[There've probably been dozens -- if not hundreds -- of men whose last living sight is this exactly: Dracule Mihawk leaning over them and clicking his tongue in that chiding way. And here Koby is, pinned to the bed, immobile, helpless and laughing. He seems positively delighted with himself, beaming widely, glasses crooked and hair mussed.]
I'm just being honest. Like you, Mr. Serious Warlord. [There's a bit of struggling against Mihawk's firm grip on his wrists, but it's very clear from the flush spreading down his chest and the familiar way Koby presses his thighs together that he doesn't actually want to go anywhere.
Pausing, panting softly, tongue sliding along his lip again, Koby fixes those intent, bright eyes upwards. His voice is a little shaky, still unused to talking like this, but clearly affected by the words:] You could. You could do anything you wanted to me.
[Objectively, it's true -- Mihawk is the definite winner in any test of physical prowess. But Koby says it less like that, more like...permission. Not "I couldn't stop you", but "I wouldn't stop you."]
(Mihawk isn't sure he has ever made anyone laugh. Not like this. Especially not in bed. He just watches helplessly because this is about the point that Mihawk realizes how dangerous this whole thing is. He realizes that he wants to make Koby look like this more often. Hair a mess, glasses carelessly tilted, face flush with arousal and amusement.)
Mr. Serious Warlord. (Do you hear yourself? People had been killed for less around Mihawk, and yet he just clucks his tongue again.)
I could, couldn't I?
(His gaze drags over Koby and he knows that Koby meant it. That he could do anything he wanted to Koby and Koby would be more than happy to receive it. And he knows that despite everything, despite who Mihawk was, consent was at the forefront of their relationship. Mihawk might be holding Koby down, might be the one to instigate and take, and take, but at the end of the day, Koby truly held the reigns.
If he so much as whispered 'stop' Mihawk would without a second thought. He would never admit it, not even to himself, but Koby had a good leash on him already.)
If you're feeling so honest tonight then why don't you tell me what you want?
[The way Mihawk looks at him -- hungry, a touch possessive, making Koby feel like he's been cornered by something dangerous and predatory. And rather than terror -- which he should absolutely, logically feel -- he just feels excited, breath coming quicker, eyes dark and eager.
Biting his lip a bit, Koby lifts his chin, arching his back so he can feel Mihawk's skin against his. He tugs a bit against the grip on his wrists, squirming a bit and gently nudging his knee up between the pirate's legs. Completely accidentally, of course.] I have some ideas. But you'd need to let me up.
[The knee moves, slowly, accompanied by one of those sweet, innocent smiles. Koby knows he doesn't need to lay on the seduction, that Mihawk would never force him into anything -- he's always known that, since the beginning. He's cautious of the man for many, many reasons, but fear that he'd demand more than Koby wanted to give isn't one of them. Whenever he tenses, even for an instant, whenever he draws in on himself without thinking, Mihawk always pulls back. He waits until Koby initiates again. Every time.
So he rises up, pressing his body to Mihawk's, licks his lips and breathes out:] Let me up and lie back. Okay?
(It's tempting to keep Koby pinned, but the idea of what Koby might have in mind is far more interesting. Especially with that knee pressing up between his legs. Koby might be new to sex, but he wasn't so naive that Mihawk thought he was being accidentally sexy. He presses himself against that knee for just a moment, for relief, because he wasn't sure when he might get more relief.)
Who am I to say no?
(Especially when Koby was looking at him like that. He lets go of Koby's hands and obediently rolls over onto his back.)
[Koby never doubted that Mihawk would obey, not for a moment -- although the subtle grind forward against his knee is definitely tempting enough that for a moment he considers just going back to making out for a couple hours first. But no, the warlord's already moving, lying back in that languid, careless way he has, like a satisfied cat.
Sitting up slowly, Koby reaches to adjust his glasses, raking his fingers backwards through his hair and trying not to stare too openly. He doesn't usually get a chance to really admire Mihawk -- usually he's too far gone to really pay attention to anything except how good he feels. But there's a lot to look at, the planes of muscle and sinew, the warm tone of Mihawk's skin, the subtle quickening of his breath that's the only thing that suggests that he's at all affected. Koby exhales, slowly, almost says what he's thinking -- you're beautiful too.
But there's that insistent, demanding ache low in his stomach, pooling between his legs, prompting him to get moving, because denial is not something Koby's great at. He rises up on his knees, hooking his thumbs into his (stupid, pinned, ill-fitting) pants and pushing them down just a bit.]
Don't move your hands. [It's soft, laced with a firm, commanding tone that should be out of place with Koby's -- everything. But he commits to it, giving Mihawk one of those intent, unflinching looks, like there's nothing frightening or strange about giving a command to one of the deadliest men on the seas. Then the young man eases his pants the rest of the way off and -- nope, he isn't wearing anything under them. Not a stitch.
Face reddening, Koby tosses the pants to the ground and moves on to unlace Mihawk's, giving him a look that clearly dares him to mention a word about the no-underwear thing. He wasn't planning ahead. Nothing fits him well, that's all.]
(He can obey when it benefits him to. And right now, that benefit was this sublime creature slipping out of his pants and looking at Mihawk like he may as well be the one piece himself.
He likes Koby commanding, he realizes. He likes the confidence of it and he thinks it would be good to hand Koby over that control more often. Why not hand over the power when he knew he could take it back at any moment? The willingness to submit was erotic in its own way. The way Koby wasn't afraid of him, the way it made no sense that this was the same person who cowered and acted like he was so incapable.
His eyes drop and it says something that his mouth waters at the very sight of Koby naked. He swallows. When Koby gives him that look, Mihawk can't help himself. He begins to smirk, something sharp and starved, barely restrained.)
I'm not saying anything. (He assures, his eyes bright with mirth that he knew precisely what Koby was looking at him for.)
