Work Text:
Rayleigh's back is sore. A nice metaphor, really, with the way he keeps the crew tight around his heels with a dismissive snap of the wrist, the yank of the metaphorical leash, but that's for elsewhere. Right now, in the privacy of the captain's quarters, Rayleigh's back is sore, so Roger leans forward to press a kiss to the first knob of his spine, smiling with all his teeth as he pulls away at the little jolt of surprise he gets.
"Captain?" He turns back to level the man with an unimpressed stare, stretches his lean arms long overhead so Roger can watch the muscles shift across his bare shoulder blades, tight and firm. There's the barest hint of a flush licking up Rayleigh's skin, casting his shoulders and throat in pinkish hues.
" Partner ," Roger returns, grinning and settling a hand on Rayleigh's hip, palm first before he hooks his fingers around to stroke the sharp line of his hip bone beneath skin, and, oh. Rayleigh turns, tucking his chin into his collar to hide the fond smile that graces his lip, letting his hand settle soft over his captain’s. He strokes the ridges of his knuckles, firm and roughened by the sea, and Roger takes it as a cue to step forward, resting his chin on Rayleigh’s shoulder and ducking into a kiss. It's too easy, almost, the way they fit against each other with Rayleigh pressing long and wiry into Roger's stolid front, mouth stretching open for Roger to swipe his tongue flat against and earn himself a satisfied hum.
"You hurting?" He says with a sedate smile, pulling away from the kiss and sliding his hand from his vice captain's hip to the small of his back, ever-delighted and unwilling to dwell on the loss of contact.
"It's nothing." Roger frowns, if just a little. Rayleigh waves a hand dismissively, but he still sighs from deep in his belly when he feels those rough knuckles he'd so delicately traced settle firm against a notch low on his spine, grinding steady circles.
"Old man," Roger laughs, lips quirking to show gums--not that Rayleigh's looking, of course, too busy being pressed gut-first into the mattress by the palm settled on his shoulder and the other playing the muscles in his lower back like each corded knot rests somewhere on the strings of a harp.
Pluck, pluck, Rayleigh groans, a slow crescendo from a pleased muttering to a near-pained gasp when a thumb circles the junction between neck and shoulder. Perhaps the instrument is a little too delicate for his captain. There is no grace in the touch, but there's a quiet reverence, Roger's digits seem to know where to go and just how hard, listening deeply and wholly to the way Rayleigh's body sings.
He flexes, unmetered, a full-body arch of the spine that lifts his hips off the mattress and has Roger letting out a low wolf-whistle, earning him a hiss in return. He chuckles, pressing the brunt of his palm to his partner's spine and leaning down again to kiss the nape of his neck, right where the hair parts and falls around his shoulders in graceful, straw-colored curls. He pulls back before leaning in again to bury his nose there unabashedly, breathing deep to smell skin and lye kissed with lavender, the lick of the day's salty winds and the tug of their crewmates on Rayleigh's sleeves, his own answering stares and reprimanding smacks to the head, pulls the scent in like a drag off that pipe Donquino's fond of.
"Haven't showered," Rayleigh mutters, feeling the way the warm breath parts tickles against the tiny hairs of the back of his neck, the way Roger's face widens into a smile. Roger's thumbs fit themselves on either side of his spine now, palms splayed possessively over his back and large hands curling around his hips.
"I can tell," Roger says before licking a broad, wet stripe up the expanse of skin. Rayleigh groans at the feeling, the tackiness and the coldness in its wake when Roger pulls up, the groan tipping off into a bit-off noise when Roger drives those thumbs in deep, circling wide. The fingers carving into the lean meat of his sides with the grip, full and thick and bearing down with grounding force, are nearly as nice as the ones unwinding the tension from each knot and the feel of it makes Rayleigh sigh again, something warm and adored rising from his chest to pass like a tropic breeze.
And so they go, his partner's hands inching higher with the passing minutes, the younger man having taken to leaving a close-mouthed kiss to the contact-warmed skin each time he adjusts his angle of attack. His vice captain hums absent-mindedly, happily derailed for the night: lets his thoughts stay fixed on the pleasant burn, the way his body jumps and twitches and flexes pliantly around the other man, service without the taking as his mind goes loose and the light of Roger's eyes settle, like the sinking into of a luxurious bath, into the familiar grooves of soul-deep fondness.
"Could've asked Crocus to do this instead, you know." Rayleigh grins.
"No way," he grumbles, and then gives a full-palmed squeeze to his sides for good measure, "Yer mine." His tone is light on this one, Rayleigh can hear the toothy smile. "And besides…" Roger does a funny little half-turn from where he sits on the bed so he can face Rayleigh in full and leans forward, letting his strained boxers nudge the older's thigh.
The blonde laughs, a handsome, masculine tenor that's equal parts ruffian and class. Roger guffaws in kind, and his first mate lets the warmth spill up from his guts, molten gold.
"Gol D. Roger," Rayleigh yawns, the overhead stretch, pale against dark sheets and taut, shifting skin near-glowing in moonlight just as beautiful as the one he'd displayed when he'd first stripped down for the night.
"Me?" cajoles Roger, blinking blearily as he moves beneath the covers to encase his vice captain in a half-hug with his wrists pleasantly numb. He slides his hips forward to mold against the blonde's sides, lets out an appreciative groan. Rayleigh lets him, turning around to face his captain with eyes arced happily into satisfied crescents, Roger returning the smile. "Ray," he whispers--more a whisper by volume rather than by nature or intent--face creased contentedly. Handsome as always, maybe even more so when Rayleigh's close enough to see the dusting of freckles, rich in the moonlight.
"Thank you," Rayleigh kisses him, chaste and slow, before letting his lips migrate to his partner's eyelid, his brow, his hairline, smiling when a dark, full lock sweeps bare over his forehead. Roger gives him a gentle squeeze in his arms, preening quietly under the attention.
" 'f course," He's dozing already, and Rayleigh would make to stroke his hair if not for the way he's got his arms plastered to his sides by their position, instead settling for offering him another kiss atop his head.