Work Text:
Rage is not a foreign concept to Mihawk.
He has seen countless fall victims for it, the way it causes countless to become unreasonable and thoughtless. The rage that fills their mind, heart, and eyes, the way they would be so willing to do just about anything to quell the rage. Blood that spills, the gore that paints the floors and walls.
The emotion is often accompanied with the color of red. A funny thing considering red is also the image of love.
Though an expert in color theory he is not, Mihawk still thinks it’s amusing.
Because in the end, Mihawk himself has fallen victim to the same emotion. Rage has never been a foreign concept to him. He has lived for a little over 40 years, and blood and gore have always accompanied him. The display of pure violence and horror have been the path he has carved for himself, the emotion being his drive.
White uniform with the color blue stroked in letters and the shape of the very organization he had grown to loathe, bathed in blood and gore after Mihawk teared open their guts and separated their heads from their bodies, Yoru then still a normal colored sword, the metal still shining in silver and grey–no. Wrong. Yoru then has been bathed in the color red, the blood of Mihawk’s victims and the subject of his wrath.
The title ‘Marine Hunter’ he very proudly brandished himself with after the world branded him as a dangerous man. Because marines he would hunt, and then eventually, anyone who crossed him.
Dracule Mihawk had been twenty-something then when all that he had was taken from him, and what was burned into his eyes and mind had been the color of white and blue–and the word ‘Justice’ burned on the big, arrogant sails that were the Marine ships. Because after everything was robbed from him, all Mihawk could see was red.
There had been only vice-admirals at the scene other than the lowly marine officers with nothing special in them. And even then, they all had been something else in Mihawk’s eyes. They had been anything but human and the bringer of ‘Justice’. Their justice had been nothing but dirt and ash to Mihawk.
“Hawkeyes,” Crocodile’s voice runs smooth, the stinging smell of his cologne and cigar invading Mihawk’s senses as his yellow eyes focus on the other man, who had settled himself by resting his body on top of Mihawk’s legs.
Crocodile’s arms are folded on his thighs, his only hand taking the cigar from his lips, piercing grey eyes gazing deep into Mihawk’s own yellow ones. It is not as though Mihawk is not aware of Crocodile’s presence, rather, he has gotten accustomed to allowing Crocodile the luxury that is physical contact without being pierced or threatened with Yoru.
With a sigh, Mihawk places a hand over Crocodile’s head, his fingers curling into his dark strands, tugging harshly. An indication of his seeping anger, but not directed at the man on his lap. That much, Crocodile is aware of.
“What?” His voice isn’t as controlled as he has wished it to be, but it is Crocodile, and not just someone insignificant.
Funny. He doesn’t remember when Crocodile became significant.
“That’s my question,” Crocodile scoffs at him. “The hell are you mad about?”
Shifting a little to further make himself comfortable, Mihawk moves his hands, shifting Crocodile’s weight and bringing him to rest more against his legs and waist. Because the man’s weight had been the only thing keeping him grounded from his own creeping thoughts.
“I do believe it is none of your concern,” Mihawk replies calmly, voice a lot more collected.
The first time it happened, Mihawk had been a few years from turning 30. His kogatana had been used, too. There had been no need to stain Yoru with some insignificant human’s blood when he could use his kogatana. The blade may have been small, but its sharpness was not to be underestimated.
His victim had been a poor marine guy. New to his job, oblivious, and perhaps too arrogant because he was dubbed the best in that year’s enlistment. And he was unfortunate enough to fall victim to Mihawk’s rage.
The blade of his kogatana had torn open the man’s guts, exposing his intestines, his kidney, his heart, his lungs, his ribs–everything. Mihawk’s eyes were blown wide at the gory display, the blood spilling out of his guts and seeping through the gaps of the wooden floors. Mihawk remembered feeling like it hadn’t been enough.
There had been the primal urge to want something more, pushing him to do more.
At first he only tasted the blood, without caring the way the man had been gasping and choking on his own blood. His body was spasming in a frenzy, grasping at the remains of his life, but Mihawk had not been able to care. The taste of fresh blood against his tongue had been rather addicting, in a way. He feasted on the poor marine’s blood, with his mouth, cheeks, chin, and nose bathed in blood. His teeth too, and his tongue. Saliva mixed with blood, with Mihawk making smacking noises as he feasted.
