Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shanks’ sandals on the cold floor of the castle sure made an interesting sound, annoying and certainly impossible not to notice. Mihawk knew he was here, he must have known ever since Shanks stepped on the island, maybe even before.

The peace offering was a meal, one specific meal Shanks had learned to cook to perfection. Why had he bothered learning to cook that one meal; one that he didn’t even particularly like? To tease Mihawk, obviously, to show him that he was only being unnecessarily difficult whenever he insisted on cooking for himself, that it wasn’t that hard, and if he just made an effort to explain, to communicate, everything would be easier. It had just been him proving a point.

Shanks set the table without making a mistake, even the placement of the cutlery and glasses was right. The only exception he allowed himself was to set the places next to each other instead of opposite, as he didn’t want the long table to divide him from Mihawk. It had taken him a long time to understand Mihawk's fondness for what Shanks had always deemed an unnecessary waste of time. It was dedication to something that Mihawk admired, to care enough to put in the effort to get even the smallest detail right. 

Just to prove his point. Shanks cursed himself, his younger self. So stubborn, so fucking stupid.

Just as he had put the last piece into place and had completely stopped making sounds, did he hear the heels of Mihawk’s boots coming closer. The swordsman glanced around and took his seat at the head of the table. He hadn’t looked at Shanks, he looked at the table and the meal in front of him.

Shanks knew he was trying to find a mistake and his amusement helped to calm him.

“Why have you come to disturb me,” Mihawk asked sternly.

Shanks took his place, he hadn’t been killed or kicked out, Mihawk hadn’t chosen to just ignore his presence. It meant that at least a part of Mihawk did want to talk to him. But Shanks knew he had to be careful with his words, with his actions, which wasn’t always his strong suit.

It came easy to him to just say the first thing that popped into his head. That was because most times it was easy to know what he wanted. Right now, he didn’t, the uncertainty of not being with his crew, of having lost his arm, of for the first time in his life not being certain who he was, all of it, it was crushing him.

Shanks didn’t know why he had come. Not really. Mihawk had made it clear that he wanted to put as much space between himself and Shanks as possible, but then he shouldn’t have come to see him in the first place.

“Were you busy, mourning the loss of a worthy rival?” Shanks asked. Mihawk recognized the word choice immediately and a regretful look passed his face. Shanks still remembered vividly how disturbed he had been when Mihawk had asked him that question. But Mihawk had meant it when he had said it, and so did Shanks now.

Shanks hadn't asked to taunt Mihawk, he was genuinely wondering. He had never gotten an answer to what he was to Mihawk until he had said "you are nothing to me anymore." Regardless of whether Mihawk had meant it or not, it was what he wanted Shanks to hear, to believe. 

“Why are you here,” Mihawk repeated, refusing to linger on those memories.

Because I miss you, because I have missed you for so so long. And I was to angry and hurt to admit it. And I am sorry for having hurt you, over and over again. If I had known I would have... Shanks didn't know, he didn't know what he would have done.  

“You took my sword,” he stated without thinking too long. Technically, it was Mihawk’s.

Mihawk kept his pretentiously uninterested face. In the candlelight, Shanks could see him clearly. Five years had passed, he looked different, but still perfect. 

“No sword arm. You no longer have use for it,” Mihawk stated rather coldly.

The words didn’t sting; they felt like having a limb brutally ripped from your body. Shanks would know. Mihawk hadn’t looked at him when he had said it, Shanks felt like he would have at least deserved that courtesy. 

“So, you think me weak,” Shanks inquired further, doing his best not to show his emotions. Mihawk had been named the world's strongest swordsman. The world government first officially used the title when they introduced their warlords. After that every prideful swordsman sought Mihawk out only to learn that he more than lived up to the honour.

Shanks wasn’t jealous; he had never cared for that title, and Mihawk had always been the best swordsman to him. But he cared what Mihawk thought of him. To him, Mihawk was perfect, unattainably perfect. And he knew that Mihawk respected strength above all, and it frightened Shanks to think that Mihawk would never bother to look at him again, smile at him, that he had become undeserving, worthless in the eyes of the only one whose opinion he valued. 

Mihawk looked at him carefully before answering. “I am not stupid enough to underestimate you, but you made a choice,” he explained.

Shanks had been staring at Mihawk, this was the first time he had looked at him, he had only met his eyes for a brief moment before averting his gaze again.

