AkaTaka Week 2025

Mihawk sat bound by iron shackles on the stone floor of his atrium and looked up coldly at the Knight, who returned his icy gaze easily. This man was both familiar and unfamiliar to him. He’d seen that same red hair for generations, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, challenging him in the name of revenge, only to perish by his blade. The Figarlands had been after him for centuries, like an infestation of rats he could never quite quell. He had cut down quite a few of them in their pursuit of him, had drank others until they were little more than mummified corpses. He’d never seen them as a threat, more of a nuisance, really. 

This one, however… Mihawk looked him over. Defeated by a Figarland, and not one of the respectable ones, it seemed. No, despite his boyish, handsome face, he was far more scruffy than the polished and clean-cut Knights he’d seen throughout the years. It seems the Figarlands had finally bred a skillful swordsman, even if he was rough around the edges. This one… The only one who challenged him to an honest duel and won. To lose after the constant victories, it lit an emotion inside of him that he hadn’t felt in decades… it was funny. 

Mihawk’s lips pulled up, the sensation almost felt wrong in the presence of another. But he couldn’t help it, it bubbled up so suddenly that it couldn’t be suppressed. Mihawk smiled, teeth and all, and the redhead watched him warily, confused, but he returned the smile, as though it was infectious. 

“Something funny, Vampire?” The Knight crouched in front of him, close enough to smell alcohol on his breath, but not close enough for Mihawk to bite. 

Mihawk smiled a little wider, the absurdity of the situation tickling him, and he let out a wry chuckle. 

“Defeat. It’s more amusing than I had expected.” He let out soft laugh and tilted his head back to look at the domed ceiling. He could see the stars twinkling through the stained glass, no moon to stifle their glow. One last look at eternity before his humiliating execution. 

“Tell me your name, Knight.” Mihawk said with a light sigh before returning his unnatural red eyes to the man sat in front of him. 

The easygoing look on the Knight’s face fell, and he looked almost angry. “I told you my name before we started fighting.” He said sharply. 

Mihawk rolled his eyes. He certainly had that Figarland pride. “That was before you defeated me. I don’t remember the names of the unworthy. Tell me yours. I want to know before you kill me.” 

The Knight’s face was unreadable, like a mask sliding into place, before he smiled softly. “Shanks.” 

“Shanks Figarland.” Mihawk said aloud, to taste the name. 

“ No. Just Shanks.” He cut in, correcting the vampire immediately. 

Mihawk paused. He knew he was not mistaken. The family resemblance was too obvious. Mihawk gave him a curious look. “But you are a Figarland.” There was no denying it. They were all so easily distinguishable from the rest of the Hunters that scurried through his castle looking for a chance at glory. 

“I didn’t do this for them.” Shanks said vehemently, “I didn’t challenge you for their long-dead blood feud. I challenged you because you’re the strongest swordsman to ever live! Because I had to know for myself what you were like.” 

Mihawk blinked at the confession. What a strange man, but his passion, his purpose, was admirable, if foolish. “So you wanted to know what it was like to fight against a Vampire? Now that you’ve claimed the title of strongest for yourself, what will you do, Shanks ? There are only two paths to take. Will you stake my dead heart, or will you set me free like a beast into the wilderness? I am not so naïve to believe that my life doesn’t end here, and I doubt you are, too. Whether you see yourself as a Figarland or not, you’ll carry out their will.” 

Shanks’ jaw clenched but then relaxed, and he fell into that easy boyish look that Mihawk had become familiar with in their few hours together. Shanks shook his head, letting out an unsettling laugh, and looked at him with a gleam in his eye. “I won’t kill you. And I don’t plan on setting you free, either.” 

The Vampire grimaced. The longer they spoke, the more Mihawk was beginning to dislike the Knight. “So, as I understand it, I’m to be a pet for a man who feels the need to distinguish himself from his family instead of doing the honorable thing?” He sneered, despising the idea of being held prisoner. He’d rather be killed, frankly. 

Shanks throat bobbed and he inched a little closer, “Death isn’t honorable. You are a rare and magnificent creature. It would be cruel to remove you from this world.” 

