He can't possibly blame Mihawk for every single blemish on his skin. Most of them were already there before Mihawk so much as laid a finger on Shanks.
"And how am I supposed to do that? Wave a magic wand?" Mihawk asks dryly. Of course he's cold too but he's not complaining. He gropes around the floor of the tub and twirls the metal chain around his finger before pulling the plug to let the cold water drain. The water was dirty anyway especially after they reentered the tub. At least now he gets to refill it slowly with water just slightly too hot so it'll be perfect when it cools down in a few minutes, and they can enjoy the steam and the fresh soak for a little while before one of them forces the other to get out.
"are you equally demanding with your crew or do you save your whinging especially for me?"
Maybe not all of them, but certainly a sizeable number of them have been left behind by sharp teeth and nails digging into his back in the throes of passion. When the water starts to drain, he starts to push himself in against Mihawk to siphon some of his body heat.
It'll be cold until the tub is refilled after all.
"I'm not. Whinging." He lifts his hand to brush along Mihawk's jaw, scratching fingertips against that beard -- half to annoy, half to touch.
Yes he's noticed that Shanks, since he climbed in after this time, hasn't taken up his spot on the other end of the tub. No, he's come right up close and seems rather insistent on snuggling. Disgusting.
The things he has to put up with! The dull, sweet aching in his legs. The snuggling. The touching. It's frankly outrageous.
"Look." Mihawk kicks a little at the direction of the tap, where steaming water is gushing out and slowly filling the tub back up a half-inch at a time. "You won't be cold much longer, alright?" he promises.
"Now do I have to clean you up again?" he laments, stopping just short of huffing out an audible sigh, reaching over the other side of the tub for a clean washcloth to pluck from the top of the pile. He's so put out, Shanks. Look at all this work he has to do every time he shows up.
If it were that disgusting, Mihawk wouldn't be tolerating it, would he? There aren't swats or persistent pushes to get Shanks to move away. Most wouldn't dare to do this, but Shanks hasn't ever been one to live in fear.
"So you're right," he answers, watching the water fill. But he seems rather content where he is, stealing Hawk Eyes' body heat.
"Well, if you would be so kind as to lend me a hand, perhaps I'll show my gratitude in a moment..."
Have swats ever worked on Shanks? Just asking out of sheer curiosity.
"One day you'll find these hand jokes to be as tacky and nonsensical as I do," Mihawk remarks dryly as he tries his best to wipe Shanks down. Not easy to reach everywhere he needs to reach and see what he's doing but he tries to be semi-methodical at least, rubbing over the same patch of skin a couple times just to be sure he's got as much of Shanks everywhere as he can.
"You have a hard time with this, do you?" Mihawk doesn't believe it for a second. Other tasks, maybe. But bathing and flirting, or whatever it is Shanks thinks he's doing? Hardly.
"Hmm. You might." Far be it from him to call Shanks a liar to his face. Especially when his face is so close. Maybe Shanks didn't take these things into account before he tried to make his point, but he would have figured something out if he genuinely couldn't manage.
Or, you know. Just decide to never have another bath ever again. If it's too difficult to exist as anything more than a drunk, filthy animal.
"If you aren't lying, I'd better do a proper job then." Complete with washing those fiery red locks and working out the knots and tangles very gently, throwing in a scalp massage for free even.
He can manage just fine, and maybe he is something of a liar about many things, but no need to bring that up here. Not right now. Right now, he's relishing in the contact, tipping back against the fingers in his hair with a contented noise, eyes closing.
"And you're doing such a good job," he answers.
Maybe they won't end up making another mess before they get out of here, but that doesn't mean Shanks won't let his fingers trail where he can reach over Mihawk in return, fingers sliding up his thighs and anywhere else he can comfortably reach.
This is oddly nice, in a way that while, not uncomfortable, does make Mihawk reflect on all the time he spends alone. He couldn't tolerate company for too long, especially after being so used to getting his own way all this time without needing to compromise or put up with someone else's bullshit.
