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chenziee · 1 year ago

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Of Pumpkin Pies and Whipped Cream

Another of my @opdilfzine fics! You can find this one in the digital add-on :D You can still grab a digital copy of the zine, aftersales are open until the end of August! <3

[ Read on AO3 | Ko-Fi ]

—————

It wasn’t often that Dracule Mihawk’s transponder snail would ring but when it did… It was a sure sign of a headache coming.

He wasn’t sure why he should even bother answering when he knew there would only be pointless chatter to be heard but even so, he somehow always found his hand gripping the receiver anyway.

“What is it now, Red Hair?” he sighed instead of a proper greeting.

“Oh, come on, I don’t even get a hello?” the man on the other side of the connection whined.

“No.”

The snail gasped dramatically in response to the curt reply, making Mihawk roll his eyes. And to think this was one of the most powerful people in the world. Ridiculous.

“You’re so mean to me.” Red Hair let out a long-suffering sigh but Mihawk could just hear the shit eating grin that was playing on the man’s lips even without looking at his snail. “How do I even deal with you? I should get paid for still keeping you company.”

Mihawk knew he shouldn’t have picked up.

“I’m hanging up,” he said bluntly, already reaching over to place the receiver back on the snail.

Immediately, the transponder snail’s face twisted with panic, mirroring Red Hair’s expression as the man started fumbling for words. “Wait! I’m sorry! Don’t hang up, please!” he cried, his voice begging.

Despite himself, Mihawk felt the corners of his lips twitching upwards the tiniest bit. It was strange; the man was loud, annoying, and bothersome, interrupting Mihawk’s peaceful and quiet days with a disturbing regularity and yet, Mihawk could never bring himself to tell him to leave him alone.

If he were to be honest… he’d have to admit that he would even sometimes miss his loud laughter, his stupid grins, and his idiotic stories and even more idiotic ideas. Even the ones that led to Mihawk having to literally drag the man to the Red Force after he would drunkenly whine and cry about how he was so proud of Straw Hat Luffy for hours and forcing Mihawk to throw him at Beckmann. After all, any captain was the first mate’s problem.

Or that one time when Mihawk had to break into a Navy prison to get Shanks out of there after he got arrested for eating without paying—he still had no idea how the marines in that town hadn’t recognised the Emperor.

For some reason, he missed all of that sometimes.

He would never accept Shanks’ lack of appreciation for good wine though.

“What did you call for anyway?” Mihawk sighed finally, leaning back into his chair.

“Just missed your sweet and kind voice,” Red Hair replied cheekily. “How are the kids?”

Mihawk groaned. “Don’t talk about them as if they’re mine. They just ended up here.”

“But you let them stay!” Shanks argued and Mihawk could just imagine the man reaching over to poke his shoulder.

As if Mihawk had a choice in that matter. Coming home from the war just to find two brats squatting in his goddamned castle, uninvited, with no means of getting the hell off the island after apparently getting launched through the air half-way across the globe—how could he have just kicked them out?

Not to mention he had tried. He gave Roronoa a boat. He gave him directions. He even gave him some food.

All that effort, only for him to come right back after making a full circle around the dead forest.

He would really rather let the kid stay than have to lead him by the hand like a toddler all the way to the coast—or more likely, chaperone him all the way to the next island. He held no illusions about Roronoa’s ability to follow a log pose by now.

“So? How are they doing?” Red Hair prompted after a moment.

Finally, Mihawk let his head fall back, his eyes shutting momentarily as he took a deep breath. “They’re fine. Roronoa’s still got a ways to go but it’s funny watching him struggle. Perona’s at least helping with the fields if nothing else.”

“I still can’t believe the dreaded Hawk Eyes, the strongest swordsman, likes gardening,” Shanks said with a laugh. “You need to let me try eating some of your crops one of these days.”

Mihawk chose to ignore the wink the transponder snail gave him. “You can have one of the fifty pumpkin pies Perona made.”

There was a pause before the snail raised both its eyebrows, the scar across its left eye shifting. “Fifty,” Shanks repeated flatly.

“It was a rich crop.” Mihawk shrugged. “They’re actually decent.”

“Will you add whipped cream and feed them to me?” Shanks asked eagerly.

A beat passed.

“Gacha.”

—————

Mihawk wasn’t expecting to hear from Shanks again for weeks after hanging up on him. They didn’t talk often in the first place but, more than that, the Emperor of the Sea could be nothing short of a brat. It wouldn’t have been the first time for him to get all sulky, going so far as to refuse to even enter the same sea Mihawk was in. This would usually end with Beckmann or Roux unable to handle the whining any longer and just dialling Mihawk’s snail number themselves and forcing their captain to just talk to the reason he was upset.

