Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The year after their little brother becomes Pirate King, they return to Dawn Island.

Coming home, they learn, is a thousand times easier than setting out; or maybe it was time that had caught up to them, the thrill of adventure dulled by the weight of two wars and a lifetime’s worth of suffering. In any case, there’s something to be said about the absurdity of going backwards- islands once ripe with adventure now little more than fond memories at best. Lessons at worst.

They don’t bring a crew, despite Dragon’s insistence, and so the boat that returns with them is hardly bigger than a dinghy, just a little more than fit for two. And- strangely enough- they don’t seek Luffy out to bid him goodbye. Too permanent, maybe. These seas had grown with them, after all, and they’d watched the ebb and flow of pirates and marines and revolutionaries come and go, had watched these waters gleam like crystals in the sun just as often as they’d seen it dyed red. 

Ace remembers how Sabo, who’d deemed the sill of their huge kitchen window his favorite perch, had asked him if he had any plans of returning. To set sail on his own, or perhaps return to the revolution, where Ace had taken shelter after the whole debacle, that first, awful war that had nearly cost him his life. Ace hadn’t answered right away- he’d asked vaguely, instead, What about you? and earned an honest shrug and the barest tilt of his brother’s head. 

I really don’t know. I want to, I mean- we’re pretty young, aren’t we? Can you imagine retiring before thirty?

Ace had remembered, then, almost against his will, the night Sabo had returned from Mary Geoise with a pronounced limp and bandages in places Ace didn’t want to see- couldn’t bear seeing- him bandaged in, and answered, You know, it doesn’t seem half bad. 

Sabo had cackled, and said, You’re right, Ace. I’m growing a little seasick. Ah, I’ve gotten old! To which Ace could only reply, Hell, what does that make me? 

-

They stop right at the outskirts of Foosha village, leaving their boat docked on a dry patch of shore. Dadan is the one who receives them- a very generous way to put it, how she comes bounding down the side of the mountain before nearly tackling them right into the ground. Ace yelps “Ow, ow, ow, are you trying to crack my skull open?” even as he wraps his spare arm- the one that isn’t crushed against Sabo’s ribcage- as best as he can around her, around the mass of hair down her back that’s got more grey streaks in it than he remembers. Sabo’s laugh is bright and nervous and he wrenches his elbow away from Ace’s to throw himself into the embrace. Which is wholly unlike him, Ace has come to learn, but he knows, too, that Sabo’s making an exception.

“Dadan, it's us! We’re home!” Sabo half-laughs, the sound tumbling out of him, and Dadan digs her knuckles into his hair and barks, “I can see that, you rotten boy! Don’t think for a second that I haven’t seen all the ruckus you’ve been making- your awful brother and his rubbery head-!”

Her tears soak into Ace’s shirt and Sabo’s coat. They stand by the shore, in the familiar hold of her arms, and let her bark at them for being troublesome little brats, like they’re ten years old again and doing an awful job at being petty thieves. When she breaks away, red-eyed but with a set to her jaw that’s somewhere between relief and exasperation, she says “Worry me like that again, you shitheads, and I’ll be the first to throw you both down the cliffside.”

Ace groans aloud, earns himself a wallop to the skull, and he concedes with forced irritation. Sabo’s laugh rings bright in his ears.

“Alright. Enough of that.” she says, voice gruff, digging a fresh pack of cigars from her pocket. “You’ve got a lot of cleaning to do if you want a place to sleep tonight.”

-

She leaves them by a riverbank, next to a wide field and a little stone house which had clearly spent the better part of its life unused. It coughs up dust the moment Ace swings the door open, and he hears Sabo snort behind him. He turns and faces him, so that Sabo can see the dusty frown on his face.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, even though he can’t keep the smile from the edges of his mouth. Ace doesn’t mind, not really. Sabo bends to haul the bucket into the crook of his elbow, the other hand occupied with the cleaning supplies Makino had so graciously offered when they’d stopped by to see her just before making their way down the other side of the mountain. “What lovely young men you’ve both become.” she sighed gently, the first hints of crow’s feet forming when she’d smiled and taken their faces in her hands. 

“Makino-san, you’re too kind.” Sabo replied in earnest. “You know, if Ace were a little younger, he’d be absolutely over the moon right now.”

Ace had very nearly caught fire from the embarrassment- not like he’d been subtle about his little childhood crush, anyway, but he hates to think of what an awful child he’d been, carrying himself with the swagger of a seasoned pirate when in reality, he’d been a scrawny, insufferable runt of a boy with his heart on his sleeve. 

“Ah, that was so long ago, wasn’t it? I’d almost forgotten- oh, don’t look so embarrassed, Ace, it’s normal, you know, with children and how impressionable they are.”

They’d talked a little longer, because she’d insisted they have a seat and let her know how they’ve been, how Luffy has been, if the journey back had been kind and if they’d eaten well. When the sun began to dip she’d sent them off with freshly washed rags and a large pail of water. And then, before turning to tend to her shop once more, she’d given Ace a small, knowing smile as he’d plucked the bucket from Sabo’s hands, because You’re holding the towels already, you’re making me look useless, and even the memory is enough to make him want to grimace. It doesn’t stop him from doing it again, however, snatching it up a second time before the handle can bear its full weight on the joint of Sabo’s fingers.

The back of his neck grows warm. No, subtlety isn’t his strong suit at all.

-

Dinner is an uneventful affair; smoked meat they’d spent turns cooking over a measly little fire on the stove, from a mountain boar that neither of them had hunted.

“It’s our treat,” Dadan’s men had announced gruffly “Who’d’ya think we are, lettin’ our honored guests do all the work?”

When Ace stands to get the dishes done, Sabo stops him- a hand on his arm, tugging, saying “Oh, come on, we can get that done later.”

“Later,” Ace echoes dubiously. “And what are we gonna do now ?” 

“Pick fruit.”

He has no idea what to make of that, or the grin on Sabo’s face, but he sets the dishes back down and follows him. Like a planet in orbit trailing after the sun, an immeasurable gravity in the pit of his stomach, reeling him in. Sabo pockets a paring knife on the way out, and Ace has to fight the urge to take it from him, for something as ridiculous as You might cut yourself on that . So small and inconsequential, he thinks, when they're already living in the aftermath of a war. It’s embarrassing. It’s awful. He’s sure everyone can smell it off of him, anyway, but they’re all polite enough not to mention it.

Sabo, most of all.

“Makino mentioned- I wasn't sure if you were listening, though, you were so caught up with her dog. He’s fond of you, you know, I can tell- anyway, she told us about a bunch of fig trees she’d planted a while back. It’s almost autumn, so she thinks we better gather some sooner rather than later because they won’t be in bloom again ‘til late next spring.”

When he speaks, it’s quiet and measured, even with the excitement evident behind it. He doesn’t think he’s heard Sabo raise his voice once since the war ended.