[The scowl Koby gives Mihawk is so indignant and also so not intimidating at all. He's very red in the face, tugging Mihawk's pants down and mumbling:] You didn't have to, it's all over your face, I told you nothing fits right here.
[Still, there's a pleased little smile on his face all the same, considering he can feel Mihawk's gaze on him as tangibly as a touch. It's -- nice. He's getting much too used to being admired, but he isn't about to stop it right then.
Instead, once the warlord is naked too (which takes a minute; Mihawk is about 60% leg), Koby crawls back up to straddle over his waist, rising up on his knees, thighs bracketing the man's hips. The dim light of the fireplace is enough to see how turned on he is, how the insides of his thighs are streaked wet, but he doesn't lower down, doesn't let Mihawk do anything except admire.
Reaching out, Koby takes Mihawk's hands and moves them by his head, their positions reversed wholly now. He takes a slow, measured breath, then leans down, kissing Mihawk deep and firm. His turn to be possessive. His turn to tease. They've slept together a handful of times, but Koby's always been on his back or bent over something. This is the first time he's had this much power, been on top.]
Remember, don't move. [He breathes it out, reaching down to stroke up the length of Mihawk's cock, making sure he's hard enough.] Unless you really can't stand it. [And, judging by how slow, how unhurried Koby's hand is, he's going to do everything he can't to make obeying unbearable.]
I can think of something that fits perfectly. (Yes, he is talking about how he fits perfectly inside of Koby. Whether it is his cock, fingers, or mouth. His smug expression remains because Koby's blushing smile was all too charming and he knew the young man wasn't about to stop. He allows his hands to be moved, absently curling them into loose fists. He wasn't used to having anything to do with his hands.
He sees that telling wetness and again, hot desire pulses through him. Enough to make his cock twitch. By now, he was more than half-hard and well on his way to being completely hard as Koby grips his cock. Despite being together multiple times, they had only just barely scraped the surface of being together. He was still mastering Koby's body and this was an entirely new angle.)
You'll find that I have infinite patience when the payout is worth it.
(And he does.)
My question is if you can stand it. (His eyes flicker down and he makes a slow show of sliding his tongue across his own bottom lip, tipping his head to the side.)
You're already a mess. Do you want me to tidy you up while we wait? I only need my tongue to pull you apart.
You know what I mean. [There's that same mixture of exasperation and fondness that Mihawk seems to prompt so easily from Koby. But it's clearly overridden by desire, by having Mihawk beneath him, all his to enjoy as long as he wants. It's an illusion -- Mihawk could sit up and leave at any time and Koby wouldn't be able to give more than a token protest.
But he's not leaving. He's there, beautiful and frustrating. He's not going anywhere for at least a little while. The thought is oddly comforting, and it shows on Koby's face for an instant, a flicker of bittersweetness that he covers up by shifting backwards, bracing himself with one hand on Mihawk's chest.]
I'll take it into consideration. [He says it almost primly, squeezing Mihawk's cock once more, then moving his hand away. Keeping their eyes locked, Koby slowly drags his own fingers through the slick gathering between his legs, rising up on his knees so Mihawk can see, can watch him touch, can see him press his index finger inside, prompting a soft, shuddery exhale. Then he settles down, slowly, grinding the wet seam of his cunt along Mihawk's cock, a languid, unhurried roll of his hips.]
But I think I like this better, right now. [It's breathless, a little embarrassed at his own daring, but it's soon eclipsed by how good this feels, rocking his hips just slightly, just enough to tease them both, enough to drip all over Mihawk's cock.]
Do I. (Of course he does. Despite their differences, their ease of communication was honestly ridiculous. Mihawk could leave at any time. However, it was far more likely that he instead decides he doesn't want to wait anymore and just ravishes Koby without restraint. It's a nice thought. Maybe one of these days he would just take Koby with absolute force. Not that kind, of course, but seize him and break him apart.
This is nice though. This is better than nice. Mihawk was used to taking the dominant role. He was used to being the one to make the assertive moves and decide how sex would unfold. He didn't trust others to be good enough at sex to give them the reigns. And really, he had no reason to trust Koby with that either.
The difference was that he wanted to. He liked the way Koby didn't really know what he was doing, but that Koby wanted to do it so badly. That he was passionate about wanting to be good. It already made him better than most Mihawk had slept with. Enthusiasm went a long way.
Plus there was something something about emotions or whatever, but Mihawk wasn't paying any attention to that part of the situationship.
It's evident the moment Mihawk is hit with what Koby does. The smirk drops from his face and his jaw clenches up in that now telling way of his whenever Koby manages to sneak under his skin. A gesture of control and the implication that Koby had managed to rattle that control even if only mildly.
He watches Koby with rapt attention. Knowing how prude and squeaky clean Koby was, the sight of Koby touching himself and then grinding against Mihawk was arguably one of the hottest things Mihawk had ever seen. Maybe actually the hottest. Then Koby slips his finger inside of himself and Mihawk's mind goes completely blank. The same way it went blank and steady during the middle of a good fight. There was nothing but Koby. No castle, no strange world, no pirates, no marines, no sea, no land. Nothing. Just Koby.
He's clenching his teeth hard, but his hands even harder, blunt, clean nails biting into the meat of his palms. He exhales slowly through his nose, trying hard to maintain a sense of dignity.
His pupils have blown out and it only serves to emphasize his strange, ringed eyes. How foolish of people to not realize how well paid he was for his allegiance to Koby and the straw hats. He would burn cities down just for a second of this. It gave him a sense of liveliness that he rarely found anymore these days - even with sword fighting.
Life had become so dull. There had been no one as good with swords as he was. He had never been swayed by treasures or sex. Life was long and he had seen and done it all. These days, he often felt like there was nothing left to do. That there was nothing left to surprise him, to tantalize him, to challenge him.
