Chapter Text
Break of the dawn and sluggish drops of blood on the dark sand.
"We will end it here", Mihawk speaks with finality, lowering his sword to the side.
Shanks lets a frustrated whine escape his lips. Lack of movement settles an ache into his muscles. Fatigue threatens to shake his legs from under him. Blood thrums through his body, adrenaline willing him to keep his posture.
He doesn't want to end the duel yet.
The ocean rumbles, lurching forward. The water's edge rises, licks dry sand.
He can't credibly tell blood from sweat; cannot pinpoint the place Mihawk's clever blade nicked him. But the red drops on the sand don't lie. There is no use arguing.
With a final, deep exhale, he returns his sword to its scabbard and lowers his stance. In turn, Mihawk inclines his head in what Shanks can only interpret as a pleased nod. He can't really see his expression, the other man being haloed by the rising sun. Shanks nods back, letting a friendly smile rise to his lips.
Shanks turns his back to his rival and meanders to the grassy bank, plopping down to rest. He removes his straw hat to wipe his sweaty brow and ruffle the heat off his hair. After a moment of relaxation, his pulse settles and the roar of blood calms, leaving only a pleasant ache in his limbs.
His senses calming down, he locates the injury Mihawk left on him; a small cut on his right forearm. It's shallow, barely bleeding anymore - except just enough to stain his rolled-up, white sleeve.
With a huff, Shanks brings the cut to his lips to lick off the blood.
"You're nothing but an animal", Mihawk sneers, with mock disgust - Shanks has seen him covered in blood, face wild, twisted into a manic scowl while his tongue darts to lick blood off his lips.
Mihawk takes off his jacket and folds it onto the ground as a makeshift blanket, places Yoru on the ground, and sits next to Shanks. The other man is sweaty as well, a thin sheen glistening on his brow and on his now completely exposed chest. He looks as elegant as ever - regal in the way he crosses his legs and smoothes the fabric of his trousers.
"Shouldn't you be happy? You have, once again, sent me to lick my wounds, oh, the Strongest Swordsman in the whole World."
"Oh, please, as if defeating you is a feat", Mihawk quips and makes a show of examining his nails and flicking away invisible dirt specs, as cruel and gorgeous as the morning light. His black hair, slicked back and damp at the nape, shines like the oil slick of black bird feathers.
Shanks whines, mock offended, clutches the fabric of his shirt over his heart, and falls flat on his back: "Oh, how you wound me, Hawkeyes!"
It's all worth it for the little smirk forming on Mihawk's lips. It's even more worth it when Mihawk turns his head away and takes off his hat to hide his face, the movement disguised as him simply wanting to cool his sweaty head. Shanks watches for a moment how short, dark curls cling to the back of Mihawk's neck, before turning his own gaze to the horizon, not wanting to spook and embarrass his shy friend more.
The island is pretty, if not a little bit gloomy; endless grassy hills, framed by the dark ocean and its rocky shores. He will forever prefer gorgeous summery islands with warm, silky beaches and mild, warm weather, but that doesn't mean he can't appreciate the rugged rock formations or the grassy hills, dancing in the wind and mirroring the ocean itself. The cool wind, endlessly curling the long grass, is pleasant. For a moment, he enjoys lying there, eyes towards the pale blue sky, embraced by the ebb and flow of the grass.
He is not exactly sure how long he has been away from his crew, no idea how long their battle lasted - how long it took to carve the story of their clash onto the granite. He knows they arrived yesterday afternoon, but he stopped paying attention to the time after Mihawk appeared and stole his attention. At the moment, time is just an abstract concept, a feeling of soreness in his muscles, a telling ache of tiredness.
Shanks hopes they did not end up destroying anything significant or disturbing the natural beauty of the place too much. He tilts his head and lets his eyes wander around, taking in their surroundings. The destruction they left behind during the night is now fully visible in the growing light of the dawn: deep chasms cutting through the boulders and the protruding bedrock, fissures, and cracks snaking over the disturbed rocky sand. The destruction is almost artfully contained in the area they chose as their battlefield, wavy lines in the sand marking the bounds.
