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There were a lot of feelings Buggy would say he isn’t the biggest fan of.
Terror was a clear contender for the top of the list. Dread and panic too. Fright was up there, of course. Basically, fear and all its synonyms just wasn’t Buggy’s shtick. But now, as he finds himself sprawled across a chaise in Crocodile’s tent, boredom is currently outranking the rest.
Boring. Nothing he ever does should be boring. Everything should be flashy and dazzling, excitement dripping from every pore. Being Emperor should heighten that! Yet here he is with the greatest swordsman in the world, fucking bored.
Maybe he could entice Mihawk into doing something.
“No.”
“Fuck off I didn’t even say anything!”
Mihawk doesn’t bother looking up from his book. “You were going to”
“Maybe so,” Buggy responds, crossing his arms. “But who knows what I was going to say? Maybe I was going to say the most brilliant things you had ever heard? The secrets of the universe could have been on my tongue! And now you’ll never know what genius you just missed out!”
The sound of a page being turned is the only noise in the tent for a moment.
“You were going to ask if I wanted to go check if there are any new bounties.”
Buggy narrows his eyes. “ . . . Lucky guess asshole.”
Before he can begin to explain how actually going to check for new bounties would be very fun, thank you very much, a rustle from the other side of the tent announces Crocodile’s arrival.
“Croccy!” Buggy calls as he sends his upper-half to greet his other-half . . . Other-third, whatever. “I just had this genius idea-
“No.”
“Oh c’mon!” He throws his hands up in the air before settling back down so he’s draped across Crocodile’s shoulders, arms loosely circling his neck. “How are you both not bored?”
Again not looking up because apparently poems are more interesting than Mihawk’s partners, he calls over “We have you to entertain us.”
“Well isn’t that good for you,” Buggy pitches forward over Crocodile’s shoulder. “But I don’t have the luxury of my own presence! So while you two may be dandy, I need exterior excitement! Something stimulating! Just . . . Something!”
“Not my problem,” Crocodile is quick to reach around and peel Buggy off his back with one hand, holding him upside down by the waist. Just as Buggy is about to comment about how his current view is giving him a few ideas about how to alleviate his boredom, Crocodile turns to face the chaise where Buggy’s legs are still lounging.
Now Buggy fully expects the next feeling to be flying through the air back to his chair to sulk. Which wouldn't be a problem. He’s spent enough time trapezing that the odd mixture of floating/flying/falling is no issue. The true problem is that Crocodile doesn’t throw Buggy.
No.
Crocodile squeezes him.
And as a result, before the other man can continue with flinging him across the room, Buggy shrieks .
Not a second passes before Buggy breaks himself apart and flies across the room back to the safety of the rest of his body. Alright, okay, maybe not the most covert action, but the other two probably didn’t notice. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just Buggy being Buggy! All good!
Just to confirm his extremely accurate assessment of the situation, Buggy glances back at the other two.
Crocodile hasn’t moved, his hand still in mid-air as he squints at him with a look that's usually reserved for when Buggy tells a joke Crocodile doesn’t understand.
Even worse, Mihawk is looking up from his book.
Okay, so perhaps his reaction didn’t go unnoticed. Not ideal. But he can still make his way out of this without having to reveal anything personal or embarrassing or personally embarrassing or embarrassingly personal.
Everything is fine.
“Crocodile,” Mihawk shoots a look at the other man from under the brim of his hat. “What did you do?”
Waving him off with his hook, Crocodile is quick to reply as he takes his cigar out from his mouth. “I barely touched the clown, alright? He’s just too sensitive.”
As the two bicker, the perfect opportunity to escape presents itself. He’ll just go hide out somewhere on the island until this whole little thing is forgotten and it will never be brought up again.
He makes it two steps before Crocodile stops him.
“Hey! Clown!” Loud footsteps are quick to follow as Crocodile makes his way over. “Your shirt. Take it off.”
“Why- What’s that gonna accomplish?” Buggy turns to face him, but continues to back up. “I’m fine! Really! Couldn’t be better! Barely even touched me!”
