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[ Dracule Mihawk was, decidedly, in a good mood. He isn't the sort of man who smiles often and is less the sort to be excitable enough to join the joyful congratulations among the crew, but he displays his pleasure in other ways. Firstly, he eats and drinks with everyone else during the party, and stays long enough that people begin to forget or not mind his eerie stare is there to watch their drunken antics. Some of the crew seem to find him more vaguely approachable than usual and he holds a few conversations. If someone had asked him to dance in a way that didn't look so pagan around the bonfire, he might have. All in all, it's a pleasant few hours before he decides he's had enough socializing for the evening and disappears into the dark.

He takes a detour to frighten whoever is on the ridge on lookout duty. Buggy was right - it's a good view all around, even picturesque with the moon reflected in the lagoon like a it's holding a great pearl in its depths. With its light, it's easy to make his way down to where his ship has been pulled ashore. From there, he can see distantly the bonfire, the bows of the other ships all pointed towards it like silent sentinels.

If this were one of the Red Hair Pirates parties, this is about the time Mihawk would expect Shanks to break away and give his honored guest some company. In fact, he realizes he's looking over the crowd for that familiar crimson before reality catches up. A moment later, his gaze falls on bright blue. Hm. Shanks had ever invited himself into Mihawk's life and often Mihawk wondered if there was a creator who had forgotten to hand out a sense of fear before shipping him out into the world. Now it amuses him to think perhaps the other Rogers boy got an extra helping to make up for it, though he's starting to think it might be sense too. He watches Buggy for a little while longer, reflecting over his role in their recent victory over the Marine fortress. Perhaps, Mihawk decides, he's not done with company for the night after all.

He has his transponder snail deliver the invitation and watches with curiosity to see how it's received. ]

Come entertain me, jester.

[the celebration is fueled almost entirely by the absolute killing they made in professionally cooked food off of that cruise ship, and the chances are better than zero that some of the crew will regret indulging in so much rich food by tomorrow, if not the end of the night. buggy is not one of them. he's riding high on their newest success, each one convincing him a little more that they're unstoppable and untouchable, particularly with mihawk accompanying the fleet. he knows better than to underestimate his fellow emperors; it's much easier to convince himself that they're doomed to underestimate him instead.

eventually, anyway. not tonight. tonight, he's celebrating with ghosts. mihawk gathered that buggy has been to this island before, but not that it's been more than twenty years since. carved into the bark of a tree somewhere on this small hoop of land are perhaps the earliest record of two jolly rogers that would eventually belong to the red force and the big top; skidding down from the lookout's ridge, shanks had ripped open one leg of his threadbare pants, and buggy, always the craftier of the two in more ways than one, had spent the better part of an hour painstakingly patching it, on his own insistence that shanks would just make it worse and then he'd have no pants and no one wanted to see his bare ass any more often than necessary. they'd been young enough, even, that he could say it without a trace of irony. they'd argued about something, too, although buggy can't easily recall now what it was... funny, though, because he remembers it had seemed so important at the time.

anyway. he's not really thinking about it. in fact he's deliberately not thinking about it, because that was a very long time ago, and all he's doing now is cashing in on a convenient memory, the way he's been doing this whole time. he's absolutely not thinking about shanks especially, and with mihawk silhouetted against the bonfire and the other moving shapes of the celebrants, buggy can believe himself easily.

he's kept his own word about not mentioning certain events, with the reasonable exception of those indirect references he drops when he's feeling spicy, though of course mihawk evades them easily. it's not easy for the clown to be patient, but in this case much of the work is done for him, because no one can make dracule mihawk do anything until he decides he feels like doing it. in fact buggy is sort of fascinated just to watch him interact with the crew, the hypnotic effect of good food and strong alcohol taking him out of himself for a bit, enough to watch without overthinking, for a little while.

it also means he loses track of the swordsman before mihawk departs to make his last rounds. buggy assumes the incoming snail message is from crocodile, either to extend new orders or demand an update; when he actually receives it, it sends a shiver through him so strong that a pair of hawk eyes could spot it easily from some distance away. he takes one deep swig from his bottle before corking it, and grabs a bottle of wine for good measure before making his way along the moonlit beach toward mihawk's landing point.

no use detouring this time; he'll be showing up in his star clown costume, obviously. but at least it can be said that he doesn't keep mihawk waiting - although the first thing he offers on his arrival is the bottle.]

Somebody out here requested entertainment~?