Mihawk obviously couldn’t bear to look at him. Shanks kept himself from drawing conclusions and forced himself to remember their last encounter. He had hurt Mihawk.

“You don’t even know what happened,” Shanks countered diplomatically. He forced himself to remember that he wasn’t here to start another fight, but to apologize.

Mihawk opened the bottle Shanks had put on the table and poured himself some wine. He took a quick glance at the label and Shanks saw his face soften for a moment.

“You want to be a good man, a good ” Mihawk started as he swirled the liquid in his glass. He seemed to almost choke on the words as he said them.

“That child ate the Nika fruit,” Shanks interrupted him. He could hear it now, hurt, Shanks couldn’t bear it. Once he had sobered up, he had spent a lot of time reflecting on what Mihawk had said. How he had been wanting to stay with him, even given up his own dream.

He had made a choice when he took his bet. Mihawk was angry because he thought he had betrayed his ambitions for gallantry, but that was not the truth. The truth was that losing his arm to save Luffy was the most callous thing he had ever done. He was a pirate; he had always been proud of it, but the lesson that freedom comes at an expense had been one that he had wilfully put off learning. Losing his arm had been Shanks finally understanding what Mihawk had known all along. Shanks couldn't have it both ways, the life he led, the life he chose, his plans, dreams, ambition; in this world, they made him the villain. Mihawk was right, he had made his choice, but he was mistaken about what the choice had been. 

Mihawk processed the information and started laughing. “How can you be this reckless, Shanks,” he asked judgementally but without anger now. That was the first time he had said his name. 

Mihawk laughing.  He loved him, he missed him, oh he had missed him so much. That is why I am here, Shanks thought.

“The fruit chooses its owner, it is not my fault,” Shanks defended himself. It felt natural, Mihawk scolding him.

“So, you took a bet,” Mihawk asked intrigued as he realized Shanks was not a self-sacrificing hero, but every bit his cunning thieving idiot. “Couldn’t you have gambled your other arm?”

Mihawk was an asshole, one that Shanks couldn’t stop staring at, couldn’t stop wanting to be closer to, couldn’t stop thinking about kissing. “I came here to apologize, stop making it more difficult,” Shanks laughed. The past years seemed to have disappeared. It felt like one of their conversations where the line between friends and lovers seemed to be so thin, but neither of them crossed it. Had I been good enough for you, just the way I was? Was I enough? And if I had looked closer would I have found it without ever having to be more than I was, than I could be?

Mihawk took a bite of his food. He didn’t say thank you, or if he liked it or not. He didn’t complain, and Shanks knew if he could, he would have. Shanks smirked, knowing he had gotten it right, and Mihawk rolled his eyes, complaining about Shanks’ arrogance.

“You don’t seem to miss your left arm,” he commented after a while. 

Oh, I do, Shanks thought. “Ah, you haven’t seen your kitchen,” Shanks answered casually and smirked a little bolder as he watched the horror fill Mihawk’s eyes.

For a moment, Shanks had never lost his arm, Mihawk had never become a warlord, they were on his ship, and Shanks was too stupid to understand. It was so easy not to be mad at Mihawk, so easy to sit there and be mesmerized and wonder how long Mihawk will tolerate him. But it passed. 

“You were worried, weren’t you?” Shanks couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t bear the canyon of unspoken things separating them.

Mihawk had stopped eating and poured them both more wine. He didn't deny it, which was enough for Shanks to know he was right. He couldn't force Mihawk to be honest with him, to take back the things he had said, to say he never meant them. What he could do what he came here to do was to make things right on his part, to apologize. 

“I have a talent of letting my emotions guide my words,” Shanks stopped to recall their last encounter, “my actions.” He wanted to say that it didn't mean that they were insincere, that kissing Mihawk wasn't just a joke, that he regretted it, but it wasn't meaningless.

“I am aware,” Mihawk said, taking a generous sip.

Shanks gave away a small laugh. “You are making it impossible to apologize,” he complained. 

“Maybe you are not sorry,” Mihawk countered. 

Yet again, Shanks found himself in a situation where it was impossible to understand what Mihawk wanted him to do. Maybe Mihawk really didn't want to hear him apologizing, maybe he felt like punishing Shanks by being rude, maybe he never wanted to speak of it again, maybe he was just waiting for Shanks to stop talking so he could do whatever he did in this creepy castle on the creepy uninhabited island. 

