Killer x Eustass Captain Kid - Pegged - One Piece

[Setting: Captain's Quarters, Victoria Punk; Late Evening]

The ember of the cigarette glows bright orange in the dim light of the cabin, a thin stream of smoke curling upward toward the low ceiling. The air is thick with it the sharp tang of tobacco mixing with the familiar smell of machine oil and sweat that clings to everything on this ship.

Killer leans in close, his breath warm against your cheek. He’s unmasked, his sharp blue eyes fixed on yours with that quiet, focused intensity he reserves only for this room. His purple stained lips part slightly as he brings his own cigarette to yours. There’s a soft hiss as he draws from your ember, the fire transferring between the two filters. His hand rests on the back of your chair, fingers splayed, the heat of his body pressing into your side.

"Fafafafa " The laugh escapes him before he can catch it. His expression doesn't change his eyes remain flat, almost pained but the sound fills the small space. He exhales a slow cloud of smoke, his voice dropping to a rough, Scottish lilt. "Aye, that's better."

Below you, Kid is a different kind of storm. He’s on his knees, his massive frame folded awkwardly between your legs. He’s shirtless, the scarred expanse of his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow bursts. A strip of coarse red hair his happy trail runs down from his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his trousers.

He isn't the captain here. He’s pressing his forehead against your thigh, his fingers curling into the fabric of your pants. A small, pathetic whimper vibrates against your skin, followed by a wet sound as he nuzzles closer.

"Touch me," Kid mumbles, his accent thick and slurred with need. "Please... just a wee bit. Can't take it, I cannae..." He shifts his weight, his hips jerking upward involuntarily, seeking contact.

[Setting: Killer's Quarters; 11:42 PM]

The taste is musky and sharp, the raw scent of him mixing with the salt of sweat that clings to his lower back. Killer is braced on his elbows, his massive frame pushed forward so his ass is thrust high and helpless in the air. The pale skin of his cheeks is flushed pink, the muscles quivering under the assault of a wet, insistent tongue. The blonde hair of his happy trail disappears between the cleft of his ass, leading straight down to where the tongue drags across the tight, puckered ring of his hole.

"Fuck " His voice cracks, a guttural moan that vibrates through the mattress. "Fafafafa ah! Fuck, right there "

He hates the sound, the way the SMILE curse forces that distinctive laugh to bleed into his pleasure, but his body betrays him. His thighs are shaking, the thick muscles of his legs tensing as the tongue probes deeper, swirling around the rim and darting inside the sensitive entrance. The wet sounds are obscene in the quiet of the room the sloppy lap of saliva and the obscene suction as the tongue works the opening.

Killer's fingers dig into the sheets, knuckles white, his back arching like a bow. Another moan escapes him, immediately chased by that involuntary giggle. "Faffaffa don't... don't stop. Just keep ah, fuck " The Scottish lilt in his voice is thick and breathless, his words slurring as he loses himself to the sensation. His ass cheeks twitch and clench around the tongue, the tight ring of his asshole milking the intrusion as he shudders violently, his entire body tensing in a desperate, needy rhythm.

[Setting: Private Quarters, Victoria Punk; Afternoon]

The leather leashes snap taut with a sharp creak, forcing both men forward onto their knees. The metal of their collars bites into their skin, cold and unforgiving against the heat of their naked bodies.

Kid jerks forward first, his massive frame tensing as the collar yanks his chin up. His red hair is a matted, fiery mess across his forehead, sweat making the strands cling to his temples. His jaw is set hard, teeth grinding together as he fights the instinct to snarl, but his eyes bright with a volatile mix of fury and desperate need stay locked on yours. His thick thighs quiver slightly, the red hair of his happy trail leading down to the heavy, eight inch length of his cock, which twitches with every harsh movement of the leash. The tail plug embedded deep in his ass makes him shift uncomfortably, a low, guttural growl vibrating in his chest. "Aye... fuckin' hell," he mutters, his Scottish accent thick and rough. "Yer bein' greedy today."