Yet here he was. All within the same short frame of time, his life had been twisted around on itself. Expectations were exceeded. First came Zoro with his ridiculous three swords and recklessness, but his obvious potential. Someone who had given Mihawk a glimmer of anticipation and hope.
Then came Koby. Koby gave him things that Mihawk didn't realize he wanted or cared about. He had never chased sex the way others had, but there was an allure to Koby that caught him off guard just as much as Zoro had, just in a different realm. Koby who would lose immediately in a fight to Mihawk smiled and laughed with him in bed. Koby had his strict moral code and disdain for pirates and men like Mihawk.
Yes, Mihawk knew this would never last. Not when people like Luffy existed who would guide Koby's heart at the end of the day. Even if Mihawk could make Koby's toes curl and his thighs quiver, Mihawk wasn't the sort of person Koby would keep his eyes on for long. It was an arrangement. A temporary agreement until Koby could figure out another way to survive in this world.
No one from home trusted Mihawk, and they were right to distrust. It was nothing about deserve. Mihawk did not believe in such things. He believed in rationality and logic. The others would continue to distrust him. For now, it would be enough that Zoro had agreed to train with him. It was enough that Koby agreed to sleep with him.
Mihawk closes his eyes to soak in the sensation of Koby sliding against him. He had fallen silent, but more out of distrust for himself. He felt like he was on the brink of saying something absurd or losing control embarrassingly fast.
Once he felt a bit more in charge, he opened his eyes back up.)
You are such an unexpected delight. (Okay, see, now, that's not at all what he had wanted to say, damn it.)
[This time, Koby's watching for it, the jump of the muscle in Mihawk's jaw that says he's clenching his teeth, that his effortless composure has slipped just slightly. He sees it, and that smile is back on his face, warm and bright and so damn proud that it's impossible to hide. He reaches out with the hand not braced on Mihawk's chest, the hand that had just been touching himself, sliding his slick fingers over the pirate's jawline, then tracing the shape of his mouth.]
Good. [It's soft, heated -- it's praise. This thing between them makes no sense to anyone else, because they can't conceive why Dracule Mihawk, the warlord of the seas, the greatest swordsman of the age, would possibly find anything valuable in sharing the bed of a green, untested, scrawny little marine cadet. And when he thinks about it like that, Koby can't argue. He doesn't understand it either. Mihawk could have anyone with him right now.
But he doesn't. He has Koby, trembling and breathless, cupping Mihawk's face and leaning in for another kiss, this one deeper, messy, hungry. He has Koby in his lap, spread out and shivering and grinding against his cock, shifting his hips and gasping into his mouth at the teasing nudge to his clit. He's here. He's real and he's here, and Koby is --
-- closing his eyes, resting his forehead against Mihawk's, trying to catch his breath. It's just endorphins, just chemicals in his brain, his body, betraying him. Making him feel things, with that raw, open-hearted honesty the world hasn't beaten out of him yet. Making him think that maybe, maybe...he can have this. Maybe this won't disappear.
Maybe Koby's allowed to hold onto one damn thing in his entire life, and maybe, god damn it, he wants it to be this.
At least it's not abnormal for Koby to get teary in bed. That way when he opens his eyes and they're bright and wet, it won't seem out of place. He exhales, rising up on his knees again, then reaching back once more. He can think about things later, when he's alone. Right now he doesn't want to waste a single second.] Your turn. [One hand curls around Mihawk's cock, guiding the head to slide through the soaked mess of his cunt, teasing up and down, slowly. Koby leans forward, kisses the corner of Mihawk's mouth, breathes against his lips:] Beg.
(He wants to chase that finger and lick off what he could. He had become addicted to the taste of Koby and had little shame in making that obvious. The praise makes something shutter inside of Mihawk. Praise didn't come his way often these days. No one had to compliment the greatest swordsman alive, after all, and for the most part, he was too arrogant to care about compliments and praise. But this praise was different. This praise slid into him and stroked some part of his ego that he had no clue could even be stroked anymore.
He kisses back like a man who has gone days without food or water. Desperation slipped between their tongues. It's difficult to not grab his face, not touch, but he complies to Koby's original command of don't move.
He opens his eyes to Koby's wet eyes, and a fierce part of him wants to kiss Koby tenderly, as he finds himself wanting to do with increasing frequency lately. It's on the tip of his tongue to suggest that he take back over, that he hold Koby and fuck him slow.
But Koby gathers himself. More than gathers himself. A breath stutters out of him as his cock is guided to Koby's cunt and it may as well be the goddamn holy land for the way Mihawk tenses up in anticipation. What he doesn't expect is for Koby to tell Mihawk to beg. It makes his brain pop off a bit, his gaze vacant, because frankly, literally no one alive has ever told Mihawk to beg or anything like it.
It's absurd. It's ridiculous and borderline suicidal to tell a man with such pride and prestige to beg for the likes of a lowly marine cadet.
But this isn't just some man and this isn't just some cadet.
This is Mihawk and Koby. Koby who, Mihawk realizes, could possibly get Mihawk to agree to just about anything when the delicious swell of his cunt is grinding against his cock like that.
Perhaps for a night, he can put his ego aside after all.)
...Please. (His voice comes out quiet and almost awkward. Mihawk doesn't know if he has ever said 'please' in any semblance of sincerity. Sarcasm was part of his native tongue but today, it was absent entirely. He lets out another breath, shakier.)
[No matter what happens later -- in the vast, shapeless future that stretches out before them, here in the castle or back home or something in between -- Koby knows that this won't be something he ever shares. Mihawk looking up at him, raw and honest and soft and saying please -- that's his. Nothing and nobody can ever take that away. Whether this is real or not, he can have this one, brief, rare moment of vulnerability for the rest of his life.