Mihawk barked a laugh. This was getting to be too much. He must already be in hell, because all of this was utter nonsense. 

“Careful how you speak, Red-Hair, your words are sounding like admiration. I’ve killed hundreds from your lineage. I’ve killed thousands of others. And as soon as I’m free from these chains I’ll kill you.” He hissed. He knew the threat was empty. He had no leverage at the moment to act on it. Not unless Shanks was foolish enough to lean in just a little closer. 

Color rose in Shanks’ cheeks and he let out a trembling breath. Mihawk wasn’t sure what to make of the reaction. The Knight had not shown a single flicker of fear the whole time he’d been here. Why would he be afraid now? Mihawk looked over him once more. No, it certainly didn’t look like fear…it looked like excitement. 

“I know you’re deadly, I’m not a fool. But that doesn’t make you any less beautiful.”  

Mihawk went still. He stared at the Knight, as if waiting for the punchline to a joke. But it never came. He was serious .  

“Mihawk Dracule. My words sound like admiration because they are. I’ve wanted to see you, meet you, since I was a child.” Shanks’ eyes shone in the candlelight, a soft dusting of pink on his scarred and freckled cheeks. 

Mihawk’s lips parted, as if he wanted to retort, but words failed him. Instead he stared blankly at the Knight, who grinned, continuing on excitedly.  

“All Figarlands study you from the moment they’re old enough to read. You’ve been part of my life for as long as I can remember.  I used to dream about you constantly, y’know. I was so eager to get a glimpse of you, I even snuck out of the castle one night to find you.” Shanks let out a wry laugh, his single hand going up to brush the scars over his eye. “I got these, and I learned a hard lesson: I was too weak to even find you. After that night, I took my training seriously. From a young age we’re taught to destroy you, to take revenge, but my family’s knowledge, their training, wasn’t enough. I left home when I became a teenager and found a powerful group of Hunters that accepted me as their own. I worked hard to hone my skills, so I could meet you one day and challenge you properly.” Shanks smiled at Mihawk, “I’m not like my family. I never wanted to kill you…” Shanks’ eyes trailed over Mihawk’s body, “…no I never wanted that .” He murmured before his eyes landed back on Mihawk’s face. If Mihawk could still feel chills, he would’ve felt them right at that moment. As it was, he only had a tingling sense of unease, of foreboding, itching in the back of his skull. What could he say to an unbalanced young man who just implied that he’d be keeping him hostage because of obsession.  

“I wish I could stay the night here, talking with you until dawn, but the other Hunters are expecting me back after my ‘scouting’ mission.” Shanks chuckled, his warm brown eyes twinkling, “I wasn’t supposed to come here tonight, but I couldn’t help myself, knowing you were so close.” He admitted with a shy smile. Shanks sat there watching Mihawk, as if he were a fascinating specimen. Mihawk was disgusted. He refused to look at him, choosing to stare at the plants that filled the room. They all thrived here, the only sunny room in the castle, all tenderly cared for by his own hand. And soon they’d all wither and die. Decades of hard work would crumble into dust because he didn’t take this fight seriously. It really was funny in a cruel and awful way. 

Shanks let out a sigh and stood, taking a step back, adjusting his belt and bracers. Mihawk looked up at the Knight and then past him, to the glass dome. Sunlight would filter through in the morning and Mihawk would catch fire, dying an agonizing death. It was still preferable to being a pet. He was hoping Shanks hadn’t noticed the glass ceiling, that he would be left to his fate. Regardless, Mihawk would not be remarking on it. It wouldn’t be so bad, to die with his plants, to die looking at the sun through the colorful stained glass.  

“This is goodbye for now, Mihawk. I will return to you soon, I promise.” Shanks reached out a hand as if he wanted to touch the Vampire, but then thought better of it.  

“I suppose I’ll be here whenever you deign to return, Red-Hair.” Mihawk said, affecting a bored tone. 

“Aw, c’mon, you know my name now! And I like when you say it. Your voice is so lovely.” Shanks said sweetly, softly, as if he were trying to coax the Vampire below him. 