[ The closer Buggy comes to Mihawk's boat, the less he'll have to rely on moonlight to guide him. At the bow blazes a pair of green flames atop what at least appear to be relatively massive candles, though no new wax wells or drips beyond what seems frozen in time. The former Warlord himself sits in the high-backed helm that resembles a throne, swathed in the ghostly light save for where the black of his clothing blocks it. Legs crossed, head canted to rest on a fist, he looks somewhere between at ease and bored.

Most people would have to actively climb or jump aboard since the ship is aground, as it turns out the vessel does indeed possess a keel and some depth to it - a real coffin, in other words, rather than just a raft. Given Buggy's particular powers, though, he could probably just draw his legs up to his floating torso and appear to compress to accomplish the same thing. Mihawk finds watching him move in this particular costume fascinatingly horrific when he's really paying attention. It's a good thing he has such a great poker face.

He sits up as he accepts the wine, the other hand reaching to tug the Kogatana free from his neck. Just because it's casual doesn't necessarily make it non-threatening. ]

I did, though I'll understand if the day has made you far too weary to perform. It is beginning to grow rather late, even for nocturnal things.

[ Mihawk's slips the edge of the cross into the corner of his mouth, unsheathing the little knife and twirling it in his fingers in a fluid motion to stab down into the top of the cork. Slowly, he begins to twist it free of the bottle; this is definitely a move he's done before. ]

[buggy does have to maneuver a bit to make his way onto the boat, but he springs up with relative ease between the twin green flames. with the ship aground, he doesn't even have to worry about falling into water he wouldn't be able to walk out of - preferable, especially, because he's pretty sure mihawk would just let him drown and consider it a persistent problem resolved.

but that's an uncharitable thought at a time when buggy is feeling extremely charitable, at least in his own special way.]

I'm not weary. [particularly not with mihawk doing scary-sexy shit, which always gives buggy a charge, even when it's heavy on the scary.] Are you weary?

[he doesn't look it, and buggy's assuming not. the swordsman may have gathered by now that the clown very often tows the line between obedience and entitlement, whenever he can get away with it; he does so now, setting his ostentatious hat aside as he drops expectantly to his knees in front of mihawk's gothic throne, and then leaning forward to drape himself against the older man's folded legs. buggy grins up at him, watching the shadows flicker across his face between the dancing flames.]

Any special requests, or... do you just wanna fuck my mouth again?

Hardly. The fighting didn't even last a day.

[ And Mihawk has fought for several days on end in the past. Convincing Shanks to duel had always been a bit like pulling teeth, but when they got into it... Well, there's a reason a salty, old dog like Whitebeard spoke of the echoes over a decade later. The swordmaster practically cut his teeth on hunting and killing Marines before they started paying him to stop, a phenomenon which happened after he stopped having to prove himself to anyone else. Of course there were those among their ranks that could still provide him some sport, but they weren't at the fortress. Altogether, he considered the effort a nice little workout, something that broke a sweat but didn't quite give him that jelly-legged satisfaction of pushing his limits.

But part of that came because of his and Crocodile's scheming matched with Buggy's command. Incredible how the food motivation of a cruise ship within reach moved multitudes.

As the clown half-drapes himself across his lap, Hawk Eyes' legs tighten incrementally as if to acknowledge the weight, but he doesn't so much as twitch otherwise. The cork comes free of the bottle with a sucking pop of a sound. Still on the tip of the knife, Mihawk raises it to take a gauging sniff. He then sets the bottle to perch, open, on the arm of the chair. Red wine has to breathe for at least a little while to be the best to drink. Mihawk pulls the sheathe free from his lips and sets both that and the Kogatana aside on the same arm.

Buggy could, but certainly wouldn't thank Shanks for the fact Mihawk sometimes found the boldness of insolence charming. If they stayed in partnership long enough, Buggy might figure out when, and why, it was allowable. Tonight? It could just be luck, the turn of the weather, the fullness of the moon. But Mihawk reaches down to take the clown's chin and skims his thumb over the lower lip of the grin. ]

You're my guest tonight.

[ He unfolds his legs, the topmost one skimming across the top of that thick mane of hair, then coming to warmly frame him in. Still, the older man's free hand gives an elegant gesture to his own lap. ]

If it's a seat you'd like, you may have the best one on board.

