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The message had been short. Buggy and Mihawk were supposed to check one of Crocodile’s storage halls. Crocodile had claimed several rooms across the base for his personal collections. He had quite a range of interests when it came to collecting. Rare artifacts, art from the islands under their control, antiques from every sea. And in this particular warehouse they were headed to, torture instruments from all over the world. Buggy wasn’t really surprised to learn Crocodile was into that kind of thing. What did surprise him was the sheer amount he had. It was one of Crocodile’s collector halls, though it looked more like a cellar with its cobblestone walls and arched ceilings. The perfect setup for a dungeon.
Buggy’s eyes went wide as he stepped inside. He’d never been here before. Sure, he’d seen some instruments up close. Back when their partnership began, a few of them had even been used on him. At least the gentler ones, and those days were long over. Still, standing here sent an icy shiver down his spine.
Mihawk didn’t even raise an eyebrow. He just stood there, not bothering to look around.
“You’ve been here before, huh?” Buggy asked, almost disbelieving.
“Yes. From time to time new things are added, and Crocodile likes to show me.”
It was matter-of-fact. Nothing else. Buggy felt oddly left out by that. Sure, he didn’t want to be here either, he probably would’ve declined the invitation, even so, they could’ve asked.
“Don’t fret, little clown,” came Crocodile’s voice from further inside the room. “We thought this place might upset you.”
If those words were meant to sound kind or reassuring, they did the exact opposite. Crocodile wasn’t kind. Well, … sometimes he was. He could be surprisingly gentle, even attentive, and Buggy had to admit, even loving. But being here made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and Crocodile’s soft tone only made it worse.
“He’s right,” Mihawk added, just as calmly. “But perhaps we shouldn’t have kept you out of this place without telling you.”
His voice was soft too, and Buggy didn’t like that one bit. He rolled his eyes, trying to mask the unease crawling up his spine. “Oh, thanks for the invite now. Real considerate.”
“But now that we are all here, I want you to see my newest acquisition.” With that, he gestured toward a dimly lit corner at the back. Something stood there that Buggy had never seen before. It looked like a cage, but with flat bars and not rectangular like a normal one. Nor was it round like a birdcage he once owned. No, it had the shape of a body, on all fours, kneeling. If more metal had been used, it might have passed for a full sculpture and been called art.
“Did the builder run out of metal?” Buggy asked, more sarcastic than curious, but a hollow feeling settled in his stomach, and he had a pretty clear idea of how the thing was meant to be used. Mihawk’s lips curved in a small smile, and Buggy felt a wicked little thrill that the man was finally showing some expression. He’d offered Mihawk face massages before, to get those atrophied muscles moving again. The third time, Mihawk had grabbed him in annoyance and given him the spanking of his life, to “keep the muscles working,” he’d said. Buggy had decided it was worth it. Maybe he should start suggesting it again.
“No, of course not,” Crocodile said, slightly irritated that Buggy was making light of his latest pride. “It’s complete. I inspected it myself. The workmanship is good.” He stroked the metal where Buggy guessed the head would be, or rather, the part that would hold it. The angle looked uncomfortable, and that posture would definitely cause neck problems.
“With a bit more light, you could see it better,” Buggy remarked.
“That still needs to be fitted properly back here. For today, it will do.” That shut down any further comments.
“Perhaps you could explain to those less versed in the art of torture, what it’s for,” Mihawk said. Buggy believed him when he sounded as if he didn’t know exactly what he was looking at. But there was no way he believed Mihawk didn’t know how to torture people in general. If he truly didn’t, he was a natural. Buggy’s body was the proof. Not always good times.
“I thought you’d never ask.” Crocodile grinned around his cigar. “This is the perfect method to completely take control of a person’s movements.” He activated a mechanism, and the headpiece swung on its hinge. “It lets you set the angle of the head to put it in the ideal position for other techniques. Sometimes you only need to tilt it all the way up,” he said, demonstrating, “which can almost snap the neck because the person inside can’t resist the pressure.” He let the piece snap back, and the figure’s head dropped, so the occupant would be forced to look down. “Of course, you can leave positions like that for days. The cramps and muscle pain that follow are not insignificant.” Crocodile recited it all coolly, clinically, as if he were ticking off features on a product sheet.
