(Even though he doesn't know it yet, Mihawk could practically feel the presence of the skin. It was the scent pulling him in like the ocean, layered gorgeously with Koby's natural sweet scent. Part of him desperately wants to bury his face in Koby's neck and scent him all over. The scent obsession was a new thing and something Mihawk would have to reel in later.
He would have to reel in a lot of things later. He moves a little closer to Koby, his tail starting to swish back and forth behind him.)
Is that the smell? (Ah-) It's a nice smell.
(Then Koby is gasping in alarm and Mihawk's ears prick up. His lip curls up and a genuine snarl erupts from his throat. Until Koby mentions the blood and Mihawk relaxes.
He was really going to have to reel it in later, good lord this was humiliating.)
Oh. That. Well, Shanks arrived. (Plain and simple. He doesn't actually think the blood belonged to either of them, but now that he's thinking about it, he remembers wandering out into the woods in a bit of a funk only to come across Shanks. After that...His expression darkens a bit.)
It was an unpleasant reunion. We're both fine, but...
(He looks down at himself, slowly piecing things together.)
...I lost my temper. (Clearly.) Not entirely sure where the blood came from. It's not mine.
[Honestly Koby doesn't know whether he's more concerned or amused or exasperated -- the tail-swishing is extremely charming, in a way that he didn't really know was possible, but there's not much time to dwell on it, or on the way that Mihawk is suddenly extremely readable in every emotion. There's just the blood, the scent of it sharp and alarming, putting Koby on alert, the prey animal in him wanting to get somewhere safe. There's also a strange, ferocious protectiveness, an awareness of the power he holds now, throbbing in his chest, ready to be voiced, ready to do whatever it takes to protect them both. Koby doesn't know how, only that it's there, waiting for him to reach out and use it.
He doesn't realize that his hands are moving, touching the dried blood streaked across Mihawk's chest, matting the fur that trails up his bare stomach.] Shanks? The -- one you know? [No, Koby, some other guy named Shanks who can make Mihawk look this annoyed.] You fought? What -- why? Where? Are you sure you aren't hurt? None of that blood is yours?
[The questions come one after another, Koby's voice rising in anxiety as he imagines all the horrific potentials. There's an odd note to it, something melodic and discordant at the same time, like the crashing of waves, layered beneath and around his normal voice. There's a compulsion to the way he talks, every word laced with something hypnotic, even as Koby looks upwards with eyes that are too dark, too unlike his own and says:] Come inside, sit down.
[He doesn't mean to, he can barely understand what it is his own voice is doing, the power in it, a siren's song laced through his well-meaning fussing. Mihawk has a strong enough will that he could easily shake it off, ignore the bewitching note in Koby's voice. If he thinks to, of course.]
Yes. (Unfortunately. He sighs slowly because why they fought was...neither here nor there. There was no elegant way to tell Koby that he had been thinking about Shanks a lot lately, but not in the way one might be anxious about an ex occupying their lover's thoughts. It was rather the opposite problem one might expect if anything.)
There is no pain, darling.
(Which didn't mean anything, but Mihawk knew he had no injuries. Whatever little scrapes he had gotten while slamming through the woods and transforming back into a man had sloughed off him with the rest of the wolf's skin. He wants to soothe Koby more than anything, and is tempted to just pick him up and do exactly that.
But Koby's voice was taking shape in a way it never had before. Before, Mihawk had always been rather easily swayed by Koby, especially when he was looking right at him. He already would have done anything within his power to make Koby safe and happy. Perhaps he could resist whatever that lulling, melodic call was, but the truth was there wasn't a single part of him, subconscious or otherwise, that wanted to refuse Koby. He already wants to make Koby happy, and now, with such a direct command given in that spellbinding way, Mihawk practically transforms into an obedient beast within a matter of seconds.
He moves inside and promptly sits himself down at the kitchen table, his ears slightly pinned back, eyes wide, and there's some sort of...Desire in his face. Not necessarily sexual, but rather...One a dog might wear after it obeyed a direct command.
Did you hurt him? [That's an entirely different problem -- Koby knows that Mihawk's alliance with the Straw Hats is already a bit tentative, and the thought that this could threaten that has his stomach knotting up. That protectiveness is back, irrational and ferocious, a thing with teeth, ready to stand between the literal warlord and anything that might threaten him. Mihawk doesn't need Koby to protect him, that's absolutely ridiculous.
And yet -- that immediate obedience, this enormous beastly man following his accidental command, sitting down at the table and looking upwards with an expression that strikes close to eager... Koby can't help but want to keep that safe, by any means necessary. Right or wrong, Mihawk looking at him like that, like he's awaiting further orders stokes that fire in Koby's chest, that feral voice that snarls -- mine, you're mine, nobody else can touch you, nobody can hurt you.
Still, Koby immediately winces, apologizes:] Sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean -- I'm still figuring out how this works. [He steps inside, shutting the door against the cold, then moving over to where Mihawk sits, hands going out to smooth through his hair. It's like a compulsion, like he needs to keep touching, keep making sure that there's really no injuries, just a lot of alarming blood.
Fingers finding the warm bases of those pointed ears, Koby gently scratches his new, smaller nails through the dried blood, sighing.] You're still a mess, even if it's not your blood. I'll help clean you up, okay? [Every word is formed very carefully, concentrated to not let that siren-like command slip back in. But the gentleness in his touch, the way he nudged Mihawk's head back, prompting him to look up answers the silent question -- yes, very good.]
No. (He doesn't think so...Probably. Most likely. He didn't like to fight without a sword, but he also had a completely new set of instincts that told him otherwise.
He might not need Koby to protect him, but he has never been the sort of person anyone has ever needed or wanted to protect. For good reason, mostly, with how competent Mihawk was. However, the fact that Koby of all people felt protective, enough that even Mihawk was aware of it, was...
It was beyond charming. No, he didn't need it, but Koby wanting to provide it all the same touched something deeper than he even knew existed. He gazes at Koby, starting to calm down fully now that he knew the only threat to Koby was whatever ugly possibilities the boy was thinking about in his mind. He tips his head at the apology.)
You do not need to apologize. If I wanted to refuse you anything, I would.
(The thing was that the want simply didn't exist. Not as a man and not as a werewolf. He could not overstate enough how willing he was to let Koby do absolutely anything he wanted to him and with him. Mihawk would never call himself whipped. He was just loyal and saw no reason to tell Koby no when he wanted the same things.
Ah-.
The hand in his hair immediately gets a reaction from Mihawk. His skin crawls pleasantly and his tail is swooshing back and forth again. He pushes into the hand, his eyes squinting shut for a second. Then Koby is scratching his ears and oh. Oh that's new. He practically melts and leans forward, pressing his body against Koby's, leaning into him, one hand holding onto Koby's hip for balance.
That was amazing. Koby could do whatever he wanted right then and he didn't even need the voice to convince Mihawk of it. Mihawk looks up at him blearily, still a bit blissed by the new, strange sensation. His ears flick. He thinks for a moment to resist, some strange natural instinct to enjoy being dirty.
Thankfully, Mihawk was still Mihawk and he loathed being filthy far more than the wolf liked the idea of playing in a mess.)
I would appreciate that. (They had never bathed together, he realizes, and he moves to stand, eyes bright and focused on Koby.)
Good. [Softly, relieved, some of the tension finally ebbing away from Koby’s shoulders, leaving his serious expression. Instead it goes soft, impossibly so, hands buried in the mix of silky hair and soft fur, beginning to learn Mihawk's new anatomy.