[ Though if Buggy does indeed look like he's going to climb up, Mihawk will give a swirl of a finger in a 'turn around' sort of gesture. After all, it isn't proper to sit in a seat facing the back. ]

[whether it's a mark of cowardice or just common sense, the gracious acknowledgement and its subsequent offer make the clown emperor visibly apprehensive - but just as visibly excited. he is more than reasonably confident that it would be beneath the world's greatest swordsman to go through all this performance just to cut his head off and toss it in the ocean. it doesn't mean that mihawk doesn't have some other trick up his sleeve, but buggy made his peace with that possibility the last time he was on his knees in front of the older man.

his grin faded a little bit under mihawk's caressing thumb, but once buggy's made up his mind it comes right back, immensely pleased; at least it should be clear that he recognizes it as either an honor or a privilege, or both. he does begin to crawl forward, but pauses again at the gesture to turn, another brief moment where he gauges his own likelihood of survival and once again decides it's a risk well worth taking.

so buggy puts his back to mihawk and proceeds to curl right up into his lap, like a cat who's only been waiting for enough room to claim his spot. one hand draws his hair aside, over one shoulder - ostensibly so mihawk doesn't get a face full of it, but also to not-so-subtly display the clasps of his costume.]

You're right. It is a nice seat. [he glances over his shoulder with mischief in his eyes, and rolls his hips a little in the older man's lap to make himself more comfortable. then he does it again. and again, in a slow, lazy circle.] The view could be better, though.

[ While Mihawk detests cowardice, there is something satisfying to clearly throwing someone off their game. Buggy seems to recover quickly, though, and the older man holds his breath a moment as the clown places himself where he's bid. He exhales against that exposed nape, eyes examining where the makeup ends as much as the clasps. Rather than touch them just yet, Mihawk's hands come around to settle against Buggy's front instead, one curling over the top of a thigh while the other begins to run up his chest, starting from his belly. He's curious about to texture of the fabric, but also whether or not the other man actually wears anything beneath it; if he doesn't, it doesn't seem like there will be any trouble finding out exactly what sort of physique he has under all the smoke and mirrors. ]

Not a fan of landscapes?

[ Mihawk asks, dryly, his lips close enough for Buggy to feel the brush of them against his skin. He's still in control, but there's no disguising the way his interest is stirring beneath the slow grinding the younger man is doing. ]

[his breath hitches under the touch, but although his body reacts with tension at first, he very swiftly melts under the older man's moving hands, going fluid and boneless, like he could go any which way he wants - any way that mihawk guides him. with mihawk's mouth so close, buggy feels his own heartbeat skip to the cadence of the words, and this time his tremor of arousal turns into a long ripple of his body in the other man's lap.]

Well, y'know... if you've seen one island...

[he's far from his own memories of this particular island at the moment. every languid twist of his hips coaxes the swordsman to hardness a little more, until he can nestle the swelling press between the cheeks of his ass through several layers of fabric. the costume itself is a bundle of soft but incredibly stretchy red cloth, designed to easily deform without tearing when buggy makes himself gigantic and to settle back into a pajama-like cocoon when he brings all his pieces back together. it is by no means form-flattering, but that doesn't mean buggy himself is likewise soft and amorphous underneath it.

although he may not rank highly as captain, sailor, or fighter among the vast majority of his peers, buggy the clown is nevertheless all of those things; he's lost some of the solid muscle left by impel down (where his routine punishment was essentially vigorous cardio), but he is lean and wiry - mihawk has glimpsed as much during their last intimate encounter, and his explorative touch won't find much other than the costume in the way. just some cursory underwear: a threadbare shirt, easy to miss, a reasonably luxurious pair of boxer-briefs, and of course his striped stockings, drawn up to each thigh.

buggy is absolutely living for the steady caress of the swordsman's lethal hands, not caring at all that mihawk seems mostly curious so far. the grip on one thigh spreads them both open, the flex of his ass against mihawk's cock not faltering for a second; he's careful not to detach, but he could at any moment, if he would help him touch and be touched. gloves blunt the pressure of his own fingernails as he runs them along mihawk's arms, arching toward the hand stroking his chest and stomach, every muscle growing increasing taut, rippling with each grind.]

...not that I'mmmh... complaining.

[ He's seen bits of the other man's body before, but feeling it is obviously much better. Mihawk notes the lean lines beneath the fabric, his palm a shameless drag until he reaches Buggy's sternum. It's less hesitation than it is subtlety to brush his fingers over the curve of the clown's ribcage, an act of contrasting sensations. The pendulum soon swings back the other way as he finds a pec to palm and a nipple to tweak sharply with his fingertips.

The long sleeves of Mihawk's coat further muffle Buggy's touch, which he tolerates for now if only because it's not getting in the way. The fingers of the hand over the clown's thigh tightens as the swordsman finally gives a rock up, allowing his clothed erection to rock into the offered cleft. His breath falls in a more heated pant, a little rough around the edges as the move offers both some relief and a step closer to madness. The same hand that was just toying with Buggy's nipple lifts to try and catch him by the underside of the jaw, turning his head towards the distant light of the party. ]

What about that sight?