So, when the man himself appeared on his doorstep late at night only a day later, bottle of wine in hand and a smirk on his lips, saying Mihawk was surprised would be an understatement.

“You said something about pumpkin pie and whipped cream?” he asked with a wink, tilting his head to the side as he gazed at Mihawk with a cheeky spark in his eyes.

Mihawk stared blankly at the man for a moment. What the hell was he saying? Or what was he even doing on Kuraigana Island—or even just in Paradise, for that matter?

“I said nothing about whipped cream,” he responded finally, voice perfectly flat.

“Might as well have.” Shanks just waved his hand dismissively before forcing his way through the door past Mihawk as if the castle belonged to him.

Mihawk didn’t even care anymore.

With a deep sigh, he closed the door and followed after the red haired menace. It was only mildly disturbing how well Shanks navigated the complicated hallways of the castle—the very same hallways that Roronoa still struggled with after a whole year of living there. Had he really visited this place enough times to flawlessly lead the way three floors up, all the way to the cosy little lounge next to Mihawk’s room, chattering away about stupid stuff the whole time?

Thinking back… maybe he had.

Although he certainly hadn’t come invited, not even once.

“Shoes off the couch,” Mihawk ordered as soon as Shanks threw himself on the expensive piece of furniture as if it were a bed.

“Says the guy who puts his feet on the table wherever he’s invited,” Shanks grumbled—but still took his shoes off.

Mihawk huffed, putting a bottle of West Blue sake on the coffee table in front of Shanks before pouring himself some of the wine Red Hair had brought, then settled into his own chair. “So? That one is mine and I will not tolerate your disgusting, dirty boots on it.”

“Hypocrite,” Shanks said, sticking his tongue out at Mihawk.

The man only rolled his eyes; there was no point in even gracing that with a response. So, instead, he simply swirled the wine in his glass, then took his first sip as he relaxed and leaned back in his chair. If nothing else, he had to admit that Red Hair knew his alcohol; it was good wine. The colour was a beautiful red like garnet, its bouquet had fruity undertones, like cherry and raspberry. It had a smooth, rich flavour, lingering on the tongue for a moment but not overpowering—perfectly balanced.

“Are you just going to ignore me?” Shanks whined when Mihawk didn’t say anything.

“Why are you here anyway, Red Hair?” Mihawk asked instead of answering.

There was a moment of silence, silence that made Mihawk crack one of his eyes open to look at the man lounging on his couch like he belonged there. Mihawk clicked his tongue at the thought—the very notion was ridiculous.

Instead of dwelling on it, Mihawk took in the expression Red Hair was making right then. He was looking back at Mihawk, a wide, seemingly goofy smile playing on his lips… yet his eyes were serious, as serious as they were whenever someone would threaten one of the Emperor’s friends. Mihawk wasn’t sure what it meant.

But then, Red Hair opened his mouth to finally reply, “I was summoned by the promise of being hand fed pumpkin pie by my darling Hawk Eyes.”

“Again, I said nothing about hand feeding you. Are you a toddler?” Mihawk sighed.

“Yes.” There wasn’t a single hint of hesitation in Red Hair’s voice and Mihawk had to bite his cheek to keep his lips from curling into a smile.

“Then go back to your ship, I’m not your nanny,” Mihawk replied, keeping his voice carefully measured.

At that, Shanks gasped dramatically… and Mihawk knew what he was going to say before he so much as opened his mouth to do so. “You’re so mean to me! Meanie!”

There it was.

“I’m going to cut off your other arm and leave you to bleed out.”

“Ouch,” Shanks said before he burst out laughing. “We were just coming from the East Blue so we were close anyway.”

Mihawk was quiet for a moment, simply regarding the man sprawled on his couch; he took in how relaxed he seemed, more relaxed than the world ever saw him. And yet, his gaze was heavy, the deep scar over his left eye standing out in the dim light the same way it did ten, twelve years ago when it was fresh; when Shanks was just a young man who was barely coming to power. When Mihawk barely knew him.

But now, he knew the Emperor. And he knew him well enough to know when he wasn’t telling the whole truth.

"Whatever, it's not like I care," Mihawk dismissed.

“You’re terrible,” Shanks whined. “You’re seriously going to force me to admit I missed my boyfriend? My strong and handsome and oh-so-caring boyfriend?” Boyfriend?

Biting back a snort, Mihawk raised an eyebrow. “I did not ask, much less force you to admit anything,” he deadpanned.

“You just won’t admit you missed me too, will you?” Shanks sighed.

