Chapter Text
Buggy had said this was a bad idea, and did anyone listen to him? No, of course not, because when it came to launching themselves head first into danger, the Roger Pirates took the gold.
As the beach exploded from cannon fire and the ground shook from the distant rumbling of a devil fruit, Buggy wondered why he even bothered being the voice of reason when it was constantly drowned out by what seemed to be an instinctual need for the Roger Pirates to endanger themselves.
The day had started out so nice as well. The sun was high in the sky, the wind favourable, and Shanks hadn’t done anything to annoy Buggy, yet. And then Gaban had spotted it on the horizon – the Moby Dick. Buggy knew instantly what lay ahead if Roger was made aware of the rival’s crew presence, and Buggy did everything to divert course. He tried to convince Roger he saw a fascinating weather formation over that way, that Buggy was certain there was some fierce Sea King just east of here, that if they kept going the other way, they would come across an island full of untold riches. Buggy came up with lie after lie in hopes of having the crew go anywhere but that towards the Moby Dick.
And then Shanks opened his big mouth, announced who lay ahead, and Roger had them head straight for the Moby Dick.
Buggy could have strangled Shanks, and would have, if he wasn’t busy trying to prepare for the inevitable fight that lay ahead.
The Moby Dick had docked on a tropical island filled with sprawling gold beaches and palm trees, the mountainous inland lush with greenery. It didn’t appear to be inhabited, which made it a great resting place for the Whitebeard Pirates, and the perfect arena for a rematch between the two crews. Roger had laid down the challenge. Newgate had happily accepted.
Which is how Buggy found himself in the middle of a battlefield, chest heavy with adrenaline and fear, his grip on his knives just a little too tight. The only thing keeping him standing was Shanks, the red-hair to his back, watching Buggy’s blind spots as he did the same for his old friend.
Somewhere to his right, Rayleigh clashed with Marco, the blue flames turning the sky hot, obscuring Buggy’s view of Roger and Newgate in the far distance. To Buggy’s left, Gaban’s axe bounced off the diamond hide of Jozu. The sound of his axe blade scraping against the unbreakable shell was grating against Buggy’s already frayed nerves. There were pops of gunfire from all directions, shouts and jeers, and the floor so unstable from Haki and Whitebeard’s devil fruit Buggy was certain the whole damn island would collapse.
“Keep your eyes forward, Buggy!” Shanks instructed.
“Don’t order me around!” Buggy snapped.
Shanks laughed, the sound so carefree it made Buggy sick. Of course Shanks would be having fun in all of this chaos.
Buggy tried to remain level-headed, despite the rumbling and heat. His grip on his knives was the only thing that could steady him, their weight a comfort, a constant he could rely on. The beat of his panicked heart settled just enough that when a Whitebeard pirate split from the pack and came for him, Buggy was ready.
The Whitebeard pirate didn’t hesitate, swinging his sword in a wide arc meant to cut Buggy’s head from his neck. Buggy felt the steel sink into his neck, followed by the pins and needles tingle that heralded his devil fruit activating and chopping him up. The blade passed through the nothingness where his neck had once been, and the Whitebeard Pirate blinked in surprise, his body still following the momentum of his crude swing. He must not have fought Buggy previously, or heard about his devil fruit.
Buggy leapt off the ground, twisting his hips to drive his right foot directly into the side of the man’s neck. The blow threw the pirate sideways and he crashed into one of his allies, the pair becoming entangled together, before stumbling towards a third pirate. She spotted their flailing and stepped aside, letting them fall to the ground.
She looked at the bodies on the floor, and tutted in disappointed. She looked to the pirate responsible for making her allies look like fools, and a wide smile pulled at her pretty face. She stepped over the bodies, her smile friendly and not blood thirsty. She even held her arms open in greeting, despite the appearance of the bloody sword in one hand.
“Buggy!” she said. “It’s been too long!”
“Whitey!” Buggy returned her warmth.
The battle temporarily forgotten, the pair sheathed their blades and moved closer to get a better look at one another. Shanks watched Buggy go, and was pulled into a brawl with another, less friendly Whitebeard Pirate.
Whitey placed her hand flat against the top of Buggy’s head, measuring his height. Buggy was now as tall as her, having sprouted up in the five years since the last Roger/Whitebeard clash.
There were other noticeable changes to the young pirate. His wiry frame had filled out into something leaner, the muscle focused on his thighs and calves. He had stopped wearing his hat, allowing his long sapphire hair to spill from a ponytail which reached the bottom of his spine. He still wore a headband, opting for ones styled with bold patterns or bright-colours. The one he wore today was purple with yellow dots.
She tugged playfully at his trousers, a pair of dark blue hakama trousers with exaggerated hip windows that exposed more skin than Roger was comfortable with. The trousers had been a gift from Oden that Buggy had modified to be more accommodating for his kicks and spins. The first time he wore them on deck, Roger had admonished him, saying they were too revealing, too distracting. Shanks argued they were perfectly fine.
“Getting bold, aren’t we?” she teased.
“I like to call it 'flashy',” he retorted.
“That would explain the makeup,” she said. “It’s good to see my lessons haven’t gone to waste.”
After the last clash, while the other pirates were licking their wounds or getting drunk, Buggy had spied Whitey applying a new coat of lipstick, using her sword to ensure a smooth application. Buggy, who had always been fascinated with makeup and hadn’t a chance to explore it further since Toki left, couldn’t help but stare. Whitey had noticed, because that woman’s eyes were as sharp as her blade, and she called Buggy over to take a closer look. Seeing the teenager’s interest, she took Buggy aside and let him get familiar with her tools. She even gave him an unopened tube of lipstick. It had been Buggy’s first, and he had purchased or stolen many since.
Right now, his lips were painted red, the ends turned up to give him an exaggerated grin. His eyeliner was dark, meant to emphasise his thick eyelashes, and he had painted blue diamonds over both eyes. He had tried flashier face patterns over the years, such as stars and dots, and nothing had felt quite right. With a little more experimentation, he was certain he’d find the formation which would make his face unforgettable.
“How old are you now, Buggy?” Whitey asked.
“I just turned twenty,” he replied.
“Twenty!” she shook her head. “You got me feeling like an old maid.”
She laughed and behind her cannon fire ripped through a patch of tropical trees. Pirates yelled out in shock, some getting caught in the blast, others managing to duck in time. The cannon ball exploded with a thunderous roar and cast the sky blood red, drawing long shadows across the ground and turning the air acrid.
Whitey didn’t flinch, acting as though the ground behind her hadn’t just erupted into fire and sand. Buggy grimaced, and tried to copy her cool.
“How have you been?” he asked. “I heard you weren’t with Whitebeard anymore?”
“Word travels fast, even with all this ocean between us,” she laughed. “It’s nothing as dramatic as that. I’ve taken some time away while I gather a crew.”
“You’re going to captain your own ship?”
She nodded proudly. “I’ll leave once I’ve got a full crew of reliable men. I’ll still be loyal to the Whitebeard Pirates, an ally in case they ever need me, but it’s time I challenge the world with my own blade. I’ve got a pretty good bunch so far. Some came from Pops’ own crew, others I picked up on my travels.” Her eyes glanced behind Buggy and her smile turned wicked. “Here comes one of them now. How about I let you get acquainted?”
