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At no point has Law ever been able to predict anything about the Strawhats, the insane things they get up to, or the insane things they rope him into doing. All this experience and observation — traveling halfway across the New World together, having reindeer tied to his head and getting carried bodily all over Dressrosa and actually planning and executing an Emperor takedown he’d only even thrown out as bait — and he still gets caught flat-footed by their antics on a near-daily basis.
Law certainly never planned to fall into bed with any of them.
(If Law had, which he hadn’t, he would have expected it to be with Strawhat himself. But the man has less interest in sensuality than in adopting a vegetarian diet, so it doesn’t bear thinking about.)
And if he had ever let his mind wander down the tortuous road of such a ludicrous hypothetical, his list of more-likely outcomes would not have included getting propositioned by the most stable couple on the Strawhat crew. (Possibly the only couple. Law doesn’t know what exactly is going on between Roronoa and Blackleg, he doesn’t want to, and he doesn’t think they know either.) He’s got opinions about relationships among crewmates, but Cyborg Franky and Nico Robin seem happy enough together.
Also, Law is not in a position to judge, since he’s made up his mind to take them up on the offer to fuck them both.
It had become habit to take tea with them on the Sunny, before he’d realized they were a couple and he was gate-crashing some kind of daily moment, because there was nowhere to go on the little ship where someone else wasn’t and they were the Strawhats least likely to badger him into fishing or sparring or eating more. It had continued on Bartolomeo’s travesty of a vessel because he didn’t give a shit about being an inconvenient third wheel and the Barto Club seemed loathe to interrupt the couple’s time together, so it was a rude but easy way to steal some relative peace. And then on the Polar Tang, occasionally, because…no real reason. Some vague sense of obligation about making at least a token effort as a host, perhaps.
Now they’re in Wano, Kaido has fallen, the Strawhats and the Hearts are the feted guests of the newly inaugurated shogun, and his body has evidently come to feel entitled to tea and bite of something not too sweet halfway through the morning. And so as on many mornings, this morning had found him gravitating to a shaded veranda where Cyborg and Nico had been served tea.
They only needed two cups, but they had more than three, so Law hadn’t read into it. Much.
Nico nodded at him as he sat. “The wounded?”
“Fallen Snow-ya is overtraining already,” he grouched. “Everyone else not already dead is on track to recover.”
“And the repairs?”
Law shrugged, taking a piece of daifuku from the tray. The food in Wano was nothing to get excited about for the most part, in his opinion, but he did vastly prefer mochi to the biscuits more common throughout the Grand Line. “Progressing. Yours?” He wasn’t about to give them a full rundown on the work they were doing on the Tang, but if they wanted to blather out intel about the status of the Sunny in the name of small talk he wasn’t going to stop them.
“The Sunny’s in super shape!” Cyborg told him cheerfully. “The smiths here are something else, huh? Sure, it’s a bummer that they’re so good with weapons because of Kaido.” He and Robin both sobered slightly, then he shrugged, buoyed again. “Might steal some ideas and do a few upgrades on the ol’ Battle Franky while we’re here!”
“How much of your original organic systems have you retained?” Law had asked. He’d been genuinely curious, mulling on the implications of the level of replacement Cyborg had performed on himself, much of it clearly elective. At what point did a man become a robot? Or could all parts be replaced in time while retaining the humanity of the subject?
His musings were blown apart when the shipwright winked at him and said in a tone that couldn’t be described as anything but sleazy: “Wanna play doctor and find out, Torao-bro?”
Law’s jaw dropped slightly (an unfortunately common experience around the Strawhats) because Cyborg Franky was frequently salacious – he was usually barely dressed, devil’s sake – but that was crossing the line into flirtatious, and Nico was right there.
And Nico did turn to her partner, intent, who looked back, a silent conversation of eyebrow raises and glances and tiny head tilts that had Law curling a hair tighter around Kikoku and his tea, fully expecting he was about to play unwilling audience to some kind of veiled lovers’ spat. These two were supposed to be some of the saner Strawhats. He tolerated their company because they sometimes made for interesting conversation and didn’t go off like rabid monkeys on a hair trigger like some of their crewmates. If they were about to get messy he was leaving, half-finished tea or no.
Nico turned back to him calmly and said: “The ability to take apart and rearrange a body does make certain explorations more exciting, doesn’t it?”
“If you measure excitement by the screaming,” Law said, quipping on reflex as he tried to read the mild-as-ever tone of her comment.
“Screaming. Shaking. Crying,” Nico nodded, “All very informative indicators.”
“You a screamer when you’re taken apart, doc?” Cyborg leered.
He relaxed slightly. There didn’t seem to be any tension between them. Law was…not entirely certain if he was being hit on or if the conversation has just taken a turn for the darkly bawdy, and he wasn’t about to make or act on any assumptions. But what was the harm in some banter?
Tapping his fingers against Kikoku’s hilt, Law drawled, “Wouldn’t you like to know. Is dismemberment your usual strategy when trying to get a rise out of someone? I would think between the two of you, your approach would be one of adding rather than subtracting parts.”
“Hey, I’m a problem-solver,” Cyborg laughed. “If a creative re-configuration gets the job done I’m all for it.”
“And what’s the point of being pirates with body-modification abilities if we’re not taking full advantage of their hedonistic potential?” Nico said.
“True. We’re already notorious for our twisted debauchery. Might as well live up to our reputations,” Law agreed dryly.
Cyborg looked blatantly at Nico. Nico met his gaze, and then they both turned to look at Law. Law looked blandly back, refusing to appear unnerved by the attention.
“Our hosts were kind enough to offer the two of us a private room, a little separate from where the rest of us are staying, as we so rarely have privacy on the Sunny,” she said. Still placid as a winter lake. “You’re welcome to join us at sundown if you’d be interested in exploring practical applications of all our unique abilities toward…’twisted debauchery’.”
Ah. Law took a sip of his tea.
“…Is this a pursuit for you at every port of call,” he deadpanned.
Nico smiled into her cup. “No.”
“First time for everything!” Cyborg said. “We thought it could be fun, so why not? You’re a good friend and we both think you’re super hot.”
“We’re allies, not friends,” he said automatically, even though they weren’t even that anymore now that Kaido was defeated. His ears and neck burned at the realization that the pair had evidently discussed this. Him. In this light.
“Franky and I hold you in high regard,” Nico said, brushing past his protest, “and thought you might be of a like-minded persuasion in the matter of…personal experimentation.” That unflappable smile softened. “If you aren’t interested, we won’t take offense.”
“…I’ll consider it,” he said, pulling his hat down over his too-warm ears, then got to his feet. “In the meantime, I have a crew to manage.”
This was a real reason representing a real to-do list of real and specific tasks that were sure to keep him busy all day, and not an excuse to exit the conversation immediately. Even if he had taken his tea with him.
Law needed to ascertain if he even had any interest in taking up such an offer, was what he had told himself. Unfortunately, it was not a very effective lie, and did not bear up under even a minute of cursory examination.
