leop4rdo

[leop4rdo]

there is nothing human about the way lucci wills his teeth to become fangs that rake at the tender spot at the center of sabo's throat, where beads of sweat pool and the salty taste is almost heady against his tongue. the threat of the leopard's bite is implicit, despite the fact that lucci is still mostly human. the revolutionary gives him such easy access to the most vulnerable part of all living beings, that lucci has to fight the urge to bite down until all life, warm and kicking and desperate, flows out of him. instead of recoiling, sabo spreads like a shell under him. the assassin is filled with the temptation to reach for the pearl hidden within and rip it out, feel sabo's beautiful body go limp under him.

‘i don't see your terms being stated.’ lucci rasps, the mockery in his voice inked dark by a desire so thick it clouds all other impulses. even hunger. he's thought sabo appealing before—attractive, in the way he moves, in the way he fights, in the way he arches and moans ever so wantonly in the darkness of their encounters. he's thought about things he cannot dare confess himself, when he watched sabo lay in the afterglow of it, his bruised skin pale as moonlight, and felt his gums ache to tear him apart. but this is nothing like it. this is—

give me something worth watching.

a clawed finger lines sabo's chin with his as lucci dives to capture his mouth into a slick, heated kiss. his clever provocation deepened until they are both breathless, eyes murky with the blatancy of their intentions. it is not tender, but it is intimate in ways they do not often get to be—by circumstances or by temperament. they do not kiss often, but the assassin finds himself liking the way his lover responds to it. his body alight, suffused with warmth. liquid want glistening like tears in his good eye. he leans back, escaping the scrape of sabo's nails against his nape. they are not touching now, save for the solid intrusion of lucci settling between his legs.

‘you're slacking.’

amusement colors his voice a shade darker. his hand, leopard claws fully unsheathed, travels down sabo's chest to the center of his stomach. he presses into the skin, feeling it heave along his breathing, his heartbeat so loud beneath his fingertips that lucci almost feels it drum in his ears. one of his claws draws a bead of blood, and he reflexively brings his own hand to his lips to lick it off. the tightness of his finely tailored white trousers becomes almost impossible to ignore when heat rushes to his groin, as the ferrous taste finds his tongue. ‘take these off,’ he orders, his finger impatiently hooking to the waistband of sabo's pants. ‘or i will.’

ㅤㅤㅤtheir encounters are never marked as anything gentle — it's not a clashing of lovers or even friends falling into bed. it's worse, if you ask sabo, this third thing that he can't put into words beyond carnal and satisfactory. lucci burns him hotter than his own flame, takes his throat within the maw of his fangs and bleeds him dry of expectations of himself beyond pleasure, and then lets his corpse rot in the setting sun, baked hot with a smile on his face. to most — it might not be a pleasurable arrangement, but to sabo? it was just what he needed. just the proper blend to keep him from teetering over the edge into a darkness he had yet to name. it was laughable, really. by revolutionary standards — lucci was a vile being. he'd killed countless innocents in the name of the world government, and would kill countless more. he protected slavers, a regime that prided itself on treating human like cattle — like literal meat. unfortunately, sabo had never needed him more than in that moment.

ㅤㅤㅤthe agent is a beautiful man, body honed into a lethal weapon, god's-sculpted face devoid of most emotion and eyes a glacial blue to his own warm azure. his scent is warm and spicy, though sabo swears there's always the tang of something wild, and his voice is a rasp of honeyed gravel over his ear, dripping with the promise of just what he needs to forget the blood blooming on the floor from the cavernous hole in ace's chest, the way his eyes had filled with maggots- indeed, thought is chased from his mind, lucci manipulating his body with ease. sabo's thinner frame fits to him perfectly, expertly slotted, and he's not above the way he shudders, the way he makes the softest of noises. he's always been terribly responsive — even from the first encounter it was clear the effect lucci had on him, and even more clear the fact sabo wanted more. this was no different — nails biting into his back, raking fresh red welts until he meets scar tissue, and then pausing to splay wide. they're face to face again, his gaze a little wild — vision dashed from his senses as he hashes something like a sultry grin. ❝ oh, it's always on your terms then? ❞ it almost lands. almost — but there's something off.