Mihawk was impossible, Shanks decided. He grew more and more irritated by Mihawk being so close to him, feeling unreachable. It took Shanks so much control not trying to touch him, turn his face to make Mihawk look at him, trace the hauntingly beautiful features of his face, and risk his cheekbones to cut his lips. The inevitability of Mihawk's refusal stopped him, however. 

“Oh, I am sorry,” Shanks exclaimed, frustrated. If that should be the only kiss that they ever shared, then Shanks felt glad he had done it.  “I am sorry I didn’t do it much much sooner, and I am so, so sorry that the only thing I can think about is kissing you again, properly this time. On your lips,” Shanks' tone was sharper now,  “wherever else you want me to, wherever you let me, make me.” 

The last part had made Mihawk briefly glance at him. 

“Leave,” Mihawk instructed him, seemingly bored with Shanks.

Of course, Shanks thought. He hated how much control Mihawk had over him, he hated that no matter how much Mihawk pushed him away Shanks always wanted him. And Mihawk? Everyone had made it sound so obvious, but it still seemed ridiculous to Shanks, impossible to even imagine Mihawk feeling even a fraction of what he did. Or maybe he had, once, when Shanks was interesting enough for him, strong enough. “Not good enough for you anymore?” Shanks asked callous but truthfully.

Mihawk's expression didn't change, but he hesitated before he spoke. “Why can’t you let it go? Why did you have to come?” he asked. He sounded tired and beaten.

Because Shanks couldn't, he couldn't stay away. He longed to be near him, even if just to be told to go. “Why did you, why didn’t you stay away?” Shanks asked. Shanks couldn't, but if Mihawk could, then why did he come to see him. If Shanks was just an old wound then why had Mihawk opened it. “I am nothing to you anymore, so why did you come to see me? ” Shanks asked. 

Mihawk's jaw tightened. Instead of answering, he got up and walked towards the only enormous arched window that wasn't hidden behind curtains. Shanks turned his chair, but didn't get up, he could see Mihawk in the reflection. He seemed to be lamenting something Shanks didn't care to guess. 

It felt easier now that Mihawk had his back turned. “Does it bother you?" Shanks started carefully. He was angry at his voice betraying him. "To you," the doubt in his words sounded unfamiliar even to him, "does change who I am, whatever adoration or feelings you held for me have disappeared now that I am no longer your equal, now that I have lost my strength?” he asked.

Mihawk turned around painfully slowly. Shanks expected him to walk back to his seat, but he didn't. Instead, he stood right in front of him, studying his expression. He had spoken his fear, spoken what he wanted to know, and the wait for an answer was excruciating. He couldn't bear Mihawk's gaze on him and tried to look away, but Mihawk wouldn't let him. He had gently put his fingers under Shanks' chin to force him to look up. “If you were anyone else, I would have killed you for talking about you like that,” Mihawk stated, unnervingly fixated on Shanks' face now. 

Shanks believed him. He wanted to put Mihawk's hand to his lips; he wanted it to be enough, but it wasn't. He wanted an answer, he wanted to know what Mihawk was thinking. He didn't want these glimpses into Mihawk's heart, he needed to know, because it hurt to much. It hurt to much always fighting for him, always telling him he loved him, always longing, wanting him, and being pushed away. 

One more time, just one more time, prove to me that you don't want me. “Say yes, and I will leave, for good, forever. I will be done, respect that you don’t wish for me to be in your life,” Shanks said. Please, he begged, if you don't want me then free us from this. 

Chapter Text

No. No! Mihawk wanted to scream. He had never understood Shanks’ reaction to his scar. He had never understood how something so fundamentally altering could be brushed aside as unimportant. Until now.

Shanks’ emotions were like an open book. He could see his eyes demanding an answer. Mihawk never wanted the ability to hurt Shanks, never wanted his opinion to matter so much to him. He shouldn’t have gone to Sabaody, he should have stayed away. He was really asking, he really didn’t know. Only Shanks could be so genuinely stupid, Mihawk thought. He wanted to answer him, needed to answer him, but he couldn’t speak.

This face he was holding, the one he had tried to forget but couldn’t. He couldn’t lie to him, he needed him to know, everything. Again and again, Shanks didn’t know, he didn’t understand. It doesn’t matter, it couldn’t matter. Mihawk didn’t know how to make him understand.  

