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Summary
“Why not?” And it’s only half asked to be difficult, the other half is because you want to know why it’s bothering him— why it’s made him twitch.
The response you get is the furrow of a brow— one you don’t understand but react to all the same. Your head tilts and it's now that urges of fight leave you and discards behind simple curiosity; you don’t really get it, no, not even when it’s yours, but Luffy does. He’s good at that, at knowing. He doesn’t know much, but he understands how the synapses work, where the sinew and the bone connect, he knows where the blood sits, how it gets to the heart— he knows where to look to catch every tick, vellication, tremble; in hypotheticals, of course, because Luffy doesn’t know it in himself, but on you, on his crew it’s easy. Luffy knows exactly where to touch so that your skin opens up to invite him closer in. You’d given him a hint earlier.
“Feels weird,” he responds, nose scrunching and, because restraint is unfamiliar to him, he continues, “makes me w’nna kiss you.”
or,
Luffy and the promise of being his.