Work Text:
every time like the first
It’s easy for the chateau to feel empty and haunted when the kids are out. Usually, their shrill voices and hyper-energetic presences fill the endless halls and spacious rooms, their mess is strewn across the marble floor, their ever-present friends are somewhere nearby, ready to participate in whatever fun will cause their parents more headaches. But today, the kids are gone, very discretely passed on to the relative or friend more willing to entertain them for the evening. Silence takes over the old - and probably haunted - house, growing stronger as the sun sets over the forest, bathing the ancient halls in its golden light.
Luffy pokes his head out of the car’s window, peering at the adults with his big, bright eyes. “Aunt Rouge!” he calls out. “Can we get McDonald’s on the way home?”
At the sound of the Promised Land, all the kids gasp, turning their attention to the woman. “Please, Mom!”
“Please!”
Rouge sighs. She turns to face them, trying her best stern expression. The effort is futile when met with all those puppy eyes staring into her soul. “We have food at home.”
“Dad probably ate everything!” Ace complains, scrunching his nose.
Shanks chuckles. “He’s right.”
“Fine,” she decides and the kids all burst into excited exclamations. Though she’d like to have more discipline, she can’t help but laugh. She turns to Shanks. “I guess we’re good to go.”
He nods. “Thank you so much for this.” His words feel poor compared to the gratitude he has for this woman.
“I told you, it’s nothing. I love spending time with the kids.” Out of their whole family, Rouge is the only person who can handle all the kids and does so happily. “And besides, you two deserve the day off.”
Shanks couldn’t agree more. He loves the kids and with the weather getting warmer, he actually looks forward to spending the afternoons outside with them. But every now and again, when the occasion is special, he wants the house empty and his schedule clear to devote every minute to his husband.
Rouge climbs behind the wheel and Shanks approaches the car, smiling down at the kids as he leans against the open window. The boys are all in the backseat while Perona sits at the front, leaned back, heart-shaped glasses on, ready to enjoy the ride. “You two didn’t forget anything important, right?”
“I know I didn’t,” Perona says. “Don’t know about him though.”
Zoro scowls at his sister. “I didn’t forget anything!”
“That’s because Dad still packs your stuff.”
“Alright,” Rouge intervenes before the bickering can begin. “Even if you forgot something, we can go to the supermarket and get it. No big deal.”
“Thanks again, Rouge.”
“Don’t mention it. Just focus on having fun.”
“Oh, I will.”
At the mention of fun, Luffy’s head perks up. “Are you and Hawkeyes having a party?!”
“You could say that,” Shanks laughs and pats the young boy on the head. He flashes Rouge a wink and she rolls her eyes, smiling.
He stays outside to watch Rouge drive off, waving until the car is down the driveway and into the forest. Silence takes over once it disappears, broken only by the chirping and rustling around him. He sighs. Alone at last.
He makes his way back into the house, shutting the grand entrance behind him. He hums to himself as he paces down the hall, heading for the lounge where he knows his husband is. His cheerful and excited mood comes in stark contrast with his somber surroundings. For the biggest part, their home is a direct manifestation of his husband’s more macabre taste and at first glance, Shanks seems like a temporary guest rather than an inhabitant. He supposes the people around wouldn’t know, what goes on once those grand oak doors have shut is a sacred secret. His differences with Mihawk are numerous, prominent enough to make many question their compatibility. More than lovers, spouses, partners in all things, Shanks views them both as reflections of one another, those traits and characteristics that only they know. Not just compatible, then. The right fit.
As expected, he finds Mihawk in the lounge, sitting on his favorite armchair, reading a book with a glass of wine at his side. He makes no move to acknowledge Shanks’ presence, giving the redhead the chance to lean against the doorframe and study him silently, smiling to himself. The color of the setting sun matches the gold in Mihawk’s eyes, peeking from between thick, dark lashes. Shanks lets his gaze skim all over the other man’s profile, the tip of his nose, his high cheekbones, his perfect posture. Mihawk crosses one perfectly sculpted leg over the other, shifting a little. Shanks’ smile broadens.
“Can I help you?”
