AN: Set post-canon. As with a number of my other fics, Law and Marco have been partners for some time.

Good Housekeeping

"Just cos you got feathers doesn't mean you're a feather duster. You'll set the place on fire."

Marco turned. Law sprawled on the couch, book held against his chest as he read, silver band around his wrist seeming to hold the book up more than his spread hand. Something so appealing in the wrongness of those finger tattoos, upside down, on the hefty gilt-embossed tome. The Body Excoriated: Anatomy, Memory, and Religious Innards. Or maybe they were the perfect fit.

"You could step up and do your fair share instead of bitching from the sidelines."

A muscle twitched along Law's cheekbone, a slight twist to his mouth. He extended a free hand, fingers downwards, and formed a Room. "Takt." A spoon in the kitchen hit the faucet. The right temperature of hot and cold filled the tub in the sink. He flicked his pointer to the side, and manipulated the dishwashing liquid. Froth bubbled through the water.

After turning everything off and returning items to their previous position, all through his powers, he lifted the dishes on the sink with an upward stroke of his fingers, and immersed them in the water. He located the scrubber and, by slicing his pointer through air and in circles, it scoured the plates one by one. A twitch of his hand transported them to the drainer. All without looking up from his reading.

"Satisfied?" he murmured, releasing his Room and turning a page.

Marco had stopped dusting. Law was right. They didn't really need any more singed furniture but, who did he think he was? The Sorcerer's apprentice? Look at how that turned out for that squeaky mouse.

"Lazy fuck."

Law, still reading, lifted an eyebrow. Now there was an idea. "To the contrary, that was exhausting. My powers deplete my energy, remember?" The twist of his mouth curved into a smile.

"Still a lazy fuck."

Law turned another page.

"Stand up and help me then. That'll save your strength."

Law looked up for a second, returned to his page, and read to the end. He dog-eared it, Marco wincing. Hadn't he bought him a gazillion bookmarks? Or if they failed to take root in Law's consciousness as a way to mark a page, plenty of coasters from the bar or pamphlets from Law's clinics lay around the house. At least he didn't leave his books face down, spines cracking.

"There's something contradictory about those concepts, but if you insist," Law said. He laid the text against the back of the couch and stood – black t-shirt, loose pants, bare feet. He sauntered past Marco on the way to the kitchen, his gaze like fireflies flipping off evening. Brassy – from the sheen on his earrings, to the glow in his eyes, to the challenge that washed his face, to the way he almost brushed into him as he went by – it was brassy Law today. Marco took a hold of his elbow and Law ducked his head.

"Lazy fuck." Marco tugged him in and Law followed.

"What else is there to do on a Saturday afternoon?" the loose-limbed ratbag asked. He scratched under Marco's chin as if raking through his own whiskers. "Apart from the dishes." Nipped Marco's lips and pulled away just as the blond responded. "The dusting." Both arms slipped under his open jacket – still in purple after all these years – and pulled the commander closer. More ink, more flesh, more flesh against him. "Walking the dog."

No, no, no. Law and the freaking dogs. Marco steered the Heart's head toward him and covered his grin with his mouth. Often the best way to get him to shut it. Good mood Law, good. Good mood Law, confident. Good mood Law promised satisfaction. Law laughed against him, into him. The best. Who knew saliva could taste so sweet? Better not remind the degenerate that research was usually another downtime or – get real – any time, option for him.

"You want it lazy?" Marco whispered past Law's ear after pulling his lips away from his mouth.

Law nodded. Marco's hand climbed his back, questioned its welts and upraised skin.

"Not a hard fuck?"

Law shook his head lightly.

"It gets returned?"

Law's eyes lit, he inclined his head. Hell yeah. "Where's Mercury?" He looked around the room.

"Chasing bees. If we close the door, we should be fine."

His eyes blazed again. "Couch."

"On the dog hair?"

"Think I'd be lying on dog hair? I cleaned it earlier."

"Ohoho, not such a lazy fuck then?" Marco cradled Law's arse, and a buccaneer flash of white cut across his face. He clasped the edges of Law's shirt. Curls of his pectoral ink tested the boundaries of the v-neck. He didn't, or couldn't pull the top off completely, Law's arms still around him.

