He wasn't sure why, but as Ginji yawned trying to stretch himself out in the front seat, Ban felt the urge to assure him, "First thing I'll get when we got enough money is a large-ass bed."

That seemed to give Ginji ideas, for he then shifted himself and filled Ban's lap with his spiky head.

"O-oi!" Ban protested.

Ginji grinned, "I like this bed just fine, Ban-chan," before falling fast asleep.

Somehow, Ban felt like grinning himself. And waking up with legs dead as lumber, he couldn't particularly complain. (Except it was the backseat for Ginji from then on.)

+

Ginji sat in uncharacteristic perfect silence next to Ban as though he, too, were contemplating something.

Still neither one uttered at all, until,

"What're you thinking about, Ban-chan?"

Ban sucked on his dying cigarette. "Money," he shrugged, fingering the lone coin in his pocket.

After awhile, Ginji leapt up from the bench. He had ridiculous spring in his steps for someone who's had zero meals in days. "I'm sure something will come up today, Ban-chan! Come on now!"

Ban blinked so hard it stung, then laughed at himself thinking he'd just caught a glimmer of gold in his partner's smile.

Five helpings of shark fillet, a couple of side dishes of smoked ribs, three platefuls of creamed potatoes, and a jug of rum later, Zoro sent a hiccupy burp across the table to Sanji and demanded, "You got more, cook?" Traces of orange sauce accented the ends of his smirk.

"Pig," Sanji scoffed, his puckered lips sending cigarette smoke back in Zoro's direction.

Going Merry tilted on a stubborn wave for a moment.

Then, stirring no more than a hair from his drooped posture, Sanji uncrossed his long, limber legs, simpered at the still-hungry marimo-head, and undid his trousers.

+

The kitchen door jerked open just as Sanji set down his pie.

"Keep your mucky paws off the table," he snapped at Zoro.

But Zoro did just the contrary, even clutching the pie close to his sniffing face. "Why," he scowled, "this for Nami-san?"

The cook snorted. "Not like you need to know, but, yes."

Zoro relinquished the pie without a fight, but not before brushing his tongue over its strawberry-lined crust.

"Fucker," Sanji snarled. "You're gonna pay for that!"

Zoro strode forward, smirking. "Oh? How?"

"Howww...?" Sanji swore he'd answer the question once Zoro has finished tongue-fondling his throat.

Unable to forget his last scrimmage with Jin, Mugen could feel his grin stretching his face like rubber. The one rare opening Jin left, Mugen gladly took, and fuck if it didn't make him rock-hard witnessing the blow he'd landed grow red and out-of-place over the clear surface of Jin's cheekbone.

"Heh." Mugen's eyes squinted in quiet glee.

Sure, he'd love a long look at that bruise again, see how nasty it's gotten by now, only he'd have to wait awhile for that, since he wouldn't want Jin taking his face --

"...nnnmmnghh...!"

-- off his crotch just yet.

+

Eventually Jin heard Mugen amble up to fall in step with him. "Ya know," Mugen half-drawled, sandals clacking against the grainy road, "if you just leave your hair down, and you keep your face turned away, and I just stick my eyes to your knee or something...you'll do.

...

Yeah.

...

I could fuck you."

"Hm." Jin touched a finger to the bridge of his nose so his eyeglasses stayed. "So when did you come to that conclusion? Last night while you writhed under me?" And he walked ahead, not to catch up with Fuu, but to leave Mugen fuming...yet certainly aroused.

Kurita's voice grew smaller and smaller. "You could... just... sit on me," he proposed, then chuckled gently, fists bouncing on his lap.

"Christ." Hiruma scowled, snarled, cocked his revolver. “I don’t need your porky ass to fucking console me.” But he didn’t kick Kurita off the bench.

Kurita wasn’t sure how Musashi used to -umm- Hiruma, but what he did next was purely on account of Hiruma sitting close beside him. He slipped his hand between Hiruma’s legs.

Hiruma shoved the revolver in Kurita’s face. After a quiet moment, he gritted, “Do this wrong and I’ll kill you.”

Kurita beamed.

+

Musashi knew little about kissing, wouldn't have the first clue if he was doing it right, but as he bumped his mouth against Hiruma's, following through came natural enough that when Hiruma leaned closer and swore under his breath, Musashi stopped holding his breath and started to move his tongue less awkwardly.

Long after sundown, as he walked home, Musashi reflected on his eventful afternoon. He couldn’t quite conceive how he had just joined that sports club and then had his first kiss, when he barely knew anything about football or that boy who tasted of bubblegum and something insane.