely vulnerable and it was almost too much – but it was not wrong.
He looked away from his own reflection and reached for the panties.
They were… less forgiving.
Law stepped into them with grim concentration and a sturdy scowl. The fabric stretched, but not in ways designed with his anatomy in mind, and he had to adjust himself carefully before everything sat as comfortably as it was going to. Holding the hem of the skirt up to check, He looked down once, then immediately regretted it, heat coiling through him sharp enough that his grip on the skirt gave an unsettling creak. The sight of himself like that – bare thighs framed by soft yellow fabric and ridiculous frills, the dark trail of hair descending from his navel disappearing beneath delicate silk – sent a slow, undeniable throb of arousal smouldering low in his gut.
His gaze flicked subconsciously towards the cupboard beneath the sink. Their en-suite was organised because Law organised it, and because Cora respected systems once they were explained in sufficient detail: spare towels on the left, first aid supplies on the right, toiletries in the middle. And tucked discreetly behind a box of bath salts Cora used when his old injuries ached–
Lube.
Well. He had boasted about easy access.
When he stepped out of the bedroom, Law paused to take a moment and a calming breath. Excitement rushed through him, blood pumping hot in his veins, countering the cool air of the apartment that brushed against his bare legs and raised faint goosebumps beneath the hem of the dress. His bare feet made no sound on the hardwood floors as he padded towards the main room, the fabric whispering against his thighs with every step. His hands scrunched nervously into the skirt, gathering soft folds of chiffon and cotton between his fingers; the frilled panties underneath felt snug and slightly damp already from his half-hard state and the lube between his cheeks – not uncomfortable, but not exactly a preferred sensation.
Cora was sweeping the floor by the breakfast bar, his large frame catching the glorious golden light pouring through the tall windows. Dressed only in a pair of pink Doskoi Panda shorts, he was swaying slightly to the soft music, his muscles shifting like liquid sand beneath scar-streaked skin. He was so effortlessly adorable, and Law couldn't halt the smile as he continued his approach.
The morning sun caressed the edges of golden hair and turned the dust motes into tiny sparks around him. Cora soon turned to face him, clearly registering Law’s approach, with that bright grin already forming on his lips to greet him – until it faltered. Red eyes widened and his hands instantly went slack, the broom slipping from his loosened grip to clatter sharply against the floor. His jaw dropped open, those striking eyes trailing up and down Law’s body in stunned, repeated passes, blinking furiously as if he wasn't sure of what he was seeing.
Stopping a short distance from his lover, Law tilted his head, cocking one hip in a deliberate pose that let the skirt sway against his skin. "Well?" he asked, voice low and teasing. "What do you think?"
Cora spluttered, the sound nothing like actual words – just a broken rush of air and half-formed syllables. Law bit the inside of his lip to quell the giggle snicker threatening to bubble up, then spun slowly in place. The skirt flared outward with the motion, brushing coolly against the tops of his thighs and sending a shiver racing up his spine.
Cora swallowed hard. "You look… um, good," he managed at last, the words rough and strained. He took a hesitant step forward. "I just… You… I'm… whuh?"
Law’s smirk curved slow and satisfied. "Thought I’d test out if I could get away with wearing the dress, you know?"
The blond paused, nodding, although his brain had clearly not caught up. "So, uh, is that… is that happening? We're… gonna get married and you're…?"
Law’s smirk turned wicked, heat curling low in his belly at the way Cora’s gaze kept flicking back to the hem, the neckline, the way the fabric clung to his waist. "Maybe you should get on your knees and ask me."
Cora blinked. Then, he blinked again, a frown pinching his eyebrows down. "I thought it was tradition to get on one knee–"
"You heard me."
When their gazes met, Law felt his breath catch at how wild Cora's eyes were, pupils blown with dawning arousal. There was no hesitancy in how Cora obeyed, sinking to his knees slowly, deliberately, never once breaking eye contact. As Law stepped closer, those large hands trembled as they settled on Law’s hips, warm palms pressing through the layers of material. Cora’s cheeks flushed a vivid red that spread down the column of his throat, and Law could hear the sharp hitch in his breath, ragged and audible even over the quiet warbling of the radio in the background. Cora’s fingers clenched into fists, nails scraping lightly against the material and scrunching it up between his long fingers; a low, ragged swear in his native tongue slipped out, barely more than a whisper beneath the music.