But every so often, during quiet times like these, he thinks making these pit stops every once in a while isn't so bad. He nudges at Shanks's temple with his nose gently and continues petting his hair.
"If you fall asleep, I'm letting you drown," he jokes quietly. Even though they both know he'll drag him out of the tub, dry him up as best he can and tuck him into bed. 50/50 though on whether he's still there by the time Shanks wakes up, if he does fall asleep, that ungrateful, lazy bastard.
Perhaps not constantly, no. At heart, they're both pirates and that does mean a certain amount of ships passing in the night, doesn't it? And Shanks' natural laziness, the evasive way he hides his issues behind smiles and laughs would undoubtedly wear on Mihawk in ways that would become less attractive with the passing of time.
But the moments they do steal for themselves? Are incredibly worth it, in Shanks' opinion. The way those fingers work through his hair, the nudging. He even huffs out a laugh at that joke.
"You wouldn't dare. It would be too underwhelming for you." He cracks open an eye. "And besides, who would you have nights like these with then?"
"Anyone who has known you longer than five minutes would figure that it isn't an unnatural way for you to go. Except I would be turning your water-bloated corpse in for a small fortune, of course." Because, you know, Mihawk is so shamelessly desperate for berry, and he couldn't care less about his reputation; drowning is as good of a way as killing anyone as using his sword in a fair fight.
"Suppose I'll be alone in my own bathtub, enjoying the space and the time to tend to my own hair," Mihawk remarks airily, trying to sound above it all like he wouldn't care if Shanks really did get so shitfaced one day he drowned in a silly bathtub.
"It's not that awful you know, being alone." Although, it would be a challenge to man a ship alone with one arm, even if it is a small boat.
"You paint a lovely mental image, Hawk Eyes." But he may be waiting for a bit. He doesn't intend on dying tonight. Too much fun to be had, still.
"Are you wanting some attention?" He gives a slow smile as he shifts his weight a bit, looking back.
"I could tend to your hair." For all his insistence otherwise, he has learned to do a rather thorough job singlehanded.
The next mention has him pausing, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm afraid I'm not well accustomed. I've been on a crew since I was a child. Seems as though it would be... boring. Lonesome. After a bit." And too much silence to let less favorable memories drift in.
Not very sexy, is it, talking about bloated corpses in the bathtub? Never really stopped him from doing the things he does with the redhead, but he's also very pragmatic about their lives out at sea, the risks and dangers that await them. The inevitability of crawling into Davy Jones' locker at the end of the day, and all that. If they haven't made their peace with it, they're in the wrong illicit trade.
"I'm quite alright, thank you." Mihawk is a fairly well-groomed cat. His hair doesn't require nearly as much attention as Shanks'. Although you don't hear Mihawk protesting in the middle of the night when there's a hand in his hair, whether it's petting or pulling or scratching his scalp.
"It is a lot of work, I suppose, manning the sails on your own." And everything else that comes with that. Having to keep watch. Feed yourself. Mihawk wouldn't mind a bit of company from time to time, but. A full time crew... well, it seems to be an arrangement that works for everyone else.
"A crew is no place for children, though." And he knows Shanks would have learnt a lot in those formative years, but. Like Shanks, he doesn't much like the idea of taking children out to sea, whatever good lessons they might learn from the experience, even if nothing untoward would ever happen to them as long as they stay by his side.
One day, but not in a bath, certainly. How underwhelming would that be? Possibly, he'll go executed in front of an audience, or falling overboard after a particularly bad drunken binge, or maybe he'll go out heroically, protecting someone else.
But not in a tub.
And not when he's far more interested in nuzzling against Mihawk's jaw, pressing a teasing kiss or two along his neck.
"It isn't." He and Buggy both learned much about the sea, about the life of a pirate, but they'd also grown up too fast, saw too many horrors to name in between all the fun they may have found along the way. He'd never bring a child along for that. Still, he can't quite regret where it's left him either.
"But these waters are harsh to a single man facing them alone all the time. You're always welcome here, whenever you wish to come by, Mihawk."