“Possibly,” Shanks hums and steps into the room. Mihawk still hasn’t averted his gaze from his book. Shanks walks to the side table by the armchair and takes a sip from his husband’s wine. He smacks his lips too loudly, chuckling at the irritated sigh Mihawk lets out. “Cranberry juice?”
“You’re hilarious.”
The redhead walks around the armchair, leaning over the back to peek at what his husband is reading. “The kids left.”
“I know. I could hear you from here.”
“It’s so nice of Rouge to watch them for us. We should get her a gift.”
“We should.” Shanks pouts. Mihawk turns a page, reaching over for his wine with his free hand. “You still want something,” he notes.
“Obviously. We didn’t send the kids away to sit and read all day.”
“We could watch a movie.”
Shanks reaches down and swiftly yanks the book from Mihawk’s grasp, tossing it somewhere behind him. Mihawk cranes his neck up, glaring at his husband. “Shithead,” Shanks murmurs.
“I was reading that.”
He knows he’s immature but for Shanks, annoying his husband is the same as flirting. They tease and bicker and it’s all part of foreplay, some intricate ritual only decipherable by them. Mihawk likes to act inaccessible like Shanks has to strive for even a smidge of his attention. And Shanks, ever the lovestruck fool, never tires of fighting to win Mihawk over, even when they’re in bed together, molded into one perfectly synchronized whole. Of course, Mihawk will never admit that he likes this kind of thing and Shanks doesn’t tease him too hard about it. His job is to tear down all those walls this little hypocrite is surrounding himself with.
“Don’t you have any better plans for this evening?”
“Actually no,” Mihawk says. “But I suppose you do.”
“Hell yes.” Shanks sits up straight and walks around to face his husband. He makes a very dramatic, over-the-top bow as he extends his arm forward, inviting Mihawk to reach for it. Though he doesn’t see it, he knows he just received an eye-roll accompanied by a little huff, equally amused and exasperated. “If you’d follow me.”
Mihawk places his pale hand into Shanks’ and lets the redhead lead him out of the lounge. They make their way down the long hallway, heading upstairs to their bedroom. Though he often seeks it out, Mihawk has to admit that the silence surrounding them is eerie. The lack of energetic yelling feels like there’s a piece missing from the house.
Finally, they arrive at their bedroom. Shanks pushes the double doors open with a push of his elbow and walks inside with his spouse. He steps to the side, letting Mihawk take the sight in. “Well?” he asks, waiting for the other man’s response.
The black, velvet curtains are drawn and the room is illuminated by a soft orange glow, courtesy of the numerous red candles set up all around their four-poster bed that’s clad in Mihawk’s favorite wine-colored satin sheets. Red rose petals are strewn on the floor, creating a path that leads to the bed. Mihawk’s eyebrows raise with bemusement as he takes it all in, both impressed and perplexed. It’s corny, like all things Shanks, but it’s too sweetly familiar for him to pull away from.
“When did you do all this?”
“When you were helping Zoro pack.” Shanks loops his arm around his husband and pulls him in, lips searching for the column of his throat. He kisses him lightly, chastely, almost like a breeze of cool air, moving up until his teeth graze against the sharp outline of Mihawk’s jaw. “You like it?”
“I’m more concerned that you left so many candles unattended-”
“For fuck’s sake, Hawkeyes,” Shanks groans.
“Okay! I like it.” Mihawk turns around, curling his fists in the front of Shanks’ shirt. He leans in to kiss the edge of his mouth, licking his bottom lip. “I like it a lot. Is there an occasion we’re celebrating?”
“You could call it that. I’m just happy to have you all to myself for once.”
A rarity these days, and not just because of the kids. Their responsibilities grow with each day and as they get older, they seek out a steady sleeping schedule more than a night of endless lovemaking. Growing old together can oftentimes be a double-edged sword.
“Aside from the overall aesthetic, do you have anything else in mind?”
Shanks hums. He’d like to be more secretive, more reserved, but his devious grin does little to mask his excitement. “Perhaps,” he purrs, dipping down to latch his teeth on Mihawk’s throat. His hand travels up, feeling his lover’s back as it finds his hair, pulling at the dark locks. Mihawk arches his neck, letting Shanks kiss him deeply, slowly, suck a trail of small bruises from his jaw to his collarbone. He likes to act as if he despises these marks but no matter how much he nags and glares, he lets his husband have this bit of fun.