[ People - mostly just the drunkards who are going to take their bender into the morning - are still celebrating the recent raid. The likelihood of any of them looking out from the bonfire and seeing what their leadership is up to out here is next to none, and yet they're not exactly in total privacy either. If anyone saw anything, though, it'd probably just be Buggy, thanks to the black of what Mihawk wears and the ridiculous folds of fabric of this star costume. ]

What do you suppose your audience would think seeing you like this?

[ The question comes with the feeling of Mihawk's lips skimming over Buggy's nape, where his hairline meets skin. Perhaps more importantly, the bristle of his beard and mustache scrape over the same lines. ]

[even the smallest positive response from mihawk sends a frisson of satisfaction through him, collecting in his belly and at the base of his dick. buggy wasn't expecting mihawk to touch him much, if at all, so being very thoroughly and methodically felt up like this is making it really fucking hard to concentrate. he almost twists away from the caress along his ribs, too vulnerable to his own tingling flesh and not actually wanting the swordsman to feel how hard his heart is pounding. he's lucky he can disguise it with the jolt that goes through him when those long fingers twist one nipple, making him moan, gasping, before he can swallow the sound.

at no point does he stop rocking back and forth in mihawk's lap. the first responsive grind catches his breath on another eager sound, and makes him angle his rolling hips a little higher against the swordsman's abdomen, just to be sure he's teasing the head of his cock through his trousers.

then mihawk grabs him by the jaw, catching him so off guard he nearly decapitates himself out of sheer instinct. it's possible the clown emperor is either more tired or more drunk than he thought - he realizes only when mihawk points it out that they're still technically within line of sight to the carousers left on the beach. and that is enough to slow him down, almost but not quite to stillness, as that one-two punch of soft mouth and rough beard make buggy's hands fly to the arms of the seat, needing something he can safely grip until his knuckles ache.

it's not modesty, or even embarrassment. buggy just doesn't know what his men would do if they witnessed something like this. if he loses the support of his followers, he's dead. crocodile will kill him or make good on his threat to sell him into slavery, take a small army of supporters and mihawk and reshape the cross guild into whatever image they had to begin with. that sinking sense of dread could easily have pulled buggy off of mihawk's lap and sent him scrambling back to the beach.

having a captive audience of admirers, on the other hand...]

...they're never gonna notice. [if it sounds like he's trying to convince himself, that's exactly what he's doing. they probably won't. even if they looked over here, no way any of them are sober or sharp-eyed enough to figure out what they were seeing before making it close enough to tell. mihawk would notice them before that. at least buggy hopes he would.

he hopes mihawk would tell him if he did. buggy rubs his ass slow, very slow, along the hard length pressed against him.]

But if they think they're getting this show for free, they're fucking crazy.

Don't go spilling my wine.

[ He tuts, mildly, as Buggy's hands shoot out for the arms of the chair, upon which the open bottle sits nearby.

There is no world in which Mihawk allows someone to come over and witness what they're up to. Still, his curiosity for the other man isn't strictly carnal - or maybe it'd be more correct to say not carnally benevolent. He's toying with the clown emperor in every sense of the word. Honestly, he's lucky he hasn't surprised himself by accidentally pulling or popping anything off with how casually he manipulates Buggy's body.

Slowly, he begins to rock against the other man in turn once the pause passes. His hand also resumes its path, stroking down the clown's throat to his collarbones. ]

I doubt they're thinking of us at all at the moment.

[ Many people have trouble seeing beyond themselves and the immediacy of the moments they're living in without alcohol or exhaustion to get in the way. It wouldn't surprise Mihawk if people on the other ships are having a similar sort of private celebration that they are. It does make him wonder, though: ]

Does anyone know where you are right now? [ His fingers move over Buggy's thigh, the tips slipping beneath the seam of a stocking and rubbing curiously through the fabric of the costume, ultimately letting the tension snap back into place. ] Anyone who might come looking for you?

[ Poor Buggy's sense of paranoia... It probably doesn't help Mihawk is choosing this moment to get curious by scraping his teeth over the vertebra at the base of Buggy's neck. ]

[every time he thinks he's stealthily managed to gain the upper hand by pure shamelessness, mihawk does some uncomfortably precise thing to topple him right back where he apparently belongs - that is, at the mercy of one of his powerful handlers, praying that whatever they're about to do to him doesn't hurt too much. mihawk doesn't seem angry with him, at least, and buggy can't think of anything he's done lately for which the swordsman might seek retribution, but the track of these touches combined with some reasonably alarming questions(!!) is starting to make him very nervous.

