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It all started innocently enough.
The Whitebeard Pirates had gained a new shipmate and brother—Ace was a firecracker (literally) and was known to be prickly at the best of times. The worst of times? Well…
Better not to bring it up.
None of that intimidated Thatch though. Hell, his whole thing was ‘take care of the crew’. So he spent time trying to get close to Ace, ignoring the younger man’s snarls and bad attitude.
When Ace first arrived he was already pretty lean but his subsequent avoidance of any food he didn't steal for himself meant the fire user got wayyy too skinny. So Thatch started putting things out for the kid. It was a struggle and, for the first time in his life, every time he opened the fridge to see it raided he was relieved rather than annoyed.
The first time Ace had cautiously eaten some food that Thatch pushed at him (like so many times before) made his heart lift with joy. It was such a small thing but really it was a moment that showed his acceptance of Thatch and of the crew at large.
The day that scrawny back was decorated with Pops' mark had been a day of celebration for everyone and when Ace scarfed down Thatch’s food with gusto and plenty of compliments, that swell of happiness? That was only because he felt good that Ace had agreed to join the crew—it was a joy at gaining a new brother.
And it stayed that way! For a long time!
Their newest member blossomed under the crew’s attention, confident and cocky but not without good reason. Sure, the kid could get knocked down in a spar by some of their top commanders, but Ace had plenty enough experience to defeat most others on the crew. He was strong, and while he didn’t rub it in people’s faces, he did carry a certain assuredness about himself. Ace seemed obsessed with pushing himself even further, badgering Marco for spar after spar despite how easily the phoenix beat him.
It was during one of those spars that Thatch first noticed.
Brown eyes had trailed lazily over freckled skin, noting with a pleased smile that he’d bulked out well. Apparently, Ace’s chef on his previous crew was ‘whoever’s turn it was to cook’ so their meals hadn’t been particularly… well balanced.
Now with a proper diet, Ace was filling out nicely. All bulging muscles and rippling abs, Thatch happily realized. A distant part of his mind lingered on the shiny layer of sweat on Ace’s skin as he moved to dodge blue flames before shooting out an answering burst of red fire.
Thatch blinked. Ran the thought back, then did it again. Bulging muscles and rippling abs.
Shit.
A crush?? At his age?! On Ace of all people?
Okay, okay. A few of those things were unfair. He could get crushes, got them frequently actually (the fact that they were generally on islanders, not on crewmembers wasn’t the point here) and Ace was cute. It wasn’t a surprise, just a bit of cabin fever. Being constantly around Ace and taking note of his progress as he got more and more at home with the crew got Thatch a little hot and bothered under the collar.
Nothing that a little time and landing at the next island to scratch the itch wouldn’t fix.
Mixing a little harder than what was required, Thatch fumed at himself. The next few islands hadn’t helped, even though he’d thrown himself at anyone who looked even remotely interested in him. No, instead it seemed to make everything worse, comparing each against tan freckled skin, dark locks, and fiery eyes.
Every time an islander watched Ace with hungry eyes it made something inside himself bristle, even if Thatch had someone else on his arm at the time.
It was ridiculous, he was being ridiculous. So Thatch decided the best course of action was to create some space. Better for everyone involved.
He didn’t miss Ace’s puppy-dog eyes every time he made up some flimsy excuse to beg off whenever Ace approached him for a spar, to join him for dinner at an island (something they did frequently), or even to just spend time with him.
Busy, he kept saying, over and over again in various forms. At this point though, Thatch knew he was running out of excuses; Ace’s expression grew darker and darker with each refusal and he seemed to withdraw into himself.
What else was he supposed to do though?
“Okay, what’s gotten into you, yoi?” A voice broke through his thoughts and Thatch turned to see Marco leaning against a cabinet, arms folded, his normally bored expression looking vaguely pissed off.
“What do you mean?” Thatch asked. The high-pitched strain in his voice gave him away immediately and his eyes widened with panic, feeling his smile get a little manic as Marco’s eyes narrowed even further.
“Ace says you’ve been avoiding him,” Marco said slowly. Thatch turned to the counter and laid the mixture he’d been beating back down, numbly bending to grab some baking sheets.
“Wouldn’t know anything about that, I’ve been busy,” he replied airily, not looking over his shoulder. “Now if you don’t mind, some people are trying to work and—hey! Oi! Stop that!” Marco had grabbed the back of his shirt unexpectedly, the collar digging into his throat as he began dragging him through the kitchens, shipmates jumping out of the way as they went.
The cold air of the walk-in refrigerator blew over them before Thatch was shoved inside and Marco followed after, shutting the door behind them, enveloping them in the dark and cold. Thatch cursed as he hunched into himself, damn bird didn't even bother to turn on a light.
“Marco, what the fuck—”
Blue flames flickered out over Marco’s arms, lighting up the space but bringing with it no warmth. He glared at Thatch. “You’re not normally like this and Ace has been tying himself up in knots trying to figure out what he did wrong and I’m sick of seeing it, yoi. Explain.”