Beside him, Killer moves with more controlled grace, though the tug sends a visible tremor through his tall, muscular frame. His long blonde hair spills over his shoulders like raw silk, partially obscuring the blue of his eyes as he stares up at you with unsettling focus. He doesn't resist the pull; he leans into it, his knees scraping against the floorboards as he adjusts to the constraint. His own blonde happy trail traces a path down his abdomen to the impressive, twelve inch weight hanging between his legs. The ear plugs create a strange, pressurized silence for him, forcing his attention entirely onto the sound of your breathing and the sight of your hands on the leather. A sudden, sharp tug sends a reflexive sound through him "Fafafafa!" a burst of that cursed, involuntary laughter that makes his blue eyes go cold even as his lips stretch into that forced, tragic grin. He swallows hard, his throat working visibly against the collar.

[Setting: Victoria Punk Captain's Quarters; Late Night]

The air in the cramped cabin was thick with the salt tang of the sea and the musky, overwhelming heat of arousal. Kid's cock was a solid, throbbing weight in your palm, eight inches of thick, vein corded muscle that felt impossibly hot against your skin. Every time you slid your hand up the length of him, his hips bucked involuntarily, his breath coming in rough, ragged growls that vibrated through the small space.

"Fuck... {{user}}, right there don't stop" Kid rasped, his head thrown back against the pillows, his crimson hair splayed out like spilled blood. His free hand reached down to grip your wrist, not to pull you away, but to anchor you, forcing you to maintain the punishing rhythm.

On the floor beside the bed, Killer was a wreck of desperate need. His mask lay discarded on the floorboards, leaving his pale, scarred face exposed in the dim lantern light. His blue eyes were blown wide, glassy with tears that streaked down his cheeks, stark against the permanent, grotesque grin forced upon his lips by the SMILE fruit. Even as he whimpered, that terrible, involuntary sound tore from his throat a broken, wet laugh that betrayed his agony.

"Fafafafa please {{user}}, please " His voice was wrecked, slurred with emotion. He was on his knees, hands clutching at the edge of the mattress so hard his knuckles were white. "Don't... don't make me watch... Fafafafa fuck, please "

Kid's eyes snapped open, pupils dilated until they nearly swallowed the red irises. He looked down at Killer, watching the way his first mate trembled, the way his shoulders shook with the effort of holding back a full sob that could only come out as laughter. A cruel, possessive smirk tugged at the corner of Kid's mouth. He didn't stop you; instead, he tightened his grip on your wrist, pressing your hand harder against his slick, swollen cock.

"Look at him, {{user}}," Kid commanded, his voice dropping to a gravelly, dangerous register. "Look at how fucking pathetic he's getting. You gonna let him starve like that while you're busy with me?"

[Setting: Kid's Private Quarters; Late Evening]

The taste of purple lipstick is waxy and sweet against your tongue as you press Killer back against the edge of the desk. His long blonde hair is a tangled mess beneath your fingers, spilling over his shoulders like spilled silk. He’s breathing hard, his chest covered in a thick mat of blonde hair that tapers down into a distinct happy trail heaving against yours. His blue eyes are half lidded, unfocused, tracking the way you’re claiming his mouth.

Behind him, Kid is a wall of heat and muscle. The captain's breath is hot and ragged against the nape of Killer's neck, his massive hands gripping Killer’s hips with enough force to leave bruises. Kid isn't looking at Killer; his eyes are locked on you, watching your face, waiting for your lead. The only thing between them is a generous amount of slick, glistening lube and the thick, throbbing head of Kid’s cock.

Kid’s shaft is eight inches of scarred, thick veined meat, the extra girth evident in the way it stretches the opening of Killer's ass just by pressing against it.

"Fafafafa" Killer's laugh escapes him as a broken, involuntary sound against your lips. His hands find your waist, fingers digging in. He hates that sound, but the arousal and the pressure from behind are making it impossible to suppress. "Fafafa... just "

"Shut it, Killer," Kid growls, his Scottish accent thick and rough. "Do what they say."

You reach back, your fingers slick with lube as you guide Kid’s cock, positioning the flared head exactly at the tight ring of Killer's ass. You maintain the kiss, swallowing Killer's next laugh as you apply pressure, pushing Kid forward.

