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[buggy would be even more forthcoming with his enjoyment if his mouth wasn't full, but he's not going to risk ruining a successful blowjob just to say a bunch of filthy shit about it, particularly when dracule mihawk is the one coming incrementally undone whenever he gets something right. every time one of those solid muscles goes taut and tense, buggy's greedy touch makes an almost reverent pass over it, like he's collecting spilled coins, wanting everything he can get his hands on.

the unexpected caress makes him tremble, and then go still... like he's bracing himself, for the briefest moment, to get yanked off of mihawk's dick and have his neck snapped. but it's only a breath before he melts again, jaw going slack to let the swordsman fuck his face with no resistance. the harder mihawk thrusts, the more pliant he'll become, casting a plaintive - but not discouraging - look up at the older man as that thick cock saws his throat open, until his eyes start to water.

it's degrading and dirty and buggy is blindingly turned on, although that might just be the tears prickling forward as his mouth and throat are stretched and used. he can barely hold himself together enough to breathe, let alone make more noise than the wet, choking sounds that are already obscenely loud in the quiet room. on his knees, his thighs spread open, and his hands drop, too keyed up to risk even a light touch until the older man has shot his load; on a particularly bruising thrust, the tears spill over, leaving muddy tracks through white face paint.]

[ Incrementally undone is right. And now every thrust he puts into Buggy's willing throat seems to strip off another layer, earning a short moan here, or an arch of his spine there that makes it seem like he's actively pushing his body into whatever part the younger man is touching as opposed to simply tolerating it. And all the while he notices how pliant Buggy is becoming, submitting even though it's so obvious he must be struggling. The older man's observation is a breathy thing. ]

Astounding.

[ Mihawk can see what Crocodile must have before him: it's like this man was made to be used. And either he's the best actor Mihawk has ever seen - and he's spent the night with a few whores in his time - or he relishes it. It's time to reward his efforts and his obedience by releasing them both. ]

Do mind my boots, B--

[ But whether he thinks better of finishing that sentence or can't hold back anymore, Mihawk's breath hitches and his jaw clenches. His hands are a vice, pulling the clown's mouth flush against his pelvis as he comes down Buggy's throat. Each pulse of his cock is signaled by a heavy blink of those dark lashes; like a child stubbornly fighting sleep, he fights completely succumbing to the pleasure rolling over him in waves, though he has no predilections against humping the younger man's face until he feels like he's properly emptied his load inside of him.

Only then does Mihawk melt back against his chair, exhaling hard before following up with a low, sated groan. The heel of one of his hands pushes against Buggy's forehead to free him from the swordsman's spent dick, finally allowing him some well-deserved air while Hawk Eyes himself works on catching his breath. ]

[the increasingly lightheaded clown does experience a brief moment of vague, detached concern for the idea that mihawk may have been planning to kill him like this the whole time, or perhaps even just saw an opportunity - but it passes, roared away in the tide of delirious satisfaction he gets from knowing that mihawk is fucking him this ruthlessly because buggy made him want to.

the first rush of come down his throat makes him whimper, properly ravaged by lust, jaw aching, eyes stinging and blurred as those strong hands clutch at his skull. with mihawk's cock stuffed so deep he can't even breathe through his nose without choking, he's still prompted by some higher plane instinct to lift his eyes in time to catch a glimpse of something he wants to remember for the rest of his life. the discipline that the swordsman has over his body even in the middle of an orgasm is fascinatingly erotic, and attaching the image of mihawk breathless with ecstasy to the way mihawk's dick throbs inside him is simply more than buggy was prepared to handle. he feels himself come, untouched, like the pleasure is pouring straight from mihawk's body into his own, going from a tremor to a quake. the only reason he doesn't jerk off and really lose himself to it is because he can't seem to remember how to make his arms move. frankly, he's amazed they stayed attached.

he's lucky mihawk offers him a hand, because by the time the dick slides out of his mouth buggy scarcely knows which way is up. it leaves the taste of come on his tongue and a little pearl on his lower lip and the pure exhilaration of air in his lungs; buggy coughs, inhales, coughs again, and starts to slump against mihawk's thigh - only remembering, at the last possible second, about the fucking boots.

so instead the clown just flops backward, going limp onto the wine-colored rug. give him a minute and he'll start running at the mouth again, no matter how ruined he sounds. but his lungs need to stop burning first.]

[ The world is a bit of a blur, everything in it surrounded by an extra halo of light, but it's a pleasant thing. With Buggy spilled out over his rug, Mihawk stares off towards his kitchenette and his freshly swept floors. One of his hands rubs lazily at his bare chest with satisfaction as he swims in the cocktail of chemicals provided by orgasm, unconsciously smearing white and blue paint across it as he does from a few of his fingers. The other hand just as unhurriedly tucks himself away. He feels incredible; he always forgets how much of a stress reliever sex can be when he's gone without it for a while.