More honestly, he did need to assess whether this was an attempt by a rival pirate crew to get under his skin or worse. Nico Robin was hard to read, a practiced liar and spy. If it were just the former Baroque Works agent involved he’d be more suspicious that this was a ploy to get his guard down. But the Strawhats’ shipwright was a sentimental type. Elaborate mental games weren’t his style; blasting people in the face with an oversized missile of a fist was. While on board both the Sunny and the Tang Law had seen the way that Nico leaned into him, how careful the cyborg was with his steel armament when she’s in his space. Law didn’t think she’d involve him in such a deception.
Insofar as he’s established trust with anyone outside his crew, Law begrudgingly concedes that he had, a little, with the two of them. Nico Robin knew his secret name. Cyborg Franky had been in the engine room of the Tang, and Ikkaku even let him help with repairs. They were both there in Dressrosa, with everything that entailed. They came aboard his submarine without the protection of their captain and followed the plan he created with Kin’emon, forging out alone and half blind in a strange land at his direction. It wasn’t out of the question that the Strawhats would turn on him now that their shared goals had been reached, it’d be the smart thing to do—
But, he had to admit wretchedly, based on everything he’d witnessed in the last few months, such a move would be more characteristic of himself than any of Strawhat’s crew.
The Strawhats were uniformly loyal to their captain. And while he had no doubt that they took the responsibility of being more suspicious than their blithely trusting leader seriously, they’d never do something that he’d disapprove of. Sabotage via seduction certainly qualified. Law didn’t trust like Strawhat Luffy, but he liked to think he was a good judge of where people drew their lines.
And so now he’s confronted with the invitation, at face value: an offer to casually hook up based on a combination of physical attraction and sheer macabre curiosity.
It would track. They’re both fucking weird and morbid. He’s weird and morbid and they know it. And yeah, obviously when his body started to change and he developed an interest in such things, Law had experimented privately. Using it with someone else for that purpose, though, that’s not a door he’s opened. For one thing, up until he and his crew had gotten strong enough to reach and thrive on the Grand Line, he’d been paranoid about letting knowledge of his highly coveted devil fruit spread too far and fast. For another, using it for anything more creative than shambling lube from across the room was sure to end, slow, or at least complicate encounters that he preferred to keep as efficient as possible.
When he’s not using his devil fruit power to save lives as it was intended, he’s using it to terrify people. Which Law enjoys. But there’s something undeniably transgressive and exciting about the idea of playing around with it in bed with people that bring the same intellectual curiosity to the visceral mechanics of the body that he does. And he’s just as curious about how Nico’s power and the cyborg’s body work.
Ultimately, while both powerful in their own right, Law doesn’t believe Cyborg Franky and Nico Robin can do anything to him that he doesn’t allow, and as much as it annoys him, he doesn’t believe the Strawhats would. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s fucked other pirates. The real problem is that between their overlapping goals and Strawhat’s delusions of friendship, the Hearts are inevitably going to run into them again, as foe or otherwise. And fucking around with them now might make things awkward in the future.
Which is a pathetic concern. Why should he care? Law hates it on principle, which makes him all the more inclined to crush his weakness down harder by facing head-on what will realistically (he tells himself several times) at the very worst be an embarrassing disappointment for everyone involved. There’s little the Strawhats can tactically gain with that.
Anyway, it isn’t like it would mess up the alliance. Because it’s already over.
(Law wonders if it might upset Strawhat regardless. It seems…unlikely. In the event that he even found out, it wasn’t like he has a reason to be interested, and Strawhat is frustratingly proficient in barreling obliviously past anything he isn’t interested in.)
Rather than letting himself dwell on that thought any longer than is warranted by strategic concern for the future, Law heads to the market. It’s always better to prepare for all possibilities. If they’re serious about bringing devil fruit powers out to play, he needs a blade, and as comfortable as he is with Kikoku, involving a cursed blade who hates most people to a sexual encounter is just irresponsible. A scalpel would work, but if this goes badly he doesn’t want to be reminded of the event every time he goes into surgery. Instead he finds a nice folding knife, the handle black lacquer inlaid with abalone cherry blossoms. Suitable, an adequate emergency weapon, and if nothing else, an adequate souvenir from Wano.
The sun begins to set, washing the Flower Capital honey-gold. Law has made up his mind. He’s not going to pull that crap where he paces outside their room at the last second. Especially because he doesn’t know how good the cyborg’s hearing is, and he does know exactly how good Nico is at seeing and hearing whatever she wishes. Instead he shaves and bathes, because taking daily baths without worrying about limited freshwater supplies is a luxury he takes full advantage of. He…prepares in other ways, aided by the aforementioned amenities. He debates having a stiff drink, doesn’t, debates rounding up his crew for some bullshit reason despite having already told them to go entertain themselves for the rest of the day, doesn’t, debates what he should wear, ultimately throws on just a yukata, puts the knife in his pocket, takes it back out and trims his nails, puts it back in his pocket, debates whether to wear his hat, decides he will, decides it’s not like he’ll be wearing it long and therefore it may appear defensive, takes it off, combs his hair, ruffles it back up again. The sun is slipping under the horizon, its last edge lancing deep orange across the room, across his disheveled futon. He slept poorly last night; he sleeps poorly most nights. Maybe tonight could be different. Law could have a rare quiet evening to himself and go to bed early. The inlaid knife is heavy in his pocket.
Law goes.
There’s no surprise in the voice that answers his knock, and when he opens the door there are no surprises for him. The room is much the same as his, well-kept but minimalist in the way that seems to be the tradition here in Wano, with tatami flooring and a plush futon instead of a bed frame. Cyborg and Nico are there, sitting and kneeling respectively at the low table. He’s inordinately relieved to see a sake service for three as well as a stack of towels and lubricant. Law didn’t misread the situation. Not that it had been ambiguous, just – he’s relieved he prepared correctly, and that he’s not the only one that came prepared.
For once. Speaking of,
“If you call me any variation of that stupid name Strawhat came up with I’m leaving,” he says flatly.
The cyborg gives him a double thumbs up and a wink. “You got it, Law-bro! First name basis for the evening.”
Sure. Fair. He can do that.
“Law,” Nico – Robin says warmly. “We’re so glad you came. Please, you’re welcome to join us.” She gestures gracefully to the third cushion at the table. The geisha training clearly suited her.
He nods, pads in, folds down into a seiza. Wraps himself in the familiar feeling of trying to look more confident than he feels. Mentally Law knows he’s grown out of his gangly phase as much as he’s going to and that some people find him physically attractive, but he’s just as aware he’s a little awkward in purely social situations with no ulterior motive to pursue and that most people find him creepy, which…he is. It’s a reputation he’s deliberately cultivated. Still.
On some deep animal level, he’s always going to be a boy convinced people are going to throw rocks when he approaches.
That said, while he knows little of Cyborg Franky’s history, “Demon Child” Nico Robin can probably relate.
The three of them sit in silence as Robin pours the sake with perfect form, passes around the little cups. Law takes a sip, an excuse not to speak first. It’s light, sweet. The room is neatly kept, the few belongings the Strawhats brought with them or obtained here in Wano stacked against the wall. The windows are shuttered, likely in the interest of privacy – it’s a fine evening outside. It’s warm but his scalp prickles in a way that always feels like a chill without his hat. Law shifts a little on the cushion. After several weeks in the country he’s still not really accustomed to this position, and he resists the urge to sprawl, take up space to convince his body he is comfortable by putting on the appearance of it.