First and foremost -- apparently scratching the bases of those silky, expressive ears is a very pleasant experience. Koby's always mentally thought of Mihawk as akin to a predatory cat of some kind, but wolf suits him even better. Deadly, majestic, but intensely loyal -- when that loyalty is earned, of course. It's also somewhat reassuring to hear that the obedience is still Mihawk's choice -- Koby had, of course, been fretting about potential enemies using newfound powers against that fierce canine loyalty.
But no. It's because it's Koby giving the order. That stokes something warm and smug in his chest, a mixture of that possessive wildness and something that's been present for weeks now. Smiling a little, hands sliding to cradle either side of Mihawk’s face, Koby ducks down to kiss him, slow and sweet. He tends not to instigate physical contact, so the gesture is even more meaningful in light of that.]
Of course. I'm really glad you're okay. [Although the compulsion is still there, absurdly, to stick like glue to Mihawk's side and make sure he stays okay. Koby's protectiveness isn't going anywhere anytime soon.
But there are more pressing matters -- Mihawk stands, and Koby moves back a bit, reaching for the bag he always carries.] First, um -- well, maybe you'll know more about this than me? [Mihawk's spent more time at sea than Koby's been alive, after all. He opens the bag and the sealskin -- which had been neatly folded moments before, he's sure -- spills out into the low firelight, almost liquid in Koby's hands. It's a soft, plush thing, pale pink with deeper blush-colored patterns, circles and spots and banding.
There's no hesitation in Koby holding it out, offering it to Mihawk -- in fact, the skin seems to have a will of it's own, moving like silky quicksilver into the man's hands, like it wants to be held, touched.]
(He could spend a century just being touched by Koby like this. It occurs to him that Koby really didn't instigate touching too often. Not that Mihawk took it personally. He had always been more forward between the two of them, and Koby's shyness could get the best of him. It was far more endearing than anything else and oftentimes fun to tease Koby about. Still.
Being kissed first was a lovely experience, especially with that tenderness that frankly made Mihawk feel like a different kind of man altogether sometimes. No wonder Koby always looked starry-eyed after a kiss like that. Mihawk looks a bit dazed himself after, looking at Koby like truly nothing else mattered.)
I am the best back home. You needn't fret so much over me. (Though he knew Koby would because that was just the type of person Koby was. It was one of his more attractive traits.
His eyes shift to that bag and when Koby pulls out the skin...
It's Mihawk's turn to feel a bristling protectiveness. His eyes gleam with it and he leans forward, reaching out to take the skin from Koby's willing hands. He had only ever heard of such a thing. Whether the tales were true or not was something else. It appeared they were true here.)
Is this...? (Yours? But he knew it was. What other seal in the world would have such pleasant, pink fur? Just holding the skin makes him feel...powerful. It makes him feel whole in a way that buried past his bone and tissue and right into whatever made him Dracule Mihawk. He had never held such an item before in all of his life. For all his love of Yoru, Yoru was a cursed blade.
This didn't feel cursed. This felt...
This made him feel like never wanted Koby to leave him ever again. Like knowing he could get his exact way if he held onto the skin, used it against Koby, that this was Koby's entire existence in his fingers, sliding like silk, softer than even the finest of silk and linen he's touched. His thumb slides over one of the magnificent spots and he is so, so captivated. A lesser man would crumble and snatch the fur away greedily.
But Mihawk wasn't so weak to such calls of greed. Koby wasn't a thing to keep. But he was someone to keep, someone to hold and protect. He raises the skin to his face, breathing it in with his new senses before he presses his mouth against it, closing his eyes.
Next to Koby, it was the most enchanting thing he had ever laid eyes on, and it cast a similar lulling spell over him as Koby's voice had earlier. He opens his eyes slowly and exhales, lowering the skin.)
Koby, you cannot let anyone else touch this. This is...(Important. He wants to keep it safe for Koby.)
I've heard a tale of a folk who could shift between seal and person. When they became a person, they shed their seal skin. The seal skin was like...their essence, I suppose, and greedy men would steal the skins away so they could make those creatures their wives. After all, these creatures were said to be gorgeous. Some of the most beautiful in the sea.
(He looks at Koby, eyes partially lidded.)
In the world, even. If someone stole this from you, they could severely hurt you. It would torment you to be apart from it. (The idea of anyone doing that to Koby, to stealing a part of Koby away from him, has Mihawk's fur bristling again.)
...If that is the case, if that's what this is...We need to keep this safe. I shouldn't even be...(Touching it. Yet...It felt right that he was. Then again, maybe that was just him being seduced by the skin into wanting to keep it, but no. He was almost positive it had to do with it just being a part of Koby that was far more vulnerable than he liked to think about.)
[Koby's about to say something wry and self-deprecating about fretting being his number one talent, and he'll use it however he pleases, including towards the greatest swordsman in the world. But then the sealskin is slipping into Mihawk's hands and the world is shifting on it's axis and the breath is stolen right from his lungs.
It feels -- strange, yes, intimate in a way that nothing else even comes close to. Koby's become slightly more accustomed to the physical connection that comes with routinely sharing Mihawk's bed, but that's very different. The man's touched his body a thousand different ways, each more thrilling and intense than the one before. But this is his soul, lying in silky, shining folds of fur across Mihawk's palms.
And it's good. It's so good, feeling like a triumph, a successful hunt, the wild thing that's taken up residence in Koby's body purring in satisfaction at the reverent way Mihawk handles the skin. He's heard a couple stories about seal shape-shifters, always portrayed as misused and manipulated into giving up their skins. There's no doubt that it's a risk -- whoever held that pink pelt in their hands would have unquestioned power over anything Koby says or does.
But giving it over willingly -- there's no sense of loss, of violation, no fear that Mihawk will suddenly curl those deadly claws into the skin and harm it. There's only that warm, humming satisfaction, filling him from head to toe, making his knees buckle and his gaze go hazy, unfocused. Mihawk's explanation gets a thoughtful, vague nod -- anything he says, anything he does is right, is good, is perfect.] Mmmhm. Seal. Sounds...about right.
[A slow, sleepy blink, those soft eyes flicking upwards, head tilting slightly, sweetly beguiled.] I like you touching it. Feels good. [Blunt, matter-of-fact. No use being coy about that undeniable fact.]
(Mihawk wished he could capture some of Koby's reactions. That little hitch of breath and the telling reaction to Mihawk directly handling his fur. It soothes something restless inside of Mihawk, something that wanted to claim and take, but something that didn't want to ruin Koby just to have him.
It would seem as though they were both granted a new way to control the other, but the difference was the absolute trust it demanded between them. The way that Mihawk wouldn't think even once about using the skin against Koby. He strokes his hand along the fur, watching Koby now instead of admiring the skin.
Those eyes. He was never going to recover from those eyes. He moves closer to Koby, reaching a free hand up to cup his cheek so that he can bring their mouths together in another slow, tender kiss.)
It does feel good. (To him too.)
Let us clean up. I don't want to get it dirty. We will keep it with us in the bathroom.
(Always near, always in sight.)
Does that sound all right? (He smirks slightly, something that now was fierce and fanged and more dangerous looking than it had any right to be.)
Or shall I put you to bed with it while I take a quick bath? (Teasing his sleepy boy.)
[The slow stroke of Mihawk's fingers over the fur makes Koby shiver all over, like he can feel it, like the caress is to his human skin instead of his seal one. When Mihawk reaches out, kisses him slow and tender, it's even better, like him just holding the skin makes each point of contact more intense, more dizzying. Koby's (traitorous, filthy) mind is already skipping ahead to all the fun ways this new connection can be utilized.
But right, bathing. He blinks hard a couple times, then scowls at the very idea that Mihawk would deny him this chance to get all soapy and wet together.] Very funny. I'm helping, I already said. [Koby huffs it, reaching out for the sealskin, which slips easily back into his hands. He drapes it over his shoulders, the pink contrasting with the orange of the overalls in a very...flourescent way.]