“And between the bars, there are round openings. See? Around here would be the mouth. There’s room to slide another instrument through. For example, something like this.” He pulled an object from a shelf. It was small, at first glance like a gag. Then Crocodile turned a piece, and the thing expanded with a metallic creak. “That’s a mouth opener. You definitely don’t want that in your mouth. It makes breathing hard and talking impossible. Turn it wide enough, and you can fracture the jaw and ruin teeth.” He grinned now like a kid in a toy shop. Buggy felt his heart drop into his stomach. If it could easily split a jaw in two, ordinary people without his Devil Fruit powers would stand no chance.
“And naturally, there’s an opening at the back.” He pointed to the raised rear of the figure. There was indeed a hole at a height Buggy did not want to think about. He went a little pale. Mihawk took it all in stoically, arms folded, listening attentively. “Through there you could, for example, push a red-hot poker straight into a person’s body. Sinners would be impaled to be punished for their crimes.” Buggy went green around the nose. People could be such bastards to each other.
“And here,” Crocodile continued, opening four hinges and folding the top section aside, “is the release mechanism. You can fold everything back or remove individual parts.” He looked proud of his invention. Buggy could imagine all sorts of awful things happening in that device, but he did not want to picture them now.
“I can’t quite picture how anyone would fit in that,” Mihawk said. “I think it’s more of a sculptural piece than something meant to contain a person.” Buggy raised an eyebrow. If Mihawk truly couldn’t picture it, he was either playing dumb or had a very dull imagination. Buggy already had a clear idea of how it would be used, and he didn’t like it.
“You could try it yourself,” Crocodile offered, and Buggy felt grateful he wasn’t the one being singled out. No ten horses would drag him into that thing.
“I doubt it would fit me. Look at the shape. I’m too tall and too broad for that. It seems made for smaller people.” Buggy glanced at Mihawk. Yeah, it would probably be a tight squeeze for him. They needed someone smaller. He thought about it for a moment. Maybe Galdino would be free.
“Perfect for the clown, then,” Buggy heard Crocodile’s voice.
“WHAT? …NO WAY. I am absolutely not getting in that!” he almost shouted. They had both gone mad. Someone else had to be found.
“Breathe, darling. I must say, Croco has a point. I think you would fit.” Mihawk’s voice was calm, and suddenly Buggy’s body alternated between hot and cold.
“I think our clown is scared, Hawk.” Crocodile’s tone was amused.
“Pah, why would I be scared?” He would never admit it, but the walls felt like they were closing in whenever he thought about it.
“That’s how it seems to me too. I just don’t know why. It’s only us here, and you can always split to get out.” Yes, of course he could chop, but he still didn’t want to.
“Maybe just step in so we can check the proportions. You know, length and all that.” They both looked at him expectantly.
“Do… do I have to?” His voice sounded shaky even to his own ears.
“No, darling, I only wanted to see how it worked. I wouldn’t force you.” Mihawk’s face showed a hint of disappointment, and suddenly Buggy had no more excuses ready.
“Okay, fine. Of course I’ll do it. And why should I be scared…” he told himself. After a few moments of looking back and forth between the two men and the instrument, he stepped into the center.
“Okay… okay…” he murmured, more to himself, pretending not to notice their gazes.
“Stand in the middle. Yes, just like that. Then lower yourself to your knees slowly. One foot in each metal slot. I think you’ll have to take your shoes off. Mihawk, please help him.”
Buggy became aware of his shoes being pulled off slowly. His toes were guided into the foot slots. Above, he felt the bars pressing against the underside of his toes. The counterpart was a piece that could be folded aside. His mind supplied images of foot torture. Sticks, feathers, hot irons. He was so caught up in his own panic that he didn’t notice how the two men adjusted him further. When his chin finally rested on the iron plate meant for it, he realized where he was.
“And how does it feel, clown?” Crocodile asked with genuine curiosity.
“Pretty okay. The floor’s soft. It’s comfy, you could kneel here for a while.” And he was right. The floor was padded. Why would the floor of an old torture device be cushioned? It made no sense.
