As it was so often, Luffy failed to notice the cold until it tested the limits of his tolerance; a little night-time chill bothered him little, and he was pleased to see her there against the frame of the window. All clear. She was keeping watch, not dozing on the job like he or Zoro might have, and she always went about it with deliberate preparation.
Tea, a blanket, for starters.
Luffy smiled at her. Sometimes, that was the only greeting he needed.
It was to the window a generous arm's reach from her side that he wandered to, putting a knee on the bench that ringed the wall in a ceaseless circle, propping his chin on his hands, elbows on the sill to either side of that blossomed limb on look-out, his breath fogging the glass as he remarked after a time:
"It's quiet."
A stiff wind had blown away the cover of clouds, leaving the stars to shine steadily down like blue fire trapped in a powder of diamond dust across that deep velvet sky. He might have contented himself to watch it a while in companionable silence, and may well have given such an impression to Robin. Perhaps what he chose to do next came as a surprise, when his attention wandered from the window and down to the hand that sprouted from the windowsill.
It started with a warm hand trailing up the delicate skin of her wrist, of callused fingers gradually intertwining with hers, the eye in that palm not hindered when it was his hand cradling the back of hers. It was his dark fringe instead, dusting her fingers as he bent, acting on something he had been taught those years ago. The press of his lips right against the smooth skin of that wrist a brief prelude to the gentle scrape of teeth.
There was just no way he wasn't angling for a reaction.
I'M SO LATE....
Tea, a blanket, for starters.
Luffy smiled at her. Sometimes, that was the only greeting he needed.
It was to the window a generous arm's reach from her side that he wandered to, putting a knee on the bench that ringed the wall in a ceaseless circle, propping his chin on his hands, elbows on the sill to either side of that blossomed limb on look-out, his breath fogging the glass as he remarked after a time:
"It's quiet."
A stiff wind had blown away the cover of clouds, leaving the stars to shine steadily down like blue fire trapped in a powder of diamond dust across that deep velvet sky. He might have contented himself to watch it a while in companionable silence, and may well have given such an impression to Robin. Perhaps what he chose to do next came as a surprise, when his attention wandered from the window and down to the hand that sprouted from the windowsill.
It started with a warm hand trailing up the delicate skin of her wrist, of callused fingers gradually intertwining with hers, the eye in that palm not hindered when it was his hand cradling the back of hers. It was his dark fringe instead, dusting her fingers as he bent, acting on something he had been taught those years ago. The press of his lips right against the smooth skin of that wrist a brief prelude to the gentle scrape of teeth.
There was just no way he wasn't angling for a reaction.