(no subject)

[saorisalem]

the stars don't give a damn

2203 words

One Piece, Borsalino x Sakazuki, pre-canon, pre-Marines era, part of the of soldiers and monsters continuity
ust & fluff of the bittersweet fireplace-and-blanket variety

Borsalino would’ve given that weather the middle finger, but surely, that would count as a defeat. He crushed the butt of his cigarette on the window ledge and turned his shoulder to the glass, the maws of darkness having engulfed everything but the outline of his broad, slim reflection.

A snow storm testing the robustness of the shack he'd taken to calling home was comfortable, even romantic, especially when one was wryly optimistic and smiled when he was angry. He'd been quite angry at the clumsy desperate bandits who'd tried to steal from him the week before - he had persuaded them, the North Blue way, into coming back with food and canisters. He'd melt the snow to wash and cook, he'd make fire by cutting up the east wing slowly and swallow his yearning for any semblance of civilization. Lady Luck could continue throwing 'fuck you's his way; she'd run out of ideas soon enough.

Just one second. Just one split second of certainty that nobody was looking for him anymore, and he'd quietly wrap up and make his way to some corner of the South Blue, to spend an obscene amount of his cash on cigars, girls, boys, and caviar. No, oysters. Make it decadent.

He could think of his plan and, er, ponder on his life choices after the fact.

The cold wood under his feet sent a shiver down his leg as he strolled to what had once been a common room, now filled with the smell and sound of a rich fireplace. His legs flexed on the couch, its wooden, creaking skeleton a stark contrast to the velvet blankets and pillows that topped it - his contact at the city, a young bounty hunter, must've cocked an eyebrow at the request. But it was amazing to wrap himself in soft fabric and sink on cushions after so long.

I should have invited him to try the blankets when he brought them over, too. The soft brush of silk and velvet was not the only kind of touch his skin was starved for.

Behind his eyelids, he daydreamed of wrapping his arms around the man's huge, tattooed body instead of the pillow. But still, even if they did see each other that evening - which Borsalino had hoped, but the weather made very unlikely -, and he were to invite the other man, that handsome oddball would probably squint and say something like,

"So I carried these pillows all the way here for you not to use them," or, "If I wanted something like this I'd buy it."

Borsalino pouted. That Sakazuki seemed equally immune to his flirting and his sarcasm.

Once, Borsalino had greeted him shirtless - still wearing his hat and sunglasses, mind you - and Sakazuki had only looked at him in the eye for the entirety of his visit… only to start bringing him food short after, like a cat not trusting his human to fend for himself. Yep, that one had hurt.

But the sourness went away if he spoiled himself enough. The spicy liquor in his tea left a pleasantly burning trail down his throat as he opened a random page of the worn book on his lap. Love poems, how cute. A perfect fit for his cloud of velvet.

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well

That, for all they care, I can go to hell…

A firm knock at his door made him jolt up. He felt his pulse rise as he dashed to the big main entrance door, undid the brass bolt, and roughly thrusted it back in place after letting the huge bounty hunter stomp in along a gush of snow crystals that promptly started to melt on his floor.

But he only thought about that a split second before looking up and grinning at Sakazuki. The other man was unclasping his heavy coat, clothing, and rucksack. He ran his heavy gloves over his shoulders to scatter some clumps of snow before throwing them on the floor.

Sakazuki paused. Looked at him. Nodded slightly by way of greeting.

Borsalino had raised his eyebrows slowly, almost imperceptibly. "Ah… hellow…"

"Help me," Sakazuki commanded. Borsalino fell on one knee and undid the tight laces of his boots, which numbed his fingers at the touch. He looked up to Sakazuki's figure, clothing articles falling left and right, and wondered if there was something wrong with the fumes and he'd just fallen into a prolonged, too-vivid fantasy. "It's warm here."

Borsalino's eyebrows furrowed as he pried the other man's leg free. "Mm-mm, well… welcome home, I suppose…"

-

Sakazuki's pale back was turned to him, golden hues from the fire dancing on his skin. The man had dabbed himself dry and they had now fallen into silence, not entirely relaxed. He imagined Sakazuki regretted confiding in him sometimes, lest he sell him to the man he'd sworn to kill. Borsalino knew he shouldn't get too attached either - eventually he'd have to leave Sakazuki behind, along with the blanket he was wrapping himself in and the book, all the books. Their time together was fleeting like the storm. Like confetti.

Still, the obvious gap between what one should do and what one wanted had Borsalino trying not to imagine his lips on the nape of that hard, muscular neck.

He had lowered his eyes to the words he'd been reading, how should we like it, were stars to burn with a passion for us we could not return?…, but time and time again he'd find himself looking up to Sakazuki again, mesmerised by his body, and found him looking back in contempt.

"Ooh…" Borsalino cleared his throat, and let a bit of the internal giddiness into his smile.

"Did I interrupt something?" Sakazuki growled. "You're silent."

"I was not expecting you anymore," Borsalino just side-eyed him fondly, his eyes dark and narrow. "Don't you misinterpret me, you are very wel-come…"

"If you say so."

Somewhere upstairs, branches rattled against a window for the last time before the wind waned.

Sakazuki stood up, and the glow on his skin became a shadow play on the wall. There was no change in his stoic surface, but his pupils darted around looking for his clothes.

Oh no. He shouldn't put his wet outfit on again. That would be uncomfortable. And a crime.

"You know… what the best way is to keep warm with only one blanket…?"

Sakazuki squinted at him and raised his eyebrows.