How big is the bath? [Not that he's thinking about getting in too. Except he is.]
I'm only saying. (Smirking wider now, allowing Koby to take his skin back without so much as a second glance. He notices Koby's outfit now that he was actually feeling more like himself, and he's immediately charmed. It doesn't take a genius to figure out where he likely got the clothing from and he feels a pulse of fondness for Nami. He really did like that girl.
He loved this part of Koby. The huffing and indignant part.)
Big enough.
(He reaches out a hand and slides his fingers through Koby's hair before grabbing onto a thick lock of hair and giving it a tug.)
Little brat.
(Said with absolute adoration. He moves away from Koby to lead him to the simple bathroom. There was a large, deep, clawed tub and while Mihawk didn't fit all that comfortably in it, it got the job done and Koby could definitely get away with joining him if he wanted to.
He gets the water running and moves about to light a few candles because hello, of course, he takes his baths with candles. He was luxurious like that. A bar of soap that smells of bergamot and musk sits on the edge of the tub. Mihawk looks down at himself, sighing.)
I should scrub this down the drain so we don't have to soak in filth. (Fully assuming Koby is going to bathe with him???)
[It says something about where they've gotten that Koby doesn't feel the need to hide his bossy, indignant side from Mihawk out of some fear of losing him over it. He knows deep and firm that something so petty would never occur to Mihawk, that he finds that part of Koby charming -- appealing, even. It's more than a little telling, that the boy feels safe enough to huff and scowl and talk back to Mihawk, too.
Even now, at that gentle tug to his hair, Koby's reaction is a sound partway between annoyance and purring, cheeks turning as pink as the sealskin.] You need to rest and I'm not going anywhere, but I'm also not getting into bed with you all dirty. So.
[The bathroom is nice, nicer than any Koby's ever seen -- the marines are very utilitarian, and while Alvida had an ostentatious powder room, he was never allowed inside it. Mihawk's is just the level of extra Koby had imagined -- candles and clawfoot and sweet, musky soaps. It makes him smile a little, secret and fond, that he'd assumed correctly about the man's tastes.
Then, all business, starting to unbuckle the overalls:] Good idea. It'll take more scrubbing to get all that blood out of your, um. Fur. But I can do that once we're in.
[A pause, face slowly going redder because he'd also assumed they'd bathe together.] If that's...I mean, I can still help with all my clothes on, if you prefer. [As if there's any situation where Mihawk prefers him dressed as opposed to naked.]
(It was more than appealing. It was arguably one of his favorite parts about Koby. The new noise of - was that purring? - only makes it infinitely better. It's just on the tip of his tongue to say that they didn't need a bed for that, but he really would get distracted by Koby if they didn't go now.
Such is the life he leads.
Mihawk was steadily working on the aesthetics of his home. He was hoping to invest in a lot of black paint and dramatic flourishings, but the bathroom was one of the main reasons he picked this cottage.
He steps into the tub, grimacing as the water begins to muddy as it goes down the drain.)
Of course. (Absently, as he sits on the edge of the tub and begins to scrub hard at his legs to get the worst of it all off.
His eyes flicker to Koby when there is that telling pause and oh...Mihawk sits up a bit straighter, head tipped.)
Koby, do you honestly ever think there is a moment in our relationship where I prefer you clothed? (Be so for real!! But...He glances appreciatively at the overalls again.) Though you do look nice in those.
(Very Cute. Cute isn't a word Mihawk uses though, so, you know. He gets back to work on rubbing himself down. Though he pauses. He's used to bathing himself and just doing it all himself. His eyes move over to Koby and he hesitates.)
Did you want to...? (Do...it all...how does one ask this? He could clean himself just fine, but...Also...Koby did want to help. Did that mean-.
Mihawk stares blankly at him. Pls help Koby no one has ever actually helped him like this before he has no clue what he's doing.)
[The compliment on the clothes is -- unexpected? But also very much hoped for, considering that Koby not-so-secretly hoped that Mihawk would appreciate the new fashionable leaf he's turned over. The pleased, flattered look on his face is completely unsubtle, even as he busies himself with carefully pulling the sealskin off his shoulders and settling it on the nearest flat surface -- within reach, safe, able to be watched.] Thank you. Nami gave me a bunch of things. [Koby, we know. You'd never have been able to put together something that cute by yourself.
Speaking of cute -- Mihawk would probably be extremely indignant that such a word is being thought about him, but that blank look is exactly that. He's so clearly out of his depth, this massive, deadly warlord-turned-apex-predator, unable to find the words to even ask for help, much less conceptualize how it'd be given. It's both adorable and incredibly sad. When was the last time someone looked at Mihawk and wanted to help him -- not because he needs it, or because he's incapable, but because they cared? Because they wanted to?
Koby's smile is a warm, affectionate thing, because as we know, helping people is his thing. He pushes the straps of the overalls off his shoulders, tugging his shirt off so it doesn't get splashed. The witch's scar is gone, replaced with a swirling, delicate mark down the center of Koby's chest.] You get in first, all the way. I'll join once you're rinsed, okay? [But he'll pull up a chair at the far end of the tub from the faucet, gesturing commandingly.] Face away, I'll get your back and your hair. [Bossy Koby is here to stay, apparently. There's no more of the siren command, but he's not afraid to dip into it, if he needs to.]
(The compliment is worth giving. It's always worth giving to Koby. Not that he would ever falsely fluff Koby's ego. Even with how much he cared about Koby, he only gave him sincere compliments or none at all. It wasn't his fault Koby was so effortlessly attractive.)
Did she now? Good. (He would have to...not thank her later, but get her something for her efforts. Especially after asking her to help Koby with the clothing situation.
There was definitely never a time when any of that ever happened. Mihawk had always been a lone wolf sort, now more literally than ever before. It wasn't even a sense of humiliation needing help. He just was unfamiliar with it. He had always taken care of himself and moved through the world on his own merit. His entire reputation was solely because he earned it alone. No mentors. No friends. No crew. No one.
Just him.
And up until very recently, he preferred it that way. He liked to think he still preferred it that way, but he would be lying if he said he hadn't grown attached to Koby. And the others.
When Koby smiles at him, his ears flick down and his tail begins to twitch traitorously. This time he notices and thinks about how to stop it. He winds up just grabbing it and sliding into the tub, not bothering to acknowledge that annoying new feature. He decides his best bet here is to not look too long at Koby. Except that literally never works, and as he settles in the water, his gaze is drawn back to his lover.)
I like these marks much better. (He opens the palm of his dominant hand to show Koby where his own had moved. He blinks at the command and hesitates. It's the first time he doesn't instantly move to follow a command from Koby.
There's something nearly deadly and contemplative in the look he gives him and it's entirely reactive. It was a strange gesture on his part, admittedly, but he rarely turned his back willingly on anyone for longer than he was comfortable with. Even at bars, he preferred his seats in the corner and tucked away. He liked to see everything at all times.
No one had ever seen his bare back, really. Even whenever they have slept together, he has faced Koby, been on top of Koby, or beneath him looking up. After all, a scar on a swordsman's back was the greatest shame. He's settled back against the tub, looking every bit as regal, even streaked in mud and dirt, and for a brief second, he almost says no. A matter of ego and some ridiculous swordsman's code or something.
But it's Koby. Koby who was trying to prove himself to Mihawk, who fit perfectly against his body and who was always vulnerable for Mihawk. There were many instances where he cared to give Koby the ability to control the situation, to say yes or no. Right then, it was Mihawk's option to say yes or no, and he could say no, could push back against a command --
His body slowly relaxes and he sighs.)
Very well.
