Work Text:
“This is taking far too long,” Crocodile grits out around the shape of his ever dwindling cigar. “I swear if you’re just fucking around in there-”
“Give a man a minute for fucks sake,” Buggy yells back from behind the closed bathroom door.
The thing is, Crocodile has given him a minute. Many minutes. In fact, while he no longer possesses the number of fingers needed to even begin to count how many minutes the damn clown has been locked in the bathroom getting ready, in the time it’s taken, he could have gone out and cut off more than enough hands to get the job done.
Next to him on their bed, Mihawk lets out a quiet sigh. “You know he’s just stalling for time.”
All this gets is a grumble from Crocodile. Of course he knows Buggy is stalling for time. This entire debacle was all some sort of joke from the jester, and now that he and Mihawk had caught him, he was desperately trying to think his way out of it. But no. Not this time. This time, the emperor would own up to what he had done.
Unfortunately, all of this had started with the delivery of the morning mail not too many weeks ago. Crocodile had been going back and forth with the Lewin pirates to come to an agreement on a new contract of goods the guild needed. A favorable outcome was, and still is, crucial. It just had to be that Lewin pirates were gluttons for a good gala, inviting the three chairmen to an affair they were hosting. The letter claimed it was a sign of good will, but Crocodile was not the fool amongst the three of them. All of this was to size them up, put on some big show and see who came out with the bigger cock in the hopes of fucking them over with it in the deal. None of it would have really been a problem if not for the final note:
Black and white formal only.
From the moment he read it, Crocodile knew that for himself and Mihawk, this wouldn’t be an issue as long as he could pry the other man away from his hat and cloak for the evening. Buggy however . . .
“Only black and white thing I’ve ever worn was that shit from Impel Down, and I already burned that, so . . .” He had leaned back in his chair, feet propped up on their meeting table. “Guess I’ll have to wear something else. I do have a dazzling red three-piece I haven’t got to wear that-”
“You’ll follow the dress code,” Crocodile interjected before the clown’s head could be filled with more ridiculous things to wear. “It will be black and white. And I swear if you show up in something else, you’ll regret it.”
In response, Buggy had the audacity to roll his eyes. “Like I said, I don’t have anything that follows their stupid dress code. So either, I wear what I want, or I don’t go at all.” Then, because apparently Crocodile’s threats lost their edge somewhere along the way in this partnership, Buggy flipped him off.
Before Crocodile could show him where to stick that goddamn finger, Mihawk interrupted the two by throwing a small coin purse across the table and into Buggy’s lap. “Get something tailored,” he simply said.
There was some grumbling about how Buggy could afford it himself, but he still didn’t turn down the gold. Even when Mihawk added, “And if it's not within the regulations, discussions will be had.”
That had been that. For weeks, the matter was at rest in Crocodile’s mind. Everything was fine. Then, word had gotten back to him that Buggy had indeed obtained his outfit for the gala, though the clown was oddly silent on the matter. Usually he’d make a show of it to Mihawk and Crocodile. Or at least tease them with hints of whatever new thing he had. The fact that he wasn’t . . .
Well it led them here, waiting for Buggy to finish putting the damn thing on so that they could approve of the outfit. The fact that it was taking at least three times as long as it should have is doing nothing to ease Crocodile’s concerns.
“It’s going to have glitter, isn’t it?”
“At the least,” Mihawk replies, eyes never leaving the door. “A water-squirting flower is also not out of the question.”
At the mere thought, Crocodile can’t help but pinch the bridge of his nose. This was going to be a disaster.
Before Crocodile has time to contemplate just knocking the door down, Buggy’s voice calls, “Alright, are you ready?”
“Yes,” their replies come in unison.
“Are you sure, because-”
“ Yes,” they again say in tandem, the frustration at waiting seeping through the single word.
And then the door opens.
No one says anything at first, Crocodile and Mihawk simply staring at the man in front of them. He can’t even say ‘staring at Buggy’, because Crocodile’s not actually sure the person in front of them is Buggy. Sure they’re standing at Buggy’s same height and the eyes are the same lush blue, but as for everything else?
No. Just no.
First off, no blue hair. Instead it's black, pulled back into a tight bun. He was expecting it to be down, maybe even two plaits down either shoulder. Then there’s the outfit. It's a black three-piece suit that Crocodile can tell even from here has been made perfectly to Buggy’s measurements. The lapel rests nicely against his chest and the grade of the shoulders are smooth. Even the cuffs come down perfectly to where his wrist meets his hand. The underlying white shirt is complemented by a long black tie the perfect width for him. Hell even the belt and shoes match.