He sits up fully and leans back on his hands. He lets his straw hat fall against his back, hanging from the worn tether around his neck. The grass is damp, leaving the back of his shirt moist and cold. It's nice, cooling, and soothing. The wind feels almost cold through the flowing fabric.
It'll dry in the wind before they make it back to the town - Shanks has plans to drag Mihawk with him, whether the other man likes it or not. Proudly, he feels like he has become quite good at tempting Mihawk to stay longer than the other man intends.
The island is more populated than they usually prefer for their duels. On the other side of the grasslands and moors, rests a quaint little town - friendly enough for pirates to dock and resupply freely. Even if it's not what they favor for their duels - you cannot go all out when you have to keep in mind not to startle a town full of people - but the trade offer of being able to enjoy the ample amenities the town has to offer seems like a worthy trade.
"There's a lovely inn in the town", he starts innocently, "We'll be staying here for a few more nights."
"I wish you a lovely stay, then", Mihawk answers, uncaring, head turned ahead towards the sea. But his eyes turn to him anyway, giving him an incisive stare from the corner of his eye.
"You should stay for a bit", Shanks lets his knee knock against Mihawk's, pressing them together just because he can.
"I don't think I will."
"Ah, but you should! Surely you don't want to set sail all worn out", he nudges Mihawk's knee a bit more forcefully, getting the other man to fully look at him. He knows Mihawk must be tired as well, even if the other man is ever so skillful at hiding it, sitting still and straight like a marble statue.
Shanks smiles, as charmingly as he can: "That would be foolish, right? You keep lecturing me about being gormless all the time! So surely, surely, you wouldn't set me a bad example."
"You're not a child, Red. I do not have to show you any kind of examples", Mihawk huffs, brows furrowing with ire. Shanks grins wider, teeth sharp and ready to latch onto the smallest of opportunities.
"You're not denying it would be a foolish endeavor. So, stay for a little while", he offers again, "The inn has a shower, and I'll get us breakfast - or brunch or whatever meal time it is!"
He keeps the offer light, easy to accept, knowing he can start pestering Mihawk to stay for drinks - and possibly for the night - later. Mihawk gives him a shrewd look, clearly looking for deceit. Shanks smiles, all teeth at this point, and blocks any attempts to pry. Mihawk sighs a disgruntled breath but concedes anyway.
"Fine, I'll stay for a brunch", he agrees, pointing an accusing finger at Shanks, "But only for a bit - I'm not going to stay for long."
Shanks barely resists a playful we'll see and just nods eagerly, letting Mihawk set the pace for now.
They choose the long path back to the town, walking along the scenic beach.
Shanks pulls his shoulder blades back, lets them stretch for a while before relaxing them, and moves on to stretch his arms. It's truly a lovely way to cool down post-workout.
They walk for a while in silence, enjoying the serene midmorning. The sea churns against the rocky shores, accompanied by the ever-present wailing of the seagulls. The calm atmosphere is pleasant, but Shanks feels how the silence feeds the tiredness in him, threatening to settle uncomfortably into his limbs. So he turns to look at Mihawk, walking backwards.
"It was a good spar", he starts, setting out to build up a conversation between the two of them.
"Definitely an improvement on your behalf", Mihawk hums, "Especially if we compare this to the rather pathetic first attempt."
"Oh fuck off! You don't have to keep bringing that up! It was, like, years ago", Shanks whines, not really that offended or embarrassed. Getting Mihawk to acknowledge his improvement is a high praise in itself. Even if the other man has to bring up the rather embarrassing memory of their first duel - Shanks had ended up on his ass within two minutes - so he doesn't end up seeming too nice.
"You are the one who promised me a memorable duel", Mihawk muses, ever so cruel, "So pardon me if I have trouble forgetting your pitiful first impression."
Shanks groans at that and turns to walk forward again - he is not about to trip on something and end up on his ass for the comedic effect. The last thing Mihawk needs is more material for teasing.
"You're never letting that go, are ya?"
"No", he can hear the smirk in Mihawk's voice, "Unless you give up on pestering me for duels."
"Nope, never", Shanks lilts, popping the p-sound.