The pair sitting across from him exchange a look, Franky’s brow rising slightly and Robin’s tongue darting out to wet her lip, and, oh. For all their projected confidence this morning, they’re also nervous and not sure how to start.
Well if there’s anything he’s good at besides surgery, it’s taking charge and faking it when nobody knows what to do. “You said something about finding out which parts of you are still organic?”
Franky grins.
And so he gets to disassemble the cyborg, separating the artificial from the organic. Robin is very insistent on carefully arranging the pieces in anatomical order, each piece a few inches apart, as though diagramming the proper articulations of a jumbled skeleton. Franky is a large man even when all in one piece; spread out like this he takes up nearly the whole floor, and they have to push the futon and table out of the way. All around Law segments of machinery and viscera are ticking, pulsing, throbbing, gears turning, colorful fluids flowing from piece to amputated piece. They shine and glisten in the strange light, the cool glow of his Room overlaid on warm lamplight.
(The answer to the question that precipitated the entire situation: about 40% of the man appears to be original organics.)
Law knows broadly how the systems of the Tang work, but he’s no engineer. Typically he relies on human or animal transplants when dealing with irretrievable organ failure. Probing the hybrid systems Franky has packed away in his abdominal and thoracic cavities is incredibly educational. Other than perhaps Dr. Vegapunk himself, Law suspects the cyborg has pushed the limits of what the human body can do further than anyone else on the planet.
Maybe he can be bribed with sexual favors to upgrade the Tang’s dialysis machine.
Law scans the architecture of his heart, still mostly intact, but with two additional chambers where artificial conduits ride the natural heartbeat to also pump clear bluish fluid through another system. “What’s the secondary circulation?”
“Lubricant and chemical scrubbers, mostly,” Franky says. Law left his head intact, despite it also being a fascinating mix of familiar anatomy and robotics, and Robin created a short pillar of arms and hands to hold it up so that he can watch the proceedings too. “Not gonna lie, it is super cool that everything still works when you’ve diced it up. How long does it last outside of your sphere?”
“As far as I’ve observed, the connection is sustained indefinitely, regardless of distance,” Law says, pressing the latex and muscle halves of Franky’s heart back together and watching them pump in perfect synchronicity. Seamless. Stunning. “I’ve removed hearts from people and left them that way for years without it impacting their health. As long as the organ is not damaged by other means, anyway.”
“Damn, bro. Can you take apart the systems of the Polar Tang without having to shut her down?” Franky asks enviously, groaning a little when he nods. “That’s so handy.”
“Very.”
Law hasn’t forgotten that the point of this tryst was to have sex of some description. And probably a bizarre description, at that. The cyborg stripped naked before Law cut him apart (not much of a difference from his usual attire) but Law and Robin haven’t gotten any farther than untying their yukata. Nico Robin wasn’t wearing anything under hers either, and he’s not not interested in all the skin on display.
But the cyborg’s anatomy is genuinely fascinating on a scientific level, Robin clearly agrees, and Franky seems thrilled to show off his work. Law is anything but disappointed that they haven’t done anything but literally pull him apart like a puzzle and talk shop while drinking sake. He’s certainly more relaxed than he was when he arrived.
And he’d never admit it, but examining the sheer genius of what Franky has done to his body isn’t making him less interested. So maybe Law is a little turned on by a show of competence. He’s been dealing with a lot of idiots lately, ok?
Robin runs her finger along the inner edge of Franky’s shin, what would usually be the seam where it meets metal. It makes both the flesh-and-blood half of the leg and the mechanical armoring several inches away kick slightly. “Can you choose to cut that connection?”
“Not without actually touching it, not if it is…part of whatever I’m dissecting.” Which seems to have more to do with his own subconscious perception than anything; Law is never going to deny that the flexibility it gives him is damn useful, but the subjectivity of it still aggrieves him a little due to its illogic. “If I want to permanently excise something that developed as part of the organism rather than a contaminant or foreign body – say, a tumor – I apply the scalpel directly.” Law gestures with his knife. “Removing a tumor with just the devil fruit relieves any pressure it might be putting on adjacent structures, but it continues to use blood supply and the patient would feel it if I disposed of it – burned it, or whatever.”
“Or if scavenging animals tore it apart?” Robin’s eyes shine. “Fascinating.”
He’s been trying to find a tactful way to ask ‘why the hell are you bisected on the frontal plane with the anterior half mostly mechanized’. Only it’s such an odd choice he doubts it was a choice at all. People don’t start down the road of this kind of extreme body modification without a damn pressing reason. His curiosity wars with his abject horror at the idea of accidentally triggering an emotional conversation by way of some deeply personal backstory. It’s probably a rude question, too, but if his personality was a dealbreaker he wouldn’t have been invited in the first place.
Morbid curiosity wins.
“Easier to access your front half than the back?” he posits, tracing the flat edge of the knife along one of the seams on the cyborg’s chest.
“Well, yeah, but I was hit by a sea-train, head-on,” Franky says. Robin strokes his calf in a way that could be construed as soothing, and Law suppresses a wince. This is exactly what he hoped to avoid. But Franky sounds upbeat as he goes on, “I was pretty smashed up all up and down the front. Luckily I landed near a scrap heap where I could fix myself up.” He laughs, exposed diaphragm jouncing heartily. “And I couldn’t stop there, once I realized I could build my body to be even more super!”
The surge of fellow-feeling is—unexpected. Franky speaks cheerfully, but Law doesn’t have to imagine what it’s really like: it’s hell, being holed up dying somewhere filthy and dangerous, with nobody coming to help and no choice but to tamper with your own body in ways that might make it worse because the only other option is giving up and letting death take you. At least the Op-Op fruit creates a sort of stasis field, makes it harder to bleed out or get infected.
“Impressive work. That takes guts,” he says evenly, not looking up.
“As you know from experience,” Robin says, and he startles, before remembering that they’d both witnessed him operating on himself in between bouts of sleeping like the dead in the aftermath of Dressrosa. “An impressive pair of gentlemen. Super, even.”
Without his hat all he can do is scowl and force himself not to hunch his shoulders up to his ears. One of Franky’s dismembered hands flips its fingers like he’s trying to wave off the compliment.
“Aww, you’re making me blush, babe!”
Unsurprisingly, given that his anterior abdomen was apparently demolished by a train, Franky does not have an organic dick. When Law unlatches and flips open the steel casing of his crotch he discovers a spigot. He’s not sure what he expected.
“Practical,” he says.
Unbothered, Franky guffaws at him. “To be honest, I never really thought I’d have a reason to put something else there until this one came along.” The look he gives Robin is unbearably tender.
“You are more than adequately equipped,” Robin says, smirking.
Franky smirks to match. “Always working to improve the arsenal.”
With all the other weapons and bells and whistles he has hidden away in his chassis, Law doesn’t doubt it for a second. “Looking forward to learning more about them.”
Robin has gradually crawled her way among all the arranged pieces of her partner to sit by the largest organic segment, which includes much of his spine and pelvis (reinforced with metal but otherwise intact apart from some long-healed breaks) and attached musculature, the still-organic parts of his abdomen, and his upper thighs.
“I’m going to finger you now, dear,” she says sedately, making herself comfortable between Franky’s legs.