maybe if he gave it a single minute of thought before letting his dick stroll him confidently over here he'd have realized that he still does not - really, can't - trust dracule mihawk not to find some way to fuck him way up. buggy only feels safer around him than crocodile because the swords pose him no real threat, but mihawk's particular brand of almost clinical curiosity is not actually a preferable form of terror. what direction is it taking him right now, exactly?

the snap of the elastic band on his thigh makes him squeak. then oh fuck the fucking teeth--]

Ah-! Ah-h, haah... w-what kinda question is that?? [a poorly aligned thrust startles him into gasping, and he realizes he's lost his rhythm, fuck fuck fuck, he can't focus with all these horrific visions of the swordsman sinking his teeth in until he just rips the clown's throat right out.] Way to make it sound sinister as shit...

[ There's a hiss as he veers off alignment and the pace goes with it, followed by a silence as he considers the (warranted) complaint. His arm tightens around Buggy's torso, trying to stop him for the moment, trapping him up against the heat of the swordsman's chest. ]

I was merely wondering if there might be someone looking to entertain you.

[ Mihawk wouldn't be surprised if Buggy fooled around with his groupies when he wasn't working or being recreationally bullied by his handlers. The tip of his nose skims up the side of the emperor's throat until Hawk Eyes is addressing his ear. ]

Just what are you afraid of, hm?

[ Because there's no doubt in his mind that Buggy is. ]

Disappearing on some remote island, never to be heard from again, perhaps?

[ There's a definite curl of diabolical amusement in the suggestion, though simultaneously it's patronizing enough to also imply he thinks it's ridiculous. It wouldn't even be that difficult, he supposes, though knowing Buggy it'd be anything but quiet. Good thing that hasn't been the plan. ]

[yes, he wants to screech, yes that is exactly what i'm afraid of. at this specific moment, that is the manifestation of the fear he carries with him at all times, that either crocodile or mihawk will suddenly change their minds about letting him live. nobody is coming for him; while it's not far off the mark to imply he might have fucked a groupie here and there, he's definitely not stupid enough to do so while taking dick from one of the world's most fearsome men and waiting on call for the other.

crocodile had also ordered him not to. but still though. like telling someone not to inhale when they're under water.

despite the tension in his body when he's trapped by that firm hold, it's probably clear that at least some aspect of being at the mercy of a stronger, scarier, and ferociously hot outlaw is really working for buggy right now. he's still hard as a fucking rock, and there aren't really enough folds in the big red costume to hide it. the solid heat of mihawk's chest nearly took the breath out of him, and whatever's left of it goes when he hears that whisper. almost teasing. no... mocking. like buggy's a fool not to trust him. or is it just that fear is worthless to someone like the world's greatest swordsman?

he's still now, breathing hard, his heart racing so fast he's sure the older man can feel it. his voice is softer when he speaks again - something less dramatic and more genuine.]

....not if you tell me I won't.

[buggy doesn't really trust anybody, but he believes that mihawk is a man of his word. a man of honor, as legends would say. and not just because he made good on a troublesome promise to ~~take the team to mcdonald's after the game~~ go back for that cruise ship... but because shanks wouldn't think so highly of him otherwise. although at surface level, where buggy lives, it's not much to hang his hopes on, the roots of it run deep.]

Better yet... [slowly, in case he's rebuffed, he sends one hand drifting back over his shoulder to brush the older man's neck with his fingers.] ...you could tell me what kind of entertainment it is you're looking for.

[ Mihawk keeps expecting Buggy to be more of an idiot than he actually, evidently is. He keeps offering the other man chances to fuck up, be it in deed or word. Granted, some of the bait is just about as obvious as being lowered on a meat hook at the end of a rope. Hawk Eyes doesn't consider himself a particularly jealous person, but at least with Buggy he has some sanitary concerns regarding sleeping around. He's willing to bet he doesn't need to worry about Crocodile in that respect. The fact that Buggy gives no reply one way or another is noted. But so is the thrum of his heart when Mihawk presses his lips against the painted jugular. ]

Should I?

[ His hand easily slides over from where it was toying with the stocking, running up the inside of the attached thigh over to where Buggy is tenting his costume. Just the back of his knuckles caress the curve of it.

