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Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash	By : Rhov Category: +M to R > One Piece Views: 5473 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Eiichiri Oda-sensei is the captain and commander of "One Piece." I'm not even worthy of being his cabinboy because I make no money writing these fics.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter 6: Ferocity, Defiance, and Pride
Present Day, a Pub in the New World
Zoro let out a long sigh and chased away the memories of that day before they haunted him. He might have blamed it on the pain killers that day but...it didn't stay to just that day. That was what troubled him now and sometimes made him feel guilty.
The pub doors banged open. Zoro's shoulders sagged, and he wondered when they had tensed up so much. His plate of chicken had gotten cold as he drifted on a sea of memories. Now Luffy was here, and he could not give an accurate report on the food in this tavern.
"MEAT!"
Zoro opened his eye. Right demand, wrong voice. He looked in the mirror across the way to see a boorish man with a week's worth of stubble limp forward in the gait of a sailor newly landed on shore. He took a seat beside Zoro, looked over at him with a rotten-teeth smile, and nodded in approval. Dark gaze, scars, three swords...three? All the better!
"A pirate after me own 'eart," he guffawed. Zoro drew back at the smell of rot in his mouth. "Ye ain't lookin' fer a crew, is ya?"
"No," Zoro said in a thudding tone.
The man laughed boisterously. "A man of yer stature, not surprising. So, is you a capt'n or is you a crew?"
"First mate," he said taciturnly.
"Zat so? If yer capt'n ever pisses in yer beer, ye can come joint Capt'n Smoky Sanno and me crew, aye? Lots o' beer, babes, an' Belis to be had. Oi," he shouted, pounding the wooden bar in front of him. "I said meat." Sanno reached into his coat and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Nice to 'ave these back. Missed me smokes out on the ocean, I did." He pulled out some matches, lit the cigarette, and took a long, relaxing drag.
"Can you not smoke here?" Zoro requested, turning his nose away from the reek wafting through the entire tavern.
"Eh? Is yer little nose sensitive?"
"The smell of cigarettes," Zoro warned, "reminds me of a man I don't like. You don't want me angry."
Sanno laughed again, but it was obvious he was getting annoyed. "I finally get me a smoke after weeks at sea, an' some cocky first mate tells me to put it out? Really, yer capt'n must be a pussy."
A flash of silver, the singing chime of steel, and the cigarette was slice in half with Shusui's black blade stopped short and resting between the man's lips.
"Don't smoke around me," Zoro warned with the voice like a demon.
Belatedly, Sanno fell off the stool and scrambled backwards across the floor. "Meat smells rotten around 'ere anyways." He fled, and a few other pirates in the tavern laughed after he was gone.
"It's your own mouth that's rotten, bastard," Zoro grumbled as he sheathed his sword. "You don't have to worry about losing his business," he told the proprietor, who was glaring at him but too worried to say anything. "When my captain arrives, he'll eat you out of meat, don't worry."
He knew he had to keep a cap on his temper. He could put up with the smoke—he sailed with Sanji after all—but no one, no one, insulted Luffy like that.
Zoro sighed and ate some more chicken. He wished Luffy would wake up. Getting drunk alone was no fun. He might not join in with the frivolities around the ship, but Zoro realized how much he missed them. Just watching Luffy play and laugh with Chopper, Usopp, and Brook made him relaxed and happy. He had not realized how much he missed such simple things until they were stripped from him.
That went for Mihawk as well. He hated the man, and he loved him. He tolerated bowing his head for Luffy's sake, and he hoped their paths met again...for his own sake.
Year 1524, Shortly After the Injury, Kuraigana Island
After Zoro healed from his injury, they trained every day. With so much to learn and teach, they rarely had spare time to make love. Mihawk had to completely readjust Zoro's fighting stance to overcome the slashed eye. The lack of depth perception frustrated Zoro. Try as he might, fighting just was not the same.
"Raaargh!" Zoro slammed two of his swords into the ground, slicing through the stone and embedding them. He held onto the hilts, leaned over at the waist, and panted between the sword in his mouth.