This did not slow Crocodile for even a moment. “Exactly. Yet that didn’t stop you screaming. Gotta make sure you haven’t cracked a rib tumbling all over that damn big top. You’re not useful if your laid up in bed.”
In any other situation, the other man’s concern would be endearing. They were still working on the whole ‘it's okay to show that you have even a hint of a soft side’ thing, and this was great progress! Buggy is tempted to swoon.
Just not now.
“Are you kidding? I’m made of tougher stuff than to let some cartwheels do me in!” He laughs, but it comes off far more stuttering than he meant.
Crocodile looks less than convinced.
Unconvinced even.
Fuck.
With a huff, Buggy lifts up the side of his shirt. “There? Happy asshole?” He doesn’t even deign Crocodile with a side glance. He’ll get a side profile pout and he’ll be thankful for it.
A quiet hum is the only response Buggy gets. As Crocodile leans in, his breath ghosts across the skin of his ribcage and Buggy has to try and suppress a shudder. Just a little longer. Just a little-
A single finger traces the curve of Buggy’s rib and this time, there’s no mistaking the sound that escapes his throat as anything other than a shrill laugh.
Buggy slams his hand down to cover himself, taking a few steps back as he does. “Hey warn a guy will you!” He tries putting on something related to a stern expression, but he can’t quite get the corners of his lips to turn down. “Your hands- Your hands are like fucking ice! Truly cold-blooded, I swear!”
In response, Crocodile . . . Crocodile backs away?
“Looks all good to me,” he calls to Mihawk. “Told you he was fine.Though overdramatic as ever.”
And with that, Mihawk goes back to reading and Crocodile goes to sit down in his own chair to pour over some paperwork.
Buggy blinks.
That went- That went way better than expected. No follow up questions. No poking or prodding. Whatever rambling he had been saying about cold hands had worked. Another perfectly executed plan by the genius jester!
And it's through this high that Buggy reclaims his place on the chaise. Any complaints about being bored stay sealed behind his lips lest he encourage any unwanted behavior. In fact, he’ll just take a nap and when he wakes, there will surely be something of interest going on. And so he closes his eyes, letting his breath even out to the sound of flipped pages and puffs of cigar smoke.
For five, blissful minutes, this is Buggy’s truth.
And then a very rude and terrible man who doesn’t even have the decency to announce his arrival with footsteps, whispers in his ear, “Hello Clown.”
His scream echoes around the room, body parts scattered and floating. “What the fuck is your problem? I told you I’m fine!”
As Crocodile’s own limbs materialize from the sand, so too does something far more frightening materialize- A wide grin.
Some rhyme about crocodiles and smiles tries to come to Buggy’s mind, but most of his faculties are busy screaming ‘danger’ and ‘warning’ and ‘get the fuck away from that man’.
With an unearned ease, Crocodile takes Buggy’s place on the sofa. “Oh no problem,” he says with the confidence of someone about to cause problems. The bastard even takes a moment to snuff out his cigar and set it to the side. “Though I do have a question for you.”
Buggy knows exactly what the question is and floats farther away on instinct. He’s not just going to let this happen. If Crocodile wants to get anywhere near him, he’ll need a fucking ladder.
And then, without another word, Crocodile leans down and picks up one of Buggy’s feet.
Oh.
He planned this.
Buggy is fucked.
Keeping eye contact, Crocodile idly takes off Buggy’s shoe before letting it drop to the floor with a thud that echoed with finality. Still, Buggy was never above begging. “Hey, hey, now- no need to-” Even detached, Buggy can still feel Crocodile’s thumb slide under his sock as he begins to peel it off. “Wait, hold on, you can’t just go around taking a man’s extremities. That’s-” The sock is completely off now, and he has to stop himself from flying back over to get his feet and make a run for it. Getting closer would mean getting in range of Crocodile, and that would mean even more problems. He’s stuck and Crocodile, ever-smiling, knows it.
Buggy can only watch as Crocodile keeps the foot in place between his legs and then keeps his hand hovering dangerously close over it.
“Clown?”
Buggy gulps. “Mhmm?”
Silence once again takes over the room.
Outside, a bird crows.
A second hand ticks.
Mihawk flips his fucking page.