“Uh-huh. And where will we keep them?”

Sabo laughs. “Keep them? You’ll inhale them all before we make it back.”

Ace gasps, “Take that back!”

He chases Sabo all the way down to the orchard, his brother’s laughter bleeding into the smell of unripe figs, taking to the wind and painting the last traces of summer a bright, warm red.

-

Their harvest stays green until well into autumn, and he only knows they’ve begun to ripen when hears the triumphant little Ah-ha! from the kitchen.

“Look, look.” Sabo calls, holding a green-speckled fig in one hand and waving Ace over with the other. “This one’s almost good to eat.” He says sagely, bearing down ever so slightly on the thin skin. “See that? It’s already begun to grow soft.”

The sunlight, too, had begun to soften the closer they were to winter, and the healthy flush that Sabo got in the summer was disappearing with it. He remembers being tipsy, once, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Sabo in the middle of an empty pub, hazy with alcohol and a little tender- but he’s never been the poetic kind, and neither was he well-read, and all he could come up with at that moment was, He’s like a sunflower closing up in the winter, and his shoulders had burst into flame immediately after. 

“If only I could bake,” Sabo continues a little morosely. “We could have done something to commemorate it, you know? A pie. You like fig pie, don’t you?”

The thought of Sabo milling around the kitchen still raises the hair on Ace’s arms. He’d made several attempts while they'd still been on the boat, and each one had been more disastrous than the last- the second week in, he’d conceded and let Ace take over. The only cooking that seemed to agree with Sabo was over an open fire, and even then…

But he dare not pretend not to like it, not when he found himself turning every few minutes to steal glances at him, still perched atop the windowsill of a different kitchen, humming something too quiet for Ace to hear over the sizzle of oil. Eating from the pan together, watching Sabo’s eyes glow with delight, getting forced out of the kitchen because If you’re going to do the cooking then leave me to do the dishes, having to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying, Why? Sit down. I’d do anything for you.

“A pie,” Ace snorts, “An edible one?”

Sabo knocks him on the temple. “We’ll find out, won’t we? I’ll keep making you try them until we get something that doesn’t poison you.”

Ace makes a noise of protest, frowning at Sabo like he’s been wronged. Sabo grins and sticks the fig under Ace’s nose.

-

“We should plant more.” he tells Sabo, three mornings after their very serious discussion about the pie, when he catches Sabo peeking into the fig baskets with a fond smile. “They don’t have to be fruits. You might get bored of them.”

Sabo looks over his shoulder with only the barest hint of surprise. He’d kept that first fig on a little serving dish in the middle of the dining table where it ripened very slowly, taking its time and turning the slightest bit more purple in barely-visible increments. “You want to start a farm?”

There’s a chill in the wind that’s become inescapable as of late, turning the apples of Sabo’s cheeks ruddy, in stark contrast to how pale he’s gotten.

“Sure, you know- something to pass the time.” Ace opens a cabinet and wrinkles his nose. “Better than having to haul groceries down the hill every week. Has the wind up here always been this bad?”

“Sounds like an idea.” Sabo hums, “And I thought you didn’t get cold.” He frowns, laying the back of his knuckles over Ace’s brow. “Are you cold?” 

He doesn’t. He isn’t. His face grows several degrees warmer, in fact, and he takes Sabo’s hands away before he can notice. 

“Me? Never. Shouldn't I be asking you that?” 

He flicks the reddened tip of Sabo’s nose, earning one in return. “It isn’t that bad.”

“You look like you’ve had a cold since September.”

“Oh shut up ,” He groans, snatching his hands out of Ace’s, tugging at his ears until they’re as red as his own.

Would it be possible, he wonders, to grow a field ripe with every fruit, to pull a harvest for every season so that Sabo will never be left wanting. 

-

They’d brought two different blankets with them. Ace’s was newer than Sabo’s, simply because he’d never bothered while they’d still been out at sea and had really only gotten one because of a brief pit stop they’d made at a fishing town, where a terribly convincing merchant had sold him a knitted wool throw with a hilarious picture of a three-legged fish.

Still, he had no real reason to use it, so he’d kept it folded and pristine at the bottom of his trunk, taking it out every now and then to keep it free of dust and snicker at the print. And, now, to drape over Sabo’s shoulders as winter continued to creep into autumn and his stubborn rock of a brother refused to admit that the cold was getting to him.

“You have winter coats in here.” Ace says, sifting through Sabo’s baggage. “Why don't you use them?”

Sabo scowls, fussing over the blanket until he's satisfied with the way it sits on top of his worn duvet. “What idiot gets bundled up in the middle of autumn?”

“The idiot who’s about to catch pneumonia.”

“I am not- ” a violent shiver wracks his shoulders. “At worst it’s going to be the flu.”

Ace has half a mind to knock him unconscious and muses, a little ruefully, about how long he’s going to spend echoing that sentiment when it comes to Sabo. Really. Once had been enough for Ace, and he’d hate to have survived a boiling fist to the chest just to die from the stress of watching his brother toy with his own life.

“Oh, stop making that face.” Sabo needles, holding a hand out. “Don’t- I’m serious, come here.”

Ace keeps his brows knit and his frown pronounced, even as he gives in and marches over to Sabo, wrapped up and still- stubbornly- sitting by the open window. He doesn't know why he isn't anticipating it when he’s hauled by the arm and pulled into the empty spot next to him. 

“If you’re going to be such a grandma about it, you might as well be useful.” Sabo gripes. He arranges them, climbs into Ace’s space, back to Ace’s chest- an insistent warmth, a pool of cloth, both new and worn, in his arms, breathing in quiet tandem with the tick of the ancient clock above the sink. He buries his nose in Sabo’s hair and inhales, full of want. Kisses the crown of his head, then the tender bit of skin behind his ear, and pretends it doesn't make him feel like he’s been stripped naked. 

“Spoiled.” he murmurs, red-faced.

“Stuck up.” Sabo counters. 

A moment passes in silence, and then Sabo says- “Are you really going to start a farm?”

“I don’t know.” Ace tells him honestly. “I don't know a thing about farming. I’d like to have stuff around the area, though. And like I said, it’s much better than having to go up and down the hill every week.”

Sabo tilts his head back, and a rush of citrus fills Ace’s nose. It’s always baffled him, how Sabo always smells like he’s waltzed right out of an orchard, regardless of whether he’s just rolled out of bed or returned from the battlefield. It’s the soap I use, Sabo once reasoned, and followed it up with, You’d know if you bathed more than twice a week. 

…Which he does now , thank you very much.

That reminds him, too- he’ll have to ask about those heating stones he’d heard about at the market the other day. Sabo had recently grown fond of bathing in a lotus pond that they’d salvaged a few months ago, and while Ace knows he won’t kick up a fuss about having to use the tub it’d be nice, anyway, if the option was there whenever Sabo wanted it. 