“Kill me and I’ll say your name with my dying breath. Until then, it’s Red-Hair.” 

Shanks chuckled lowly and crouched down once more to be eye-level. “I’m sure I can make you say my name through other means.” 

Mihawk met his gaze in challenge. “I’ve got quite a strong will. I doubt you’ll succeed.” 

Shanks grinned, eyes darkening. “We’ll see.” 

Mihawk did not give him the satisfaction of a reaction, but he felt that itch in the back of his skull once more. This man was dangerous. And he proved it. Mihawk thought he had run the gambit in humiliating moments this evening, but it seemed fate was eager to make him her plaything tonight. Shanks slapped an iron shackle around his neck with a speed and efficiency that even a vampire would envy, and while he was distracted put a muzzle around his mouth. If Mihawk ever got out of these restraints, he would not grant Shanks Figarland a swift death, oh no, he would torture him for days to come. 

“How dare you!” Mihawk hissed, baring his fangs, all the more useless now behind the iron mesh. 

“I know, I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Shanks murmured, petting his dark hair. Mihawk fought his bindings to no avail, itching to wrap his hands around Shanks and tear him apart. That red-head bastard was getting too bold. He was not an animal, not a pet, not a treasure or a toy. One misstep and Mihawk would make him regret ever coming to this castle. 

He grabbed Mihawk around his waist and hoisted him up and over his shoulder. The humiliation would not stop. Mihawk growled in displeasure, attempting to squirm out of his grip but Shanks held onto him firmly. For a human he was quite strong, strong enough to handle an ancient Vampire, even one whose abilities were muted by the iron. Mihawk would be impressed if he wasn’t so pissed. 

Shanks carried Mihawk through the castle, peeking into rooms until he found the one he was looking for. He dropped Mihawk onto his bed and chained him there. If he had used any other metal, any other way to bind him, Mihawk was sure he could get out of it. But the iron…It was as if it chained his very soul, if he even had one anymore. He laid there, resigned, but boiling with hatred as he watched Shanks secure his muzzle and shackles. Shanks pet his head once again, despite the deadly glare from Mihawk. 

“Don’t be too upset with me. I won’t be long. I need to finish out my patrol with the Hunters and then I will leave them for good, and we can be together every day.” Shanks said, voice hopeful, his hand lovingly playing with Mihawk’s dark hair. 

Everyday? Like this? Bound not like a prisoner or a beast, but like a monster, and forced to endure whatever may come from this over-affectionate stranger? He’d sooner kill himself. 

“Please, won’t you say goodbye.” Shanks asked, his hand stilled. 

Mihawk didn’t even give him an answer. Oh he had many venomous words on his tongue, but he held them. Clearly Shanks wanted a reaction from him. He would not give it. Mihawk looked to the side and ignored him. The hand in his hair tightened, hard enough to tear hairs away from his scalp, but then he let go. 

“Fine. You’ll be more talkative when I return. I’m sure of it.” Shanks retreated, pausing in the doorway for one last lingering look at Mihawk before he closed the door behind him and left. 

Mihawk let out a sigh of frustration. He tried the bindings again. If he had his teeth, if he had a dagger, he would remove his own hands and feet just to escape. It would weaken him, but if he was free, he could feed, could sleep and regenerate. The iron, however, made him weak, limited his unnatural power, his strength. But still he tried. For hours he attempted to escape, to find one weak link in the chains, to look for any gap in the muzzle, in the leather keeping it tight to his head. But nothing. There was no escape for him. Not today, at least. The sun was rising. Mihawk had no windows in his bedroom, but he could tell, if only by the simple fact that he suddenly felt exhausted. If nothing could be done, then he shouldn’t waste his energy. He had no idea when Shanks would really return. And even if he did, there was no guarantee that he would be fed. It was possible that he’d never eat again. He wondered, fleetingly, if he would be able to starve to death. He’d never heard of a case like that, and he had thousands of years of vampiric history kept in his library. What killed any Vampire was weakness: Weakness of the body, of the mind, of will. Mihawk was strong in all three… but for how long. How long could he last? A question for another time. He would contemplate it more tonight, after he got some rest from this ordeal. 