There's another one of those smiles, warm and fond and proud, there's Koby's hand at the side of Mihawk's face for a moment longer, thumbing the corner of his mouth before moving back to brace himself. His fingers spread wide on Mihawk's chest, over his heart, claws digging in just slightly as he obeys, as he sinks down onto the warlord's cock in one fluid, smooth motion.
And then they dig in a little more, because the angle, the depth is entirely new, getting a shaky, shuddery breath that feels like it comes right from Koby's soul. He has to stay still for a moment, adjusting, heart pounding, thighs shivering, cunt throbbing around Mihawk. He'd had all these ideas about teasing more, about riding the pirate to completion in full, smug control of the entire situation -- and maybe, someday, he will.
But right now, trembling, teary, leaving scratches down Mihawk's chest, Koby lifts his eyes again and pleads, softly:] Touch me. [Having the power isn't worth not having those hands on him, guiding, prompting, caressing. Koby shifts his hips, whines high and shaky in his throat.] Please.
(It's immediate relief. That tight heat has become increasingly familiar each time they sleep together. The angle is delicious and he's deeper than he's been before. Even Mihawk can't remain completely stoic. A breathy moan leaves him, a stitch forming between his brow. Even the feeling of the claw biting into him is welcome. He opens his eyes and gazes up at Koby with open wonder like Koby was some unreachable, untouchable thing.
The little tremors inside of Koby are dizzying.
The moment Koby gives him permission to move, Mihawk doesn't hesitate. He surges upward and his hands immediately go to Koby's face. He brings their mouths together in one of those desperate kisses, tongues sliding together until their tastes merge. Then he moves to wrap his arms around Koby, holding him tight, shifting around on the bed until his back is against the headrest.
He slides his hands down to the lovely dip in Koby's lower back before he grabs his hips. With little effort, he pulls Koby up, just a few inches, before slamming him back down onto his cock. Koby might not need the help or the guidance, but there was something erotic about maneuvering him like this. Especially after Koby's cute little attempt at control.
Plus it was a reassurance that he would always, always take care of Koby.)
[It'd be fun someday to see how long Koby could maintain that brief instant of control -- which is a dangerous thought, someday, but Koby is far too caught up in pleasure to care. But the second he has Mihawk's hands on his face, Mihawk's mouth sealed to his, Koby doesn't regret surrendering so quickly. He moans into that deep, hungry kiss, hands going up to grip onto Mihawk's devastatingly broad shoulders for stability. And also maybe because Koby really likes Mihawk's shoulders.
Then those hands are sliding down his back, lighting every nerve ending on fire, gripping his hips and lifting him like he weighs nothing. The loss of Mihawk's cock inside him gets an annoyed whimpering sound, which pitches up suddenly into an almost-scream when it's suddenly driven back in, to the hilt. It's so much, so deep, the angle punishing and amazing and overwhelming.
Koby leans back a bit, expression stunned and delighted, clearly completely in awe of the new feeling. Sometimes his inexperience shows, the reminder that every time they try something new, it's the first time. Still shivering, breathless, Koby manages a shaky smile, eyes bright and hungry.] D-Do that again.
(Koby's reaction is better than the sex itself. Not that it doesn't feel incredible, but the way Koby lights up is far more addictive. Mihawk was a bit of a glutton for making Koby feel good. He can't help the slight smile that grows on his face in response to Koby's gleaming grin. How can he not smile back?)
Anything you want.
(Which he means more sincerely than he even knew. But he's not thinking about that right now. Right now, he's focused on lifting Koby back up and slamming him back down. Up, down, up, down. He moves his hips up to make the impact all that more prominent when he pulls Koby down. It doesn't take long before he's fucking Koby hard and fast, using him not too unlike a full-bodied toy. It's almost relentless, his grip bruisingly tight on Koby's hips, no doubt leaving marks that would last for some time.)
[Koby's not thinking about it either -- not that slight smile that'll live in his mind for probably the rest of his life, not the words and what they might mean. He's only thinking about how Mihawk immediately gives him what he wants, the punishing, bruising, deep thrusts that are rapidly becoming Koby's number one addiction. He'd never thought a lot about sex before, but now the idea of not having it on the near-daily seems foreign.
Specifically, not having it with Mihawk. Another thing to think about later.
Right now he just focuses on hooking his arms around Mihawk's neck, claws dug into his back, leaving more scratches -- he's never left this many before, that's either going to be annoying or something Mihawk likes. Koby definitely likes the marks, the patchwork of them across his throat, the handprints over his hips, anything that helps him feel Mihawk when he's not there.
It's building too fast, prompted by Koby's own teasing, the new position, the way Mihawk can thrust up relentlessly and punishing and so, so deep. It's almost a disappointment when Koby's soft, pleading moans rise up into a choked-off gasping sound, when he comes hard, burying his face against Mihawk's neck and shuddering around him. Because that means it's almost over. He's almost gone.
It comes out soft, possibly inaudible against Mihawk's throat, possibly lost in the sound of the warlord's own climax whenever it comes:] Stay.
(Mihawk had grown spoiled from their exploits as well. And that would only worsen the more often they had it. The more he learned what Koby liked, the more he learned about how to make him smile and laugh, things that really had nothing to do with sex. Yet he would ignore that for now and figure it was just an easy way to keep Koby coming back to him.
That and railing Koby so hard he would feel him for a long while after.
The scratches make his skin crawl pleasantly. Normally any mark on a swordsman's back was an insult, but these marks may as well be badges of honor. Proof of a job well done. He comes soon after Koby, buckling up into him, a breathless groan easing out of him as he pumps Koby full.