Meanwhile, Buggy's fingers - one, at least - get caught in the trap of the older man's teeth, which tighten enough to hold on and keep it from getting snatched away. Even if this might end up being a lizard and its tail moment, he'll get what he wants: tugging the glove off the (majority) of the clown's hand. ]

[maybe it's that uncanny luck that's kept buggy alive this long, subconsciously warning him how to answer. or maybe this is more evidence that the hoops mihawk makes buggy jump through are, in some ways, good for him - like putting a hyperactive little dog on a strictly disciplined training regime. buggy is far more delusional than stupid; when he's kept on track, he could even be considered resourceful, creative. he's already starting to thrive in this endeavor, with crocodile and mihawk's razor-thin patience to keep his ego and his imagination from billowing as wide as his costume. he learns quick, when his whole world's on the line.

mihawk is the bird of prey; buggy's just the insect. but what if this is his chrysalis stage? wouldn't it be interesting to see what sort of metamorphosis occurs?

whatever it is, he'll probably still whine the same way if mihawk teases him with that fleeting touch when he's this wound up. the sound is clipped by a sharp gasp when the teeth catch his finger, which does, in fact, pop right off - fortunately buggy recognizes the objective in time to catch his own glove when it slides from his hand, tugging it out of the older man's mouth. the finger reattaches in the process, and buggy slips off his other glove as well, tossing both to the deck.]

Don't you want to?

[he reaches back again, a little more boldly this time, wanting very badly to touch. wanting, very badly, to get his fingers in that short, dark hair, if he can. wanting reassurance, even if he has to be really careful about asking for it.]

What do you want from me, Hawk Eyes...? Do you just wanna feel me squirm all over your dick?

[ Mihawk can't help the little hitch of breath that comes when Buggy's finger detaches at the tug of his teeth, disturbed; it's an admittedly novel experience. He is stunned enough that the clown gets to retrieve the glove without any trouble, and when the gloves get tossed to the deck, his sharp eyes are naturally drawn by the contrast in the dark. Part of him expects hands to still be in them, now.

The question fully draws him back from the distraction. Right. What does he want? He told Buggy that he wouldn't penalize him for asking; he can't recall ever making a guarantee to give him a good answer, though. ]

I haven't decided yet. So far, I'm enjoying this.

[ He allows the fingers to make their way into his hair, presumably what is exposed over his temple before getting beneath the brim of the hat. While short compared to Buggy's, it's thick, a texture probably best described as silky.

His other hand shapes itself over Buggy's cock, pinning it against his belly not totally unlike a cat pins a mouse beneath its paw. To play, kill, or eat? Frankly, he was going to actually grab it until the finger incident happened; he doesn't think he has it in him tonight to have that happen on a grander scale. ]

You seem to be as well, despite your uncertainty. Or perhaps because of it? Far be it from me to spoil the mystery for you if that's the case.

[he's not quite bold enough to take mihawk's hat all the way off without permission, but judging by the way his fingers card greedily through whatever soft hair he can reach and scrape down the back of the older man's neck, the clown is quickly gathering up that courage. it's hard to be more afraid than horny when mihawk isn't asking implicitly terrifying questions, although he still can't tell whether it's the fear or the arousal that mihawk finds more entertaining right now.

then the hand settling firmly over his cock nearly makes him forget that a minute ago he was worrying whether this night would end with him begging for his life. with a ragged gasp, buggy arches against the strong arm across his chest, a full-body effort to thrust his cock against the pressure and grind his ass along the bulge in mihawk's trousers at the same time. he definitely stops giving a fuck that there are a bunch of drunk sailors further down the beach; those guys should be so lucky. without thinking, he reaches both arms back to wrap around the swordsman's neck; hopefully mihawk won't be too disturbed by the floating hands still raking through his hair.]

C'mon... you know what I'm enjoying...

[if mihawk keeps his hand in place, buggy will keep trying to hump his palm for a little relief through the red folds of the costume, but either way mihawk will have the clown emperor writhing in his lap once again, massaging his cock with the curves of his ass as much as the swordsman's grip allows.]

...you think I'd let just anybody throat-fuck me until I pass out?

[ The grip of Mihawk's arm tightens, wrestling the younger man back against him in a way that stifles how animated he is, yet nonetheless earns a little snarl of arousal thanks to the stimulation. Buggy may well end up begging for his life by the end of the night if he's going to continue to be this responsive. Mihawk takes the hand away from that erection in order to doff his own hat, simultaneously being indulgent and a bastard. Blindly, he reaches back behind him to hang it on Yoru's cross-guard; he could already tell his underling was working his way to taking it off anyway, might as well not let it seem like he can take too many liberties.

And the fingers running through his hair, for all the obvious greed, do feel nice despite the fact he's aware some of the angles are impossible. It's rather easy to not bother to notice or care when he's got Buggy grinding against him, inviting his focus elsewhere. Mihawk sighs against his skin. ]

You didn't pass out.

