Chapter Text
“There ain’t no way in hell ya beat more than I did!”
“I absolutely did! I counted over a thousand.”
“Bullshit. Hakuba doesn’t count.”
“Why not?!”
Bartolomeo and Cavendish were inches apart at the bar, the stack of empty mugs between them only worsening their usual acerbic back-and-forth. There was tension crackling in what little space there was between them, not wholly antagonistic, and the bartender crossed his arms over his chest as Cavendish grabbed onto the collar of Bartolomeo’s coat.
“Oi, if you’re gonna fight, don’t do it in my bar.”
Zoro and Sanji had already cracked a table in half during an earlier bout, as if the state of the surrounding warzone wasn’t bad enough, and he wasn’t eager to take any more unnecessary damage to the property.
“Ya heard him, Captain,” someone from the Barto Club cried out drunkenly. “Go knock his ass flat in the street!”
Bartolomeo grinned and swayed to his feet, making a rolling gesture toward the door as Cavendish stumbled up beside him.
“After you, Cabbage.”
A series of whoops and hollers followed as Cavendish raised a foot and forcefully kicked Bartolomeo out of the bar’s swinging doors with a boot to the ass, some more knowing than others.
Although no one had seen the way that Bartolomeo had broken down into immediate sobs of relief at the sight of Cavendish bloodied but alive after the battle or the way that they had fallen easily into an embrace that was equal amounts desperation and comfort, the sentiment was still clear enough to those who weren’t too dense or drunk to see it.
Seeing the two of them snapping at each other and generally being too much in the other’s personal space wasn’t an uncommon thing, but Cavendish had been particularly alert, not letting Bartolomeo out of his sight for a moment, and when an earlier spat had brought them nose to nose at the bar, Barto had almost very clearly shifted into a kiss.
They stumbled out into the nearby alley, just drunk enough not to care about finding a place with a little more privacy before they were on top of each other. Cavendish cried out when he was slammed bodily into the nearby wall, its rough brick catching in the soft fabric of his tunic and rucking it halfway up his stomach in the process.
Bartolomeo fell to his knees, zeroing in on that patch of newly uncovered skin and tilting his head to sink his teeth firmly into Cavendish’s jutting hipbone.
“Ah—Barto, fuck!”
Cavendish’s head fell back against the wall, his jaw slack as Bartolomeo lapped at the quickly bruising skin.
Bartolomeo’s blood was singing through his veins, hot and frantic from the burn of too much sake and a rare possessive streak. "You're mine," he growled, one of his fangs catching in the dip of Cavendish's navel as he bit down hard enough to draw blood. "Tired of pretendin' ya ain't."
The sight of Cavendish's pale skin smeared with red made him look upward, but all that met him was Cavendish's steady gaze, the blue of his eyes swallowed in black as he anchored his fingers in Bartolomeo's hair.
"Don't stop."
Bartolomeo brought his hands to Cavendish's hips, easing his trousers down to his knees to give himself more space to work with. He ducked his head out of the way when Cavendish's half-hard cock sprang free to smack him unceremoniously across the cheek, ignoring it for the time being in favor of suctioning his lips to his thigh.
Once the skin had turned dark and Cavendish's panting had turned to moans, Bartolomeo shifted again, moving to the junction where his thigh met his pelvis and sinking in his teeth.
There was something about drawing Cavendish's blood from his veins, knowing it was his and not whosever the stains on their soaked clothes belonged to, that sent a surge of relief through Bartolomeo. He was alive. They were alive, against all odds. And he could taste it in the metallic tang that coated his tongue.
"Come here," Cavendish said hoarsely, drawing his nails in an upward arc across Bartolomeo's scalp as he urged him to stand. "I want to kiss you."