“I’ll help.” Sabo says out of the blue. Ace startles. “What?”

“The farm.” He answers matter-of-factly. “You don’t know how to farm, I don’t know how to farm- we’ll get someone to teach us, and then, who knows, maybe we can start selling them too.”

A hint of mischief paints his smile. “They’ll have to come up here to find us, though. Because we’ll be earning way too much, and it’ll take us ages to climb back up otherwise.”

If it were up to Ace, all Sabo would have to do is sit by the window and let his worn hands rest. He can’t help it- he can’t. Sabo makes him so greedy.

By the time Ace had joined the Revolutionary Army, Sabo had put up walls so high that no one had the balls left to climb them; the most they could do was reproach him every now and then for being too rash, too careless, but they all silently understood that his recklessness was one of their biggest assets, and none knew it better than Sabo himself. It must have been somewhere between their first mission together and the first time Ace had to watch him stumble back, alone, covered in his own blood, that he’d decided that the gap between their ranks could go to hell. He’d dragged Sabo to the bathroom by the lapels of his coat and scrubbed him clean in silence, squeezing towel after towel dry until the water that washed off of him was no longer the color of rust. And Sabo had let him.

His proud, callous brother, who killed with his bare hands and bandaged his own wounds. Chief of Staff of the Revolutionary Army; one of the most dangerous men in the world. He’d let Ace carry out his silent scolding without so much as putting up a fight. When he’d turned to leave, exhausted and a little embarrassed, Sabo had pitched forward- wrapped his arms around him- whispered a “Thank you” so quiet that the thunder of Ace’s heartbeat very nearly drowned it out.

At present, he snickers and pinches a reddened ear. “You? Work on a farm? We’d be better off trying to raise the dead and getting them to do the work for us.”

“Oh, excuse me.” Sabo scoffs. “I’m a faster learner than you are. You’ll be eating your words, watch.”

“But I’ve actually done manual labor before.” Ace retorts. “Believe it or not, mister Flame Emperor, there are some things us common folk are just better at doing. Have you even seen a rice paddy in real life?”

“We pass by one on the way to town, idiot!”

They go back and forth some more, well into the night, fondness pooling inside Ace’s chest and making his words come out stickier, sweeter, until he’s warm all over and Sabo has stopped shivering. 

When they’re in bed a lot later, Ace watches the rise and fall of his brother’s shoulders; slender, well-muscled, old scars peeking from the collar of his nightshirt. He pinches the fabric between his fingers and feels a little insane, yet his hand remains steady despite the closeness, the jasmine-clove-orange warmth of Sabo’s skin so devastatingly familiar it’s almost like an extra limb. 

“Sabo,” he mouths, hardly a whisper, because his brother is a light sleeper. “Sabo, are you awake?”

His breathing never changes. Ace is all too glad. He pulls the blankets up higher, and a little louder, says, “Goodnight.” 

He falls asleep clinging to Sabo’s shirt. 

-

The other batch of trees that neither of them had been aware of come to bloom sometime mid-December. Fragrant white flowers line the walkway on the other end of the mountain, greeting them both and taking them by surprise.

“Ah!” Makino hums. “How could I forget? Your brother stopped by a few months before you two anchored. These are from Nami, I believe. The crew helped us plant these after I requested some.”

Luffy did like to mention how fiercely protective his navigator was of her orange trees. Ace wonders if this batch had come straight from her village. 

“They bloom pretty fast, don’t they? How long do you think until they start bearing fruit?” Sabo says, rapping his knuckles against a firm trunk.

“Mm, I hear they’re most fertile in the winter, so I’m hoping for a full yield by the end of the month.”

Now that he thinks about it, Sabo’s always been fond of oranges; before, when the weekend market at Foosha Village had been little more than a handful of farmers and fishermen, Sabo would come down as often as he could, a measly portion of whatever he and Ace had scraped together that week clutched inside a small, plump fist. And he’d always return with a red net bag in each hand, heavy with the ripest crop of oranges they could offer- one that he’d paid for, and the other because the farmers thought him earnest and delightful, and he asked so politely that they couldn’t help sending him off with one more bag for his troubles. 

He’d found out about that last part when he’d gone down to the market on his own, and happened to overhear the farmers’ wives lamenting the little boy who used to come down and see them every week. At the time, he’d wanted to tease Sabo relentlessly for it- but of course, by then, there had been no one left to tease.

Sabo returns to his side, and he catches it again- the faintest whiff of sweet, flowering citrus- the soap he uses. He must use it in his hair, too, the way the scent clings to him. 

“Do you want some at home?” He asks before thinking. “The field looks pretty empty. We could…”

“Get started on our farm?” Sabo finishes for him with a smile.

Their farm. Their oranges, and their pond, and the house with the bed they share. With his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, he says, “That sounds nice, doesn’t it?” and Sabo squeezes his arm in response.

“When they’re good to harvest, I’ll let you know.” Makino says with a meaningful smile of her own. Again, like when they’d last sat down with her, Ace’s skin prickles with heat, somewhere between embarrassment and a strange sense of pride about how awfully transparent he’s being. The snow by his feet turns to slush, and he’s glad that he’d given in this morning when Sabo had insisted he needed to wear boots, even though You know my feet don’t get cold anymore, right?, and the half-hearted argument had only earned him a flick to the forehead and an exasperated It’s the principle of the thing.

“You’re the best.” Sabo tells her. She pats him on the cheek, and laments once again that they’ve both gotten so tall.

“Ace was just at eye-level with me when he first left.” She sighs. “Goodness, where has the time gone?”

By the time they’re making their way back up the mountain, arms full of fish and meat and an assortment of vegetables Sabo had stared him down for, the sun has already dipped below the horizon. At sea, Ace hadn’t had the luxury of appreciating a good winter- full as it was of islands that snowed, and some that did so all year long, the Grand Line’s erratic climate could scarcely replicate the way the sun fell gently over sheets of snow, a thin layer of gold atop shimmering white, growing brighter until it eventually faded into a dazzling blue once night fell.

For a while, the very few handful of people who’d known about Ace’s father had expected him to want nothing to do with that color. The name Gold Roger had given him nothing but grief for the longest, every slight, every whisper, like hooks in his spine threatening to tear him apart. The underwhelming truth of it was, he’d simply chosen to stop associating the two. After all, hadn’t he wanted the same for himself? Whatever it is his- his predecessor had done had nothing to do with him, and if those piece of shit pirates who spent their nights at the pub wouldn’t allow him that kind of peace, then he’d do it himself. 

And perhaps he’s a better man than he gives himself credit for, because somehow, despite it all, he’d found the color again in the fall of sunlight on his little brother’s hat- the glow of the sea at the peak of noon- the warm embers that gather at his fingertips, a part of him forever. Reflected against a jolly roger- his own, for a while, then one he’d shared with his father, with new brothers. The color of his mother’s hair, a halo around her smile, eternally young inside a picture frame. 