“I’ve been meaning to suggest we try something new for quite a while now.”
Mihawk pulls back, one brow quirked in question. “New?” Shanks nods. “Like what?”
Experimentation has always been present in their sex life. After so many years together, one would think it was practically mandatory, the only way to break the monotony. They’ve tried almost everything, from bondage and group sex to sex in public and consensual somnophilia. Usually, Mihawk is the one to suggest the most gourmet - as Shanks calls it - stuff. The redhead’s tastes are mostly simple but he willingly agrees on whatever activity Mihawk suggests. As Mihawk looks at his spouse, he tries to think of something they haven’t tried already, though nothing comes to mind easily. He casts a glance around the room, and it suddenly clicks when he sees the candles once more.
“Oh, I see,” he mumbles. Shanks chuckles against his throat, tickling him. “You better be careful with the wax. I don’t want my favorite sheets to be ruined.”
Shanks rolls his eyes. Somehow, talking about the damn bed sheets doesn’t kill the mood. Who would have thought that he’d jump into the ‘boring, old married couple sex’ thing so effortlessly?
He brings his hand to his husband’s chest, undoing the buttons of Mihawk’s (mostly completely opened) shirt one after the other. He pulls it down until it falls on the floor, leaving Mihawk’s chest exposed. It’s silk and more expensive than most people’s monthly rent and Shanks welcomes the glare he inevitably receives as he steps over it while pushing Mihawk to the bed. He kisses that scowl right off, hand wrapped around the nape of the other man’s neck. Mihawk’s legs hit the edge of the mattress and he falls on his back, dragging Shanks so he lays on top of him. Their kiss deepens, growing hungrier, more desperate, as if it’s been ages since they’ve been allowed to kiss so shamelessly. Their tongues push against each other, filled with the taste of wine. Curious hands tug on fabric and seek skin, already shimmering with sweat. Shanks drops his entire weight on top of his lover, not once pulling back from his relentless kissing. His lips find that little spot on his throat, right where his pulse is and he sucks firmly, making Mihawk let out a little gasp. Even when they’re together, his partner is quiet, making Shanks work his way to all those beautiful sounds he longs to hear. For a man as terribly vain as Mihawk, it’s equal parts confusing and downright adorable to see him be so reserved, hold back his moans, and hide his face. His pale skin is dusted rosy pink, colored with a fever-like blush that spreads from his neck to the tips of his ears. With one hand, Mihawk covers his mouth, trying to muffle all the sounds Shanks is trying to coax out of him. Though the sight is always alluring, Shanks is having none of that tonight.
“Arms over your head, angel,” he murmurs into Mihawk’s ear, ending the sentence with a bite on his lobe.
Mihawk offers no resistance to the order. He does, of course, glare up at his husband, quirking a brow and smirking ever so faintly. “I won’t help you.”
“I don’t need your help,” Shanks bites back. He adapted long ago, so well that the loss of his arm isn’t noted until brought up by someone else. When he was forced to learn how to operate using only his remaining, non-dominant arm, learning how to tie knots was at the top of his list. Being born into a family of sailors definitely helped, though the look Rayleigh gave him when Shanks asked him to show him how to tie ropes with one hand was… questioning, to say the least.
Mihawk stays true to his word and already, Shanks knows it’s going to be another of those nights. He can already see it happen as it has countless times before; his lover will lay there, a piece of ivory laying in a lake of blood, and he will have to do all the work, earn his name uttered in those lips, see those gold eyes burn for him. Another one of their routines, those little games that keep the blood inside of them burning hot even as the years go by.
Shanks unbuckles Mihawk’s belt and Mihawk is feeling gracious enough to lift his hips just a bit to help Shanks remove it. Once the belt is in his hand, Shanks shapes it into two loops and pulls Mihawk’s wrists through. It takes some effort but he manages, securing his lover’s bonds on the headboard.