Mihawk’s expression grew softer as he struggled to find an answer. He felt he needed to be closer to him. It was not right Shanks not knowing, it made him angry, frustrated him.

If he had hoped that Shanks’ effect on him had dulled with the years, he was faced now with the undeniable truth of how mistaken that had been. No, he loved him, Shanks, the contradiction to everything he thought to be certain. Shanks, an impossibility. Shanks who couldn’t be real, but there he was in front of him. Close enough to touch, to kiss.

He did. Mihawk could feel Shanks’ brief surprise before he parted his lips to return the kiss. The sensation clouded his mind, he had stopped thinking. For a while, words seemed unnecessary to tell Shanks how he felt.

When he did eventually have to break from him, he saw Shanks happily puzzled face smiling innocently.

Mihawk straightened himself again, Shanks followed by getting up from his chair. They were standing with no distance between them now and Mihawk’s whole body ached to be even closer to him, but Shanks still needed his answer.

Mihawk held his face between his hands. “You are an idiot.” Shanks laughed. Mihawk kissed him. “I don’t care, it doesn’t matter,” Mihawk whispered. He kissed him again. “Not one bit, it doesn’t change anything.”

Those words were enough for Shanks, he kissed him like he had been meaning to. Nothing else mattered, all there was in this world now was the softness of Mihawk’s lips, the taste of the wine he had been drinking. This was oddly similar to fighting Mihawk, Shanks could drown himself, focus, be possessed by the only thing that mattered.

Mihawk felt like he would die, if he stopped. Air had become replaced by the need to feel Shanks’ mouth on his own, his body against his, longing to be even closer, but it wasn’t enough.

Shanks led them to the table and let Mihawk push him against it. He broke away from him to turn his face to kiss the wrist of the hand in his hair. He bit the palm and put a soft kiss on it immediately as if to apologize. Mihawk was standing between his legs, and while his face remained ever so enigmatic, his fashionably tight pants stated his desire visibly. Shanks looked down and smiled mischievously when meeting Mihawk’s eyes again. His gaze remained mesmerized by Mihawk’s beauty, but it was obscured now by cruder fantasies.

Mihawk tried to close the distance between their faces again, but Shanks denied him. Instead, he brushed Mihawk’s lips and traced his own along his cheekbones to his ears. “Show me, show me you want me,” Shanks challenged him before playfully piercing Mihawk’s earslope with his teeth.

Shanks knew that Mihawk was incapable of refusing a challenge and sure enough, he obliged. Mihawk grabbed Shanks throat forcefully and kissed him more passionately now, more desperately, while using his other hand to undo Shanks’ sash. His lips formed an involuntary smile when he saw how greedy Shanks was for his next move. “Turn around,” he ordered him.

Only too happy to see this irrational, creatively daring side of his former rival awakened, Shanks did as he had been told. He should have expected Mihawk to use the chance to have him stop talking, but Mihawk making him bite down on the fabric as he tied it around his head still affected him more than he could have anticipated. He needed him, now, or he would lose his mind.

Shanks knew that Mihawk relished his desperation and would take his time. “I know you can make me stop,” Mihawk stated. Shanks answered with a short nod.

“It’s frustrating how you are so unaware,” Mihawk whispered against Shanks’ neck. Mihawk's voice in combination with having his erection pressed against him, made Shanks glad from being unable to beg how much he wanted him.

Mihawk was quick to use the oil on the table for his fingers. He put one hand on Shanks’ throat again as he used the other one to slowly circle his entrance before putting one finger in him. A satisfactory smile formed on his lips at Shanks’ muffled moans. “How easy it is to me,” Mihawk’s mouth was at Shanks’ ear. “How natural,” he inserted another finger, massaging and stretching him. He found the spot that brought particular pleasure to Shanks and focused his attention on it. “To want you,” he kissed his nape. “Desire you,” he removed his fingers and unzipped his pants. “Worship you,” Mihawk bit Shanks’ neck as he finally inserted himself.

Despite his amusement at toying with Shanks’ desperation for him, Mihawk was committed to following Shanks’ wish, maybe even to have him regret it a little. So, like someone possessed by the single uncontrollable desire to have him, he hit the spot he had just found over and over as fast as he could. This rough pace was impossible to hold for too long. Mihawk heard himself say Shanks’ name under his breath as he released himself inside him.

