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Mar. 23rd, 2005 02:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsTitle: Rivalry
Pairing: Gol D. Roger/Whitebeard
Rating: PG
Word Count: 300
The small mountain of a man woke slowly. The hotel ceiling gradually swam into view, the chipped paint fading in and out to the throbbing pulsation of his temples. He lay there quietly, trying to piece together jumbled fragments of memory. There had been booze, far too much of it, and several attractive bar maids. And, oh yes, his rival. His damn rival who had challenged him once again.
The Grand Line was vast, but there was only room for one pirate king. Only one man could rule the waves. It was a close race between them, each vying for the largest bounty, the greatest legends. They didn’t meet up often, but when they did...
It would have been easier if he had hated him. But the pirate had his respect instead, even his grudging admiration. Still, he was also damn annoying, always so cocky and sure of himself. And neither of them could resist a challenge.
Should have been easy, given the size difference. After all, there had never been another who could out-drink him. Typically his opponents passed out before he was even tipsy. Last night had been another story. All he really remembered, after draining the first bar dry and moving on to the second, was the mention of buried treasure and the promise of a new contest in the morning. That, and laughing hot breath in his ear and sweat and hard muscle in his hands rather than soft curves.
He shook his head and instantly regretted it. His senses must have been off from all the booze. Sitting up, he couldn’t miss the note resting among scattered clothes. He scanned it, growling, before crumpling it in one fist. Bastard had at least six hours head start, claiming the lead in their little competition once more.
Pairing: Gol D. Roger/Whitebeard
Rating: PG
Word Count: 300
The small mountain of a man woke slowly. The hotel ceiling gradually swam into view, the chipped paint fading in and out to the throbbing pulsation of his temples. He lay there quietly, trying to piece together jumbled fragments of memory. There had been booze, far too much of it, and several attractive bar maids. And, oh yes, his rival. His damn rival who had challenged him once again.
The Grand Line was vast, but there was only room for one pirate king. Only one man could rule the waves. It was a close race between them, each vying for the largest bounty, the greatest legends. They didn’t meet up often, but when they did...
It would have been easier if he had hated him. But the pirate had his respect instead, even his grudging admiration. Still, he was also damn annoying, always so cocky and sure of himself. And neither of them could resist a challenge.
Should have been easy, given the size difference. After all, there had never been another who could out-drink him. Typically his opponents passed out before he was even tipsy. Last night had been another story. All he really remembered, after draining the first bar dry and moving on to the second, was the mention of buried treasure and the promise of a new contest in the morning. That, and laughing hot breath in his ear and sweat and hard muscle in his hands rather than soft curves.
He shook his head and instantly regretted it. His senses must have been off from all the booze. Sitting up, he couldn’t miss the note resting among scattered clothes. He scanned it, growling, before crumpling it in one fist. Bastard had at least six hours head start, claiming the lead in their little competition once more.