ㅤㅤㅤit doesn't matter. his shirt is stripped ( koala would be pissed about the buttons ) and pale chest bared. the way sabo's inhales stutter now is clear as day, unmitigated by soft blue cotton. it might have been a pleasure to watch — had he not been tossed back onto the ugly rug covering the floor with little fanfare. the gesture has his spun gold hair messy, falling haphazardly away from his features and baring both sides of his face clearly. he's too caught up in the moment to change it — too caught up in how lucci looks ready to devour him, and practically hisses his commands. they make him hungry, a boil of heat stirring in his gut as he peers up at the dark-haired man through his lashes, and spreads his long legs in invitation.

ㅤㅤㅤit's a blessed demand - one that he is eager to follow, though his eye struggles to stay open — the cruel twist at his chest earning lucci a gasp, a shudder, and hands darting out on reflex. he reaches for lucci, he practically holds him, one hand settling lightly at the back of his neck, the other gripping the swell of a strong bicep. sabo lays back then, just enough to rest his head on the floor, just enough to flick his gaze back to the corner, and find it blessedly empty. for now. the tension that fades from him is tangible.

ㅤㅤㅤwhen he looks back at lucci, it's with the dig of lethal fingers into his nape, the spit slick swipe of his tongue over his lips again, and a smoky exhalation the beckons to be swallowed. he needs more. just a little more, to chase it all away. and he finds it in the millimeters between them, the way he whispers out: ❝ then give me something worth watching, agent. ❞ please.

[leop4rdo]

the ashen smell of paulie's stupid cigars makes his nose crinkle in plain annoyance.

‘and you really think i need his permission?’

lucci retorts, a biting edge to his tone. clearly strawhat is not the same boy who fought him in enies lobby—none of them is the same, in fact. free from the inconvenience of having to pretend to be someone he is not, the assassin does not care to measure his strength, or the cruel tilt of his voice, much less the driven way in which he carries himself. paulie does not know him. he may think he does, but the man he is chasing has never existed. it's been two years, and lucci barely even remembers the skin that was tailored to fit over his own, the persona that was studied and handcrafted as his cover. hattori sets off as he moves. the way his footfalls strike the polished lab floor is clinical, precise, none of it wasteful.

paulie has a haunted look to his features. he's not the same, either. he looks resentful but expectant, like a kicked dog, and something warm and dark stirs in lucci's stomach at the sight. he closes the distance between them just enough to reach out, pluck the cigar from his lips, and put it out under the heel of his shoe.

you have nothing to say to me?

one of lucci's sleek, dark eyebrows arches—his expression unimpressed, before the beginning of a sharp sneer cuts across his downturned mouth. ‘so that is why you followed strawhat. what do you expect, an apology?’ if that wound hasn't healed, then the assassin pulls at the stitches until they pop. ‘you were a good lay, paulie. don't ruin it.’

paulie knows that their power levels are vastly different; he doesn't know why he thought he could just punch lucci, as if the cipher pol agent wouldn't completely disarm him in a few seconds. and that's what happens. lucci has his arm behind his back, and paulie gasps, head arching back a little bit to try and alleviate the pain. "nngh," he winces. he can feel everyone's eyes on them, but all he can focus on is the way lucci's voice sounds in his ear. how intoxicating it is to hear it. paulie really is a masochist with the way he tears this festering wound right open and bleeds his grief all over them. he tries to move, but any squirming results in pain shooting through his arm. still, he holds up his other hand to the others as they jump up, alarmed. i'm fine, it says. this is a personal matter between lucci and him.

all he can feel is lucci's breath against his skin, reminding him that they are both just men. they are not gods, even if the man restraining him maybe thinks he is. who is this rob lucci? who is the real rob lucci? (was anything they shared real?) paulie walks with him, sweat forming on his brow as they disappear around the corner. he's always worn his heart on his fucking sleeve.