“There,” he sighs, smiling with satisfaction and shrugs his shirt off. He pulls down Mihawk’s pants and his partner wiggles his hips just a little bit. Shanks smirks. So much for not helping him. Shanks drags Mihawk’s boxers down along with his pants, leaving him only in his dress socks and garter belts. Of course.
He hops off the bed and quickly heads for a chest of drawers that stands nearby. He made sure to keep the necessary supplies close and ready. He returns to the bed carrying a remote-controlled bullet vibrator and a bottle of lube. He pauses for a moment before getting back on the bed, letting his hungry gaze roam all over the glorious sight that lays before his eyes. How privileged he is, how blessed, to have this terrifying force of nature all to himself like this? He’s all creamy skin and tight muscle, a sculpture of the highest, rarest artistry. And yet he lives and breathes and he looks at Shanks with those gem-like eyes, darkened from gold to honey by lust, soft lips parted just to let quiet little breaths out. Shanks looks at him with adoration, all of his devotion poured into one look. The soft orange glow kisses his lover’s flawless skin, painting it gold. The way he lays there, all tied up on their altar-like bed makes the scene feel holy, sacred, to be worshipped.
Slowly, Shanks gets on the bed and drops to his knees, tongue and lips already at work on every bit of skin he can find. Without his hands to muffle himself, Mihawk gasps and groans as Shanks smothers him with kisses like he was born to do. He wants to praise his lover, tell him again and again how beautiful he is, how perfect, but the words in his mouth feel too poor.
He manages to unscrew the lube and using his knee, he squeezes some of the slick substance out, coating his fingers. Mihawk bends his knees and spreads his legs apart, making enough room for the redhead to get comfortable. Shanks scoots closer, reaching underneath to slip his fingers right between those plump cheeks, seeking out his lover’s entrance. He traces the tight ring of muscle with one slick finger, watching as Mihawk’s spine arches beautifully, mouth opening to let out a soft gasp.
“Oh,” he groans, pulling down on his tight bonds.
Shanks begins to press his finger in slowly, knuckle after knuckle until he’s in to the last inch. Mihawk is just so fucking tight, squeezing around him so hungrily. Shanks doesn’t bother wiping his drool at the thought of his aching cock buried into that tight heat. He adds the second finger, scissoring them slowly, stretching Mihawk out and rubbing against his walls. Mihawk’s breath hitches in his throat when Shanks brushes against his sweet spot. The touch is brief, a taste of the purest pleasure before disappearing, leaving the man to huff in annoyance. Shanks chuckles at the dirty look he receives and leans down to kiss Mihawk’s chest, tweaking one of his nipples.
He pulls his hand out a bit too quickly, earning a whine from his lover. Mihawk has no time to voice his displeasure as Shanks swiftly replaces his hand with the vibrator, pushing it inside and only leaving the little remote out. He presses it deeply, making sure it’s nestled snugly against Mihawk’s prostate. Mihawk catches his bottom lip between his teeth, shivering in anticipation of what’s to come.
“What’s the word?” Shanks asks before switching the vibrator on.
Mihawk scoffs at him. “I don’t need the word.”
“No?” Shanks teases and throws the switch on at the medium setting. Mihawk yelps in surprise, nails digging crescents into the soft flesh of his palms. It’s not enough to get him overworked but it drags a pretty moan out of his tight-lipped mouth. “You sure?”
Mihawk swallows dryly. His eyes are screwed shut tightly, forehead covered in a sheen of sweat. “Yes,” he breathes.
Shanks shrugs. Mihawk likes it when it’s borderline painful, good and rough enough to make him pass out and Shanks just loves the way his partner can take it all, can allow him to push and bend, knowing he’s never going to break. The redhead climbs off the bed once more but returns only a moment later, this time holding one of the candles. Mihawk’s lashes flutter open and he eyes the object with piqued interest.
“Watch the sheets,” he hisses.
“Don’t be so boring, you old man,” Shanks mumbles. He tips the candle forward, letting some of the wax dribble down until a red stain sits on top of Mihawk’s skin. He gasps, wincing softly at the heat. “Aren’t you excited to be trying out something new?”