He rolls his hips to milk out his orgasm, and it's only then that he realizes how hard he is holding Koby. He pants quietly, processing the command. He nods, squeezing Koby tighter. Then he leans back, pulling Koby with him which winds up with him sliding out of Koby along the way.
Once down, he grabs Koby by the face and brings their lips together. It's a slower kiss, not one to try and initiate another fucking, but just one to feel Koby.)
[The nod could very well be for something else entirely -- Koby will be the first one to admit that he sort of loses all track of linear thought when Mihawk's fucking him. So he rides it out, panting and shuddering and squeezing around the pirate's cock spilling inside him, savoring it as always -- he may be spoiled, but Koby doesn't take anything for granted.
When they move, there's a soft hiss of oversensitivity blended with soreness -- Koby definitely going to feel tonight for a good long while. He leans up into that kiss, breathless and shivering through the aftershocks, one hand sliding to tangle in Mihawk's hair.
And he remembers to ask again, in that hazy, warm moment, before he loses his nerve:] Stay. Just. Just for a little. Just til I'm asleep. [That's not enough, not really, it's not what Koby really wants, but he can't ask for forever, he can't ask to wake up like this, wrapped in Mihawk's arms. But maybe this much is okay. Maybe he's allowed that.
Koby leans back, eyes soft and open and full of that raw, uncomplicated wanting. He twines Mihawk's hair around his fingers, settles warm and pliant against him. Asks one more time:] Please. Stay.
(It had been to agree to stay, but he can hardly fault Koby for asking again. He looks at Koby as their kiss breaks and Koby begs for him to stay. There could be a dozen reasons why Koby might want to stay, but Mihawk doesn't let himself speculate.
He could never say no to that look on Koby's face. He couldn't even feign disinterest. There's something softening the edges of his own face. He settles against the bed, looking back at Koby, silently memorizing the way he looked.)
I'll stay.
(He kisses Koby again, soft, brief. He had nowhere else he needed to be and nowhere else he wanted to be.)
[Perhaps it's a good thing that Koby's too sleepy and fucked out to read anything into that softness. All he cares about is the agreement -- Mihawk says he'll stay, so he will. Koby will second guess and question a lot of things, but by now, Mihawk's word isn't one of them.
So he relaxes, smiling against Mihawk's lips, leaning up for a couple more of those brief, warm kisses, then settling with his head tucked under the warlord's chin. He doesn't know if it's the unusually long talk they'd had, the way he'd opened up to Mihawk, the stupid little messages filling his notebook, but whatever the reason, the man is staying. Even if it's only for an hour, he's there.
Later, Koby will recognize this moment for what it is, the looming danger of the situation coming to a head as he catches his breath in Mihawk's arms. He'll know that's when it was too late for him, when he was well and truly lost.
He'll deal with that when it comes, though. Right now he's safe, he's sore, he's exhausted and held and happy like he hasn't been in years. One hand absently traces over the claw marks he's left around Mihawk's heart -- ironic, in their way.] Thank you.
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I'm just being honest. Like you, Mr. Serious Warlord. [There's a bit of struggling against Mihawk's firm grip on his wrists, but it's very clear from the flush spreading down his chest and the familiar way Koby presses his thighs together that he doesn't actually want to go anywhere.
Pausing, panting softly, tongue sliding along his lip again, Koby fixes those intent, bright eyes upwards. His voice is a little shaky, still unused to talking like this, but clearly affected by the words:] You could. You could do anything you wanted to me.
[Objectively, it's true -- Mihawk is the definite winner in any test of physical prowess. But Koby says it less like that, more like...permission. Not "I couldn't stop you", but "I wouldn't stop you."]
i can't believe they invented love
Mr. Serious Warlord. (Do you hear yourself? People had been killed for less around Mihawk, and yet he just clucks his tongue again.)
I could, couldn't I?
(His gaze drags over Koby and he knows that Koby meant it. That he could do anything he wanted to Koby and Koby would be more than happy to receive it. And he knows that despite everything, despite who Mihawk was, consent was at the forefront of their relationship. Mihawk might be holding Koby down, might be the one to instigate and take, and take, but at the end of the day, Koby truly held the reigns.
If he so much as whispered 'stop' Mihawk would without a second thought. He would never admit it, not even to himself, but Koby had a good leash on him already.)
If you're feeling so honest tonight then why don't you tell me what you want?
LITERALLY i'm literally feral abt them
Biting his lip a bit, Koby lifts his chin, arching his back so he can feel Mihawk's skin against his. He tugs a bit against the grip on his wrists, squirming a bit and gently nudging his knee up between the pirate's legs. Completely accidentally, of course.] I have some ideas. But you'd need to let me up.
[The knee moves, slowly, accompanied by one of those sweet, innocent smiles. Koby knows he doesn't need to lay on the seduction, that Mihawk would never force him into anything -- he's always known that, since the beginning. He's cautious of the man for many, many reasons, but fear that he'd demand more than Koby wanted to give isn't one of them. Whenever he tenses, even for an instant, whenever he draws in on himself without thinking, Mihawk always pulls back. He waits until Koby initiates again. Every time.
So he rises up, pressing his body to Mihawk's, licks his lips and breathes out:] Let me up and lie back. Okay?
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(It's tempting to keep Koby pinned, but the idea of what Koby might have in mind is far more interesting. Especially with that knee pressing up between his legs. Koby might be new to sex, but he wasn't so naive that Mihawk thought he was being accidentally sexy. He presses himself against that knee for just a moment, for relief, because he wasn't sure when he might get more relief.)
Who am I to say no?
(Especially when Koby was looking at him like that. He lets go of Koby's hands and obediently rolls over onto his back.)
Do as you please, then.