“What a pointless question. If you already know the answer, why do you bother asking?” Mihawk asked in response.

“Let me dream, you ass,” Shanks grumbled, closing his eyes for a moment before a grin took over his face once more.

Mihawk watched impassively while Shanks put his feet on the ground and sat up slowly, giving Mihawk that annoying look of his; the look that balanced on the edge between deathly serious and playful, and that always preceded something getting broken—a plate at best, Shanks’ last existing arm at worst.

And when Shanks stood up, not taking his eyes off Mihawk only to bump into the coffee table… Mihawk could only hope nothing too expensive was going to fall victim to the Emperor and his stupid ideas. So, he simply raised an eyebrow while Shanks cursed quietly, shooting a quick glare at the offending piece of furniture before his eyes turned to his lover—or boyfriend, apparently—with new-found determination.

It took only a moment for Shanks to stand right in front of Mihawk’s chair, staring down at him while Mihawk blinked at him slowly, blankly, one leg thrown over the other as he took a deliberately slow sip of his wine. Waiting for Shanks to make a move, daring him to do anything he might regret.

Like pissing Mihawk off. Or—

Before Mihawk could even finish the thought, Shanks reached out with purpose, his fingers closing around the wine glass in Mihawk’s hand, pulling it away… and Mihawk let him.

He watched in mild amusement as Shanks brought it to his own lips, taking a sip—one large enough to be considered a gulp and if it was in any other situation, Mihawk would have been offended by the disrespect paid to such good wine. As it was however, he could only smile the smallest bit at the sight of Red Hair licking his lips appreciatively.

“I have to say, I picked a really good one. And I don’t even drink wine,” he said with a small laugh.

“It’s certainly better than the swill you brought last time. Couldn’t have even been called wine,” Mihawk noted. “More like someone dumped a bag of sugar into grape juice. If the people who created that insult of a drink even knew what grapes were.”

“Oh, shut up,” Shank hissed, his face twisting in fake annoyance.

And Mihawk… couldn’t stop the chuckle that bubbled out of his chest at the sight.

Immediately, Shanks’ expression brightened, a victorious spark in his eyes as if he had just won a hard life-and-death battle and Mihawk rolled his eyes. He seriously could be such a child. Why did he deal with him at all?

He supposed it was one of those things that would never make sense… and Mihawk wasn’t sure he even wanted it to make sense.

He didn’t fight it when Shanks’ knee forced its way onto Mihawk’s chair, wedging itself in between Mihaw’s thigh and the armrest; the man himself leaned forward, towering over Mihawk and caging him in place. It was funny, how natural feeling his warmth against him felt—were it anyone else, Mihawk’s skin would be crawling but with this man, this absolute menace on the world and Mihawk’s life… he didn’t mind it at all.

Instead, he welcomed it.

He welcomed the warmth. He welcomed the weight on his legs—he wasn’t even sure when he had uncrossed them to accommodate the man who had decided to crawl into his lap as if he were a cat. He even welcomed the way his hands automatically came to rest on the sides of Red Hair’s thighs, thumbs rubbing circles into the fabric of his pants.

And he welcomed the lips now hovering so close to his own.

Mihawk huffed in amusement; he could only imagine how the world would react to seeing the mighty Emperor of the Sea like this—sitting in his lap, basically begging for his touch, his lips. Too bad he was the only one who would ever see him this way.

It only took a split second for their lips to connect, the kiss hungry and desperate, as if they were trying to make up for the almost three months of separation in that single touch. They moved against each other with practised ease, Shanks’ lips stretching into a smile against Mihawk’s mouth. Despite himself… the gesture made Mihawk want to smile as well.

He let his hands wander, sliding up and down the man’s thighs before moving up, slipping underneath his loose and wrinkled dress shirt until he touched bare skin.

Shanks shivered under his touch, but seemingly determined not to lose, he let his tongue run slowly over Mihawk’s mouth, his teeth scraping lightly over his bottom lip—teasing, without deepening the kiss. Not pulling away even the slightest bit, Shanks started shuffling then, searching blindly with his hand behind himself—until something shattered.

And once Shanks’ hand came to rest against his cheek, the fingers stroking his skin gently before sliding into his hair… Mihawk was reminded of the wine glass that was—had been—in Shanks’ hand, now most likely lying broken into pieces with red wine spilling all over his expensive white fur carpet.

“You’re cleaning that up,” Mihawk said flatly against Shanks’ lips.

“Don’t ruin the moment,” Shanks muttered, his breath caressing Mihawk’s cheek while his fingers curled in Mihawk’s hair to scratch his scalp gently, sending shivers of pleasure down the swordsman’s spine.