Shanks ripped the fabric that was hiding his satisfied grin from his mouth when he turned around. Mihawk didn’t care to hide a smile on his part. He could see that Shanks hadn’t had enough quite yet. While Mihawk had closed his pants again and his shirt concealed most of his upper body, Shanks was exposed. His trousers were on the floor, leaving nothing to be imagined, and Mihawk had torn Shanks’ already never decent shirt.

Shanks could see Mihawk enjoying the sight of him like this a little too much. Mihawk caressed his neck with his mouth and bit his earlobe. “Is that what you had in mind,” he taunted him, knowing perfectly how much Shanks needed more.

Mihawk's smugness invited Shanks to misuse his haki to force Mihawk down to his knees. Mihawk welcomed the effect and smiled deviously as he looked up to him. Mihawk knew he held all the power. It was perverse satisfaction to see someone as powerful as him on his knees, one that worked well even – or especially – on Shanks.

It felt easy to submit to the warm embrace of Shanks’ will. Shanks’ hand in his hair guided him and kept him in place as he made Mihawk swallow his orgasm.

“I remembered you having better stamina,” Mihawk teased him once he had gotten up.

Shanks marveled at him and laughed. With how Mihawk looked, Shanks had been happy he didn’t simply come at the sight of this man kneeling in front of him. Mihawk was properly the only person in the world who could be arrogant while using his thumb to clean cum off the edges of his mouth.

He grabbed the wine bottle and took a few generous sips.

“Do I pair well?” Shanks asked him. He slowly came to realise what they had just done.

“Perfectly,” Mihawk stated, giving him a soft smile.

With that smile, the little distance between them seemed unbearable to Shanks. The fact that Mihawk was wearing anything was outrageous, and that he was just standing there and not covering Mihawk in hickeys and bitemarks was unforgivable.

Mihawk observed Shanks and while he took his pleasure in seeing his love drip down Shanks' leg and his abs and chest at full display to admire, he was neither a bad host or lover. “Let me draw you a bath,” he told him and gestured Shanks to follow him.

Chapter Text

The sea. Shanks had submerged himself in the water. It is not the same. He could still swim, not as fast, not as good, but still better than most. At least he could swim at all. He had not traded this freedom for power. The sea, uncaring, cruel, demanding, and free, he could still face her.

A silhouette demanded his attention. He surfaced to see that Mihawk had brought him clothes, a towel, a toothbrush, etc. The cotton shirt and shorts Mihawk had brought him starkly contrasted with the silky ivy green pants and shirt that comprised his night clothes. Mihawk certainly didn't look like a sailor, even less like a pirate. 

It was odd seeing people in their home, Shanks thought. He realised as he saw how perfectly Mihawk fitted into this room - this castle built for royalty, for someone with eccentric taste, no thoughts given to practicality, no costs spared, but ultimately abandoned, serving no function, no purpose, now only existing in the right of its own beauty - that his ship, that he, had never been Mihawk's home.

"When you are done playing, you might appreciate those," Mihawk said as he laid the things down.

Shanks kept replaying Mihawk whispering in his ear, Mihawk's hands, lips on his body. He still wasn't sure if he had just dreamed all of it. "Does that mean you are not going to kick me out ?" Shanks asked half-innocently, half accusing. 

Mihawk rolled his eyes, and Shanks couldn't help laughing. Mihawk had seated himself at the edge of the bathtub, and it felt unfairly familiar to Shanks. He had never unlearned his fondness for Mihawk's mere presence. 

Mihawk ran his hand through Shanks' hair, stopping at the now almost healed souvenir he had given him. "I think I have done my best to keep you away," he lamented. 

The sadness in his tone made Shanks wonder if Mihawk resented the part of himself that made him feel drawn to him. Something he couldn't control or just train not to want, a painful reminder that he was human. He wondered if Mihawk resented him for it, if that was why he had been so determined to fight it. 

He was fairly certain that Mihawk couldn't read his mind, but when he placed a soft kiss on his head, Shanks felt like he was telling him it wasn't true. 

