It was not an unusual circumstance that I would find myself summoned to Sir Crocodile's office, or, on the rare occasion, his quarters, to service him.

In fact, it would be odd if I wasn't, nowadays. I found myself almost looking forward to it, hanging on the warlord's every word like he was an oasis in the desert. I found myself spending much of my time like that, with my face pressed into Crocodile's cunt and eating him out like a man starved.

So, when Crocodile ordered over the transponder for me to meet him in his quarters in exactly half an hour, I knew it would be unwise to decline.

Or, god forbid, be late.

The sight that met me when I opened the door to Crocodile's private quarters was one that sent heat directly through my entire body. There the warlord was, sitting on the edge of his luxurious bed, large thighs spread ever so slightly to ease the discomfort currently plaguing him, the uncomfortable dampness. His white dress shirt had the top buttons undone, exposing a hint of his strong collarbones and flushed neck.

"I seem to have a problem."

He spoke, low and calculated, but with an unmistakable strain on his tone. The scent of expensive cologne and smoke permeated the air as he took a drag off of the cigar, his dark eyes never leaving me.

"And you,"

I couldn't resist the rush of blood that went through me every time I heard the other man's voice; and when we first collided, that attraction only grew stronger.

"Are going to take care of it for me."

Especially after learning about the warlord's little secret. Turns out we had more things in common than we'd anticipated.

And, said 'secret' just so happened to be staring me in the face, dripping and expectant, the scent heady and heavy in the room as I obediently dropped to my knees in front of the bed, finding my place between Crocodile's thick thighs. It didn't seem like the Desert King was going to make this easy for me, or do any of the work himself.

"Get on with it. I still have business to attend to."