Gulping heavily to keep his voice level, Mihawk repeated, “You’re cleaning that up.”

“Fine. Tomorrow. But now shut up,” Red Hair hissed before he moved forward once more—only to bite Mihawk’s bottom lip in retaliation.

As if he had any right to retaliate after ruining the fucking carpet.

Mihawk was going to make sure it was either spotless by the time the menace left, or paid for in equal value with whatever means.

But right now, with said menace licking and sucking on his neck, he couldn’t say he cared. Right now, he only cared about those lips, the fingers tangled in his hair, and the soft skin of Shanks’ sides that seemed to be burning under Mihawk’s touch… and Shank's sweet, almost delicate moans as he pulled himself closer to grind against him.

Moans so quiet that Mihawk could barely make them out—meant for his ears only.

And he was going to make sure he got enough of all of them, enough of Shanks tonight to make up for all the time they had spent apart.

—————

Zoro’s morning started just like any other. He woke up at 7 AM, got dressed and brushed his teeth, then it was straight to his usual twenty minute run around the island. After getting back two hours later, it was time for a quick shower—he didn’t see the point when he knew he was just going get sweaty again later but Perona could get fucking unbearable otherwise. She’d end up complaining endlessly about his sweaty brow, and even being on the same island with someone so ‘smelly’ and ‘disgusting’. He would really rather take a pointless shower than deal with one minute of that so he begrudgingly made his way to the bathroom before he could finally head to the kitchen for breakfast.

He wasn’t surprised to find Perona already sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of pancakes and a steaming cup of tea in front of her, the stupid ugly bear of hers sitting securely on her lap. Hawk Eyes was exactly where Zoro had expected him—standing at the stove, making the pancakes that Perona was happily shoving into her mouth as if they were the best meal she had ever eaten.

Zoro had to wonder just what kind of food the woman used to eat while at Thriller Bark. Sure, Hawk Eyes was a decent cook but nowhere as good as Curly. Zoro wasn’t sure if that said more about Perona's culinary experiences or Curly… but Zoro would be damned if he so much as admitted he might have possibly maybe kind of missed the asshole’s cooking.

Whatever.

“Good morning.” Zoro yawned, grabbing a pancake off of Perona’s plate as he passed by.

“Hey! Get your own!” Perona yelled instead of returning the greeting.

Hawk Eyes sighed, flipping the fresh pancake he was making. “Grab your own plate or you’re not getting any, Roronoa.”

Shoving the rest of the stolen pancake into his mouth, Zoro rolled his eyes, passing by Hawk Eyes to get some water since he was still being unjustly forced to live without alcohol. Soon, he would earn his right to have a goddamned beer, though. He’s almost got it, he was going to turn his blades black for sure. Any day now.

“Any sake in that fridge?” came an unfamiliar voice from behind him.

Zoro frowned, turning his head to the side to look over his shoulder to look at the man standing behind him—his red hair and that scar looked vaguely familiar but Zoro couldn’t for the life of him place that face. He was tall, his uncovered chest sported powerful, well defined muscles, his very presence making it obvious he was strong, much stronger than Zoro despite his missing left arm… but it wasn’t like that had ever stopped him.

“You talk about alcohol in front of me one more time and I’m going to cut you,” Zoro growled, full of annoyance as he slammed the fridge door shut.

“Scary,” the man laughed loudly before side stepping Zoro to get to the fridge.

Zoro simply rolled his eyes, deciding it wasn’t worth it getting mad over not being taken seriously. It was too damn early for that. So, instead, he walked away, taking a plate of Hawk Eyes’ pancakes before dropping into his designated chair opposite of Perona.

“So where are all the pumpkin pies I was promised?” the stranger asked then.

“Pantry,” Hawk Eyes replied absentmindedly while he poured hot water into a mug.

Perona’s eyes widened. “Are you giving out my pies for free?!” she asked, scandalised.

“Thank god. I’ve had enough pumpkin to last me till the next life,” Zoro muttered.

“Excuse me?!” Perona hissed, turning to glare at him instead.

Zoro simply ignored her, turning his attention back to his pancakes; they were sweet and he hated sweet things… but it was still worlds better than having to eat pumpkin pie for breakfast for the third time that week.

“Would you rather I throw them out, Ghost Girl?” Hawk Eyes asked flatly, making Perona puff up… before she deflated, begrudgingly admitting the man had a point.

The red haired man laughed loudly again. “So domestic. What a sweet little family.”

“Shut the hell up, Red Hair.” Hawk Eyes shot back, obviously not amused by the remark.