He brings the candle lower. The flame almost licks Mihawk’s chest as Shanks pours wax over him, even coating his nipples. Mihawk groans deeply, twisting his head to the side. “Shanks,” he gasps. His thighs squeeze around the redhead’s waist. The vibrator still buzzes inside of him, rubbing insistently against his sweet spot as the wax hardens on his skin, burning him, oh, so deliciously.
Shanks hooks one of Mihawk’s legs over his shoulder and lets the red wax fall down his inner thigh. He’s amazed at his patience, at how he’s still dressed and not buried inside the other man. The mere sight of Mihawk all tied up and covered in wax has him going light-headed, looking at his lover with the utmost adoration.
“Do you remember?” he whispers. He searches for Mihawk’s gaze, watching the candle’s flame dance in that sea of gold. “The first time we tried something new?”
Mihawk hums, lips curved in a reserved smile. “Yes,” he murmurs.
It’s been so long ago but the memory hasn’t faded. Quiet laughter resonates around the candlelit room as they two share the memory without saying a single word.
…
Shanks steps out of the car slowly, still not believing he’s actually doing this. The night is cold, even for the summer, though he theorizes his chills are unrelated to the weather. The road around them is completely deserted and when he turns the headlights off, absolute darkness surrounds them. He shivers, taking a few shaky steps until he stands beside his boyfriend. Mihawk has both hands on his hips as he looks at the iron gate that stands between them and the graveyard, sizing it up. Shanks gulps.
“I didn’t think you were serious about this…”
The redhead had other plans for the night of his six-month anniversary with his boyfriend, more candlelit dinner at their favorite rooftop and less sex at a graveyard. But when Mihawk dropped the idea, his eyes were shining with genuine excitement, something Shanks already knew was rare for the other teen. His being head over heels meant he couldn’t even think about opposing this idea. He’s not underestimating himself, he’s pretty confident, but Mihawk is truly something else. He’s beautiful and talented and mesmerizing in unimaginable ways. Shanks would never forgive himself if he appeared lame or uncool before his boyfriend and so there he is, wondering if dick exorcists are a thing.
“Of course I was.” Mihawk takes a deep breath and when he turns to Shanks, he’s smiling, his youthful and perpetually pale face flushed with excitement. “Let’s go!”
Very reluctantly, Shanks follows his young lover like a lamb to the slaughter. He checks the car once more, wondering if it’s wise to leave it out like that. Rayleigh had given him an earful before handing the keys, chewing him out for the mirror he had broken the last time he had borrowed it. Roger had done little to ease the young man’s worries, assuring him that if Rayleigh’s beloved Cadillac came back with even the tiniest scratch, he’d better change countries and fast.
Then again, who else but them would be insane enough to even approach a graveyard in the middle of the night?
Mihawk’s argument had been that Mary Shelley had also lost her virginity on top of a grave - her mother’s, no less - and he wanted their first time to be as dramatic. Shanks should have known what he had gotten himself into when his boyfriend started reciting Edgar Allan Poe’s complete works as a party trick.
The gate is easy to climb over and Shanks curses his life as a child of criminals and all the skills he’s accumulated. He lands on his feet beside Mihawk, scanning the area that lays ahead. There’s a reason why people don’t come to cemeteries at night and it becomes clearer by the minute. This place reeks of being haunted, of damned, lost souls dancing in the air, laying their cold, dead hands on his exposed neck. Rows and rows of graves lay before him, forming an intricate maze. Mihawk takes the first step forward and Shanks follows with much less confidence. They’re looking for something, he realizes as Mihawk walks farther and farther away from the gate.
In the daylight, Shanks might have been able to appreciate the sculptures on some of the graves. Some of them are true works of art, depicting anything from myths, like the tragic story of Eros and Psyche, to the beloved person that rests below. He sees flowers, vibrant and wilted alike, graves without a speckle of dust on them while others that have been forgotten in time. With the corner of his spooked eye, he catches bright flames dancing in the velvet night, their reflections mocking him as they bounce off the metal crosses.
“Oh, this one’s just perfect.”
Shanks halts abruptly, nearly crashing into Mihawk. The black-haired teen is smiling with self-satisfaction as he stands before a grave. Shanks can’t make out the name of the person this belongs to but it was surely someone rich. There’s a canopy over it and surrounding it are silk curtains that sway gently in the chilly breeze. The person was obviously very deeply loved as several bouquets of scarlet roses lay around, perfuming the air with their honey-sweet scent. It’s easy to see why Mihawk is so excited.