However, what stands out the most is that where a bright red nose should be is instead an opaque black veil that cuts across his face right around where Crocodile’s scar is. The fabric easily drapes down from there, covering his face all the way past his chin.
It’s . . It’s . . . Crocodile doesn’t know what it is.
“Wow don’t rush to speak all at once,” The maybe-Buggy deadpans, the veil moving slightly with his breath. “What? This somehow too colorful for you?”
Instead of answering, all Crocodile can get out is, “What did you do to your hair?”
“Hmm?” Buggy’s hands pop off and fly to his hair to ensure there's not a strand out of place. “Oh, this? Thought it completed the look. Don’t worry it will wash right out.”
“And the veil?” Mihawk helpfully jumps in because Crocodile’s not sure anything he can say at the moment would be good. “Is that . . . New?”
Of course its fucking new, Crocodile wants to say. Everything the clown is wearing is new! Even the socks, because Crocodile knows for a fact that before today, Buggy did not own a single pair of mono-chrome socks, let alone matching pairs!
Nodding, Buggy’s floating hands usher them forward. “Don’t you want to come see everything? I promise I won’t bite.”
Although Crocodile knows from the tone of voice that Buggy is smiling beneath the veil, not being able to actually see the wide grin leaves an odd feeling in his core.
As if waking up from their stupor, both men rise from where they were sitting on the bed to get a closer look at their lover. Noting the pick-stitching masterfully trailing across the lapel, Crocodile’s earlier notion that this is all high-quality work is proven correct. Speaking of, he keeps expecting to see some sort of button on said lapel. A pin of a circus tent or his own jolly roger or just something to give a shred of identity to the whole outfit, but no. Everything is immaculate and fitting and in order and-
Crocodile’s eyes narrow as a realization hits him like a shot to the face.
“You’re not wearing makeup.”
Buggy shrugs. “Didn’t think it went.”
How he didn’t take it in before, Crocodile hasn’t the faintest. But it’s true, Buggy’s face is bare of his usual crossbones, the blue slashed across his eyes gone, hell, he would bet he’s not wearing lipstick either beneath that fucking veil. It’s not like he’s never seen the other man sans all that shit. They may be few and far between, but the moments do happen. Usually it's when the clown actually remembers to remove the makeup before bed so it doesn’t get all over the goddamn pillows. Sometimes it's after sex, Mihawk gently dragging a washcloth over the other's face to clean him of the sweat, tears, and on occasion, cum coating him. So really, the sight before him isn’t anything new.
But it feels new.
Buggy’s face without all his pageantry is for him and Mihawk to see in private moments. Not some members of Lewin Pirates that Crocodile barely tolerates. The thought alone makes his fucking blood boil. None of them would appreciate what they were seeing at the gala. None of them would understand the privilege they would have, seeing Buggy like this. They all would take it for granted.
Suddenly, the taste of tobacco floods Crocodile’s mouth as he accidentally clenches down on his cigar.
“Oh don’t tell me you assholes don't like it!” Buggy’s body flies up from the floor so that he’s nose to nose, or veil to nose, with first Mihawk and then Crocodile. “Here I am, going through all this trouble to get this fucking suit, and you don’t even appreciate it!”
Hands come to Buggy’s shoulders and push him back onto his feet. “Settle down, we didn’t say we didn’t like it.”
“It’s simply surprising seeing you out of your usual attire,” Mihawk adds, his stoic demeanor remaining unchanged. “It looks very good on you.”
At the simple compliment, Buggy preens. “Well thank you. Nice to get some appreciation around here.” He marks the sentence with a very pointed glance towards Crocodile.
“In fact, I have a pair of cufflinks in my room that would suit you well. Why don’t you go get them? Top drawer on the left.”
Immediately a glean comes to Buggy’s eyes. “Don’t mind if I do! Be right back!” And with that, he swiftly exits the room, leather shoes barely making a sound as he walks out.
For a few seconds after the door closes, the two men just stand there.
Should Crocodile even tell Mihawk how he feels about the suit? If both he and Buggy like it, no doubt Crocodile will just be seen as causing problems. After all, he was the one who insisted Buggy follow the damn guidelines, now here he is, wishing to see just a hint of the usual color he associates with the clown. The worst part is, Mihawk is right. He does look good in the suit. He just doesn’t look like himself. Who knew there would be a day where he missed that red nose or clown attire, but here he is! And there’s nothing he can do about it.
“He can’t wear that.”
The words are quiet enough that Crocodile almost doesn’t hear, and when he glances up and sees that Mihawk isn’t even looking at him, he becomes more convinced he just imagined it. However, when Mihawk turns, his eyes are glowing with a fury rarely seen, and it's impossible to imagine the way his lip curls as he says “I’ll burn the thing if I have to. He’s not wearing it.”