[ Don't be so dramatic... ]

Let me ask you: why would I wish to hurt you after an absolute victory? [ He gives a roll of his own hips, lifting his own legs so that he can be sure the grind takes him across the other's balls and taint before riding up against the cleft of his ass. ] What aren't you telling me?

[ Does Buggy have some sort of guilty conscience? Or has Crocodile been beating him up regardless of their successes? ]

Edited 2023-12-23 19:10 (UTC)

But I would have let you!

[the tightening arm reins him in a little, but he can't seem to stop squirming - especially when the head of the older man's cock drags obscenely over him, nudging into his balls, making him wonder for an insane moment if he could somehow get fucked through three layers of fabric. he drops his head back, eyes rolling shut, unconsciously gripping fistfuls of black hair.]

Fffuck, I'm not... I'm not hiding anything! I know you don't give a shit whether I live or die.

[buggy figures he's guilty of existing, in the eyes of crocodile and mihawk, who both seem quick to remind him of it. crocodile still calls him worthless on a regular basis, and he likes to play rough, but at least buggy knows where he stands with him - or tells himself he does, with less difficulty. mihawk's cold indifference is much harder to read. so the clown keeps trying to thaw the swordsman with body heat, until buggy can safely succumb to cognitive dissonance.]

...can I at least take off my costume?

Edited 2023-12-23 20:10 (UTC)

[ A rough rasp escapes the older man as those fingers clutch at his hair and that neck bares itself to him; it's the grip that keeps him in check from doing something as foolish as scraping his teeth over it. It's also the reason why his hips give one more grind against the other man before they buck Buggy free of his lap, arms loosening simultaneously. Now whether Buggy catches himself on his feet or not or goes face-first into the coffin-shaped deck is not his problem. ]

Indifference isn't the same as malice.

[ And if Mihawk hadn't cared whether or not Buggy lived or died, he'd be dead. Still, it's best if that's a misconception that the clown emperor holds onto; no use letting him think he's bulletproof when he's simply more a protected species than he realizes.

Or is there? How would the other behave if he thinks he's got even a little bit of safety here?

No doubt Buggy's going to be wondering why Mihawk pushed him off. One of his hands moves up to touch one of those presumably still in his hair, morbid curiosity causing him to pin it to his scalp and wrap around. Is it warm? ]

As I said, you're my guest. Make yourself comfortable.

[ He certainly looks like he is, lounging back in that seat with his legs parted, unabashed by the erection straining his trousers, looking every part the cool strip-club regular. He picks up the wine bottle to take a sip, staining his lips sanguine, while the bright eyes watch the clown in the eerie firelight. ]

Because I've extended my hospitality, it wouldn't do to allow any harm to come to you while you're aboard my ship tonight.

[ Now when Buggy leaves, or is forced to leave... ]

Edited 2023-12-23 21:10 (UTC)

[when he's tossed from the saddle, buggy stumbles; he only avoids landing in a heap at mihawk's feet by chopping at the ankles and catching himself in midair. that's enough to make him really panic, at least for a second, certain he's being kicked off the boat altogether, which would be a very bad sign for him even if it doesn't involve violence. but mihawk stops him, with those words and with the hand that catches his own before buggy can draw it back to the rest of him. it is warm, flexing a little as buggy's fingers immediately relax under the older man's grip. he reattaches it as soon as he's permitted to do so.

for a moment he doesn't say anything. he's turned back to face the swordsman again, one sleeve empty at the wrist, the other hand squeezing itself a little as his gaze roams with obvious lust over the erotic tableau being presented to him - mihawk's hair slightly tousled, lips and tongue red with wine, chest bare and legs spread and cock enticingly stiff. a gorgeous man with a killer dick and a lap buggy would really like to spend the rest of the night in, even possible. a man who keeps his word.

he licks his lips with a dry throat.]

I'm your guest, but also your entertainment. Right?

[reaching back, buggy undoes the hook and the well-concealed zipper of his costume; when the collar loosens, he tugs it down one shoulder, then the other. the undershirt beneath it is pastel blue, sleeveless, and so worn out it's translucent, exposing the tight flush of his nipples, the flat muscle of his stomach.]

So... are you the kinda guy who likes to run his own show, or... do you want to see what I can do?

Edited 2023-12-23 22:07 (UTC)

[ Mihawk inclines his head, releasing the hand in his grip in the process. ]

A step up from being my servant, I should think.

[ Buggy hadn't needed to bitch the whole time for Hawk Eyes to understand that had been a good punishment, one he'll keep in his back pocket should the need arise in the future.