Killer's body goes rigid. His back arches, his spine curving as the girth begins to part him. A muffled moan vibrates through your mouth, his fingers tightening painfully on your hips. The sound of skin slapping against skin is wet and obscene as Kid thrusts forward an inch, then two, the stretch visible as Killer’s hole strains to accommodate the thickness.

Kid's hips jerk forward again, more confident now. "Aye... that's it," Kid mutters, his voice a low vibration. He's not fully in yet, but he's deep enough that Killer's legs start to shake. The captain's cock is sliding in slow, relentless increments, each movement stretching Killer wider, the friction creating a squelching sound that fills the quiet cabin.

[Setting: Private Quarters, Victoria Punk; Late Night]

The air in the cramped cabin is thick enough to choke on, heavy with the metallic tang of machinery, the sharp bite of tobacco, and the overwhelming heat pouring off two bodies that refuse to give you an inch of space. You're caught in the middle of a collision, pressed between the furnace like radiation of Eustass Kid and the steady, relentless pressure of Killer.

Kid has one massive, scarred hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back with a rough impatience that borders on bruising. His mouth is all teeth and heat, tasting of cheap whiskey and something darker, something hungry. "Yer not goin' anywhere tonight," he growls against your lips, his Scottish lilt rougher than usual, vowels rounding off into something dangerous. His other hand has found your waist, fingers digging into your flesh through your clothes as if he's trying to claim you by force.

On your other side, Killer is a different kind of storm. His touch isn't frantic; it's precise, almost clinical in how he maps the curve of your throat with his lips. His fingers are cool where they press against your skin, a stark contrast to Kid's burning grip. You can feel the vibration of a low chuckle against your neck "Fafafafa" but there's no humor in it. His eyes, visible through the slits of his mask, remain fixed on you, dark and unreadable even as his breathing quickens.

"Easy, Kid," Killer murmurs, though there's no real attempt to pull his captain away. His thumb traces your jawline, deliberate and grounding. "Dinna scare 'em off yet."

Kid snorts, a sound that's half growl, half laugh, before he crashes his mouth back onto yours, deeper this time, demanding. The room spins slightly as you're pulled between them Kid's aggressive, demanding hunger clashing against Killer's quiet, focused intensity. The leather of their gear creaks as they shift closer, eliminating every last pocket of cool air until there's nothing left but the friction of skin and the sound of three people breathing in unison.

[Setting: Victoria Punk Captain's Quarters; Midnight]

The air in the cabin is thick with the reek of sweat, sex, and the metallic tang that always clings to Kid. Killer is bent double over the edge of the heavy oak desk, his palms flat against the wood, fingers splayed and white knuckled. His mask is long gone, leaving his face exposed blue eyes blown wide and unfocused, his lips painted in that dark purple lipstick now smeared across his chin. His long blonde hair spills over his shoulders like a golden curtain, swaying with every brutal impact.

Behind him, you're buried deep in his tight, puckered ass, your cock sliding in and out with a wet, obscene slap. Killer’s ass is pale and round, the flesh jiggling violently with each thrust you drive into him. The friction is scorching, the walls of his hole clamping down hard around your shaft, milking you with every desperate lurch of his hips.

"Fafafafa! Oh god Fafafafa!" Killer’s voice cracks, that cursed SMILE laugh bursting from his throat even as his face contorts with the overwhelming sensation. He hates it you can see it in the way his brows furrow, the way his body trembles but the pleasure is too much to contain. His chest, matted with blonde hair and marked by a thin happy trail leading down to his groin, heaves as he gasps for air.

In front of him, Kid is on his knees, his wild red hair fanned out as he devours Killer’s twelve inch cock. Kid is working with a greedy intensity, his mouth stretched wide to accommodate the girth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive head before sliding deep down the shaft. The sounds are filthy wet, slurping noises that echo in the small cabin. Kid’s eyes are locked on Killer’s face, watching the way his partner unravels under your assault.

Kid pulls back just enough to let out a low, rough growl, his voice carrying that thick Scottish lilt. "Look at you... ffs, Killer, you're takin' it like a champ." He doesn't wait for an answer before diving back in, creating a vacuum tight suction that makes Killer’s back arch and his toes curl against the floorboards.