Law’s pulse thrummed heavy in his throat as he looked down at Cora kneeling there, flushed and trembling. He reached for the end of one satin ribbon at his shoulder, toying with it between thumb and forefinger.
"It’s a nice dress, hm?" he asked, voice gone husky. He gave the bow a teasing tug, threatening to loosen the strap entirely, and felt the cool slide of fabric against his skin.
Where he had been simmering in arousal before, he was now achingly hard inside the ridiculous frilled panties, cock throbbing with every heartbeat. Yet the soft folds of the skirt still hid everything, even as Law glanced down; the gauzy chiffon draped innocently over any evidence of his want. He settled his free hand over Cora’s where he gripped his hips and guided one slowly, encouraging him to rub up and down his flank. The material sparked against his nerves, every drag of Cora’s palm sending fresh heat licking through his belly.
"It’s perfect on you," Cora whispered, the words rough and reverent, his red eyes fixed upward with something like awe.
Law’s smirk softened into something fonder, sharper with need. "It came with something extra," he teased, hips canting forward just enough to brush the hidden swell against Cora’s cheek. "You should… explore, maybe?"
It felt as though both of them held their breath as Cora sat back on his heels, pulling his hands away; the sudden loss of warmth made Law’s skin prickle. Then, those same palms returned, settling just above Law’s knees. Cora’s touch skimmed upward, slow and deliberate, palms warm enough to chase away the morning chill yet light enough to raise goosebumps in their wake. Fingers traced softly up the backs of Law’s thighs, ruffling the fine hair there and drawing a shiver that rippled all the way up his spine. When they reached his hips and fumbled over the delicate frilled edges of the panties hidden beneath the skirt, Cora’s mouth dropped open in silent shock, as if he could not quite believe what he was touching.
His fingers curled tight, gripping the silk in an iron hold that pulled the fabric snug against Law’s aching length. Cora dropped his head forward, pressing his forehead to Law’s stomach and inhaling audibly, deep and shaky; the warm rush of an exhale soaked through the skirt, earning a shiver from Law.
"I love you so fucking much," Cora whispered, the words muffled against Law’s belly, raw and fervent. "What have I done to deserve this? You have… no idea–"
Law laughed, the sound low and breathless, and finally gave the ribbon one last tug. The bow unravelled completely beneath his fingers, one half of the dress’s chest flapping open. Cool morning air brushed over his bared nipple, drawing it tight into a dusky peak. The dangling length of satin tapped softly against Cora’s cheek, causing him to lift his head at once, red eyes fixing on the exposed skin; his pupils blew wide almost instantly, black swallowing the vivid crimson like a tidal wave.
In a sudden rush of motion Cora was rising, arms banding tight around the backs of Law’s thighs and hauling him clean off the floor. He hugged Law hard against his chest, the grip effortless and possessive, Law’s bare feet dangling for a dizzy second before Cora set him down on the breakfast bar. The marble was shock-cold beneath him, dulled only slightly by the material between it and his thighs. Cora pressed in close between his spread legs, the yellow skirt ruching up in messy folds around his own hips, and dipped his head to seal their mouths together in a messy kiss; firm and passionate, their lips slid hot and open and wet against each other.
"You’re so fucking perfect," he hissed against Law’s lips, the words breaking between kisses. "I love you so fucking much–"
One hand stayed beneath the skirt, pawing greedily at the tender skin of Law’s inner thigh, fingers digging in with just enough pressure to spark fresh heat, whilst the other rushed up to Law’s chest, groping the firm muscle there and twisting the hard nub of his nipple firmly enough to send delicious, white-hot pleasure shooting straight down Law’s spine.