"You're doing it again," Mihawk said without sympathy. "You're expending too much energy into emotions."
Zoro yanked Wado Ichimonji out of his mouth and sheathed it. "What does it matter? I can't fucking fight anymore!"
"I have known one-eyed swordsmen."
"And did any ever beat you?" he screamed.
Mihawk stared at him silently.
"See! I've fucking lost it. Any chance I had of being the greatest swordsman in the world, I lost when I lost my eye. Goddamned motherfucking son of a crab-infested piss-cocked bitch..."
A long string of profanities, the likes of which only sailors and pirates knew, streamed out while Mihawk listened with a sigh of annoyance. Once every colorful combination had been used up, there was nothing left to say but a long, lingering roar of frustration. Totally expended by the verbal onslaught, Zoro slumped against a stone wall in the practice room.
"It fucking doesn't matter anymore," he mumbled in defeat.
Mihawk eyed him skeptically, but Zoro did not pull out of his slump. Mihawk sheathed Yoru's massive blade and stood up straight. "If you have given up, leave my island immediately. Your captain may still achieve his dream with only the second best swordsman in the world."
"You old bastard," he grumbled. He still looked aside in frustration. Some days, the fear that he had lost his greatest dream pained him almost to the point of tears. "I promised Luffy..."
That day on Baratie came back to him. He felt the pain of the slash to his chest.
L-Luffy...c-can you hear me? Sorry for worrying you. I know...that if I don't become...the world's strongest swordsman...it would only embarrass you. I swear...that I'm never going to lose again! Until the day that I fight him and win...I swear! To never lose again! Any problems...Pirate King?
That vow! Only two vows in his life were etched into his soul: that one and the one to Kuina, that he would become the strongest. He had sworn the same path to two people now, and he made the oath in front of Mihawk, with the Shichibukai grinning on in eagerness.
But he had lost. They all did on Sabaody. It was a harsh lesson for the entire crew.
"Luffy will be the Pirate King. He doesn't deserve second best. Brook is the best musician out there. No one can beat Nami in navigation. Usopp's aim can hit anything. Even Sanji, he's a pain in the ass but he's the best damn cook I've ever tasted. Robin, Franky, Chopper: they're all striving forward to be the best at what they do. That's what the future Pirate King deserves. The best! I won't let Luffy have a second-best swordsman."
"Then you have two choices, Roronoa," Mihawk pronounced. "Walk away, never face your captain again, and let him find another swordsman who wishes to climb to the top; or get on your feet and follow me." Without waiting, he turned and began a fast march out of the practice hall.
Zoro sighed and reached up to feel the scar over his eye. Sometimes he wanted to blame Mihawk for the wound, but it was his own weakness that led to it. He could either sink into that weakness or keep climbing. He was already here, face-to-face with his goal, yet the distance between them was too immense. He was still in Yoru's shadow.
Did he walk away from his friends, from Luffy and Kuina and all his oaths? Or did he dare to follow that shadow into sunlight?
He shook his head, got to his feet, yanked his swords out, and sheathed them. Then he hurried to catch up to his teacher. They passed through the halls, racing by Perona as she floated through with her ghosts. They said nothing to her, she said nothing to them. It was usually that way.
They went outside, and Mihawk set on a path heading to the nearby lake. The placid waters looked like steel as they reflected the gray sky overhead. It was a comforting color, not annoyingly bright, and the deep greens of the surrounding forest insulated the lake.
"Sit."
Zoro moved over to where the grass was thicker and dropped down heavily. Mihawk came up behind him, got on his knees, and put his hands on Zoro's shoulders. With deep pressure from his thumbs, he began to kneed out the knots in Zoro's muscles. The young swordsman could not help but moan at the massage.
"Roronoa Zoro," he whispered. Just hearing the man breathe his name made Zoro shiver. "I heard the oath you gave your captain that day. If you recall, I too gave you an oath: to wait for you. I still feel you will be the man to surpass me one day. You have the youth, drive, and stubborn will to surmount this disability and rise even greater because of it." He leaned over with his lips brushing against Zoro's earlobe. "I am not about to give up on you," he whispered, and his teeth nipped the top of the lobe, giving Zoro a shudder. "So please, don't give up on me yet. Stay here; complete your training. I will keep teaching you for as long as the fire of determination burns."