He pushed the shirt up and brought it over Law's head – like some makeshift spithood – in an attempt to get him to undress, Law minimally losing balance, Marco losing decorum. He dove against his chest, hands clutching Law's sides, pressing into his back. Housework was a bore. This was much better.

Rasping his tongue across Law's nipples, grazing the nib with his teeth, Marco's body tingled as Law sucked in air. Or air through cloth. He tried to suck in air. The Phoenix unfastened the button of his lover's khakis, a hand plunging into and past the cloth; feeling the hairs that led from his navel to his groin.

Law staggered back a little and pushed him away like he would one of their exuberant dogs. "Hey, hey, hey! I can't see a thing."

That growl. Marco drew back from Law's chest, pulled his hand from his slacks, but didn't let go.

"Can't breathe. What are you? Ten?" Law tried to slap Marco's hand away as he lowered the tee from his face.

Marco placed his hand firmly across the Heart pirate's navel and abdominal muscles. He wanted to caress that belly-button, Law's hidden delights. His thumb dipped into the cavity and extended the skin downwards, joined his forefinger in tweaking some of Law's scraggly black hairs, before pulling away from his body. The tightening of Law's lean, sinewy skin corkscrewed warmth through him.

"Undressing yourself?" He nibbled up Law's neck as the Heart tried to get a hand on his shirt to pull it over his neck, attempting to hold Marco at arm's length as he did so. "Again, not such a lazy fuck."

"It's been said that I'm a very good fuck," Law said, letting Marco's enthusiasm go with a put-upon sigh. Managing to shake the top off, his torso on display, he dropped the t-shirt to the floor.

Hungry. Marco was hungry. Law noted the spark and filed it away and indicated to the Phoenix that he should strip too. He wasn't going to be the only bare-arsed fool decorating their living room. Marco, removed his sash, and pulled down his cut-offs. Law stepped out of his pants, not having to pop the button, left them on the floor, then walked to their bedroom in his boxers.

"What the? Where are you off to?" Marco asked, one leg in his trousers, one out.

"Lube," Law answered.

Why couldn't he teleport that into the lounge room? But then again, Marco preferred that Law reserved his stamina for other things. He picked up their clothes, left them on a chair, pulled a blanket from the linen closet, rested it on the couch's armrest, grabbing a few towels while at it.

He sat on the sofa's edge.

And waited.

.

He eyed Law's book. Innards, huh? Well, know thine enemy.

By the time Law resurfaced, Marco had covered three pages of the Sweetbreads of Saints and Sinners. Academic language. Keeping his eyes open was no easy task, that tease sure took his time. Fortunately, Law was panther enough that not even a picture of tripe twisted into a crown of thorns could make him lose his desire for him.

A few cloths under his arm and carrying a container of warm water, he finally resurfaced. Fair enough. They both enjoyed it more if they were somewhat clean.

Law placed the items on the coffee table, dug out the slick from his pocket, and put it next to them. Marco stood and stretched down to get a cloth, but Law stopped him. "I'll do you." He manoeuvred Marco so the table was to their left.

There weren't any curtains to draw. Their bungalow was high enough on the hill that no passerby could casually see in, though curious raptors might get an eyeful.

"How 'bout you?"

"Already done. - - Boxers."

Ah, that's what he'd been doing. Both men removed their briefs and Law tossed them to where their other clothing lay. He stood behind, slipped his arms under Marco's and drew him in. The Phoenix put his arms to the back of him, gripping Law's glutes. The warmth and curve of each body all pre-race parade jitters and bottled wine.

"Steady."

Marco shivered. Law's tongue and lips wove a trail across the gradients of his back and neck. The flat of his hands, first firm against his stomach, circled slats and bumps of muscle and tone. Pulses and pressure fissured Marco's lips into a balloon-squeak of air.

Law's fingers danced pummel and pamper, good cop, bad cop, over his ribcage and chest. Marco's grip dug into the flesh of Law's arse. The doc's breath flared into the nape of his neck.