After everything, he thinks, watching with poorly hidden envy as the sunset kisses the bridge of Sabo’s nose, his lashes, the liquor-bright amber of his eyes- he had found it in him to love gold, in all its selfish radiance.

-

It comes as little surprise to him, about a week later, when he wakes to the unmistakable scent of citrus but finds a conspicuous lack of hair in his mouth. So it can’t be Sabo, but it has to be something, and his curiosity gets the better of him; he finds his brother in the middle of a hilariously familiar scene, several baskets that once held delicious figs (which he had inhaled, much to Sabo’s amusement) now full of the roundest oranges he’s ever seen.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” He asks, petulant. Sabo pinches him on the cheek. “You’re so cute when you’re asleep, Ace, it’d break my heart.”

“Besides.” he snorts. “They’d probably be gone by the time we made it back.”

“You’re terrible.” Ace groans. “You said the same thing about the figs, do you remember? You cruel, ungrateful man, I save you the best ones and inhale the rest- and you don’t even notice!”

Sabo’s laugh, like everything about him, is unfailingly gentle. The other hand that comes up to pinch Ace’s other cheek, considerably less so. 

“Poor Ace. I haven’t bruised your little maiden heart, have I?”

“You have.” Ace sulks. “Now everyone will think I’m a greedy monster who makes his brother run up and down the mountainside to fetch him fruit and wash his feet.”

“Wash- for fuck’s sake, the things you come up with…” Shaking with laughter, he sways a little closer; Ace pulls him in out of pure impulse, and then they’re both leaning against the doorframe, their heads so close together Ace can feel the warmth radiating off him. He’s still smiling when the laughter eventually ebbs out, and Ace is still clinging to his elbow, momentarily unsure of who’s keeping who upright- he thinks he might tip over, if he lets go of Sabo now.

“Ace.” Sabo murmurs. “Ace?”

“Mm.” He responds, tongue between his teeth.

“It’s almost your birthday.”

Ace blinks. So it is- he’s never given it much thought. The crew had gathered, the first time they tried to celebrate with him, that he wasn’t too hot about the whole thing. They’d been kind enough to water it down and reason that they still needed to celebrate, anyway, because it always paid to welcome the new year, but he knew. There’d always been a cake, an extra cut of meat set apart just for him, trinkets handed to him that they scattered throughout the day in hopes that he wouldn’t notice. He always did. He just let them do as they pleased, because they loved him, and he loves them. 

Ace had succeeded a little better in his attempts to let the whole ordeal fade into the background, once the Whitebeards had dissipated and the Revolutionary Army had taken him in, but even amidst of the sheer volume of people, he had another brother- one that sought him out no matter what corner of the sea he was on, to wish him well on his birthday.

He’d been content with just that- the handful of letters and gifts that rained down on him via messenger bird and the incessant ringing of his Den Den Mushi. Voices, well known and well loved, greeting him on the other end.

“What do you want to do?” Sabo asks in a low whisper, the conspirational kind they used to share as kids. He finds that he really doesn’t know.

“Um…” He whispers back. “Dunno… what do you do on yours?”

“About as much as you.” Sabo answers meekly. 

“I see.” Ace says sagely. “So we’re a bunch of losers, that’s what you’re telling me. We’re trash.”

Sabo scoffs, twists his ear. “You’ve got some weeks to figure it out.” His expression softens. “If you don't feel like it, that’s fine too.” 

Truth be told, he wouldn’t mind if his birthday came to pass just like this, the two of them standing by the doorway, arguing like a pair of old fools. A sudden fit of inspiration strikes when his eyes pass over the overflowing baskets on the floor.

“I have an idea.” He says, lowering his voice again. Sabo’s eyes glitter like he might know where this is going, but he still tilts his head, still whispers back. “What is it?”

“Let’s go farming.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I know. Your turn.”

Sabo gasps in mock affront. “Is it your birthday or mine?”

“My birthday, so I get to tell you what to do. C’mon. Your turn.”

“Fine.” He mulls it over. “Mmm… Ice fishing.”

“Ice fishing?”

“Crack a hole in the ice, toss a line in it, and hope for the best.” He cocks a brow. “Think you can come up with something worse than that?”

“I can.” Ace says, stone-faced. “Running naked through the snow.”

“You didn’t even try!”

-

In the end it’s too cold to do any farming, but not quite cold enough to start digging holes into the ice. Ace spends the last night of his twenty-fourth having dinner at Dadan’s followed by a round of drinks by the sea, watching Makino’s little boy bolt across snow-covered sand while his mother sighs, fond and exasperated, trailing after him at an unhurried pace. 

He studies her smile. Wonders if, had she been given the chance, his mother would have smiled at him like that. Tomorrow he’ll be older than she’d ever been, and it leaves his chest tight, her absence like a long-healed wound that continues to stubbornly ache. When he’d almost died, a little over four years ago, she’d been one of the two people he’d wanted to see the most- the thought made it easier, made it gentler. Dying. There’s no gentle way to die in war, but all the same, his long-gone dreams of running into his mother’s arms tempted him more than the prospect of the life he’d built from the ground up, the selfish peace that had been his before he’d gotten too ambitious.

He’d woken up anyway.

“Don’t feel like drinking?” comes Sabo’s voice, fingers cold and gentle against the heated skin of his wrists. To his credit, Ace doesn’t startle, but he’s almost sure he’s wearing a hell of an expression right now.

“Not really.” He answers hurriedly. “If I get too tipsy you’ll have to lug me up the mountain.”

“That won’t do.” Sabo snorts. “We’d drag in too much snow.”

The worry in his smile is unmistakable, even as he humors Ace; so this must be how Sabo feels, he thinks, bemused, when Ace tries- and fails- to mask his nagging concern. Still, he doesn’t ask what Ace doesn’t tell, and neither does he say any more- he only reaches out to brush the flakes of snow that have gathered at Ace’s brow,adjusts the scarf that Ace doesn’t really need but had worn, anyway, because Sabo didn’t want him to catch a cold. There’s a lump in his throat that’s growing impossible to swallow around. In the periphery, he can hear Dadan and her men going over another round of Mahjong, Makino humming an offhanded bar song as she adjusts the knit cap on her son’s head.

Once, he’d been twenty and so dangerously close to the end. Maybe his mother had been the wrong person to reach for- or maybe he’d realized then that he no longer wanted to die, and had called for the first person who’d been hellbent on saving him. The first person who’d loved him enough to do so. 

And wasn’t that the heart of it all? Before his resolve had hardened, all he’d wanted was to know why his mother had carried him until she no longer could, or why Gramps couldn’t decide between wanting to speak highly of Ace’s father, or to not speak about him at all. But more than that, it was also about a Marine hero who hid him from the world; a bandit learning how to raise three children on her own; three cups of sake, clinking together on a warm summer night.