“Sit.”
Shanks hears the word but his brain needs a moment to click into action. He looks at Mihawk, still foolishly expecting him to reveal this all as a prank and take him back to the car so they can fuck like normal people.
“It looks uncomfortable.”
“I’ll ride you so don’t worry.”
“What if we get caught?”
“Since when is the son of Gol. D Roger and Silvers Rayleigh afraid of the cops?”
Shanks pouts. “You really have an answer for everything, don’t you?”
Mihawk quirks a brow, smirking smugly. “You sound scared, Red.”
“I’m not scared! I’m just...concerned.”
Mihawk huffs. He closes the gap between them, kissing Shanks’ worries away. He pushes his boyfriend’s hat out of the way, tangling his fingers into his fiery locks. Over the past few months, Shanks has been growing his hair out, per his boyfriend’s request. Mihawk tugs softly at the roots as he kisses him deeper. Shanks wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s waist, pulling him close and kissing him back just as eagerly. He feels like he can melt into the kiss, this and every single one they’ve exchanged, from that very first awkward little peck after their first date to the last, somewhere in the distant future, when the red in his hair has gone gray. He’s sure that even then, in the pits of his imagination, the sunset in Mihawk’s eyes will never fade to darkness. He pulls away and Shanks searches that golden gaze, the sharp outline and the thick lashes. He brings a hand up to stroke one pale cheek, smiling softly at the warmth gathered in his heart.
“Sit down.”
“Okay.”
Shanks obliges without another word of objection, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible, sitting with his back against this poor person’s tombstone. He knows his nervousness is more than showing but he’s relieved to see it’s shared. Mihawk doesn’t look away as he moves down to straddle the redhead, huffing as he tries to find the best position. They stay like this, looking in each other’s eyes, not sure what to do next.
Shanks places both hands on his lover’s hips, stroking little shapes on the black leather of his pants. “I…” he stammers. His cheeks are the same color as his hair and his eyes are wide with childish confusion. It’s odd, even as a kid he was never lacking in confidence, yet at this moment, he feels utterly lost. “I’ve never done this before. And I don’t mean sex in a cemetery. I mean sex… in general.”
“Oh…” Mihawk breathes. He clears his throat, still trying to appear as calm and collected as usual, though the blush on his cheeks is telling of his nervousness. “I haven’t done it before, either. You know what we’re supposed to do, right?”
Shanks nods hastily, breathlessly. God. The birds and the bees talk with Rayleigh and Roger, featuring an absolutely hammered Oden, had to be one of the most embarrassing conversations Shanks had ever had. They all made him and Buggy sit through this torture session, trying to explain as best as their drunkness would allow them what happened when two (or more) adults that loved each other very much hugged and kissed. Well, they’re off to a bad start already, since they’re not even adults yet.
“I brought this,” Mihawk mumbles and fishes a pack of condoms out of his pocket. “And this.” From the other pocket, he produces a bottle of lube. Shanks notices that the seal is broken and the tube is not quite filled to the top. He pauses to think about it, if his boyfriend had been preparing himself beforehand, just to get a taste. He blushes harder and Mihawk scowls, reading his thoughts.
“You could have recorded a video.”
“Shut up.”
Shanks pulls the other teen into a kiss, arms curling around his slender waist to keep him close. Mihawk shifts his hips and they both gasp, feeling each other’s arousal.
“Can I be on top?” Shanks asks in a single breath, pulling away to rub their noses together. He holds Mihawk’s face, kissing down his sharp jaw and pale neck, feeling his heartbeat under his lips.
“Yes,” Mihawk mumbles.
They shift positions so that Mihawk is laying down on the grave with his back while Shanks gets comfortable between his thighs, pulling both his legs over his shoulders. He leans in, caging Mihawk between his arms, and smiles cheekily.
“Much better.”
