Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Now, let's go over that again, brat!"

The famed Vice Admiral Garp towers over you, all tanned skin and muscle and old scars. Only that little white towel wrapped tightly around his lower waist keeping you from seeing him fully. Though it does little to hide the coarse trail of snowy hair below his belly button, The veins below the slight sagging pudge of his lower stomach thick and bulging with blood. Healthy and vigorous despite his age. The peek of those large, saggy dark balls beneath the pristine white terry fabric. The standardized towels kept in the locker rooms were always too small for him. Yet he never bothered asking for the larger size.

You swallow back the build up of saliva in your mouth before responding. The movement of your throat too loud in the quiet space of the men's locker room. The cold press of the locker against your back the only relief from the heat radiating off his skin, fresh from the steamy baths. Your bucket and mop forgotten near one of the benches.

"I-it's really my day to clean! I swear, Vice Admiral Garp!"

Your voice shaky, eyes big and wet as you look up at him. Pitiful. Your lower lip jutting out, wobbly. Your hot, flustered cheeks slightly smushed in the firm grip of his massive hand, easily keeping your head tilted up to look at his sharp, fiery eyes, the disappointed furrow of his burly grey brows. Oh…

You loved when he looked at you like this.

"I really didn't mean to…I just..I-I couldn't help it, Vice Admiral…p-please.."

You murmur in that soft, quivering voice. A little sniffle. A slow, sad flutter of your lashes.

Your fingers loosening their grip on the garment they held. The soft cotton fabric of Captain Koby's boxers. Today they were muted green with little colorful fish. His favorite pair, judging by the frequency you saw them. Still slightly damp with his sweat. Remnants of a little wet spot from where the tip of his cock must of rested against the green fabric. You were only going to use them for a little bit. Before Koby came back from baths. You always only needed a few minutes. You always timed it perfectly.

"Naughty brat."

Garp lets out a gruff sigh. Letting go of your cheeks to take the boxers out of your hands, placing them back into the opened locker next to you. The metal locker shuts with a resounding click.

"You can't keep doin this, kid. I won't always be around to save your sorry hide."

His eyes softening into something more gentle as he watches your face, the nervous twitch of your fingers against your shabby uniform. You wondered what he saw in you. Still wanting to guide you despite your depravity. You wouldn't question it.

"We've been over this hmm? No need for all this boxer sniffin. Just talk to him. A little chat here and there. Koby's a good man. He'll treat you well."

It was true. Captain Koby was an exceptionally good man. No. Good was not a word that did enough justice for what he was.

He held a special place in your heart. How could he not? He had saved you from that desolate island once called your home. Stood up to his superiors to give you this opportunity to live and work at New Marineford when you had nothing.

Never forgetting you even though it had been a few years since then. How his eyes lit up when he spotted you in the hallways or when he helped you carry the bulky stacks of towels. Always catching your eyes even when you thought yourself invisible, just another cleaner.

You wanted him to always smile so brightly like that when he said your name. You wanted more and more and more. Things that would no doubt scare your precious savior off. Things only kept in your tiny cot. In the minutes of empty rooms that held traces of him. Your hero. Your god.

But Vice Admiral Garp. Well..

He was special too.

Not placed on that high pedestal dedicated only to your hero, yet still eliciting want and need. Hunger. Especially as of recent. The touch of his large, calloused hands were tangible. Easy to obtain. Relieving despite the heat and slick they always drew out. Satiating the deep hunger that the touch of Koby's boxers against your aching pussy had barely been able to satisfy.

"Will you..will you punish me, Vice Admiral?"

Like last time?

The unspoken words the loudest. Your thighs pressing together already in anticipation. Heart beating fast.

A soft snort from his nose, the slight crinkle highlighting the subtle crookedness from an old injury. That familiar amused grin lighting up his face. Eyes narrowed and dark. Vibrant despite the wrinkled lines of his face. An undying flame. You, the moth drawn to them, praying for them to never extinguish. You needed this guidance.

Needed to see that carnivorous desire when he looked down at you.

Feel it.

"You want me to punish you, hmm?"

The little drip, drip of the leaky shower head was thrilling. Arousing. Like a little bell you had been conditioned to associate with the greedy wetness of your folds, the fluttery need of your twitching hole.

This small shower stall yet again becoming a little heated den of carnal desire. A pleasingly confined space, only wet tile and cold metal and the press of hot, tough tanned skin on your own.