"fuck," paulie breathes out, stumbling forward when his arm is finally freed. he rubs a hand over his shoulder, turning to glare at his former rival. this looks good on lucci, doesn't it? better than that blank stare he always used to give at galley-la. no, this lucci was confident, calculating, evil. paulie's mouth is dry. "you really think strawhat," never luffy, never get that close to them, "is going to let you kill him?" paulie scoffs out, going for one of the cigars on his jacket -- he always makes sure every jacket he has comes with cigar holders. he goes to light it, needing something to take the edge off, something to bring back rational thought and reason. (he'd given up on those a long time ago when he got on that ship to chase after the man in front of him.)

"... you have nothing to say to me?" he asks after a moment, eyes wild as he looks at the assassin before him. "nothing at all?"

[leop4rdo]

love love love when he shows the effects of mindless indoctrination and then proceeds to be very fucking annoyed when celestial dragons exhibit their usual behavior because it shows lucci is a believer but not devoted—like yes he believes they are gods but also his mission takes precedence over any reverence celestial dragons believe they are owed, he prioritizes their safety/the reinforcement of their supremacy and oppression but NOT their worship

[leop4rdo]

i'm obsessed with the concept of lucci being deployed for delicate investigation missions because he is the best option when it comes to following tracks and no one is a better detective than a murderer<3

[leop4rdo]

ONE PIECE EP. 1127 & CH. 1093 - ZORO VS LUCCI

[leop4rdo]

lucci reads paulie's intention with clinical precision. the tightness in his jawline, the focus in his eyes, his clenched fist—the prelude of an outburst if he's ever seen one. there's some lingering soreness in the assassin's muscles from fighting strawhat and the seraphim, not to mention the waning effects of seastone, but he's not nearly tired enough to let such a slow movement land. he steps around paulie, gracefully as if near-dancing, and intercepts his wrist, twisting his arm behind his back. the strawhat pirates and the vegapunks seem to jolt upright, slightly alarmed, but lucci ignores them. he leans slightly over paulie's shoulder, strands of black hair curtaining his expression.

‘iceburg?’ lucci growls, his mouth twisting into a visible grimace. ‘don't make a fool of yourself, paulie.’

the name drags into his voice. dark, deliberate. something about the way lucci says it is—personal. the closeness lights his animal senses. if earlier paulie's heartbeat had mingled with all other heartbeats, now he's painfully aware of the racing rhythm of it by the way it unsteadily throbs in his ears and under his thumb. his scent, too. paulie smells uncharacteristically upset. after two years, the urge to prod at that specific wound rises in lucci like a tide, but he steadies it with the more pressing matter of making paulie fucking shut up and not make a scene in the middle of a very complicated mission. with his arm still painfully twisted behind his back, lucci pushes him around the corner, away from the eyes of his—crew. paulie sways along.

he's malleable beneath his grasp and just as easily affected by his words. certain things don't change.

‘this is the only warning i'm going to give you.’ the threat in lucci's voice is thin and silver like a half-faded scar. he releases paulie with an ungentle shove. ‘don't get in my way.’

paulie knows he's lost his mind.

how else could he explain being so far away from home? when the strawhats left water 7, he'd decided to go along with them to have two shipwrights. him, paulie, a pirate? iceburg and the others were shocked by the decision, but he'd had his reasons.

that face haunts him, in his dreams, in his waking moments... nothing he knows now feels real. he knows he can trust the strawhats, but there's still something gnawing at him in the back of his mind: everything you know is fake. they're lying to you, too, just like him.

him.