“You’re not ticklish, are you?”
And there’s no chance for response before Crocodile drags his fingers down Buggy’s sole.
If there’s a follow up to the question, it can’t be heard over Buggy’s wailing laughter. His hands race to his mouth to try and muffle the sounds, but Crocodile is unrelenting. Fingers trail over his arch, seemingly seeking out the most sensitive spots and digging in. Buggy won’t look at him. He can’t. It will somehow be so much worse to actually see what Buggy knows in his heart is an evil grin on the other’s face.
“Hmm, would you look at that?” Crocodile remarks casually. Funnily enough though, Buggy will Not look at that. His hands are very successfully covering his face and as a result, the blush creeping across it. However, Crocodile, ever the bastard, does not care. “One of the four emperors, done in by a brush of fingers.” He punctuates the sentence with a particularly vicious dig under Buggy’s toes that sends the clown into fits. “Pathetic.”
“Pl-please!” Buggy wails, his legs instinctively trying to kick away the attacker despite the fact they’re currently a good eight feet away from where Crocodile is torturing him. “Please! Mercy! Have mercy!”
His pleas are met with a laugh of Crocodile’s own and the sound of heavy footfalls approaching. Then, without warning, the tickling stops. However, the moment doesn’t last as Buggy feels the toe of Crocodile’s boot roll him over, and he can’t help but peek through his fingers.
Foot still in hand, Crocodile begins shoving Buggy’s body parts back together with the toe of the boot. During this, Crocodile is sure to intermittently scratch at the arch to keep him a giggling puddle on the floor with no way to escape because he is an awful man with zero redeeming qualities.
“Crocodile-” Buggy manages out. “Crocodile please, just listen- listen- There’s-” An excuse. He needs an excuse for this to end. Anything. “We’re disturbing Mihawk! Yeah! Look- Look he’s trying to read! What kind of partners would be if we interrupted him!”
“You had no issue disturbing him earlier,” Crocodile says, still not stopping his reassembly.
“That was different!”
“How?”
It benefited me then, is what Buggy wants to say, but before he can utter a word, Mihawk calls over, “Oh please, don’t stop on my account.”
Bastard.
An utter and complete bastard.
A sword fucking, pommade wearing, bastard.
But any and all thoughts of where Buggy will be hiding the traitor’s swords are stopped when he suddenly finds himself back together caged in by Crocodile, his face mere inches from the other man’s. Their breath mingles, Buggy’s face hot and makeup surely already marred with tear streaks.
This truly is not helping the situation.
Slowly, so telegraphed that it would give transponder snails a run for their money, Crocodile leans down so that he’s right next to Buggy’s ear. “You want me to be merciful, hmm?”
Buggy nods, and immediately he feels Crocodile’s smile against the shell of his ear. “That’s good then, because I am showing you mercy. Mercy is not telling every pirate this side of the line that Buggy The Star Clown falls apart at a mere touch. Mercy is not handing you out bit by bit to every ingrate on the island with orders to get you more used to the feeling, no matter how long it takes. Trust me, Clown, you would hate to see me without mercy. Really, you should thank me.”
Breath stuttering, Buggy does his best to not short circuit. Because while really, this should be pinging those terror emotions he isn’t a fan of, it’s not. Instead, Buggy is truly and unfortunately, turned on. And sure, the threats and humiliation are pulling their weight, as Crocodile certainly knows, the underlying action is the true star.
Tickling like this makes him horny, plain and simple.
Except, no, not plain and simple! Mihawk and Crocodile knowing his other kinks is fine! More than fine even! Demean him, praise him, rough him up, order him around, tie him up, no orgasms, too many orgasms, it’s all out in the open and it’s been wonderful! But there’s something about the other two men knowing that tickling of all things makes him hard, it’s just too humiliating, and not in the sexy way! So Crocodile’s threats? It just makes a heat coil in his gut.
“Well?”
Buggy blinks back to reality, greeted by Crocodile’s smirk. “Uh . . . What?”
“Are you going to thank me?”