Law moaned loud at the sharp tug, the sound raw in the quiet apartment. Cora dipped his head at once, mouth latching onto the nipple, suckling sweet and wet before setting his teeth to the sensitive peak and pulling, earning a hissed breath between clenched jaws. Cora was quick to soothe with a broad swipe of his tongue, before he blew a cool breath across glistening skin. Law's head fell back, a helpless sound escaping him; he had to brace his palms flat on the bar behind him or he would have toppled backward. He surrendered to the pleasure completely, biting his own lip and moaning again – appreciative, needy – when Cora’s fingers fumbled with the other strap and yanked it down, baring his second nipple to the air.
"I’ve never been so hard in my life," Cora mumbled around the newly freed nipple, voice muffled and vibrating against Law’s skin. His fingers kept twisting and tugging at the first, rolling the sore little bud until Law’s thighs trembled on either side of him.
He continued, for an immeasurable amount of time, alternating between licking and suckling and biting, fingers twisting and tugging, with the occasional nail scraping over the sensitive buds, causing Law's hips to buck and writhe. He favoured both nipples equally, although he couldn't help but also tilt his head up to kiss Law deeply, swallowing his whines and whimpers with ease.
Pulling back eventually, Cora diverted his attention downwards, shoving his hands into the folds of the skirt. He hauled the pale yellow fabric up and back in one impatient sweep, baring Law’s legs and crotch to the cool air. Law could feel how thoroughly he had soaked the silk panties – the fabric clung wet and heavy, clinging to every aching inch of him – but he could see it too, now: the way his cock strained against the delicate material, the head flushed dark and leaking, barely contained. Idly, through the haze of want, he wondered whether he should have added a garter belt to the ensemble, or perhaps tried a different style altogether – something even more teasing.
"You can’t wear a dress to our wedding," Cora suddenly bit out, voice gravelly and harsh. His gaze never left the silk prison of Law’s cock, nestled against the curve of his hip. "I wouldn’t be able to control myself. I can’t control myself now, but I’d… fuck, I’d take you right there on the altar."
Law laughed again, the sound bright and delighted, ego swelling warm and golden in his chest. "Forgive me father, for I have sinned?" he offered, then added with a wicked tilt of his head, "Or should it be, sorry daddy, I’ve been bad."
The spell broke for a heartbeat as Cora laughed too, shaking his head with a fond, helpless smile even as his hands moved to tug at the waistband of the panties. "Our families would disown us," he mused, attention darting between Law’s chest and the straining silk as he pulled harder, all boyish eagerness. Afraid the delicate fabric might rip, Law lifted his hips obligingly. "Even Doffy wouldn't be able to get us out of jail on the charges we'd face." The panties slipped down over the curve of his ass and caught on the taut muscles of his thighs. Then, Cora paused. "I, uh, don’t suppose the dress has pockets?" he asked, voice rough. "Should we– I mean, did you bring lube?"
Law answered with a slow, salacious grin, and a cocky, "Don’t need it."
Cora swallowed hard, throat working visibly. His pale lashes fluttered in a series of determined blinks. "You… prepped?"
Law bit his lip, all faux-coy, letting his gaze turn sultry as he looked down at the man between his knees. "I said easy access, didn’t I?"
Law loved the feral look that flashed across Cora’s face when arousal flared hot and sudden like this. Cora was devastatingly attractive when he grinned and acted silly and effortlessly adorable, but like this – fierce and serious, laser-focused on wringing every drop of pleasure from Law’s body with every inch of his own – it sent a dark thrill curling low in Law’s belly. He could feel the fine tremble running through Cora’s large frame, the way those powerful muscles bunched and held taut, barely leashed, ready to pounce.
"On your front," Cora ordered, voice low and rough as gravel. He took half a step back and released Law.
Law smiled sweetly, slow and teasing, and slid from the counter with deliberate languor, dragging his front along Cora’s the entire way down. He gazed up through his lashes, lips parted. "You want me to lay down–?"