rob lucci was a government agent of cipher pol 0. rob lucci was a cold-blooded killer without a heart. rob lucci did not give a fuck about him. . . but rob lucci also had that hair that felt so soft in his hands. rob lucci had those icy eyes that stared at him in the moonlight. rob lucci's hands were calloused, but they touched him with such possessiveness. rob lucci betrayed him. rob lucci lied to him. rob lucci was the bane of his fucking existence and the object of all his desires.

could he kill himself to be with a monster?

paulie doesn't know, but he has to see him again. that's why he'd gone on that ship. and now, his time has come. he stands in the corner of the room as the others talk, his heart pounding in his ears as he stared at lucci and kaku. he thinks he might be having a heart attack, or at the very least a panic attack at seeing them again. his hands clench and unclench. he wants to grab them and scream: hey assholes, didn't think you'd see me again, did you?

he approaches slowly, his body trembling with anger, with fear, with sorrow. everything around him with vegapunk does not matter. all he can focus on is rob lucci. he doesn't know what to say as he stands in front of the cp0 agent, his chest heaving, his hands clenched at his sides. and then he goes to punch lucci in the face. "this is for iceburg, asshole!" / @leop4rdo

[leop4rdo]

sometimes i feel compelled to make a compendium post for all my muses about the same topic and today's topic is eye color

lucci: a cerulean/desaturated blue in human form, ice blue in hybrid or leopard form

kuzan: saddest brown eyes known to man but they have a deep blueish speckle in them when the light hits

katakuri: intense red with a slight pinkish tinge, definitely pinker than perospero's especially if directly exposed to sunlight but still mostly red

dragon: silver, but they turn like this when in hybrid/zoan form

kaido: golden both in human and zoan form

linlin: honeyed, but they're so bright they look almost orange

aramaki: to absolutely no one's surprise, forest green

[leop4rdo]

while the reality of cipher pol training has never been fully covered by oda i do think it entails an eventual selection in which the kids were made to kill each other so that only the truly deserving and most promising ones could become full-fledged agents—overall their training was far stricter and more merciless than that of marines and furnished with an equally crushing indoctrination/propaganda that aimed to strip the children of their emotions in order to turn them into unquestioning tools in the arsenal of the world government, so it was an intersection of psychological abuse, intense brainwashing and extreme physical violence. lucci is absolutely used to disposing of comrades deemed useless or unfit for a reason or another, which is why the wild case of blatant nepotism that was spandam gets on his nerves like no other

[leop4rdo]

[ GUIDE ]: sender notices that the injured receiver isn't able to get undressed without help and offers to do so. starts ripping off clothes without asking. / jabra @bunpiece

‘what the fuck do you think you're doing, mutt.’ 

the haze of blood loss may have dulled lucci's reflexes. they'd established long ago that he could leap at jabra's throat and he'd be too busy scratching the fleas out of his ears to notice, and there is clearly no way for him to get his dirty claws anywhere near his comrade without lucci responding in time, usually violently—but his reaction is uncharacteristically slow, breathed through gritted teeth. warm blood oozes through the white fabric. popped stitches in a wound that's too recent to be perfectly healed. maybe jabra smelled it before he saw the stain... dog-brained as he might be, his nose is as keen as most zoans'.

even hattori coos unhappily, but he flaps onto jabra's shoulder in what strikes as almost knowing complicity. great, lucci thinks. to his deepest displeasure, he has to hold onto jabra's arm for adequate leverage, which gives him more freedom to shred the rest of his shirt and expose the oozing wound at his side. seastone weapons can be a real pain. ‘go get an actual doctor, mutt’ lucci snarls. ‘i'd rather bleed to death than let you put your hands on me.’  

then, a reminder— ‘and you're paying me back for this shirt.’ 

getting undressed / @bunpiece

[leop4rdo]

