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Crocodile had no issue with falling asleep at his desk. What he took issue with was the fact he kept waking up in his bed, his shoes and hook removed.
He’d never been one for early nights of lie-ins. He utilised every hour of the day, stuffing it with accounting and bookkeeping and calls, and he utilised every hour of the evening with stuffing his partners, bathing them and settling down with them to sleep. Or not, as kept happening.
Of course, Buggy didn’t just sleep loud enough to wake the dead but also talked and even, at times, sang in his sleep. Off-key show tunes, ballads and chants and lullabies, ditties from different cities, all nasal and slurred between his snores. On top of that, Mihawk had his habit of sitting up in the night, staring into space for several minutes, and flopping back down again, scaring the ever-loving shit out of Buggy and leaving Crocodile with the task of calming back down to sleep. Crocodile had allowed for an additional half an hour of sleep in the morning, just thirty minutes of peace while Mihawk made breakfast and Buggy dolled himself up. It was the most peaceful one thousand eighty seconds of Crocodile’s day, but it was becoming apparent it wasn’t enough.
Few people dared to enter Crocodile’s office, which narrowed down the suspect list. Daz was too pragmatic to go trying to move Crocodile; he’d simply shake Crocodile awake and tell him to go to bed, and was possibly the only person bold enough to speak to Crocodile so plainly. Alvida would take the opportunity to slack off and leave him sleeping. The rest of the Buggy Crew were too afraid of Crocodile to go trying to move him.
Mihawk was physically strong enough to lift Crocodile’s weight, but Crocodile was easily two and half times bigger than Mihawk, making it impossible for Mihawk to lift him without stumbling or letting a limb drag on the floor. Crocodile pondered the possibility of Mihawk summoning the humandrills to help him, but a couple of hours observing the humandrills led Crocodile to conclude the creatures too clumsy to move a sleeping man, even under Mihawk’s direction.
Buggy was also about strong enough to lift Crocodile’s weight, albeit for a shorter time than Mihawk, and if he used his chop-chop powers strategically would be able to carry Crocodile without dragging him. The thought of Buggy's dismembered feet plodding along after them was mildly amusing, but Crocodile doubted Buggy's ability to think up such a plan, and doubted his ability to keep quiet about his actions even further.
Which led to zero suspects, and Mister Zero bowing over his desk, feigning sleep. He’d been there almost an hour, and cramp was setting in to his stomach and neck.
The door opened and closed. Boots clicked, the steps steady and confident and distinctively Mihawk.
Mihawk’s glass thudded as he put it down on the desk. His hand ran over Crocodile’s shoulders. Crocodile’s den-den ca-licked, and Mihawk’s spare hand was still on the nape of Crocodile’s neck.
“He’s asleep again,” Mihawk said, “Yes. Good, I shall wait.” And the den-den ca-licked off again.
Mihawk’s hand drifted to Crocodile’s head, slinking into his hair. His fingertips met Crocodile’s scalp and rubbed in soft little circles.
Crocodile had to resist the urge to sigh a moan. The circles were hypnotically relaxing, and sleep was trying to seduce Crocodile into drifting.
The door opened and closed again, the newcomer scurrying rather than walking across. They stepped in close, smelling distinctly of fresh ‘wani bedding and sugar; it was Buggy.
Buggy made some small grunting noises that could have meant anything. His hand caressed Crocodile’s cheek and the other took to Crocodile’s shoulder.
Crocodile’s chair was pulled back, Buggy and Mihawk both holding Crocodile and pushing him upright. Crocodile groaned in surprise, and Buggy physically flinched.
Upright in his chair, Crocodile felt Buggy wrap his arms around him, his full upper body against Crocodile’s torso, his lower body seas know where. Mihawk’s arms wrapped around Crocodile’s legs, Buggy counted down softly, and they lifted on zero.
Crocodile had to admit to himself that their strategy was somewhat genius. The seamless cross over of two of Crocodile’s plainest theories, combining Buggy's abilities with Mihawk’s strength. He wondered which of them thought of it; Mihawk was loathe to ask for help, and Buggy was too panicky to ask for help.
Buggy and Mihawk paused. Mihawk lifted him a little higher. Another countdown and Crocodile was lowered onto the bed.