That confidence made Zoro cheer up and become eager to work harder. However, one look at Mihawk's lowered lids told him that work was not on the swordmaster's mind.
"Stay with me," he whispered intimately as he caressed the young face. "Roronoa Zoro. I will teach you that even a blind man can become a great swordsman."
He tugged off an ascot tied around his neck. Then he reached around and tied the strip of cloth around Zoro's eyes.
"We swordsmen, better than most people, know and can anticipate the movements of other men. Whereas we often rely upon our eyes to see the obvious movements—a dip of the elbow which whispers of an impending thrust—often our eyes can be deceived. A superb swordsman knows what our opponent will interpret, thereby making a movement upon that anticipation and turning it into an advantage. The superb swordsman does not look. They feel. They sense beyond the visual cues. Have you not ever crossed swords with a person and knew their inner heart?"
"Of course," Zoro replied.
"Use more than your eyes now, Roronoa. You lament that you have no depth perception. Then hear how far away your opponent is. Smell how close he is. Feel the angle of his sword to determine his reach. Taste when he is so close his sweat drips upon you."
Zoro felt the heat leave his back. He heard steps, felt wind moving around him, and continued to sit blindfolded.
"How far away am I?" asked Mihawk.
Zoro focused on the soft voice. "Five paces, seven o'clock."
A small noise. "Now how far?"
"Thirteen paces, three o'clock."
He heard the footsteps approach. "Now?" asked a close, quiet voice.
Zoro swallowed. "About...twenty centimeters?"
"Eighteen. When you don't have to guess, when you know to the millimeter how close I am, you'll discover you don't need eyes to fight." Now Zoro felt a pressure on his chest, two legs straddling him, and slowly the master swordsman dominated him. "You must learn to anticipate your opponent's actions."
Zoro scoffed softly, but he did not protest. "Sounds like you just want more bedroom time, you horny bast-..."
Lips covered his, muting him. Zoro moaned in protest, but slowly he listened to the movements. A scrape of metal, a shift in weight, a change in the fragrance. His hand shot up, catching Mihawk's wrist just as the small knife pendant was making a downswing. He could not see it, but he could smell the blade close to his nose.
"Three millimeters," Zoro said with a tiny smirk.
"See," Mihawk said proudly, putting the tiny blade way. "You can do it if you try."
Without even realizing it, Mihawk had begun to breathe hard. He pulled back and studied the man under him. What was with this man? Almost two years, and he was still an enigma. Few men in his lifetime had intrigued him like Roronoa Zoro. An impetuous youth, charging at him with a ridiculous overcompensation of three swords, bombastic in his movements, a boy of the weakest East Blue. Why had such an audacious guttersnipe gripped his interest?
"Anticipate my moves," he instructed calmly.
And this! Taking a student! Not only that, but a student who only wanted to learn so he could one day defeat him. Why had he accepted? Why had he put so much time and interest into this young man? Two years! No man in history had ever had the honor of being instructed by the great Hawk Eyes Mihawk, let alone private tutoring for two years.
Zoro held still and listened to the sliding of fabric. He felt the slight waves of heat radiating from fingers, piercing the frigid air. Blindly, he saw beyond sight. He smelled, listened, felt...the world opened before him in a new way.
"Your right hand to my left hip, five centimeters up."
Mihawk glared at him. Before their time was up, he wanted to unravel this mystery. What precisely had interested him? He had seen more handsome men, had experienced more skilled lovers, fought men with better sword skills, so what was it?
"You're removing your shirt."
Zoro's words made him stop. Mihawk realized he had begun undressing without conscious thought.
"You can hear my clothes. It's to your advantage."
An excuse! Since when had Dracule Mihawk needed excuses for any of his actions? Now he had to commit. He removed his clothes and looked back down to the youth. Unable to see, Zoro's face had become relaxed.
"Anticipate my actions. Match them. Fight me without sight. Learn to react on instinct more than your eyes."