That gets the attention of everyone in the room immediately. Franky makes some salacious joke that Law doesn’t even register, too busy noting manically that at least he’s not the only one blushing at the abruptness of the announcement. Yeah, they’d been pretty open about the fact that devil fruit abilities being on the table was part of why they’d propositioned in the first place, but he still hadn’t quite believed they were serious about fucking while actually dismembered.
“Packed the essentials for Wano, I see,” he deadpans as she slips a tin out of her yukata pocket.
“Hah! It’s medical grade lube. The same stuff I use on my joints internals,” Franky says, but his voice cracks a little. She’s pushed his thighs further apart, holding them with a knee and one hand. Law doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s shifting closer just to watch.
Robin doesn’t appear even remotely bothered by the exposed muscle and viscera, lightly skimmed by the statis field. If anything, she seems thrilled to take advantage of the fact that the dissection has presented the option of palpating Franky’s prostate from the front while also pressing fingers inside of him via the usual route. Based on her expression, she’s imagining the prospect of removing and handling the gland like a stress ball with an intensity that is a little terrifying despite the fact that Law’s mind had set the same heading. He resists the sudden instinct to press his own knees together.
“You still have prostate orgasms, I would guess?” Law says.
“Oh yes, he does,” Robin says. “Allow me to demonstrate.”
Franky looks a little wild around the eyes. “You’re not going to put me back together first?!”
“No,” she says happily.
“How extensive is the nervous system in your dermal cover?” Law leans in to trail a hand over the massive chestplate, the thick layer of organic tissue and skin laid over steel, and lightly pinches a nipple.
“Not very, there. Since all my life support stuff is inside I built the torso to take damage,” Franky says, a little regretfully, then brightens. “They’ve got other features though!”
The other features are flashing lights and shooting out confetti.
“They also shoot pinpoint lasers but it uses up a lot of cola.”
And is probably inadvisable inside a building, Law doesn’t say.
“His ears are sensitive. And his mouth,” Robin interjects with one of those quiet, vaguely threatening smiles. “He likes to be kissed.”
“Babe!” the cyborg protests. “Making me sound like a real softie, here.”
“Is she wrong?” Instead of trying to pick his way across the floor through all the laid-out pieces of Franky’s body, he shambles himself over to the man’s head. The arm-pillar he’d been watching from dissolves into a pile of petals when Law plucks him from the nest of hands.
…Those are going to get everywhere, aren’t they? Law stifles a sigh and resigns himself to the prospect of picking flower petals out of every crevice for the next day or two.
Franky grumbles but it seems to be a token protest because his eyelids shutter and he sighs when Law traces the edge of his ear, toying with the lobe. Law has more than the usual amount of experience juggling decapitated heads and Franky’s is heavy. Not surprising, given the amount of steel in it, but still complicates things. For a moment he just cradles it, plotting the best way to go about making out with a disembodied head without dropping him. Finally Law scoots a little to lean against the wall, propping the base of Franky’s neck on his knee.
Despite the ridiculous logistics that have to be navigated, it gives Law an undeniable thrill to have so much control.
“Oh this is fun,” Robin says, on the same wave, and does something that makes Franky’s eyes cross.
Law kisses him before he can recover.
He’s careful at first of the cyborg’s nose. The sharp cold press of riveted steel digs into his cheek in stark contrast to his mouth, soft and hot and wet. He brushed his teeth and shaved, Law can tell, the faint smell of aftershave woodsy and pleasant. It’s strangely flattering. He’s accustomed to opportunistic fucks behind seedy taverns or in seedier inns, not the kind of encounter where someone makes an effort to get ready for him.
Franky responds eagerly, giving a gritty hum when Law sucks then nips his lower lip. Across the room something metal rattles.
“Oh, he liked that,” Robin comments. More hands have sprouted across the tatami floor, running fingertips lightly over the skin and edges of his dismembered pieces in contrast to the rough way she’s fingering him. She does something with a twist of her arm that squelches and makes Franky whine into Law’s mouth. He laughs quietly.
“You asked whether I scream when I get taken apart? How about you, Franky-ya?” Law nips him again, moves to let his lips brush against his ear as he speaks. “I’d bet you’re a crier, not a screamer.”
He’s proven right: Franky does tear up and cry. Law can’t take too much credit for the prediction – he’s already seen that the man cries at the drop of hat, whether over sob stories or inspirational schlock, for all his protests otherwise.
Law hates dealing with people crying. He’s not a comforting person, he’s not patient with shows of strong emotion. This is different. Law feels powerful. Cyborg Franky is a huge, rough-looking guy with chin that could knock someone out and trapezoids the size of Law’s entire chest, to say nothing of the literal rockets in his shoulders, but up close his eyes are limpid and long-lashed. They look good, welled up with tears.
He’s torn; he both wants to watch what Robin is doing, but is also enjoying being a bit of a bastard and preventing Franky from doing so by messing with him himself. Law thumbs at his cheeks and jaw, licking up his tears, and licking the salt of them into his slack mouth. This evening his bright hair isn’t gelled; it’s easy to comb through and pleasantly coarse between Law’s fingers. There are obscene wet sounds coming from where Robin is playing with his body. Franky can’t move much with all his joints disconnected, but several parts twitch and jump, futile attempts to flinch away from or press into the stimulation of being fingered.
“I could just remove your prostate gland entirely and let her have her way with it, if you want,” Law suggests slyly against the corner of his mouth.
“Ah! I already knew it about Robin but I should’ve figured you for a sadist, Law-bro,” Franky sobs. “You two just w-wait, I’m gonna wreck you when—when I’m back in one piece.”
“Oh,” Robin says with a dangerous curl to her mouth, “We’re counting on it.”
Law swallows down his moan when he comes, lower lip trembling under his. Every part of the cyborg shudders and rattles, even the most distal metal pieces, which is fascinating. The man really has done an incredible job incorporating his nervous system through his construction.
Robin pets and cuddles Franky’s head while Law reassembles him. He’s touching him quite a bit more than is necessary to do the job, lifting and moving by hand than simply using takt to place and connect his limbs, but it’s not about the job at this point. It was good, he thinks, to start like this: in control without taking control of the whole thing, letting someone be vulnerable first. Law isn’t affectionate. Getting crowded or touched too much even by his oldest friends makes his lungs prickle, Bepo the sole exception – the buffer of his thick, coarse fur making the contact safe. Now, though, he’s warming up to the arousal, cock flushed and hard, the feel of skin on sweat-pricked skin sparking hunger for more instead of crawling.
Good thing, too, given the way Franky is eyeing him back.
“Oh dear. I believe we have provoked some ruthless vengeance,” Robin says, shifting her weight back to sit on her heels, the folds of her yukata slipping back. The glimpse he gets of her inner thigh is glistening wet. Damn. “Who will be the first victim?”
“Give me just a second and I’ll take you both apart at the same time,” Franky mock-threatens, still out of breath. His hair is sticking up in every direction, and Law itches to run his hands through it again.
“Yeah?” he drawls. “So what’s the weapon of choice?”
Franky wheezes but flips him off with both hands. Fair. And then both fingers flip open, revealing a matched pair of smooth metal shapes whose stylized ridges make their inspiration and intended use unmistakable.
The laugh that bursts out of him is as much of a surprise as the reveal. Goddammit. In the (unlikely, because they are parting ways) event they ever fight again, he’s going to remember every time the cyborg punches someone that he’s doing it with his dicks.