The bed dipped as Buggy's lower half and Mihawk both climbed onto the bed, Mihawk adjusting Crocodile’s legs with him. Buggy straddled Crocodile, returned to one piece as he unfastened Crocodile’s cravat and Mihawk unbuckled Crocodile’s shoes.
Cravat removed and shirt unbuttoned, Buggy fiddled with the straps of Crocodile’s hook. “Mihawk!” he whisper-shouted, “Mihawk!”
Mihawk moved up the bed next to Buggy. Crocodile could hear the hiss of Mihawk whispering in Buggy's ear, and a flinch of a frown pulled on his brow before he could stop it.
Whispering was below Mihawk. It was a level of immature gossiping that Mihawk was too proud to sink to. Even with Buggy, Mihawk spoke his mind out loud. On mission, Buggy and Mihawk could communicate with waves of the fingers based on morse code and mostly used this skill to wind Crocodile up with their schemes right in front of him.
Buggy giggled, “For real?”
Mihawk hummed.
Buggy giggled again. He eased Crocodile’s hook from his arm with a jolt and climbed off of him.
Stripped of his hook and shoes, Crocodile lay as still as he could. He’s been told by past lovers that he was an eerily quiet sleeper, not snoring, not mumbling; just laying back, breathing deep, his lover(s) tucked under his arm.
Buggy somersaulted down to the end of the bed, and Mihawk’s tut came from that same end. Buggy giggled yet again, and the pair whispered between each other again.
The bed shifted. Shoes clanked on the floor, Buggy's thumping like clogs versus Mihawk sensible placing them down. The bed shifted some more.
Silence. A soft thud.
Silence. Another soft thud.
Silence. Another soft thud, and Buggy whined.
The image shot into Crocodile’s mind eye. Mihawk sat at the end of the bed, leant against the ornate footboard, legs stretched out in front of him. Buggy sprawled over his lap, face turned down and ass turned up. Mihawk’s hand coming down on Buggy's proffered ass. Buggy's eyes closed and his mouth open.
It was cruel for Mihawk to spank Buggy without Crocodile’s observation. Not because Crocodile doubted Mihawk’s ability to spank Buggy into good behaviour, but because it was a show Crocodile loved to watch. It was crueller still for the pretty clown to be holding back his precious, pathetic whimpers.
Crocodile’s eyes snapped open as realisation hit him. He lifted his head to Mihawk smirking at him. As envisioned, Buggy was sprawled over his lap, eyes closed, mouth open.
Mihawk’s hand rose, a finger crossing his lips. He was above winking, and he dropped his hand to caress Buggy's backside.
Crocodile lowered his head back to the pillow Buggy had placed him on, closing his eyes again. He loved to watch the clown in despair, weeping from eyes and cock, but if Mihawk had a plan to torment Buggy, Crocodile could entrust that plan to him. Mihawk’s amusements had heavy cross over with Crocodile’s own, and Crocodile was happy to let Mihawk do the heavy lifting.
The bed jostled after another firm hit, Buggy no doubt kicking out. Another hit, another jostle. And another. And another.
A pause. Fabric rustles. Buggy sighs.
Another hit, less of a thud and more of smack, Mihawk’s open palm ricocheting off Buggy's ass. Crocodile had the jiggle of it memorised, the way the freckled skin would ripple and redden, the way Buggy would jolt and jibber.
The only noise Buggy made was a muffled moan, short vowels that could have been words if his palm wasn’t pressed to his painted lips. Mihawk was silent as Crocodile.
Crocodile was barely breathing, the rise and fall of his chest controlled to make as small a sound as possible. Not a peep, squeak or hum from the end of the bed was to be missed.
More smacks in quick succession, alternating cheeks. The bed sheets jostled as Buggy kicked, his long moan accidentally blowing a raspberry against his palm. Crocodile had to bite his lip not to laugh out loud at the sound. Mihawk huffed a single chuckle on his behalf.
The clown’s moans changed; they became clearer yet quieter as he buried his face in the bedsheets. Crocodile loved it when Buggy made such submissive motions, not just for the excuse to punish him for getting his greasy makeup on the fabric. The marks, smears, licks of colour up Crocodile’s bed and his clothes, up Mihawk’s clothes and neck, were little reminders. Just like the little nips Mihawk’s teeth left up Crocodile’s neck and down Buggy's chest, just like the jewels Crocodile adorned his partners with, they were little signs that they were Buggy's tormentors and comforters alike.