Here in the present, those keen eyes rake down the clown in turn as he strips down to his smallclothes. This is just a testament to how an article of cloth can enhance nudity - the long hair, too, accents that lean body like a mane. There's a sort of androgyny to it, he notes, when combined with the thigh-highs. So much about Buggy is strange, and if nothing else, Mihawk has to admit to himself that he's fascinating to watch.

Do you want to see what I can do? ]

I've run the show up until now.

[ He'll point out. They might have come to a decision together, but ultimately everything they come out here to do is his call. And though Buggy has been given freedom to add his own colors or accents, Mihawk has drawn the lines when it's come to intimate moments like these. ]

So I think it would be an interesting change of pace to let the performer perform the way he'd like to. If you'd rather not, you may leave. [ Though judging by the way Buggy looks at him, he won't, and it's the last time Mihawk is going to offer him the out. ] If it seems like you're floundering, I'll pick up the slack.

[ He has no problem bossing someone around, but when there's an offer for a show on the table... once again, he can't help being curious. ]

[mihawk will always have broad control over the situation - that much is a given, and buggy needs no reminding. full control isn't what he's shooting for. he's not quite that delusional, or at least not yet. he's really just trying to find his own role in all of this, and it seems like he can't hedge his bets on mihawk's word any further. best be grateful he was allowed to do it at all.

besides, entertainer isn't just a step up from servant, it's on another level. the stage, if you will (because buggy certainly will).]

Nobody's talking about leaving, Hawk Eyes... I'm right where I want to be.

[want, want, want. buggy never stops wanting. what pirate doesn't have an insatiable appetite for something? many things? maybe one or two very special, very particular things?]

And I'll settle for constructive criticism - a true artist wants to perfect his craft, doesn't he?

[judging by the hungry gleam in buggy's eye, that's a rhetorical question. he understands mihawk to be a fellow artist, albeit of a different medium. it's hard to imagine the master of blades at a less advanced stage of his craft, but surely he had to have been there once, and if so, he must appreciate how earnestly buggy intends to prove himself. then again, maybe that's just more delusions of grandeur.

either way, the clown steps out of his costume in stocking feet towards the dark figure awash in the combined glow of a luminous moon and flickering green candlelight. his hands reach mihawk first, testing the swordsman's resolve to let buggy have his spotlight by smoothing both palms up his inner thighs, heading straight for the bulge of his cock. buggy sinks to his knees right as the course changes, his reverent touch tracing a bare and muscular stomach, a naked chest, the warm expanse of broad shoulders - and buggy's lean form follows behind, nestled between mihawk's legs while climbing his body like a snake.

he's ever so attentive now, with his audience in mind. every inch of ground he acquires is seared into his skin by the scrape of mihawk's bulging cock down his chest, digging into his belly. buggy swallows the moan from it, his fingers spreading over mihawk's shoulders, his mouth pressed - experimentally - to taut abdominal muscle, then maybe another one, a little higher. mihawk's last chance, so to speak, to tell buggy not to touch without explicit permission... or to put a little bit more control in his hands.]

...just how obvious was it, that I haven't stopped thinking about your beautiful cock?

[ The thing is Mihawk doesn't exactly know what Buggy's role in his life is either. He isn't sure of his own place anymore, not really. This partnership in the Cross Guild is wholly unprecedented for him. He is making this up as they go along, and the fact that he looks like he's secure is such a testament to his years of having to stand up against whole pirate crews that would jump at the slightest show of weakness to devour his lone, little ship.

He is an artist, and while he holds his art above all others, he can respect good craftsmanship in general, at least these days. Who doesn't love watching someone do what they're good at?

Buggy looks liquid melting down at his feet and surging up between his thighs, an acrobat who proves he has attuned to his body before popping any parts of it off to fulfill his purposes. Mihawk's breath draws into his chest in time to Buggy riding up it. There's a low hum that comes from that long drag over his clothed cock, those watchful eyes blinking for an equally lengthy second as sensation washes over him. Those abdominal muscles responsively flex, giving a good surface for a lip print or two. His hands drop to frame the younger man's waist, moves to pull him up just that little bit more to encourage him to take his place in Hawk Eyes' lap, this time facing him.

The only thing Mihawk will stop is a kiss to his lips, either tilting his head aside or putting up a hand. Buggy can put his hands or mouth on anything else. The question receives a little exhale. ]

I had no idea.

[ He's honest. It's not the sort of thing he often thinks about when business is happening. He compartmentalizes things a lot better than his peers, that much he knows, which is only verified to him now.

Mihawk's own hands move as if to hike Buggy's undershirt up, only the fabric ends up splitting right down the middle from the belly up. ]

Damn.

[ He does not actually sound sorry. ]

there's only two types of people in the world: the ones that entertain and the ones that observe

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