“Sorry sorry,” the man apologised… yet his voice was still shaking with laughter when he walked off to drop into a chair next to Zoro at the table as if it were a normal Sunday.

It was only once Perona had to slap the man’s hand away from her plate that something seemed to click in her mind and she froze. She didn’t move at all for a long while, simply staring at the stranger who was trying to steal her breakfast exactly the same way Zoro had earlier… until her mouth fell open and she slammed her hands at the table as she shot up from her chair.

“Shanks?!” she screeched. “‘Red Hair’ Shanks?!”

The man blinked, obviously taken aback by the sudden development. “Uh yeah?” he tried uncertainly.

“Oh my god,” she said, her hands flying up to slap at her cheeks; maybe trying to get herself to wake up from a dream.

Zoro, on the other hand, tilted his head to the side as he looked at Perona, then the red haired man, then at Perona again. Shanks. Why did that sound familiar?

Wait.

“Shanks as in the Emperor?” he asked, voice full of disbelief even to his own ears.

At that, Shanks laughed. It was a full-blown, unrestrained laughter, one that reminded Zoro of his own captain. But Luffy wasn’t there; instead, one of the strongest, most powerful people in the world was sitting next to him, laughing so hard he could barely breathe while Zoro and Perona just sat there, staring at him like he was a mirage—or maybe a hallucination.

Maybe those stupid pumpkin pies had gone bad sooner than they had thought and now they were all suffering from food poisoning? That honestly seemed more plausible that an Emperor of the Sea sitting in their fucking kitchen.

“What is ‘Red Hair’ Shanks doing in our kitchen?! Why?! What’s going on?!” Perona rattled off, seemingly on the verge of hysterics.

“Stop screaming, Ghost Girl,” Hawk Eyes said with annoyance as he approached them. “This is my kitchen, be glad I didn’t kick you out. Here, your coffee,” he added, putting a steaming mug in front of the fucking Emperor of the Sea.

Or more like milk with a splash of coffee. Disgusting.

A soft smile spread on Shanks’ face at that. “Thanks, love,” he said, catching Mihawk’s wrist before he could walk away—

And Zoro and Perona could only watch with wide eyes as Shanks let go of Mihawk’s hand only to continue further up the man’s arm, moving gently over the thin fabric of his shirt until he touched bare skin. But Shanks didn’t stop there—he let his hand move higher still, his fingers sliding behind Mihawk’s neck and tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, closer… until their lips connected.

It was a chaste kiss, almost innocent—if not for the familiarity of it, and the unspoken intimacy that made even Zoro blush.

Zoro could swear it took a full hour before the two pulled away, Hawk Eyes clicking his tongue in annoyance even while the corner of his lips twitched upwards.

As he stared at the two of them, suddenly he started noticing more. There was a suspicious dark bruise on Hawk Eyes’ neck just below his ear. The angry red scratches on Shanks’ back that he had previously thought were barely healed scars now looked closer to claw marks. And was that an actual bite mark on the Emperor’s shoulder?

As if that wasn’t bad enough, his eyes then caught something white contrasting against Shanks’ red hair and he frowned, squinting slightly at the Emperor. Was that whipped cream behind his ear?

No.

Nope. Absolutely not.

Zoro decided he didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to know about it. Didn’t want to see it. If he closed his eyes, if he just didn’t look…

It simply wasn’t happening.

But then, Perona’s distressed voice echoed around the kitchen again. “What the hell is going on?” she asked. When Zoro glanced at her, she looked like she was about to stab the two old men with her tea spoon just to get out of this situation.

Zoro couldn’t blame her.

“You see,” Red Hair started, “when two people love each other very much—”

“AHHHHHH! Negative Hollow!!” Perona screamed before Shanks could get another word in.

Zoro would be lying if he said watching the mighty, powerful Emperor of the Sea slump onto the table lifelessly, mumbling something about shrimps and plankton wasn’t satisfying—if completely surreal—but he didn’t even have the mind to appreciate it. He had learnt more about Hawk Eyes than he ever wanted to in the last two minutes and he wondered if there was a way to erase his memory.

As he robotically stood and left the kitchen without a word, heading for another ten minute run which would hopefully last a few hours—long enough to clear his head—he nostalgically thought back to the time when the worst of his problems was Nami threatening to double the interest on his loan if he dared to sleep through another snow storm.

Just one more year, he thought.

Just one more year and he could go on to pretend that had never seen 'Red Hair' Shanks in his life, ever, and certainty hadn't seen him half-naked, with a lazy just-fucked grin on his face in their fucking kitchen.

He could only hope there would never be a repeat of this morning—for the sake of his own sanity and limited ability to erase things from his memory.

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