For so long, he’d believed it was out of his reach. The love that had been so freely given to him all along. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he blurts out.

“Never a good thing.”

“Asshole.” 

“Do you remember-” he hesitates. “Our treehouse.”

Sabo’s gaze softens, something like grief casting long shadows beneath his eyes, and Ace can’t stop himself from brushing his knuckles against frosty cheeks, coaxing the color back into them.

“I do.” He answers quietly. “I actually… well, I heard they fixed it up.” He coughs, whips around, turns back to Ace and tries to pretend it hadn’t happened. “When Luffy- when he left. They patched it up a little. Watched over it for a few years. It’s still…” 

A warm flush creeps gently into Sabo’s ears and bleeds across the apples of his cheeks. There’s a hint of teasing in his voice, quiet and hesitant but so painfully earnest that Ace can’t find the words to respond- all he can do is take Sabo’s freezing hands and fold them into his own, run his perpetually warm fingers over them so that they don’t hurt tonight. That’s another thing Ace had learned in the brief time he’d spent with the Revolutionary Army- haki could only do so much to protect Sabo’s hands. His joints still paid the price for it, even more so with the habits he’d been keeping up, working at his desk nightly until he fell asleep on top of whatever he’d been doing.

“The snow isn’t too bad tonight.” Ace says idly. “Let’s go have a look.”

Sabo squeezes his hands in response.

Dadan raises a brow when she catches them creeping around the huddle of bandits, passed out drunk, like a pair of misbehaving teenagers. She doesn’t say a thing, but Ace swears he sees the beginnings of a smirk around her cigars. He shoots her a look and gets a snort in return.

“Going home, you two?” Makino calls from the shore “Take care!”

“How cute.” Sabo sighs, watching her stroll hand-in-hand with her boy, just on the cusp of two years old. “Do you still want kids?”

Ace very nearly greets the ground face-first, only just manages to steady himself against a tree. “Who? Kids? Me?”

“You mentioned it before.” Sabo shrugs. “Come on- the path’s up ahead.”

Their trudge through the snow is quiet. Comfortable. “I can’t believe you remembered.” Ace mutters, somewhere between endeared and horribly embarrassed, and Sabo laughs, loud and bright against the silence. “Oh, you were adamant. And you got so mad when Luffy asked who you’d have ‘em with.”

He did have an answer, even back then. He always has. He liked Makino a whole lot, but he’d never had any ambitions with her.

“Are you cold?” He asks Sabo, the higher up they climb.

“You’ve put enough layers on me.” Sabo says, giving his hand another squeeze. 

The thick, moss-lined tree base greets them from afar, familiar as a worn coat, just as healthy as it had been nearly two decades ago. It’s well-kept, Ace thinks, throat tying itself into knots. It’s been waiting for them. 

“When Luffy visits.” Sabo whispers to him. “We’ll have to show him.”

“He’d be over the moon. He loved this old thing.” 

“Don’t you? It was your idea, after all.”

Ace toys with the edge of his scarf. “Yeah, I mean. How could I not?”

Their little hideout, born out of several sleepless nights and splintered fingers. He can see just where the bandits had fortified their shabby, six-year-old workmanship, and he’s nearly overcome with emotion. All the love that’s been poured into this big old tree.

He lets- insists, really- Sabo climb up first. The rope ladder is far less exciting than it had been when they’d first come up with it, so much younger, so keen on chasing every thrill the world had to offer. And what do you know it- what he’d been looking for was waiting in the life that came after. Came around, and led him back here.

“Jeez. This place used to feel like a kingdom.” Sabo’s grin splits his face wide open. “God. Up here, I thought I could do anything…” 

He runs a hand over its thick trunk, over the worn scribble of their initials. A,S,L, the crossbones of their little jolly roger falling just over the S. Just how Sabo wanted it. He reaches up and scratches at his arm through his coat, hyperaware and suddenly bashful.

“We had no idea.” Ace murmurs. “You know, I think- I think we turned out pretty great for bunch of angry kids, running around the jungle. We’re all sorts of fucked up, but we made it work.”

“If it weren’t for you and Luffy…” Sabo half-turns, eyes glued to the carving, the grief-stricken fondness returning to his face. Unlike before, Ace freezes up before he can reach out, the ease he’s always found with Sabo abruptly shying away. Under the moonlight, his brother’s gentle beauty is especially devastating, so radiant and lovely it’s almost inhuman, making his knees buckle and forcing him to steady himself awkwardly against the trunk. “I had you both. If it weren’t for you guys, I don’t think I’d have figured anything out. I probably would have died in that house.”

Ace tilts his head. Studies him. He’s always been good with words, Sabo, always thinking and planning and talking as he goes. Feelings, a lot less- they had to be wrangled out of him more often than not, because they were the one thing he couldn’t plan ahead for. And when they did leave him, he made sure it was full of bravado, like a crab clinging stubbornly to its shell. Ace had learned, in parts, how to loosen his grip. Sabo dug his fingers into it to survive.

“You were willing to go back for our sake.” He returns quietly. 

“Oh- Ace. You guys were the best things to ever happen to me.” He turns in full, eyes trained somewhere between Ace’s shoes. “You still are. My favorite brothers in the world.”

Ace likes to think he’s good at reading people. It’s kept him alive, earned him his dearest friends. It’s a little embarrassing to realize, after all this time, that his one and only blind spot hadn’t changed. 

“You’ll be twenty-five in a few hours.” Sabo tells him sagely. “I, um, you know. I can’t bake, and Makino’s been up to her ears with her little boy. Dadan, I doubt…” A gentle puff of laughter leaves him. “Anyway, I brought… I hope you don’t mind.” 

He unbuttons his coat and pulls out a bottle, tucked into one of their scarves- his own or Sabo’s, he’s stopped being able to tell. It’s new, and it definitely isn’t cheap. Ace opens his mouth, closes it again, stares dumbstruck at Sabo, who’s got a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Surprised? I had to hide this with my socks.”

“Oh my god.” Ace says, startled into a laugh. “Seriously? How the hell did I miss that?”

“Dadan remembered the brand, can you believe it?” Sabo shakes his head. “Twenty-five. It’s a milestone to some. I thought- well, it felt right. It sucks that Luffy can’t be here, but you know him. He’ll definitely be calling you all day tomorrow. Your Den-Den will throw a riot.”

Luffy, he thinks, has always been more perceptive than he lets on. That little bastard. Ace misses him so much.

“He better.” Ace smiles.