The moment he pulled away, the marine had just died, though his body was still warm.
And Mihawk saw no reason to stop.
Crocodile lazily brushes his hook against the waist of Mihawk’s pants, pulling the belt apart and pushing them down with the help of his right hand. His lips mouth at Mihawk’s lower stomach, trailing wet kisses and sucks that leaves no mark on his smooth skin. His tongue lolls out, dragging from Mihawk’s belly button, down along his happy trail, moving to the side a little just to close his lips on the patch of skin.
“Yeah, I suppose not.” He cackles, finally putting more effort to free Mihawk’s length from its confinement.
Mihawk watches as his length is freed–already erect despite the minimum effort Crocodile put in earlier. His hand finds the other’s hair again, gathering a bunch of the strands at his nape and pressing his shaft against his cheek with just enough force, feeling Crocodile's warm breath against his skin, sending light shivers down his spine. “Get on with it.”
While usually, Crocodile isn’t one to obey, he does this time. There is a different feel to Mihawk when he’s urging him and being more commanding than usual. Of course, for Crocodile to be submissive would just be a pie in the sky. Something so unreasonable it will never come true no matter what you do, but still, he is capable of being compliant, in a way.
Parting his lips, Crocodile took the tip of Mihawk’s cock into his mouth, his tongue swiping across the head and slit, warm and wet to the touch. He can feel Mihawk relaxing under him, so he sinks down more, slowly taking more of the shaft into his mouth bit by bit, feeling the way it seems to fill his mouth. And when the tip reaches the back of his throat, Crocodile hollows his cheek. A little bit more, he swallows, and easily, he deepthroats the swordsman’s dick.
No words are exchanged, Mihawk seeing no need to say anything, and Crocodile being occupied with sucking off Mihawk. Though the silence is instead replaced by the sounds of Crocodile’s tongue and lips working on the swordsman’s cock, his hook placed as though it could hold the base, with his right hand massaging Mihawk’s balls.
After a while, Mihawk eventually tugs at Crocodile’s hair again, pulling his head along and forcing him to deepthroat him, and keeping him there. “Stay.”
Crocodile rolls his eyes at him, but doesn’t fight it.
Small habits eventually developed into something bigger.
Mihawk was content with just watching and seeing the way his victims bled while he dipped his hand into their guts, tearing through flesh with haki and ghosting his fingertips across their ribs. He would curl his fingers along the lowest rib, feel the flesh still sticking, sticking and wet to the touch. Like slime–but a bit too wet, glistening under the dim lighting of whatever room he was occupying.
It was what piqued his curiosity, and so the first flesh he tasted was of another pirate. He hadn’t been dead when he tasted his flesh. The man was spasming and jerking his limbs away. Mihawk had drilled Yoru through the man’s torso, the black blade piercing through the wooden wall and the splinters of wood digging into the victim’s back. But such pain was insignificant when Mihawk had been cutting his arm open and scooping a pinch of flesh, taking it into his mouth.
The man had watched in horror, his face pale as a sheet and eyes bloodshot. Cold sweat made his skin glisten, and the blood painted the walls and floor beneath.
Mihawk’s face had been bathed in blood, the liquid rolling down his chin, his throat, and bare chest. It happened to be a good thing that he had forgo wearing any shirt beneath his iconic coat, because if he had been wearing a white shirt–the usual shirt he’d worn at home–then it would have been drenched in blood.
His eyes darted to the man then, listening–watching–the way his heartbeat began to slow down, the light leaving his eyes. Mihawk licked his lips off of the blood, and his hand reached the man’s wrist, pressing thumb against where his pulse could be felt. His pupils seemed to dilate as he felt the pulse disappearing.
Blood rushed down, focusing on one part of his body. Mihawk’s breath hitched as he stared down at his victim, watching for any sign of possible life in him–only to be met with deafening silence. Mihawk let out the breath he had been holding, and his hands immediately reached for his pants–
Crocodile jerks in surprise upon feeling hot liquid spilling down his throat, feeling the way Mihawk’s hips buck hard against his face, his tongue pressing hard against the underside of his shaft. Crocodile laxes his jaws, his fingers digging into Mihawk’s inner thigh now, nails digging into his skin and scratching.