Mihawk's hair showed that he had showered. When it was down, it added a softness to his demeanor, and Shanks had often asked why he didn't like to wear it like this. Mihawk had once confessed that it made him look like someone he didn't want to be reminded of, and Shanks had never mentioned it again. As he now once again found himself guilty of marveling, he also found himself confronted with the inescapable truth of how little he knew about Mihawk. 

"I wouldn't know where else to go," Shanks admitted. He had turned his head to ask for a kiss. He wasn't surprised when Mihawk obliged. The barrier between them had always been see-through, but it had been excruciating to keep it up, and there was no way of rebuilding it again. In the short moment their lips touched, Shanks could forgive everything, and there was nothing to be discussed, explained, or fought over. "And I wouldn't mind hiding from the world for a while," Shanks kissed him, hoping he could drown himself in the false certainty only Mihawk had ever managed to provide him with, "here with you."

He meant it. He didn't come to ask Mihawk for help, he wouldn't use him to achieve his goals, and he wouldn't try to use Mihawk's feelings to his advantage. He should. Shanks knew it was his best shot, the best solution, and he dared to assume that Mihawk wouldn't refuse him if he played it right. And he owned it to his family, to his ambition, but he couldn't do it. 

Mihawk looked at him fondly when they parted from each other, but didn't speak.

The lack of an answer made Shanks feel vulnerable, and he got out of the water. It was a nice enough illusion to think that Mihawk telling him, showing him that he wanted him, would just magically solve everything. Shanks certainly didn't regret trying, though, and he certainly wouldn't mind trying this solution a couple of dozen times over. The very recent memories in his head made it almost impossible to think of anything else. 

"Let me train you," Mihawk said. 

Shanks had his back turned and was using the towel to dry his hair. He was glad Mihawk couldn't see his face and continued to dress himself without reacting. A million possible answers came to Shanks' head. Yes, I need you, you know me better than anyone, I need your help. No, it is painful, too painful, the memory of you not letting me in, not letting me help, not trusting me, leaving me. He wanted to stay here; he wanted to be near Mihawk, talk to him, be with him, enjoy whatever indescribable effect Mihawk had on him, enjoy the peace only Mihawk could offer his mind, the safety only his touch had ever made him feel. He didn't dare to think beyond that.

"Let me fuck you," Shanks grinned back at him after what had felt like an eternity.

Mihawk didn't react, his gaze unnerved Shanks; he couldn't force him to speak. He could see the puzzlement in Mihawk's face, trying to calculate what Shanks wanted to hear.  This felt too familiar, Mihawk all serious, and Shanks trying to annoy him by being his inappropriate self. 

Maybe it had just been a test. Mihawk, who always believed he couldn't rely on anyone, making sure that he was right, that Shanks didn't want him, and only cared to use him. Shanks kissed him in a way that made it perfectly clear that all he wanted was him, that he was obsessed and consumed by how much he wanted him, and there was no ulterior motive behind his actions, as there was no room for other thoughts or desires in his mind. 

Mihawk rose to engage with Shanks' ploy. Whether or not Mihawk intended to use it to compensate for his ability to talk about his feelings, it definitely had that effect on Shanks. He felt like Mihawk cared, like Mihawk wanted him, and like he could believe him. 

"Because I can and I want to," Mihawk told him sharply. It was Shanks' mantra, his philosophy that Mihawk was repeating back to him. It was Mihawk telling him that he knew him, that he could see him, understand him, that he saw Shanks, including his flaws, doubts, and fears, that he wasn't fooled or coerced into helping him, that he wanted to. It was also Mihawk telling him that Shanks' childish attics wouldn't work on him anymore. 

"Because I am a good lay," Shanks laughed in an attempt to distract Mihawk; he knew it was useless. He didn't want to let down his guard. Because it was Mihawk. He didn't need him; he could just leave him again when he decided he was bored with his humanity or Shanks wasn't interesting enough anymore. 

"You know, we were never equals, right?" Mihawk asked him. 

Shanks didn't know exactly how to understand that. Sure, Mihawk had always been more committed, but he had never dismissed or downplayed Shanks' abilities. "I mean, officially, you won our duel, but I feel like I put up a good fight," Shanks defended himself, recalling the memories of their duel. 

"You almost killed both of us several times," Mihawk scolded him, but the spark in his eyes didn't go unnoticed. He remained close enough for them to kiss, but Shanks knew he was only trying to tempt him.