He doesn't bother to correct how it's mostly Mihawk seeking him out for their duels nowadays - this is their song and dance, carefully tiptoeing the line between acquaintances and friends. Shanks, of course, would easily claim Mihawk as his friend - he would greedily claim a helluva lot more if allowed - but Mihawk is flighty. A man who revels in his solitude. Getting too familiar with him means the man will disappear for months, and tracking him down is an impossible feat, especially if he doesn't please to be found.
But Shanks doesn't mind - he likes the extra challenge. In a way, all the subtle gestures of goodwill he gets from Mihawk feel more special. Like something earned, like something rare. Something only meant for him.
They walk for a moment more, Shanks humming a shanty he cannot fully remember the words to. Mihawk stays quiet by his side. The beach narrows, and they end up walking along the tide line, the port of the town almost visible on the horizon.
Shanks stops when something colorful catches his eye on the sand.
"Oh, hey, look! Sea glass!" Shanks crouches down to pick up a piece of frosted glass. There's plenty scattered around, mostly dark green and brown pebbles, probably from beer bottles flung overboard by storms. Worthless, but pretty - surely something Uta would like to play with.
He spends a moment collecting pieces into his palm before standing to hand them over to his companion. When pale, long fingers accept his offerings, it suddenly dawns on him that he is, in fact, not loafing around with his crew and daughter.
There's no childlike wonder or joy on Mihawk's face as he turns the green piece of glass in his hand. He only looks mildly confused, probably perplexed as to why he is being presented with beach trash.
Shanks feels his face heating up, embarrassment licking hotly at his neck. He really needs to start watching himself before he accidentally baby-talks someone who is not his daughter.
"Ah, you see, I want to bring some back for Uta", Shanks rushes to explain, pulling his hat on and turning his back to Mihawk in favor of combing for more sea glass, "These are pretty - she likes that kinda stuff. And she gets a bit cranky when I leave her for a long time, so bringing a gift will prevent the waterworks."
Mihawk just hums and strolls past him. Shanks hurriedly collects the biggest pieces near his feet and rises to follow, fully expecting to see Mihawk's silhouette putting distance between them.
Instead, to his utter surprise, the other man seems to be crouched down, searching for something. For a moment, Shanks is sure he is hallucinating, because surely Dracule fucking Mihawk is not gathering sea glass for his daughter like it is a completely normal thing to do.
He just stares dumbly until Mihawk rises to his feet and tilts his head inquiringly. Shanks shakes his head in kind, a bright smile overtaking his features. Mihawk might not want to call him a friend out loud, but with a gesture so sweet, he has no doubts about where he stands with the other man.
Mihawk huffs at his smile but holds out his hand, palm full of colorful pieces of frosted glass. They're prettier than the ones Shanks found; shades of bright green and warm amber.
"Throw away the brown ones", he says, smugly tilting his palm so the sunshine catches on the colorful pieces, "I'm sure she'll like these ones better."
Shanks wants to argue for the principle of it, but ultimately, Mihawk is right. He tosses the beer bottle brown ones, and accepts the glass Mihawk found, mixing it with his dark green pieces. He spends a moment more tossing smaller, uneven pieces until he has an adequate collection, worth presenting to his daughter. He carefully pockets the sea glass, making sure the pieces end up in a pocket with a button.
"Yeah, thanks. She'll love these", he smiles wide, clapping a friendly hand on Mihawk's shoulder. He revels in the way Mihawk lets him linger.
Emboldened, he drapes himself more permanently over the other's shoulder. Mihawk pointedly stares ahead but doesn't shake him off while they start walking towards the town again.
Slouching and leaning heavily against the other man, Shanks has to look upward to see his face. He lets his eyes linger on Mihawk's side profile. Close like this, he truly looks like his namesake - like a bird of prey, something untameable and dangerous. Like something utterly gorgeous - the man is beautiful, all sharp edges and neat lines.
Yet, Shanks is allowed this close.
He wants to risk it all by lifting his fingers and trailing them down Mihawk's sharp jawline, to feel if his beard would be downy like feathers. He knows it wouldn't be.
"You know what?" he asks instead, conjuring the most charming of his smiles, "The only thing this day is missing is a good fuck!"
He knows it is not going to work long before Mihawk gives him the flattest of looks and shoves him violently off. For a moment, sharp yellow eyes pin him in a disapproving stare, but Shanks just cackles at his own schtick, unafraid and boisterous. He almost stumbles over when Mihawk kicks at his legs, petulant and vengeful.