He doesn’t have to look to know what expression Sabo’s wearing, but he looks, and he reaches, pretending to be undeterred even as his nerves jump and his pulse quickens. They hadn’t bothered lighting any lamps; when the moon comes down on the snow on a night as clear as this, they don’t need to. Sabo looks unreal. His cheeks burn when Ace’s hands find them, but he doesn’t budge, as always, and lets Ace brush deft fingers over the dip beneath his eyes, the slender curve of his jaw, the scarred edge of skin he tries to hide under his hair. His hands must be shaking. He really can’t tell. 

“You’re the best.” He says, meaning every word.

“Ha. I know.” Sabo’s watery eyes won’t meet his but he’s smiling, small and proud, and to Ace it’s more than a great relief.

They leave their old sake cups untouched, sacred, all three of them still perched on top of the crate they’d left it on, and Ace can’t help but burst into laughter when Sabo produces two near-identical copies. 

“They’re new.” He teases. “We have shot glasses at home, don’t we?”

“Oh, shut up.” Sabo says, swatting half-heartedly at him. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

Ace watches him pour, a little overwhelmed, itching to reach out again and hold him, and he almost laughs at himself. When Sabo finishes and sits back on his heels, Ace does just that.

“Happy birthday.” He says, muffled against Ace’s shoulder. “Stay healthy this year.”

“Thank you.” Ace murmurs back, eyes closed, the gentle tremble of Sabo’s hands combing through his hair. “Sabo. I’m glad… I’m glad you’re with me.”

“Where else would I be?” he hums. Anywhere else, Ace thinks, just as Sabo says “You’ll be stuck with me for a long time, Ace. There’s no getting rid of me.”

He clasps his arms tighter, pulling Sabo close, breathing in the dear scent of ripe oranges. What a wonderful gift.

-

A little later, when their coats are discarded and they’re nearly a quarter through the bottle, Ace’s expression grows contemplative; he’s tracing shapes on the ground, like he’s studying every grain of wood and committing it to memory. A terrible wave of nostalgia hits him, then- their backs against the treehouse wall, the steady, quiet sound of their breathing. How many nights had they spent like this, when it had been just the two of them? How many of those nights had Sabo forgotten?

“You know.” Ace says, gaze trained to a pool of light somewhere across the room. “Now that you’ve mentioned it. The whole-” He waves a hand. “Having kids thing. I never told you this, but it used to scare me.”

Sabo blinks, caught off guard. “Really? Oh, is that why you used to be so touchy about it?”

He cringes. “Well, a little. And Luffy has that way of being irritating about it on purpose. But, yeah. It scared me a whole lot, because of- of Roger, and because I really did want it. I thought it was shitty of me, to want it just because I thought I could prove I was better than him. But the longer I thought about it, the longer it stayed, I realized it had nothing to do with that old brute at all. But I also wanted to be a pirate, and.” He turns to Sabo, looking a little morose. 

Sabo reaches out and smooths the crease between Ace’s brows, wishing he could dig up all that hurt and take it, share the burden Ace has carried with him all his life. He knows it’s selfish, overbearing, but Sabo has never been as good or as selfless as Ace. More than anything, he thinks, his brother deserves to be happy.

“What’s stopping you?”

“What do you mean?”

Sabo snorts. “Ace. You’ll never be out of options, you know?”

Ace tilts his head, leaning into the crook of Sabo’s palm. “What do you mean?” he asks again. Sabo is a fool. He can’t help it, when Ace indulges him; lets Sabo pull him into his arms and be greedy with his time.

“If you want to be with someone… If you ever want to settle down, you’ve got all the time in the world. And look at you.” He tugs playfully at Ace’s cheek even as his chest grows tight, and he thinks, God, you make me so selfish. “Who wouldn’t want to wake up to a face like this every morning?”

Ace laughs, flushing in surprise, and he reaches over to pinch Sabo’s cheek in retaliation. “Idiot.”

Still, there’s an unreadable look on his face that Sabo can’t figure out, his eyes, the color of smoke, almost silver in the moonlight. Studying him. So devastatingly earnest that Sabo wants to let the last of his guard down, wants to crawl into his arms and tell him-

“To tell you the truth,” Ace whispers, “I’ve only ever… ah, you know, I used to date around. They were great, I mean- we had our fun. But I always- I always- I was looking for something, and I felt terrible, breaking up with them because they weren’t-” his throat bobs, and Sabo realizes his eyes have grown glassy; he swipes at the tears pooling beneath Ace’s lashes as gently as he can, ignoring the faint tremor of his own hands.

“I wanted to marry. I still do, and I- I’ve only ever wanted to be with one person.”

Ace’s love has never held any room for reservation; he wore it on him like his most prized possession, his greatest treasure, showing it off to anyone that would listen. A flag draped across his back, a wanted poster tucked into his pocket. His heart, for all the world to see, right there on his sleeve.

“How unfair.” Sabo hears himself say like a sulking child, unable to hold Ace’s gaze any longer. “That someone could hold you back for so long.”

A wet laugh punches its way out of Ace. “Is that right?”

“You…” he finds a nonexistent tangle in Ace’s hair and combs through it, hands shaking and clumsy, wanting, all of a sudden, to hide, but completely unwilling to remove himself from Ace. “You’re such an idiot. Waiting for so long. Chasing after- after- you’re unbelievable. Letting someone mislead you so terribly.”

Ace’s smile nearly spills out of Sabo’s hands. “Okay. You big dummy. Whatever.”

Sabo’s face burns. “Shut up!”

“I already made up my mind, dummy. I tried. I tried seeing other people, but I wanted… I’m selfish. I’m a pirate, in case you’ve forgotten. If I wanted to wait ten, twenty, a hundred more years, then I would have.”

“Stubborn.” Sabo admonishes half-heartedly.  “How could you fall for someone so difficult?”

Ace snickers. “No idea. But between you and me,” His voice drops to a quiet murmur, like he’s telling Sabo a precious secret. “He made it so easy. That’s all I wanted; to love someone and have it be as easy as breathing. It still is. I’ve loved him for a very long time.”

Sabo feels like an alleycat without its claws, a beast with the fangs pulled from its mouth, nothing but his soft, vulnerable underbelly on display. Ace watches him with an unerring gentleness that makes him want to hide- but where would he go? He already knows where he’s safest. He’d made his mind up a long time ago, too.

“Ace, if I- if I didn’t make it in time-”

“Then I would have died loving you.” Ace gathers him into his arms, lips pressed reverently against the crown of Sabo’s head. “Sabo. Isn’t it that simple?”

He’d lived this long believing he could carry all his burdens alone; that a love like this had no place for him in it.

God help him. He’s only human, after all.

He crawls into Ace’s lap and buries his face into the crook of his brother’s shoulder, shaking uncontrollably, all of his defenses stripped away and finally leaving him bare.

He sniffles, “You should hate me.”

Ace smiles. “What, do you think I didn’t try?”

“Didn’t try hard enough.”

“Dummy.”