“Thought you said you liked the clown’s getup?” Crocodile can’t help but prod.
“I didn’t lie, it does look good on him,” Mihawk is quick to parry. “But he looks like a stranger. I would far rather see an underdressed Buggy than whatever that is.”
Not saying anything, Crocodile instead just nods.
“However, should we elect to tell him our thoughts on the matter, he’ll surely wear it out of spite.”
“Don’t forget bitch about it until the end of our days.”
Crocodile can imagine it now. Like a ghost, Buggy will float around and moan without respite. ‘I just did what you asked’, he’ll whine. ‘I spent good berry on this,” he’ll say, avoiding the fact that Mihawk was the one who paid for it. He’ll say they owe him, that they should have to wear something in a more colorful palate, it will be a whole ordeal that Crocodile is not looking forward to and would very much like to avoid without breaking too many things.
And then an idea strikes him, leading to a wide grin stretching across his face. “Say Hawkeyes,” he begins, looking over the gleam of his hook. “Wouldn’t it be such a shame if our dear emperor could no longer wear that suit? If, perchance, something happened to it? After all,” he pauses to twist his wrist so that he could see Mihawk in the reflection of the hook. “He does look rather good in it.”
Mihawk’s reflection cocks its head for a moment before its chin raises. “Indeed. What a shame it would be . . .”
A few minutes pass before Buggy returns to the room with a call of “Are you sure these will go? Not exactly the black or white the invitation . . .”
Whatever he was going to say next dies on his tongue, and Crocodile takes the opportunity to materialize behind him, shutting the door as he does. “What’s the matter?” Crocodile lets his voice go low as he looms. “We simply thought your efforts should be . . . Appreciated.”
Across from them on the bed, Mihawk arches his back, eyes closed and mouth open, one hand slowly rubbing his cock.
The clink of the cufflinks clattering to the floor almost seems to echo around the room.
“I ah-”Buggy perfectly imitates a dying fish the way his mouth opens and shuts. “While I knew that, well, that I’m usually irresistible, you two barely able to stop falling all over me-”
Crocodile rolls his eyes, though a smile lingers on his face.
“- I didn’t realize a simple wardrobe change would be this appreciated.”
Starting to drag openmouthed kisses up Buggy’s neck, Crocodile pauses at the clown’s ear to whisper “Do you want to see just how appreciated it is?”
“Fuck yes.”
That’s all it takes for Crocodile to quickly turn him around and not so gently throw him over his shoulder. Despite a quick “Watch it!” Crocodile keeps him in a tight grip as he takes Buggy over to the bed. And if the fabric wrinkles? Well, that can be chalked up to the heat of the moment and anyone who knows what's good for them would agree.
With little grace, Buggy is deposited next to Mihawk on the bed. “Nice of you to join. Now,” Mihawk wastes no time in grabbing Buggy’s stupid pick-stitched lapel. “Come here.”
In one fluid motion, Mihawk drags Buggy onto his lap before his hands go up to his face. For a moment, it's like he’s cradling the clown’s cheeks in his hands, and maybe another time, it would be almost sweet. However, the action is immediately followed by Mihawk ripping off that awful veil and throwing it to the side without a second glance. Ugh, he was right. Buggy isn’t even wearing his signature lipstick smile. Just awful.
As his head begins to turn to follow the path of the veil, Mihawk is quick to bring him back in with a searing kiss, hopefully helping move along any thoughts of the cloth. And like nothing had happened, Buggy’s hands find anchorage in the other man’s hair and seems to lose himself in the kiss. While Buggy surely notices the way Mihawk rocks beneath him, the fact that each thrust of his hips smears more pre-cum across the smooth dark wool of his pants may be lost on him at the moment.
Never one to miss out, Crocodile slides behind Buggy, pressing his back to his chest. His hand snakes around the front of the clown and finds the fastened middle button- Fuck he had even buttoned the thing correctly. It's all too easy to grasp the polished thing between his fingers and rip it off. The dim sound of it rolling on the floor gives Crocodile a spike of pleasure.
In between the hot press of Mihawk’s mouth to his own, Buggy scowls. “That was- Ohh- That was unnecessary- Mmmm- Asshole.”
As a semi-apology, Crocodile bites down on the small bit of skin showing on Buggy’s neck. Scraping his teeth, Crocodile makes sure the mark will bruise. If somehow the clown ends up wearing this fucking suit, he’ll make sure everyone else at the party knows who the emperor belongs to.
