#Searching for the nearest excuse to meet up with Shanks because he's starting to realise that maybe....

[giurochedadomani]

Wip is slowly growing, it might have (2) scenes!! 😂 It's the horny continuation of this fic, and basically the first time Mishanks sleep together, with a general undercurrent of learning from each other and how precious it is to trust someone enough to say: guide me through this

Shanks moves his head a bit, curious as to what prevents Mihawk from fully relaxing on top of him. Taking a wild guess at the swordsman’s downturned face, he'd say it's still his fascination about his chest, fingers ghosting near a streak of cum cooling on his abdomen. 

He definitely makes a mental note to lose the shirt the next time they duel. 

Mihawk grumbles a bit when he hugs him and pulls him closer, turning to look at him all sour. 

“You're sticky”, he mumbles. His hair is tousled, perfectly coiffed curls sticking now in disarray. 

Shanks fails to bite back a smile. He raises an eyebrow. 

“Oh, sorry, did you want to move?”. 

Golden eyes narrow, studying him. After a long moment Mihawk gives out the barest little sigh, accommodating himself on Shanks’ chest. He almost gets to count to ten before the other grabs his hand and positions it between his shoulder blades, face firmly turned away. 

Shanks snorts, starting to caress the back of Mihawk's neck, his chest doing something funny when the swordsman melts at the touch of his hand in his hair. He thinks about the knives again, and about Mihawk's distrustful look in the face of praise. 

“I knew you'd be a natural”, he mentions lightly, cutting himself from saying even stupider shit, like I love you, or something. 

He cranes his face a bit, surprised when such a declaration is met with silence instead of a dismissive scoff, and at the slight jostle Mihawk turns his face a bit further away. It occurs to him in a fit of clarity and glee that the swordsman is bashful, of all things.