He becomes keenly aware of the hand poised above his rib cage, the hook no less threatening on the other side. There’s a right answer, but there’s no necessarily good answer. Buggy doesn’t thank him? He’s going to get tickled until he passes out. Buggy does thank him? Probably still going to get tickled until he passes out. Still, Buggy knows exactly how to answer. He may be a fool, but he’s no idiot.
“Thank- Thank you, Crocodile, for being merciful.”
The last syllable is barely past his painted lips before it’s replaced with squealing laughter. Crocodile’s right hand digs into the hollow of his underarm, and as Buggy tries desperately to wiggle away, he just runs into the golden hook tracing up his side.
“Nooooo- No! Please- fuck I can’t-” Buggy’s not even sure his sounds are coming across as words, or just laughter intermixed with wheezing. Desperately he tries bringing up his hands to push Crocodile away, but the other man doesn’t budge. If anything, this just spurs him on. The hook trails even lower to ghost over the curve of Buggy’s hip and all he can do is scream.
Through the tears gathering in his eyes, Buggy can barely make out the way Crocodile raises an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s the matter?” He sneers. “Too sensitive?” And as if to answer his own question, Crocodile’s hand runs down his ribs to stop at the top of his hip bone. While his hook still traces lazy circles across his skin, his fingers dig in hard and fast.
The laugh ripped from Buggy’s throat doesn’t even have the decency to make a sound. It’s too much. Too close. And the teasing? Fuck the teasing is almost the worst thing of all. However, it can’t truly dethrone the unending torture as Crocodile’s fingers seek out his worst spots.
He’s absolutely getting hard, cock beginning to strain against his pants, and fuck fuck fuck Crocodile’s hand is so close. It wouldn’t take much for him to notice. All Buggy can truly hope for is that he’s too invested in divesting the clown of any pride to notice.
And then Crocodile’s fingers find the crease between his stomach and his thighs and any and all rational thought flies from Buggy’s head in favor of the all encompassing idea of ‘too much’ and ‘help’ and ‘please’, which he is quick to voice.
“Sto-ooo-op, it’s too- it’s too much,” he wails. “Please! Pleaaase! Mihaaaaawk-” His voice raises a couple of octaves as Crocodile exploits a particularly awful spot. “Help! Please help meeeeee!”
Writhing on the floor, all Buggy can make out is the outline of Mihawk as he silently gets up from the desk. “Playing nice Crocodile?”He asks as he walks over to the pair. Yes! Yes Mihawk will save him! He’s truly a perfect wonderful man and Buggy has and never will think differently. More sea shanties should be written about him. So many good rhymes. Cross. Boss, Albatross. Candyfloss. It practically writes itself! And then Hawk? Well the obvious lewd rhyme is right there and after Buggy’s saved, he certainly wouldn’t mind sucking his-
“Are you hard?” Mihawk asks.
The tickling stops.
The laughter too.
Not even the damn bird is squawking now.
You know what? Mihawk is actually the worst of the worst, a spot reserved in Davy Jones' locker just for him. Not enough songs? Oh Buggy will change that real quick.
There once was a man named Mihawk.
Who walked around with a small cock
When a clown asked for aid
He came and betrayed
Because he’s a fucking bastard who can go die in a hole along with his stupid swords!
It may need some work but the bones are there.
A rough hand comes down and palms Buggy through his pants, and this time a high whine leaves his lips instead of laughter. “Huh, looks like your right,” Crocodile comments, giving him another squeeze. “What was it you said earlier, Clown? That you needed some excitement. Some-” he grinds his palm against him. “Stimulation?”
“I ah-” His breath hitches. “You can’t blame me- Crocodiles on top of me practically giving me a lap dance! Any sane man would have the same reaction despite the uh-” He can’t make himself actually say the word tickling out loud. He just can’t. “The circumstances.”
Mihawk’s eyes sweep over him, still on the ground and panting. “So you could have come even with Crocodile’s ministrations?”
Buggy hates how he says ministrations. However, before he can bite out an answer about Crocodile’s minestrone or whatever, Crocodile himself replies, “Please, the clown could barely get out a sentence. You think he could come?”
Yes. Yes he easily could. But he’s keeping that secret til his confetti filled grave.