Buggy should have known turning around was a bad idea. Whitey was probably the best of the Whitebeard Pirates, but she was still one of those maniacs, meaning anyone in her crew was as dangerous and unpredictable as she was. Still, he was interested to know what stray she had picked up on her travels.
Against his better judgement, Buggy turned to face the stranger, and was instantly engulfed within the shadow of a towering figure. He was huge, probably only an inch or two shorter than Roger, and just as wide and barrel-chested. His skin was tanned, his hair dark and brushed back neatly, though it had become ruffled in the fighting. He was maybe seven or ten years older than Buggy, which would make him closer to thirty than Buggy’s age.
He wore a single gold earring in one ear, the colour suggesting it was real. In his stripped black trousers and white shirt, he was dressed more like a business owner than a pirate about to engage in bloody warfare. He carried a large sword in his hand, the other empty but tense at his side, the fingers curled and adjourned in diamond-studded rings. There was a flintlock gun at his hip, the handle worn, suggesting it was an old weapon.
Buggy quickly whipped around to Whitey, finding the woman had abandoned him to charge at Rayleigh.
“Whitey, you asshole!” he yelled.
The pirate, undeterred by an enemy with his back turned, swung his sword. His movements were more precise and accurate than the other Whitebeard Pirate, which was still no good against Buggy’s devil fruit. The blade passed through Buggy’s shoulder and came through unbloodied on the other side. The man was surprised for a split second, before putting aside his sword and pulling out the gun.
Buggy squeaked and leapt back. The pirate fired. Buggy split his arm in two, the bullet passing through empty air instead of Buggy’s forearm. Smart bastard. He figured out swords were no good and switched to something with a bit more bite. Buggy can only dodge bullets for so long before he becomes exhausted, and his movements sloppy. It would only take one bullet to take him down, and this guy was quick on the trigger.
“Gods damn it!” Buggy swore.
He searched for Shanks, and failed to spot any patches of red which didn’t belong to weeping wounds or quickly spreading fire. All the smoke on the air wasn't helping either. The smoke from the exploded cannons and Marco’s fire had combined to sit thick on the air. It burned in Buggy’s lungs, and stung all his other senses. He wouldn’t find Shanks in this mess, meaning he had to face this hulking beast alone.
The man fired, aiming for the exposed flesh on Buggy’s hips. Buggy stumbled out of the way, hopping on one foot before managing to re-balance.
“Hey!” Buggy yelled. “Watch the merchandise!”
The man’s sardonic smirk had turned into a grimace. “Stop hopping around then, little clown.”
“Clown?! I’ll show you a clown!”
Anger blinding every other sense, Buggy charged at the stranger. He seemed taken aback, finger hesitating on the trigger as Buggy sheathed his knives. He clicked his heels and blades sprung out from the front of his shoes. The stranger laughed, though Buggy couldn’t tell if it was because the pirate was amused or thought the contraption ridiculous. That somehow pissed Buggy off even more.
Blades at the ready, Buggy threw himself forward. He landed on his hands and then cartwheeled forwards. The blades whistled as they cut across the air, turning Buggy into a deadly spinning blade. Usually, such a display was enough to throw his enemies off balance and allow Buggy to stick a blade or two into their shoulders or necks.
Such a trick didn’t work on the stranger.
He wasn’t thrown off by the speed of the rotating blades, able to read their trajectory with ease. He predicted exactly where the first blade would land and he caught Buggy by the ankle, which shouldn't have been possible without suffering some kind of injury. The way Buggy was grabbed, there was no way for the other pirate to have sparred his wrist, and Buggy was certain his blade cut through something, yet the stranger's hand remained attached to his body.
Buggy didn’t have time to check if his hit had been true, or if he had imagined it, as the stranger’s iron-grip meant Buggy’s cartwheel was halted mid-spin. Buggy’s body jolted from the sudden stop, but he didn’t allow the break in momentum to throw him off balance. He kept his free foot firmly planted on the ground, and pushed off on his hands, righting himself into a standing position.
Now balanced on one foot, Buggy’s captured ankle was level with the other man’s chest. Buggy’s back was straight, at least, meaning he wasn't bent over awkwardly. Still, the exaggerated position made the muscles in his thighs scream in protest. He probably should have warmed up before being dragged into battle to avoid the cramp threatening to paralyse him.
Buggy glared up at the older man, who now regarded Buggy with something like curiosity. His previous annoyance had evaporated as he held Buggy in a position the younger pirate was quickly finding a little too exposed. His groin was not quite aligned with the much taller man, but it was close enough for the pirate’s presence, and the size difference between them, difficult to ignore.
For crying out loud, Buggy’s waist wasn’t as wide as one of the other pirate’s thighs!
He was big and he had manhandled Buggy so easily, and a part of Buggy liked it, both the size and the strength. He felt the tips of his ears burn, unable to look the other man in the eye out of fear he could look into Buggy’s mind and see all of his lewd thoughts. He was too ashamed to even split up, in case it would draw attention to the display.
“Aren’t you flexible,” the man’s voice was rough and husky, tainted by a hunger Buggy had never experienced, and it made Buggy’s stomach do a little flip. “Little clown.”
That nickname, which had once sparked Buggy’s ire, now provoked a very different feeling deep inside of Buggy. It made his skin prick with heat, though maybe that was just the heat of the man’s unrelenting grip.
“Get your hands off Buggy!”
Shanks leapt from the smoke, the front of his straw hat torn, a wicked bruise forming on his left cheek. His sword was drawn, darkened with blood. In one bold stroke, he cut the man’s hand from the wrist. Buggy finally pulled free as the severed limb hit the round, and he jumped back to open up some distance between him and the stranger. Shanks joined Buggy on his right side, arm outstretched as if to shield his friend.
The man looked to his hand on the ground, hardly perturbed by the loss. Panic pricked at Buggy when he realised the man’s calm was eerily similar to Buggy’s. It was the composure of a devil fruit user who had nothing to fear from blades. Buggy and Shanks watched as the man’s wrist sparkled with golden light, and the hand rose from the floor, carried back to the rest of his body thanks to twisting grains of sand.
“Great,” Shanks muttered.
The hand fixed back into place, the pirate rotated the joint. “You’ve got some terrible timing, brat,” he said. “The clown and I were just getting acquainted.”
“Acquainted?!” Buggy squawked. “You’ve not even introduced yourself!”
The pirate knelt down onto the ground, where he placed his newly repaired hand against the sand. “How rude of me,” he mocked. “My name is Sir Crocodile. And you, little fool?”
“Buggy,” he introduced.
“Buggy,” Crocodile said the name as if he was tasting each letter.
Buggy liked that.
Shanks didn’t.
The red-haired moved into a position, a second too slow, and far too late for either pirate to realise they were currently stood on the worst battlefield for fighting a sandman. Crocodile dragged his fingers across the ground, and the sand followed his lead. It started as a wave, the ground rising and rippling at his command, and then it grew in size. The wave picked up speed and changed shape, and they realised it wasn’t a wave coming for them, but a tornado.