Cora spun him around before he could finish, a large hand planted firm between his shoulder blades to bend him over the marble with decisive strength. It looked rough – felt rough – but Law wasn’t scared or hurt; the thrill of it sparked bright and electric under his skin. That hand slid to the back of his neck and held him there, firm. Law choked on a moan, falling slack obediently.
"Bend over, just like that," Cora hissed, breath hot against the nape of Law’s neck.
He kicked Law’s feet wider apart, even though the panties still tangled around his thighs hampered the movement. Law whimpered as the skirt was shoved roughly up and bunched at his lower back, the rush of being bared so suddenly making him dizzy. Cora’s fingers were on him instantly, probing, sliding through the generous slick Law had worked in earlier, bumping clumsily against his balls as they slipped. Law moaned, writhing as best as he could to encourage Cora to keep going, and biting his lip hard when those same fingers returned to circle his rim. Two pushed inside without hesitation, sliding in with obscene ease, scissoring at once with intent – testing, stretching. Law knew he was ready; he had been thorough with his prep, though he had been careful not to tip himself over the edge while doing it.
"Fuck me, Cora," Law moaned, voice cracking. "I’m ready."
"Was this all part of your plan?" Cora growled, fingers still working him open with ruthless precision. "Did you put on this dress and finger yourself this morning? Or did you–?"
"Used a toy," Law gasped, pushing back onto the intrusion. "Thought of you the whole time. Want you inside me."
Cora swore again, low and filthy, and the fingers withdrew with a wet sound that made Law’s cock twitch. There was a hurried rustle of fabric – Cora shoving his shorts and underwear down his hips – then the blunt, scorching pressure of Cora’s cockhead against his asshole.
Oh. Fuck. Yes.
Cora drove in with one firm, unrelenting stroke, burying himself to the hilt. Law yelped, jolting up onto his toes, eyes rolling back at the sudden, burning stretch that bordered on too much and not enough. Cora didn’t wait, didn’t give him a moment to adjust; he pulled back and slammed in again, setting a hard, punishing rhythm that had Law’s cock slapping wetly against his own belly with every thrust. The head dragged against the soft cotton lining of the dress, smearing pre-come in messy streaks inside the skirt.
This was exactly what Law had wanted – to spur Cora into this wild, animal mood where he took him like the act itself was punishment for tempting him. Cora fucked him like he was angry at the dress, at the panties, at the way Law had sauntered out looking like sin wrapped in yellow; each snap of his hips was deep and brutal, cock dragging over Law’s prostate on every stroke until sparks of white-hot pleasure exploded behind Law’s eyes. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the apartment, filthy and loud, punctuated by the creak of the breakfast bar and the ragged sounds tearing from Law’s throat. Cora used him – hard, relentless, hips pistoning like he meant to drive Law through the marble – and Law loved every second of it, ass clenching greedily around the thick length splitting him open, body jolting forward with the force of it.
A particularly vicious thrust shoved Law further up the bar; his feet left the floor entirely now, dangling uselessly, toes curling tight around empty air as the panties slipped further and further down his legs, until they hung loosely off one ankle. He couldn’t stop moaning and gasping loudly, the sounds raw and broken, whining and pleading without words while Cora fucked him harsh and deep, pounding like he was never going to ever get this chance again. Cora’s breath was heavy behind him, cut off in short, gravelly groans and swears and muttered compliments – "so fucking tight" "look at you taking it" "my perfect boy" – each one growled loudly into the space between them.
In the back of his mind, he knew Cora was watching the way his ass stretched around his fat cock, and the thought made him whine sharply. Cora’s hand left the bunched skirt to palm one cheek, prying him open wider with a firm grip. When a thick thumb rubbed roughly over his stretched rim, circling the place where they were joined, Law lost it completely.