It started chaste, almost sweet despite their inebriation and desperation. Then Bartolomeo gripped Cavendish's jaw with his calloused fingers and tilted his head, turning it into something deeper. Cavendish's significantly smaller, blunter teeth raked across Bartolomeo's bottom lip and Barto's eyes flew open in surprise. They parted, his lip still stinging, and Cavendish met his wide-eyed gaze with a dark, hooded stare.
Not seeing any signals to dissuade him, Cavendish moved lower, nipping at the edge of Bartolomeo's jaw. Barto's hands slipped from his face, finding purchase on Cavendish's slim hips and then bruising them with a sudden white-knuckled grip as he bit into the side of Bartolomeo's neck.
Cavendish laughed at the strangled sound he made, answering the question in his harried gaze with a low purr.
"You're mine too, you know, Bartolomeo."
"Oh," he managed. He looked between them, blinking a few times as he seemed to remember where they were. Both halfway to drunk, pressed together in an alleyway, Cavendish's cock warm and hard against Bartolomeo's bare stomach as they staked their claim on each other. Suddenly, it wasn't enough.
Cavendish was sucking a dark mark into Bartolomeo's collarbone when the younger man looped his arms beneath Cavendish's ass and hefted him up. Cavendish shifted willingly enough, his long legs tight against the sides of Bartolomeo's chest, kept from wrapping any further by the tangle of cloth caught around his boots.
Bartolomeo didn't seem bothered by the awkward position. He adjusted to keep Cavendish supported with one arm and brought his other hand up to his lips, interrupting their journey along his chest.
"Suck."
He did, licking across his Bartolomeo's fingertips, letting spit pool below his tongue to coat his thick fingers as he maintained unflinching eye contact. He watched the thin red ring of Bartolomeo's irises disappear completely as he took the digits deeper into his throat, stomach swooping when he gagged and Barto's hips jerked in reply.
A moment later those wet fingers were prodding against his ass, Bartolomeo's usual precision muddled by the alcohol and the faint trembling of his body.
When they both pushed roughly past his rim, Cavendish squirmed, features screwing up at the answering wave of pain.
“‘M sorry,” Bartolomeo murmured, not withdrawing his fingers, but pressing them in deeper, his head dropping down and teeth piercing the flesh above the thrum of Cavendish’s heartbeat.
The sting was distracting, and the sharp arch of Cavendish’s spine only pressed his chest deeper into the bite. It hurt, both the dig of Bartolomeo’s teeth and the too-dry press of his fingers, but he was too drunk to care, too relieved to be able to still feel pain to want to bring it to an end.
Cavendish’s bleary vision caught movement from below him and when he saw Bartolomeo fumbling with the hem of his pants, he shook his head, a little frantically.
“I can’t take you like this, Bartolomeo.”
Barto nodded and pulled away from his chest to mumble against Cavendish’s shoulder. “Gonna use your thighs. Jus’ need to feel ya.”
His loose trousers fell to catch at the tops of his boots and he spat directly onto the bruised expanse of Cavendish’s inner thighs before sliding his cock between them. The space was slick with spit and blood, smearing in streaks across Cavendish’s pale skin as Bartolomeo rocked into it with a low groan.
The pads of Bartolomeo’s fingers finally managed to brush across the spot he’d been searching for, making Cavendish cry out as the already drunken flush of his cheeks darkened considerably. A swell of sound from within the bar reminded them that they were very close to other people and Cavendish bit into the thick muscle of Bartolomeo’s chest to muffle his sounds of pleasure.
This was far from the first time that they had found themselves in a similar position, or even that they had found particular pleasure in leaving marks on one another. That said, if Cavendish was sober, he would have been mortified by how easily he was accepting Bartolomeo’s teeth against his skin, in places that wouldn’t be hidden come morning as they usually were. Bartolomeo was gnawing at his shoulder, too fuck drunk and booze drunk alike to manage much more than the occasional grunt from between his clenched teeth as he chased his orgasm with a jerky, uneven rhythm.
