Salmon Pink (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
salmon_pink) wrote2007-04-04 12:08 am
salmon_pink) wrote2007-04-04 12:08 am
(One Piece) Glistening
Title: Glistening
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing: Vivi/Nami
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1724
Timeline: Pre-Drum Island
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
10lilies, prompt "raincloud".
Summary: Vivi couldn't be expected to be strong all the time.
Vivi shifted uncomfortably on the bed, trying not to look where her eyes were naturally drawn. She’d noticed, up on deck, that she hadn’t been the only one somewhat distracted. Usopp had also been pointedly trying not to stare, while Sanji had openly drooled, swooned, eyes never leaving the mesmerising sight, even when he’d repeatedly run face-first into the mast. Luffy and Zoro, on the other hand, seemed to have failed to notice entirely.
Nami was still pacing, the very picture of adrenaline, eyes bright and fists clenched and obviously buzzed. A woman who’d challenged Nature, and won.
There was something captivating about watching Nami navigate through a storm. The power that flowed through her, the knowledge with which she hurled instructions. In control, trusting her nakama’s help implicitly. Guiding them, second-guessing the very paths of the currents, predicting every spontaneous change in the wind. The eye of her own hurricane, blazing as brightly as the sun.
The Grand Line was never kind to those who dared to sail through it, and it loved to throw unexpected storms at sailors at all hours of the day and night. Nami, of course, had been all authority and business the second she’d stepped on deck, even if their Captain had fallen asleep halfway up the rigging. Her eyes had been sharp, focused, no sign of sleepiness, grogginess, despite the late hour. No sign of weakness.
Vivi had felt flustered and disorientated, but she’d been raised on the Grand Line, and she knew better than to let her own difficulties get in the way of fighting off the ocean’s more violent mood swings. She’d followed Nami’s orders, despite the rain lashing against her, blinding her. Even when the wind had knocked her to the floor, she pulled herself back up, a steadying hand from Zoro on her arm, and persevered.
It was all worth it, of course, when the rain had eventually lessened to a light shower, to a gentle drizzle, to a clear dry night. The boys had disappeared back to their cabin, Usopp dragging a still gawking Sanji behind him, Zoro had settled back in the crow’s nest for the remainder of his watch, and Nami had assured Vivi that she’d return to their quarters as soon as she was certain the storm wouldn’t follow them.
So Vivi had peeled off her drenched clothing and slipped into warm, dry pyjamas, and had waited for Nami’s return. She’d laid out new nightclothes for Nami, as well, but they hadn’t been noticed, since Nami had been too caught up in her own frenzied thoughts, muttering under her breath about cold fronts and blizzards and winter islands.
Nami’s frantic pacing slowed to a stop, water dripping from her nightshirt, hair plastered to her face. She rounded on Vivi, eyes instantly suspicious, taking in the nervous fidgeting, the downcast eyes. “What’s going on?” she asked quietly.
“Uh, nothing,” Vivi muttered quickly, knowing the blush spreading across her face was probably only making things worse.
“Then why are you finding the floor so interesting?” Nami prodded, and her tone was teasing.
Vivi’s eyes darted to the door, to the furthest wall. “No reason,” she managed.
There was a pause, where Vivi could feel Nami’s eyes on her, judging her, assessing her. And then Nami’s shadow shifted against the wall, hands going to her hips. “Look at me, Princess,” she whispered, and it was a different kind of instruction to the ones she’d issued so easily during the storm, but just as impossible to ignore.
Vivi bit her lip, and promised herself that she’d just look at Nami’s face, nowhere else, no need to look anywhere else. She was being silly, she was stronger than this, she could control herself, but, oh. Her eyes only lifted halfway up Nami’s torso, and they refused to go any further, and Vivi couldn’t make them, didn’t want to make them look anywhere else. The pale lemon material of Nami’s shirt was soaked through, clinging to her skin, hugging her curves. Sodden and practically translucent and doing absolutely nothing to hide the fact that Nami didn’t wear a bra under her nightclothes.
Vivi was staring, and she just couldn’t bring herself to care.
There was a light chuckle, and that just made Nami’s chest rise and fall, breasts moving under the fabric. “Ah,” Nami purred. “So, that’s the problem.” Her hands slid from her waist, down her hips, slipping under the damp material of her shirt that stopped at the top of her thighs, so that her fingers could hook in the waistband of her pyjama bottoms. And then she was dragging them down her legs, underwear too, and the material slid over her knees and to the floor with a wet noise.
Vivi blinked in surprise and her eyes finally made it past Nami’s chest, flew to her face. There was a dangerous smile there, one that knew all of Vivi’s secrets, and a mischievous glint to her eye. “Better?” Nami asked, and her voice could almost be mistaken for innocent.