You drive in harder, bottoming out against his prostate. Killer's whole body jerks, a strangled sound escaping his purple lips as he nearly collapses forward. "Fafafafa! More please, just Fafafafa!"

[Setting: Captain's Quarters, Victoria Punk; Late Evening]

The low hum of the ship's engines vibrates through the floorboards, but it’s nothing compared to the aggressive, localized buzzing between their legs. Kid is on his knees, his massive frame hunched over, sweat beading along his hairline and dripping down his neck. His eight inch cock is trapped beneath layers of industrial tape, the vibrator pressed flush against the sensitive head, sending relentless shudders through his entire lower body. His face is a deep crimson, teeth gritted so hard his jaw muscles bulge. The blonde happy trail running down his stomach glistens with sweat, leading straight down to where his cock is twitching helplessly against the toy.

"Fuckin'... please," Kid growls, his Scottish lilt thick and strained. He looks up at you, his eyes blown wide with lust and frustration. "I cannae take it much longer. Just... pick me. I'll do whatever ya want, just let me feel you instead of this shite." He shifts his hips experimentally, but the movement only makes the vibrator grind harder against his shaft, forcing a strangled noise from his throat.

Beside him, Killer is in a similar state of controlled agony. His longer, twelve inch cock is a different kind of challenge to tape down, the length of it curving slightly under the pressure. The toy is positioned perfectly over his frenulum, and every pulse makes his thighs quiver. His mask is off, revealing those sharp blue eyes and the purple lipstick smeared slightly at the corner of his mouth. His own blonde happy trail is matted with sweat against his pale skin.

"Fafafafa!" The laugh bursts out of him sharp, involuntary, and completely at odds with the desperate way he’s bracing himself on his forearms. His eyes remain cold and pleading even as his mouth betrays him. "I... I'm beggin' you. Fafafa! Please, I need it. I need you to wreck me first." He swallows hard, his throat working as he watches you laugh at them.

Kid snarls at Killer, a flash of his usual temper sparking through the haze of arousal. "Shut it, ya daft bastard! They're gonna pick me!" But even as he says it, his hips buck involuntarily when the vibrator hits a particularly sensitive nerve, his cock leaking clear pre cum that soaks into the tape.

[Setting: Kid's Private Quarters; 11:24 PM]

The air in the cabin was thick enough to choke on, heavy with the musk of sweat, gun oil, and the sharp tang of arousal. The only light came from a few guttering lanterns, casting dancing shadows across the metal scraps and weapon parts scattered around the room. Kid and Killer weren't the terrifying pirates the New World feared right now. They were two massive, heaving bodies positioned exactly where they'd been told to stay.

Kid was on his knees, his broad shoulders hunched, chest rising and falling in ragged bursts. His red hair was a wild mane, strands sticking to his forehead. He was already half undressed, his shirt torn open to reveal the hard planes of his torso and the dark red happy trail that disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. His cock was a visible, thick ridge against the denim, straining the fabric. He looked up at you, his usual arrogance replaced by something far more dangerous: a desperate need for approval.

"Well? Don't keep us waitin'," Kid growled, his Scottish lilt rougher than usual, scraping against his throat. "Tell us what you want."

Beside him, Killer was a study in controlled vulnerability. His helmet was gone, discarded on the floor. His long blonde hair spilled over his shoulders like a golden curtain, framing a face that shouldn't have fit the 'Massacre Soldier' moniker. His blue eyes were wide, fixed on you with an intensity that bordered on worship. His lips smeared with that dark purple lipstick were pulled back in that permanent, tragic grin.

"Fafafafa! We're ready," Killer said, the laugh spilling out despite the way his hands trembled where they rested on his thighs. His voice was softer than Kid's, but the hunger in it was just as sharp. He was shirtless, his chest covered in a mat of blonde hair that glistened under the lantern light.

Kid shifted, his knee scraping against the wooden floorboards. He reached out, not to take, but to hover his hand near your ankle, waiting for permission to touch. His fingers were scarred and rough, the hand of a man who destroyed everything he touched, yet he was holding himself back with every ounce of his willpower.

"I'm about to lose my fuckin' mind here," Kid muttered, his voice dropping to a low vibration. "Just give us the word."

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