“Mmm— That’s nice”, Shanks whispers in Mihawk’s ear, encouraging as the swordsman finds a rhythm grinding against him. Hands slowly tracing his legs settle loosely around the other’s waist. He thinks about the duel, and about their knives, and wonders why not knowing how to do a thing is such an unmatched horror for the other. “How did it go down?”, he asks, adding a quiet “your little dream” when Mihawk frowns.
The swordsman opens his mouth, and for a moment Shanks thinks that he’s going to actually share details— that he’s going to get him to dirty talk, the serious bastard— but then he huffs, hands freezing on Shanks’ shoulders. Well, then.
It’s the thing with Mihawk, this whole— putting himself in a position that invites Shanks to step in, but never actually telling him when and how to do so, and then getting mad, as if Shanks is supposed to magically know. Not for the first time he wonders if it’s some sort of test, if the other wants to make sure that he’s a worthy companion, and although he usually likes the challenge, it’s the root cause more often than not of his headaches.
Shanks kisses his cheek to avoid Mihawk noticing the bit of frustration growing on him, and then continues down the other’s neck, leisurely, focusing on a point over his collarbone that makes him hiss, and then whimper when Shanks starts sucking on it. Trying to picture Mihawk’s reaction if he does leave a hickey, automatically he makes a mental note to pay attention to which places would be best (more visible) to leave one, taking in account Mihawk’s open coat.
Their encounter on the beach comes to his thoughts, and he licks his hand and sneaks it between them, giggling when Mihawk’s indignant squeak (that judgy look that says nasty) breaks into a moan when he wraps it around their cocks.
“Shanks”, Mihawk warns, curving against him as he loses the remnants of his composure in the face of Shanks’ relentless attack. Little whines pull out of him against his will. With his face flush, eyes closed, as he grinds against Shanks’ grip on them, he’s the hottest sight the captain has ever laid his eyes upon.
“Come on, sweetheart, tell me. You can tell me”, he insists, attacking as well the other side of Mihawk’s neck, his hands a vice grip around the other’s back.
“Shanks”, the swordsman warns again, a bit more desperate. He wonders whether he’s about to make him come then and there, heart beating excitedly at the prospect. “I— Nnnn— You were— You used— your tongue on me”.
Oh?
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i read metadow as meadow and was like... woah.. so poetic
fggfdsgdfssfdfhdzgdjfv here u go, true romanc
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