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[ 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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