“Stop calling me that!”

A hand closes around his, leading it gently up Ace’s arm, guiding him up the sleeve of his shirt. Sabo fiddles with the edge, unsure, and Ace sighs out a laugh, laces their fingers together just beneath the fabric. Over the crossed-out S, tucked tenderly between the letters of his own name.

“Hey, dummy. I didn’t try at all.” He admits with a helpless smile.

Ace’s heart is beating like it’ll barrel out of his chest at any moment, and it dawns on Sabo, then, that his brother must be just as nervous as he is, sniffing and swallowing like he’s fallen ill. Fondness sits on his tongue and makes his eyes grow moist, and he leans in- indulges- lets his lips part to follow the shape of Ace’s mouth, swallowing a hiccup that comes from his brother and the laugh that follows, melting when the warm arms around him pull him even closer.

What a bunch of fools they are. What a blessing it is, to be so full of love they’re almost sick with it.

Chapter Text

It’s inevitable that they end up tangled together later on in the night, led blind by instinct alone- Sabo, at least, has no real idea of what he’s doing when he pushes up against Ace, moved by fervor, tangling his fingers through his brother’s inky hair and tugging. It’s a relief that Ace knows where he’s trying to go; his brother is attentive, slipping both hands beneath the hem of Sabo’s shirt and resting two burning palms against the dip of his back.

“Ace.” he sighs, pressing a kiss to Ace’s cheek, breathing warmly by his ear. “Ace…”

“Sabo,” Ace murmurs back, nosing at his neck. “You, mmm… ” Sabo kisses him again, impatient. Greedy. Something about being given an inch and taking a mile…

“You’ll be cold” Ace mumbles- tries to- while Sabo bites him on the lip and locks his knees around Ace’s hips.

Sabo’s cheeks flush, lips trembling, and he tucks his body close to Ace’s to whisper, “You’ll keep me warm, won’t you?”

The fingers on his hips squeeze in surprise. Ace coughs out a laugh, but his hands are already ahead of him, thumbs feeling up the knobs of Sabo’s spine, the generous jut of his hipbones; his mouth promptly follows, kissing Sabo almost feverishly, tongue prodding the soft, untouched space of Sabo’s own and the slender column of his neck. 

“So shameless…” he says, muffled into the insistent press of Sabo’s lips.  

“But you’re excited.” Sabo points out, uncharacteristically smug.

Ace flushes a lovely red, all the way up to the roots of his hair, and he pulls back instantly to pinch Sabo’s ear. “The things you say- keep you warm, you said-”

“Aw. I think you liked it.” Sabo crows, delighted by his brother’s bare-faced honesty. 

“You’re so full of crap.” Ace groans, but he’s pushing the collar of Sabo’s shirt away to mouth at the curve where his neck and shoulder meet. “God. You smell so nice.”

“It’s the soap I, I, mhh-” Fingers like twin points of heat tug at a nipple, derailing his train of thought immediately.

“Yeah. You’ve mentioned.” Ace says, rolling the bud between his thumb and forefinger. “But the soap you use is minty-something, isn’t it?”

“I don’t- fuck- don’t remember, maybe it is- ah!” Ace’s focus had diverted mid-conversation and he’d, without Sabo noticing, rucked his shirt up to seal his lips over the pert bud he’d been playing with, kissing and nibbling around it until it pebbles. His hands come up to cup the small mounds of Sabo’s chest, touch chaste like his face isn’t currently buried between them, sniffing and nuzzling like he’s scared they’ll pop out of Sabo’s body and run away.

The soap can’t possibly be this good… He thinks blearily, reaching up out of instinct to run his fingers through Ace’s hair and cradle him close. Something like a whimper reverberates across his sternum, but before he can ask, Ace is suckling with increased vigor, laving kisses over his tits until they’re glistening with spit and puffy from the attention. 

“Oh,” he sighs. “Ace-” his head is spinning. His body feels like a live wire, a harp that’s been fine-tuned, suddenly breathless and hot all over. He’s faintly aware that the heat in his chest is rapidly making its way south, warmth building just beneath his stomach, dripping from between his legs.

Ace is busy sucking a mark into his collarbone, hands still caged around Sabo’s ribs. Sabo grunts in irritation, shifting in Ace’s lap to get his attention and he thinks, God, he’s spoiled me rotten. 

“What is it?” Ace murmurs, running a warm hand up and down the length of his back. “C’mere.”

It’s impossible to get any closer than they already are, but it doesn’t stop Sabo from trying, winding his arms even tighter around Ace, like a vine clinging to its favorite tree. He peppers kisses up and down the side of Ace’s neck, gives him another peck on the lips before he opens his mouth and the words catch in his throat.

“Um,” He says, willpower taking over where his brain begins to fail him, tugging his shirt the rest of the way off before he can hesitate and growing embarrassed almost immediately after, holding it in front of his lovingly bitten chest as if he’s got any modesty left to protect. “Well…”

He knows he’s started shaking again, but there’s nothing he can do to stop it. He’s pressed too close to Ace to feel even a drop of the cold outside, and the wind has stilled just enough to leave the curtains undisturbed. 

“Are you okay?” Ace asks him, pulling back and kissing his cheek. “Do you want to stop?”

“No, I.” he swallows. “It’s-”

He’s not unsure. Least of all about Ace, who watches him with gentle eyes and a patient smile. But here’s the thing…

“I’ve never-” he coughs, looks up at the beams on the ceiling. 

The hand on his face gently coaxes him back, guides him to meet Ace’s eyes, bright and wide. “I- really?”

There’s something almost boyish about his wonder, cheeks flushed scarlet, voice tender with sincerity. Sabo’s inhibitions- whatever little of them he’d held on to- soften, heart at ease. “Really.”

Ace gives his thigh a squeeze, moves back just long enough to yank his own shirt above his head and give Sabo an eyeful of the honeyed skin, pulled taut over his firm chest. There’s a flash of teeth in his smile, earnestness tainted by hunger, before he leans forward again to kiss Sabo like he’s starving, like the only thing that can slake his thirst is Sabo’s mouth. 

“I’ll take care of you.” Ace promises, strong arms locked around his waist.

The scalding heat of Ace’s torso swallows the last of his rationality and coaxes away any hesitation left. Sabo can’t help the soft cry that leaves him, so filled with want that he aches with it, terrified by the vehemence of his own need. His legs grow weak, the small of his back thrumming with anticipation as Ace’s kisses turn into a gentle push, pressing him against the floor of the treehouse. Sabo has no clue how their discarded clothes end up in a single pile, and he’s surprised, somewhat, when he's met with a soft pool of fabric instead of the cold, hard wood he’d silently been bracing for.

He mewls when Ace returns to his chest, sucking on a perked nipple as he slowly unfastens the ties of Sabo’s pants, keeping him distracted while he pulls them down his hips. Sabo trails a hand down Ace’s stomach to return the favor, but he’s stopped almost instantly by what he finds.