… 

It was nine days, two hours, thirteen minutes when Shanks returned to Mihawk’s bedroom. Mihawk, with nothing better to do, kept meticulous track of the time, counting the minutes and hours only with his internal clock. When he wasn’t thinking about the time and day, he was picturing ways to kill Shanks. When they finally locked eyes for the first time in over a week, Mihawk could feel his hunger roar to life. Not only his thirst for blood, but his hunger for violence. He wanted to rend Shanks’ jaw from his face so he’d never have to see that cursed smile again. 

Shanks had been nothing but soft smiles and gentle apologies, petting his hair and cooing at him. If these shackles weren’t binding him, if this muzzle wasn’t protecting Shanks from his fangs he’d tear that rotten Figarland into pieces. Shanks had tried, to no avail, to engage him in conversation. As he promised, he left his group to live here, with Mihawk. Everyday he’d have to see his wretched face, hear his sickeningly sweet words, endure his overly affectionate touches. If Mihawk could vomit he would have done so. 

But something happened to that kind, considerate Shanks; the flashes of cruelty he had noticed before came back in full force when Mihawk did not give him what he wanted. 

Something burned his hand and he flinched reflexively, not having felt heat like that for a century.  

“Mihawk. Are you listening to me?” Shanks asked lowly, holding a crucifix above the Vampire’s hand. 

Mihawk looked up at Shanks sharply. The Knight met his eyes, almost willing him to do something. Defiantly, Mihawk closed his eyes and laid back. Yes, of course a Figarland would know a vampire’s weaknesses. Crucifixes and holy water to weaken, iron to bind, a wooden stake to kill. And of course: sunlight, the one thing that Mihawk craved most in his perpetually darkened life. He’d thought about it quite a few times in his moments alone, forced to be with his thoughts. If only Shanks had left him in the atrium, he wouldn’t have to be here, enduring the temper tantrum of an overgrown boy. 

Shanks pressed the crucifix to his hand again, leaving it there for longer. It burned, unlike anything he’d felt for a long time. Not even fire felt like this, the metal searing, prickling into his skin, the sensation like how one would picture pressing a hot iron to flesh. He was surprised he couldn’t hear his flesh hissing. But he kept his face neutral. He wasn’t a stranger to pain, but it wasn’t part of his life anymore. He had no real measure of how much he could endure, but to piss off Shanks? He’d do his best not to give in. 

“Talk to me.” Shanks murmured, pushing the crucifix harder into his hand. Mihawk couldn’t help his attempt to twitch away. The pain was excruciating, as though it were ice and fire in one, sinking into his bones, freezing and burning him down to the very marrow. It radiated from his knuckles to his fingertips, a burning that felt enduring, as if no balm could soothe this fire. He was certain that a crucifix could not kill a vampire, but he wondered if he might be the first. If that crucifix made it to his heart, if it sent this pain everywhere, he was not sure he would survive it. The agony would be too great. 

“I know it hurts.” Shanks whispered against his temple, squeezing his hand and Mihawk’s breath hitched, that burning radiating up his wrist. “Tell me to stop. Just say one word to me and this will end.” 

Mihawk clenched his jaw. That bastard. He was tempted, but he still had his pride. Shanks couldn’t get what he wanted so easily. 

For hours Mihawk endured searing torture, the crucifix pressed to different parts of his body, but Mihawk would not speak. At the end of the session he caught a glimpse of his hand; it looked like the flesh had been melted away, white bone peeking out behind bloody muscle. 

It would take him time to heal, especially without blood to sustain him. But he did not say a word. He had nothing to say to Shanks, not until he granted him death. 

… 

Shanks appeared every night, sometimes an hour or so after Mihawk awoke, and other times he’d already be sitting there on the bed, watching him while he slept, those eyes like an alarm that pulled Mihawk from his slumber. 