His hand then goes to grab at the edges of the suit jacket, and Buggy generously removes his hands from Mihawk’s hair for a moment so the jacket can be slipped off. As its tossed the floor, it doesn’t fold like Crocodile hoped it would. Instead it retains some of its shape as if to mock him. However, all it takes is a flick of his wrist and the offending garment is dragged off by a coil of sand, never to be seen again.
A small gasp is let out, immediately recognizable as from Mihawk. The swordsman is not one to make much noise in bed, so any sound they can get him to elicit is coveted. That coupled with the very loud and copious sounds from Buggy only egg Crocodile on further and this time when he reaches around, his hand finds Mihawk's back. A quick scrape of his nails down his skin begets another soft huff, more pre-cum surely soiling Buggy’s pants from the outside. Still, there’s more work to be done.
Regrettably, his hand leaves the warmth of Mihawk’s skin for the smooth fabric of Buggy’s waistcoat. It’s almost infuriating, how nice of a figure the clown cuts in the garment. If he looked bad in the thing, then at least Crocodile could explain away his anger without having to admit that he’s grown to like circus pants and loud colors. But no, for all intents and purposes, Crocodile should like it all, and yet . . .
“Take that thing off before I rip it off you,” Crocodile orders, drawing the tip of his hook over the fabric to prove the point. Immediately, Bugger shudders. However, he remains obedient and quickly shuffles out of it. A single beat passes before Mihawk’s quick fingers dart forward and wrap around Buggy’s tie, even the slightest bit of pressure making it bite into the clown’s neck.
“Off the bed. On your knees.”
Like there’s no place in any of the seas he’d rather be, Buggy is quick to slide off the bed and onto the floor. It takes a moment for Mihawk to also get in position, with his own legs hanging off the side, but as soon as he does he gives a harsh yank to the tie to bring Buggy between his legs. “Get going,” is all he has to say before Buggy eagerly takes his cock fully in his mouth.
Eyes closed and mouth open, Mihawk’s hands find Buggy’s hair on instinct. It's a stark contrast, the paleness of his skin against the now black of Buggy’s hair. Crocodile hates it. Blue. It should be blue. Buggy is blue. Blue and red and orange and green and just- Not this. Luckily though, those same pale fingers easily find Buggy’s bun and the small band keeping it together comes off with a satisfying snap. Next come, truth be told, far more pins than Crocodile feasibly thought could be in hair. Seriously, it's going to take so long to get those all off the floor. However, those are thoughts for later, as now Buggy’s hair hangs long, some strands covering his face as he continues to suck Mihawk off.
Speaking of, Crocodile settles himself behind Mihawk. “Hmm, you’ve really got him going.” He glances down to Buggy, who in turn takes the praise and runs with it. Hollowing out his cheeks, Buggy takes him down to the root, never breaking eye contact. For his part, Crocodile lets his hand trace up to one of Mihawk’s nipples. “I don’t think he’s going to last long like this, do you?” He ends the sentence by rolling the bud between his thumb and forefinger before biting down on Mihawk’s neck. This time the moan is louder, coupled with a jerk of his hips that Buggy expertly takes. “You know Hawkeyes,” he begins to say, never slowing as he hits all of the swordsman's most sensitive spots. “Without the makeup, the clown looks a bit bare, don’t you think? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind some help getting all dolled up?”
Mihawk never is a talkative one during sex, leaving that up to Crocodile and Buggy. So all Crocodile gets in response is more shuddering breaths and a quick but distinct nod. Meanwhile, between Mihawk’s legs, Buggy moans around his cock as his eyes go wide and that’s all Mihawk needs to loosen the hold on the tie. As Buggy backs up, leaving kisses along the length as he does, Crocodile’s hand replaces his mouth. The pace he sets is brutal from the beginning. Mihawk is riled up already. No need to prolong the inevitable.
Really, all it takes is a few strokes and some whispered filth before Mihawk practically doubles over on himself, jerking the tie forward as hard as he can so that Buggy is forced forward and close as possible when Mihawk comes. This time, the contrast of white cum in Buggy’s black hair is a welcome contrast. As for the white dripping down his face, well, that’s always welcome.
As his breath begins to even out, Mihawk scoots off to the side before he flops back onto the bed. Crocodile knows from experience that he won’t want to be touched for a bit, and just gives a small hum in acknowledgment. No worries. Crocodile can keep himself occupied elsewhere.