Zoro felt his hands slide up his torso, gliding up and down the hills and vales of muscles. He knew two seconds before he felt the touch that Mihawk was about to tweak his...
"Left nipple."
Mihawk smirked that he called it. Although both hands had been in motion, the young man had guessed which was more eager.
Unable to see, unwilling to move, Zoro felt himself being even more sensitive to Mihawk's touches. Without sight, all other senses surged to compensate. The taste of the man's mouth enveloped his tongue as if he was guzzling a goblet full of sweet Mihawk Wine. His racing heart pounded in his ears as he judged movement by sound. The smell of the grass under him, the nearby lake, a storm moving in, and Mihawk's naked body radiating a rising muskiness all accosted his nostrils, drifting and shifting in smells until he could visualize the movement by the changing aromas. And feel! He felt it all, every butterfly kiss, every ghosted touch, even when Mihawk's hand slid just above his skin, he felt the shiver of connecting auras. In his mind's eye, Mihawk was there, a force, a glowing figure of energy.
"You're smiling."
The master swordsman jolted. How? How could he sense even that movement that made no sound? Had he already perfected this technique? So fast? Was this Haki that the youth possessed?
Zoro reached up and lightly rubbed his finger around the shell of Mihawk's ear. "I see it. I see all of you. Even better than with two eyes, I see you there."
Mihawk held still. He even stopped his breath so Zoro could not feel the air. Still, the young man knew where to reach. His hand went down, and lightly he tapped the wet tip of his erection. Even this! It wasn't a blind groping, but a precise swipe of the finger. He even knew how large Mihawk had gotten.
"I know your smell," Zoro explained as he took that dewy pearl of precum and placed it into his mouth. "And I know your taste."
Desire surged in Mihawk harder than he had felt in a very, very long time. Like a predatory bird, he dived down into Zoro's mouth, and at the same time, he thrust a finger in. He felt the grimace in Zoro's kiss, yet he did not give him time to utter a cry. He twisted his finger around, loosening the ring of muscles. Then another, widening him fast, driven on by that intense desire. He needed this man, this enigma that had fascinated him for so long.
"I shall mark you as mine!" he growled. Without a single warning, Mihawk withdrew the fingers and thrust his erection in fast, hard, tearing, ripping, scarring Zoro in a way no other man could duplicate. Only one person in the world could take this from him.
"Damn...motherfucking...bastard...fucking hell, at least you were gentle the first time!" he screamed in agony.
"First time?" Mihawk mused. "I barely did anything that night. It doesn't count. This time, I'll take away any lingering innocence. Today, I make you a man. Today, I claim you...as mine!"
As Zoro strained with the pain and Mihawk waited for him to relax, a memory flashed into the master's mind.
Year 1522, Baratie, East Blue (yes, a flashback-within-a-flashback)
"I've never seen such graceful movements."
Those words of admiration from the green-haired youth were not new. Many men had said the same. But there was a slightly different tone. It was not said in trembling fear. It was true awe. Without needing to look his way, Mihawk understood immediately that this boy was a swordsman.
"A sword without grace is no strong sword." As a thanks for the compliment, he would give this young fighter that one lesson.
"Did you cut this ship as well with your sword?"
"Yes indeed."
"No wonder...you really are the strongest. I set sail to meet you."
Surprise briefly visited the bored Shichibukai. Not many men so eagerly sought him out. Even seasoned pirates under the banner of the strongest fleets in the world cowered before his golden gaze. Yet this youth, this mere teenager, had a grin that could barely be suppressed.
"What do you aim for?"
Even as the teen made a vain move, tying on a bandanna, perhaps some tradition he had to get into a serious mood, the youth's eyes gleamed with eagerness, and his smile grew. "To be the strongest!" Mihawk had heard others say that. Too many others. The few who sought him all wanted the same thing. A duel. A chance. Pitting their blade against one of legend. "You said you're free, right? So let's have a duel."
Yes, the same request, over and over. Too many fools! And here was another. It frustrated his already ill-tempered mood.