Thatch heaved a sigh, watching the cloud it made wearily before rubbing his forehead. “I got a crush on the kid, Marco. That’s all. It’s stupid, I’ve just been trying to distance myself from him for a while, get over it you know.”
“Why?”
Startled by the quick-fire response, Thatch looked up to see Marco staring back at him. He recognized the expression as ‘first division commander’ mode or Mother Hen as some liked to joke. Marco was going to get to the bottom of the problem, no matter the bitching or time it took to get there.
Which was probably why he’d shoved Thatch into the icebox, clever bird.
Feeling his teeth start to chatter, Thatch answered, “Uh. I’m so much older for one? I’m his friend, Marco, he doesn’t need my” —Thatch gestured with a hand, the other firmly wedged under an armpit— “feelings getting in the way of that. Not to mention the division commander part.”
“We’ve already discussed making Ace the Second Division Commander, so that part’s bullshit.”
“But Marco, if people thought he only got the position because of me, then—”
Marco cocked a brow. “So you think he returns your feelings?”
Flushing, Thatch shook his head. “I didn’t say that—”
“Then why else would you be worried about it, yoi.”
“Okay firstly, stop interrupting me. Secondly, this is a hypothetical situation we’re discussing.”
“Hm. So what’s the plan then? Just ignore him until your feelings go away?”
“Basically, yeah,” Thatch agreed, trying to hunch into himself further, both hands now firmly wedged in his armpits. “Can we leave now? I’m freezing my ass off in here.”
“No, I’m not done. Who cares about your age, we’re pirates.”
In vain, Thatch attempted to squeeze past the zoan user in a break for the door but failed as Marco’s arm shot out and blocked his path.
“Pirates or not, Ace is a lot younger than me. That’s weird right?! Feels a little uh…” he trailed off.
“Feels what?” Marco pressed.
Thatch pursed his lips thinking hard before he settled again on, “Weird, like I could be, I dunno, manipulating him or something.”
Marco snorted and Thatch narrowed his eyes. “Don’t snort at me, birdbrain! It’s a real fear.”
"Here's what's going to happen, yoi," Marco began and Thatch audibly gulped at the seriousness in his tone. "You're going to fix this. I don't care what you do or how, but I'm not dealing with this anymore."
"But—"
The look Marco shot him chilled him more than the freezer surrounding them. "Do you want Ace to go back to the way he was before? When he first got here?"
"No," Thatch answered immediately, thinking of the terrible way Ace had closed himself off to all of them. Going back to that would break his heart.
Marco smiled without warmth. "Then do something about it."
"What like confess? I still don't think that would be the best way..." The clap on his back was a little harder than Thatch felt was necessary.
"I'm sure you'll figure something out, yoi," Marco said easily. Thatch heard the underlying threat and meekly followed the other man out of the stockroom, mind turning over his options.
It was a few days later and Thatch still hadn’t come up with a good solution. The empty kitchen seemed judgmental in its silence as he banged around, stress baking.
The dough slapped against the flour-covered countertop as he threw it down before resuming angrily kneading at it. There was a party going on up on deck and normally he’d be out there with everyone else, drinking and having a good time to celebrate the end of another day at sea. But he just couldn’t handle Ace’s kicked expression that followed him around everywhere. The fire user had stopped approaching Thatch altogether, apparently catching on that the chef wanted some distance and now seemed to be actively staying out of his space.
Watching Ace stare after him sadly made Thatch upset at himself for putting them both through this and, in a fit of annoyance, he’d squirreled himself down in the kitchens to bake out some of the feelings.
He was making sheets and sheets of cinnamon rolls, one after another. It had been done unconsciously. It wasn't until he got started that he realized Ace had made a comment about liking cinnamon rolls and how Thatch had promised to make them for him, thinking about how perfectly they matched the kid. He scowled down at the dough he was kneading.
Distantly he heard the squeak of the kitchen door being thrown open and he threw the dough into an oiled bowl and covered it with a small hand towel before putting it off to the side to rise.
Ace appeared around the corner, missing his familiar orange hat, thumbs hooked in his belt loops and Thatch’s traitorous heart skipped a beat. He wandered over to a counter not covered with flour or various baking supplies and hopped up to sit on it.
Thatch gasped. “Oi! You know the rules!! Off, filthy asses off the counters, they don’t belong there!”
The younger man didn’t budge. “You’ve been avoiding me,” Ace said seriously before he pouted. “Why?”
Swallowing loudly, Thatch replied, “No reason.” The lie sat heavy on his tongue and his gut swarmed with guilt. Ace’s eyes flashed.
“A little birdie says it’s ‘cause you got a crush.”
It felt like a stone got dropped into his stomach as his heart filled with dread. Oh, he was going to kill Marco. “A little birdie huh?” he repeated and Ace winced
"Shit, I didn't mean to say that. But uh—" he waved his hands as if to distract Thatch "—if it were true then I wouldn't... I wouldn't mind, is what I wanted to say."
Thatch blinked a few times with surprise, not quite registering the words. It wasn’t until Ace dropped his gaze, looking tense and awkward that Thatch’s brain finally managed to translate what Ace had said.
