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“Oh c’mon Croccy, please? ”
“No.”
“Just one?”
“No.”
“Two?”
This finally gets Crocodile to stop in his tracks to throw a disbelieving look over his shoulder. “If I said no to you naming one bananawani, what in that damn head of yours would make you think I’d agree to naming two?”
Buggy grins. The fact he’s managed to eek out anything longer than a one word response from Crocodile is practically a win in his book. The journey to a yes from here is basically set dressing. “Oh alright, you’ve twisted my arm!” He leans back against one of the tent poles, a hand flying to cover his face in feigned despair. “I suppose I can be negotiated down to just naming one bananawani! What a shrewd businessman you are! At least I know that the Cross Guild is sure to succeed in your capable hands! Or uh well-” Buggy peeks out from behind his fingers to glance down at Crocodile’s hook. “Hand.”
“You’re an idiot,” Crocodile deadpans. “And you’re not naming any of them.”
Buggy lets his limbs slide off him, his hands grasping at Crocodile’s pant legs. “Why not? I’d pick a good name! Promise!”
Shaking the hands off his pants, Crocodile rolls his eyes. “You’d name it Buggy Junior and then cry when it gets slaughtered for its meat.”
He can’t contain his gasp. “You wouldn’t eat Buggy Junior!
“I would specifically eat Buggy Junior.”
Before Buggy can even begin to protest that, for Crocodile’s information, Buggy Junior was going to be his second suggestion, thank you very much, a tent flap flies open between them. For a moment, all he can see is a glimpse of golden eyes before the schwing of sleek metal slicing through the air brings the sight of a large silver sword swinging right towards him. The steel easily cuts through Buggy’s neck. Its arc doesn’t stop there though. It continues its path, cutting through Crocodile’s chest with a similar ease, spraying sand everywhere.
As the sediment settles, both men turn, completely unharmed, towards the tent flap to see Mihawk standing in the entryway. “Oh. It’s you.” Mihawk sheaths his sword. “Your incessant yelling woke me from my nap.”
Buggy balks. “I- You- You didn’t even know who it was and yet you went for the killing blow?”
It's hard to tell what Mihawk is thinking like this. Honestly it's hard to really tell what he’s thinking most of the time, but now even moreso. His eyes are barely halfway open, mouth set in a thin line and hair sticking up at odd angles. Mihawk isn’t even wearing his jacket, just loose pants that barely hang onto his hips.
“It was irrelevant. All I needed to know was that I had been rudely woken up and whoever had done so would suffer the consequences. However . . .” His eyes slide over the two of them. “Seeing as the two of you cannot feel said consequences, you’ll need to learn this lesson another way.” Stepping back into the tent, Mihawk holds the flap open and nods towards them. “Well? Will you add insult to injury by making me wait?”
As much as Buggy wants to point out that since Mihawk is the one who attacked them, they’re really the injured party here, the fact that Crocodile of all people enters the tent with only a sigh as complaint makes any corrections seem like the wrong move. So Buggy follows along. Once inside the tent, Mihawk draws the flaps tight once more, plunging the room into darkness.
Through the black, Buggy can just discern the outlines of a few pieces of furniture, an armoire, a desk, a vanity in the back, and of course, one large bed. Just as Buggy’s eyes are nearly adjusted to the darkness, a flicker of a flame ignites near him and he does his best to muffle the resulting shriek. It’s not like he’s on edge or anything! No. Buggy is the picture of calm! And who wouldn’t be when they’ve upset the world’s greatest swordsman who wouldn’t hesitate to kill someone who woke him up from his nap! Buggy eats scarier things for breakfast! Well, not when Mihawk is cooking. Mihawk is an annoyingly good cook because apparently the man has to be good at everything. Crocodile though? That man has made some scary breakfasts.
And as Crocodile’s face is illuminated by the firelight, Buggy gets the distinct impression that he himself might be on the menu if he doesn’t play his cards right. He expects the lighter to come up to Crocodile’s cigar, but instead it lowers down to a candle on the bedside table
In the dim light, Buggy finally sees that Mihawk is already back in bed and looking at them expectantly.