“Ah.” He was about to ask when Crocodile said, “Sure, in the right setting it would be bolted to the ground, but for transport it’s better to pad it.” That made a weird sense. Still, why was the padding screwed in? It didn’t add up.
“Can we close it for a moment, darling? I don’t think it’ll fit, but perhaps I’m mistaken.”
“Does it have to be?” Buggy really didn’t want this.
“Please, for me?” Mihawk asked, and had he ever looked at him that pleadingly? With big puppy eyes, no less. Something was absolutely wrong here.
“Okay, just a bit.” Buggy couldn’t refuse. Even though his gut screamed that something wasn’t right, and that this was wrong in a way he couldn’t put his finger on. If the panic got too strong, he’d chop and run and give them both a real telling-off later.
The iron above clicked into place, locking with a clean metallic snap. Cool metal brushed along his back, and he shivered. Not from fear, not really, but from the strange mix of nerves and anticipation crawling under his skin. A soft gasp escaped him. His body tingled, and for a second his mind went blank. The weight, the cold, the confinement felt too real and familiar. A sensation washed through him like the one before he was transported to Impel Down, when they put the seastone shackles on him. He felt the panic rising inside him. That cage rendered his powers useless. There was no escape now.
Then a hand slipped through the bars and combed gently through his hair, trying to calm him.
“It fits like a glove, sweetheart,” Crocodile said with a low chuckle. “Made just for you.”
“Bastards,” he muttered, but there wasn’t much bite in it, his mind preoccupied with the fact that he had walked right into their trap. The construction was made for him. The seastone had been the last piece of the puzzle. “You really had this planned, huh?”
“Maybe,” Mihawk murmured, his tone soft and teasing. His fingers brushed the back of Buggy’s neck, steady and grounding. “You’re trembling. Breathe, darling. You know you can stop anytime.”
“I know,” he said quietly. And he did. The safeword sat ready on his tongue. That was the rule. Always safe. Always his to use. After they started their affair, it gave Buggy the support and courage he needed to get involved with the two of them.
“Good,” Crocodile said. “Then relax. Let it feel like what it’s supposed to be, a game.”
A low laugh rumbled in his throat. “Some game,” he mumbled, shifting a little inside the frame. It fit snugly, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The padding beneath his knees was soft, the cold metal against his skin oddly grounding.
Mihawk’s touch lingered, calm and measured. “You look perfect like this,” he said, his voice low enough to send heat to Buggy’s face.
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” he shot back, though his voice was shaking for a very different reason now.
Crocodile knelt beside him, lighting his cigar again, the ember glowing faintly in the dim light. “He’s right, you know. You look stunning, little fool.”
He laughed softly, nerves melting into something warmer. “You’re both insane.”
“Maybe,” Crocodile said, smoke curling from his lips. “But you trust us, do you?”
“I do,” Buggy whispered. And that, at the end of the day, was the whole point.
Buggy decided to see what they had prepared. How bad could it be, really? They’d locked him in fully dressed, after all.
“Good thing you already got him out of his shoes,” Crocodile said somewhere behind him. “Would’ve been a shame to ruin them.” Oh no.
“Hey! No one touches my clothes!” He heard the hiss of steel leaving its sheath. “Hello? Are you even listening to me?” he tried not to panic, but his voice cracked anyway.
“Relax, little darling,” Mihawk said, calm as ever. “I’ll be careful.” Something brushed along his legs and ass, followed by the sound of fabric giving way.
“Hey! You can’t just–” Apparently, they could. Most of his pants were gone now, neatly sliced away, except for the lower parts around his calves. Maybe he could save those and make something new out of them later. For now, though, he was well and truly trapped. Long, slender fingers traced the curve of his exposed hip.
“You haven’t noticed,” Mihawk murmured, “but this design has another opening.”
His tone made it sound more like a joke than a threat, and Buggy huffed out a nervous laugh. The fingers disappeared from his hip and found their way to his groin. Mihawk’s hand moved further down, adjusting him slightly, lifting just enough until… oh yes, Buggy realized there was another opening, and gravity was taking over, with some very important parts of his body now outside the metal prison.