A pitchy, pathetic yelp ripped Buggy's moans to shreds as Mihawk yanked his head up by the hair. “Please…” his voice was strained with desperation, “Please, I’m being so good, please…”
Mihawk shushed him, “Don’t wake the Good Sir. He needs his sleep.”
“Please…” Buggy moaned as another spank landed.
His moans muffled by his hands again, Buggy's sensual song staccatoed as he had to gasp to draw in breath, his sounds crisping into sobs as his inevitable crying began. The moans moved in pitch and volume with the spanks: a hard smack made him squeak; a series of softer hits made him moan deep in his throat.
The spanks stopped. Mihawk shushed Buggy as his breaths remained short and snappy, still sobbing. The bed jostled as Buggy moved to curl up in Mihawk’s lap.
“Shh,” Mihawk cooed, and Crocodile could picture him petting Buggy's hair, one pigtail now loosened and drooping after the firm hold Mihawk had had him in, “Don’t wake him.”
“You’re mean,” Buggy whined, and the pout was audible.
“Do you think he’d punish you if you wake him up?” Mihawk whispered loud enough for Crocodile to hear, “Or do you think he’d call your bruised ass punishment enough?”
“He’d punish me,” Buggy mumbled, “He always punishes me.”
“You like it.”
Buggy giggled, “It’s like a reward.”
“You can reach the drawer from here.”
A second of silence. The drawer next to Crocodile opened and closed with opposing scrapes. Silence again.
Buggy yelped plenty loud enough to wake Crocodile. The bed bounced.
“Move,” Mihawk hissed.
“I can’t!” Buggy hissed back.
Quiet. Buggy squeaked and bucked forward. He was straddling Crocodile’s legs, his arms and legs wide not to touch him.
“Smoothly now,” Mihawk whispered, “Like I’ve been teaching you.”
“How is this what you’ve been teaching me?”
“Avoiding detection. Maintaining calm. Moving smoothing. As you should be.”
Buggy moved, crawling awkwardly up Crocodile’s unmoving body. “I’m going, I’m going, quit pinching me!”
Crocodile tried to stay limp as the bed buckled and shook. Buggy crawled to straddle his torso, laid on his chest, his breath on Crocodile’s exposed neck.
Buggy's hands landed on Crocodile’s face, his fingertips against Crocodile’s temples. He rubbed in small circles.
“Stay a-sleep please, stay a-sleep please,” he whisper-chanted, as if he didn’t know lullabies from every corner of the globe, “Stay a-sleep please, stay a-sleep please.”
His voice shuddered. Mihawk had moved behind him and pulled Buggy's butt plug out with a quick motion. The lube bottle creaked as Mihawk squeezed it.
“How recently did you re-lubricate?” Mihawk asked, as even as asking how the weather had been.
“About ten minutes before you called,” Buggy whispered back.
“Good. You shouldn’t need excessive preparing.”
Buggy whimpered. Crocodile drew a breath in too sharp, a barely wrangled gasp of excitement, and Buggy returned to his un-soothing lullaby.
Clothes rustled, Mihawk’s belt buckle tinkling. Softly, the bottle creaked again.
Buggy chant stammered and squeaked as Mihawk moved. His body seemed to tighten against Crocodile’s as he tensed at the beloved intrusion. His hands fell to the mattress braced about Crocodile’s head.
Crocodile had to fight to stay still, Buggy's breath hot on his face. Buggy was still coherent enough for basic observation skills and panicky enough to be watching Crocodile, and Crocodile intended to pick his moment.
Mihawk’s straddle over Crocodile’s hips was a comfortable weight, his legs shifting to make himself comfortable in his exaggerated stance. He moved back a little and forward again, pushing Buggy firmer into Crocodile’s chest.
Buggy whined, a noise that sat high in his throat and sharp in Crocodile’s eardrums. Crocodile resisted a flinch as Buggy gasped directly in his face.
Mihawk set a smooth pace, not a ferocious pounding and ploughing of the pretty privateer, but quick enough to make the bounce of Mihawk’s hips against Buggy's ass a rhythmic clapping. Buggy was stammering and tried to lift a hand to his mouth and almost tipped himself over.