Above them both, Mihawk hums. “I’m sure I could help him find his release before you could make him yield. If you’re up to the challenge?”
This time, Crocodile’s smile is vicious and lecherous and all the other ‘ous’ that make Buggy squirm. “I’ll take that bet.”
Buggy can barely get out a meek “What?” before he’s being divided up like a holiday ham.
“You take the top half, I take the bottom?” Mihawk suggests as he easily separates Buggy’s torso from his legs.
“Fuck no you greedy bastard,” Crocodile replies, sending off some sand to grab what Buggy can only assume are tools of his own demise. “You heard him squeal when I got his hips, let alone his feet. Just take his cock, it’s all you’ll need.”
Sighing, Mihawk turns to actually look at Buggy. “How lucky are we to have a lover who thinks genitals are all that make sex?”
A muttered “Fuck off,” is barely heard from Crocodile, followed by a louder, “Fine. You get ass to the top of his knees, fair?”
Ever the business man. Even now.
“Oh alright,” Mihawk makes quick work of his calves and tosses them over to the other man who is thrown some lube in return. “I suppose that will have to do.”
How is this simultaneously both Buggy’s fantasy and nightmare? While it seems the other two have yet to realize that it really should be ‘turned on because of tickling’ instead of ‘in spite of’, he’s not sure if he can maintain that illusion throughout all of . . . This. Already his face burns red, his limbs separated but still shifting nervously.
“Now are you sure you’ll be able to handle this?” Mihawk asks, fingers inches from the waistband of his pants, but still unmoving. “It would be a shame to ruin our favorite clown.”
An out. He could just say no, they’d let him up, and he could retreat back to his own room to jerk himself off to the memory of Crocodile’s hook gliding down his ribs, just on this side of gentle to not mar his skin. But at the same time, that would mean backing down. It would mean running away from something as simple as tickling. He would never live it down.
Putting on his best sneer, Buggy replies, “Do your worst.”
Mihawk’s fingers slide under his waistband to pull down his pants and small clothes with it, exposing Buggy’s cock to the open air. “If you insist.”
And with that the final preparations are in place for Buggy’s delightful doom. But before anything begins, Crocodile once again leans in close to Buggy’s ear. “Oh and clown? Come before I break you and there will be no mercy. Understand?”
His eyes widen and all Buggy can manage is a shaky nod.
“Likewise,” Mihawk begins from between his legs. “Should you yield first, I’ll ensure you don’t find release for the foreseeable future.”
With that, Mihawk nods to Crocodile and not a beat passes before hands and hook descend on him. For Crocodile, there’s no further preamble, no teasing. Instead his fingers immediately seek out the expanse of Buggy’s neck and dig in, earning peals of laughter right off the bat. Desperately, Buggy tries to scrunch his shoulders and head to protect himself, but all that achieves is the other side of his neck receiving the same treatment and a quick threat of “I’ll cut off that head of yours and make you watch next time if you keep that up.”
Two thoughts immediately go through Buggy’s head: First, would watching make it worse or better? On one hand, he could at least see what was coming down the barrel, brace himself before the onslaught. On the other hand, god the anticipation . Just watching, not being able to do anything at all. Oh sure, he could send his limbs flying, just as he could now, but that would leave behind his feet to Crocodile’s mercy and he would wind back up exactly where he is now, though he’s sure they’d come up with some punishment for the little stunt. Second, and more importantly, Next Time?
Fucking next time?
The thought is interrupted as Mihawk sucks a bruising mark onto Buggy’s inner thigh where he knows the clown is sensitive. A moan manages to make it past his lips, though laughter sneaks into the sound. Meanwhile, Mihawk’s hands dig into his hips, not ticklish, but deliciously painful and Buggy can’t help but buck at the sensations.
Really, Crocodile thinking there will be a next time may not be factoring in that Buggy may die here on the floor. Hopefully the newspapers will word it nicely. Something like, ‘After a long battle with his treacherous subordinates, The Emperor, Buggy The Clown, decided his time on this earth was over and died. The world is in mourning as there will never be anyone as amazing and flashy as him.’. Instead of a more accurate, ‘Clown tickle-fucked to death’.
