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touchmycoat · 5 years ago

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kinktober: day 7

I am LATE. Working on the Marco-centric piece and got all the fragments. Just shifting them around until they do what I want ;; So here’s another cop-out fic (but I’m genuinely wanting to develop this into a stupid romcom situation)

References @watermelon-chan‘s BEAUTIFUL fuckable!Marco design

Day 7: massage

Ace’s moans of pleasure got quickly out of hand. And, Sabo thought incredulously, checking the clock on his phone, it’s been all of five minutes.

“Here?”

“Yeah, yeah that’s g—Oh, motherFUCKER—”

“Alright.” Sabo punctuated his interruption with a loud slam of the backroom door. “That’s enough.”

“Something wrong?” the massage therapist—goddamn Marlboro or whatever the fuck his name was—had the audacity to ask, all innocent-like.

“Sabo,” Ace grunted into the hole in the bed, where his face was no doubt distended stupidly like the stupid fucker he was. “You’ve gotta give Marco a go. His hands are magical.”

“This is a place of business,” Sabo hissed, channeling all his rage and stress and something fucking else at the only righteous cause on hand. He jabbed a finger in Mobert's direction. “Tone it down.”

“Me?” The guy was just a massage therapist, not a surgeon like he was all pretending to be, holding his hands up like that, glistening with oil. At least they were off of Ace's body now, which was absolutely what mattered. “Shall I just do my job less well then yoi?”

“Don't you dare!” came Ace's protest, the bloody traitor. He hadn't even bothered lifting his face from the pillow. “Put your hands back right now!”

“I think your boyfriend's gonna rip my hands off if I do,” Medward drawled, fixing Sabo with a flat, unimpressed look. That, flatteringly, was what got Ace's head up.

“He's my agent.” Oh how Sabo loved it when Ace corrected strangers so vehemently about the nature of their relationship. It would really convince any stranger that Ace had nothing but absolutely platonic feelings for Sabo. That was Ace—the best MMA fighter in the country and a phenomenal actor. It could break Sabo's heart. “Not my boyfriend.”

Whatever Sabo's expression was giving away, Marrison had the actual audacity to look sorry for Sabo, hands still hovering. Sabo quickly schooled his face into something more appropriate for the situation; that is, a cool snarl for the massage therapist, whose expression morphed immediately back to unimpressed.

“C'mon Sabo,” Ace was beginning to whine. Sabo busied himself with staring Monathan down instead of meeting those eyes turned big and beseeching. “We only have him booked for half an hour. And my shoulder actually still kinda hurts.”

The massage must've been really damn good, if Ace was pulling out the big guns already to get Sabo to capitulate. And capitulate Sabo did, clenching his fists so he didn't flip off fucking Mephistopheles over there with the trendy haircut and stupidly buff forearms. That'd be unprofessional, and definitely grounds for a bad Yelp review—Koala and Nami would absolutely kill him.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. Mamanda looked immediately smug, until Sabo yanked one of the chairs lining the side of the room forward, slamming himself down onto it with vicious abandon. “But I'm staying.”

“Wha—”

“Sure!”

Mister Forearms-with-the-Trimmed-Beard looked down at the back of Ace's head, mouth agape.

“Wouldn't you be more relaxed with your agent not in the room yoi?” he tried to coax.

“Nah, Sabo's great,” Ace hummed happily, with all the cheeriness of a man who thought every problem was uncomplicatedly resolved. “We're good in here.”

“I—”

“What's wrong?” Sabo goaded, “performance issues with an audience?”

“I am a professional,” Mantucket breathed, brows all furrowed and his big masculine face looking all serious as he started kneading at Ace's back again. Little happy huffs of pleasure were already coming from the direction of Ace's head. “I don't need a chaperone yoi.”

Especially not one as belligerent as you. Sabo heard that loud and clear.

“Professional,” Sabo snorted. “Is that what you call being fully erect since you walked in?”

“Sabo—!”

“Okay, I've had enough.”

Massage therapist was across the room in the space of a blink, wiping his hands clean on a towel and hoisting his bag up at the same time with motions of controlled fury. Ace, scrambling upright, was glaring at Sabo too (but not before, Sabo noted with satisfaction, guiltily eyeing the front of Micycle's pants, where of course there was no inappropriate sign of sexual attraction that Sabo was sure the douchebag felt toward Ace, because who wouldn't).

“Marco, wait—” Clearly realizing that this wasn't something that could be resolved in the moment (not unless Sabo did something drastic and completely unnecessary, like apologize), Ace sighed awkwardly and scratched the back of his head. “I really am sorry. Um, I'll stay in touch?”

“Figuratively speaking,” Sabo couldn't help but add, inspiring a loud scoff of incredulity from Marco the Massage Therapist, the damn bastard who had to come in and be good at his job and get all those noises out of Ace all while looking like that. Never mind Sabo had called him first. Asshole had it coming.

Ace flung a towel at Sabo's face, and Sabo didn't dodge it. Out of respect for Ace.

“If I pick up the phone and he's on the other end, that's it yoi,” Marco warned Ace, standing at the door. “I'll speak to you as my patient. That's it.”

“...Okay, thank you for your time today!” Ace called weakly, as Marco's back (and what a stupidly thin shirt he was wearing) retreated down the hallway. His smile dropped away, the moment Marco was out of sight. “Great. Sabo. You dick.”

“I was protecting your virtue from an obvious creep, you're welcome.”

“Creep—you're crazy! Okay, fine, maybe I shouldn't have been yelling so loud, but he's honestly, really, truly the best one you've ever hired! That knot that's bothered me for ages? He got it out in seconds!” With a deep and beleaguered sigh, Ace flopped back onto the bed, torso still bare and vaguely glistening with oil. Sabo swallowed. “Great. Now I'll never get a good massage again for as long as I live.”

“You're such a drama queen.” And because Sabo loved Ace, he let the appropriate amount of irony suffuse his tone, getting a little chuckle in response. “Hand it here then.”

A quirked eyebrow. “What?”

“The massage oil.” Cracking his knuckles, Sabo approached the massage table, trying to examine Ace's toned body with a critical eye, not the eyes of some jerk inappropriately lusting after a man way out of his league. Marco really was a creep. “If that scrawny little man can do it, so can I.”

#marcoacesabo #he's so mean #kinktober 2019 #this was a fun fic to write tho i'll admit #nothing other than fic gives me this level of giddy stupid joy #sabo #portgas d. ace #marco

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