“Will that suit?” Robin asks him mildly. “Or are you exclusive to the sword, rather than the sheath?”
“If you’re asking if I have some stupid insecurity as a man about taking it up the ass, then no,” he says dryly. “I came prepared for the possibility.”
Perhaps Law was also horrified at the potential vulnerability of having one of them do it for him in the moment – or worse, watch while he did it – but he does believe in being prepared for all contingencies.
“Sexy,” says Franky cheerfully, tipping his dildo-wielding hand to give him a thumbs-up.
Law’s ears heat. “What are they made of?” he asks, and it’s important and not a deflection, ok. He might not have any hang-ups about putting things in his rectum, but he has pretty damn good reasons to be a little hair-trigger about the possibility of heavy metal exposure.
As always, the shipwright is more than happy to talk about engineering details. The devices are a little above average size for the biological equivalent but nothing that Law can’t handle, ridged but not sharp and buffed to a silky finish. Evidently these are Version 16, and Franky’s already got plans for Version 17.
“Why don’t we talk about future upgrade plans later. Come on, doctor. Let’s go for a ride,” Robin finally interjects, apparently having had enough talk of alloys for the moment. She falls back, dark hair spilling on the futon, and pulls Law down to lie beside her.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” he says automatically, but whatever. This was more or less the plan, after all. If Law had come just to talk about robotics he wouldn’t have fingered himself beforehand.
“Alright, alright,” laughs Franky, generously slathering both digits in lube. “As the lady wishes.”
The breach is smooth, stretching him open in a way that’s startlingly sudden, a familiar heavy bruising pressure but almost frictionless. It’s cold, too, which is bizarre, but the polished metal seems to be warming quickly on contact. Robin sighs beside him, and Franky eyes flick between them watchfully as he carefully sinks in. The strange intimacy is a little much, a little too much. Law closes his eyes and tips his head back, hitching one knee up to his chest, focusing on the sensation. So far it’s a bit on the slow and cautious side for him – he prefers things fast and rough and over quickly – but he suspects that a man who built confetti and lasers into his nipples probably has more planned once he’s decided they’re ready.
Robin hums contentedly, and Franky chuckles. “Yeah, there we go.”
The mildly disturbing normal-sized hand that pops out of the cyborg’s palms whenever he needs to do something delicate starts pumping his dick with no preamble, well-slicked but firm and merciless, even as the dildo gradually speeds in its ministrations. The entire process is almost unsettling in its impersonality – being fucked and jerked with mechanical regularity, like being plugged into a machine built for sex without dealing with the skin or sweat of another. Strange, but Law thinks preferable to many of the random strangers he’s fucked in the past. Efficient, to the point.
He says so.
Franky beams toothily. “Just you wait ‘til we really get going. Damn, I feel lucky. Two classy babes all laid out to work on.”
“Yes. Please do get to work.”
“You’re impatient, babe. Insatiable. I don’t want to overwhelm the doc too fast.”
“The good doctor can handle it.”
“Fine,” he laughs again. “Hang onto your butts, I’m turning it on.”
What. “Turn what on.”
Slender fingers lace with his, left and right. Law turns his head, brow furrowing, and Robin just smiles enigmatically and squeezes his hand. “Brace yourself.”
“What—"
Franky grins evilly. “I call it the Strong Shocker!”
It starts vibrating.
Afterward Law thinks he probably did scream, but in the moment it’s the last thing on his mind. The digit buried in him is buzzing, relentless and overwhelming, and he’s never encountered anything like it that wasn’t a dire engineering emergency. His entire body seizes, tries to curl up against the assault, but Franky’s armored fingers pin his legs open until his ankle is bumping Robin’s and more hands sprout from the floor to hold him down by the arms and shoulders. Instinctively he tries to form a Room but thin fingers clench interlaced with his, stopping him. It’s like having the throttle thrown all the way open on every nerve he’s got. No wonder Nico Robin is always so calm if this is how she gets it on the regular, fucking hell, fuck!
Robin laughs, breathless but unrestrained, and he might have said some of that out loud in the stream of curses that spilled out his mouth.
“Super glad you like it, Law-bro!”
Goddamn, fuck them both to the deepest Blue.
“Already on it!”
He’s writhing on the floor and gasping like a beached fish, spine bowing so hard that his shoulder blades dig into the tatami. Every thrust in shocks him anew, every drag out is no relief, he can’t escape, and he’s glad because despite his body’s protests he doesn’t want to. It’s too much, and it just ramps up and up and up, until he feels almost too overstimulated to finish.
The Demon Child, more aptly named than he’d ever realized, somehow has the spare attention to devote another hand to joining Franky’s on his cock. It’s all too much, all at once. Orgasm doesn’t just take him, it seizes him like a monstrous hand and flings him bodily to the moon, toes curling and fingers clawing, heart and mouth thrown open.
The hands on his cock still, just holding and not stroking, but the dildo inside him doesn’t stop, still fucking into him, hitting him right in the goddamn prostate like a repeating lightning strike, the line between pleasure and pain spasming into an incomprehensible flood of nerve activity he can only drown in.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, he’ll die before he begs but that might not take long—
Franky’s laughter doesn’t stop, but the vibrating and movement finally do. One flower hand cards through his hair and another is holding one of his own hands, the rest puffing into petals. Law is reminded hysterically of Franky’s nonsensical nipple confetti. Congratulations, you came so hard you saw god, and he was exactly as much of a bastard as you expected.
Fucking Strawhats.
Franky pulls out slowly, which Law appreciates, as his knees collapse together. He stares at the ceiling. His legs are shaking like they’ve absorbed the qualities of the Shocker. Unfazed, Franky is still fucking Robin with his other hand. Law should probably do more to participate but his body does not seem to be interested in any suggestions about moving, and his brain doesn’t have any to offer. What a mess. He’s slick with sweat and has semen shot all the way up his chest, stuck all over with cherry blossom petals, melting like jelly into the floor. Later he will be annoyed about losing control so flagrantly, but at the moment he’s too soaked in endorphins to care.
“Alright there, Law-bro?”
“I’m fine,” he croaks. Fuck.
With the same determination that drove him to crawl around the dust and rubble of Dressrosa one arm down, Law peels himself up enough to at least watch, and damn. Is that what he’d looked like? The unflappable spy is flushed and sweat-sheened and disheveled, lip bitten, brows furrowed, hips rolling eagerly down on her partner’s hand. It looks like an absurdly delicate operation from the cyborg’s end, rocking in just the final joint of the middle digit like that. Frightening to believe, given what it felt like, but the man who’d turned his body into an arsenal had undoubtedly been making a painstakingly calculated effort to be gentle on Law’s merely-flesh bits. Salt and seas.
Law shakes his hand free of the hand sprouting from the floor, and takes one of the real ones crossed over Robin’s chest. Her hand is just as sweaty as his. He squeezes back when she knots their fingers tight.
“Robotics is fun, isn’t it?” she asks, completely out of breath, and all he can do is laugh a little hysterically.
Ok. His thighs are still tremoring sporadically, but he’s fought through far worse. Shambling over a towel and giving himself a cursory swipe makes him feel a little less ravaged. Right.