The sand started to spin, twisting quicker and quicker, until the wind howled viciously in Buggy and Shanks’ ears and it pulled and tugged at their bodies. The sand beneath their feet turned soft and Buggy fell at the uneven surface. He grabbed at the ground, seeking purchase, but even the sand under his nails were part of Crocodile’s arsenal. The sand refused to give him safety, and Buggy was sucked into the tornado, screaming in fear the entire time. Shanks, without a moment of hesitation, jumped in after him.
They disappeared into the sand as the sandstorm sucked in the surrounding smoke and expelled it into the sky, helping to clear the battlefield. The warring crews froze mid-battle, staring up at the towering storm that threatened to dampen even Marco’s fire. He took to the sky, where he was out of reach of the natural disaster. As the sandstorm grew more vicious, other pirates were forced to abandon their fights and find shelter.
From the other side of the battlefield, Roger’s blade met Whitebeard’s and the impact scattered sand and split the hard rock beneath it. Their Haki made the air crackle, an electric energy that was as manic as the grins on their faces. They were high off the adrenaline pumping through their blood, off the thought of besting their life-long rivals. It was a feeling that could turn deadly and level the entire battlefield, and it would have, if not for the sandstorm which interrupted them.
Roger felt the heat of the sand as the tornado grew bigger and bigger, and he pulled away from Whitebeard. He searched the battlefield for his men and spotted them cling to trees, rocks, whatever hadn’t yet been pulled into the storm to save themselves from Crocodile's rampage.
“What’s going on?” Roger cried.
“It’s Crocodile!” Whitebeard sounded more exasperated than concerned. “I told him to hold off on such big attacks. It spoils the battlefield!”
The pair leapt forward, dodging shattered pieces of wood and other debris to find Crocodile, still knelt to the ground, fingers dug deep into the sand as he focused on ending this match single-handily. Around him, Roger and Whitebeard pirates alike called out to him to ease up. Even Marco, as high up in the sky as he was, was beginning to get pulled into the vortex. Either Crocodile couldn't hear them over the roar, or he was ignoring them.
“Crocodile!” Whitebeard called. “Enough! Calm the storm!”
Crocodile finally broke from his concentration to glare at Whitebeard. He looked like he would resist the order, then Whitebeard’s grip on his weapon tightened. Crocodile grimaced and drew his hands out from the sand, deciding it wasn’t worth the fight. Crocodile maybe under Whitey’s command, but until she finally left, Crocodile was a Whitebeard Pirate. It meant when Whitebeard gave an order, Crocodile followed, even when he didn’t want to.
The storm subsided, cut from the source of its power it simply ceased to exist, vanishing as though it never had been conjured in the first place. The wind died down and dropped everything it had pulled into the air, Buggy and Shanks included.
Roger heard the familiar scream of his former apprentice and looked up to see his boys begin their increasingly quick descent from so high up in the air. Buggy’s arms were flailing madly, like a babe just learning to swim. Shanks gripped his hat with one hand and held the sword with the other, as though either could save him from the fall.
“Shanks! Buggy!” Roger sheathed his sword, and ran towards them, arms outstretched to catch them.
“Marco!” Whitebeard called and pointed to the falling bodies.
Obediently, Marco dived towards the young pirates. He reached Shanks first and caught Shanks by his shoulders. It was an inelegant catch, as Marco’s talons punctured Shanks’ flesh and the emergency stop jolted him roughly, exasperating the wound. Shanks’ expression soured and he hissed in pain, biting down the pain that boiled in his blood.
“Sorry about that,” Marco apologised. “I’ll fix you right up once we land.”
“What about Buggy?” Shanks asked between gritted teeth.
Buggy was still falling.
Unable to watch his impending doom rapid approach, Buggy had covered his eyes and wished he somehow had managed to keep his feet on the ground. At least that way he could have saved himself by hovering on the air once the wind died. Now he was either going to die, or Roger was going to catch him, which was embarrassing enough to warrant death.
The ground grew closer and closer, Roger’s yelling louder and louder, and –
Buggy was suddenly not falling.
Still a few miles from the ground, Buggy’s descent was halted by an embrace which was firm, warm and just a little sandy. Lowering his hands to confirm that, yes, he was alive, Buggy dared peer up at who had rescued him. Sir fucking Crocodile. The sandman had leapt into the air using his sand and caught the younger pirate bridal-style, the whole thing so effortless, so cool, it pissed Buggy off.
Crocodile’s sand carried him down and he landed. He let Buggy jump down, the clown’s legs wobbling like a baby fawn. Roger caught him before he could fall, his captain’s hand firm enough to keep Buggy upright as the adrenaline evaporated from Buggy’s veins.
“You okay, lad?” Roger asked.
“S-super!” Buggy lied. “I get carried off by sandstorms and thrown into the air all of the time, Cap!”
Distantly, a tree crashed to the ground, its base broken by the fighting and the wind. It felt like the bell signalling the end of the round. The two crews began to pick themselves up, climbing down from trees, unwinding their arms from one another, as they came to stand on opposite sides of the ruined battlefield in preparation for the second bout.
Roger and Whitebeard looked at their crew, battered and bruised, and still willing to fight, so long as their captain’s wanted them to. It made them proud, and such dedication, such spirit, should be rewarded.
“Alright, pack it in!” Roger said.
“Giving up, Roger?” Teach mocked.
“Put some respect on the name, boy,” Whitebeard ordered.
“Giving up, Captain Roger?” Teach repeated.
“This was a well-fought match,” Roger replied. “Best to end it on a high.”
Marco deposited Shanks gently onto the ground, the red-haired nursing his wounded shoulder. The blood had formed a bright patch, like a big poppy, exposing the damage so clear. Buggy went to check on his friend, Crocodile’s eyes watching the entire interaction.
Shanks laughed it off, despite the clear pain in his eyes. Buggy chastised him and stuck a finger into one of the open wounds, proving to the red-head he wasn’t as tough as he let on. Shanks squirmed and Buggy retracted his finger, wiping the blood on Shanks’ shirt. Buggy took Shanks’ hat, examining the damaged ends as Shanks watched anxiously. Buggy sighed, the decision to repair the hat already made.
Marco landed, his fiery winds retracting as they turned back into arms. He pulled back Shanks’ shirt and placed one hand over Shanks’ the jagged puncture marks. The flesh became warmed by a small blue flame that Shanks felt melt into the torn flesh, the flames repairing the injury. The flesh came back together, stitching neatly into place, and when Marco retracted his hand, there wasn’t even a mark. One shoulder healed, Marco moved onto the next.
“The last time we fought, our battle went on for three days,” Teach reminded his captain. “Are you telling me everyone is done after just a few hours?”
“If you’re so intent to keep fighting, then go ahead,” Whitebeard encouraged. “I’m going to find a nice spot on this beach and drink until the sun comes up.”
“Now that sound like a plan!” Roger grinned. “You got room for a few more?”
“Only if you bring your own booze,” Whitebeard retorted.
“We’ve got plenty of that, don’t worry!” Roger laughed.
The tension thoroughly dispersed, the two crews relaxed and saw to their wounded. Once Marco was done with Shanks, he attended to the worst of the bullet and stab wounds within the Whitebeard Pirates, while the Roger Pirates returned to the ship to bother Crocus. In a few hours, the injured would be taken care of, and the rival crews would come together to drink as though they hadn’t just been trying to kill one another.