Pleasure swelled in him, nestled at first between his hips, before shattering outwards like a river bursting its banks. His cock jerked hard against the bunched-up dress, untouched and leaking obscenely, and then he was coming with a broken, guttural cry that tore straight out of his throat. Thick, hot ropes of cum erupted from him in powerful, messy pulses, splattering violently across the inside of the yellow skirt. The soft cotton clung wetly to his pulsing cockhead as he kept shooting, each heavy spurt painting the pretty fabric in sticky white streaks and dripping in long, obscene strands onto the hardwood floor below with wet little splats. His hole clenched viciously around Cora’s thick cock, fluttering and squeezing and greedy, the rhythmic contractions so strong they bordered on painful in their intensity and dragged another filthy groan from Cora’s chest.
Law’s entire body seized, thighs shaking violently, toes curled so tight they cramped as his feet dangled uselessly off the counter. His back arched hard, pressing his chest flush to the cold marble while he tried to push his ass back onto Cora’s cock, desperate for every brutal inch even as he came apart at the seams. He couldn't stop the wrecked, high-pitched whine, loud and shameless, broken only by broken gasps and moans he couldn’t hold back no matter how hard he tried. His vision whited out at the edges, sparks exploding behind his eyes with every relentless thrust Cora fucked him through. Cum kept dribbling out of him in weaker, pathetic spurts, soaking the front of the dress and running in warm, sticky trails down his trembling thighs, making an absolute filthy mess of the pretty outfit he’d been so excited to wear.
But Cora didn’t stop – didn’t even slow – thrusting through the clenching heat with the same relentless force, using Law’s spasming body to chase his own pleasure.
"You came so quickly." Law barely heard the Cora's voice, whispered into his ear, through the echoing din of his climax; hot and rough and impossibly fond.Cora draped himself fully over Law’s back, heavy and warm, blanketing him against the cold marble as his hips twitched in tight, filthy little circles, barely thrusting now but keeping every thick inch buried deep. He was so far inside Law, it felt as though he could taste him at the back of his throat, the blunt head pressing relentlessly against that sweet spot with every subtle roll, making him twitch and whine as pleasure spiked white hot. "You really like wearing a dress, hm?"
"Seems you like it more," Law mumbled, voice wrecked and breathless, unable to summon anything wittier when his brain was still short-circuiting from the force of his orgasm.
"I do," Cora agreed, the words a low growl of pure satisfaction. He began to thrust harder again, proper strokes this time, using his grip on Law's neck to hold him still, the wet slap of skin on skin ringing out sharp and obscene. Law felt the heavy weight of Cora’s balls smack against his own with every drive forward, sending fresh sparks of overstimulation jolting up his spine – too-much and too-little, all tangled together in a dizzying rush. "I love this so fucking much. You’re so pretty. So perfect."
"Should I– mmf– get more?" Law managed, the words punched out of him on a particularly deep thrust.
"Fuck, yes, please, more," Cora groaned, pace turning relentless once more. "Wear them round the house. Wear them– fuck, everywhere. I’ll take you out to dinner and touch you and no one would know–"
The words painted an instant, vivid picture in Law’s mind, filthy and bright even as Cora kept fucking him senseless over the breakfast bar. He could see it so clearly: a dark, intimate restaurant, low lighting and velvet booths tucked away in a shadowed corner where no one could see. Cora would be sitting right beside him, thigh pressed hot and solid against his own beneath the tablecloth. One large hand would rest high on Law’s inner thigh under the slinky hem of another dress – this one black, maybe, sleek and clinging – fingers dancing higher and higher with teasing slowness. The warmth of Cora’s palm would sear through his nerves, inching upward until those calloused fingertips brushed the lacy edge of whatever delicate panties Law had chosen that night – if he wore any at all. Then they’d slip beneath, tracing the crease where thigh met ass, pressing just firm enough to make Law bite back a gasp into his wine glass.
He imagined the barely audible, wet squelch as Cora’s thick fingers pushed inside him, right there at the table; slow and careful, stretching him open while the waiter refilled their glasses only feet away. Cora’s face would stay perfectly composed, chatting lightly about nothing as his eyes roved around the room, while his fingers crooked and rubbed and scissored deep inside Law, slick sounds hidden beneath the low murmur of conversation, gentle music and clinking cutlery. Or maybe Cora would wrap that warm, large hand fully around Law’s aching cock instead, pumping him in long, lazy strokes, thumbing over the weeping slit until Law was trembling and leaking all over his own thighs, fighting to keep his breathing even.