When he feels steady enough that his hands won’t tremor, Law reaches out to touch. Robin’s skin is soft and heated, slick with sweat, pale under his own darker, tattooed hand. He slides his hand down to cup her, fingers parting around where Franky is sliding into her, feeling the vibration between his fingers and even through his palm.
“Insane,” he mutters, making both of them laugh.
“We all know it’s more fun that way!”
“Hmm.” Law swaps a flower petal to summon the knife to his hand. The metal of the blade must feel cold in the growing heat of the room, he thinks, tracing idly with the flat of it against the tender skin of her belly, then drawing it up in a line between her breasts, arcing to the outer reach of a collarbone. “If you say so.”
“A pre-mortem autopsy, doctor?” Robin says, significantly less composed than her usual pronouncements come out. “Do let me know if you find anything interesting.”
Law cracks a grin; he should have expected she would recognize the cut pattern.
“I’d rather keep you that way. Let’s stick to a little death for now,” Franky says, then grins. “Law-bro, you gotta see the settings I got on this thing.”
Deep fucking blues, Law cannot even fathom. But he’s definitely curious, especially now that he can watch instead of being obliterated from the inside out. “Oh?” he smirks. “I’m keen to learn. Robin-ya is looking far too comfortable.”
“Oh dear. I do seem to have gotten myself into some trouble. How concerning,” Robin pants, looking anything but.
Law suspects that Robin’s power is like his own – the specific hand motions might not be required by the fruit, but it became astronomically harder to use it without them the more he established his habits and associations for each gesture. He pins her hand to the floor then lops off the other arm and takts it to Franky. Seems only fair, after what she pulled when Law was in the same position.
There are a lot of settings. Law can admit he’s intrigued by the potential, even if he’s not buying in to the stupid names Franky has for each one. It buzzes harder, buzzes in patterns, stopping and starting or rising and lowering in speed or intensity.
“This is our favorite so far,” he tells Law, settling down on a series of short hard pulses that, sure enough, make Robin moan and rock more insistently to meet Franky’s thrusts. There’s an undeniable gratification to seeing someone so prone to verbally toying with him so undone. Smirking, Law folds the knife back into its handle and slips it down to hold flat against her clit, cold and hard and right where the Shocker will bump it.
“Oh,” she says, like he’s said something mildly surprising, but her stomach tenses and her hand squeezes hard and sudden on his, then full-body jolting when on every thrust the knife handle buzzes with secondary vibrations from the Shocker where she’s most sensitive.
“Great idea, Law-bro,” Franky cackles, then presses in firm and holds there, maintaining the contact and pinning her between them, Robin’s eyes widening and body shaking, and Law knows they’ve won. A surprisingly low, harsh sound scrapes out of her throat as she arches taut then shudders then melts into it.
“Ahh. That was very nice,” she murmurs, hazed eyes barely glimmering at them from under her lashes.
Franky kisses her hand, the arm still amputated, looking stupidly fond. It should be uncomfortable. Well, it is a little uncomfortable, how sappy they are even with him there, but it’s hard to be too terribly bothered. He’s never come so hard in his life, for one thing, and it’s nice that they seem to be enjoying his presence without trying to get romantic with him.
They all agree to a well-earned breather.
“All right, guys. Real talk,” Franky says, pouring them another round of sake. “Drink if you’ve ever used your abilities on yourself to get off.”
Then the cyborg immediately slugs his.
Law’s neck goes hot, though he’s genuinely not sure if he’s embarrassed at the question, or heated at both the idea of Franky doing to himself what he just did to Law’s poor unsuspecting ass and at Robin also taking a sedate sip of her sake.
He drinks, then says, “Let me guess, you wouldn’t use a tool on someone else that you hadn’t tested on yourself.”
Franky winks and points at him. “Smart man. You get it.” He pours himself more sake, asking, “You?”
“Something like that. It was a more prudent way to practice fellatio then finding probably-diseased strangers in a port town.” He glances pointedly at Robin; if it’s sharing time, everybody had better be contributing.
Robin just nods like this is a very normal conversation about a very normal thing to do. “I have also attempted oral sex on myself, once I realized I could blossom more than hands.” She tips her head, thoughtful. “Maintaining the focus required is difficult in those circumstances, so it ended rather more tragically than it started.”
Law suppresses a wince. “Do you retain sensation in the flower limbs?”
“Yes, but it’s more muted.”
“What if,” Franky says, eyes getting the unfocused look of someone very focused on a mental image, “You made a flower clone, and I Strong Shocked you both at different settings at the same time.”
“I could shatter like glass exposed to a violent sonic frequency,” Robin speculates. “We should try it some time.”
This conversation is, Law thinks without much judgment, insane. The whole thing. Thoughts meant to stay inside and never verbalized, guts and bloody viscera just thrown out on the tatami for everyone else to play with instead of recoiling in horror at the sheer vulnerability of them, the invitation to ridicule and disgust.
Franky’s not recoiling in horror. His eyes are sparkling like Robin hung the stars for him. “It’s a date,” he says, and she smiles, tipping up to kiss him.
They’re so comfortable together, even with him here witnessing them, and out of nowhere it just pangs.
This was all meant to be a transgressive, largely intellectual exercise and – ok, he can admit it in the privacy of his mind after literally pulling Franky apart and spreading him across the floor, and getting railed side by side and hand in hand with Robin to within an inch of his sanity, that they’re at least friendly, maybe even provisional friends, of some sort. But friends or not, this is a one-night stand. And while Law is having fun, he genuinely doesn’t need or want more than that with Robin and Franky.
(…Long-term access to that vibrating device he’d negotiate for, but that is entirely for reasons of physical gratification with no emotional nuance.)
The idea of a connection like that with…someone, though. Not even the sex, necessarily, just being every part of himself so openly without fear or embarrassment, is…. Law doesn’t think he’s capable of loving someone like that, never thought he wanted it. It’s sentimental crap and he’s always had bigger plans, bigger ambitions, vengeance to pursue and a crew to look after. And yet. In this moment, the idea of being seen so intimately, at levels he’s never shared himself, and cherished for it? …He can’t even complete the thought. It feels like something that can’t be safely touched, feels like trying to look into the heart of the sun.
“Law?”
“What,” he says. It comes out snappish, which is the worst way for it to come out, because now they both look concerned. “It’s fine.”
“If we’re making you uncomfortable,” Franky starts, and he cuts him off.
“No.” His fingers curl around the folding knife. “You’ve been – no. Nothing like that.”
Nico Robin has a way of looking at people that makes Law feel that she sees right through him. It’s different from the way Strawhat does it. The man seems oblivious most of the time but has these lightning flashes of terrifying insight, burning right through reasons and excuses and confusion to the pure raw heart of someone. Robin meets his eyes like she can vivisect him mentally, see all his wretched inner workings pulse and twitch. Franky doesn’t have that same incisive ability to pick people apart, but he’s also emotional, sensitive, always trying to fix things, and Law may be fundamentally broken but he’s sure as hell not looking for anyone to fix him.
Franky opens his mouth first, and Law dreads whatever he’s about to ask.
But he says, “If you’re good, we’re good.”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Robin agrees.
Including talk, she doesn’t say. But it feels implied.