It does help immensely that, for the most part, Shanks happens to have a reputable, fairly mature crew, and Shanks himself doesn't place too many expectations on Mihawk's shoulders. That doesn't recuse him from acting responsibly, but he feels comfortable enough drifting in and out of the redhead's space as and when the timing and circumstance suits.
Mihawk tips his head to one side, lets Shanks lavish some attention unto his wet skin while fingers that are starting to prune stroke idly up and down the length of his upper arm.
"We ought to get out soon," he laments. They are sufficiently cleaned, and the water is starting to get cold again.
"To bed, then?" Because like it or not, Shanks doesn't seem to have any actual inclination towards letting Mihawk slip away just yet. Not tonight, if he can help it.
He does, however, shift to slide out of the tub. Not quite as easy with just a single arm to brace himself with, but-- he makes it out and retrieves some fresh towels for them.
"I suppose." Mihawk has idled here for longer than usual, but. He can't complain given how well he's been treated. Shanks and his crew have been hospitable. Nobody's come out here to attack them. And they have enough supplies to stay for weeks, although. Mihawk won't commit to sticking it out with them until everything runs out.
Pulling the plug, Mihawk lets the water drain and tries to splash some of the foam lines off the walls of the tub with a little bit of fresh water from the faucet before getting up and plucking the towel from Shanks's grasp.
"Thank you." He will need some time to dry out his hair properly, but he makes quick work drying the rest of himself off and wrapping the towel around his hips before he wordlessly offers to do the same for Shanks. He can always untie it with one hand and walk around naked if he so chooses, but Mihawk also grabs another towel to drape over Shanks's shoulders, under the guise of his hair dripping but more to make him comfortable by concealing what's left of his arm under there.
"You're making a mess," is what Mihawk eventually says quietly to excuse his manhandling. Dripping everywhere and tracking water across the tiles. It's like bathing a golden retriever. Honestly...
"Thank you, friend," he answers easily, lips curling up into a smile. He'll pretend that the gestures are indeed simply because he's dripping everywhere, even though they'd already made quite the mess of the bathroom moments ago when Mihawk decided on an impromptu ride.
He shifts his weight a bit, lifts his hand to tip the other's face up -- enough to lean in and seal a kiss over the other's lips before he's off towards the bed.
"You're welcome to make me pay for the mess in any way you see fit," he teases along the way.
Wouldn't he just love that, now? "I am considering it." But mostly he wants to make sure Shanks is well settled in bed and spend some time drying off that hair so he doesn't catch a cold in the middle of the night.
Look how spoiled Shanks is when Mihawk is around. It's frankly unacceptable. Especially when they're both meant to be formidable, menacing, deadly pirates, if the wanted posters promise anything about them.
Oh, he'd undoubtedly love it, whatever it entailed. Mostly. No further limb loss, please... he's having so much trouble filling out the clothes he has already with the one missing.
He huffs out a laugh as he looks up at Mihawk, eyes lingering on him. "You should come a little closer, you know. Keep me warm."
"You didn't seem cold." Mihawk sighs and shuffles in closer. He presses the back of his cool fingers against Shanks's bare skin just to check, and satisfied that Shanks is normal post-bath level of cold, he goes back to fussing over Shanks a bit. Helping him towel dry his hair, making sure he sits up for a while until the dampness is mostly gone.
And then if he absolutely has to snuggle, well. Mihawk will just have to put up with it. He'll try his best not to complain.
"Well, you wouldn't want me to get cold, would you?" Don't be such spoilsport... the snuggling is hardly so bad, even if it means maneuvering a stump out of the way and the brief irritation that flares when he can't... really do this properly. He doesn't have the arm for it.
But he settles the one he does around Mihawk's middle and leans up to press a quick kiss to his lips.
"I suppose you'd be rather cross if I made us messy again..."
"I'll not clean you up again," Mihawk threatens. But no protests against the snuggling. Apparently that's vaguely tolerable. And hey, there are benefits to not having an arm. It won't lose feeling or get pins and needles if he presses himself right up against Mihawk.