Mihawk refused to speak. It was more out of principle at this point. He enjoyed irritating Shanks, but the consequences… they were becoming too much to bear. The more damage that Shanks did to his body, the harder it was to heal. Day after day of physical damage, the many open spots from the crucifix became almost impossible to heal without blood. A week into the nightly ritual and Shanks noticed the unhealed wounds. 

“Oh, darling.” He gasped, as if he hadn’t been the one inflicting the wounds, turned over his wrist in his hand. He examined the shiny wet skin, dark red and raw. “I thought vampires could regenerate. What’s wrong?” He murmured, pressing a calloused thumb too hard into the tender flesh. 

Mihawk opened his mouth to retort, the need to explain a powerful urge. And then stopped himself. This was a trick. Shanks would be well aware of the fact that he had to feed in order to quickly regenerate. This was another attempt from the redhead to get his attention. He would not give it. 

They sat in silence as Shanks’ question hung in the air. Shanks’ grip on his wrist tightened, making the raw skin smart, but it didn’t hold the same pain as the crucifix. Shanks was strong, but not strong enough to hurt a vampire unaided. The Knight let out a sharp breath through his nose and let go of Mihawk. 

“You are rude and ungrateful.” Shanks hissed, adjusting his belt, grabbing something from the knapsack held there. His hunched shoulders dropped just slightly. “I know this isn’t you. You’ve lived a thousand years, you’ve full of thoughts and feelings and stories. You’re just mad, aren’t you? I know I should leave you alone…but I can’t help myself. Every day I wait until you’re awake, every night I’m grateful to even see your gorgeous face, blessed by the Mother herself to even touch you.” Shanks’ throat bobbed and he straightened up. 

“I haven’t been taking this seriously enough. To tame a wild beast, you have to break them.” Shanks said more to himself, than to Mihawk, but the Vampire did not like what he was hearing. This wouldn’t end until he gave in? Part of him considered playing nice. Acting like a friend. But he knew it wouldn’t last long. And the other part of him wanted to see just how far he could push the Knight. It would be a great irony if he forced Shanks to kill him, ruining his plans of living with Mihawk, and following his family’s will despite his hatred of them. 

Mihawk let out a gasp, unbidden, from a burning so intense, like Shanks had poured liquid salt and acid into the wound. His arm twitched, he pulled painfully at the bindings as he attempted to remove the source of the pain. 

“My. What a reaction.” Shanks said lowly. He raised the vial of holy water and let a drop fall onto Mihawk’s exposed stomach. Mihawk threw his head back, clenching his jaw, the drop of water like a bead of molten glass pooling and settling into the divot of his stomach, threatening to burn a hole straight through him. Shanks watched him with bright hungry eyes. He reached out a finger and dragged the droplet of water into a swirling pattern over Mihawk’s abdomen, the skin splitting apart with his touch. 

Mihawk’s fists clenched tightly, a groan bubbling up in his throat. This was worse than the crucifix. That pain had been slower, gradually burning through him. But this? It was like a blade, sharp and immediate. Shanks pressed harder and Mihawk cried out, snapping his jaw shut as soon as the sound escaped. 

“Gorgeous.” Shanks breathed. His tone drew Mihawk’s attention. He turned his head, flinching from the open wounds, to see Shanks roughly rubbing his palm over his pants.  

“Disgusting.” Mihawk couldn’t hold his tongue, the word slipping out like bile, acidic and bitter. 

Shanks locked eyes with him and he bit his lip, squeezing the outline of what had to be his rigid cock. What little begrudging respect Mihawk had for the man dissipated into absolute dust. He was a pervert, worse than any common thief or liar, more disturbed than Mihawk had anticipated. He thought Shanks must be enjoying his suffering...but like this? This was true hell. 

“Please,” Shanks huffed, rubbing himself quickly “I want to hear you again.” 

Mihawk bared his teeth, face pulled into a grimace that would give any normal person pause. But his face was still hidden by the muzzle...and this man before him was far from normal. 