Buggy lowered himself to his elbows. His moans smothered, his dismembered hands clamped over his mouth, his forearms framing Crocodile’s head.
Something landed on Crocodile’s face. And again, just by his eye. Crocodile’s eyelashes fluttered on instinct.
Crocodile raised his hand. Mihawk was gripping Buggy's hips as he fucked him. Crocodile closed his hand over Mihawk’s smaller one, running his fingertips along the bones of Mihawk’s hand to his wrist, where a bracelet of plain gold chain sat.
Mihawk let go of Buggy to stroke Crocodile’s hand in return. He took one of Crocodile’s ringed fingers and guided him to take hold of Buggy's hip, cupping his hand there as he kept pace.
Buggy was shaking. He pressed his ass back into Mihawk’s thrusting, supported by Crocodile and Mihawk’s hands on him, his chest and face pressing down until his forehead was against Crocodile’s.
Crocodile opened his eyes. Buggy's were scrunched shut, tears squeezing out to land on Crocodile’s face, taking specks of dark green glitter with them. Buggy's hands were clamped together over his mouth, fingers digging into his cheeks. His moans were becoming little squeaks with even squeakier gasps for air in between.
He was close to cumming. Crocodile could tell without looking down or fondling him to find his untouched cock; it was self-evident in the tears of frustration and the melting of his moans from smothered to pleas to helpless chokes. It fascinated Crocodile how giving a performance got Buggy so excited – he existed purely for entertainment, and Crocodile and Mihawk had become his favourite captivated audience.
Crocodile lifted his face to plant a kiss to the back of Buggy's hands. Buggy's eyes cracked open in an outpour of tears to land on Crocodile’s cheeks, and Crocodile was staring straight into his glassy eyes.
Buggy shook and jerked, humping Crocodile’s front as he came. His hands dropped to let a moan escape, his eyes rolling to the back of hand. He collapsed against Crocodile, his face in the nape of Crocodile’s neck.
Mihawk sped up, Buggy whimpering as his sensitive hole was abused. Mihawk shuddered as he came, buried so deep in Buggy that he was shoving him against Crocodile’s front.
Crocodile pulled the ties out of Buggy's hair and combed the pigtails out with his fingers, Buggy's breath still slowing to a sensible pace in his ear. Mihawk pulled out, took Buggy's butt plug back up and replaced it, Buggy grunting at the push.
“Were you really awake the whole time?” Buggy asked, voice soft.
“I was,” Crocodile said, “I wanted to know who was carrying me to bed. I thought it might be you two, but I wasn’t sure how you managed.”
Buggy hummed.
“Did you know I was awake?”
“Not until Hawky told me. He said he wanted to see how long you’d go without taking over.”
“Did he?” Crocodile lifted his head to send Mihawk a sardonic glance.
The glance rolled off Mihawk like a blocked blade, “You did well. I had noticed your patience wearing thin in past weeks. Perhaps due to the lack of sleep.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“You could just say so,” Buggy said, “We could sleep in our own beds, or go to bed earlier, or take some naps…”
“Let me worry about my own sleeping, silly star.”
“You can’t stop me from worrying,” Buggy sat up. His make up had smudged, eyes and mouth lined with his own tan and freckles, “It’s bad for your back to sleep hunched over like that. You need to sleep on your back.”
“Clown…” Crocodile started, warning tugging on his voice.
A smirk was tugging at Buggy's face, twinkle of mischief in his eye. “You need to spend more time on your back. Relaxed and comfy.”
“You need to send more time being quiet,” Crocodile retorted.
“Two captains, one map,” Buggy grinned. He unfastened Crocodile’s belt and pushed his waistband down.
Mihawk had stood and passed Crocodile a cigar and light. Buggy inelegantly stripped Crocodile and lowered himself between Crocodile’s legs as Crocodile lit his cigar.
Buggy's tongue lapped at Crocodile with short, firm licks. He somehow maintained the volume he’d reached while Mihawk had fucked him, his moans smothered by Crocodile’s cunt.
Crocodile sighed a smoky moan. The exhaustion migraine that had been swelling over the past few days was ebbing already, Mihawk had draped himself over Crocodile’s side and was dozing off, and the pretty fool was quiet. Crocodile might just consider taking Buggy up on his request for more naps.