[ CLEANSE ]: sender, after running the receiver a nice relaxing bath, brings them to the bathroom and carefully helps them get undressed so they can enjoy the bath properly. / sabucci but make it evil (celestial dragon) sabo

what the celestial dragon is doing isn't lost on lucci. there is something dark and appealing about it—the power he is using, the power he was born with, glimmers slow and deliberate like the edge of a knife. sabo wields it gracefully, with a sultry smile on his pretty face, and plunges it deep when he knows the assassin is too busy studying him to react. lucci does react, even if he's not supposed to. a celestial dragon's will is absolute and there is no such folly as refusing it, let alone counter it. but when sabo first puts his hands on him, tugging at the hem of his shirt, lucci snatches his wrist just a few touches away from the last button over his abdomen. surprise seems to spread thinly over sabo's features, and pleasure wires through the assassin at the sight. celestial dragons are not supposed to be touched.

the water runs, steam rising to the roof. there's blood on lucci's clothes... he had not meant for it to spray all over him, but it was a nearly impossible task when the revolutionary's heart was beating at a drumlike pace beneath his fingers. he'd ripped his throat out, and when he'd turned to look at sabo, he'd found him mesmerized. ‘careful,’ he breathes in the noble's face, grip loosening. a signal. in part, a statement—celestial dragon or not, he gets to touch when lucci allows him to. fiddled with, the last button comes undone and his bloody shirt slides off his shoulders, onto the floor. as he leans slightly into the other's space, his dark hair curtains sabo's vision. ‘you'll get blood on your saintly clothes.’ 

sabo mutters something about the water cooling down before turning his attention to the metal button of lucci's pants. the room grows hot, tight. the noble seems irritatingly delighted by the way he feels lucci respond to his touch, and the only thing that keeps the assassin from squeezing his throat until he's kicking for air is the fact that he would probably be lashed or killed for it. he considers, in a surge of amusement, that it would be probably worth it anyway. what he does instead is push sabo away, stepping out of his pants and underwear and into the bathtub. the water immediately drains all his forces, and his muscles strain weakly as he leans against the edge.

the water slowly begins to turn pink with diluted blood. lucci cracks an eye open, even if it feels like an insurmountable task, to find sabo staring by the edge of the bathtub. ‘well?’  his groan has a derisive edge to it. ‘give me a show.’ 

getting undressed.

[leop4rdo]

https://x.com/_mnnd_

[leop4rdo]

i think lucci is very subtly and somewhat subconsciously aware that he has far less agency than he would like to believe, and this results in a deep-seated unwillingness to give anyone any semblance of control over his body. the world government owns it and the rest of him, meaning not only that there is virtually no room for anyone else's claim, but also that he will fight tooth and nail for the scraps he's allowed to keep

[leop4rdo]

i've been thinking about cipher pol (especially cp0) hierarchy because it seems to me that every branch of cipher pol is specialized in a different approach to intelligence where cp9, later reabsorbed into cp0, was the highly secretive section specifically trained for infiltration and assassination—because if not for lucci's squad, other cp0 agents are usually sent on intel-gathering missions or tasked with preventing classified information leaks. lucci and the former cp9 which he commands since their reinstatement were sitll very much trained for a different kind of field work and while they also do usual cp0 missions meaning accommodating celestial dragons and reinforce wg-fabricated propaganda where it threatens to rip, they are, primarily, assassins. lucci takes orders directly from the gorosei, and when he moves alone it's because the job requires a level of secrecy and accuracy that only he can provide—and it involves straight up killing that was commissioned by the elders themselves, not simple intel gathering

[leop4rdo]

deflection.

cipher pol agents know all the ways to circle a truth when the lie has yet to be fabricated. it seems sabo does too, playing into his desire with the desperate urgency of feeling it all around him, inside him, atop him. whatever he thinks he can escape hiding his face in the crook of lucci's neck slithers like fingers reaching blindly into him. hiding. lucci focuses on that small, shapeless thought until it begins to settle—he can't entirely make it out, but his instinct, rarely wrong, vibrates like a pinched string at the pull of his fascination.

when the button pops free, an immediate wave of relief flows through lucci. the strain in his pants is getting more unbearable by the minute, and for a split second he considers giving sabo what he's asking for exactly as he's urging him to, pressing into him until he feels his body go limp with pleasure and his legs give in. he would, but the sting of irritation comes back to prickle the back of his neck. they have many dark hours ahead before sunrise cracks.