It was complete madness to Buggy, and he had stopped trying to make sense of it a long time ago.
Whitebeard and Roger made arrangements to meet back at dusk, where they would prepare a bonfire and bring plenty of booze and food with them to party the night away. Crocodile and Whitey lingered by Whitebeard’s side, as Rayleigh stuck to Roger’s. Crocodile’s eyes slid to Buggy, and the clown turned away, beginning to head back to the Oro Jackson with Shanks’ hat in hand.
“Where are you going?” Shanks asked him.
“To get some rest before the bonfire,” Buggy replied. “I’ll fix your stupid hat, don’t worry.”
Shanks quickly caught up with him, “A rest sounds good! We need to be at full strength if we’re going to outdrink Marco.”
Buggy only grunted and kept his eyes focused on the ship in the distance, and not on the reptilian eyes that watched him walk away.
***
Dusk came quickly, and with it, no reprieve from the stagnant heat of the island. Buggy had hoped once the sun had set, and all of the fires had been put out, that the heat would have been tempered. Instead, the island seemed as hot, if not worse, because now he couldn’t blame it on the passion of battle.
After repairing Shanks’ hat and returning it to him, Buggy indulged in a cold shower, hoping to shake off the dampness clinging to his body. As he looked over his new bruises from the fight, he wasn’t surprised to find one on his ankle, shaped like the curve of meaty fingers. Buggy would have to thank Crocodile for that little gift.
Buggy pressed a finger to the bruise, hissing at the pain, and the surprising rush of blood that went straight to his groin. Not willing to unpack whatever the hell that meant, Buggy changed into some fresh clothes, opting for something breezy. He threw on a baggy pair of harem pants and a halter top shirt, making sure to tie his hair back. His applied a fresh coat of red lipstick and fixed the diamonds over his eyes.
He returned to the top deck, spying a bonfire being constructed below, built from the recently felled trees. Other pirates had begun to set up pits for a barbeque, and the musicians from either crew had come together to review their music sheets for the night. It was turning into a real party, and Buggy intended to enjoy it, despite how insistently his mind wandered to a certain handsome pirate and the way he bent Buggy into such a compromising position.
Buggy stomped down the plank, seeking out Shanks, knowing the red-head would have squirrelled away plenty of drink to keep them going through the night. Buggy passed by Gaban and Rayleigh flirting with Whitey. He gave her a sympathetic smile, which she returned. He spied Whitebeard and Roger already three mugs in, the pair arguing over who had actually won that battle. The crowd began to thicken as the night grew darker. The bonfire was lit and the first song began, filling the warm air with foot-tapping numbers.
He finally found Shanks situated on the edge of the party. The red-head was with a few Whitebeard Pirates, such as Teach, Izou and… Sir Crocodile. Damn it. Stealing a drink from another pirate too distracted to notice, Buggy took a deep swig, and joined the group mid-conversation.
“– and this beauty I snatched from some World Noble!” Teach laughed. “Fool didn’t know what hit him! Ze ha ha!”
Teach had grown taller since Buggy had last seen him, wider and hairier too, with thick hair on his knuckles, his curls sticking out from his bandana. His nose seemed more crooked, like it had been broken, though that could have just been the natural shape. He had taken to wearing colourful rings on his hands, much like Crocodile, and in one hand he held up a ruby.
It didn’t seem to have come from a ring, the size suggesting it was a cut meant to for something larger, a broach or tiara perhaps. Buggy squinted at the ruby, trying to make out its texture and colour, and struggling with the distance between them.
Izou, meanwhile, had become even more frustratingly handsome. His dark hair had grown out, drawn back into an intricate Wano-style hairdo, with one long, wayward strand of hair curling past his face. He had painted his lips red, applied more carefully than Buggy, giving Izou an air of sophistication Buggy sorely lacked.
As Teach talked, Shanks smiled with that strained, polite type of grimace. The one that showed he was listening, though not entirely invested in the conversation. Izou seemed far more disconnected, looking out across the party to Thatch who was regaling Crocus with some tale from their journeys. Crocodile, meanwhile, had his eyes on Buggy, who promptly ignored the older man.
Shanks spied Buggy and grinned, glad for a break in the conversation.
“Hey, Bugs!” Shanks said. “You took your time. I was wondering when you was going to join us!”
“I’m fashionably late,” Buggy replied. “We showing off our spoils?”
“Teach is,” Izou corrected. “It’s all he’s done since we pillaged that luxury liner.”
Teach didn’t seem discouraged by the lack of enthusiasm from his captured audience. He strutted past them to present the ruby to Buggy. There was a glint in Teach’s eye, one Buggy recognised. It was the look of a man wanting to impress, the same way a guy ordered a drink for the pretty girl at the bar in hope it would persuade her to scoot her chair closer to his.
“You’ve always had an eye for treasure,” Teach said. “More than these idiots.”
“Hey,” Shanks protested weakly.
“You’ll appreciate it,” Teach continued, ignoring Shanks.
He offered the jewel to Buggy, not to keep, but to appraise, to prove that this pretty rock was worth all the chatter about it.
Buggy took the ruby between his thumb and index finger, turning it back and forth. The darkness was making it hard to get a good read on it. He searched for a better light and was provided with a gold-plated lighter. Buggy blinked in surprised, looking from the lighter to Crocodile. The sandman said nothing, only gave Buggy that sardonic smirk.
Crocodile flipped the lighter open, sparking a small flame. Buggy held the ruby over the light, studying it with such seriousness even Izou was drawn in. The group watched as Buggy turned the jewel over, staring deep into the light reflected through the flame. After several long seconds, in which Teach became increasingly more nervous, Buggy scoffed.
He tossed the ruby back at Teach. He fumbled and nearly dropped it to the ground. Managing to grab hold, he glared at Buggy accusingly.
“It’s fake,” Buggy concluded.
“What?” Teach gasped. “No way! I pulled this off some rich bastard! You telling me that guy was duped?”
“Uh, yeah,” Buggy said. “Even rich assholes get tricked.”
Teach blustered, prepared to fight for the authenticity of his rock, when Crocodile interrupted him with the sharp snap of his lighter sealing shut.
“How can you tell?” Crocodile asked Buggy.
“The colour is dull and it’s scratched,” Buggy explained. “Real rubies have a richer colour, and they don’t scratch. Whatever Teach’s got is pretty, but it’s probably coloured glass.”
Teach examined the ruby again, tutting when he spied the scratches Buggy had so easily discovered. He threw it in Shanks’ lap and stormed off.
“Thank you,” Izou sighed. “Hopefully he’ll shut up about those stupid jewels now.”
“The others might be real,” Buggy offered. “Send them my way and I’ll give them the Buggy seal of approval.”
“I know you’ve got eyes like a magpie,” Izou said. “You’d lie to keep the most precious ones.”
“Me? Lie? Never!” Buggy laughed.
Shanks stood, pocketing the pretty cut of glass, and he grabbed Buggy’s arm. “Let’s dance, Bugs!” he said.
“I just got here!” Buggy argued.
“Go and have fun,” Izou urged. “It’s a long night. We’ll likely run into one another before the party’s over.”