Would Cora get away with pulling Law into his lap in that same secluded booth? Law pictured it in dizzying detail: the heavy weight of Cora’s cock sliding inside him, bare and scorching, stretching him wide while the skirt pooled around them like a modest curtain. He’d sit there for the entire meal, full and impaled, clenching around every fat inch as Cora’s hands danced along his thighs and prick beneath the fabric – stroking, teasing, though never letting him come. Just keeping his own cock warm and Law's hole open, keeping Law desperate while they ate, Cora feeding him bites of dessert from his own fork like the perfect gentleman.
Or maybe Cora would drag him to the bathroom halfway through the evening, lock the stall door, bend him over the sink and fuck him hard and fast, just like now – skirt rucked up around his waist, one hand clamped over Law’s mouth to muffle the moans while the other jerked him off in time with every brutal thrust. Or they’d make it all the way to the car, Law riding Cora in the driver’s seat in the darkened car park; windows fogged, hips rolling slow and filthy until they were both gasping and coming messily together.
Or the cruellest, hottest option – Cora would simply torture him the whole night, never letting him come, promising that the real reward waited until they got home. He’d keep Law on edge for hours, fingers and words and heated glances driving him wild, until Law was a shaking, leaking wreck by the time they stepped through their own front door.
Perhaps, they could go shopping for dresses together. Some high-end boutique changing room, mirrors on every wall. Law would drag Cora inside under the pretext of needing an opinion, slipping into one slinky dress after another whilst his lover watched from the nearby seat. Cora’s control would snap before long and he would spin Law to face the mirror, yank the skirt up, and lift his thigh up and open so Law could watch every inch disappear inside him. He would watch his own flushed face and wrecked expression reflected back while Cora’s hand clamped over his mouth to keep the moans quiet. The sales assistant would be just outside, asking if everything fitted, and Cora would keep thrusting lazily, whispering filthy praise against Law’s ear about how pretty he looked getting fucked in every single dress.
Another vision flared, hot and unexpected: a secluded picnic in the park, early enough that the grass was still dew-damp. Law in the sweet yellow sundress again spread out on the blanket like an offering. Cora would disappear under the skirt for long, filthy minutes, tongue and fingers working him open while Law tried not to cry out loud enough for passers-by to hear. Then, Cora would flip the fabric up, mount him, and fuck him into the blanket, the dress rucked around his waist and the sky spinning overhead.
The fantasies twisted brighter and dirtier in Law’s head with every punishing thrust Cora gave him now, the real slap of skin and the wet drag of cock inside him blending seamlessly with the imagined scenes until he couldn’t tell where reality ended and the daydream began. He moaned and drooled helplessly into the marble, hole clenching greedily around Cora’s length, his spent cock giving a weak, interested twitch against the ruined inside of the dress.
He was quickly jolted out of the haze of filthy daydreams when Cora suddenly pulled out of him with a wet, obscene sound that left his hole clenching around nothing. A broken whine slipped from his throat at the loss, but before he could even try to protest Cora’s hands were on him again; large, steady, and utterly in control.
"Turn over," Cora ordered, voice both wrecked and commanding in equal measures. "I need to see you, sweetheart."
Law’s limbs felt like warm honey, boneless and useless after the first shattering orgasm and the relentless pounding that followed. He could barely push himself up on shaking elbows, let alone coordinate any real movement, but Cora didn’t wait for him to manage it. Strong arms slid beneath Law’s waist and thighs, lifting and turning him with effortless strength as if he weighed nothing. Cora manhandled him until his lower back braced against the curved edge of the breakfast bar, hips tilted up and off the marble, legs splayed wide and dangling. The yellow dress was a crumpled mess around his hips, the fabric damp and sticky against his skin.
"Show me the mess you made of your pretty dress," Cora told him, red eyes dark and hungry as they raked over Law’s body.