"Pitiful weakling." He proceeded to give him a standard warning, and one question he asked each opponent: "Does your bravery come from your conviction, or from ignorance?"
As the wannabe swordsman prepared, he said what Mihawk had heard before. "It comes from my ambition..." Yet something he had not heard before. "...and a promise to a friend."
A promise? Different, but just as pitiful. Breaking a promise would likely crush his spirit. Doing so early on would free this adventurer from many hardships to come, possibly even save his life. He would go easy on the little frog in his well, staring up and only seeing the apex of the sky.
He watched the man make his first move. As he so easily deflected, he saw the truth dawn in this little frog's bulging eyes. The path to the top of his well was indeed a long, long ways to go. Yet he did not drop to his knees. He fought, and with each clash, putting his whole soul into each swing of his blades, the truth sank deeper. Mihawk watched this epiphany unfold in the man's face, yet not once did the youth's spirit waver. The truth of his eminent defeat mattered not to him.
"Such ferocity!" He had seen fierce fighters before. Still, the first spark of interest was in that moment. Normal men did not face an impossible battle and still glare like that. Always, it was a drive behind that spirit. Something more existed within this youth. It made the master swordsman—dare he admit it—curious. "What burdens you so? What do you still desire at the extent of your strength, weakling?"
Defiance! Despite being sent rolling backwards, still the youth charged. All it took was a single pierce. Mihawk had aimed it well, just shy of his heart. Barely shy. Yet the man did not pull back. He stood his ground, even leaned into the pain. Mihawk knew that a centimeter more and his heart would be cut, yet the man did not draw back. Why? He asked this crazed, suicidal youth...why? The answer was as astonishing as the ridiculous three swords.
"Beats me...not really sure myself." Truly, this boy embodied the idiocy of youth! "But I get the feeling that if I were to step back right now, I'd lose something very important to me...a promise or oath or whatever it is..." There it was again. A promise. "...would be irreversibly broken, and that I'd never be able to return back to where I am standing now."
"Yes," he replied solemnly. "Such is defeat." A hard lesson for youths to learn.
The young man laughed as he looked down at the tiny knife that had defeated three swords. Mihawk knew it must pain him with the tip of the blade resting against his frantically beating heart, yet still he laughed. "Then that's why I can't step back."
Death before defeat! Mihawk had planned to shatter this weakling's will by forcing him to break his promise, yet even in the face of death, he refused to yield. Such an oath was the sort etched into a man's very soul. Few men in the world knew the feeling, but Mihawk did. It impressed him. Such conviction was rare, even on Grand Line, and he had discovered it, like an untapped spring of water in this useless desert of weakness called East Blue. So Mihawk granted this teen life and pulled back his knife.
"Kid, tell me your name."
"Roronoa Zoro." He said it clearly and with pride as he prepared his three swords for the final blow.
"I shall remember it, for your strength is not oft seen in this world."
He honored Zoro with one true taste of strength. How many men of this young age were honored a true duel with Kokuto Yoru? A glimpse was all he would get, for it was all he could see without becoming blinded by the truth of his own weakness. Mihawk shattered two of the swords, but he left one to him. After all, a swordsman without a sword was too pitiful, and he sensed something about the spirit of that white sword, something that resonated with his own black sword, like the equal balance of yin and yang. That sword was special, so he spared it. The youth sheathed his remaining blade. He realized it was over, and his arms stretched like an eager lover to his destined mate.
"A wound on one's back is the shame of a swordsman."
Mihawk saw it then. Not merely a fierce power, not just determination. This man had...
Pride!
Mihawk had not smiled in a long time, yet now he did. As he looked into the fearless, proud eyes, he saw a reflection of himself many decades ago. This guttersnipe from East Blue was a man worth waiting for. Finally, the loneliness of being on the top was relieved, because he knew there was such a man clambering to face him.
"Splendid!"
He wanted this man! He would give him a reminder, a scar he could show proudly, proof that he had crossed swords with Dracule Mihawk and lived. A deep scar, one that would not fade, no matter how many years it took for him to keep climbing out of his well. For years it would take! And he would wait.