He does smell nice now. They both do. It'd be silly to undo all that time spent rubbing each other clean. Even if smelling nice is part of the allure...
It's true. No more dead limbs when they inevitably drift off curled around each other as they are. There's a breath that leaves his lips as he nuzzles his way under Mihawk's jaw and seems to settle a bit, his good arm sliding around his waist to keep him in place.
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"And how am I supposed to do that? Wave a magic wand?" Mihawk asks dryly. Of course he's cold too but he's not complaining. He gropes around the floor of the tub and twirls the metal chain around his finger before pulling the plug to let the cold water drain. The water was dirty anyway especially after they reentered the tub. At least now he gets to refill it slowly with water just slightly too hot so it'll be perfect when it cools down in a few minutes, and they can enjoy the steam and the fresh soak for a little while before one of them forces the other to get out.
"are you equally demanding with your crew or do you save your whinging especially for me?"
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It'll be cold until the tub is refilled after all.
"I'm not. Whinging." He lifts his hand to brush along Mihawk's jaw, scratching fingertips against that beard -- half to annoy, half to touch.
"But you dragged me in here and you got me cold."
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The things he has to put up with! The dull, sweet aching in his legs. The snuggling. The touching. It's frankly outrageous.
"Look." Mihawk kicks a little at the direction of the tap, where steaming water is gushing out and slowly filling the tub back up a half-inch at a time. "You won't be cold much longer, alright?" he promises.
"Now do I have to clean you up again?" he laments, stopping just short of huffing out an audible sigh, reaching over the other side of the tub for a clean washcloth to pluck from the top of the pile. He's so put out, Shanks. Look at all this work he has to do every time he shows up.
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"So you're right," he answers, watching the water fill. But he seems rather content where he is, stealing Hawk Eyes' body heat.
"Well, if you would be so kind as to lend me a hand, perhaps I'll show my gratitude in a moment..."
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"One day you'll find these hand jokes to be as tacky and nonsensical as I do," Mihawk remarks dryly as he tries his best to wipe Shanks down. Not easy to reach everywhere he needs to reach and see what he's doing but he tries to be semi-methodical at least, rubbing over the same patch of skin a couple times just to be sure he's got as much of Shanks everywhere as he can.
"You have a hard time with this, do you?" Mihawk doesn't believe it for a second. Other tasks, maybe. But bathing and flirting, or whatever it is Shanks thinks he's doing? Hardly.
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"Lighten up, Hawk Eyes," he starts. "Life's no fun if you spend it wallowing in what can't be changed. Is it?"
He sighs under the attention, tipping his head back as he just enjoys-- and then that question has him giving a sly look. "Would I lie?"
Yes, he absolutely would.
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Or, you know. Just decide to never have another bath ever again. If it's too difficult to exist as anything more than a drunk, filthy animal.
"If you aren't lying, I'd better do a proper job then." Complete with washing those fiery red locks and working out the knots and tangles very gently, throwing in a scalp massage for free even.
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"And you're doing such a good job," he answers.
Maybe they won't end up making another mess before they get out of here, but that doesn't mean Shanks won't let his fingers trail where he can reach over Mihawk in return, fingers sliding up his thighs and anywhere else he can comfortably reach.
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But every so often, during quiet times like these, he thinks making these pit stops every once in a while isn't so bad. He nudges at Shanks's temple with his nose gently and continues petting his hair.
"If you fall asleep, I'm letting you drown," he jokes quietly. Even though they both know he'll drag him out of the tub, dry him up as best he can and tuck him into bed. 50/50 though on whether he's still there by the time Shanks wakes up, if he does fall asleep, that ungrateful, lazy bastard.
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But the moments they do steal for themselves? Are incredibly worth it, in Shanks' opinion. The way those fingers work through his hair, the nudging. He even huffs out a laugh at that joke.
"You wouldn't dare. It would be too underwhelming for you." He cracks open an eye. "And besides, who would you have nights like these with then?"
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"Suppose I'll be alone in my own bathtub, enjoying the space and the time to tend to my own hair," Mihawk remarks airily, trying to sound above it all like he wouldn't care if Shanks really did get so shitfaced one day he drowned in a silly bathtub.