The moans seem to have got to Crocodile, as the other man redoubles his efforts in his bid to win. His hook trails down to Buggy’s stomach and even the faintest touch makes the muscles there jump and quiver. Giggling, Buggy tries to focus instead on the feeling of Mihawk biting his way up his thighs. Soon, though the other man really should hurry the fuck up, Mihawk will touch his cock and then this will all be overwith. No yielding necessary. In fact, Buggy can just make out through his own sporadic laughter the tell-tale sound of the top of their jar of lube popping off.
This does however mean Buggy doesn’t hear the sound of sand dragging a quill over and into Crocodile’s hand until it's far too late. In fact, its halfway through the first torturous swipe of the stiff-feathered quill across his stomach does Buggy even process it all. Immediately, yielding is suddenly a far more reasonable option.
“No no no no no no no,” he wails to no avail. “Not that- ahahaha! No, no please- no!” The fact that Mihawk takes the moment to slick up Buggy’s cock with a slow drag of his hand is completely lost on him. Just a simple feather and here he is with tears streaming down his face, strands of his hair clinging to his forehead from sweat. It's humiliating and hot and he truly is going to die.
Said feather is now circling his abdomen, drawing tighter and tighter circles with each pass until finally, it stills- Right above his navel.
Any semblance of pride left crumbles instantly.
“Now hold on- Wait- Just wait. You don’t need-” The feather moves a hair and Buggy grits his teeth. “Crocodile why don’t we-”
Not hearing the word ‘yield’ in any of the stammering, Crocodile dives in with the feather and the ensuing laughter is definitely heard outside the confines of the tent. The back and forth of the feather matches perfectly to the rhythm of Mihawk’s fist curled around his cock, but the former sensation is all-encompassing. Buggy can’t even manage words anymore. Just laughter. His body desperately tries escaping the sensation, so much so that Mihawk is forced to keep a hip down with his hand so Buggy doesn’t wriggle away.
“When the clown gives in, I think I’ll have you do my paperwork for the week,” Crocodile comments idly to Mihawk. “I would ask what you would want your prize to be, but-” He looks down at where Buggy’s body parts flail, even taking the time to draw the tip of his hook down a wayward foot and causing it to curl in on itself as Buggy’s laughter raises an octave. “Don’t really see the point. Poor clown’s just too ticklish, isn’t that right?”
The condescending tickle talk shouldn’t turn Buggy on further, it really shouldn’t. And yet, something about it makes his cock twitch.
Through the laughter, a faint but distinct, “Hmm” can be heard from Mihawk. It’s the kind of sound he makes when he discovers one last bottle of wine of a vintage he thought they were out of. A sound heard when a fight thought dull takes a turn for the interesting. It once even occured during a particularly dramatic finale of one of Buggy’s shows, though the bastard will never admit it. Why he was making it now though . . .
The pace Mihawk had set slows for a moment as he simply says, “You like this.”
It’s not a question. Even if it was, Buggy is in no state to answer as Crocodile’s hand squeezes the underside of his knee. Still, the words register and Buggy knows that it's all over. Mihawk knows.
“What are you on about?” Crocodile responds, eyes narrowing but not stopping his own onslaught.
“Oh nothing,” Is the cool reply. “Just that our clown is rather enjoying himself.”
If possible, Buggy grows redder and he turns his face into the ground. He should just yield. Yield and have it all be done and maybe Mihawk will stop talking and they will never bring this up again.
“I can’t imagine this exact scenario has entered your mind before,” Mihwak continues, ever serious. “But I assume something similar? Pinned to the floor, at our mercy, counting your ribs? Seeing where you’re most sensitive.”
Of course Mihawk is right and of course Buggy moans at the thought and of course this is happening and of course Mihawk doesn’t stop there.
“Perhaps we can divide you again to discover between myself and Crocodile who can elicit more laughter from you? In the object of fairness, multiple rounds would be needed. In fact we may need to block out the whole day.”
As he speaks, Mihawk increases the pace of his hand as he strokes Buggy’s leaking cock. Mihawk is awful and wonderful and is somehow finding Buggy’s fantasies with pinpoint precision. Fuck he’s actually getting close.