Shanks pulled Buggy back into the throng, not sparing the young clown a chance to complain. Before long, both Izou and Crocodile were out of sight, and Buggy’s ears were ringing with the sound of strings and harmony, the sand beneath his feet rumbling from the dancing and thrashing bodies. Buggy finished his drink and then took both of Shanks’ hands to spin and twist to a jaunty, upbeat tunes.
In between songs, they refilled their mugs and drunk more, jumping back onto the makeshift dance floor once they were invigorated by the alcohol. More bodies joined the dancing, and Buggy and Shanks separated to take on new dancing partners. Shanks got wrapped up in Roger’s arms and spun around, just like when he was a boy. Buggy was forced to go along with Gaban’s poor attempt at a tango. Shanks stepped over Marco’s feet, while Buggy and Izou showed up the entire party with their neat, precise waltz.
The heat on the air grew heavier, Buggy could feel it sticking to his skin. He was glad he had chosen an open-back shirt, even if he could feel the lingering gazes from certain Whitebeard Pirates. He ignored them and carried on dancing, aware that a few of the older Roger Pirates were now keeping a closer eye on the men who came near Buggy.
The musicians switched to a song with more drums and bells, the type of song that made Buggy want to stamp his feet and whip his ponytail around. It wasn’t exactly a slow dance, which begged the question of why Teach thought it was a good idea to slide his hand across the naked flesh of Buggy’s lower back and hold him there.
Teach still had that sour look on his face, even as he swayed awkwardly back and forth. Buggy clicked his tongue, but didn’t break away yet, as much as he wanted to. He wasn’t going to cause a scene, not at a party between two of the most powerful pirate crews across the Four Blues. Buggy wasn’t stupid, even if he was very uncomfortable with how low Teach’s hand was sneaking.
“Wrong tempo, Teach,” Buggy chastised.
“I’m not angry about the ruby, you know,” Teach ignored Buggy entirely.
“Could have fooled me,” Buggy said.
“You just… surprised me,” Teach admitted. “I’ve not seen you in five years and you show up looking like this and acting like that.”
Buggy stopped swaying, a scowl pulling at his brow. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Don’t make me say it,” Teach grumbled and his hand slipped lower.
Buggy split apart, splintering into dozens of pieces which flitted out of Teach’s hold and reformed behind him. Surprised, Teach turned in time to see Buggy begin to storm off, and he snatched at Buggy’s wrist. Buggy chopped his hand, freeing himself from Teach’s hold. Panicking that he had fumbled this, and not knowing what else to grab onto, Teach snatched Buggy by his ponytail.
“Gack!” Buggy’s head snapped back far enough his head almost popped off. His torso spun, separate from the rest of his body, and he slapped Teach’s hand away. “Back off!”
Teach shook his hand, as if to shake off the sting of rejection. He gritted his teeth, torn between accepting he had fucked this up and pushing forward in hopes of recovering. The decision was taken out of his hand, as Gol. D Roger blocked the path between Teach and Buggy. Roger’s face was eerily calm, a sea hiding a raging whirlpool beneath the still waters.
“I think you should sit down,” Roger advised. “Clear your head, before I cut it from your body.”
Teach balked at the threat. His eyes darted about the party, hoping to find a fellow crewmate to aid him. He saw Marco and Thatch, who looked back with disappointment. He continued his search, and found Whitebeard. He sighed in frustration at the actions of his foolish son, and made no move to help. Seeing no one would step in to save him, Teach backed down.
Roger made sure the boy retreated to the other side of the beach, and then turned to Buggy, or at least the spot where he was. Roger quickly spun around, trying to spot the pop of blue in the crowd, and failed to find his boy.
“It’s okay,” Rayleigh stepped over, tapping Roger lightly on the arm. “Looks like Buggy needs a break, too.”
Roger quietly thanked Rayleigh and returned to his previous spot besides Whitebeard. Their conversation resumed, though it was noticeably more stilted than before the unpleasant interruption. Whitebeard wanted to apologise for his son’s actions. Roger wished to check-up on Buggy. In the end, they did neither of these.
Whitebeard knew that while Roger would appreciate an apology, it meant little coming from someone other than the perpetrator. Meanwhile, Whitebeard could give Roger all the assurance that Buggy would be fine, that he’d bounce back once his head cooled down, but he understood better than most how deep a father’s worry ran for his child.
Instead, the pair drunk and kept swapping stories of their adventures over the last five years. Whitebeard made sure to keep a close eye on Teach, and Roger promised himself to have a talk with Buggy later on.
***
Buggy had slipped out from the crowd and made for the shoreline, following it until the sound of the lapping waves drowned out the music and the hum of voices. And then he followed it further, until the light of the bonfire was just a blip on the horizon. He stopped and stared out at the sea, stood beyond the reach of the rolling waves, but not their smell or cool breeze.
He took a deep breath, holding the scent of the sea in his lungs, refusing to let it go until he had no other choice. He exhaled slowly and felt some of the tension leave his body, even if Teach’s touch still lingered on his skin.
“Dickhead,” he grumbled.
“I hope you’re not talking about me,” purred a deep voice.
Buggy flinched so hard his head flew into the air, where he got a good look at Crocodile. The older man was sat beneath the shade of the nearby trees, a mug in one hand, a panatela between his clenched teeth. He took a deep drag as Buggy pieced himself back together, pretending to not be completely embarrassed by his overreaction.
“I wasn’t talking about you,” Buggy insisted. “I was talking about – ah! Forget it! This beach is too crowded.”
Buggy began to storm off, when Crocodile called out to him, “Wait.”
Surprisingly, Buggy did.
“If you’re hiding from the party, this is the perfect place,” Crocodile said.
“Aw, don’t tell me you’re lonely,” Buggy teased.
Crocodile actually cracked a smile. “I could do with the company. Your choice.”
Buggy glanced back to the party, knowing the moment he returned he would have to deal with sympathetic smiles and eyes, the assurance he did nothing wrong and that everyone was looking out for him. Buggy wanted people to protect him, but he didn’t want to be babied.
If Shanks had been in his position, Roger wouldn’t have stepped in. He would have trusted Shanks to handle the situation and clapped Shanks on the shoulder after, telling the young pirate he did a good job. That never happened with Buggy. Roger was always worried about Buggy, even when he knew the clown could handle himself.
Maybe some time away from the bonfire, away from their pity, would be a good thing.
Buggy took a seat beside Crocodile, the gap between them big enough to be filled by another person. Crocodile didn’t seem offended. He blew out a ring of smoke and offered Buggy a sip of his drink. Buggy took him up on the offer, wincing at the bitter aftertaste of the alcohol.
They stared out into the sea, trading the mug between them. Buggy took a hit of Crocodile’s panatela, which he promptly chocked on. Crocodile laughed and stubbed the remains of it into the sand, using his powers to throw a lump of sand on top, just to be sure the flame was dead.
While the silence was nice, Buggy had never been able to sit in it for too long. “Do you miss it?” he asked. “The sea, I mean.”
Crocodile turned to him, finding Buggy’s blue eyes fixed to the dark and cold ocean that seemed to bleed into the black sky. The bright starlight was reflected onto the smooth surface so clearly, like the sky and sea were one in the same.