His pace grew frantic as Cavendish nipped just above the erratic bob of his Adam’s apple, coming with a snarl as he added streaks of cum to the mess between Cavendish’s thighs. The fumbling press of his fingers against Cavendish’s prostate faltered as he stilled and Cavendish dropped a hand between them to push himself over the edge, leaving dull, throbbing marks in the meat of Bartolomeo’s palm as he weakly offered it to help stifle the cry that tried to tear from Cavendish’s throat.
“We did it,” Bartolomeo mumbled when he had enough of a presence to speak again. “We won.”
Cavendish nodded into the curve of his neck.
They had, despite having numbers against them, despite the futility of taking on the entire World Government with nothing more than a ragtag fleet of allies and the Pirate King’s crew. They had won, but the uncertainty of what would follow was terrifying.
“Yes,” Cavendish agreed softly. “We won. And for now, that calls for celebration, so…” He pressed his lips to the gap between Bartolomeo’s bloodied, jutting fangs. “Your ship or mine?”
“Oh my God, I’m going to kill you, Bartolomeo.”
“You’re gonna kill me?” he repeated incredulously. “Look what you did! ‘Sides, ain’t nothin’ we can do about it now.”
Cavendish groaned, his already aching head throbbing harder as the vein at his temple pulsed. They stood side by side in front of the mirror in Cavendish’s cabin, staring at their reflections with futile regret. At least it was obvious that Bartolomeo had been attacked by a particularly voracious lover, but Cavendish looked like he had been mauled. And they were due on the Thousand Sunny in a few short minutes.
“C’mon.” Bartolomeo pulled on his coat with a wince, doing absolutely nothing to hide the bite marks that littered his neck and exposed chest. “No use waitin’.”
The deck of the Thousand Sunny was already packed with familiar faces when they stepped onto it, the simultaneous thud of their boots loud even over the clamoring of the Straw Hats and their allies. A few heads turned to see who had joined the still raging party and a brief, pointed hush fell over the crowd before it was broken by a loud guffaw from Ideo.
“Subtle,” Suleiman drawled from his spot against the railing, earning a glower from his captain.
“Oi! Cabbage! Lomeo!” Luffy came swinging down from the figurehead, arms stretching to wrap them both in a high velocity hug that brought their heads crashing together. He pulled back when Cavendish let out a cry of pain, grin unwavering as he looked at them curiously. “Did you get in another fight? I’ll kick their ass!” He laughed, bright and a little too piercing for the two older, very hungover, men.
“Don’t worry, Captain,” Zoro said with a smirk, lips loosened by his own state of inebriation. “I think their asses have been pretty well taken care of.”
Cavendish’s hand fell to Durandal’s hilt and Bartolomeo scrambled to stop him from getting into a fight, even as his cheeks burned.
Luffy shrugged, perfectly content to let Zoro’s comment fly over his head as he bounded off to go bother someone else. Once he was gone, Zoro spoke up again.
“It’s okay now, ya know. Safe, I mean.” He was speaking to the other two pirates, but his gaze was locked on the other side of the deck, where Sanji was twirling toward Nami with a tray of drinks in hand. “We won’t be hunted anymore, at least for a while. Not if Luffy has anything to say about it. So, they won’t be able to hurt either of you to get to the other.”
Bartolomeo and Cavendish exchanged a glance, the latter relaxing as Zoro looked back at them with an uncharacteristically soft expression. “Just sayin’.”
He stood and took his leave, wandering toward the other side of the ship.
Cavendish looked up and rested a hand against Bartolomeo’s chest, fingertips brushing over the bruise above his stuttering heartbeat.
“He’s right. We don’t need to hide anymore.”
“Little late for that anyway isn’t it?” Barto answered. He hooked an arm around Cavendish’s waist, drawing him up onto his toes. “Come sail the New World with me, Cabbage.”
Cavendish grinned, and when he closed the distance between them to kiss him, in full view of their friends and allies, it was as good an answer as any other.