(Slowly, he moves away, turning his back to Koby, even if it feels unnatural and stupid. He pushes that instinct down and rolls his shoulders. His back is as flawless as the rest of him, not a scar anywhere, though Koby will come to find a few beauty marks scattered about beneath the mess. Exposing his back and neck like this - well. Some might call him an idiot with how many enemies he had lined up, and how many marines he had killed.
It might be the biggest gesture of trust Mihawk has shown Koby thus far.)
[Oh, that tail. Even matted with blood and grime, Koby still has the irresistible urge to reach out and stroke his fingers through the fur, help fluff it back up to whatever majestically plush state it's meant to be. Mihawk is a fastidious man after all, it only makes sense that his newfound features be kept in impeccable condition like the rest of him.
For a moment, Koby's too busy grabbing the soap and a cloth from a stack set nearby to notice Mihawk's pause. But when he does, it clicks -- oh. Right. Swordsman. That might not be anywhere near Koby's personal area of expertise, but he's known enough swordsmen in his life to be aware that turning your back on anyone is a dangerous move. Helmeppo never shut up about it, actually, which always prompted Koby to flatly remind him that he hadn't seen Zoro in his room until it was too late.
But Mihawk hasn't become the world's greatest swordsman by being careless. Koby's noticed his caution in every situation, the way those sharp, bright eyes take in every detail, noting potential structural weaknesses and escape routes. That had been part of the reason seeing the cabin door left wide open had been so terrifying, because normally Mihawk would never.
He's more himself now, though, in control and calm and calculating. Koby's used to him that way, used to getting only as much of Mihawk as the warlord is inclined to give. Part of why this, they work is because they've been careful to only expect what the other has promised already. No demands. No excessive requests. But now, thoughtlessly, Koby's asked for a show of trust that's completely unprecedented, even for a man he's seen thoroughly undressed more times than he can count.
There's already an apology forming, Koby half-rising to move around to the side of the tub instead, when Mihawk suddenly moves, settling in the water with his back to the far end of the tub. The act is quiet, without any sort of fanfare or acknowledgement of just how much it means. But it freezes Koby in his tracks, breath catching in his throat, because he knows. He knows.
It's several moments before he can move, can do anything except stare at the smooth, unmarked expanse of Mihawk's back, the line of his spine, the muscles coated in grime. Then Koby's swallowing hard against a sudden aching thickness in his throat, eyes very bright, emotion crashing through him like a wave as he settles back in his chair.] Okay. [It's very soft, followed by one hand slowly coming out to touch the back of Mihawk's shoulder, brushing away the dirt. A shaky inhale, then Koby's leaning forward, pressing his lips to the spot, not caring if Mihawk isn't perfectly clean yet. Softly, against his skin:] Thank you.
(It's not submission in the slightest. If anything, Mihawk was more prepared than ever to swiftly assert his control back over the situation at the single notion that something was wrong. Not even necessarily with Koby, but should anything nefarious follow them into their private little bubble in this new world. It wasn't impossible, he knew, not with what has already happened here.
What it is though is trust. Something deeper too. A gesture of...That. He knew Koby wasn't a stupid boy. Far from it. He was too compassionate for his own good and wickedly observant. He knew that Koby would know what it meant. Even in the slightest way possible. He can feel the weight of that silence and has to resist the urge to whip back around and see what look was on Koby's face, to look.
He resists that urge and decides that if he is going to do this then he is going to commit to it. The soft voice and touch make Mihawk relax, his head tipping back ever so slightly. He closes his own eyes and something settles in him.
He reaches his hand back, just so that he could slide his fingers over Koby's neck, against the hair at the back of his neck.)
Only for you. (He murmurs back, just as quietly, nearly lost beneath the rushing water, but not quite. He gently squeezes the back of Koby's neck. Three times. Pulsing squeezes. He lingers just a moment before he slides his hand away and back to his lap. Something better than pride was pushing its way through him, something that made turning his back feel infinitely worth it.
If Koby could trust him with his essence, the new seal skin he had come by, then Mihawk could trust him with this too. Always.)
[It's almost a good thing that the bathroom's steadily filling up with steam, because it hides the way that Koby's tearing up, his hair-trigger emotions veering right into weepiness, per usual. He swallows hard, keeping his eyes closed for a moment, trying not to read too much into the hand at the back of his neck, the three squeezes, the amount of words he could assign to that number. Koby's known for a while what his feelings are, deep down -- since that first night Mihawk stayed with him after sex, since he fell asleep in the warlord's arms. Those emotions have just grown more and more impossible to ignore over the days since.
But this is the first time he thinks -- he lets himself think that it might be reciprocated. That Mihawk might feel the same. That this isn't just a pleasant diversion or a way to spend the time, but that Mihawk might --
love him back.
Koby squeezes his eyes shut tighter, forcing the thoughts, that word back as hard as he can. They don't have time for this, not in a world as dangerous as this. Stay in the moment, focus on the task, move his hands so his mind doesn't have time to spiral. He can think about this later, when he's alone, when he can lose himself in the what-ifs.
Straightening back up, Koby huffs out a steadying sigh, grabbing for the soap again and starting to wet, then lather up Mihawk's grimy back.] It looks like you rolled around in the mud. Do you really not remember? [There we go, when in doubt, gently mock.]
(If they were facing one another if he could see how Koby looked right now, it would be game over. It was already over, but it caution would be thrown to the wind. He somehow knew Koby was tearing up - whether it was because he could smell the salt of his tears or because he just knew him. He knew what was between them. He knew what this was. He didn't know how to say it to himself or to Koby, but in the meantime, he could make it clear.
He smiles to himself as Koby gets himself composed. It's a private fondness, something he will keep to himself just as Koby keeps his tears to himself in the moment.)
It was a bit of a blur, I'll be honest. I have new senses. The feeling of being in the body was different too. I was rather large.
(That he did remember. He remembered pushing down trees.)
I felt...Strongly.
(He isn't going to say he went insane but he went a little insane! Werewolf life be like that sometimes. He begins to scrub himself down in the front. Feeling Koby was his back was as soothing as it was strange, but it began to feel...better.)
[To be fair, assuming Koby's in tears is the right assumption a good 90% of the time. It tends to be his first reaction to most any intense emotion.
But there's no time to cry -- he process of washing Mihawk's back is much more compelling at the moment. Koby's always appreciated the other man's body (both to himself and in practice), but there's something intensely appealing about seeing the muscles he's only ever seen briefly or beneath clothes. And when they're all soapy and wet and warm beneath his hands -- well. It's plenty to keep him occupied.
Plus the incessant need to know everything is piqued by Mihawk's description of his transformation. Koby perks up, already trying to commit everything to memory. He might actually stop mid-bath to write everything down. Nerd.] New senses? Like what? Were you entirely wolf-shaped or more humanoid? I guess you probably couldn't tell, if you were busy, uh, feeling strongly.
[Then Koby huffs out a laugh, reluctantly rinsing off the soap and absently tracing from one beauty mark to another, like a private constellation just for him.] Even you're allowed to lose control sometimes. It's not some...failure of resolve, or whatever dramatic thing you're thinking.
(It was amazing how there were still parts of each other they hadn't been able to properly appreciate yet with how much time they spent in bed together. Mihawk is grateful to be getting himself clean up front although he is glaring with some distaste at the abundance of fur. He preferred his body hair to be as neatly trimmed and refined as what was on his face.)
Smells are far different. It's difficult to explain. They feel deeper and more complex. I can see easily in the dark. Hm. I could easily go from all fours to being on my hind legs. I remember grabbing things with my - hands.
(Claws, more like, or paws? Either way. They had the usual dexterity he was used to.
When Koby laughs at him and has the audacity to say all that...! Mihawk flicks his tail to splash Koby with a good amount of water.)