Eyes lock on to Buggy’s as Crocodile takes a similar position to Mihawk’s: Sitting up with his legs over the edge of the bed, the only difference being that Crocodile keeps his knees slightly closer together. It’s easy to grab the forgotten tie and tug. “Up here, clown,” Crocodile says, glancing towards his knee and Buggy scrambles up without a word. With his partner now fully situated on his lap, Crocodile decides that the tie is no longer needed, as much fun as it is. Taking the moment to undo the tie and noting that the stitching has ripped in a few places from the treatment, he actually doesn’t throw it out of a porthole. The tie has proven its worth and can remain for now. Though should the clown think about wearing it in public then the tie will have truly run its course. Until then, it may serve as a blindfold, a rope to bind the wrists, a gag perhaps . . .
The kiss Crocodile pulls Buggy into is searing, all teeth and tongue, both far too riled up for anything soft. With a particularly intense bite against the other man’s lips, Crocodile pulls back just in time to watch a spot of blood well up on Buggy’s lips. “Poor thing,” he teases. And when he cups Buggy’s chin, swiping away the blood with his thumb, he is sure to wipe the blood straight onto the crisp white of the other’s button up.
“Aww, missing my usual color?” Buggy asks, tongue taking its sweet time pressing against the scrape on his lip. “Give me a moment and I can go grab my lipstick if you want?”
The clown is edging far too close to the truth for his liking and honestly, shouldn’t have this much coherent thought this far into sex. “Not missing anything. Just wanted to remind you that putting on something nice for a change doesn’t change the fact that you’re our filthy whore.”
Buggy smiles wide, eyes half-lidded. “You think I look nice?”
This little bastard.
Crocodile doesn’t think twice before bringing his hook up to the collar of Buggy’s shirt and then dragging it down in one sharp motion, making the shirt rip and buttons fly across the room.
Before a snarky reply can be even thought of, Crocodile sinks his teeth into the clown’s collarbone, earning him a keening whine. “You want to come?” He tenses his leg, sure in the knowledge that Buggy can feel it from where he sits. “Work for it.”
With a new bruising bite underneath Buggy’s ear, that’s all the instruction the clown is getting. Luckily, it seems it's also the only instruction the clown needs. Immediately, he starts grinding down on Crocodile’s leg.
“That’s it.” Crocodile leans back, watching Buggy work. Cum drying on his hair, blood on his lip, shirtless but with his pants on, Buggy makes quite the sight. Far better than he looked all put together. “You can come like this, can’t you?”
A whimper is all the reply he gets as Buggy’s face falls into his chest, hands clinging to his coat as he continues to grind his hard cock against Crocodile’s leg.
“My, already so hard. And from what? Sucking cock and humping my leg?” He lets out a cruel laugh. “Hear that Mihawk? Your cocks so good you’ve got the fool practically coming from it?”
He didn’t expect much reply beyond the “Mhmmm” Mihawk murmurs his way, though that’s fine. It’s Buggy’s response, the way he bites into Crocodile’s shoulder to muffle his moans that he was really aiming for.
Sooner than Crocodile had actually expected, Buggy starts making the little huffs and whines he always makes before he’s about to come, and really, all Crocodile has to do to shove him over the edge at that point is push his calf up to meet him, and then Buggy’s nails are digging in and his hips are jerking and he’s coming like he’s dying.
As he finishes riding out his orgasm, Buggy’s hand comes to the button of Crocodile’s pants, an eyebrow raised, though Crocodile shakes his head. “I’m good,” he says as the hand withdraws, and he watches as Buggy collapses in his own pile next to Mihawk. And truly, Crocodile is satisfied. Not just from seeing his partners thoroughly fucked, but also . . .
Well, there’s nothing quite like seeing the scattered and tattered remains of that fucking suit on the floor. And so Crocodile proceeds with taking care of the other two, safe in the knowledge that the clown won’t be wearing that awful thing to the gala.
“So,” Alvida calls as Buggy saunters over. “What’s the verdict?”
For a moment, Buggy doesn’t reply as he finishes putting his hair up now that it's been fully washed out back to its usual blue. “Well, it’s been decided that acquiescing to the Lewin pirates dress code would be,” His hands pop off for full emphasis on the air quotes. “-demeaning of our status.”
She quirks an eyebrow. “So no black and white requirement.”
“Nope,” he says, popping the p. “In fact, Mihawk has suggested I incorporate some purple into the outfit to match him, and Crocodile just happened to think I should wear something green, but certainly not because that’s what he’s wearing. All well and good now my prior outfit is out of commission.”
Alvida blinks at him before bursting into a grin. “How did that go, Exactly , how you said it would?”
Matching Alvida’s grin, Buggy shrugs. “What can I say, I may wear the flashier things, but those two are the ones who fell for the guy wearing it all.”
Somewhere else on the island, Crocodile suddenly gets an odd feeling that he’s been had.