Shanks growled in frustration and grabbed the vial of holy water. Time froze for Mihawk as he watched him uncap the vial, held the nearly full bottle above his prone body, and flipped it. Being torn in half would have been more pleasant than the feeling of holy water eating through his stomach. Mihawk cried out, deaf to his own pained sounds, all he could hear was the gruesome hissing of his flesh melting, his intestines and bones turning to soup as it sunk down below him. His midsection collapsed, like a pumpkin that had be left to rot, any solid flesh became soft and split. There was no passing out, no saving grace of a human body attempting to spare him the pain. He was immortal, not invulnerable, and he was fully aware for every awful, torturous moment. 

“Mother save me.” Shanks gasped out, hips bucking up against the solid press of his hand. He shuddered and stilled, letting out a groan, the sound missed by Mihawk. Shanks leaned over him, hungrily watching every little reaction on the Vampire’s face. Mihawk could barely look at him, his focus solely on the disintegration of his abdomen. Fingers tenderly combed through his hair, the touch unwelcome, sickening in the wake of the unending pain. 

“You did this to yourself.” Shanks murmured, continuing to pet his hair. “But don’t worry, I’m here with you.” 

“Bad dog. I told you to be quiet.” Mihawk yanked his red hair roughly. A full body shiver went through Shanks, unable to stop the moan escaping from behind his leather gag. “If you make another sound while I’m working, I’ll have to punish you, understood?” 

Shanks made a sound of affirmation, attempting to nod. 

They had been at this for what felt like hours. Earlier his puppy had flopped down at his feet, looking up at him with his warm brown eyes, begging him to play. However, Mihawk had a full schedule today taking care of phone calls that he’d been putting off while he was away. Important calls , like his weekly check-in for the Navy, ordering supplies for the island, and getting updates about his wards and social circles. But his puppy whined and cried, rubbed his stubbled cheek on his thigh, begging for attention. Shanks was lucky Mihawk could multitask. He would work, but his puppy would have to follow two rules if he wanted a reward: no making a mess and no noises. If he succeeded, his Master would let him do as he pleased. Until then, he had to be on his best behavior. 

Shanks was trying, and struggling, to obey. Mihawk wasn’t making it easy. He knew exactly how to tease and torment him. Slowly, unhurried, almost bored, he fingered Shanks open as he lay over his lap. He chatted on the phone, ignoring Shanks as he curled his fingers, stretching him open, teasing his sensitive walls. Shanks had tears in his eyes, biting into the leather gag as he choked down his moans and whimpers. Mihawk was purposefully avoiding his prostate, rubbing the flesh near it. 

Shanks was in a special kind of hell, torn between eye-rolling sparks of pleasure and plateauing sensation. Shanks’ cock leaked heavily, aching and twitching against Mihawk’s thigh as he tried to ignore all the fleeting sensations. He had to be good, to follow the rules. No mess, which mean no cumming or pissing. And no noise, which Shanks thought would be the harder of the two to follow, but it was difficult to suppress the mounting pleasure. The tight warm leather of Mihawk’s pants, his normally solid thigh soft as he sat relaxed, felt like heaven against his cock, especially with the way his head caught between Mihawk’s thighs, as if he was pushing into his tight heat. All of it proved to be enough to make Shanks feel like he was drunk with lust, his head fuzzy with arousal, but he knew he had to be a good boy. His reward would be his choosing, and what he wanted more than anything at this moment was to drag his Master to the floor and breed him until he couldn’t take any more. But he had to earn it. 

Mihawk added two more fingers and Shanks choked down a gasp at the sudden stretch. His hand flexed in its binding, strapped to his back. He didn’t make the sign for Mihawk to release him, he didn’t want to, didn’t need it, but he ached to touch: To stroke his rigid cock, to feel Mihawk, to grab his face and kiss him. Shanks’ legs trembled as Mihawk pushed deeper, scissoring, stretching as he went, pushing his puppy to his limits. 