It only serves to make Mihawk press his face down more, as if he could push his cock farther down his throat. The swordsman rides his orgasm until the end before eventually letting Crocodile go, allowing for the man to breathe properly.
His yellow eyes watch as Crocodile coughs and hacks, regaining his composure and breathing pattern. It serves as signs of life, and Mihawk almost wants to grab Yoru just to pierce through Crocodile with armament haki. But no. Not now. Too soon, too fast. Mihawk instead reaches for Crocodile’s chin, forcing him to look his way.
“The fuck, Hawkeyes? Didn’t peg you as the type to come that quickly.” Crocodile glares at him, swatting his hand away.
“Hm, I was also surprised, myself.” Mihawk says, thumb caressing Crocodile’s jawline before he leaned in to kiss him.
Crocodile doesn’t kiss him back–not in a civilized way, at least. He tilts his head and parts his lips, his teeth sinking into Mihawk’s lower lip. A hiss slips past his lips the moment he feels Mihawk’s hand in his hair, digging into his scalp and then Mihawk’s teeth are on his lower lip, tugging and tearing at the thin flesh, drawing blood.
And then Crocodile is pinned down beneath him, feeling the way Mihawk licks and sucks on the blood spilling from his lower lip. Eventually, his only hand reaches for the other’s neck, pushing him off–and Mihawk complies.
“New kink?”
“Quite the contrary,” Mihawk replies easily, his thumb pressing against the still bleeding lower lip as he licks his own lips, staring down at Crocodile. “It’s an old one I discovered a long time ago. Never got the chance to do it with you.”
His hands then pry open Crocodile’s dress pants, stripping him off of his clothes. He doesn’t have the same level of patience to properly strip him off of his shirt and scarf, and a quick work from his kogatana solves it for him so easily. The fabric tears apart and Crocodile makes a noise of disapproval, but Mihawk doesn’t care.
One hand trails down Crocodile’s chest, fingertips pressing lightly along the surgical scar before going lower and lower as his other hand pries the man’s legs apart, presenting his glistening folds to him. Like a feast waiting to be devoured.
Crocodile stares up at him with a brow quirked up, “Just blood ain’t gonna scare me away. It’s not a deal breaker.”
“I know. It’s not just blood, however.” Mihawk’s fingers land on his folds, forefinger and ring finger prying them open as his middle finger sinks into Crocodile. He feels around inside, feeling the wetness and warmth that envelop his digit as he pushes it inside until his knuckle, the tip of his finger curling inside.
With his head lolling to the side and his hips stuttering, Crocodile holds back a sigh, his eyes easily closing shut. “...Then, what is it?” Crocodile dares himself to ask.
Mihawk looks at him with a rather amused look painted on his face. He then begins moving his finger, in and out, in and out, drawing out Crocodile’s fluid and listening to it squelch from the movements. “It’s a… fascination with the human body.” He answers, adding a second finger into Crocodile.
“That can’t be– ah, all, Hawkeyes…” Crocodile says, feeling Mihawk's fingers curling inside and against his g-spot. He doesn’t say anything–doesn’t bother with pressing for answers. His mind is already connecting the dots from the way Mihawk made him bleed a little. And it still feels off that Mihawk came that fast earlier. He must have been thinking about something else.
A small scoff escapes Mihawk’s lips, and a smile makes its way upon his face. He works his fingers inside of Crocodile–adding a third one, then a fourth one. His eyes stare wide on Crocodile’s face, watching the way his brows furrow, his lips pressing into a thin line, and the way his head tilts back every time he presses against the spot that has him seeing stars. Mihawk’s thumb then moves to rub against his clitoris, pressing and flicking at the sensitive nub, tearing a whine from Crocodile’s throat.
“If you let me show you…”
“Fuck no.” Crocodile shoots him down immediately, juices squelching and rolling down Mihawk’s fingers in thick gups. “Not in a million years… ah, fuck!”
Mihawk actually laughs–his voice quiet but his lips curl into a wide grin, his skin wrinkling around his eyes and corners of his lips. “Perhaps one day.” He muses, pulling his fingers out and immediately replacing them with his length.