And this is the thing, with the Strawhats. With Strawhat, and he cultivates it in his crew – doing whatever they want. Without reserve, without fear of shame or consequences; whether it’s helping strangers for buying them lunch, chasing a crazy ambitious dream or, apparently, inviting rival pirates to a body-horror fuckfest just for the fun of it.
Strawhat gives his people freedom, drags them into it kicking and screaming if he has to. He knows enough about Enies Lobby and Nico Robin’s history to know he did it for her. It wouldn’t surprise him if Franky had a similar story. He’s done it to Law, shattered all his self-destructive plans just to stand first with him and then for him and win all the things he had long given up as impossible.
They’re all three monsters in the eyes of the world, and now all three of them have ended up in the same room like this because a rubber idiot bounced into their lives and latched on and refused to let go or see anything except what he chose to see. As simplistic and stupid as it sounds, that seems to be Strawhat’s entire definition of what it means to be a pirate:
Take what you want, and be free.
“Want to keep going or call it a night?”
“Keep going,” he says, and heads off any further questions by leaning in to kiss her.
Law has somewhat less experience with women, not out of preference so much as the statistical reality of the demographic loitering around cheap bars in pirate-tolerant ports looking to get laid rather than paid. It’s nice. Robin’s skin is soft with no stubble-scrape and her hair silky, and she smells good, unsurprisingly floral. He wonders if it’s perfume or soap, or if it’s a side effect of her fruit. He tilts more deeply into the kiss, fingers landing light on his jaw in contrast to the firm, heated way her mouth moves against his.
Law breaks away and looks over when Franky makes a strangled sound, wondering if he has stepped out of line. They didn’t exactly set any ground rules, though, and he’d already made out with Franky, so he didn’t think there’d be an issue.
The man looks poleaxed, ruddy-cheeked and wide-eyed. “You don’t have to stop,” he says.
“Oh?” Robin’s eyes twinkle.
He scratches his chin, cheeks going redder. “Just realizing I might have a bit of a type.”
Law looks at Robin, who looks back at him. Her dark hair is mussed and her usually composed face flushed, yukata falling off her shoulders. He supposes there’s some shallow resemblance between them if you overlook the obvious differences.
“Ever thought about tattoos?” he asks.
“No, but I’d consider the piercings. I think longer hair would suit you.” Robin adjusts how her legs are positioned, adopting a smug smirk. Mirroring him, he realizes. It reminds him of the way his crew is always making up absurd group poses like they’re in a comic book. They always try to get him in on it, and he almost never humors them.
What his crew doesn’t know won’t hurt them, and he certainly has no intention of kissing Strawhats and telling. He pushes his yukata the rest of the way off his right shoulder so it’s a reflection of hers, then smirks at Franky.
“What’s the type?” Law deadpans. “Grave robbers?”
Franky guffaws. “That might be a factor!” His eyes linger. “Half-dressed looks good on you.”
“We already knew that, though,” Robin says, laughing softly.
Law blinks. “What.”
“The Law-bro leg show has been real good in Wano,” Franky agrees.
“The what,” Law says again, a little desperately now.
“You tend to tie your kimono a little loosely. And it gets breezy,” Robin says diplomatically, then smiles, lashes slung low. “To be clear, neither of us is suggesting that is a habit you should change.”
His hand goes to his head and his hat’s not there to tug down. Law scrubs at his hair briefly instead. It’s ridiculous to be flustered over the people he’s been fooling around with all evening commenting on his looks. At least they must have been keeping this commentary between the two of them; if another Strawhat had heard it they’d all have heard it, and he’d undoubtedly have had to put up with their weird cook berating Law about flashing his sweet Robin-chwam.
“Whatever,” he huffs.
Robin mercifully drops it, stretching with a satisfied sound, long pale curves stark against the black silk of her yukata, pink nipples perked. …Franky has a point, with the half-dressed thing. “Are we having another round, then, or are you gentlemen done for the evening?”
“I’m amenable,” Law says with a shrug, nonchalant. He won’t do Franky the satisfaction of adding that he’ll need a few more minutes to recover from the goddamn Shocker. They already indulged his interest in vivisecting the cyborg, and he’s the guest here. Presumably they had some ideas in mind if they wanted a threesome badly enough to invite a rival pirate.
“Babe, if your devil fruit doesn’t meet your standards for muffler munching, maybe we can help you out with that,” Franky leers. “Whaddya say, Law-bro? Hungry?”
The corner of his mouth curls. “I could eat.”
Not long later finds him on his knees with his face buried between Nico Robin’s thighs. Kneeling is not a thing he likes to do for anyone, the optics too subservient, but he’s a pragmatist and the logistics of two people eating out a third simultaneously required some compromise. It’s hardly less dignified than Robin’s situation, standing but with one leg propped up and splayed wide on one of Franky’s hands like it’s a big metal stool and clinging to them both for balance with a tangle of arms, or Franky’s, literally cut to size so that his top half is the right height to let him attend to her from the back without hunching, his bottom half lounging casually nearby. Still, Law has a vested interest in making sure Robin doesn’t get any ideas about being in control of this situation just because of their relative positions, so he works to unravel her composure. His chin bumps Franky’s, flicks of tongue meeting in the middle as he licks at her folds.
“Oh, you are both being very good boys,” Robin sighs, rolling between them indulgently.
Absolutely abominable, how hearing something so stupid makes him flush. His mouth is too busy for a verbal retort, so he sucks on her clit, sharp and mean, which gets him a smack on the flank.
“Ah-hah, and you are vicious,” she gasps, and his chest shakes with muffled laughter.
Several pairs of arms have sprouted from his shoulders and sides. It feels odd, not bad, just odd: the pressure at the points of connection and tugging weight of limbs he can’t feel or control. A few are bracing Law’s weight against the floor and Franky’s arm as she rocks between them, one toying with his earrings, a couple scratching at his inner thighs. Franky does something he can’t see and his scalp stings sweetly when Robin grips at his hair again. Dammit, he thinks he’s into it. How utterly mundane, to realize in this situation that he gets off on having his hair pulled, when it’s not some obnoxious stranger with beer-stale breath doing it. But here he is, cock making an effort to twitch back to life against his thigh.
Robin is getting close, he thinks, her breathy sounds going throatier, the grind of her hips harsher. They got him good with the Shocker. Law’s man enough to admit it. He’s still feeling raw down there, and already resigned to the fact that he is probably going to be hobbling tomorrow morning. Vengeance is in order.
Splaying both hands across her hips, thumbs nested in notches of the iliac spine, Law readies his power – not enough to hurt more than a sting, not enough to damage Franky’s circuits, just enough to make localized muscles seize. His lips brush swollen flesh.
“Countershock.”
The gasp punches out of her, high and sharp. Two hands knock him in the top of the head, not deliberate strikes but an automatic reaction as Robin doubles over. Franky shouts too, then dissolves into booming laughter. Knuckles grind into his scalp, yanking two fistfuls of hair, as all the rest of her hands explode into petals. Law nearly topples, unprepared to find just how much of his weight they must have been holding, and he’s saved only by the curve of Franky’s massive metal hand steadying his hip. Robin’s thighs tremble and shiver between them, knees buckling, as wetness drips down his chin.
Slowly, Robin grinds to a stop. For a long moment she pants, still leaning heavily on his head.
Finally she says, “I suppose that was deserved.”