Trembling, Law reached down with both hands and tugged the skirt up high, bunching the material against his chest so the entire ruined front was on display. His cock lay flushed and heavy against his belly, already hard again, the tip glistening and beading beneath the foreskin with fresh pre-cum.
"Hold it like that," Cora growled, one hand guiding Law’s fingers to tighten around the fabric. "Show me that pretty cock– fuck, perfect, Law."
Law’s breath hitched at the raw praise, cheeks burning as he obeyed, holding the dress up like an offering while Cora stared down at him like a man starved. Then, his lover was stepping back in, thick cock nudging against his slick, fluttering hole before sliding back inside in one long, punishing thrust that punched the air from Law’s lungs. The rhythm was every bit as brutal as before, deep, snapping strokes that made Law’s body jolt on the counter with every impact.
He had to keep the skirt bunched high the entire time, baring himself completely, cock bouncing and leaking against his own stomach and the stained cotton while Cora fucked him senseless. The position left him utterly exposed, every filthy detail on display: the way his hole stretched wide around Cora’s girth, the slick shine of lube and cum coating his thighs, the way his spent cock twitched and drooled with every drag against his prostate.
Cora was out of breath, chest heaving and flushed, eyes bleary and half-lidded like he was drunk on the tight, wet heat of Law’s ass. His hips snapped forward again and again, sweat-slick skin slapping loudly against Law’s thighs, the wet squelch of his cock driving in and out echoing obscenely in the sunlit kitchen.
"Look at you," he panted, voice slurred and reverent, "holding yourself open for me… so fucking good. I love you – taking every inch like you were made for it… oh, sweetheart–"
Law could only moan and whimper, fingers white-knuckled in the yellow fabric, body rocking helplessly with each thrust. Pleasure coiled tight and vicious in his gut again, sharper this time, almost painful after such an ordeal. Cora’s gaze never left the place where they were joined, watching with glassy fascination as his cock disappeared into Law’s greedy hole, over and over.
All too quickly, Law came again – only a weak, pathetic little spurt that dribbled over his sweat-soaked skin and onto the already-soiled dress, but the pleasure that tore through him was devastating. His entire body contorted, back arching hard off the counter, mouth falling open in a silent scream as his hole clenched and fluttered wildly around Cora’s cock. Every muscle seized, thighs shaking violently, toes curling and cramping in mid-air while the orgasm ripped through him like white fire.
Cora followed with a broken, guttural groan, slamming in as deep as he could go and holding there, hips twitching and grinding desperately. He flooded Law’s hole in thick, pulsing ropes, cock jerking hard inside him with every heavy spurt, filling him until Law could feel the warm overflow leaking out around Cora’s shaft and dripping down his ass onto the counter. Cora’s face was slack with bliss, eyes rolling back, body shuddering as he shoved impossibly deeper, chasing every last drop, desperate to stay buried to the hilt while he emptied himself completely.
They stayed locked like that for long, trembling moments. Law still clutched the ruined dress to his chest, chest heaving, ass clenching lazily around the softening cock inside him, milking him for everything as the last weak pulses of Cora’s orgasm faded. Cora’s forehead dropped to Law’s shoulder, breath ragged and hot against his skin, the morning light catching on the sheen of sweat between them.
Cora kept himself propped up on locked elbows, a fair portion of his weight pressed down against Law’s hips. The pressure was welcomed – it was heavy, solid, and Law liked the way it pinned him in place, kept his trembling body grounded to the marble while the aftershocks still fizzed along every nerve.
"I don’t even know where you got this idea from, really," he mumbled, voice hoarse and wondering. "I know– the lunch, but… But really, I’m so… so very thankful." He lifted one hand to cup Law’s cheek, thumb brushing gently over the flushed skin. The smile that curved his mouth was impossibly soft, almost reverent. "You really did look pretty."
Law’s brows drew together, a small, playful pout tugging at his lips even as he leaned into the touch. "Did?" he asked, voice still rough from moaning. "Don’t I look pretty anymore?"