After his own minute of sorting himself, he leans forward to look down at the mess on his floor - that is to say Buggy. All the coughing left him sure the man was still alive, but conscious might be another matter. Not that he's concerned or anything, you see, it would just be terribly inconvenient... Mihawk also gives his boots a once-over for cum stains. ]

[if he lost consciousness he would miss this and he absolutely does not want to forget a second of feeling this good. he still feels a low thrum of electricity beneath his skin; as soon as he goes back to his own room, he's going to replay all of this in his mind and see about taking the remaining edge off. but as his heartbeat slows and his head clears, he thinks he's probably won about as much as he can expect at this game.

heaving one last sigh, he manages to prop himself up onto his elbows, flushed and shiny with sweat and admiring both of those things about mihawk. the smear of lurid color across those muscles, holy shit - if you want him to stop savoring this moment, you're going to have to kill him.]

...figures you'd have a killer dick to go with the everything else about you.

[clearing his throat doesn't help much; he sounds like he's swallowed sand.]

Boots?

[ Killer dick. Mihawk scoffs softly. Why does he let himself fuck pirates? He would have been more disgusted if he wasn't still in recovery from Buggy sucking his ~~bitchiness~~ brains out, a fact he's reminded of by the huskiness in the aforementioned pirate's voice. The boots? ]

Unsullied.

[ He relaxes back once more in his chair and doffs his hat, using one hand to protect the feather while fanning himself slowly with the brim like he's a sinner in church (well, the sinner part is right at least). The other hand pushes through his thick, dark hair, getting a bit more air circulation going through it. Indeed, Mihawk is flushed all over with his arousal, though patches are beginning to fade back to pale skin as he winds down. His eyes, half-mast, consider the clown. ]

This never happened. [ He drawls. ] Do I need to threaten you?

[ He has all the attitude of a teacher who doesn't want to run detention any more than the one student they have in it wants to be there. If they can just come to an agreement, they can go about the rest of their nights without wasting time standing on ceremony. ]

[thank fuck for that, at least, that buggy doesn't have to worry about fixing his own fuckup because he was too dickmatized not to come all over the boots he'd just finished polishing. the clown keeps winning and the star keeps rising!

it's hard to take his eyes off of the swordsman without any real motivation to do so; buggy watches him cool himself with naked interest now, imagining what it would feel like to run his own fingers through mihawk's hair, or what the man would look like with a patchwork of red lipstick kisses all over his neck and chest. at least he wisely keeps his thoughts to himself.]

No sir~

[it would take more than the sum total of blades mihawk has on his person to slice the smugness out of the emperor, but he knows the rules of this game. buggy arguably has more to lose by running his mouth about tonight's events, no matter how precious mihawk's reputation may be to him. and it's hardly the first time buggy the clown has been someone's dirty little secret. he gets to go to sleep tonight with a load of come in his belly and his brain full of big ideas about where to go from here.

maybe the world's greatest swordsman won't ever let buggy touch him again after tonight. but the cross guild endures... who knows what'll happen?

buggy cards his own hair out of his face with a softer sigh, shaking the disheveled mess back over his shoulders before he gets to his feet. only then does he tuck himself away, buckling his vest and rubbing a hand across his flushed, tender mouth, smearing already-ruined makeup even further.]

If you ever want to... release some tension, [one hand floats to the fruit bowl, and quickly steals a wedge of pineapple before darting back to its owner,] you know where to find me. No questions asked.

[luck sufficiently pushed, buggy takes a bite of pineapple and opts for a quick getaway.]

Buggy.

[ Mihawk attempts to stop the clown with the sound of his name alone before he gets out of the door. ]

Take this with you.

[ He rolls his yellow eyes sidelong and pushes both the wine bottles to the edge of his desk, both the empty one he drank and the one that Buggy attempted to give him. If the man learns from it, good. If not, at least he's taking trash out so Mihawk doesn't have to. Whether Buggy chooses to soothe that surely stinging throat of his with the one during his walk-of-shame back to his accomodations is neither here nor there to Hawk Eyes. ]

That'll be all.

[ You know, in case Buggy thought he was getting away with the last word. ]

[his name is enough to stop him, not least of the reasons why being that he doesn't know if he's ever heard mihawk say it before. certainly not without a layer of venomous contempt making it less of a name and more of a curse. it almost makes up for the fact that mihawk is just using the opportunity to dump one more chore on him before he escapes.

so be it; buggy will foist the bottle of piss-wine onto the first sailor he sees or just toss it out of the pavilion to be discovered and consumed later; mihawk was right about the crew at large having no taste to speak of, but buggy has decided to pay closer attention to such things. see where that gets him. he'll recognize the bottle of the good stuff if he sees another one, that's for sure.

the last word belongs to mihawk. buggy knows he's getting away with plenty. all he offers is a twisted grin beneath the streaked remains of his makeup before he slips out through the tent flap into the darkness beyond.]

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