Your breath coming out in cloudy little puffs, fogging up against the polished metal of the shower handle. In it, you could still slightly see your distorted blurry forms. Your pitifully small, naked body engulfed in hard muscle.

A single hand holding your waist, large thick fingers easily wrapping past your bellybutton, calloused fingertips on the soft skin of your hips. The thick veins of his leathery hands still prominent despite his relaxed grip. Leisurely dragging you up and down his seemingly endless, meaty thigh.

"A-aah.."

Little weak breathy mewls leaving your wet mouth. Hot breath having no where to go but back against your flustered cheeks and heavy lashes, the bronzed, steely chest pressed against the back of your head.

Your lower stomach already feeling so twisted and taut, sore with pleasure. Skin on skin so wet and too slick. A glossy trail marking where your pussy lips moved across his thigh. Arousal smeared on the downy hair that concealed your crying cunt, on the wiry grey hair of Garp's thighs.

"I…I want to practice like last time…a-ahh..please.."

Your hips tilted down shamelessly to chase that addicting buzz of your beady little clit against crinkling muscle. Your head weightless, toes clenched in pleasure.

"Still hungry for more, huh? Greedy brat!"

A little nip at your ear, the feel of his large, white teeth on your hot skin. His grin and scratchy beard still wet with your drool, with the sticky remnants of what had trickled out of your twitching hole onto his hefty tongue.

His hand that held your breasts, a single thick finger flicking and swirling between both of your tingling nipples with ease, finally letting go to trail down the buzzing, trembling flesh of your stomach. One meaty finger dipping between your sticky thighs. The soft underbelly of his knuckle blanketing your clit as his finger curled inward, fingertip disappearing between your slick pubes.

"Remember. This is practice for the future, right?"

The future. Vice Admiral Garp always loved to talk of the future. Whether it be during his lectures, his thundering scolding, or like this, just the two of you in the tiny, humid shower stall.

You mindlessly nodded. Whatever would get you to feel that addicting little burst in your tummy, relief for your burning core.

A firm little tap of the square tip of his giant middle finger on your entrance, the noise too squishy and sinful. Your hole already squeezing, begging, weeping to take in the large, thick calloused length.

Your heart a heavy, fast drum against your chest, dizzying. Little wanton whimpers dripping from your tongue along with your drool.

Eyes unfocused, hazy. Looking at the tanned finger that covered your pussy with ease, little white hairs between his knuckles. Calloused and wrinkly, marred with little pale marks and bumps of old scars.

Eyes greedily flicking to look at that monstrous meaty thing that rested against one of your outer thighs, the leaky tip bumping against your knee. A deep dark color, all veins and girthy flesh. Twitching with vitality.

The needy whine at the back of your throat easily brought out as a cry by another tap against your hole. The firm texture of his fingerpad starting to wiggle into your wet little entrance. Slowly working into your gummy inside, lewd little noises of his smooth nail, his flesh pushing against your walls.

"Now, Koby should be about this size..maybe a little bigger…he'll have to work you open like this.."

Garp's sizzling breath against your already burning head. A deep, soft chuckle, an exhale of breath as your pussy clenches and strains around the invading length. Just a finger and yet so, so big. Your head, your pussy feeling so mushy.

"Fucking the real thing will feel better but you're getting the idea, right?"

His chuckle a little more boisterous, echoing against the tile walls as your head bobbles, mind too clouded to fully nod. His finger curling more, too thick and practiced, easily seeking out that special spongy part that has you keening. You're burning, melting, drowning. Too alive.

The squelch of his finger between your fluttery walls getting louder and louder as more liquid trickles out.

"Shh, Shh..good girl.."

A throaty hum to shush your brainless little noises, grin turning to something gentle despite how his finger still remains gripped in your gluey hole.

He gives you a moment to breathe, your chest rising fast, eyes droopy and body boneless. Only propped up by his large firm hands, the hard muscle of his chest and thighs that you rested upon.

Finally he turns on the shower, warm water slowly trickling down onto your dried slick, your scorching skin. The water flow becoming stronger, a comforting pitter patter against the tile. Drowning out whatever little remark for the future Vice Admiral Garp was saying now.

Drowning out the little wet slap slap sounds in the shower stall next to yours. The quiet breathy little groans that Koby could barely hold back between gritted teeth and wobbling lips. Face red and pink hair still damp and plastered to his forehead, eyes screwed tight. Knuckles white as he gripped his hard weeping cock, spit covered hand moving desperately to the memory of your pleasure.