“Oh, for crying out loud…” he tried to twist, failed, and gave up with a sigh.
“Easy,” Mihawk said, still in that maddeningly calm voice. “You’re doing fine.” A light touch followed as his hand caressed him, teasing and soft. Despite himself, Buggy felt warmth blooming in his face.
“Little darling seems to wake up now,” Mihawk teased, as what had been soft and uninterested now began to fill out.
“If you chuckle,” Buggy muttered, half-groaning, half-laughing, “I’m leaving. I swear.” Not that he really wanted to. Not at the moment.
“Shall we give our clown a bit of movement?” Crocodile asked, kneeling in front of him. He adjusted the mechanism, and the frame responded with a soft metallic click. Buggy’s muscles already protested the stillness. He wasn’t built to stay still for this long. Every nerve in his body begged him to move.
Without his help, the device tilted his head back until he was forced to look straight up at Crocodile. The man’s mouth curved around his cigar in a smile that was both cruel and amused. It was a strange, dizzying feeling to surrender control, letting someone else decide what happened to his body. A thick finger traced the line of his chin.
“Little fool,” Crocodile murmured. “Will you behave on your own, or do we need to help you with that?”
Buggy swallowed. “I’ll behave.” As if his body wanted to confirm it, he let out a moan when Mihawk started to toy with his balls.
“Good,” Crocodile said softly. “Then open.” He held three thick fingers against Buggy’s lips. Buggy could have refused, but he thought it's better to cooperate, and slowly his body responded.
He opened his mouth and accepted the fingers. While Mihawk continued to work on him, and Buggy noticed he was now fully hard, the three fingers in his mouth threatened to suffocate him. Crocodile had large fingers, and they slid in and out of his mouth, pressing on his tongue, exploring every inch they could reach. On purpose, and Buggy knew it was on purpose, he let them slide too deep into his throat, making him gag. Normally, he would have pulled his head away, but this time the back of his skull hit the iron, and he couldn’t escape Crocodile’s control. His eyes widened as a wave of panic and arousal shot through him. This was new. Until now, he’d been more or less detached. He didn’t know how to feel about his body, suddenly deciding to enjoy being trapped and tortured.
“That’s just a taste. You’ll have to open a little wider, clown.” Buggy knew why when Crocodile withdrew his fingers and unzipped his pants.
“I think he needs to relax a bit more first. What do you think, darling? Loosen your muscles a little so you can fully enjoy it. You’re very tense.” And that actually sounded good.
“I’d relax faster if you’d just let me out,” Buggy shot back.
“But where would be the fun in that?” Mihawk said, and a second later Buggy felt his hands on both sides of his ribs, each finger fitting perfectly between the bars. He couldn’t get away. Mihawk wasn’t about to massage him. He started tickling instead. A helpless laugh broke out of him.
“Ah—no! Don’t you dare!” Buggy hated being tickled. He lost every bit of control, his whole body twitching inside the tight frame. He couldn’t move a lot, couldn’t hide, just gasped for air and laughed until his vision blurred.
By the time Mihawk finally stopped, Buggy’s chest was heaving, his skin warm and flushed, all that pent-up energy leaving him humming with confusion and reluctant pleasure. They gave him a moment to breathe. The air felt heavy and hot against his skin. Mihawk’s voice came first, smooth and teasing.
“See? Much more pliant now.” Buggy barely managed a breath before the next command came.
“Now, little clown, open wide.” Crocodile’s cock nudged at his lips. Still breathless, Buggy opened his mouth.
“So pretty,” Crocodile breathed out, and Buggy moaned. He felt a slick finger at his entrance, and Mihawk sank it inside him. Buggy tried to wriggle, to move toward him, only to be stopped again by the metal. Mihawk prepared him quickly but thoroughly, occasionally brushing against his prostate. Buggy knew it was on purpose. Mihawk had a gift for always knowing exactly where it was, finding it on the first try - spot on. Meanwhile, Crocodile adjusted the angle of his head slightly and slid deeper into his mouth and throat.