Vivi tried to open her mouth, but words were beyond her, and she could only stare as Nami stepped out of the material puddled at her ankles and sauntered across the room. Hips swinging, a slight bounce to her breasts, sinful stretch of material revealing her most intimate places, displaying them proudly, and Vivi’s mouth closed with an audible click.
Nami stood in front of her, patient and utterly unashamed of her beauty, and Vivi’s hands itched to touch. And here, with Nami, privacy and intimacy and a whole room to themselves, that was allowed.
There was a slight tremble to Vivi’s hands as she raised them, and it could have been fatigue, but they both knew it was the strain, clinging to the last of her resolve so that she could keep her movements slow and purposeful. Vivi fought her battles with all her heart, but there was no fighting between her and Nami, because only with Nami did she have all the time in the world.
Nami’s thighs were cold, icy wet skin that Vivi’s fingers slipped over, that goose-pimpled under her touch. Nami made a soft noise of contentment above her, and Vivi wanted to look up at her, but she was too focused on the texture of Nami’s shirt, of how different its hem felt compared to Nami’s smooth skin. She gripped the edge lightly, pulled it towards her gently, felt the way it tried to stick to Nami’s skin, and watched the way the material turned opaque when it was separated from her flesh. Vivi understood that need to be close, to never let go, and she shifted forward, lips pressing lightly against the material over Nami’s stomach. Softest kiss, and her lips came away damp.
Nami’s fingers threaded through her still-wet hair, pushed it away from her face. “Vivi,” she murmured, shifting slightly closer.
Vivi closed her eyes, took a moment to fight down the urge to rush, no matter how tempting Nami’s quiet voice could be. When she opened them, there was something more akin to resolve there, and she leant further down, trailing kisses in a dizzy line. Nami sighed, and raised one leg, foot bracing on the bed beside Vivi’s hip. Her hands tugged lightly at Vivi’s hair as Vivi’s lips dipped lower still, tongue snaking out to lick at the material, lick the folds and hem and buttons, lick against the flesh she could feel beneath. Lick against Nami’s sweetest places, instincts guiding her, tongue pressing the material against Nami’s clitoris, and Nami’s breath hitched and her hips tilted forwards. Just the slightest more pressure, and there was that noise again, a soft hum that rumbled in Nami’s throat, and Vivi could taste rain and cotton and she could taste Nami.
She pulled back, glanced up. Nami was watching her, lazy smile on her face. “Surely you’re not going to stop there,” Nami teased, one hand coming up to circle her own nipple, tracing a circle around the pink flesh showing so clearly under her nightshirt. Vivi blushed and forced herself to frown in admonishment, as if Nami’s ability to be so shameless could ever be anything other than wonderful, anything other than necessary. And then she brought her own hand up, licking at her fingers, sucking them into her mouth, tongue running over them, brushing her knuckles. Nami’s eyes narrowed, and her smile became sharp, and she watched silently.
And when Vivi was completely satisfied that her fingers were sufficiently warm, she reached back for Nami, swallowing down an uncharacteristic smirk, and Nami jumped at the first touch of heated flesh against her own cold thigh. Giggled, surprised and pleased, and Vivi couldn’t keep her own laughter under control, and couldn’t help the way her hands travelled higher and pressed between Nami’s legs.
Warmer there than everywhere else, just as wet, in a different way, and Vivi wanted to be slow but that tremble was back in her hands, and Nami’s laughter had turned into something more similar to a groan. Stroking that flesh, pressing inside, velvet hot, yielding to her touch. Fingers exploring familiar paths, finding an easy rhythm, thumb outside, pressing against Nami’s clitoris, not moving, just pressure. Finding that place inside, fingers bending to tickle at it, tease at it. Quick, soft motions, and Nami moaned and leaned her weight onto her raised leg, foot pressing deeper into the mattress, and rolled her hips into the touch. Setting her own pace, but Vivi could be just as stubborn as Nami, refused to speed her gentle stroking, and their rhythms clashed and combined and harmonised, and Nami was pulsing around Vivi’s fingers, laughing and moaning and her hands shook in Vivi’s hair.
Vivi’s fingers slipped free, and she leaned back to try and look up at Nami again. But Nami pitched herself up, her other leg coming up onto the bed, knee at Vivi’s hip, and she was wrapping herself around Vivi, giggling and panting, and the added weight had Vivi tumbling back against the mattress, arms instinctively gripping at Nami’s waist. She was yearning, trembling and ready, and moisture was seeping through her dry pyjamas where Nami’s wet shirt was pressed against her, and there was no need to rush, because they had all the time in the world.