Ace is… most definitely… 

“Wow.” he blurts out before he can stop himself. “You’re huge.”

“Really? Thanks.” 

“...Oh, shut up!”

He has to tug twice to get the waistband all the way down, and then the jut of his cock is undeniable, straining against his boxers and pressing up against Sabo’s thigh. Ace laces their fingers together as moves his hips, painfully slow, the thin layer of their underwear nowhere near enough to make the feeling any less intense. Sabo whines when his brother’s clothed cock grinds into the wet spot between his legs, hips jumping to meet him. He’s dizzy, melting through the floor, the onslaught of sensation both incredible and frightening.

His eyes grow glassy with tears, legs falling open and straining for Ace’s touch. Ace has no intentions of making him wait; he brings his mouth lower, kissing down his twitching stomach and the patch of hair just below his navel. He mouths at Sabo through his boxers, dragging a weak cry from his throat, before biting down on the waistband and stripping him bare with just his teeth.

Holy fuck, he thinks, ears ringing. Then Ace is sitting back and swiftly tugging himself free, leaving Sabo with no time to come up with anything other than an even more alarmed, Holy fuck! 

The tent in his boxers hadn’t done it any justice at all. It hangs proudly from between Ace’s thighs, flushed a red so deep it’s almost purple, impossible to undermine in any way. It’s just as heavy as Sabo thinks it is when Ace drags the shaft across his stomach, leaving a thin, glistening trail of precum behind. 

“Last chance to back out.” Ace tells him playfully. Sabo looks up to meet his teasing smile, but the clear-cut anxiety makes his eyes droop at the corners. How silly , he thinks, heartsick, reaching up to smooth the worry from his brow. I’ll never leave you alone again.

“I don’t want to.” He murmurs, locking his legs around Ace’s middle. “I want my big brother to take care of me.”

Several weeks ago, one of their oranges had grown so tender it split itself open. If anything in the world could come close to the feeling, he hopes it’s this; Ace sheathing himself inside like a sailor docking for rest, kissing him senseless, until all that exists is the point where their bodies meet. 

“I, ah.” He moans. “It’s hot… Ace, I, mmm…” 

“Sweetheart.” Ace whispers, voice heavy with desire.

Ace makes love with a ferocity that turns Sabo’s bones to water, melting the hard line of his spine and undoing him with the ease of a lover who already had him memorized. It isn’t too far from the truth; from the moment they’d returned to each other, Sabo couldn’t stop himself from clinging to Ace, tamping down his guilt and biding his time until Ace finally grew sick of him. He never did. Ace clung back and spent the last three years by Sabo’s side. 

Sabo yields to the heat between his legs, every thrust punching a moan out of him, cunt throbbing and clenching around the intrusion. His hands scramble for whatever they can reach- Ace’s hair, his face, the broad expanse of his shoulders. Sabo clings to his back, finally delirious with pleasure, tugging him down for a messy kiss. 

Pressure builds between his hips, the tension in his stomach hitting a crescendo as Ace’s slick thrusts deepen, driving into Sabo’s tender core. He’s probably crying, too overwhelmed to think, clawing at Ace’s back and calling out his name, sobbing, don’t stop, don’t stop . There’s a thumb rubbing his clit in tight circles, a gentle mouth kissing the feeling back into his numb face. Sabo can hardly move, thighs limp where they’re still wrapped around Ace, and the best he can do is card his fingers through Ace’s sweaty hair, cradling him close to his chest. 

“I can’t- I can’t- I’m gonna-”  

“It’s okay. It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Ace’s movements slow to a feverish grind, pulling out less than halfway before he’s pistoning into Sabo again, throbbing cock working him right where he’s most sensitive. Sabo feels him in his stomach, in his throat, and the thought of it- of belonging to Ace completely- finally tips him over the edge and makes his vision go white.

He comes to just as Ace is removing himself, clearly still hard, and he regains enough control over his limbs to sluggishly tug him back down, frowning. “Where are you going?”

The head of Ace’s cock twitches where it’s half-buried inside Sabo, but he lowers his lashes like a blushing virgin, smiling awkwardly. “You came. It’ll hurt if I keep going.”

Sabo pulls his ear. “Do you think I can’t take it?”

Ace sighs, tugging on one of Sabo’s ears in return. “When did I say that, dummy? Besides, you must be exhausted.”

Sabo tries to kick the small of his back, but there isn’t an ounce of force left in his legs- his entire lower half, really. He goes for a hug instead, wrapping his arms around Ace’s sweat-slick neck and pressing their foreheads together. 

“I’m fine.” He murmurs. “Come on. If it hurts, I’ll tell you.” 

There’s a shaky gasp by his ear, almost pained. “It’s dangerous… If I, If I- inside you-”

Sabo listens to his breathing, to the steady measure of his heartbeat that reverberates across Sabo’s chest. Ace doesn’t move away. Doesn’t do anything but lean even further into him, swallowing hard, saying nothing. Always looking after Sabo, even in his eagerness.

“Ace,” he says, heart sore with affection. “Ace. I love you.”

Ace pulls him into a fierce embrace, and Sabo’s left without another second of reprieve before Ace is driving into him again, burying his sniffles into Sabo’s shoulder, shaking with what might be fear, maybe relief. He kisses the curve between neck and shoulder, up Sabo’s jaw and his damp cheeks, over and over again, kissing it into his mouth so that he’ll never be left doubting; I love you, I love you, I love you.

-

When he wakes, a little later, it’s to the sound of fireworks, the gentle scatter of colored lights across the floor of the treehouse. Sabo’s shaking him awake, laughing at the awful snort that jolts him bodily from where he’s sleeping on Sabo’s stomach.

“Holy shit.” Ace says groggily. “Thought you were an earthquake.”

“Good morning to you too.” Sabo answers, grinning. “Happy birthday.”

Dawn island hails the new year in a scatter of golds and oranges, lighting up the midnight sky and coming down in glimmering cascades. Even then, the most radiant of them by far is sitting right before him, hair sticking up in odd places, covered in teeth marks, wearing Ace’s coat. Ace opens his arms and Sabo goes willingly, hooking his chin over Ace’s shoulder.

Today, he is older than his mother had ever been. Older than he thought he’d ever be. It’s no longer the daunting thing it had been when he was ten, nor is it a thrilling, adrenaline-fuelled mirror of his youth. It’s the kind of quiet contentment that takes him by surprise, leaves his heart so full he can taste it in the back of his throat when he looks at Dadan and Makino and the stalls that line the farmer’s market, when he lifts his head and sees Sabo, just as old as he is, smiling and asking him what he’s thinking about.

“Thank you.” he tells Sabo, lips pressed against his forehead. 

I love you. I’m glad I exist.