Putting down the lighter, Crocodile begins to strip until he’s down to just his underwear. However, when he doesn’t take off that last article of clothing and instead parts the sheer canopy circling Mihawk’s bed, Buggy’s immediate thought of ‘Oh hell yeah sex’ is dashed. He just watches as Crocodile lifts the covers up, slides under, and after a moment of shifting, holds his arms open so that Mihawk can rest his head on Crocodile’s chest.
Buggy’s heart stutters.
It’s all so . . . Domestic. Mihawk looks absolutely at ease in Crocodile’s arms, eyes already closed and breath evening out. As for Crocodile, well he had gone into this without any hesitation. Have they done this before? They must have for Crocodile to immediately know what Mihawk wanted. How many times have they done this? What was the first time like? Did Mihawk just use a spray bottle to corral Crocodile into his bed so he could use him as a human body pillow?
“My patience is wearing thin, clown” Mihawk calls, only vaguely muffled by Crocodile’s chest. “If I have to just use your arms and do away with the rest of you, I will.”
With a lot more caution than he usually uses when he gets into bed with Mihawk and Crocodile, Buggy strips down to his underwear. Perhaps he takes a bit more time than necessary to fold his clothes and lay them down on the wardrobe, but no one complains.
When he returns, both of the other men have their eyes closed. A small miracle really taking into account how Buggy’s hands faintly quake. They’ve all slept together, so why does the prospect of actually sleeping together get to him so much? How is this more intimate than intimacy? It’s never been this complicated before. They always just fuck and go their seperate ways. Or, at least Buggy did. Maybe Crocodile and Mihawk stayed together after their romps, curled together like this. Is it easy for them? To sleep next to someone completely vulnerable? Does it make the nights easier?
It would be nice, if that's the case.
Slowly, Buggy slips inside the curtains before going underneath the sheets as well. Scooting over to the middle of the bed where Mihawk lays is awkward, but not as awkward as the few agonizing seconds where Buggy has to decide what the fuck to do with his arms. Finally, he settles on draping one arm across Mihawk’s hip, the other curled up next to his own chest.
“You can get closer. I won’t bite.”
Well that’s a fucking lie and Buggy has the bruises to prove it, but still he acquiesces. It’s only when his front presses against Mihawk’s back does the swordsman seem to finally let out all his tension in one long breath.
A fitting consequence. They woke Mihawk up. They have to help him get back to sleep.
There’s no movement or noise when the candle goes out so Buggy can only guess Crocodile’s sand is to thank. It does mean however, that Buggy is just lying there in the dark, eyes wide open, muscles taut as he can do nothing but smell Mihawk’s hair. This means nothing. Don’t get comfortable. This is strictly a business with benefits situation. Nothing more! Really, Buggy is just being used as a literal bed warmer. Feelings? Never heard of them! And even if Crocodile and Mihawk have . . . Something more, Buggy is not a part of that. Really, he should just wait til Mihawk is asleep and then slip away.
As if reading his mind, a heavy hook settles against his waist. “Go to sleep,” Crocodile’s gruff voice commands. However, the underlying tone isn’t threatening. It’s . . . Buggy’s not sure what it is. A part of him wants to label it as exasperated fondness, but even calling it that makes Buggy want to run and so he desperately tries to think of anything but that.
“What about Lady Finger?”
There’s a beat of silence in the dark.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Crocodile whispers back.
“For the bananawani? The name Lady Finger? It’s a type of banana.”
Buggy can’t help but smile when the idea isn’t immediately shot down, knowing he’s won.
“Eh, that’s not bad . . .”
However, before Buggy can celebrate, Mihawk’s voice sounds clear as a bell. “Shut up. Both of you. Go to sleep or not. I don’t care. Just be quiet about it.”
Crocodile laughs but offers no complaint.
After that, Buggy lets his eyes close and falls asleep to the sound of Mihawk’s heartbeat and Crocodile’s hook curled around him.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s his mind playing tricks on him, but Buggy swears he hears the soft sound of a kiss in the dark.