The shaft slides in so easily, with Crocodile’s inner walls clamping down and squeezing him. Mihawk sighs and rests his hands on Crocodile’s waist and pulls him back to meet his own hips, rolling them forward in the process and watching more as Crocodile’s back arches off of the bed. He presses his thumb on his lower stomach, making the man beneath him buck his hips with a choked out moan escaping his lips.
Their conversation dies down as Mihawk uses a hand to push one of Crocodile’s knees to his shoulder, sort of folding the man in half as he fucks into him with a reckless pace. Despite that, he makes sure every thrust has his cock rubbing against the other’s most sensitive spot, stretching his walls open and forcing out embarrassing noises out of Crocodile.
Crocodile’s breath hitches with every thrust, his hand grasping at the sheets as the sharp part of his hook digs into the bed, tearing through the mattress. His upper body is propped up by his elbows, one leg folded and knee pressed against his shoulder in a lewd display, presenting him like a buffet for Mihawk to feast upon.
Not literally. Not yet
Because Mihawk can see himself cutting Crocodile open, and the mental image of ripping Crocodile’s flesh and guts, chewing at his intestine and gripping his heart by slipping his hand under his ribs. He can see how beautiful Crocodile would look with his organs in gory display, grasping at life as Mihawk both fuck and eat him.
The mental image is enough to make Mihawk curl his body forward, the thumb of his left hand rubbing hard against Crocodile’s clitoris, ripping more moans and whimpers out of him. His pace quickened, turning rougher as his nails dig into Crocodile’s under thigh, enough to draw blood. And MIhawk wastes not even a second at lapping up the red liquid, his tongue drawing out and lips sucking on the patch of skin.
An uncomfortable knot forms in Crocodile’s lower stomach as he feels the increase of pleasure–mixed with the pain that he surprisingly enjoys but will never admit to Mihawk. His breathing is ragged as he tries to buck his hips away from the pleasure, but Mihawk is holding him in place, forcing him to stay still and take him deep inside, the tip ramming against his cervix in painful hits.
It doesn’t take him long to reach his climax, his inner walls quivering and clinging to Mihawk’s shaft as he comes. His body jerks and spasms, clear fluid squelching, gushing out of him and covering the swordsman’s length, and the excess rolled down his ass, wetting the bed.
And Mihawk doesn’t stop. He physically can’t.
He continues fucking into Crocodile, dragging his orgasm out and still he abused his engorged clit, watching as his partner actually fights to get away. Mihawk then coats his arms with armament haki to hold Crocodile down, bruising his body and keeping him in place by sheer force.
The slit of Crocodile’s urethra begins sputtering runny liquid, soon intense spurts follow as he pressed his knuckles against his lips, teeth sinking down and actually making himself bleed. He whimpers, his hook moving, swinging blindly but eventually held down before he could even try to slash at Mihawk.
Mihawk then sinks deep and stops moving, thick ropes of cum shooting into Crocodile, painting his walls white and filling him up. He pants heavily as he watched Crocodile squirt, his brows furrowing and expression hardening. He stays inside even as his length softens, watching Crocodile’s breathing growing slower, steadier, lighter.
He then lies his body on top of Crocodile’s, resting his head against his chest, ear pressed against him, feeling the warmth of his skin and listening to the beating of Crocodile’s heart.
One hand returns to Crocodile’s hips, tightening and nails dig into his skin. “You are… still alive.”
“No shit. Don’t cut me open.” Crocodile spats, the curve of his hook sliding on Mihawk’s neck, like a threat to his life. His fingers then curl around Mihawk’s black strands, feeling the dampness of each strand. While he is usually opposed to physical contact (they aren’t lovers, after all), but he finds himself tolerating the contact for the time being.
“I won’t,” Mihawk says, “Not without your consent.”
For now.
Rolling his eyes, Crocodile closes them, moving his hand to brush back his own hair, removing the strands that had fallen to his face earlier. He stares up at the ceiling as silence washes over them, with only their heavy breathing filling the room, and the faint sound of their heartbeat.
Alive. He is still alive.
For now.
Of course, Mihawk doesn’t want Crocodile to die–not too soon at the very least. He doesn’t want to just take Crocodile’s life without much thought. Crocodile has become a significant part of his life–in the way that even Shanks’ hadn’t been. He is very much different from the red hair, and perhaps that is why he has become quite infatuated in Crocodile.
Clutching onto Crocodile’s sides, Mihawk then closes his eyes.