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Sitting up slowly, Koby reaches to adjust his glasses, raking his fingers backwards through his hair and trying not to stare too openly. He doesn't usually get a chance to really admire Mihawk -- usually he's too far gone to really pay attention to anything except how good he feels. But there's a lot to look at, the planes of muscle and sinew, the warm tone of Mihawk's skin, the subtle quickening of his breath that's the only thing that suggests that he's at all affected. Koby exhales, slowly, almost says what he's thinking -- you're beautiful too.
But there's that insistent, demanding ache low in his stomach, pooling between his legs, prompting him to get moving, because denial is not something Koby's great at. He rises up on his knees, hooking his thumbs into his (stupid, pinned, ill-fitting) pants and pushing them down just a bit.]
Don't move your hands. [It's soft, laced with a firm, commanding tone that should be out of place with Koby's -- everything. But he commits to it, giving Mihawk one of those intent, unflinching looks, like there's nothing frightening or strange about giving a command to one of the deadliest men on the seas. Then the young man eases his pants the rest of the way off and -- nope, he isn't wearing anything under them. Not a stitch.
Face reddening, Koby tosses the pants to the ground and moves on to unlace Mihawk's, giving him a look that clearly dares him to mention a word about the no-underwear thing. He wasn't planning ahead. Nothing fits him well, that's all.]
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(He can obey when it benefits him to. And right now, that benefit was this sublime creature slipping out of his pants and looking at Mihawk like he may as well be the one piece himself.
He likes Koby commanding, he realizes. He likes the confidence of it and he thinks it would be good to hand Koby over that control more often. Why not hand over the power when he knew he could take it back at any moment? The willingness to submit was erotic in its own way. The way Koby wasn't afraid of him, the way it made no sense that this was the same person who cowered and acted like he was so incapable.
His eyes drop and it says something that his mouth waters at the very sight of Koby naked. He swallows. When Koby gives him that look, Mihawk can't help himself. He begins to smirk, something sharp and starved, barely restrained.)
I'm not saying anything. (He assures, his eyes bright with mirth that he knew precisely what Koby was looking at him for.)
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[Still, there's a pleased little smile on his face all the same, considering he can feel Mihawk's gaze on him as tangibly as a touch. It's -- nice. He's getting much too used to being admired, but he isn't about to stop it right then.
Instead, once the warlord is naked too (which takes a minute; Mihawk is about 60% leg), Koby crawls back up to straddle over his waist, rising up on his knees, thighs bracketing the man's hips. The dim light of the fireplace is enough to see how turned on he is, how the insides of his thighs are streaked wet, but he doesn't lower down, doesn't let Mihawk do anything except admire.
Reaching out, Koby takes Mihawk's hands and moves them by his head, their positions reversed wholly now. He takes a slow, measured breath, then leans down, kissing Mihawk deep and firm. His turn to be possessive. His turn to tease. They've slept together a handful of times, but Koby's always been on his back or bent over something. This is the first time he's had this much power, been on top.]
Remember, don't move. [He breathes it out, reaching down to stroke up the length of Mihawk's cock, making sure he's hard enough.] Unless you really can't stand it. [And, judging by how slow, how unhurried Koby's hand is, he's going to do everything he can't to make obeying unbearable.]
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He sees that telling wetness and again, hot desire pulses through him. Enough to make his cock twitch. By now, he was more than half-hard and well on his way to being completely hard as Koby grips his cock. Despite being together multiple times, they had only just barely scraped the surface of being together. He was still mastering Koby's body and this was an entirely new angle.)
You'll find that I have infinite patience when the payout is worth it.
(And he does.)
My question is if you can stand it. (His eyes flicker down and he makes a slow show of sliding his tongue across his own bottom lip, tipping his head to the side.)
You're already a mess. Do you want me to tidy you up while we wait? I only need my tongue to pull you apart.
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But he's not leaving. He's there, beautiful and frustrating. He's not going anywhere for at least a little while. The thought is oddly comforting, and it shows on Koby's face for an instant, a flicker of bittersweetness that he covers up by shifting backwards, bracing himself with one hand on Mihawk's chest.]
I'll take it into consideration. [He says it almost primly, squeezing Mihawk's cock once more, then moving his hand away. Keeping their eyes locked, Koby slowly drags his own fingers through the slick gathering between his legs, rising up on his knees so Mihawk can see, can watch him touch, can see him press his index finger inside, prompting a soft, shuddery exhale. Then he settles down, slowly, grinding the wet seam of his cunt along Mihawk's cock, a languid, unhurried roll of his hips.]
But I think I like this better, right now. [It's breathless, a little embarrassed at his own daring, but it's soon eclipsed by how good this feels, rocking his hips just slightly, just enough to tease them both, enough to drip all over Mihawk's cock.]
a mile long of pining lmao
This is nice though. This is better than nice. Mihawk was used to taking the dominant role. He was used to being the one to make the assertive moves and decide how sex would unfold. He didn't trust others to be good enough at sex to give them the reigns. And really, he had no reason to trust Koby with that either.
The difference was that he wanted to. He liked the way Koby didn't really know what he was doing, but that Koby wanted to do it so badly. That he was passionate about wanting to be good. It already made him better than most Mihawk had slept with. Enthusiasm went a long way.
Plus there was something something about emotions or whatever, but Mihawk wasn't paying any attention to that part of the situationship.
It's evident the moment Mihawk is hit with what Koby does. The smirk drops from his face and his jaw clenches up in that now telling way of his whenever Koby manages to sneak under his skin. A gesture of control and the implication that Koby had managed to rattle that control even if only mildly.
He watches Koby with rapt attention. Knowing how prude and squeaky clean Koby was, the sight of Koby touching himself and then grinding against Mihawk was arguably one of the hottest things Mihawk had ever seen. Maybe actually the hottest. Then Koby slips his finger inside of himself and Mihawk's mind goes completely blank. The same way it went blank and steady during the middle of a good fight. There was nothing but Koby. No castle, no strange world, no pirates, no marines, no sea, no land. Nothing. Just Koby.