Crocodile, for this part, goes in for the kill. Muttering something about a “Fucking cheat”. His fingers never stay in one place for long to make sure Buggy can’t get used to the sensation. Every soft spot is exploited, every inch of skin in danger.
“Ahahahahha- ohhhh-” Moans and laughter intertwine, nerves alight. It's too much and yet, as he feels himself approaching the edge, not enough. Yielding and coming both seem equally close, and as each of his partner’s gives it their all, Buggy isn’t sure which will come out on top. “Please, please, please- Oh fuck! Ple-ee-eease!
He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for at this point: To come or for the tickling to stop. Or even for the tickling not to stop. Buggy doesn’t even know.
With Buggy’s face still turned away and eyes screwed shut, Mihawk’s voice seems far louder than before when he says “I think it's time to put you out of your misery, hmm?”
There’s no time to think about how a year ago, hearing Mihawk saying that would certainly mean Buggy’s imminent death, as suddenly, the soft wisps of a feather drag across the tip of Buggy’s cock.
Like a wave, his orgasm takes him under. The moment seems to go on forever, unable to breathe and unable to surface. Mihawk, ever the gentleman, strokes him through it. Crocodile, ever the degenerate, tickles him though it.
Its fucking perfect.
Finally, his vision comes back to him. There’s a hand on his thigh, but there’s no more tickling, just a comforting weight. His body feels fuzzy, mind even more so as he gulps in air like he truly was drowning. Only when his lungs no longer ache does anyone speak.
“So Crocodile,” Mihawk starts as he stands, brushing the dust off his coat. “Shall I bring you my paperwork tonight, or would tomorrow morning work better?”
Crocodile’s lip curls. “Tonight is fine,” he gets out through gritted teeth.
With that, Mihawk nods and then takes off his hat, inserting the long white feather back in place on the brim.
Buggy freezes.
Mihawk used his own feather to tickle Buggy’s dick.
And then put it back.
Like it was nothing.
. . . If he hadn’t just come, this act in itself could have gotten him hard again.
“Alright, if either of you need anything, I’ll be reading.” Mihawk nods at the two of them before fixing his golden gaze on Crocodile. “Try not to break him.”
Starting to sit up, Buggy can only manage to get out “Wait but-” before Crocodile’s hand forces him back to the floor, hand already going for his underarm.
“I told you Clown,” Crocodile sneers. “Come before you yield, and there will be no mercy, and I always make good on my promises.”
With that, his hand once again digs in and fuck it’s so much worse than before.
“You always are so sensitive after you’ve come,” Crocodile notes as his hand slides down to his stomach. “This must be unbearable.”
“I caaaan’t, I can’t- Please I’ll die, I’ll die,” Buggy squeals, feeling every single slide of fingers tenfold. “Too much! It’s too much!”
Apparently finding Buggy’s impending death extremely funny, Crocodile laughs. “Oh don’t worry. I won’t let you die. After all, I take care of my toys, and that’s what you are, isn’t it? My toy.”
Buggy’s laughing scream somehow grows louder, throat raw.
“Here, you liked this before,” Crocodile smiles and suddenly the feathered quill from before is back, this time running up and down his oversensitive cock.
Wailing, Buggy’s body shakes. “Not there! Not there! Not there! Anywhere but there! Please!”
Crocodile’s grin is nothing if not feral, pupils blown as he watches his work. “Tell me how much you like it, and maybe I’ll move on.”
There is not a moment's hesitation before Buggy screams through his laughter, “I love it! I love it! I promise, I love it!”
Buggy doesn’t even have the willpower to be ashamed.
Leaning in closer, like he didn’t hear him, Crocodile says, “What do you love?”
“I love being tickled! I love getting tickled so much! Please, please oh god, I love it.”
The feather stops its tortuous path, though it doesn't leave Buggy’s cock entirely, instead resting on the head. “And what are you?”
His addled brain supplies a variety of options, including a puddle of a clown, overstimulated, and also still horny among others, but Buggy, once again, knows the right answer.
“I’m . . .” He takes a gulping breath of air. “I’m your toy.”