[Granted, it's sort of a one-way street -- Mihawk's had his mouth or hands on basically every part of Koby possible at this point. But still, there are apparently a lot of different ways to engage with said parts, because every time they're together, Mihawk still manages to make it devastatingly, wonderfully new.
The descriptions get a thoughtful nod as Koby starts carefully finger-combing the matted mix of fur at the nape of Mihawk's neck, gently coaxing the suds on his hands through the dried blood and grime.] In between, then. That's somewhat useful, still being able to use your hands. I was just a regular seal, I think. [Sleek and quick and strangely graceful in the water, comically awkward on land.
And then Mihawk is splashing him, the absolute nerve! Koby gasps indignantly, jerking back to late to keep his face and front from getting wet.] H-Hey! [Sputtering, sitting back to snatch his shirt and use it to wipe his glasses dry:] That is the biggest lie you've ever told me. You have black walls and candles everywhere.
[Slightly dried off, Koby goes back to washing Mihawk's hair, perhaps a bit rougher than before, as punishment. Even though he probably likes having his hair pulled.] Then it's good the only time it's happened, you weren't around anyone, right? Now you can prepare for next time.
(Oh that felt good. Mihawk's eyes squint shut as Koby's fingers dig in and he winds up leaning into it.)
We'll have to show each other if we can. (He didn't think he could change on command just yet - which was lowkey infuriating beyond belief. But he would like to see Koby as a seal. Especially a pink one.
One of his short, rare laughs snaps out of him at Koby's reaction to being splashed. He did so love playing with Koby like this, pulling on his pigtails right back.)
Black is an elegant color. Hardly dramatic. (He has refined taste, thank you very much. He's so smug even as Koby is a bit rougher with his hair. He likes it a bit rough so jokes on you.)
That feels lovely. (Just for added spite :D)
Just Shanks. (Who was probably fine. They've had way worse fights.)
I suppose. I should make you do some research for me on the subject.
Edited (i forgot a whole word lmao ok AND html tf) 2023-12-03 00:13 (UTC)
That might actually...be nice. I feel a little, um. Dehydrated, maybe? [Which is odd -- Koby is usually very conscientious about avoiding things like that. He knows so much about all the ways you can die at sea, and dehydration is right up there with scurvy. Maybe it's more that it's been a few hours since he was a seal, and that feels...bad.
Then Koby rolls his eyes, digging in his blunt nails against Mihawk's scalp.] You say elegant, I say dramatic. I like blue. Or white. [Like a marine uniform. Nerd.
Right, Shanks. Koby makes a mental note to follow up on that later. Mihawk didn't seem too bothered, so violence was apparently the norm for them -- not that he has room to talk, considering he'd decked Helmeppo the day they met.]
I like research, so there's no "making" about it. There have to be books about it, or people in town who've had similar changes, right? Maybe I should check in with the Straw Hats...
Interesting. (It made sense though if this was now part of Koby.) There is a creek nearby. It should be deep enough to swim in. I wonder if you'll feel better after a soak.
(Or if it had to be wild waters.
He can't seem to stop smirking. The wolf thing really was making him lose some decent control. That or he just was doing it because he knew Koby had no way of seeing it though it was certainly evident in his voice.
Violence was all too common in their world, truly.)
Most likely.
(...That probably was a good idea.)
I'll check in with Zoro. Do make sure the idiot cook is in one piece. (...) And Nami.
(He was starting to feel more himself. He turned around, finally facing Koby once again. He reached a hand up, cupping his hand against the side of his face.)
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He would have to reel in a lot of things later. He moves a little closer to Koby, his tail starting to swish back and forth behind him.)
Is that the smell? (Ah-) It's a nice smell.
(Then Koby is gasping in alarm and Mihawk's ears prick up. His lip curls up and a genuine snarl erupts from his throat. Until Koby mentions the blood and Mihawk relaxes.
He was really going to have to reel it in later, good lord this was humiliating.)
Oh. That. Well, Shanks arrived. (Plain and simple. He doesn't actually think the blood belonged to either of them, but now that he's thinking about it, he remembers wandering out into the woods in a bit of a funk only to come across Shanks. After that...His expression darkens a bit.)
It was an unpleasant reunion. We're both fine, but...
(He looks down at himself, slowly piecing things together.)
...I lost my temper. (Clearly.) Not entirely sure where the blood came from. It's not mine.
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He doesn't realize that his hands are moving, touching the dried blood streaked across Mihawk's chest, matting the fur that trails up his bare stomach.] Shanks? The -- one you know? [No, Koby, some other guy named Shanks who can make Mihawk look this annoyed.] You fought? What -- why? Where? Are you sure you aren't hurt? None of that blood is yours?
[The questions come one after another, Koby's voice rising in anxiety as he imagines all the horrific potentials. There's an odd note to it, something melodic and discordant at the same time, like the crashing of waves, layered beneath and around his normal voice. There's a compulsion to the way he talks, every word laced with something hypnotic, even as Koby looks upwards with eyes that are too dark, too unlike his own and says:] Come inside, sit down.
[He doesn't mean to, he can barely understand what it is his own voice is doing, the power in it, a siren's song laced through his well-meaning fussing. Mihawk has a strong enough will that he could easily shake it off, ignore the bewitching note in Koby's voice. If he thinks to, of course.]
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There is no pain, darling.
(Which didn't mean anything, but Mihawk knew he had no injuries. Whatever little scrapes he had gotten while slamming through the woods and transforming back into a man had sloughed off him with the rest of the wolf's skin. He wants to soothe Koby more than anything, and is tempted to just pick him up and do exactly that.
But Koby's voice was taking shape in a way it never had before. Before, Mihawk had always been rather easily swayed by Koby, especially when he was looking right at him. He already would have done anything within his power to make Koby safe and happy. Perhaps he could resist whatever that lulling, melodic call was, but the truth was there wasn't a single part of him, subconscious or otherwise, that wanted to refuse Koby. He already wants to make Koby happy, and now, with such a direct command given in that spellbinding way, Mihawk practically transforms into an obedient beast within a matter of seconds.
He moves inside and promptly sits himself down at the kitchen table, his ears slightly pinned back, eyes wide, and there's some sort of...Desire in his face. Not necessarily sexual, but rather...One a dog might wear after it obeyed a direct command.
Did he do good?)
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And yet -- that immediate obedience, this enormous beastly man following his accidental command, sitting down at the table and looking upwards with an expression that strikes close to eager... Koby can't help but want to keep that safe, by any means necessary. Right or wrong, Mihawk looking at him like that, like he's awaiting further orders stokes that fire in Koby's chest, that feral voice that snarls -- mine, you're mine, nobody else can touch you, nobody can hurt you.
Still, Koby immediately winces, apologizes:] Sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean -- I'm still figuring out how this works. [He steps inside, shutting the door against the cold, then moving over to where Mihawk sits, hands going out to smooth through his hair. It's like a compulsion, like he needs to keep touching, keep making sure that there's really no injuries, just a lot of alarming blood.
Fingers finding the warm bases of those pointed ears, Koby gently scratches his new, smaller nails through the dried blood, sighing.] You're still a mess, even if it's not your blood. I'll help clean you up, okay? [Every word is formed very carefully, concentrated to not let that siren-like command slip back in. But the gentleness in his touch, the way he nudged Mihawk's head back, prompting him to look up answers the silent question -- yes, very good.]
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He might not need Koby to protect him, but he has never been the sort of person anyone has ever needed or wanted to protect. For good reason, mostly, with how competent Mihawk was. However, the fact that Koby of all people felt protective, enough that even Mihawk was aware of it, was...