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing: Vivi/Nami
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1724
Timeline: Pre-Drum Island
Notes: For
10lilies, prompt "raincloud".Summary: Vivi couldn't be expected to be strong all the time.
Vivi shifted uncomfortably on the bed, trying not to look where her eyes were naturally drawn. She’d noticed, up on deck, that she hadn’t been the only one somewhat distracted. Usopp had also been pointedly trying not to stare, while Sanji had openly drooled, swooned, eyes never leaving the mesmerising sight, even when he’d repeatedly run face-first into the mast. Luffy and Zoro, on the other hand, seemed to have failed to notice entirely.
Nami was still pacing, the very picture of adrenaline, eyes bright and fists clenched and obviously buzzed. A woman who’d challenged Nature, and won.
There was something captivating about watching Nami navigate through a storm. The power that flowed through her, the knowledge with which she hurled instructions. In control, trusting her nakama’s help implicitly. Guiding them, second-guessing the very paths of the currents, predicting every spontaneous change in the wind. The eye of her own hurricane, blazing as brightly as the sun.
The Grand Line was never kind to those who dared to sail through it, and it loved to throw unexpected storms at sailors at all hours of the day and night. Nami, of course, had been all authority and business the second she’d stepped on deck, even if their Captain had fallen asleep halfway up the rigging. Her eyes had been sharp, focused, no sign of sleepiness, grogginess, despite the late hour. No sign of weakness.
Vivi had felt flustered and disorientated, but she’d been raised on the Grand Line, and she knew better than to let her own difficulties get in the way of fighting off the ocean’s more violent mood swings. She’d followed Nami’s orders, despite the rain lashing against her, blinding her. Even when the wind had knocked her to the floor, she pulled herself back up, a steadying hand from Zoro on her arm, and persevered.
It was all worth it, of course, when the rain had eventually lessened to a light shower, to a gentle drizzle, to a clear dry night. The boys had disappeared back to their cabin, Usopp dragging a still gawking Sanji behind him, Zoro had settled back in the crow’s nest for the remainder of his watch, and Nami had assured Vivi that she’d return to their quarters as soon as she was certain the storm wouldn’t follow them.
So Vivi had peeled off her drenched clothing and slipped into warm, dry pyjamas, and had waited for Nami’s return. She’d laid out new nightclothes for Nami, as well, but they hadn’t been noticed, since Nami had been too caught up in her own frenzied thoughts, muttering under her breath about cold fronts and blizzards and winter islands.
Nami’s frantic pacing slowed to a stop, water dripping from her nightshirt, hair plastered to her face. She rounded on Vivi, eyes instantly suspicious, taking in the nervous fidgeting, the downcast eyes. “What’s going on?” she asked quietly.
“Uh, nothing,” Vivi muttered quickly, knowing the blush spreading across her face was probably only making things worse.
“Then why are you finding the floor so interesting?” Nami prodded, and her tone was teasing.
Vivi’s eyes darted to the door, to the furthest wall. “No reason,” she managed.
There was a pause, where Vivi could feel Nami’s eyes on her, judging her, assessing her. And then Nami’s shadow shifted against the wall, hands going to her hips. “Look at me, Princess,” she whispered, and it was a different kind of instruction to the ones she’d issued so easily during the storm, but just as impossible to ignore.
Vivi bit her lip, and promised herself that she’d just look at Nami’s face, nowhere else, no need to look anywhere else. She was being silly, she was stronger than this, she could control herself, but, oh. Her eyes only lifted halfway up Nami’s torso, and they refused to go any further, and Vivi couldn’t make them, didn’t want to make them look anywhere else. The pale lemon material of Nami’s shirt was soaked through, clinging to her skin, hugging her curves. Sodden and practically translucent and doing absolutely nothing to hide the fact that Nami didn’t wear a bra under her nightclothes.
Vivi was staring, and she just couldn’t bring herself to care.
There was a light chuckle, and that just made Nami’s chest rise and fall, breasts moving under the fabric. “Ah,” Nami purred. “So, that’s the problem.” Her hands slid from her waist, down her hips, slipping under the damp material of her shirt that stopped at the top of her thighs, so that her fingers could hook in the waistband of her pyjama bottoms. And then she was dragging them down her legs, underwear too, and the material slid over her knees and to the floor with a wet noise.
Vivi blinked in surprise and her eyes finally made it past Nami’s chest, flew to her face. There was a dangerous smile there, one that knew all of Vivi’s secrets, and a mischievous glint to her eye. “Better?” Nami asked, and her voice could almost be mistaken for innocent.