"It's not that awful you know, being alone." Although, it would be a challenge to man a ship alone with one arm, even if it is a small boat.
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"Are you wanting some attention?" He gives a slow smile as he shifts his weight a bit, looking back.
"I could tend to your hair." For all his insistence otherwise, he has learned to do a rather thorough job singlehanded.
The next mention has him pausing, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm afraid I'm not well accustomed. I've been on a crew since I was a child. Seems as though it would be... boring. Lonesome. After a bit." And too much silence to let less favorable memories drift in.
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"I'm quite alright, thank you." Mihawk is a fairly well-groomed cat. His hair doesn't require nearly as much attention as Shanks'. Although you don't hear Mihawk protesting in the middle of the night when there's a hand in his hair, whether it's petting or pulling or scratching his scalp.
"It is a lot of work, I suppose, manning the sails on your own." And everything else that comes with that. Having to keep watch. Feed yourself. Mihawk wouldn't mind a bit of company from time to time, but. A full time crew... well, it seems to be an arrangement that works for everyone else.
"A crew is no place for children, though." And he knows Shanks would have learnt a lot in those formative years, but. Like Shanks, he doesn't much like the idea of taking children out to sea, whatever good lessons they might learn from the experience, even if nothing untoward would ever happen to them as long as they stay by his side.
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But not in a tub.
And not when he's far more interested in nuzzling against Mihawk's jaw, pressing a teasing kiss or two along his neck.
"It isn't." He and Buggy both learned much about the sea, about the life of a pirate, but they'd also grown up too fast, saw too many horrors to name in between all the fun they may have found along the way. He'd never bring a child along for that. Still, he can't quite regret where it's left him either.
"But these waters are harsh to a single man facing them alone all the time. You're always welcome here, whenever you wish to come by, Mihawk."
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Mihawk tips his head to one side, lets Shanks lavish some attention unto his wet skin while fingers that are starting to prune stroke idly up and down the length of his upper arm.
"We ought to get out soon," he laments. They are sufficiently cleaned, and the water is starting to get cold again.
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He does, however, shift to slide out of the tub. Not quite as easy with just a single arm to brace himself with, but-- he makes it out and retrieves some fresh towels for them.
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Pulling the plug, Mihawk lets the water drain and tries to splash some of the foam lines off the walls of the tub with a little bit of fresh water from the faucet before getting up and plucking the towel from Shanks's grasp.
"Thank you." He will need some time to dry out his hair properly, but he makes quick work drying the rest of himself off and wrapping the towel around his hips before he wordlessly offers to do the same for Shanks. He can always untie it with one hand and walk around naked if he so chooses, but Mihawk also grabs another towel to drape over Shanks's shoulders, under the guise of his hair dripping but more to make him comfortable by concealing what's left of his arm under there.
"You're making a mess," is what Mihawk eventually says quietly to excuse his manhandling. Dripping everywhere and tracking water across the tiles. It's like bathing a golden retriever. Honestly...
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He shifts his weight a bit, lifts his hand to tip the other's face up -- enough to lean in and seal a kiss over the other's lips before he's off towards the bed.
"You're welcome to make me pay for the mess in any way you see fit," he teases along the way.
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Look how spoiled Shanks is when Mihawk is around. It's frankly unacceptable. Especially when they're both meant to be formidable, menacing, deadly pirates, if the wanted posters promise anything about them.
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He huffs out a laugh as he looks up at Mihawk, eyes lingering on him. "You should come a little closer, you know. Keep me warm."
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And then if he absolutely has to snuggle, well. Mihawk will just have to put up with it. He'll try his best not to complain.
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But he settles the one he does around Mihawk's middle and leans up to press a quick kiss to his lips.
"I suppose you'd be rather cross if I made us messy again..."
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He does smell nice now. They both do. It'd be silly to undo all that time spent rubbing each other clean. Even if smelling nice is part of the allure...
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"Fine, you win this time, I suppose."