He aimed the slash well. Although the man fell into the ocean, his friends came for him. Although his captain tried to retaliate, he calmed the hothead with a word. He knew this Roronoa Zoro would not die from that wound. If he was of the caliber he sensed in their brief clashing, he would recover quickly, then work harder as the scar and lingering pain reminded him of how far he had yet to go.
"I am Dracule Mihawk! It is much too early for you to die. Know thyself! Know thy world! And become strong, Roronoa!" Yes, that name was now etched in his mind. He would not forget this man. "No matter how many months or years pass by, I shall stand here at the top of the world and wait for you. So forge on ahead with that fierce conviction and try to surpass my sword." With a single demand upon their maiden battle, he claimed this man's destiny like a bridegroom claiming his mate's virginity on the wedding night. "Surpass me, Roronoa!"
Back on Kuraigana Island, Year 1524
That day was etched in Mihawk's memory as few other encounters were. He even forgot the name of the pirate he had initially been tracking. But this man, this triple-bladed impetuous youth with the ferocity, defiance, and pride to fight without retreat, was never forgotten in the following months.
Then he arrived at his doorstep like a gust of fate. He was not there to fight. He had sworn never to be defeated until he could face Mihawk again, yet it had happened. Crushed, he was tossed like a rag doll to the feet of his enemy. And Mihawk took him in. This youth had at least tasted what more was out there. The little frog was one hop closer to the top of the well, but he still had a long way to go. Mihawk was determined to keep waiting until the day came.
Nearly two years had passed. The mystery of this man was never solved. No, it built up, it surged, it became an entire mythos that he was eager to study. If he could have had a successor, an apprentice, or even a son to pass on his legacy, he would have wanted Roronoa Zoro. It meant his eventual death, but that was fine. This man had seen grace with a single sword swing. He had shouted his challenge without hesitation. He gave his entire body and soul for one aim: "To be the strongest!"
Zoro's blindfolded face turned to him. "Huh?"
Mihawk had not realized he said those four words aloud. How could this youth distract him so? He had been mindlessly gliding back and forth as the moans under him blended with the battle cries of that first encounter. Mihawk now paused in his thrusting and looked down at the supine body.
"To be the strongest. Do you still desire that?"
"Of course."
"You only want to defeat whoever stands at the top?"
"No!"
Mihawk jolted at the answer.
"I want to defeat you standing at the top. You alone are my aim, Dracule Mihawk. I won't give up. I swore to my captain never to lose until I beat you. Not beat whatever chump stands at the top, but to defeat you! You are my aim. Not just to be the strongest, but to be stronger than you."
"Even if that means killing me?"
Zoro hesitated for just a moment. Mihawk saw it right then. This teacher/student relationship—no, a relationship between lovers—had gone too far. It distracted the man he wanted to face, the successor he had declared before witnesses, the soul he had claimed and marked.
"Death is not necessary for defeat," Zoro said quietly. "I've defeated many opponents without sending them to hell. To be the strongest: that's all I want. To give you the same scar you gave me, to have you on your knees and say 'I quit'...if I can do that without killing you..."
"Shut up!"
Mihawk slapped his face so hard, the blindfold flew off. Zoro jolted and looked up to him in surprise. Anger? Why? Mihawk grabbed his wrists and pinned him down. He thrust in hard and fast, making Zoro cry out in renewed pain.
"Finish that sentence and I will kill you here without the dignity of using my sword. I will rape you into a bloody pile and then strangle you with my bare hands. If you do not swear to face me with every intent of surpassing my sword, then I will not let you live to grow strong enough. I refuse to wait for you only to have you betray my conviction in your strength over some petty thing like emotions."
"I got it, I got it!"
"No, you don't." He pulled all the way back. "On your hands and knees, weakling."
"Bastard," Zoro grumbled, but he obeyed. Mihawk did not even wait. He spread the butt cheeks roughly and slammed in, thrusting Zoro forward with his bare knees scraping across grass and dirt. Zoro let out a roaring "FUCK!"