It was beyond charming. No, he didn't need it, but Koby wanting to provide it all the same touched something deeper than he even knew existed. He gazes at Koby, starting to calm down fully now that he knew the only threat to Koby was whatever ugly possibilities the boy was thinking about in his mind. He tips his head at the apology.)
You do not need to apologize. If I wanted to refuse you anything, I would.
(The thing was that the want simply didn't exist. Not as a man and not as a werewolf. He could not overstate enough how willing he was to let Koby do absolutely anything he wanted to him and with him. Mihawk would never call himself whipped. He was just loyal and saw no reason to tell Koby no when he wanted the same things.
Ah-.
The hand in his hair immediately gets a reaction from Mihawk. His skin crawls pleasantly and his tail is swooshing back and forth again. He pushes into the hand, his eyes squinting shut for a second. Then Koby is scratching his ears and oh. Oh that's new. He practically melts and leans forward, pressing his body against Koby's, leaning into him, one hand holding onto Koby's hip for balance.
That was amazing. Koby could do whatever he wanted right then and he didn't even need the voice to convince Mihawk of it. Mihawk looks up at him blearily, still a bit blissed by the new, strange sensation. His ears flick. He thinks for a moment to resist, some strange natural instinct to enjoy being dirty.
Thankfully, Mihawk was still Mihawk and he loathed being filthy far more than the wolf liked the idea of playing in a mess.)
I would appreciate that. (They had never bathed together, he realizes, and he moves to stand, eyes bright and focused on Koby.)
Thank you for coming. (For caring.)
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First and foremost -- apparently scratching the bases of those silky, expressive ears is a very pleasant experience. Koby's always mentally thought of Mihawk as akin to a predatory cat of some kind, but wolf suits him even better. Deadly, majestic, but intensely loyal -- when that loyalty is earned, of course. It's also somewhat reassuring to hear that the obedience is still Mihawk's choice -- Koby had, of course, been fretting about potential enemies using newfound powers against that fierce canine loyalty.
But no. It's because it's Koby giving the order. That stokes something warm and smug in his chest, a mixture of that possessive wildness and something that's been present for weeks now. Smiling a little, hands sliding to cradle either side of Mihawk’s face, Koby ducks down to kiss him, slow and sweet. He tends not to instigate physical contact, so the gesture is even more meaningful in light of that.]
Of course. I'm really glad you're okay. [Although the compulsion is still there, absurdly, to stick like glue to Mihawk's side and make sure he stays okay. Koby's protectiveness isn't going anywhere anytime soon.
But there are more pressing matters -- Mihawk stands, and Koby moves back a bit, reaching for the bag he always carries.] First, um -- well, maybe you'll know more about this than me? [Mihawk's spent more time at sea than Koby's been alive, after all. He opens the bag and the sealskin -- which had been neatly folded moments before, he's sure -- spills out into the low firelight, almost liquid in Koby's hands. It's a soft, plush thing, pale pink with deeper blush-colored patterns, circles and spots and banding.
There's no hesitation in Koby holding it out, offering it to Mihawk -- in fact, the skin seems to have a will of it's own, moving like silky quicksilver into the man's hands, like it wants to be held, touched.]
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Being kissed first was a lovely experience, especially with that tenderness that frankly made Mihawk feel like a different kind of man altogether sometimes. No wonder Koby always looked starry-eyed after a kiss like that. Mihawk looks a bit dazed himself after, looking at Koby like truly nothing else mattered.)
I am the best back home. You needn't fret so much over me. (Though he knew Koby would because that was just the type of person Koby was. It was one of his more attractive traits.
His eyes shift to that bag and when Koby pulls out the skin...
It's Mihawk's turn to feel a bristling protectiveness. His eyes gleam with it and he leans forward, reaching out to take the skin from Koby's willing hands. He had only ever heard of such a thing. Whether the tales were true or not was something else. It appeared they were true here.)
Is this...? (Yours? But he knew it was. What other seal in the world would have such pleasant, pink fur? Just holding the skin makes him feel...powerful. It makes him feel whole in a way that buried past his bone and tissue and right into whatever made him Dracule Mihawk. He had never held such an item before in all of his life. For all his love of Yoru, Yoru was a cursed blade.
This didn't feel cursed. This felt...
This made him feel like never wanted Koby to leave him ever again. Like knowing he could get his exact way if he held onto the skin, used it against Koby, that this was Koby's entire existence in his fingers, sliding like silk, softer than even the finest of silk and linen he's touched. His thumb slides over one of the magnificent spots and he is so, so captivated. A lesser man would crumble and snatch the fur away greedily.
But Mihawk wasn't so weak to such calls of greed. Koby wasn't a thing to keep. But he was someone to keep, someone to hold and protect. He raises the skin to his face, breathing it in with his new senses before he presses his mouth against it, closing his eyes.
Next to Koby, it was the most enchanting thing he had ever laid eyes on, and it cast a similar lulling spell over him as Koby's voice had earlier. He opens his eyes slowly and exhales, lowering the skin.)
Koby, you cannot let anyone else touch this. This is...(Important. He wants to keep it safe for Koby.)
I've heard a tale of a folk who could shift between seal and person. When they became a person, they shed their seal skin. The seal skin was like...their essence, I suppose, and greedy men would steal the skins away so they could make those creatures their wives. After all, these creatures were said to be gorgeous. Some of the most beautiful in the sea.
(He looks at Koby, eyes partially lidded.)
In the world, even. If someone stole this from you, they could severely hurt you. It would torment you to be apart from it. (The idea of anyone doing that to Koby, to stealing a part of Koby away from him, has Mihawk's fur bristling again.)
...If that is the case, if that's what this is...We need to keep this safe. I shouldn't even be...(Touching it. Yet...It felt right that he was. Then again, maybe that was just him being seduced by the skin into wanting to keep it, but no. He was almost positive it had to do with it just being a part of Koby that was far more vulnerable than he liked to think about.)
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It feels -- strange, yes, intimate in a way that nothing else even comes close to. Koby's become slightly more accustomed to the physical connection that comes with routinely sharing Mihawk's bed, but that's very different. The man's touched his body a thousand different ways, each more thrilling and intense than the one before. But this is his soul, lying in silky, shining folds of fur across Mihawk's palms.
And it's good. It's so good, feeling like a triumph, a successful hunt, the wild thing that's taken up residence in Koby's body purring in satisfaction at the reverent way Mihawk handles the skin. He's heard a couple stories about seal shape-shifters, always portrayed as misused and manipulated into giving up their skins. There's no doubt that it's a risk -- whoever held that pink pelt in their hands would have unquestioned power over anything Koby says or does.
But giving it over willingly -- there's no sense of loss, of violation, no fear that Mihawk will suddenly curl those deadly claws into the skin and harm it. There's only that warm, humming satisfaction, filling him from head to toe, making his knees buckle and his gaze go hazy, unfocused. Mihawk's explanation gets a thoughtful, vague nod -- anything he says, anything he does is right, is good, is perfect.] Mmmhm. Seal. Sounds...about right.
[A slow, sleepy blink, those soft eyes flicking upwards, head tilting slightly, sweetly beguiled.] I like you touching it. Feels good. [Blunt, matter-of-fact. No use being coy about that undeniable fact.]
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It would seem as though they were both granted a new way to control the other, but the difference was the absolute trust it demanded between them. The way that Mihawk wouldn't think even once about using the skin against Koby. He strokes his hand along the fur, watching Koby now instead of admiring the skin.
Those eyes. He was never going to recover from those eyes. He moves closer to Koby, reaching a free hand up to cup his cheek so that he can bring their mouths together in another slow, tender kiss.)
It does feel good. (To him too.)
Let us clean up. I don't want to get it dirty. We will keep it with us in the bathroom.