Heat licked at his insides, heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to stay focused. Shanks squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately not to make sound, despite that aching stretch becoming more pleasurable with every thrust. Mihawk brushed against Shanks’ prostate and his puppy jolted in his lap, muscles tensing as he swallowed down his sounds, fighting with his whole body, willing himself not to react to the almost sickening spike of pleasure. Sweat beaded on his back and thighs, his throat worked, the veins in his neck bulging as he forced himself to be quiet. Mihawk moved on, curling his fingers in a different direction, but the heat inside of him could not be quelled. That taste of pleasure was enough for his body to hold onto it, to make his blood simmer, to make his skin buzz. He was heading toward his end and Mihawk was still in the middle of a phone call. Shanks’ throat bobbed, trying to swallow down his excitement, his need to cum. He had to temper himself, to cool down his burning passion, or this would end too soon and he wouldn’t get his reward.  

Mihawk brushed over his prostate once more. His puppy gasped, the muscles in his butt and thighs tensing hard, until they were like rock, locking Mihawk’s fingers in place. Mihawk didn’t stop, barely able to move as he watched Shanks squirm. Oh his little puppy was fighting so hard. Shanks hand curled into a tight fist, nails digging into his palm, and then he let go, going totally lax over Mihawk’s lap. 

Mihawk hummed in approval and pet Shanks’ hair, damp with sweat. His puppy’s chest heaved with the exertion of stopping himself. Mihawk’s fingers continued their teasing and stretching, while his other hand traced over the muscles of Shanks’ back, dragging sharp fingernails over his freckled skin. Goosebumps rose in the wake of his path, and his puppy quietly huffed, back bending as if asking him for more of the same. 

Mihawk tsk’d and lightly smacked Shanks’ ass. His Master gave him a treat, a puppy shouldn’t be greedy. Shanks didn’t push it. But it was getting harder to resist acting out. He felt like he was going crazy. The heat in his gut swelled and surged with every drag of Mihawk’s slick fingers. He was able to resist cumming once, but he didn’t think he’d be able to do it again. Especially not with half of Mihawk’s hand in his ass. 

Still he attempted to distract himself, to focus on anything other than the pleasure Mihawk stoked in him. His mind kept flickering different images behind his eyes, unable to stay on one thought for long. His head was buzzing, torn between falling into sensation and the need to obey. He couldn’t let himself go, couldn’t float on feelings alone, or he’d have cum long ago. His mind wanted to linger on thoughts of Mihawk, on his body, on touching and tasting him, but it only made his cock ache more, made the temptation too great. But when he tried to focus on things that suppressed his arousal, they all slithered right back to his Master. How he wanted him, how good his fingers felt, how his warm body was against his rigid cock. 

Shanks hips bucked of their own volition, the need to rut too great to suppress. That short thrust, the slight drag of his cock against Mihawk’s warm thigh made heat bubble up in his gut so fast and sudden it was a miracle he didn’t cum. The urge to chase that feeling was overwhelming. He had to cross his ankles to lock himself in place. He wanted to hump Mihawk’s leg so badly, but he wanted to be inside of him more. Just a little longer. Mihawk only had a few more phone calls left and then he’d be able to fuck his Master like he wanted, like he deserved. He could feel pure lust, thick and molten pumping through him despite his attempts to temper himself. He had to stop thinking about Mihawk. It would be his undoing. He had to resist. He bit so hard into his gag he thought he would bite through it. 

Mihawk brushed two fingers against his prostate and he let out a surprised cry, his cock pulsing hard enough to ache as he spilled cum across Mihawk’s lap. His chest twisted as he lay there panting, feeling relief at finally letting go, and disappointment at failing his task. 

Mihawk let out an irritated huff and removed his fingers from Shanks. “Apologies, I will have to call you back. My naughty puppy has made a terrible mess.” 

Mihawk grabbed Shanks by his hair, pulling him off of his lap and forcing him to kneel in front of him. 

“Bad. Dog.” He bit out and Shanks shuddered at the tone, little aftershocks of pleasure sparking over his skin, shame making him feel hot and sweaty. Mihawk shoved his face into his lap, into the cooling puddle of cum. 

“Very bad dog.” Mihawk hissed, undoing the gag, freeing Shanks’ mouth.