The Heart now cupped an open palm over the fist he held to Marco's sternum, his scrimshaw fingers then flattening below, like kelp slinking with the current, seeking the smooth plane of bone . Law's chin rested over his shoulder, close to his ear, their breath mingling. Marco's skin prickled, blood hammering his ears.

Law slipped his arms away, and Marco dropped his hold. He tipped his head and watched the Heart bend down, his side pushed into the Whitebeard's hamstring to maintain contact, the arc of his tattoos moving with him. Law's hair tickled the curve of his butt-cheek. He dipped a cloth into the water. Squeezing it out, he stood, slipping his arms under his lover's again.

Ah, rolling stock, Marco thought. Rolling stock. Whatever that was. Nothing to do with the cloth. Everything to do with the cloth. Everything to do with the cloth Law was running up, down, and along his body – highways, byways and track. Thread counts.

The doctor's bedside manner left some folks thinking they'd made a mistake stepping one ailing foot, one gout-ridden toe, into his practice, but he didn't skimp on comfort. Or kinks. The non-threatening kind.

The majority of the cloths Law accessed when he decided upon pleasing were cotton, muslin or bamboo. But he had a few scratchity old towels more likely to be found out the backs of wind-blown shearing sheds than amongst the tactiles and textiles of Law's profession and obsessions.

The softer towel warmed and cleaned Marco's torso, taking care to press into the dip of the curve of his hips, the hollows of his collarbone and neck, nibbling his flesh, darting the skin. Still holding one arm across his abs, Law dropped that cloth into the container, a splash of water spilling to the table top, and picked up a rag that had seen one washing cycle too many. Marco loved it. Law knew where and when to apply its abrading zero-thread count, scraping it up his chest.

"Damn."

Law lessened the pressure. "Okay?" He nipped at his jawline, Marco twisted his head, Law's irises a thousand siren calls.

"Damn right." One arm stretched back to hold Law to him again, to keep both of them steady. "Keep going, Nana."

He scratched it under and along his arms, dropped it to the table. Marco reeled in the chirp pin-pricking through him as the material tickled the thinner underarm skin. Not very phoenix-like.

"That one won't see your boys."

Marco let out a quiet laugh, about the only sound he could manage to expel, but as Law ran his hand up the back of his neck into his hair, his long fingers pressing into the depressions of his skull, his thumb strong against its base, he tipped his head back into the hold. Trust. He was glad of it.

Law's hand worked forward until his finger pads pressed on Marco's forehead, percolating tension away. His palm, then covering tracks over that blond shock to the base of the skull, twisted so his hand cupped Marco's neck. Law compressed his grasp momentarily. He had him. Marco had no fear of Law letting him fall.

The Heart swept his hand around to his throat, fingers windmill sails over Marco's chin, a few brushing his lips. Marco's tongue met them briefly, before Law's open palm came to a stop over his Adam's apple. Marco stiffened in more places than one. Law's hand worked the sides of his throat, squeezing inwards lightly, Marco gasping lightly, before gliding again to his sternum.

The Phoenix wiped the back of his free hand across his mouth. He was drooling, goddamn drooling.

Steadying him, Law squatted and immersed one of the softer cloths. Kneeling, he ran the flannel up the helix of muscles twisting from Marco's calves to his hamstrings, not neglecting to pinch along his shins. The decoration Marco rarely removed remained undisturbed. His hand pulled at Law's hair, the Heart grunting in response, leaning away from the grip to really feel it.

His face pushed into the Phoenix's lower back, puffs of air wet against his skin, Law then held the cloth in two hands and wiped it across Marco's thighs like shuttle and loom. There, thought Marco, there, and there and there, each usually disregarded area screeching for more.

Standing, Law returned with a clean, moist cloth. Marco jumped as Law's cupped his balls through his legs.

"Bad?"

Fuck no. "Don't stop."

Law skimmed the cloth over his buttocks, then categorised every nick and niche of Marco's spine. Ah, his bizarre Nana, Marco thought, rolling his head, lifting his shoulders and releasing them as the cloth worked its way up his back.