…
“This suits you,” Shanks murmurs. He barely recognizes his own voice. It sounds an awful lot like him when he’s drunk, though his senses are as sharp as ever, fully registering everything that’s happening. He licks a stripe from Mihawk’s navel up to his chest, tasting his sweat, smelling the sweet scent of the wax mix with the perfume he knows so well. He turns the vibrator on the highest setting, cooing softly at the reaction it coaxes out of Mihawk.
“Shanks,” he breathes out. It’s a choked sound, half-melted into another moan. The door is still open and a sweet, venom-like hysteria seeps into his brain at the thought of being discovered like this.
“Tell me,” the redhead says adoringly. “I’ll give you everything.”
Everything and so much more, everything an infinite amount of times, again and again until his very breath was drained. Shanks moves the candle lower, letting the red wax melt at the tender skin where hip meets thigh. Oh, and how MIhawk keens, arching beautifully, with enough flexibility to put his 20-year-old self to shame. Shanks knows this body, he knows just how to make it writhe and shiver, how to make those tight lips utter his name like it’s a prayer.
“Hurry-ah!”
To hurry would be a crime, there’s no need to rush this. Shanks knows how needy and demanding Mihawk can be, especially when he’s teased like this. All that glaring and complaining only urges him to keep going, see how far he can push until he’s glared to death.
“Hey,” he calls softly. He puts out the candle and discards it on the floor. “Can I take a picture of you?”
Mihawk calms his heavy breathing, regaining the necessary composure to shoot a dirty, questioning look at his husband. “Why?”
Shanks snorts. “What do you mean ‘why’? Do you have any idea how divine you look right now? I need to capture this moment, keep it forever.”
Mihawk shifts, tilting his head to look up at the other man. “No higher purpose?”
“Nope. If I wanna jack off, I already got an endless supply of our porn.” He grins and Mihawk rolls his eyes. “This is merely… art preservation.”
Mihawk huffs a little laugh, watching with eyes full of mirth as his partner climbs off the bed and goes for the camera. Of course, the phone won’t do. Shanks returns with the camera and after finding the right angle, snaps a picture of his lover like this, tied up and ready to be drunk to the last drop.
“God,” he growls as he hastily undoes his pants, not looking away from those jewel-like eyes as he climbs on the bed. “You’re so fucking hot.”
The vibrator is turned off before it’s pulled out. Mihawk groans, already feeling empty. Shanks scoots closer, holding his erection in his hand, aligning it with Mihawk’s stretched entrance. Mihawk locks his ankles behind him, holding him close, wordlessly urging him to hurry up and fill him up like no one else can. Shanks moves his hips forward, pushing in slowly, dragging every inch, feeling his lover squeeze around him so greedily.
“Oh, honey,” he drawls. He’s already panting, sweat rolling between his pecs. Had he been younger, this would have been over the moment it began. He thinks back to that very first time, how it felt like heaven to them, all two minutes of it. If anything, Shanks is happy he matured alongside his lover, learning the ticks and peculiarities of his body and how to last longer.
He begins to move, slowly at first, rolling his hips at a comfortable pace. They have all evening to savor each other and start over again and again. He hooks one leg over his shoulder, squeezing the strong muscle while spreading his lover wider, fucking him deeper.
“Here?” he asks with a little smirk, thrusting firmly against Mihawk’s sweet spot.
“Yes,” Mihawk croons. He throws his head against the pillows, arching his neck and Shanks knows it’s an invitation to come closer.
He drops on top of the other man, balancing himself on his arm as the snapping of his hips quickens. Their chests are a mess of wax, stuck together into one. The sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the room and the halls outside. Their open mouths hover above each other, not kissing but sharing the same hot, wet breath, blazing gold locked into steel gray. Shanks wraps his hand around Mihawk’s throat and cuts that next huffy breath short, drinking it straight from his lips, letting its sweetness fog his brain.
“Shanks,” Mihawk whispers, managing to pull himself back into consciousness enough to utter these words. “My hands...I want to touch you…” Each word is spoken like it’s the most sinful confession. “Please.”
“Yes,” Shanks gasps, wondering why it’s already taken him this long. He reaches up, undoing his lover’s bonds hastily, sloppily. Once Mihawk’s hands are freed, he pulls the redhead back down, nails clawing at his perfectly sculpted back, raking harsh, pink lines across the tan muscle.