Law peels away, scrubbing a forearm across his smirking, sticky face. He doesn’t waste energy hoping he doesn’t have petals glued all over it. Franky helps Robin collapse down to the floor, where she lies in a tangle of shivery limbs and smiles at both of them.
“A pity my harness is on the Sunny,” she mumbles, the least articulate he’s ever heard the spy. “A job so well done deserves the strap.”
“So she can wear and use one of these,” Franky explains at Law’s quizzical look, wiggling his middle ‘fingers’ at him.
Law considers just how generous he’s willing to be. “I suppose you could borrow mine.”
Robin levers herself upright and looks at him like he’s declared he’s got the final Road Poneglyph up his ass.
It should have felt intensely vulnerable to flick the knife, take off his cock and hand it over to someone. Compromising in a different but just as bad way as handing over his excised heart. Any anxiety he thinks he should be feeling is dispelled before and after by the gratifying attention of stroking himself to full hardness under their heated eyes and then helping hands, by the nakedly quizzical look Robin gets as she takes itin hand and holds it up against her own body, looking from it to where Franky was hiking up his legs as Law shoved a cushion under him, gauging by eye where to attach it for the best angle with the same inexpert determination Law had felt while trying to figure out how to manage Franky’s head earlier.
“Daaaamn, Law-bro, your cock feels super,” Franky groans, head tossing in his lap.
“I can’t take credit, Robin-ya is doing all the work.” He feels sublimely lazy. All the pleasure of fucking a hot, slick hole, and all he has to do is sprawl here and enjoy it. It feels incredibly strange, the instinct to rock his hips in time not worth resisting.
“Believe me, there’s plenty of credit to share between you. Damn, it’s so warm.”
“Yeah?” Law cards the hand he’s not propped up with through Franky’s hair again and again. It feels a little like petting Bepo’s fur, though he immediately kicks the inappropriate comparison out of his head with prejudice. It’s just nice. When he’s actually in the rare mood for it, being touched and touching is nice. He runs a hand as far down Franky’s stupidly huge chest as he can reach for a selfish moment – he knows the man can’t really feel it very well, but Law likes it. The man feels good, strong, under his palm. Robin is too, in her own way. She’s ditched the yukata entirely now, crumpled in a pile with Law’s in the corner. There’s something gorgeously untamed in the way she moves, hair swinging and breasts bouncing on each fierce thrust, and she’s looking at the two of them like she’s thinking the same thing.
He lets his head tip back, not because they’re too much to look at it but because it feels good and Law wants to savor it. The heavy torso cradled between his legs and against his chest is a pleasant weight that pins him down but not in a way he couldn’t escape if he wanted to, the echo of Robin’s near-violent rhythm smacking his own thighs. He drags his hand up again, holding Franky’s throat without squeezing, and he can feel the man moaning against his palm. The tight slick friction on his dick despite not moving to match makes him a little disoriented, a little dizzy, a little high. Slender arms sprout from his shoulders, fingers combing through his own hair and a thumb sweeping over his lip, brushes of sensation that serve to loft him even higher with every touch.
It turns out coordinating toward a common goal can be pretty damn fantastic when everyone’s on the same page.
“Want to give him a taste of what you so kindly offered me?” she asks, a mischievous edge to her smile.
It’s a reflex to riposte to anything hinting at an order, but he’s both entirely on board with the suggestion and feeling indulgent, under the circumstances.
“Give me a hand.”
He’s half sat up with one arm braced behind him, and there’s no way he can reach all the way down the cyborg’s massive torso without getting a little creative. If he hooks his feet around Franky’s thighs he can move his hand without falling over backward under the man’s weight, and several hands blossom from the floor to steady him. Then he can chop off his left arm, grip the knife in his teeth, and grip himself by the bicep to extend his reach in a two-arm daisy chain as he so often sees Robin do.
Law makes sure it’s all flesh and not metal under his hand, then breathes it out, bracing for it. “Countershock.”
The electric shock makes Franky seize and spasm, clutching around Law’s cock, and he ends up getting a nip of electricity as well, just enough to tip them both over. Law curls tight around his back, body instinctively thrusting through his own orgasm even as Robin keeps pounding into Franky at a close rhythm – not in perfect time, but offset like the ba-dum, ba-dum of a heartbeat.
He ends up spitting petals, as the hand teasing his lip presses a thumb just slightly in, then puffs away.
“Oops. Sorry,” she says, not nearly as apologetically as is warranted.
Ah well.
Robin pulls out and sits back on her heels, Law’s privates hanging obscenely between her legs. She seems amused, wiggling her hips a little so that they flop around. “Fascinating. I can see why some men are so fixated on the lionization of their genitalia. It must draw one’s constant attention, especially if one has loose pants and an active lifestyle.” Taking his softening dick in hand again, she thumbs curiously at the foreskin, a near-painful spark on oversensitive skin.
“Ok,” Law grinds out, flinching. “You’ve had your fun. I’ll be taking that back now.”
“If you insist,” she sighs with mock reluctance.
The nice thing about not being the only one thinking ahead is that there are more than enough towels.
Franky’s chest is big enough that the other two can easily sprawl on top him. It’s too firm to be described as comfortable, but Law has napped in far worse places. Not that he’s planning to sleep here – he desperately needs to bathe again, for one thing – but between using his Room so much and the thorough fucking he’s inclined to move as little as possible for a while. Also, Franky has chilled juice and rice balls in the refrigeration unit in his abdomen, which is not a feature Law ever judged past hook-ups to be lacking, but probably will from now on.
“Damn, that was good,” Franky rumbles under him like an earthquake. “Super job, guys! Hope you feel as wrecked as I do.”
“If you want to find out I could always switch you.” Law lifts his hand the bare minimum required to flick two fingers in a demonstrative twist.
Both of them groan like he’s suggested they all run a few laps around the palace.
“Next time,” Robin says, as Franky moans out, “Mercy, bro, I’m a cyborg, not a machine.”
Law’s not really feeling like doing another Room for anything short of a medical emergency anyway.
“It would be remiss of us as academically engaged individuals,” Robin muses, “not to report on our findings. Devil fruit and cybernetic research are both so often tunnel-visioned on military applications. Both fields would benefit from an interdisciplinary perspective.”
“Sure, if you can find one of your fancy journals that will take it!” Franky cackles. “They might say it belongs in a skin mag instead, though.”
“More fools they for not accepting,” Law mumbles.
“I take that as an indication of your interest in co-authoring, Dr. Trafalgar.”
“Yes. I will absolutely be working hard on that, and not on plotting to steal one of your boyfriend’s ‘fingers’ while you’re both distracted with your parts of the manuscript.”
“Oh my,” she says mildly. “A pirate betrayal.”
Law bites his lips on a smile and lets his eyes fall closed. He feels good. Tired, yes, but scoured out and well-fucked. Maybe he’ll sleep well tonight after all.
Perhaps later Law will be given reasons to change his mind. For now, he’s glad they offered, and glad he accepted. Secretly glad these two incredibly unlikely people who found each other, who ended up in his life against all odds, invited him in in this way for a time.
And if they could find each other, maybe such things aren’t out of reach for him.
Law and his crew and the Strawhats and all their allies have already accomplished things together he thought were impossible. Why not dream a little?