Law dipped the cloth, wrung it out, and Marco felt the warm flannel across his shoulders, the back of his ears. Law brought it to the front and towelled it across his nipples. The soft cloth. All the while planting kisses on the creases, crevices, shells and cartilages of his body. Marco felt his warmth press into him, his cock.

"Law." He took his hand the next swab around and tried to push it further south. "Legs getting tired."

"Patience, old man," Law whispered, but encircled his balls a second time, everything tightening, before bringing the cloth in his other hand against Marco's lower stomach. All was right in the world. The material dipped into his navel, and then, securely but softly, Law reached down and drew it up and across his scrotum, around his dick, ensconced in warmth. A doctor's palpations over the skin, through the cloth. He twitched under Law's touch, under the flannel. Law's pads lingered briefly on the tip.

Marco lifted an arm over his shoulder, breath all scattered soil and tumbleweed, and felt Law's tangled mess of hair for a moment, ripping it up by the roots. Law groaned, his tongue dampening the side of Marco's neck.

"Fuck."

"Almost done," Law said, pulling hands, body and lips away. Cloth doused, excess water drained, he used it to stimulate the skin between Marco's balls and anus. Mother of God. A slow, sensual, burn. The cloth was plenty wet enough.

He brought it to the cleft of Marco's arse. Good, the Phoenix thought. It was good, though here Law was a little less gentle, scrubbing like a puritan housewife.

"Easy, Nana." Marco brought his hand to put some pressure on the palm that pressed into his belly. "It's not as if your dick is hermetically sealed."

Law eased up and laughed into Marco's hair, the motions gentle, warm and cleansing now. Around both his arse and anus. Arousing.

"Sorry, Charlie. Guess I'm leading?"

Marco lifted the arm around his waist to his lips.

"That okay?"

.

Law kissed the point of his skull nearest the ear, and dropped the cloth in response, reaching down to pick up the lube and opened it one-handed, dropping the lid to the floor. He coated his fingers. "Going in, Charlie." He applied a liberal amount to the Phoenix, returning the lube, before easing one flat and slightly curved Surgeon of Death finger inside that warm space, wincing as Marco did, holding his breath as Marco did, urging them both to breathe easy and into the motion.

He stilled, his breath skipping across the blond's face, until Marco's system decided he was the Trojan Horse kind of antigen, the friendly kind. Until it figured the benefit of being fucked outweighed the pain.

Marco nodded and Law gradually moved the tip of his finger against the roof and walls of the canal, beckoning hedonistic delight into the room. Or its wallflower brother. Steadily, slowly, steadily.

"Thanks for asking." Law's other hand reached around and stroked Marco's cock. Marco set up a low-lying hum of approval as the doctor's skill found his prostate and lightly massaged it

"Hah. Good?" Law grazed the ridge of his lover's ear, Marco's buzz reverberating through his own chest.

"Unnh."

"Ready?"

"Unh."

Law eased in and waited as Marco's body retracted, reacted and relaxed against his own. Law loved every chance he had to do this out of affection, out of free will. The Phoenix's hand joined Law's on his cock and they glided together like fucking skating prima donnas, exaltation in tandem, before it all inevitably ended in a sad kneecapping mess.

"I'll do me, Law, and you do me, too." Marco's voice was thick. Law's plainness and attention to small detail aroused him the most. "Ya lazy fuck."

"That how you want it?"

"Any way, babe."

Marco was less likely to melt down at sudden changes in technique, didn't need things spelled out as clearly as Law did.

"You got it. You know Morningtown Ride? Train song?"

Law pushed into him. The Phoenix escalated strokes along his dick, steadily, smoothly, working in the remnants of lube Law's touch had left. His other arm stretched behind against his lover. He braced into Law's hold: One tattooed arm over his waist, the other across his chest, that silver band pressed into his skin. Knuckle-duster spike-encrusted, cluster-bomb pressure built as Law moved and his own pelvis jerked into his hand.

"Ah...unh..ugh."