"You broke a fair share of my bones," Shanks complained jokingly. He didn't try to kiss him; he didn't want to lose this little game. 

"Half of them were your own fault, and you dislocated my shoulder," Mihawk corrected him with a hint of annoyance for Shanks' characteristic recklessness.

"Didn't seem to bother you that much," Shanks reminded him. He was entranced by the half smile on Mihawk's lips. It was the one. The one Mihawk probably wasn't aware of, the one Shanks had always found more rewarding than victory or title. Mihawk had won, Shanks kissed him, and could feel his smile when he leaned into it. 

Shanks' whole body was electrified, his lips were demanding more, but Mihawk eventually broke away from him. He hesitated, closely inspecting Shanks before speaking. "Why did you yield?" he asked him. 

It took Shanks a while to remember what they had been talking about. He averted his gaze from Mihawk and processed his question. A lot of people have asked him that over the years, but he never thought Mihawk would; he had always assumed Mihawk just knew.

"I would have lost," Shanks tried to dismiss it. 

"I am not so sure," Mihawk responded skeptically. 

Shanks observed him trying to figure out whether Mihawk just wanted to hear him say it or had really been wondering. He hadn't looked back fondly on their last duel - the one that made them famous, the one he kept being asked about even years later - because it was so intrinsically linked to losing someone he loved. Many had speculated his yielding was to save face and ensure his reputation wouldn't suffer; others believed it was him still protecting his friend and former crewmate, and securing Mihawk's reputation would not suffer, which would align with his character. Either way, it made for very heated debates all along the grandline about which of them ultimately was stronger. Shanks couldn't care less.

"I adore you," Shanks stated truthfully. He always had. "The first time we met, I thought you were gonna kill me," Shanks enjoyed the shift in Mihawk's demeanor, the softness in his face, the eagerness for Shanks to continue. He leaned in to callously whisper in his ear. "But I was so fucking impressed," Shanks lost himself in the memory. "Marine hunter," Shanks used his lips to trace Mihawk's neck and collarbone. "You were fearless," Shanks said, putting his hand in Mihawk's hair and kissing him. "And completely insane," he couldn't help smiling deviously as he said it. 

Maybe he had been hasty, his attics seemed to work just fine. He had found a new way of toying with Mihawk, one that promised to be more rewarding.

Mihawk kissed back him tenderly. It made Shanks' heart feel uneasy. He had wished so many times that Mihawk would kiss him, kiss him like that. He hated to remember it, but he had dreamed of Mihawk confessing his feelings to him, dreamed of Mihawk knocking on his door at night, dreamed of Mihawk coming back to him. When he hadn't been supposed to. 

Shanks stood up and positioned himself at a safe distance from Mihawk. He leaned on the washbasin, facing towards Mihawk but looking down, talking more into the distance than to him. "And then every day, every duel, you just amazed me more. I had forgotten it, because I was hurt and angry, and I didn't want you to go. Then we fought, and you reminded me just how in awe I am with your strength, your skill, with all you do, with you," Shanks smiled, but his voice was filled with sadness. 

"So I didn't wish to be an obstacle to your dream, even if it didn't include me," he looked at Mihawk directly now, letting him know that the sentiment still held true. 

Shanks didn't want to pick a fight; he wished he could escape his thoughts, feelings. He opened the door that led to the adjacent bedroom - Mihawk's bedroom. 

Mihawk followed him, watching Shanks as he looked around, inspecting every square inch of the room. Shanks didn't go as far as opening every drawer; the book on the nightstand caught his fancy; he knew it. He knew it because Mihawk had read it before, he couldn't remember what it was about, so he picked it up and lay on the bed, seemingly starting to read the book from a random page. 

Mihawk yanked the book from his hand, annoyed at Shanks's attempt to avert his attention from their conversation. 

"Thank you," he said.

Shanks wanted to answer, but he couldn't. He wasn't sure if he could keep himself from throwing accusations at Mihawk. 

Mihawk's eyes were piercing Shanks, studying him. 

In a way, he had given himself the answers he had been looking for. Mihawk had settled for Shanks' dreams not including him, his love, his feelings for him, because Shanks had kept going back to the East Blue, because Shanks had woken up in Mihawk's arms and told him he loved Makino. Shanks feared Mihawk asking him questions he never wished to answer.