"You can go and find yourself a whore later, Red. I have been promised a shower and a brunch", Mihawk scoffs, an eye roll almost audible.
Shanks keeps laughing. Getting the usually so well-spoken man to say something so crass is always a treat. Even if it's at the expense of his shameless flirting.
His crew may never believe him when he tries to tell them that Hawkeyes can, in fact, be funny, but at least he'll know the truth.
"Aye aye, sir"
Upon arriving in the town, he leads Mihawk towards the main street. There's an inn near the docks, modest but homey, made from red brick and dark wood. It's where Shanks left his crew before heading out with Mihawk, and it's where they plan to spend a few more leisure days.
He's lucky he can trust his crew to resupply and take care of the necessities - and his daughter - while he dallies. One could argue honing his swordsmanship is important, but it would be a complete lie to pretend that his time with Mihawk is only spent sparring - and he is keen to make sure of that. He also plans to make sure everyone else gets to relax as well before they head out on the open sea again.
It doesn't take them long to reach the inn; bright and inviting among the other shops and buildings.
"Welcome! How can I help you, gentlemen?" the lady at the desk greets them with an appealing smile. She is a mousy little thing, barely noticeable over the counter.
"My crew is staying here - the Red-Hair pirates - there should be a room waiting for me", Shanks tells her, giving her a friendly smile. Her eyes flit over his face, taking in his appearance, and for a moment, she just stares with a shrewd look. Even if it's a bit amusing, Shanks can appreciate her dedication to making sure she has the right guy.
Finding no deceit on Shanks' face, she nods and turns to pick a key from a wall-mounted key rack.
"Ah, of course. You're the captain, right?" she smiles once more, conciliating, "There's a room with one bed and a bath for you. The room number is on the key - follow the signs upstairs!"
She hands Shanks a large brass key before turning her attention towards Mihawk.
"There was only one room reserved, but we have a few more available if there's a need", she offers, polite and sweet, eyes darting thoughtfully between the two men.
"There's no need. I'll be taking my leave shortly", Mihawk answers her with a dismissive hand gesture. Shanks grins and throws his arm around Mihawk's shoulder: "He's staying with me, so no worries!"
The lady accepts the answer easily enough, giving them a polite nod. She prattles on for a moment about the amenities available, making sure her guests know the meal times before she shoos them away.
Shanks hangs onto Mihawk's shoulder while he leads them towards the room. The other man must truly be tired after their duel or in an exceptionally good mood, since he seems to accept Shanks' closeness yet again. There's joyful pride bubbling in his chest at the notion. The sea glass rattles happily in his pocket.
The room is simple, equipped with the bare necessities for a hotel room. It has a single window, letting sunlight dapple through the slits of half-drawn curtains. Shanks is pleased to note that by the door is a travel bag left for him by his crew. He picks it up and tosses it on the bed for easier access.
He sets his hat on the bedside table and kicks off his sandals. Mihawk hangs his coat and sword on a rack near the door and bends to unbuckle his boots.
"You can shower first", Shanks offers just to be a gentleman. Mihawk accepts the offer easily and disappears into the bathroom with a curt nod for a thank you.
Shanks empties his pockets, setting the sea glass on the desk before sitting down on the armchair, nestled in the corner of the room. The upholstery of the chair is a bit scratchy, embroidered full of faded flowers. But the cushion is soft, sinking Shanks into a rumpled slouch. He leans his head back and closes his eyes for a bit, only opening them when he hears the bathroom door rattle.
He is not sure if he dozes off for a moment or if Mihawk truly took a brisk shower - he would bet on the former. The room fills with humidity and the smell of soap as soon as the bathroom door opens.
Shanks blinks a bit blearily - yeah, he definitely dozed off for a moment there - before he gets up from his nap spot and starts to undress. The warm steam curling from the bathroom beckons him to get in. He strips completely and tosses his clothes into a haphazard pile on the floor.
There's an annoying grunt, and for a moment, he thinks he is going to be critiqued for leaving his laundry on the floor in a goddamn hotel room. He turns toward Mihawk, ready for a petulant argument, but it seems like the other man is only displeased with his own clothes, scrutinizing the lack of clean ones.
