One Piece: Lust Haki

I woke up with her arm across my chest and her body along my back and the room still dark.

Dawn was coming. The light through the window was gray. The blue sheets were tangled around both of us and the room smelled like jasmine and skin and the wine she'd had before bed. Konpira was in the corner rack. The coat was draped over the chair. The lamp was off.

Her arm was heavy across my ribs. Her breath was slow and warm on the back of my neck, each exhale landing on the same spot. She was asleep. Her heartbeat through Observation was steady, deep and slow, and her body was pressed against mine from her breasts to her knees.

I shifted. Adjusted my weight on the mattress. Her arm tightened across my chest and pulled me closer. She did it in her sleep, the motion automatic, her body reaching for the warmth it had been holding all night. Her hips pressed against my ass and her face buried deeper into my hair and she mumbled a word I didn't catch.

I was hard. Morning. Her warmth. Her body against mine through the thin fabric of the shorts she'd given me and the undershirt she slept in. Six months ago I'd woken up in a body that wasn't mine on a transport ship and the concept of being in a Vice Admiral's bed had been somewhere between fantasy and suicide. Now it was Tuesday.

I turned over. Carefully, her arm lifting and resettling across my side. She was close. The mole below her mouth. The fine lines at the corners of her eyes. Her lips bare, no lipstick, slightly parted. The curly black hair was loose across the pillow and her face was softer at the edges without the composure, the jaw less set.

"Morning."

"Mm." Her eyes didn't open.

I kissed her neck. The spot below her jaw where her pulse was slow and the skin was heated from sleep. She tilted her head. The motion gave me more of her throat and I kissed along the line of it to the place behind her ear where she smelled like jasmine and nothing else.

Her breathing changed. Deeper. Through her nose, slower, controlled even now.

My hand went under her shirt. Up her stomach, which was flat and tightened under my fingers. Her skin was sleep-heated. My hand found her breast and her nipple was already hard under my palm and she exhaled through her nose, a sound that was barely a sound.

She pressed against me. Her hips rolled forward. Her hand on my side pulled and I pulled back and we were chest to chest under the blankets with her thigh between mine and my cock hard against her stomach.

I pushed her shirt up. She helped, one arm at a time, lazy about it, and the shirt went over her head and she lay bare from the waist up with the gray light on her skin and the fine scar on her left shoulder visible. I knew that scar. I'd traced it with my fingers three times now and she'd told me the story once and I'd never asked again because the story was the kind that ended with someone dying.

Her shorts came off next. Mine. The blankets stayed. Everything underneath was skin and heat and sheets tangled around our legs and her hand on my hip guiding me sideways until we were arranged with me behind her, her back against my chest.

She reached behind her. Her fingers found my cock and guided me and I pushed into her from behind, spooning, slow. She was wet. Ready from the proximity and the warmth and whatever she'd been dreaming about. I slid in and the angle was shallow and her body was soft and she took me without resistance, the ease of a body that had learned this body.

"Nn-" Into the pillow. Her hand left my cock and found my hand on her hip and her fingers laced through mine and held.

I moved. Slow. The motion was a roll of my hips, gentle enough that the bed barely moved. She was hot inside. Wet. The sound was quiet under the blankets, a soft slick sound that matched the rhythm. My face in her hair. My hand in hers.

Her breathing deepened. Through her nose, timed to my hips, an inhale on the pull and an exhale on the push. She was half-awake. Her body doing the work her mind hadn't fully joined yet, her hips rocking back to meet me.

I kissed the back of her neck. She squeezed my hand.

The gray light was getting warmer. Orange at the edges of the curtain. The room was cool where the blankets didn't cover and heated underneath, our bodies generating temperature in the pocket we'd made. Her skin was getting damp where her back pressed against my chest. My arm around her waist, her hand holding mine, our fingers locked.

I moved a little faster. Her breath caught. The controlled rhythm broke for one second and she exhaled hard into the pillow and her hips pushed back against me and the angle shifted and I went deeper and she made a sound. Quiet. "Ah-" Half a syllable, swallowed by the pillow.

She turned her head. Her eyes were half-open. Sleep-heavy, the dark irises catching the early light, looking at me over her shoulder. Her mouth was parted and her face was bare and she looked at me for three seconds and then turned back to the pillow and her hand tightened on mine.

I stayed at that pace. The one that had made her breath break. My hips rolling, steady, the sound between us slick and quiet. Her back against my chest. The sweat forming where our skin met. Her fingers squeezing mine in a rhythm I was learning.

She was close. The fingers told me. The squeeze came faster, tighter, her grip on my hand increasing with a pattern she didn't seem aware of. Her breathing went shallow. Short inhales through her nose. The controlled rhythm gone.

I didn't change pace. Didn't speed up. My mouth on the back of her neck. My hand in hers.

Her fingers crushed mine. Her whole body tightened, her back arching against my chest, her pussy clenching around me in a grip that made my vision go white at the edges. She came quietly. A sound into the pillow that was half my name and half breath, her body pulling tight and holding and then releasing in waves, the grip loosening and tightening, loosening and tightening, her hips jerking against me.

I followed her. Close behind, three more pushes into the tightness she'd left behind, and I came with my face in her hair and my hand still locked in hers and the heat of it spreading inside her. My hips stuttered and stopped. My breath was loud in her hair. Her fingers loosened on mine but didn't let go.

We lay there. The blankets were half off us. The room was filling with orange light through the curtain. Her breathing was slowing down, deeper and more even with each breath. My cock softened inside her. I didn't pull out. She didn't ask me to.

Her hand held mine against her stomach. Her heartbeat through Observation was settling. Seventy. Sixty-five. Sixty.

She fell asleep.

I lay behind her with my arm around her waist and her hand still loosely holding mine and the morning filling the room and I thought about nothing for a long time. I lay there and held her and the math was quiet and the only thing running was warmth and the weight of another person and the slow sound of her breathing.

This was the part I was getting better at. The part where I stopped calculating and just felt.

Her heartbeat went deeper. Slower. She was dreaming. Through the Observation the shape of it registered. Not the content. But there was a texture to sleep, and hers had the quality of someone working through a physical pattern. A repeated motion, drilled into muscle memory, playing out behind her eyes. Swordwork.

I smiled. She was asleep and dreaming about sword drills and I was awake and holding her and the jasmine was fading and the morning was getting brighter.

Twenty minutes. She slept. I held her. The room warmed.

She woke on her own. Her body stiffened, the awareness returning before her eyes opened. Her hand found the clock on the nightstand.

"Time?" she said.

"Early."

Her fingers were still laced with mine. She looked at our hands. Looked at the clock. Looked at our hands again.

"Shower," she said. She didn't move.

"Okay."

Neither of us moved.

The light through the curtain was golden now. Konpira glinted in the corner rack. The coat on the chair was perfectly draped even though she'd thrown it there.

Her thumb traced a circle on the back of my hand. Once. She pulled her fingers free and got up and walked to the bathroom and the door closed behind her and the water started.

I lay in the sheets that smelled like her and jasmine and sex and stared at the ceiling.

The water ran. The morning continued. I got up.

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