“Oh… oh!” Slowly, his shock morphed into a mischievous grin. Ace was focused entirely on the floor, fidgeting anxiously, and didn’t notice as Thatch moved in close. He abruptly froze as Thatch braced his hands on the edge of the countertop, bracketing him in as he leaned down.
“Let’s say a little birdie did happen to tell you something that may have or may not have been said and either way was most definitely said in confidence, what were you going to do if it was true?”
Ace’s cheeks flushed a bit, bringing out the freckles and Thatch ached to trail a finger over the bridge of his nose. Still, his eyes sparked with challenge in the molasses-colored, sickly sweet as they pulled Thatch in. “Is it?”
“Hmm,” Thatch hummed and then straightened. Before he could take a step back—put a little distance since he realized his flirting might not really go over well for the discussion they were apparently about to have—Ace hooked his foot behind his knee to keep him close. Thatch smiled at the gesture before he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Ah, you know. It might be, what did you hear exactly?”
“Think you’re just trying to dodge the subject,” Ace quipped with a knowing smirk, leaning back on his hands and peering up at Thatch through his eyelashes. “Let’s hear it from the horse’s mouth, hm?”
“I like you,” Thatch said. No bullshit, no sidestepping the issue. Ace visually faltered, hands slipping on the countertops at his honesty. “Wasn’t going to bring it up because I felt bad. With the division commander thing, the fact you’re so young, and we’re friends. I didn’t want to ruin any of that.”
Ace quirked a brow. “Not sure what my age has to do with you ruining anything.”
“Aw come on, not you too! It’s a valid concern I don’t know why—"
“Why did you ignore me then?” Ace interrupted, looking upset at just the mention.
It was Thatch’s turn to wince. “Look, kid—”
“Ace,” he corrected firmly, dark eyes burning with their seriousness.
Thatch couldn’t help a small smile. “Ace. I like you; you’re quick as a whip, funny, loyal, and a bunch of other things I admire.” He didn’t miss the flush deepening over Ace’s cheeks and his heart gave a funny little thrill at the sight, at the idea that he could cause that. Reaching out he tucked a bit of black hair behind an ear and nearly melted when Ace leaned into the contact. “Cute as hell too,” Thatch added and Ace chuckled.
“But?” Ace pressed.
“But I like what we have just as friends too. I didn’t want that to change.”
Ace hummed, his foot putting pressure on the back of Thatch’s knee and forcing him a step closer. The younger man reached out to idly fix Thatch’s yellow bandana. “Listen,” Ace began and Thatch watched his face as he resolutely stared at where his fingers were fussing. “I got some… issues. Dating has never been my thing.”
“No? Seen you with enough islanders to make that seem a little dishonest.”
Ace wrinkled his nose at him. “I meant long-term dating, you ass.”
Thatch held his hands up in surrender. “Ah, well how’s a guy supposed to know the difference?” When Ace’s eyes dropped back down, Thatch sighed before reaching up and grabbing both of Ace’s hands in his.
Pulling them between them, he waited until Ace met his eyes before he pressed a couple of fast kisses against his fingers. “Sorry, I’m just teasing you. I’m a little anxious. This pretty thing I was trying to avoid for fear of my heart being broken just waltzed into my kitchen like he owned the place, you know.”
Ace laughed under his breath, a smile slowly forming on his face, and emboldened, Thatch went on.
“And maybe he’s got some issues that I’d hope he’d trust me enough someday to tell me but even knowing that, I’m still pretty head over heels all the same.”
“Oh yeah?” Ace whispered, smile widening. Thatch smiled back.
“Yeah. I was even stress baking cinnamon rolls ‘cause I couldn’t stop thinking about him and how much he’d love them.” As he expected, Ace’s eyes slid over to the other counter to look and Thatch took a deep breath. “Go out with me, Ace?”
Quickly, Ace’s eyes snapped back to his own, mouth open in a little ‘o’ of surprise and they stared at each other. Thatch’s heart felt like a jack rabbit in his chest, thumping away so fast it felt like it might just explode outta him.
Then Ace smiled. It was a ray of sunshine, so bright it was almost blinding, before Ace’s hands—still in Thatch’s grip—shook themselves free and fisted into his shirt. Seeing where this was going, Thatch was already laughing as Ace pulled him down for a hard kiss.
The angle was all wrong, noses hitting each other and the fact that Thatch was quietly giggling between their mouths meant they more rocketed off each other than any real semblance of a kiss. Ace huffed with annoyance but stilled when Thatch’s hands reached up to cradle his face gently. The huff turned into a quiet exhale as Thatch gently tilted his head for a better angle and pressed back in.
Now, it was perfect and Ace’s arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him as close as possible. Ace’s lips were warm and Thatch got lost in the taste of them.
When they withdrew, Thatch was never sure who started it but before long they were both laughing, arms holding each other tight, foreheads pressed together.
“What do you say?” Thatch breathed.
“That kiss wasn’t answer enough?” Ace shot back with a grin. Before Thatch could complain, he went on, “It’s a yes. Now kiss me again.”