Shanks fucks him deeply, each thrust aimed at his prostate, all the while Mihawk holds him in his embrace, tight enough to bruise and desperate enough to make his heart melt. Those quiet little gasps, every soft moan and choked whisper of his name boom into his ears like thunder. His mouth, always yearning for his lover’s skin, for the taste of his sweat, kisses hungrily down his neck, tracing every vein with his teeth. He can hear it in the hitch of Mihawk’s breath, can see it in the fog in his bright eyes, that he’s close, so, so close.
“Come on,” he growls. His moves are growing faster and sloppier, almost frenzied as he chases his own release. “Cum for me, angel.”
Mihawk’s nails dig into Shanks’ back hard enough to draw blood. His lashes flutter shut and his lips part, letting out a wanton moan, his lover’s name uttered in a single breath as he climaxes, mixing the cum with the wax and sweat. It’ll be a nightmare to clean, Shanks can already tell, but at least the sheets made it out unscathed.
Shanks keeps thrusting, fucking Mihawk right through it. Mihawk’s eyes shoot open, a surprised yelp is fucked out of his throat as he’s not even given a moment to breathe. His toes curl, mind going blank at the deliciously familiar sensation of being fucked to oversensitivity. His cock is trapped between their chests, spent and twitching from the aftershocks of his orgasm.
“Fill me up,” he purrs into Shanks’ ear. His eyes roll to the back of his skull, lost and unfocused.
Shanks locks their open lips together in a sloppy, wet kiss that’s just dripping with need. He can feel all the pleasure coil in the pits of his belly and he can’t last much longer, not when Mihawk is squeezing around him, sucking him in, mewling out his name until it melts on his tongue. He climaxes with a groan, mumbling his husband’s name, burying himself to the hilt until the other man is full.
The atmosphere in the room is nearly suffocating. Mihawk is sure that if the door wasn’t open, the sickly-sweet aroma of the candles would have killed them both. It’s too warm, their bodies are slick with sweat and glowing orange, warm both from the flames and the physical exertion. They lay on top of each other, foreheads pressed together, trying to calm down their breaths and erratically beating hearts. Mihawk cups his husband’s face and kisses the edge of his mouth. There’s rare fondness in his expression, a gentle smile and a soft glow in his eyes as he looks at his partner. Shanks grins back with boyish excitement. At 35, it suits him as well as it did at 17, as if not a single day has passed over him.
Shanks pulls out and cum dribbles out of his lover’s puffy hole, dripping down on the sheets. He smiles apologetically as he collapses on the spot next to Mihawk, scooting closer to spoon him snugly. He buries his face in the crook of his neck, snuggling and kissing him.
“Tell me when you wanna clean up.”
“Clean up?” Mihawk questions, sounding genuinely surprised, and Shanks wonders if he’s joking. His sense of humor is odd, to say the least. “What’s the point? Aren’t we just going to get messy again?”
Shanks grimaces. As much as he likes the sound of that, he needs a break. “I didn’t mean immediately after-”
“No?” Mihawk mumbles. He rolls on his side, facing his lover. It’s unlike him to be playful and the rare times that happens, the look on Shanks’ face is just priceless. He can’t help but chuckle fondly at that expression, an equal mix of confusion, arousal and hesitation. He moves to straddle the redhead’s hips, looking down at him as Shanks, yet again, lets his shameless gaze roam all over him. Oh, he’s a sight to behold, looking every bit like a deity, stained with red wax, semen and star-like bruises blooming all over his chest. “I thought the evening was meant to be enjoyed by the two of us.”
“We could watch a movie,” Shanks offers weakly and it’s the most pathetic defense ever. He wants this - no - he needs it. “Just say you wanna kill me, Hawkeyes.”
Mihawk’s lips curl into a smile. He lays down on Shanks’ chest, tracing idle shapes over his pecs. “It’d be a hell of a way to go out, don’t you think?”
“I can already see the obituary,” he muses. “Died as he lived, bending over backward for the man he loves.”
Perhaps, it’s not so bad. If anything, it’s worth dying for the little chuckle Mihawk makes as he leans in to catch Shanks’ lips in another kiss.