“I miss not having to worry about showers or baths,” Crocodile replied, “and whether the waves rocking the boat will pull me under, and drown me before someone has a chance to grab me.”
“I miss swimming,” Buggy said. “I used to be good at it, too. Better than Shanks, at least.”
“You’re the only devil fruit user on the Oro Jackson?”
“We used to have another user travel with us, but only for a little while. I didn’t really get a chance to ask her about it.”
They lapsed into another silence, interrupted by the whisper of the sea meeting the shore. It was Crocodile who broke the quiet this time.
“Who was the target of your anger earlier?”
“Oh, it was Teach. It was… nothing.”
“Can’t be nothing to make you leave the party and come all the way out here.”
Buggy grunted and brought his knees up to his chest, where he rested his chin. “Your ‘brother’ is too touchy for my tastes. I told him off. It somehow made him pushier.”
Crocodile tutted, the sound genuine disgust. “He’s an idiot.”
Buggy expected Crocodile to follow up with a “Sorry about him”, and he didn’t. Not from lack of sympathy, but because he understood it would be a hollow platitude meant to keep the peace, no better than a lie. If Buggy was going to receive an apology, it needed to come from Teach, grovelling on his hands and knees.
“Speaking of Teach,” Crocodile flexed the fingers on his right hand and extended it towards Buggy. “Tell me, are any of these fake?”
“You really want to know?”
“Indulge me.”
Buggy hesitated for a second, wondering what kind of reaction Crocodile would have if any of his precious rings did carry a fake stone. Crocodile, reading his mind, turned his hand over so the palm was facing Buggy.
“I promise to not throw a tantrum like Teach.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
Buggy shuffled closer to Crocodile and took the sandman’s oversized palm in both of his. He turned Crocodile’s hand over and examined the rings, taking his time to give them the attention they deserved. Buggy noticed Crocodile didn’t wear one on his ring finger, and he wondered if it was by choice or if a bad experience had soured the thought of ever crowning that particular digit.
As Buggy moved from one finger to the other, Crocodile watched the young pirate intently. There was a slight pinch between Buggy’s brows, the right side of his mouth pulled down in what could almost be described as a grimace, and was actually an intense look of concentration. He turned Crocodile’s hand, trying to get the jewels to catch the light and see more detail.
Crocodile’s eyes wandered from the intense focus on Buggy’s face down to his neck, then his collarbone, and the exposed muscles in his arms. Crocodile marked them in his mind, before his eyes climbed back up to the cute look on Buggy’s face.
Crocodile would admit it to no one, but the clown pirate had caught him by surprise earlier. The blade in the shoe had been an ingenious move, and if Crocodile had been slower and not immune to blades, it certainly would have left an ugly cut. Then there was the highlight of the fight, Buggy’s flexibility, which had lingered in Crocodile’s mind in the hours since. He couldn’t escape the curve of Buggy’s body, and the core strength he demonstrated when he straightened his body. He did it so neatly, so swiftly, that Crocodile couldn’t help but wonder what else the clown was capable of.
Buggy’s body, his firecracker attitude, all of it fascinated Crocodile. The clown was clearly a Roger Pirate, and also not, a puzzle piece which didn’t quite fit, but had reshaped its edges to force its way in in order to be a part of the whole. A misshapen piece that would do anything to be noticed.
During their fight, Buggy’s sea blue eyes had became alight with anger, embarrassment, and then some dark, deep sense of satisfaction that his body had impressed Crocodile. Buggy knew the implications of the position, he knew he could have escaped, and he decided not to. Because in that moment, he had Crocodile’s undivided attention, and he didn’t want to let it go.
Without realising it, Buggy had exposed so much about himself. He revealed that he was quick to anger, and also desperate to please. While he might deny that his outfit choice was decided purely on the basis of fashion, Buggy needed eyes on him at all times. Be it passion or admiration, Buggy wanted to steal the spotlight and hoard it for himself, like it was a precious resource he couldn’t spare.
If Teach hadn’t been so hands-on, if he had just a little more charm, Crocodile was certain the clown would have let Teach take him somewhere quiet. There, away from prying eyes, Buggy would have shown Teach everything that flexible body was capable of. As long as it meant he became that person’s shining light, if only for a little while, Buggy would do anything.
Teach wasn’t here to let the clown indulge in such a fantasy, but Crocodile was. The clown had sparked Crocodile’s curiosity, and now his lust.
Buggy squeaked, a panicked sound he quickly tried to cover behind an uneasy smile.
“One of them is fake?” Crocodile guessed.
“I, uh…” Buggy thought to lie, then remembered Crocodile’s earlier promise.
Crocodile didn’t seem particularly upset, though he also could have an amazing poker face. He looked like the type of guy who would cheat at cards and get away with it.
Buggy pointed to the green ring on Crocodile’s pinkie.
Crocodile checked it, a snug piece with an oval-shaped emerald. Or at least, what Crocodile thought had been an emerald. He laughed, a throaty sound that erupted from low in his chest. It wasn’t angry or even frustrated sound. Crocodile was amused. When he stopped, there was a smile small on his face. Buggy thought it made him even more handsome.
“What was it you said earlier?” Crocodile said. “Even rich assholes get tricked?”
“Are you the asshole in this situation?” Buggy asked.
“Most likely,” he chuckled. He withdrew his hand from Buggy’s embrace, getting a closer look at his ring. “This was the first ring I ever stole. It fit me better when I was a brat.”
His eyes were glassy for a moment, as he recalled following the mark out from the jeweller, the ring fresh on his finger. Crocodile, barely twelve years old and already over five foot tall, grabbed the man and pinned him in an alley. Crocodile’s gun, which had been too big for his hands then, was threat enough for the man to hand over everything of value. Crocodile took his wallet, his gold chain and the ring.
Crocodile remembered sitting in his dump of an apartment, a space he shared with four other thieving youths, and holding the emerald up to the sickly lamplight. He had been mesmerised by the colours it showed him, and there was no reason for Crocodile to doubt it was anything other than the real deal.
“The owner probably didn’t know it was fake,” Buggy tried to assure him. “Or, if he did, he didn’t care. At the end of the day, it’s all about how people see you.”
Crocodile grunted in agreement, his attention still fixed to the ring.
“I feel like I’ve spoiled it for you now,” Buggy admitted. “The first thing you steal is a big deal, you know? And now it’s just costume jewellery.”
“I’d argue it’s more special. It’ll be a reminder to be more cautious about the goods I steal.” Crocodile’s eyes moved to Buggy, who was still sat so close, and was making no attempts to recreate distance between them. “Who taught you to spot fakes?”
“I sort of taught myself. Gaban and Ray knew a bit, the obvious stuff, but they couldn’t get everything right. And I thought, there’s nothing more important to a pirate than treasure! And I’d be a pretty poor one if I couldn’t spot a fake. I learnt everything I could and now our ship is full of the real stuff.”
Crocodile pointedly looked Buggy up and down. “And yet you don’t have anything on value on you, jewels or otherwise.”
“The good stuff gets divvied up,” Buggy sighed. “It goes to repairing the ship, paying for supplies, stuff like that.”