"You can borrow from me", Shanks offers and trots to open his travel bag, "Take whatever, there's probably enough for both of us."
He is not sure what he has in the bag - packed haphazardly a long while ago - but there should be all the essentials one could need. Even if the clothes aren't exactly to Mihawk's taste, there's probably something inoffensive enough to borrow. He fishes out a pile of underwear and socks, laying the selection on the bed.
Mihawk doesn't typically wear shirts, and Shanks is pretty sure he'll not accept any of his pants. Likely, Mihawk will only want to borrow the bare necessities. He sucks on his teeth, pensive, before picking up a loose, white shirt with buttons anyway. He flicks it, trying to straighten the wrinkles, and turns to hand it to his companion just to offer some variety.
Mihawk is very pointedly staring at a wall, lips tightly pressed together and brows furrowed.
Shanks has the gall to tilt his head in confusion before it dawns on him that he is standing there completely nude.
"Oops", he snorts, more amused than embarrassed, "You kinda forget not everyone lives on a pirate ship where you're doomed to see your mates' dicks sooner or later."
"I can tell", Mihawk's dry reply is nothing short of hilarious, drawing a mean cackle out of Shanks.
Mihawk is not as amused, rewarding Shanks with a nasty look, precisely directed at his face only. He takes pity on Mihawk and heads to the shower, saving the other from his indecency.
The shower is lovely - not the actual shower, it's old and cramped, and the shower curtain keeps sticking to his ass - the feeling of warm water on his tired muscles, warming them pleasantly and washing away the layer of sweat and grime. Shanks takes his time scrubbing himself clean, well aware he has better chances at persuading Mihawk to stay longer if he smells pleasant.
When he steps out of the shower, he's surprised to find Mihawk asleep on the bed - fully clothed, except for his coat and boots, and on the top of the bedcovers. It seems like the white shirt was acceptable, unlike the rejected pile of his shorts spread out on the bed.
As often as Mihawk criticizes Shanks’ manners, it l It looks like he has no qualms about digging through Shanks’ belongings. The travel bag lies on the floor, thoroughly shuffled and ransacked.
Shanks huffs a little, amused laugh, but quickly hushes his voice, so as not to wake up his friend. Mihawk looks way too serious even in his sleep. But at least he looks comfortable, borrowed shirt half open, neatly tucked into his trousers. The borrowed, striped socks peeking from his pant leg clash sorely with the rest of his ensemble. His dark hair is preened back, still wet from the shower.
He was right about Mihawk being dead tired - he is as well, and he isn't the one who sailed here on their own on a little dinghy. Even so, a nap before dinner sounds like a heavenly idea.
Shanks takes one pair of pants from the bed and rummages through the travel bag for the rest of his clean clothes while contemplating his options. He could lie down on the floor or use the shabby armchair in the corner. But honestly, neither of those options sounds appealing when the bed is right there. Besides, he is the one paying for the room. It is Mihawk who is being downright rude right now, using a bed he has no claim to.
Lying down next to the world's strongest swordsman without asking him first might be a suicidal idea - he might wake up to a blade on his throat - but his muscles ache, and his eyelids feel heavy. The warmth of the shower lingers on his skin, making him feel loose and relaxed. The bed seems comfortable, a temptation he might not be able to resist.
Mihawk must trust him at least a little to fall asleep like this, and he has been in a good mood today. It's unlikely he would mortally wound him for simply wanting to sleep as well.
Shanks tests the waters by laying his palm heavily on the mattress, close to Mihawk's arm. The mattress dips, and as expected, the other man instantly stirs but doesn't wake up fully.
"Hey, it's just me - go back to sleep. I'll lie next to ya for a bit, okay?" Shanks whispers, moving more of his weight onto the bed. He moves carefully as if lying next to a snake, coiled and ready to strike. But Mihawk stays put, seemingly accepting their proximity even in his sleep.
Shanks lies fully next to his friend, close to drifting off to sleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. He shuffles a little to get more space without crowding Mihawk's personal space too badly. Once satisfied, he reaches over to set his straw hat over his face to shield himself from the rogue sunrays peeking through the curtains and drowses off.