‘why, you're going somewhere?’ he shifts, leaning to run the tip of his tongue along the shell of sabo's ear. lucci's hand travels down his spine to lodge in the perfect small of his back, pushing into it so their waists lock—the fleeting friction through the fabric too delicious to linger. his breath blows warmly in sabo's ear as his hand slides further down, the grab at his backside sudden and a little derisive. it feels like sabo startles imperceptibly against him, like a thin silver wave creasing beneath his skin. ‘your other lovers can wait.’  his tongue clicks against the roof of his palate. his voice folds into a drawl, and plain mockery crosses through it like a wiry bone. ‘i'm not in the mood for something quick.’ 

he finds something flickering in sabo's only eye. rising and falling like a breath, and hiding, hiding again. his reflexes flick. he pulls at the hem of the other's shirt, a few buttons popping as he yanks it off of sabo's shoulders. the pale curve of his collarbone shines in the lamplight. lucci pushes him with a clear demand—and when they both land on the floor, he stalks above sabo like an animal smelling the beauty of the imminent kill.

‘eyes on me.’ 

lucci says then, searching for the oversaturated blue of sabo's only eye. he twists a nipple between his fingers. ‘don't wander off.’ 

ㅤㅤㅤthe violent delights that had long since started spelling each of their encounters were not something sabo was ashamed of — if anything, they acted as an outlet. ever since sabo had remembered — ever since he'd eaten his devil fruit, tinged with his sworn brother's soul — he'd been full of too much. there were pieces of sabo at war — the revolutionary armies second, the elder brother of the would-be king of pirates, the younger brother of the now deceased prince of pirates, savior, liberator, flame emperor, burning, burning, burning... fire and blood and ashes on his tongue so thick he can't take in air. why was it here, with rob lucci of all people, he felt the most natural? why was the way their bodies fit together, the pain that edged so sweetly into pleasure, the perfect brand of medicine for the horrors that chased him? and why, most of all, did he not care to know the answer?

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ mm. ❞ is his initial response, eyes fluttering lazily, the good one nearly blackened by the size of his pupil, his body hot and flush with lust alongside it. the hand at lucci's chest moves slow and sensuous over a broad shoulder, along his arm, and finally to his back. the other follows suit, palms flattening against his skin, fingers splayed wide as he clutches. even in the leopard's claws, he tilts his head, not above chasing the lap of that wicked tongue with his mouth, a noise that borders on pleading, before he ultimately surrenders again to the agent's will — that glacial light behind his eyes.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ lucci... ❞ maybe it's a trick, sabo's cleverness causing the dip of his gaze, the almost sultry lid of it — the way he's able to wrest his face free, and instead nuzzle his way beneath lucci's jaw. he's careful to avoid nipping his throat, but shows no qualms about tucking himself away, hidden from predator's gaze. it's almost sweet — sabo's inhalation of his rich cologne, the way his fingertips dig lightly into his back, and how he seems to nudge himself in tight, vision hidden from lucci's sight until he raises his head just enough to peek over that broad shoulder, and stare at that particular corner again.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ my head hurts. ❞ and it does — it throbs, a pounding ache in his left temple, along his skull, but nothing hurts more than the sight in shadows. it feels like the image fades in and out with each breath — heart rate raising, and then calming again. he can see it — he can smell it, magma burns flame burns flesh, logia made mortal. he can imagine it too — the rattle of desiccated lungs : what had ace sounded like as an adult? sabo couldn't hear the one in the corner around the gurgle of blood, unspoken words swallowed by his rancor. he seemed angry. why was he angry — why - ?