(Always near, always in sight.)
Does that sound all right? (He smirks slightly, something that now was fierce and fanged and more dangerous looking than it had any right to be.)
Or shall I put you to bed with it while I take a quick bath? (Teasing his sleepy boy.)
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But right, bathing. He blinks hard a couple times, then scowls at the very idea that Mihawk would deny him this chance to get all soapy and wet together.] Very funny. I'm helping, I already said. [Koby huffs it, reaching out for the sealskin, which slips easily back into his hands. He drapes it over his shoulders, the pink contrasting with the orange of the overalls in a very...flourescent way.]
How big is the bath? [Not that he's thinking about getting in too. Except he is.]
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He loved this part of Koby. The huffing and indignant part.)
Big enough.
(He reaches out a hand and slides his fingers through Koby's hair before grabbing onto a thick lock of hair and giving it a tug.)
Little brat.
(Said with absolute adoration. He moves away from Koby to lead him to the simple bathroom. There was a large, deep, clawed tub and while Mihawk didn't fit all that comfortably in it, it got the job done and Koby could definitely get away with joining him if he wanted to.
He gets the water running and moves about to light a few candles because hello, of course, he takes his baths with candles. He was luxurious like that. A bar of soap that smells of bergamot and musk sits on the edge of the tub. Mihawk looks down at himself, sighing.)
I should scrub this down the drain so we don't have to soak in filth. (Fully assuming Koby is going to bathe with him???)
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Even now, at that gentle tug to his hair, Koby's reaction is a sound partway between annoyance and purring, cheeks turning as pink as the sealskin.] You need to rest and I'm not going anywhere, but I'm also not getting into bed with you all dirty. So.
[The bathroom is nice, nicer than any Koby's ever seen -- the marines are very utilitarian, and while Alvida had an ostentatious powder room, he was never allowed inside it. Mihawk's is just the level of extra Koby had imagined -- candles and clawfoot and sweet, musky soaps. It makes him smile a little, secret and fond, that he'd assumed correctly about the man's tastes.
Then, all business, starting to unbuckle the overalls:] Good idea. It'll take more scrubbing to get all that blood out of your, um. Fur. But I can do that once we're in.
[A pause, face slowly going redder because he'd also assumed they'd bathe together.] If that's...I mean, I can still help with all my clothes on, if you prefer. [As if there's any situation where Mihawk prefers him dressed as opposed to naked.]
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Such is the life he leads.
Mihawk was steadily working on the aesthetics of his home. He was hoping to invest in a lot of black paint and dramatic flourishings, but the bathroom was one of the main reasons he picked this cottage.
He steps into the tub, grimacing as the water begins to muddy as it goes down the drain.)
Of course. (Absently, as he sits on the edge of the tub and begins to scrub hard at his legs to get the worst of it all off.
His eyes flicker to Koby when there is that telling pause and oh...Mihawk sits up a bit straighter, head tipped.)
Koby, do you honestly ever think there is a moment in our relationship where I prefer you clothed? (Be so for real!! But...He glances appreciatively at the overalls again.) Though you do look nice in those.
(Very Cute. Cute isn't a word Mihawk uses though, so, you know. He gets back to work on rubbing himself down. Though he pauses. He's used to bathing himself and just doing it all himself. His eyes move over to Koby and he hesitates.)
Did you want to...? (Do...it all...how does one ask this? He could clean himself just fine, but...Also...Koby did want to help. Did that mean-.
Mihawk stares blankly at him. Pls help Koby no one has ever actually helped him like this before he has no clue what he's doing.)
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Speaking of cute -- Mihawk would probably be extremely indignant that such a word is being thought about him, but that blank look is exactly that. He's so clearly out of his depth, this massive, deadly warlord-turned-apex-predator, unable to find the words to even ask for help, much less conceptualize how it'd be given. It's both adorable and incredibly sad. When was the last time someone looked at Mihawk and wanted to help him -- not because he needs it, or because he's incapable, but because they cared? Because they wanted to?
Koby's smile is a warm, affectionate thing, because as we know, helping people is his thing. He pushes the straps of the overalls off his shoulders, tugging his shirt off so it doesn't get splashed. The witch's scar is gone, replaced with a swirling, delicate mark down the center of Koby's chest.] You get in first, all the way. I'll join once you're rinsed, okay? [But he'll pull up a chair at the far end of the tub from the faucet, gesturing commandingly.] Face away, I'll get your back and your hair. [Bossy Koby is here to stay, apparently. There's no more of the siren command, but he's not afraid to dip into it, if he needs to.]
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Did she now? Good. (He would have to...not thank her later, but get her something for her efforts. Especially after asking her to help Koby with the clothing situation.
There was definitely never a time when any of that ever happened. Mihawk had always been a lone wolf sort, now more literally than ever before. It wasn't even a sense of humiliation needing help. He just was unfamiliar with it. He had always taken care of himself and moved through the world on his own merit. His entire reputation was solely because he earned it alone. No mentors. No friends. No crew. No one.
Just him.
And up until very recently, he preferred it that way. He liked to think he still preferred it that way, but he would be lying if he said he hadn't grown attached to Koby. And the others.
When Koby smiles at him, his ears flick down and his tail begins to twitch traitorously. This time he notices and thinks about how to stop it. He winds up just grabbing it and sliding into the tub, not bothering to acknowledge that annoying new feature. He decides his best bet here is to not look too long at Koby. Except that literally never works, and as he settles in the water, his gaze is drawn back to his lover.)
I like these marks much better. (He opens the palm of his dominant hand to show Koby where his own had moved. He blinks at the command and hesitates. It's the first time he doesn't instantly move to follow a command from Koby.
There's something nearly deadly and contemplative in the look he gives him and it's entirely reactive. It was a strange gesture on his part, admittedly, but he rarely turned his back willingly on anyone for longer than he was comfortable with. Even at bars, he preferred his seats in the corner and tucked away. He liked to see everything at all times.
No one had ever seen his bare back, really. Even whenever they have slept together, he has faced Koby, been on top of Koby, or beneath him looking up. After all, a scar on a swordsman's back was the greatest shame. He's settled back against the tub, looking every bit as regal, even streaked in mud and dirt, and for a brief second, he almost says no. A matter of ego and some ridiculous swordsman's code or something.
But it's Koby. Koby who was trying to prove himself to Mihawk, who fit perfectly against his body and who was always vulnerable for Mihawk. There were many instances where he cared to give Koby the ability to control the situation, to say yes or no. Right then, it was Mihawk's option to say yes or no, and he could say no, could push back against a command --
His body slowly relaxes and he sighs.)
Very well.
(Slowly, he moves away, turning his back to Koby, even if it feels unnatural and stupid. He pushes that instinct down and rolls his shoulders. His back is as flawless as the rest of him, not a scar anywhere, though Koby will come to find a few beauty marks scattered about beneath the mess. Exposing his back and neck like this - well. Some might call him an idiot with how many enemies he had lined up, and how many marines he had killed.
It might be the biggest gesture of trust Mihawk has shown Koby thus far.)
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For a moment, Koby's too busy grabbing the soap and a cloth from a stack set nearby to notice Mihawk's pause. But when he does, it clicks -- oh. Right. Swordsman. That might not be anywhere near Koby's personal area of expertise, but he's known enough swordsmen in his life to be aware that turning your back on anyone is a dangerous move. Helmeppo never shut up about it, actually, which always prompted Koby to flatly remind him that he hadn't seen Zoro in his room until it was too late.
But Mihawk hasn't become the world's greatest swordsman by being careless. Koby's noticed his caution in every situation, the way those sharp, bright eyes take in every detail, noting potential structural weaknesses and escape routes. That had been part of the reason seeing the cabin door left wide open had been so terrifying, because normally Mihawk would never.