Something changed in Crocodile then, a look Buggy didn’t immediately recognise. At once, Crocodile’s lavender eyes hardened and darkened. It reminded Buggy of a Sea King’s eyes just before they struck. And while Buggy’s heart sat thick in his throat, he knew it wasn’t fear coursing through his veins.
That look in Crocodile’s eyes, as deep and suffocating as the ocean before them, was hunger.
“That’s a shame,” he said. “I think you’d look good in nothing but jewels.”
Buggy could see it so clearly. He would be dressed in rows of gold bracelets that hung from his wrist all the way up this elbow. His collar would be decorated in pearls and broaches, and his hair entwined with gold rings and chains. Peeking beneath the glimmer of gold, Buggy would be naked, flesh prickled with gooseflesh as Crocodile’s hands, large and warm, caressed the exposed areas.
Buggy’s skin felt hot, and not from the heat. From his own imagination, from the intensity of Crocodile’s eyes. Crocodile took Buggy by the chin, his thumb, coarse and warm, swiping Buggy’s bottom lip. Buggy parted his lips, hushed breath hot against Crocodile’s flesh, as he stared up at the sandman from beneath eyelashes that were criminally long and thick.
In the back of Crocodile’s mind, he knew this wasn’t a good idea. Whitebeard was fine with his crew fraternising with Roger’s, but not like this. Roger was too protective of his boys to want an older man near one of them. There was also the fear of what this relationship, however fleeting, could do to the dynamics of the two crews. If Buggy caught feelings, would he hesitate to battle Crocodile if the need ever arouse? Would Crocodile be open to selling Whitebeard’s secrets, if it meant getting to slide between Buggy’s legs?
The same apprehension was visible in Buggy’s eyes, and like Crocodile, he didn’t care for the consequences. Buggy would be stupid to turn down a man this handsome. Besides, what was a party without sex? They were here to have a good time, weren’t they? And neither were interested in the alcohol, or the stories. They wanted the bodies which had haunted them since that encounter on the battlefield, and they were certain once they had gotten it, they would be able to walk away in the morning.
Crocodile wrapped both hands around Buggy’s face, his hands large enough to meet together at the back of Buggy's head and lace the fingers together. Thumbs pressed to Buggy's cheeks, Crocodile angled his face up to bring them closer. The height difference still proved to be an obstacle, one Buggy resolved easily. He climbed into Crocodile’s lap, and then cut himself in the middle. His torso free, Buggy floated up to bring their lips closer, and yet Crocodile didn’t meet his.
Buggy whinged, a miserable, pathetic noise that made Crocodile’s cock ache.
“D-don’t tease,” Buggy said.
“I just want to check,” Crocodile said. “Have you been with a man before?”
Buggy blushed, but he didn’t look away. “Yeah.”
“A real man?” Crocodile pushed. “Not your Straw Hat friend or some brat with a few hairs on his chest.”
Buggy’s lip twitched at the mention of Shanks, and Crocodile decided to keep the red-head’s name out of his mouth going forwards. Buggy didn’t seem dissuaded though, as he wrapped his legs around Crocodile’s waist, bringing their bodies closer.
Crocodile could feel Buggy’s growing erection against his own, their clothes a barrier Crocodile was keen to remove as soon as possible. Buggy rocked his body against Crocodile, just the once, just a tease of what will come next. Crocodile bit back the hiss of pleasure, even if Buggy saw it pass over his face. Crocodile released Buggy’s face and grabbed his ass, squeezing the clown’s round rump tightly.
Buggy pressed his lips to Crocodile’s ear. “I’ve had men fuck me. Not well, though. I’m starting to think sex isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“That’s no good,” Crocodile smirked. “Let me show you what all the fuss is about.”
Wasting not another breath, Crocodile kissed Buggy. The clown’s inexperience instantly showed in the awkward fumbling of his lips against Crocodile’s more experienced mouth. It made Crocodile wonder if the type of men who fucked the clown weren’t so generous with their affection. It was a shame, since Buggy’s lips were full and sweet, and he didn’t let his greenness slow him down. He kept up with Crocodile, lips eagerly peeling back with a wet smack before diving back in. Buggy’s lipstick began to imprint on Crocodile, the colour staining both of their mouths.
As Buggy’s confidence grew, he introduced a little tongue. The sandman tasted of smoke, the flavour filling Buggy’s mouth. Crocodile pushed back, dominating the rhythm of their kissing, his tongue demanding as it forced Buggy’s back into his mouth. Buggy moaned, the sound nearly swallowed up by the wet exchange spit.
Crocodile, hold on Buggy’s ass still firm, began to rock the clown up and down, grinding their clothed cocks against one another. Buggy’s erection throbbed, his clothes now feeling too tight as every nerve in his body demanded he rip them off and let Crocodile fuck him on the beach. Who cares if he got sand in his crack? It would be worth it to get fucked by someone who actually knew what they were doing.
Buggy hadn’t lied when he said he had sex before. His first time had been with Shanks, and while the pair sneaked off to have sex in their bunks from time to time, it was nothing serious. Or so Buggy liked to think. They sought one another out when they were horny and the new island was too far away to wait.
Whenever they docked, they pair would usually go to the same bar in search of partners. Shanks typically had more success, while Buggy struggled to find someone willing to overlook his nose and the handsome red-head he came in with. He also wasn’t the best at flirting. He was definitely getting better, but when you looked like Buggy, you needed to work extra hard to get a second glance.
The times he did have success, it was never the experience he wanted it to be. The guys usually dragged Buggy to the alley out back and bent Buggy over, his cheek pressed against the brick, as they delivered shallow, sloppy thrusts. Buggy usually never came, and most never cared to try. At least Shanks tried. At least Shanks cared enough to make sure Buggy felt good. It’s probably why Buggy kept going back to him, despite how it made his heart break every time.
Crocodile broke away from the kiss, a stream of spit following his departing lips. He even stopped grinding their bodies together, leaving Buggy with an ache that was almost painful.
“Are you okay?” Crocodile asked.
“Yeah!” Buggy insisted.
He let his mind wander and his movements became distracted. Damn it. He didn’t want Crocodile to think he wasn’t into this. To prove he was very much interested in continuing, and to please keep those big, wonderful hands on his body, Buggy pushed Crocodile to the ground. The sandman seemed surprised by the sudden show of strength, then figured it made sense for a Roger Pirate, even one as small as Buggy, to be this strong.
Now seated firmly atop the older man, Buggy rolled his hips back and forth in slow, hard thrusts. His torso, still disconnected from his waist, hovered over Crocodile’s body. He brought their mouths together, and no closer. He wanted Crocodile to feel the hot, quick rush of breath against his lips. To taste Buggy’s moans before devouring him.
“Who taught you such a wicked trick?” Crocodile groaned.
Buggy didn’t answer. The flush had crept back to his cheek, making his nose hum faintly with light. Crocodile was distracted by the glow for only a second, before he flipped their positions, making sure to pin both halves of the clown beneath him. He grabbed Buggy’s left leg and laid it flat across his torso, the new position allowing Crocodile to arrow his groin into Buggy’s. He began to rut against Buggy with sharp, short thrusts that were a little painful, and exactly what Buggy wanted.