"Not the best time to speak?" Law almost heard Doflamingo's sneering amusement fuffufing its way into his consciousness. He batted it away, wouldn't force Marco to talk.

"Rockin'."

Law's voice was gallows bass, a hedgehog of discordance. Pushing in, a little out - Marco's own body clenching around him. And his hips?

"Rollin'."

Damn. That spot again. And again.

"Ridin'."

Exactly what Law was doing.

"Out along the bay -"

Ah, Mother of Whitebeard.

"All bound for morning town - many miles away-ay."

Marco had to tell Law he couldn't sing for shit at some point, even if the ground-pepper tinge of his voice was magic in other ways. Now was not the time. Apparently he and Nico Robin had contests as to who was the most tone-deaf.

Fortunately, he hadn't heard Robin. But if Law choo-chooed like the little red engine that could it was gonna kill the mood - or maybe not - the Milky Way was raining down one flaming star after the other behind his eyelids, after all.

"Ah, okay." Morningtown Ride?

Fuck, Law's hand was on him again as the other held him tight against him. He went in hard, not stopping. Marco's teeth and jaws rattling. Those tattoos of promise and pain, held him upright - that and being jammed onto Law's cock. Vision blurred. His Phoenix body fishtailed like a vehicle over gravel. The doctor's strokes were practiced, methodical, in control. Law's tricks had Marco climbing the walls in an instant.

"Huh. Train's - - station." Just around the bend. Car smashed overturned windscreen, wheels spinning.

"Yeah, we're hurtling along now," Law mused, enjoying the rhythm and slap of his body against Marco's own, their hands together, knew how that silver band could feel consistently against skin. "Might have lost the engineer, or brakes failed."

"I . . . Ah," and, biting into his lip, cock contracted and swollen, Marco came all over the death tattoo, his own hand, onto his own body – semen dripping to the floor below. Fucking exploding celestial bodies. Luminous jellyfish. Sherbet crackling craters into his tongue. The yard goes on forever and then some more, and so did his release and orgasm.

"Ah, that station? The terminus huh?"

Marco didn't answer, but gathered both their covered hands and wiped them against his abs.

"Just as well we didn't fuck on the couch." Law's hand stretched out below his.

"Stop with the commentary, Nana, and beat your dick against me like smacking the dust out of the futon on a clear day," Marco snarled.

Law bit down lightly on Marco's shoulder, snorting. Marco didn't mind being marked but Law didn't inflict it often. It was off-limits on his own person.

"I love it when you talk dirty laundry to me, Charlie. Hang you out, and leave you to dry?"

But he listened. He bore into the Phoenix, precise, faster, efficient – unbridled, not undisciplined. One pirate breath interspersing the other. Marco lifted both of his hands over his shoulder and wrapped them at the back of the taller man's neck. He turned his face, and his pirate angled their bodies slightly so he met his lips. Sloppy, messy, glorious.

His body pressed back into Law's clinch and fuck but if his man didn't find that spot every time, leaving his legs all boneless and muzzy. Even on lazy days.

"Hah." Law pulled his face away. Catching breath. There was a lot going on. Heat. "Okay to come inside?"

His articulate, trained, lover. Marco just nodded. Even though those eyes were ablaze, words unmeasured, Marco knew Law would do what he asked. But he wanted what his partner wanted, and, look at it this way, it saved on cleaning later. They weren't in the bedroom where the sheets could be washed. There was already enough cum over his body, the floor.

Law's body juddered as he ejaculated into Marco, breath erratic, skin beaded with sweat. Ah, the surgeon lost it at times. "Good shit. Good, good shit." Law might have been grading Sarah's - the barkeep's - produce for all Marco knew. But he held that in high regard, so he figured it had worked for him. His grip was going to mark.

Mercury's nails clicked over the floor, Law glanced across at their dog. She took one look at them stuck together, all jerky and spasmodic, and wandered out again, expression confused.

The Phoenix pulled Law's head close, black eyes sated, Law still inside.

"Hah." Sweet, sweet release, the doctor thought, pressing a few fingers, almost unconsciously into Marco's skin. "Our dog just judged us." Guess they'd forgotten to close the door.