He's more himself now, though, in control and calm and calculating. Koby's used to him that way, used to getting only as much of Mihawk as the warlord is inclined to give. Part of why this, they work is because they've been careful to only expect what the other has promised already. No demands. No excessive requests. But now, thoughtlessly, Koby's asked for a show of trust that's completely unprecedented, even for a man he's seen thoroughly undressed more times than he can count.
There's already an apology forming, Koby half-rising to move around to the side of the tub instead, when Mihawk suddenly moves, settling in the water with his back to the far end of the tub. The act is quiet, without any sort of fanfare or acknowledgement of just how much it means. But it freezes Koby in his tracks, breath catching in his throat, because he knows. He knows.
It's several moments before he can move, can do anything except stare at the smooth, unmarked expanse of Mihawk's back, the line of his spine, the muscles coated in grime. Then Koby's swallowing hard against a sudden aching thickness in his throat, eyes very bright, emotion crashing through him like a wave as he settles back in his chair.] Okay. [It's very soft, followed by one hand slowly coming out to touch the back of Mihawk's shoulder, brushing away the dirt. A shaky inhale, then Koby's leaning forward, pressing his lips to the spot, not caring if Mihawk isn't perfectly clean yet. Softly, against his skin:] Thank you.
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What it is though is trust. Something deeper too. A gesture of...That. He knew Koby wasn't a stupid boy. Far from it. He was too compassionate for his own good and wickedly observant. He knew that Koby would know what it meant. Even in the slightest way possible. He can feel the weight of that silence and has to resist the urge to whip back around and see what look was on Koby's face, to look.
He resists that urge and decides that if he is going to do this then he is going to commit to it. The soft voice and touch make Mihawk relax, his head tipping back ever so slightly. He closes his own eyes and something settles in him.
He reaches his hand back, just so that he could slide his fingers over Koby's neck, against the hair at the back of his neck.)
Only for you. (He murmurs back, just as quietly, nearly lost beneath the rushing water, but not quite. He gently squeezes the back of Koby's neck. Three times. Pulsing squeezes. He lingers just a moment before he slides his hand away and back to his lap. Something better than pride was pushing its way through him, something that made turning his back feel infinitely worth it.
If Koby could trust him with his essence, the new seal skin he had come by, then Mihawk could trust him with this too. Always.)
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But this is the first time he thinks -- he lets himself think that it might be reciprocated. That Mihawk might feel the same. That this isn't just a pleasant diversion or a way to spend the time, but that Mihawk might --
love him back.
Koby squeezes his eyes shut tighter, forcing the thoughts, that word back as hard as he can. They don't have time for this, not in a world as dangerous as this. Stay in the moment, focus on the task, move his hands so his mind doesn't have time to spiral. He can think about this later, when he's alone, when he can lose himself in the what-ifs.
Straightening back up, Koby huffs out a steadying sigh, grabbing for the soap again and starting to wet, then lather up Mihawk's grimy back.] It looks like you rolled around in the mud. Do you really not remember? [There we go, when in doubt, gently mock.]
ugly sobbing
He smiles to himself as Koby gets himself composed. It's a private fondness, something he will keep to himself just as Koby keeps his tears to himself in the moment.)
It was a bit of a blur, I'll be honest. I have new senses. The feeling of being in the body was different too. I was rather large.
(That he did remember. He remembered pushing down trees.)
I felt...Strongly.
(He isn't going to say he went insane but he went a little insane! Werewolf life be like that sometimes. He begins to scrub himself down in the front. Feeling Koby was his back was as soothing as it was strange, but it began to feel...better.)
It was not my best moment, I'll admit.
legit rending my garments b y e
But there's no time to cry -- he process of washing Mihawk's back is much more compelling at the moment. Koby's always appreciated the other man's body (both to himself and in practice), but there's something intensely appealing about seeing the muscles he's only ever seen briefly or beneath clothes. And when they're all soapy and wet and warm beneath his hands -- well. It's plenty to keep him occupied.
Plus the incessant need to know everything is piqued by Mihawk's description of his transformation. Koby perks up, already trying to commit everything to memory. He might actually stop mid-bath to write everything down. Nerd.] New senses? Like what? Were you entirely wolf-shaped or more humanoid? I guess you probably couldn't tell, if you were busy, uh, feeling strongly.
[Then Koby huffs out a laugh, reluctantly rinsing off the soap and absently tracing from one beauty mark to another, like a private constellation just for him.] Even you're allowed to lose control sometimes. It's not some...failure of resolve, or whatever dramatic thing you're thinking.
[Wow, called out.]
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Smells are far different. It's difficult to explain. They feel deeper and more complex. I can see easily in the dark. Hm. I could easily go from all fours to being on my hind legs. I remember grabbing things with my - hands.
(Claws, more like, or paws? Either way. They had the usual dexterity he was used to.
When Koby laughs at him and has the audacity to say all that...! Mihawk flicks his tail to splash Koby with a good amount of water.)
I have never had a dramatic thought in my life.
(He's such a loser sometimes.)
I'm dangerous without control, Koby.
(This is the skin of a killer.)
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The descriptions get a thoughtful nod as Koby starts carefully finger-combing the matted mix of fur at the nape of Mihawk's neck, gently coaxing the suds on his hands through the dried blood and grime.] In between, then. That's somewhat useful, still being able to use your hands. I was just a regular seal, I think. [Sleek and quick and strangely graceful in the water, comically awkward on land.
And then Mihawk is splashing him, the absolute nerve! Koby gasps indignantly, jerking back to late to keep his face and front from getting wet.] H-Hey! [Sputtering, sitting back to snatch his shirt and use it to wipe his glasses dry:] That is the biggest lie you've ever told me. You have black walls and candles everywhere.
[Slightly dried off, Koby goes back to washing Mihawk's hair, perhaps a bit rougher than before, as punishment. Even though he probably likes having his hair pulled.] Then it's good the only time it's happened, you weren't around anyone, right? Now you can prepare for next time.
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We'll have to show each other if we can. (He didn't think he could change on command just yet - which was lowkey infuriating beyond belief. But he would like to see Koby as a seal. Especially a pink one.
One of his short, rare laughs snaps out of him at Koby's reaction to being splashed. He did so love playing with Koby like this, pulling on his pigtails right back.)
Black is an elegant color. Hardly dramatic. (He has refined taste, thank you very much. He's so smug even as Koby is a bit rougher with his hair. He likes it a bit rough so jokes on you.)
That feels lovely. (Just for added spite :D)
Just Shanks. (Who was probably fine. They've had way worse fights.)
I suppose. I should make you do some research for me on the subject.
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Then Koby rolls his eyes, digging in his blunt nails against Mihawk's scalp.] You say elegant, I say dramatic. I like blue. Or white. [Like a marine uniform. Nerd.
Right, Shanks. Koby makes a mental note to follow up on that later. Mihawk didn't seem too bothered, so violence was apparently the norm for them -- not that he has room to talk, considering he'd decked Helmeppo the day they met.]
I like research, so there's no "making" about it. There have to be books about it, or people in town who've had similar changes, right? Maybe I should check in with the Straw Hats...
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(Or if it had to be wild waters.
He can't seem to stop smirking. The wolf thing really was making him lose some decent control. That or he just was doing it because he knew Koby had no way of seeing it though it was certainly evident in his voice.
Violence was all too common in their world, truly.)
Most likely.
(...That probably was a good idea.)
I'll check in with Zoro. Do make sure the idiot cook is in one piece. (...) And Nami.
(He was starting to feel more himself. He turned around, finally facing Koby once again. He reached a hand up, cupping his hand against the side of his face.)
Clean enough for you to get in yet?
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