Shanks wouldn't put it past Mihawk to kick him out, tell him he should sleep in one of the many other rooms in this castle. He hated it, how he was just waiting for Mihawk to push him away. Mihawk's demeanor was telling him he wasn't going to, that he didn't want to. But Shanks didn't care about guessing how Mihawk felt, looking for excuses Mihawk had never asked him for. 

"You hate marines more than anyone else I know," Shanks chose to confront him. 

Mihawk sat down on the bed. Shanks straightened himself up.  He watched Mihawk hesitate. He felt so far away, he was right in front of him. Shanks longed to close the distance between them, but he couldn't it by himself. 

"I have never been your equal, Shanks. My power is my strength, my ability, and even though I don't fancy it, I am only human," Mihawk explained. "The marines saw an opportunity in capturing or killing me, but they were also afraid I would go back to hunting them."

Shanks listened carefully, and it took him all his willpower not to say it. "I assume they weren't really the problem," Shanks said distantly. 

"The New World is a bit more curious about what the pirate king's prodigy is planning," Mihawk admitted. 

News headlines briefly flashed Shanks' mind, rumors, whispers, tales. Mihawk is joining an emperor, Mihawk has been captured, Mihawk has been killed. Mihawk has joined the fucking marines. 

The thing that put a target on Mihawk's back wasn't his reputation, his skill, but Shanks. Mihawk couldn't join another crew without swearing his loyalty, which would include betraying Shanks, giving up his secrets, and plans. He hadn't. Shanks would have understood, understood it more than joining the marines. But the marines couldn't ask anything of him, just that he didn't hunt them. Shanks wondered if he was supposed to thank him for it. 

"It's a wonder you're still alive," Shanks said. The thought was screaming in his head. Mihawk shouldn't have left him, them. He could have protected him; he didn't have to do this. Mihawk did this, and Shanks wanted to admit the fault on his part, wanted to acknowledge that he wasn't without blame, but even if he did, Mihawk's secrets would still divide them. 

He didn't want him then, not enough to fight for him, to confess, to let him in, to trust him. Shanks had not been enough then, so what did he want with him now?

"Let me help you, for now let me protect you," Mihawk pleaded. Shanks' gaze was averted, but Mihawk was looking directly at him.  

Shanks hadn't expected those words. "Why?" he asked immediately.  

"Your power extends you. It is in all that you animate, inspire, and disrupt," Mihawk confessed, seemingly enthralled by the person in front of him, seemingly ready to kill for him, burn the world down for him. 

Shanks couldn't help but be drawn to him, he kissed him. Mihawk could help him. It was unfair, Mihawk could take his doubt, pain, could make Shanks feel invincible. It felt easy to let him do that, so much more natural than to stay angry with him. He pinned Mihawk down. "Keep talking," Shanks demanded. He didn't control his haki, instead letting Mihawk intentionally feel his will. Shanks started to slowly unbutton Mihawk's shirt, while kissing, showering every part of his body with affection and desire. He wanted to hear him, hear the change in his breath, the craving in his voice.  

You are a fine swordsman," Mihawk said under his breath. He involuntarily moaned when Shanks bit him. Shanks stopped to grin victoriously and let Mihawk know that he needed to keep going if he didn't want him to stop.

"But your strength is in your audacious will to bend the world to your liking," Mihawk uttered devotedly. 

Shanks was more than pleased with his answer. He held in, tracing the Mihawk's abs with his hand, in awe of his muscles, but still surprised by the softness of his skin. 

"And if I can't anymore ?" Shanks wanted to know. 

Mihawk laughed. A laugh, Shanks was only too familiar with. His losing laugh. Mihawk changed their position with a quick motion. 

"Wouldn't stop you," he clarified. 

Mihawk's certainty in his ears was like liquor, like a drug, demanding, possessing, poisoning any reason, killing any doubt. Addictively, hopelessly, Shanks craved it. He pulled Mihawk even closer, cursing any fabric between them. 

"There are so many things  I should worry about right now, and I still have so many reasons to be angry with you," Shanks panted when he managed to part their lips for a moment. "But I just," he stole Mihawk's trick to be on top of him again. "I wanna tie you up and show every fantasy of you that had me almost losing my mind," he whispered in his ear, promisingly. 

"I should advise you to save your strength for your training tomorrow," Mihawk's voice was sharp, but had no weight behind it. 

"Won't stop me," Shanks grinned.