Cora took a slow, deliberate breath, eyes sliding shut as though the question alone tested every ounce of his remaining control. "You do," he said, the words careful, almost pained. "You look– Law, you look devastating and I’m doing my best not to get excited again, alright? Give me a minute. Mercy on my poor soul."
Law huffed a quiet laugh that turned into a soft groan when Cora finally eased their hips apart. The drag of his cock pulling free was slow and slick, and then the warm, thick gush of cum spilling out of Law’s hole was a little bit of a shock, despite the fact he really should be used to it by now. The sudden emptiness made him clench uselessly around nothing, a shiver racing up his spine at the wet, filthy sensation.
Cora glanced down at the mess with a low, appreciative hum before he murmured a gentle, "Come here," sliding his arms beneath Law's back and hips. He eased Law down from the counter, steadying him firmly when Law's knees juddered and his legs wobbled, hushing him when Law groaned at the second gush of spend oozing down his thighs, his hole wide and dripping.
With the same tender care, he helped Law out of the dress, easing the waistband down over Law's hips and letting it drop from his body. Cool air kissed Law’s overheated skin; he shivered once, then sighed as Cora’s warm palms smoothed down his back, steadying himself on the countertop as Cora bent down to snag the discarded dress from the floor. With gentle fingers he used the ruined fabric to wipe between Law’s thighs, careful strokes cleaning away the worst of the slick and spend. He wiped himself too, quick and efficient, then bundled the dress in on itself and tucked it under his arm.
An arm looped tightly around Law's waist, he guided them down the hallway towards their en-suite bathroom. Law tried not to think too much about how he had only just been in there, prepping himself to be ruined by his lover. Instead, he strayed from Cora's side and wordlessly clambered into the sunken tub to turn the taps. Steam was quick to curl through the air, and with all the jets the ridiculous bathtub had, the water was soon lapping about Law's body, soothing and calming. He let out a a long, grateful sigh, the heat enveloping his sore muscles like a balm and settled back against the cool porcelain; knees drawn up, he watched with a raised brow as Cora paused beside the tub.
"You're not getting in?" he asked, glancing up curiously to see Cora turning the yellow dress over in his hands, squinting at the little white washing label sewn into the seam like a man reading sacred text. Law couldn’t help the small, fond chuckle that escaped him. "You’re checking the care instructions?" he teased, voice light with amusement. "Right now?"
Cora’s ears went pink. "I want to see you in this again," he whined, the sound adorably petulant for someone who had just fucked Law senseless over the kitchen counter. "But cum dries horrid, and I don’t want to ruin it. It looked so good on you."
Law leaned forward in the water, resting his chin on his folded arms at the edge of the tub. "I can buy another," he suggested.
Cora’s whole face lit up, red eyes sparkling with sudden, boyish delight. "Yeah?" he asked, already sounding halfway to planning an entire shopping spree, the corner of his mouth fighting a smile.
"We can buy multiple," Law carried on, now drawing back in the water to beckon Cora in. The dress was dropped unceremoniously to the floor and Cora was stumbling into the tub, sending water everywhere and yet he was completely unfazed – his entire attention was on Law, and he quickly gathered his smaller lover into his arms to kiss him.
"…What colours?" was mumbled against Law's lips.
"Mm, any you want. Promise." He grinned, nuzzling their noses together and pressing an achingly soft kiss to Cora's lips, before he turned around in his arms and settled on Cora's lap. "The site I ordered from has a fairly large range – all sorts of styles, lengths, colours. We’ll have plenty to choose from."
Cora hummed happily, one large hand idly stroking over Law’s stomach beneath the warm water.
Law’s smile turned a touch mischievous. "They do bigger sizes too, you know."
Cora blinked, clearly not following at first. His head tilted in that adorable, slightly confused way he sometimes did, brows furrowing. "Bigger sizes…? I thought that dress fit you perfect– oh. You mean… for… me?"
Law waited, watching the exact moment realisation dawned. Cora’s eyes widened slightly, then narrowed in playful understanding. A slow grin spread across his face, bright and knowing, as he looked down at Law with renewed heat in his eyes.