Buggy threw his head back, his breath hiccupping out into long, gasping moans. Crocodile grabbed Buggy’s chin, pulling his head down, not letting the clown look away from him. He kept their eyes locked, the intensity of it making pre-cum leak into Buggy’s pants. Crocodile pressed his index and middle finger against Buggy’s parted lips, his request clear. Buggy swallowed the fingers, deep-throating them as his tongue twisted around the cool metal of the rings.
Crocodile continued to thrust into Buggy, his speed increasing until Buggy’s legs were jerking from the movement. Buggy thought he could come like this, with just a little bit more speed, a little harder, and –
“Hey, Buggy!” Shanks called from the other side of the beach. “You out here?”
Crocodile stopped, his fingers still in Buggy’s mouth, both of their lips stained red. They waited and listened as Shanks’ voice grew louder, the sound of his approaching feet rumbling against the sand. Crocodile withdrew his fingers, though made no other effort to escape or untangle from the embrace.
“How long can you hold your breath for?” he asked.
“What?!” Buggy hissed. “We’ve got to hide! We –!”
“How long?” Crocodile repeated.
Shanks’ feet sounded like they were getting closer, and Crocodile was making no effort to move, meaning he had a plan. Buggy thought he might regret agreeing, but whatever Crocodile had in mind, it had to be better than getting caught in such a compromising position.
“Long enough.”
***
“Hey! Buggy!” Shanks called and was met by no reply.
He had heard about what happened from a gossiping crew mate and rushed to find his friend, to make sure he was okay, and if Buggy rightly wanted to punish Teach. Shanks had walked almost the entire length of the beach and found no sign of the blue-haired pirate, which made him wonder if Buggy had doubled back and returned to the Oro Jackson.
He thought to turn back himself, when he spotted a mug by the treeline. He stepped over to examine it. As he lifted it from the ground to study the red lipstick on the rim, he dislodged a small pile of sand, revealing the butt of a panatela sticking out from the sand. Shanks set aside the mug and took the smoke, seeing the same faint red lipstick curved around its base.
Buggy had been here then, Crocodile too. They had shared drinks and smoke, though how long they had been here, or where they went after, was difficult to tell. There were no tracks to follow, as though they had been wiped from the sand. Knowing what Crocodile was now capable of, it seemed likely.
Shanks tried to not think about the implications of a lipstick stained mug. He tried not to imagine Crocodile and Buggy swapping the panatela, getting a glimpse of the other’s taste each time. He buried the thoughts and dropped the panatela, and headed back to the party.
Only once he was out of sight, his steps no longer vibrating against the ground, did Crocodile and Buggy emerge from beneath the sand. Crocodile sat up, the sand falling from him like rain against glass, his bottom half still buried. He held Buggy in his arms, the clown curled up and clinging desperately to his shirt. No longer buried in sand, Buggy took a deep breath and climbed from Crocodile’s lap.
“I –huff – thought I – gasp – was going to die!” Buggy wheezed.
“Don’t be dramatic,” Crocodile chided. “I would have thrown you out before you suffocated.”
“Geez, thanks,” Buggy looked across the empty beach, knowing if he didn’t show his face soon, Shanks would get suspicious. “I should probably go back.”
“Good idea,” Crocodile climbed out of the sand, his legs solidifying. “Red-Hair is probably gathering a search party right now.”
Buggy grunted and then wiped some sand from his shirt. “Uh, thanks for… this. Sorry we didn’t get to finish.”
“Maybe next time, pretty fool,” Crocodile said.
“If there’s a next time,” Buggy said.
“Who knows what tomorrow will bring?” Crocodile returned.
He returned to his prior spot on the beach, as comfortable now as he had been when Buggy first interrupted him. Buggy wanted to sit with him, and renew their previous activities, let Crocodile fulfil his promise to show Buggy what a real man could do.
With Shanks wandering around looking for him, it was probably best to call it a night before either of them were found out. Buggy wished he had the courage to say he didn’t care about getting caught, but he didn’t. He didn’t want everyone to know his business, to whisper about the young pirate caught with a member of a rival crew. He didn’t want to feel those judgmental eyes on him, that same look Roger and Rayleigh had whenever Buggy came out of those dark back alleys, his knees and hands dirtied and bruised.
He couldn’t stand how they looked at him like that, like they thought Buggy was better than that, when he wasn’t.
“Goodnight,” Buggy waved awkwardly and headed back down the beach.
Crocodile watched him go, that devious smirk returning to his face as he wiped his tongue across his lip, tracing the waxy print of Buggy’s lipstick.
***
Buggy managed to return to his room without being spotted by Shanks or Roger. Judging by the volume of the party, and the fact the drinks hadn’t slowed, neither crew would be retiring for some time. Buggy debated re-joining the revelry, and decided he didn’t have it in him to pretend everything was fine and that he wasn’t incredibly horny.
He needed some space in the privacy of his own room.
He kicked off his shoes and climbed into the top hammock, still fully dressed. He stared at the wooden ceiling and the cuts left there by his blades. He used to throw his knives into the ceiling, made a game of seeing how many he could throw within a minute. Rayleigh threatened to take away all of his blades if he kept doing it. Roger encouraged it by giving Buggy new throwing knives.
The ship swayed beneath Buggy, and beyond the open porthole he heard the party over the hum of the waves. He wondered if Crocodile was still hiding or if he had gone back to the party after wiping the lipstick from his face. He wondered if, like Buggy, he was still thinking about that embrace beneath the sand.
Crocodile’s arms had been so thick, so tight, around Buggy. Would he have fucked Buggy like that? Kept him close as his cock worked in and out of Buggy’s eager hole, all while their bodies became sticky from sweat. The thought made blood pool in his groin, and quickly Buggy was hard once again.
He should ignore it. Just roll over and try to get some sleep, and he couldn’t. He kept thinking about Crocodile’s hands, his tongue, his taste, the press of his cock against Buggy’s body. Fuck. Why couldn’t Shanks have stayed away and let Buggy have his way, just this once?
Buggy’s hand slipped beneath the band of his pants and he took his cock in hand, sighing in pleasure at the physical contact. He began to pump his wrist, working his cock over quickly, roughly, as his mind ran wild. He imagined Crocodile grabbing his ankle out of the cartwheel, and pining Buggy to the ground to fuck him right there and then, in front of both crews.
He’d let Crocodile’s thick cock stretch him open. Hell, he’d let Crocodile finish inside of him, if it meant he got to feel more of the sandman’s heat and passion. Buggy’s hand moved quicker and quicker as his thoughts turned dirtier, his breath coming in quick and hurried, Crocodile’s name beginning to slip out.
“Oh! Crocodile!” he moaned. “OH!”
“Pretty fool.”
Crocodile’s voice, smoky and rough, whispered through his mind, and Buggy came. He gasped and gripped his dick tightly, milking the last of his orgasm as it spilled over his hand. He floated in the euphoria for a moment, before coming down to the painful reality, which was that he didn’t get laid, he was still warm as hell, and now his pants were sticky.
Sighing, he climbed out of bed and went to clean up, thinking that he would like this long day to finally end. Let him rest, let the Oro Jackson leave in the morning, and maybe then, he could forget the way Crocodile tasted.