"Yes," he proceeded, and before Borsalino could blink he'd taken the other end of the sofa, politely tugging at the blanket and slipping under it. As he stole his share of body heat, Borsalino became too conscious of the space he occupied on the seat. And, with that particular look he had about him when he retreated into memories, Sakazuki mused, "I had to lie like this all the time when I was a kid."

He can't be that naive, Borsalino thought, the whites of his eyes the slightest bit wider. Oh my god. I should ask him if he needs a massage. No. Don't get too attached. He's a handsome insane man with a mission.

… bet he does it on missionary too...

The combination of the thought and Sakazuki's shift in movement, searching for a more comfortable position, made Borsalino lose balance even though he was sitting. His toes brushed against Sakazuki's jeans, still warm from the fire. When he saw the younger man didn't even spare him a glance, he sunk on the pillows and stretched his feet to rest them on Sakazuki’s lap.

The look of utter disbelief he flashed Borsalino informed him he had the other man's complete attention - if not in a positive way.

"Are you kidding?"

"Mmm, well… it is kind of my couch…"

"What?!," Sakazuki flared his nostrils. "Nothing here belongs to you."

"My pillows, my blanket," Borsalino pointed an eloquent finger at the items as he named them. At that, Sakazuki had no answer, so he stayed silent and shifted away rigidly.

Borsalino allowed him the space, marveled at his obtuseness and his profile, his eyes framed by the roughness of those who have lived too much, too fast.

Would it be a mistake to try for a closer look? He could stretch this awkward dance forever, and part of him wanted to. But hey, you see, if life gives you lemons…

"You read?"

It took him a split second to realise Sakazuki was scowling at the book. Borsalino's droopy eyes tightened a bit.

"Mm-hmm… Does it surprise you?"

"I know you can read," The younger of the two clarified dryly. "But this is not paperwork."

Sakazuki leaned over to stare at the content of a page in which Borsalino, too, feigned a sudden interest. A wave of goosebumps ran over his broad shoulders at the proximity, at the thought of a man, that man, looming over him.

“Well I don't do it on-ly for business," he lengthened the words softly, "but for pleasure too…”

"So do it. Read."

Borsalino looked up at him. The print was a burned negative in his vision.

"I… should read for you?" He smirked, the thought oddly sweet. A rustle upstairs made both of them jerk their heads up. "Aah… That was just the wind."

Sakazuki crossed his arms. "You're switching the topic."

Oh, he's getting to know me. Smarter than the average bear. In truth, Borsalino knew that there was a depth to Sakazuki although people assumed he was some unemotional brute, much like they assumed there was nothing under Borsalino's permanent air of tipsiness. But Sakazuki was intelligent in a way that claimed no attention, that showed only when one asked and listened.

But Sakazuki and books belong in different drawers… Though I can't really say why.

"Aww... I bet we can find some-thing else to do," Borsalino mused. He stole a glance at the man beneath him and grinned dumbly when they locked eyes. "This is nothing for you."

To his surprise, Sakazuki turned his face up and sneered at him.

"Try me."

"Is that right?" Borsalino retreated the book to his lap.

He took air. He dragged through the first words, teasingly neutral as always, but as soon as they began to flow with no signs of mockery or disinterest on Sakazuki’s side, he actually started believing and became motivated, theatrical, eloquent, singing through them more than speaking.

Until, a few verses in, he realised exactly what he was reading.

"If equal affection cannot be…"

He pressed his lips. "...Let the more loving one be me," he said, his voice suddenly tired, slighting away and then trailing off.

Well, clearly the universe is having a laugh.

Sakazuki was looking at him, the glow in his eyes curious, his fine lips pressed.

"I don't care for this poem," Borsalino mused, nonchalantly putting the book away and reaching over for a sip of hot tea-liquor and the ingredients of a cigarette.

"Why not?" Sakazuki's look was as impenetrable as ever, but also expectant. "I found it good. The stars…"

"Mm-hm…?" Borsalino fixed his eyes on his clammy hands trembling around the tobacco, lest his attention push Sakazuki into silence.

"I like the idea that there's something... a law bigger than us. That doesn't give a damn, that is always there and just follows its course and is always the same. It's…"

Borsalino raised his eyebrows.

"Comforting?"

"Yeah."

They locked eyes. Heat crept up his cheeks.

They breathed, slowly, and the fire creaked, and when none of the two broke the visual contact, Borsalino asked himself if he was feeling a spark there or if he'd just gone insane.

Then he was the one to look away.

His hands grasped for the cig. He would need to make a physical effort not to kiss Sakazuki now, and, for that matter, not to grab at his shoulders and tell him this is not our course, there has to be something better for us, let's find it, we will be strong together, we will be fine.

"Aw, I knew you were a softie," he said instead through the thumping pulse in his throat. He punched Sakazuki playfully on the shoulder. The other man didn't dignify that with an answer: his pupils, completely dilated, correctly accused Borsalino of switching the topic again.

Borsalino looked over to the window. Moonlight peered between solid clouds outside, glowing on the whirl of thick snow.

The world was coming down in a storm and the stars didn't care.

Will they ever? Maybe... if Hell can freeze…

"Hey, look how nice," he said innocently, as though for all the world he didn't know how his tone could drastically have changed the atmosphere. He escaped by hopping towards the window again. His cigarette glowed orange at the tip when he sucked in.

Sakazuki's heavier footsteps followed suit. Borsalino bit on his finger, fearing and craving the touch of a robust arm around his waist. Instead, it was velvet that circled his shoulders.

"Here, it's yours," Came the low, wry voice from beneath him, Sakazuki's hand lingering just a moment between Borsalino's shoulderblades before retreating.