“Still want to deny you love it?” Mihawk asked between Crocodile’s rough thrusts, giving Buggy a moment to breathe.
“Yes, I hate it,” he rasped, his voice rough and breathy.
“Your body tells another story. There’s a big puddle under you, darling.” Mihawk adjusted another mechanism of the contraption, and Buggy felt his legs sliding further apart.
“Such a beautiful sight.” Mihawk knelt behind him, between the now-open legs, and sank his cock into him in one smooth motion. Buggy moaned loudly, but Crocodile shoved his cock back into his mouth, muffling the sound.
Neither of them let him adjust to the new sensation of being filled from both ends at once, their rhythms mismatched. The hated metal cage didn’t allow him any extra friction or space for relief. No room to be impatient, to push against Mihawk’s rhythm, or to shift and find a better angle to take Crocodile in. Buggy noticed how much his two lovers enjoyed the fact that he couldn’t fight back. They could do whatever they wanted with him. And Buggy loved it. He wouldn’t admit it, but he loved how much control they had over him. His body reacted faster than his mind could. Heat pooled low in his stomach, spreading until every nerve felt raw and alive.
He wanted to move, to do something, but the frame held him steady. Every breath he took came with a pulse of tension that built higher and higher until it was hard to tell if he was trembling from exhaustion or pleasure. His cock hung through the hole, painfully hard, swinging with every thrust, and he didn’t even think about seeking relief. He felt tears streaming down his face, the mix of sensations overwhelming him.
“So fucking pretty.”
“So good for us.” He heard their voices and shuddered under their praise. Each word made the world tilt a little more, made his pulse stutter in his throat.
He went lightheaded from the lack of breath, Crocodile’s cock still filling his mouth. His muscles relaxed a little more. He felt Crocodile shudder and slide deeper into his throat, cutting off his air completely. More tears filled Buggy’s eyes as he tried to breathe, his throat tightening with the effort. That sent Crocodile over the edge, and Buggy swallowed desperately, trying to take in the salty cum flooding his mouth so he wouldn’t choke on it. He felt some of it spill out and run down his chin as Crocodile finally let him go with a satisfied, sloppy grin.
Buggy felt like he was in heaven. Mihawk fucked him through it all, hard and fast, not stopping even when a large hand started to jerk him off in the same rhythm as Mihawk’s thrusts. Buggy wasn’t sure if his eyes were open or closed, but he didn’t see anything anymore. He just felt, lost in the rhythm of being used. Every thrust now hit his prostate with perfect precision.
His body gave up fighting and simply let go. A hard orgasm tore through his body, making him shake against the metal. He floated somewhere between pressure and release, between the edges of pain and warmth. Buggy felt Mihawk come. He felt the large hand leave him. For a moment, he was made of nothing but heartbeat and breath. When it was over, he sagged into the frame, boneless, chest heaving.
Crocodile’s voice was the last thing he heard, low and satisfied.
“That’s our clown.”
⇼
The first thing he registered when he came back to himself was warmth.
No cold iron, just a soft blanket around his shoulders, the warmth of a big body at his back, and the faint scent of cigar smoke.
“Welcome back, darling,” Crocodile murmured. His voice had lost its edge, now soft and soothing.
Mihawk sat beside him, one hand offering a glass of water. “Easy,” he said, steady as always. “Small sips.” Buggy drank, then snuggled back into the blanket, realizing how light his body felt now that all the tension was gone. He wasn’t shaking anymore. Just warm, a little dizzy, and strangely content.
A hand brushed his hair back. “You did well,” Crocodile said.
Buggy let out a breathy laugh. “You two are insane.”
“Maybe,” Mihawk replied, the faintest hint of amusement in his tone. “But you enjoyed yourself.” He couldn’t argue with that, but if he hadn’t felt so happy, he might’ve protested, anyway. A grin tugged at his lips, lazy and genuine.
“Yeah,” he admitted softly. “Guess I did. But I don't think I need to go through that experience again.”
The silence that followed was almost tender until Crocodile’s voice ruined it.
“It was too expensive not to use again.”
Mihawk didn’t even look up. “He’s right.”
Buggy buried his face in the blanket and groaned. “I hate both of you.”