The feather leaves his cock. “Exactly. Now, just one more thing-” Crocodile’s sand slithers across the floor to drag over Buggy’s legs in the middle of their escape attempt, before also grabbing a pot of ink. Situating one of the feet in the crook of his left arm, Crocodile turns the feather quill around and dips the nib into the ink. “Just so you don’t forget.”
The first drag of the quill across the pad of Buggy’s toe sends his body into fits, only amplified by the excess ink running down his arches. “Stay still,” Crocodile orders as he begins on the next toe. “If I mess up because of your incessant squirming, I’ll scrub everything off and start again.”
At that threat, Buggy does his best to will his body to stay still, even going so far as to bite down on the meat of his thumb for a distraction. Finally, though, all ten toes are done, and Buggy could honestly weep.
“So, how do they look?”
Buggy manages to open an eye to see Crocodile holding up his feet, revealing that each toe now sports a single letter to spell out ‘Crocodile’s’ when put together. He even put the little apostrophe on the same toe as the E.
A small thumbs up is all Crocodile gets before Buggy closes his eyes, too tired for anything else. As his scattered limbs are picked up, put together, and then brought back to the chaise lounge, Buggy nearly falls asleep. However, his plan for a nap is rudely interrupted by the feeling of something rubbing against his stomach and he can’t stop the whine from escaping his lips.
“Shh, I’m just cleaning you up,” Mihawk says, and the pressure of the washcloth increases as to stop the tickling sensation. “You’re quite the mess.”
Honestly, Buggy can easily imagine the sight he must be. If there’s any make up left, it's marred by sweat and tears. His hair seems to have come out of its ponytail at some point and his stomach is covered in cum. Just how Mihawk and Crocodile like him to be honest.
A cup of water is brought to his lips with the order to drink by Crocodile and Buggy takes the offering without hesitation. As he finishes, he doesn’t have to say a word before the cup is refilled.
The washcloth leaves him for a moment and when Buggy next feels it against his foot, he is quick to mutter “Too sensitive, too sensitive-”
“We’ll clean that later then.”
And then the tent is quiet.
All Buggy has is his thoughts.
This is it, this is where the other two men say how weird and disgusting Buggy’s perversions are now that their little competition is over. Sure it was amusing to watch him struggle and beg, but actually liking it all? Getting off on it? He’s a grown man for gods sake, they’ll probably say. And out of all his oddities, this one will surely be the worst.
“How’s the book?”
“Oh it’s quite good, thank you again for it.”
Alright, maybe this is it.
“Eh, got it off some marine ship. Looked boring, just the kind of thing you like.”
“You thought of me, how sweet.”
Buggy peaks an eye open, watching Crocodile and Mihawk as they sit on the side of the couch. As if sensing Buggy’s eyes on them, both men turn around.
“Still can’t believe you get off on tickling,” Crocodile says, and oh god Buggy was right fuck he’s going to cry and that’s just going to make everything worse and-
Mihawk rolls his eyes. “I don’t think you have much room to speak, Crocodile, seeing as you seem to have had a similar reaction.” His eyes pointedly look down between Crocodile’s legs. “Unless you’ve spilled something on yourself?”
Immediately, Buggy pops his head off to get a better look and- And fuck, there’s an abvious wet patch on Crocodile’s slacks.
“Eh whatever,” Crocodile pushes Buggy’s floating head back towards his body, but there’s no real heat behind the action. “Whole thing was rigged. Next time, he has to come before we start.” He pauses, pulling out a fresh cigar. “Even the playing field.”
Buggy’s heart flutters.
“That’s fair I suppose,” Mihawk replies, taking the moment to light Crocodile’s cigar for him. “Though before we do that, I do want to see which one of us is better at the whole affair.”
It’s impossible to miss how Crocodile shifts at the suggestion, and when he responds “If you want to lose, sure”, there’s a slight shift in his tone that betrays the underlying excitement.
Mind settled and any thoughts of boredom long gone, Buggy closes his eyes again and lets himself drift as his partners continue to talk. At some point, a blanket is laid over him and sleep is barely a thought away when he swears he hears someone say,
“He does have a nice laugh, doesn’t he?”