As a way of distancing himself entirely from all that fucked-up Doflamingo shit, Law tried to unlearn every demeaning thing he was taught to think about himself or a partner. The payoff for Marco was great sex – punctuated with absurd, pedestrian, banter. When Law spoke. And, at the least, they shared a laugh the times that girding their loins didn't result in a spilling of seed.

.

Law pulled out. His hold on Marco slackened. This time was crucial. The Phoenix dropped his arms and fully turned around, the both of them so human. Messy, frail, intricate. Trusting. Law, not completely flaccid, but working up to flustered.

He had to catch Law now. He took his mouth and lips in a languorous kiss, his hands holding his sides and pulling him in. Law's eyes flickered up at him, then down, almost collapsing against him as if his vertebrae had been pared.

Reassured at the regularity of Law's breath even while his mouth was covered, Marco patted the couch with one hand, and located a towel. He broke the embrace, and wiped down his own stomach, his hand, Law's hand.

"Thank you, babe." He dipped between the inked fingers with the cloth.

The hand that had washed him and pleased him was lifeless now, almost without any bodily will.

"Thank you." Law's free hand reached to the Whitebeard tattoo. Sometimes he seemed no taller than Ace, those firefly flecks now shots of anxiety at the corners of his eyes. Marco wrapped an arm around his lover and pulled him flush against him - Law leaning heavily - and walked him sidewise to the couch.

Grabbing the blanket set there earlier, he lay down, pushing himself up against the armrest, and positioned Law – the Heart drifting into him, on top of him. He leant down and kissed his forehead, those grey eyes fluttering shut. Marco tucked the blanket around and over them, swaddling the younger man.

Law wouldn't sleep for long, but needed to sleep with those who loved him after sex, even if it had been given out of love. Marco's embrace repelled the demons that clambered and clamoured almost as soon as the Phoenix and Heart decided they were done.

Law turned his head to the side on Marco's chest, and his feet hung over the edge of the couch, his taller form fitting into the Whitebeard pirate's as well as it could. Marco marvelled when Law switched everything off , but knew it often led to days of distance and disconnect, so he kept his arms sturdy across Law's body. Their flesh was wet and slick, but warm. He rumpled his partner's black spikes, a set of the surgeon's earrings imprinting his skin.

"Driver at the engine."

Law twisted a little.

"Fireman rings the bell."

Let out a contended puff of air.

"Sandman swings the lantern, to show that all is well."

Never let it be said that Marco the Phoenix couldn't sing.

"Rockin' rollin' ridin', out along the bay, all bound for Morningtown, many miles away."

Marco's baritone was superior to either of those dark-haired brats - how could a Strawhat or Heart ever begin to compare to the legend that was a Whitebeard? Law nestled into its timbre. Marco smiled as Law's arm fell off his chest in relaxation, a puddle of drool forming. Though maybe Law was subconsciously seeking out that book still pushed against the couch's back. Wouldn't surprise him.

Mercury re-entered the room, walked over, and shoved a wet nose into Marco's exposed skin. She licked him, then curled against the base of the furniture. She knew where it was at. Sex didn't upset her sensibilities half as much as Law's singing did.

AN: For those not familiar with my other fics. Law and Marco do have occasional nicknames for each other, as outlined the larger part of Repossession (a warning goes with that fic), or touched upon a little in the third chapter of Birds of a Feather. If you want to find out more about the dogs, read A Rascal, A Rogue, A Scamp, or the AO3 version of Teaspoon Collectors (warning). Quiet, sexy times for these two in this I hope. Thanks for reading.

That song is an old one, if you ever look it up. That and Folsom Prison Blues helped with the writing of this fic ;-)

Note: Dec 8, 2018: The Vivre Cards have come out with Marco's height, and he's got 12cm on Law. When I started writing these two, a post on Oro Jackson had Marco at about 184 cm, which I prefer. I initially wrote Marco taller, and readjusted everything. Now, it seems I need to go the other way! BUT, I'll just leave author notes instead. It's always an AU anyway.