Vivi tried to open her mouth, but words were beyond her, and she could only stare as Nami stepped out of the material puddled at her ankles and sauntered across the room. Hips swinging, a slight bounce to her breasts, sinful stretch of material revealing her most intimate places, displaying them proudly, and Vivi’s mouth closed with an audible click.
Nami stood in front of her, patient and utterly unashamed of her beauty, and Vivi’s hands itched to touch. And here, with Nami, privacy and intimacy and a whole room to themselves, that was allowed.
There was a slight tremble to Vivi’s hands as she raised them, and it could have been fatigue, but they both knew it was the strain, clinging to the last of her resolve so that she could keep her movements slow and purposeful. Vivi fought her battles with all her heart, but there was no fighting between her and Nami, because only with Nami did she have all the time in the world.
Nami’s thighs were cold, icy wet skin that Vivi’s fingers slipped over, that goose-pimpled under her touch. Nami made a soft noise of contentment above her, and Vivi wanted to look up at her, but she was too focused on the texture of Nami’s shirt, of how different its hem felt compared to Nami’s smooth skin. She gripped the edge lightly, pulled it towards her gently, felt the way it tried to stick to Nami’s skin, and watched the way the material turned opaque when it was separated from her flesh. Vivi understood that need to be close, to never let go, and she shifted forward, lips pressing lightly against the material over Nami’s stomach. Softest kiss, and her lips came away damp.
Nami’s fingers threaded through her still-wet hair, pushed it away from her face. “Vivi,” she murmured, shifting slightly closer.
Vivi closed her eyes, took a moment to fight down the urge to rush, no matter how tempting Nami’s quiet voice could be. When she opened them, there was something more akin to resolve there, and she leant further down, trailing kisses in a dizzy line. Nami sighed, and raised one leg, foot bracing on the bed beside Vivi’s hip. Her hands tugged lightly at Vivi’s hair as Vivi’s lips dipped lower still, tongue snaking out to lick at the material, lick the folds and hem and buttons, lick against the flesh she could feel beneath. Lick against Nami’s sweetest places, instincts guiding her, tongue pressing the material against Nami’s clitoris, and Nami’s breath hitched and her hips tilted forwards. Just the slightest more pressure, and there was that noise again, a soft hum that rumbled in Nami’s throat, and Vivi could taste rain and cotton and she could taste Nami.
She pulled back, glanced up. Nami was watching her, lazy smile on her face. “Surely you’re not going to stop there,” Nami teased, one hand coming up to circle her own nipple, tracing a circle around the pink flesh showing so clearly under her nightshirt. Vivi blushed and forced herself to frown in admonishment, as if Nami’s ability to be so shameless could ever be anything other than wonderful, anything other than necessary. And then she brought her own hand up, licking at her fingers, sucking them into her mouth, tongue running over them, brushing her knuckles. Nami’s eyes narrowed, and her smile became sharp, and she watched silently.
And when Vivi was completely satisfied that her fingers were sufficiently warm, she reached back for Nami, swallowing down an uncharacteristic smirk, and Nami jumped at the first touch of heated flesh against her own cold thigh. Giggled, surprised and pleased, and Vivi couldn’t keep her own laughter under control, and couldn’t help the way her hands travelled higher and pressed between Nami’s legs.
Warmer there than everywhere else, just as wet, in a different way, and Vivi wanted to be slow but that tremble was back in her hands, and Nami’s laughter had turned into something more similar to a groan. Stroking that flesh, pressing inside, velvet hot, yielding to her touch. Fingers exploring familiar paths, finding an easy rhythm, thumb outside, pressing against Nami’s clitoris, not moving, just pressure. Finding that place inside, fingers bending to tickle at it, tease at it. Quick, soft motions, and Nami moaned and leaned her weight onto her raised leg, foot pressing deeper into the mattress, and rolled her hips into the touch. Setting her own pace, but Vivi could be just as stubborn as Nami, refused to speed her gentle stroking, and their rhythms clashed and combined and harmonised, and Nami was pulsing around Vivi’s fingers, laughing and moaning and her hands shook in Vivi’s hair.
Vivi’s fingers slipped free, and she leaned back to try and look up at Nami again. But Nami pitched herself up, her other leg coming up onto the bed, knee at Vivi’s hip, and she was wrapping herself around Vivi, giggling and panting, and the added weight had Vivi tumbling back against the mattress, arms instinctively gripping at Nami’s waist. She was yearning, trembling and ready, and moisture was seeping through her dry pyjamas where Nami’s wet shirt was pressed against her, and there was no need to rush, because they had all the time in the world.