ㅤㅤㅤsabo hides his face again, but his heart throbs. he noses at lucci's shoulder, keeps his eyes closed. sinks into the sensation of his hands running over lucci's back, along the waist of his pants, towards the button. the same moment one long leg winds itself around the agent's, he flicks the metal open with clever fingers, and keeps his face hidden. it's more a promise than anything, the lithe press of sabo's body, the warmth of his fingertips. it's clear what he wants and wants to offer. he lets lucci overwhelm his senses, lets the sharpness of him slice away a few of those jagged edges. the prey hides his limp, yet it's heard in the breathless way he utters, ❝ let's not waste any more time. ❞

[leop4rdo]

i'm very fond of the idea of lucci growing his own aromatic herbs that he keeps potted along his windowsill because a) he's not eating unseasoned food b) fresh supply of food seasoning, return to point a) and c) he's italian

[leop4rdo]

the night is young yet. lamplight dances around them, bringing out the backlit animal shine in lucci's eyes when the darkness angles just right across his face. always in passing, never to settle. sabo does not address it—when he looks up, earnest desire ebbs coolly from his expression. he's seen it before. for a while, the assassin chases the challenge as he does any other. the fire is stoked quickly, and it burns brightly, pulling just right at the hem of his collar and the neatly buttoned jacket. a sigh falls from his lips when sabo palms the lines of his muscles through the layers and his head dips to meet him, the kiss urgent and revealing. lucci reads into him like an animal reads the smell of the wind, something desperate and panicked in the way sabo's breath hitches, his heartbeat quickens, quickens—and then steadies again when the bead of lucci's blood mingles with their spit.

the assassin feels irritatingly tested. not deliberately provoked, as sabo does when he wants to feel the weight of lucci's body onto his and the drag of his claws breaking the skin. it is easier, then. a growing familiarity with the way the revolutionary's body jolts alight when lucci is near, how he flees with the expectation of being followed, how he makes excuses for pressing every button when he wants to be hurt. he can map sabo's needs with dangerous certainty—it would have been unthinkable no earlier than a couple of months before. but this... this is different. in sheer frustration, lucci catches sabo's chin between his fingers, the press of his thumb a warning in its own right. sabo looks at him then, through the haze of his arousal. that's it. all it took, really, for lucci to read into him the way an animal reads the smell of the wind. ‘you're miles away.’

the assassin's voice rolls, the slightly accusatory edge of his neutrality almost cooled down to plain curiosity. this is a new reaction. uncharted territory. he wonders what can be done with it. this dark seed roots into him, spindling thoughts he can't quite catch. ‘why is that?’ lucci dips again to lick the saliva glistening on the other's lower lip. his, sabo's—he can't even tell anymore. the message is clear even without the need to voice it: you can't afford to distract.

An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose. / sabolucci<3 / @leop4rdo

ㅤㅤㅤindulgence paints a proverbial room usually so steeped in violence in shades of sinful red instead, walls made shadowed by the yawning labyrinth of desire that stretches between them. it's a gap barely bridged — taken only under the rough curl of claws or the laughing lick of flame, carnivore's growls steeped in revolution's eternal mischief. here though — the world has fallen to pieces, cast outside in a remote island's chilled midnight and marked by the unsurely desperate grip of sabo's hands, the way his touch lingers less like a playful and goading call, and more like he's holding onto something that was never anything he could truly grasp in the first place. bandages dot his pale skin alongside bruises, mottled scarring vivid on his left side, and in the darkness the savage imperfection is all the more vivid, made more ephemeral by the way one sapphire eye catches the lantern's glow.

ㅤㅤㅤhe hadn't really been in his usual mood — hadn't really wanted to entice lucci or clash with him in that lustful, mercurial way of his. there's a deadened edge about sabo that night, something haunted and frustrated, a pounding ache at the base of his skull he knows might manifest as something real to him if he looked at the flames just a little too long. but lucci is an irresistible creature — dark and handsome and deliciously sharp in a way that has the wounded predator in sabo's core raising it's head with curiosity, looking away form the hazy outline of ace he is so sure is staring at him in the corner and instead to the luminous glow of a killer's eyes.