He's clenching his teeth hard, but his hands even harder, blunt, clean nails biting into the meat of his palms. He exhales slowly through his nose, trying hard to maintain a sense of dignity.
His pupils have blown out and it only serves to emphasize his strange, ringed eyes. How foolish of people to not realize how well paid he was for his allegiance to Koby and the straw hats. He would burn cities down just for a second of this. It gave him a sense of liveliness that he rarely found anymore these days - even with sword fighting.
Life had become so dull. There had been no one as good with swords as he was. He had never been swayed by treasures or sex. Life was long and he had seen and done it all. These days, he often felt like there was nothing left to do. That there was nothing left to surprise him, to tantalize him, to challenge him.
Yet here he was. All within the same short frame of time, his life had been twisted around on itself. Expectations were exceeded. First came Zoro with his ridiculous three swords and recklessness, but his obvious potential. Someone who had given Mihawk a glimmer of anticipation and hope.
Then came Koby. Koby gave him things that Mihawk didn't realize he wanted or cared about. He had never chased sex the way others had, but there was an allure to Koby that caught him off guard just as much as Zoro had, just in a different realm. Koby who would lose immediately in a fight to Mihawk smiled and laughed with him in bed. Koby had his strict moral code and disdain for pirates and men like Mihawk.
Yes, Mihawk knew this would never last. Not when people like Luffy existed who would guide Koby's heart at the end of the day. Even if Mihawk could make Koby's toes curl and his thighs quiver, Mihawk wasn't the sort of person Koby would keep his eyes on for long. It was an arrangement. A temporary agreement until Koby could figure out another way to survive in this world.
No one from home trusted Mihawk, and they were right to distrust. It was nothing about deserve. Mihawk did not believe in such things. He believed in rationality and logic. The others would continue to distrust him. For now, it would be enough that Zoro had agreed to train with him. It was enough that Koby agreed to sleep with him.
Mihawk closes his eyes to soak in the sensation of Koby sliding against him. He had fallen silent, but more out of distrust for himself. He felt like he was on the brink of saying something absurd or losing control embarrassingly fast.
Once he felt a bit more in charge, he opened his eyes back up.)
You are such an unexpected delight. (Okay, see, now, that's not at all what he had wanted to say, damn it.)
put that tag in the moma tbqh
Good. [It's soft, heated -- it's praise. This thing between them makes no sense to anyone else, because they can't conceive why Dracule Mihawk, the warlord of the seas, the greatest swordsman of the age, would possibly find anything valuable in sharing the bed of a green, untested, scrawny little marine cadet. And when he thinks about it like that, Koby can't argue. He doesn't understand it either. Mihawk could have anyone with him right now.
But he doesn't. He has Koby, trembling and breathless, cupping Mihawk's face and leaning in for another kiss, this one deeper, messy, hungry. He has Koby in his lap, spread out and shivering and grinding against his cock, shifting his hips and gasping into his mouth at the teasing nudge to his clit. He's here. He's real and he's here, and Koby is --
-- closing his eyes, resting his forehead against Mihawk's, trying to catch his breath. It's just endorphins, just chemicals in his brain, his body, betraying him. Making him feel things, with that raw, open-hearted honesty the world hasn't beaten out of him yet. Making him think that maybe, maybe...he can have this. Maybe this won't disappear.
Maybe Koby's allowed to hold onto one damn thing in his entire life, and maybe, god damn it, he wants it to be this.
At least it's not abnormal for Koby to get teary in bed. That way when he opens his eyes and they're bright and wet, it won't seem out of place. He exhales, rising up on his knees again, then reaching back once more. He can think about things later, when he's alone. Right now he doesn't want to waste a single second.] Your turn. [One hand curls around Mihawk's cock, guiding the head to slide through the soaked mess of his cunt, teasing up and down, slowly. Koby leans forward, kisses the corner of Mihawk's mouth, breathes against his lips:] Beg.
Re: put that tag in the moma tbqh
He kisses back like a man who has gone days without food or water. Desperation slipped between their tongues. It's difficult to not grab his face, not touch, but he complies to Koby's original command of don't move.
He opens his eyes to Koby's wet eyes, and a fierce part of him wants to kiss Koby tenderly, as he finds himself wanting to do with increasing frequency lately. It's on the tip of his tongue to suggest that he take back over, that he hold Koby and fuck him slow.
But Koby gathers himself. More than gathers himself. A breath stutters out of him as his cock is guided to Koby's cunt and it may as well be the goddamn holy land for the way Mihawk tenses up in anticipation. What he doesn't expect is for Koby to tell Mihawk to beg. It makes his brain pop off a bit, his gaze vacant, because frankly, literally no one alive has ever told Mihawk to beg or anything like it.
It's absurd. It's ridiculous and borderline suicidal to tell a man with such pride and prestige to beg for the likes of a lowly marine cadet.
But this isn't just some man and this isn't just some cadet.
This is Mihawk and Koby. Koby who, Mihawk realizes, could possibly get Mihawk to agree to just about anything when the delicious swell of his cunt is grinding against his cock like that.
Perhaps for a night, he can put his ego aside after all.)
...Please. (His voice comes out quiet and almost awkward. Mihawk doesn't know if he has ever said 'please' in any semblance of sincerity. Sarcasm was part of his native tongue but today, it was absent entirely. He lets out another breath, shakier.)
...Please...Take me.
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There's another one of those smiles, warm and fond and proud, there's Koby's hand at the side of Mihawk's face for a moment longer, thumbing the corner of his mouth before moving back to brace himself. His fingers spread wide on Mihawk's chest, over his heart, claws digging in just slightly as he obeys, as he sinks down onto the warlord's cock in one fluid, smooth motion.