ㅤㅤㅤkissing is rare. or maybe it used to be, he's having a hard time remembering. still - every brush of lips from lucci feels like a livewire, something he couldn't free himself from if he tried. he's magnetic, inevitable. and so it is, the revolutionary pressed flush to him, the wall a greater alternative than any bed. lucci is solid beneath the press of his bare fingertips, warm and distinctly real - and he chases that realness with a press of fire-soft lips, spit-slick and supple and warm. it's just a press — but for them, it's entirely too chaste. harmless, and lulled by the heavy lid of sabo's blue gaze. breaths are shared, the mingling of taste, finely boned digits roving the agent's chest, and sabo waits to be tossed across the room, effectively eviscerated for touching sweetly, instead of carnally.

ㅤㅤㅤthe greed of man has him on his tip toes, going in for another, and then another - and then another. the soft swell of lucci's mouth, the overwhelming heat of him, the scent of his cologne — sabo kisses into his being like a secret, tongue skating over fangs and drinking deep of a well of barely contained need. with each passing breath, what is true comes into focus — what is not chased away. teeth sink into lucci's lower lip for his efforts, and sabo offers him the arch of a svelte frame to his as thank you for his unknown assistance, and only when he's certain he's pushed the agent's patience to it's limit does he pull back just slightly, centering himself with that ever familiar gleam of lucci's eyes.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ you're real, right? ❞

[leop4rdo]

when blueno said they had captured one more uninvited guest, lucci had only shrugged, readily disinterested. one or two won't make any difference if the destination of the ride is the same for all of them. the tower of justice stands stark as a blade against the sky as it grows leaden with clouds; all the prisoners are dragged there, unconscious or in chains or both. all, except nico robin. she follows them willingly, whatever human vulnerabilities are troubling her safely hidden in the shade that the hood casts upon her face. then, inside the tower, they are separated. nico robin is caged by thicker locks than the ones clicking around her comrades' wrists, and strictly supervised. but the other ones must be dealt with quickly—spandam can't be bothered with, he's already making den den mushi calls babbling about his inevitable promotion, so it falls on lucci. of course it does.

starting from the blond one.

he pulls a chair in front of him right as he's beginning to stir. there's dried blood caked in his hair all the way down to his temple, clearly blueno did not go easy on him. lucci feels the beginning of a grin pull lightly at the corners of his mouth. ‘save that for last.’ a soft cooing sound from hattori punctuates that. ‘i'd start with your name first, pirate.’  

it was a risk, getting on the train, but what was he supposed to do? let robin run off on her own? he'd said it to chopper: a man forgives a woman's lies. luffy gives him the OK to fight back with all his might, to bring robin home. he is confident in his abilities as a fighter, as a strategist, even at this young age. plus, he has usopp and franky with him, the latter a surprising ally in all of this...

they would do whatever it takes, getting robin back. sanji wasn't going to quit on her, not when he was so close.

there is the sound of a creaking door behind him. . . he stops in horror as he turns his head, the broken car floating above the ocean. this hit from a CP9 member nearly incapacitates him in one go -- the pain surges through his chest, and he soars across the car, dropping down. . . he won't give up! he can't! as he gets up to attack blueno again, his foot is grabbed, and the force he is slammed into the floor knocks the wind right out of him. sanji is lightheaded, dangling in blueno's grasp. . . sanji! (usopp's voice? maybe?) his eyes are heavy, head spinning. . . everything goes dark.

wow, the throb in his skull is prominent when he slowly wakes, and sanji grimaces. "nngh... shit." he tries to assess the situation, eyes blurry as they open from the probable concussion... what had happened, while he was unconscious? / @leop4rdo