And then they dig in a little more, because the angle, the depth is entirely new, getting a shaky, shuddery breath that feels like it comes right from Koby's soul. He has to stay still for a moment, adjusting, heart pounding, thighs shivering, cunt throbbing around Mihawk. He'd had all these ideas about teasing more, about riding the pirate to completion in full, smug control of the entire situation -- and maybe, someday, he will.
But right now, trembling, teary, leaving scratches down Mihawk's chest, Koby lifts his eyes again and pleads, softly:] Touch me. [Having the power isn't worth not having those hands on him, guiding, prompting, caressing. Koby shifts his hips, whines high and shaky in his throat.] Please.
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The little tremors inside of Koby are dizzying.
The moment Koby gives him permission to move, Mihawk doesn't hesitate. He surges upward and his hands immediately go to Koby's face. He brings their mouths together in one of those desperate kisses, tongues sliding together until their tastes merge. Then he moves to wrap his arms around Koby, holding him tight, shifting around on the bed until his back is against the headrest.
He slides his hands down to the lovely dip in Koby's lower back before he grabs his hips. With little effort, he pulls Koby up, just a few inches, before slamming him back down onto his cock. Koby might not need the help or the guidance, but there was something erotic about maneuvering him like this. Especially after Koby's cute little attempt at control.
Plus it was a reassurance that he would always, always take care of Koby.)
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Then those hands are sliding down his back, lighting every nerve ending on fire, gripping his hips and lifting him like he weighs nothing. The loss of Mihawk's cock inside him gets an annoyed whimpering sound, which pitches up suddenly into an almost-scream when it's suddenly driven back in, to the hilt. It's so much, so deep, the angle punishing and amazing and overwhelming.
Koby leans back a bit, expression stunned and delighted, clearly completely in awe of the new feeling. Sometimes his inexperience shows, the reminder that every time they try something new, it's the first time. Still shivering, breathless, Koby manages a shaky smile, eyes bright and hungry.] D-Do that again.
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Anything you want.
(Which he means more sincerely than he even knew. But he's not thinking about that right now. Right now, he's focused on lifting Koby back up and slamming him back down. Up, down, up, down. He moves his hips up to make the impact all that more prominent when he pulls Koby down. It doesn't take long before he's fucking Koby hard and fast, using him not too unlike a full-bodied toy. It's almost relentless, his grip bruisingly tight on Koby's hips, no doubt leaving marks that would last for some time.)
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Specifically, not having it with Mihawk. Another thing to think about later.
Right now he just focuses on hooking his arms around Mihawk's neck, claws dug into his back, leaving more scratches -- he's never left this many before, that's either going to be annoying or something Mihawk likes. Koby definitely likes the marks, the patchwork of them across his throat, the handprints over his hips, anything that helps him feel Mihawk when he's not there.
It's building too fast, prompted by Koby's own teasing, the new position, the way Mihawk can thrust up relentlessly and punishing and so, so deep. It's almost a disappointment when Koby's soft, pleading moans rise up into a choked-off gasping sound, when he comes hard, burying his face against Mihawk's neck and shuddering around him. Because that means it's almost over. He's almost gone.
It comes out soft, possibly inaudible against Mihawk's throat, possibly lost in the sound of the warlord's own climax whenever it comes:] Stay.
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That and railing Koby so hard he would feel him for a long while after.
The scratches make his skin crawl pleasantly. Normally any mark on a swordsman's back was an insult, but these marks may as well be badges of honor. Proof of a job well done. He comes soon after Koby, buckling up into him, a breathless groan easing out of him as he pumps Koby full.
He rolls his hips to milk out his orgasm, and it's only then that he realizes how hard he is holding Koby. He pants quietly, processing the command. He nods, squeezing Koby tighter. Then he leans back, pulling Koby with him which winds up with him sliding out of Koby along the way.
Once down, he grabs Koby by the face and brings their lips together. It's a slower kiss, not one to try and initiate another fucking, but just one to feel Koby.)
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When they move, there's a soft hiss of oversensitivity blended with soreness -- Koby definitely going to feel tonight for a good long while. He leans up into that kiss, breathless and shivering through the aftershocks, one hand sliding to tangle in Mihawk's hair.
And he remembers to ask again, in that hazy, warm moment, before he loses his nerve:] Stay. Just. Just for a little. Just til I'm asleep. [That's not enough, not really, it's not what Koby really wants, but he can't ask for forever, he can't ask to wake up like this, wrapped in Mihawk's arms. But maybe this much is okay. Maybe he's allowed that.
Koby leans back, eyes soft and open and full of that raw, uncomplicated wanting. He twines Mihawk's hair around his fingers, settles warm and pliant against him. Asks one more time:] Please. Stay.
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He could never say no to that look on Koby's face. He couldn't even feign disinterest. There's something softening the edges of his own face. He settles against the bed, looking back at Koby, silently memorizing the way he looked.)
I'll stay.
(He kisses Koby again, soft, brief. He had nowhere else he needed to be and nowhere else he wanted to be.)
As long as you allow.
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So he relaxes, smiling against Mihawk's lips, leaning up for a couple more of those brief, warm kisses, then settling with his head tucked under the warlord's chin. He doesn't know if it's the unusually long talk they'd had, the way he'd opened up to Mihawk, the stupid little messages filling his notebook, but whatever the reason, the man is staying. Even if it's only for an hour, he's there.
Later, Koby will recognize this moment for what it is, the looming danger of the situation coming to a head as he catches his breath in Mihawk's arms. He'll know that's when it was too late for him, when he was well and truly lost.
He'll deal with that when it comes, though. Right now he's safe, he's sore, he's exhausted and held and happy like he hasn't been in years. One hand absently traces over the claw marks he's left around Mihawk's heart -- ironic, in their way.] Thank you.