Mihawk grabbed a handful of his green hair and yanked it up so he could look down into Zoro's straining face. "You will not give up just because you lost an eye. You will not stop moving forward, even if that means you leave my side for years. When we cross blades in battle, you will fight me as your enemy, your goal, your single-minded aim. These two years will not enter your mind," he shouted, straining as he listened to Zoro's choking moans at such brutal thrusts. Tears streamed down Zoro's cheeks at the unforgiving assault on his ass and the yank of his head that threatened to snap his neck. "This day, the day I grant your wish for me to fuck you senseless, will not enter into your thoughts. Your mind will be solely on your goal. To be the strongest! To surpass my blade! That is all you need to think about when that day comes, or any extraneous thoughts will be punished with your death. Fight me wholly or walk away now."
He threw away the green hair like trash, and Zoro could finally cry out without gurgling. Mihawk yanked on Zoro's hips to hold him up as he thrust faster, harder, giving him a scar he would never forget, not even if it took months or years for this little frog to leap the last few steps to the top of his well. Even after he surpassed and became the strongest—yes, Mihawk wanted to believe this unique student of his could do it—still he would not forget this day. Its pain would make him flinch. Its pleasure would make him blush. For as long as Roronoa Zoro lived, he would never wipe away such a scar.
Zoro kept his eyes closed. Vision distracted the sensations. He knew what Mihawk was doing. He knew he was once again being marked. And true, whereas the night of the injury had been a tiny taste, this was a binge. He came onto the grass, and still the man did not give up. Zoro collapsed with his belly against the cold ground, and still Mihawk laid on top, humping into him. The lithe hands then rolled him over, pushed his legs up and over Mihawk's shoulders, and he took him again.
Now Zoro looked. He watched the emotions on his face. Movements he could sense with other sensory, but emotions were silent, especially on such a taciturn man. He saw the lust, the obsession, and a hidden pain. Mihawk had not planned on being this rough for Zoro's first time, but something drove him to do it. Zoro gave him the same fierce grin.
"Give me your worst, Hawk Eyes!" he challenged.
Mihawk saw his face. This was it! This was the same face as back then. Ferocity, defiance, pride! It was precisely this which had sparked his interest.
"You are not ready to be on top yet, Roronoa."
"For now," Zoro said with a grin, "I'm fine with that. But I don't plan on being under you forever."
Mihawk chuckled. "Indeed."
Now the brutality changed. It was just as impassioned, but Mihawk aimed to please Zoro as well as himself. He stroked the veined cock in tempo to his thrusts. He leaned over and kissed Zoro. The young man grabbed his black hair and violently kissed back.
"I may be marked by you, Hawk Eyes," he chuckled with a gritted smirk, "but I've also marked you. You will live with the stigma of being the sensei of Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro. Trust me, I do not plan on staining your reputation nor mine. Fate has linked us hand-in-hand. The only thing to stop this dance of destiny is when you finally wear out and retire from your position on top."
Mihawk realized the innuendo in his words too late. Despite trying to put a frantic break to his headlong plunge, he was too far gone to stop it. He burst inside Zoro, and the man shouted at the added pressure. His voice filled Mihawk's mind, shoving out all other things, leaving behind euphoria and the sound of his rival, his student...his lover!
Mihawk panted hard, withdrew, and rolled to his back to look up at the stormy sky just as he felt the first drops of rain plink on his cheeks. Then a shadow went above him and legs straddled his chest. Zoro's single eye looked down at him.
"I will defeat you, Mihawk," he swore. "I will claim the top position with my own power. After that, who knows what might happen. Maybe I'll kill you. Maybe we'll continue to struggle in endless challenges. Maybe we'll work side by side at the top. You'd make a good sidekick for the future Pirate King, after all."
Mihawk sneered. "Like hell!"
Zoro smiled haughtily down at him as the rain fell harder and dripped onto his back. He moved to shield the rain from Mihawk's face. "So fierce! So defiant! So proud!"
Mihawk's eyes widened. How had he known that those three traits were what he admired in Zoro? Could both student and master truly be such perfect mirrors of one another?
"But I'm warning you now, old man...I'll surpass you. So keep waiting. Keep being on top for now." He laid his head down on Mihawk's chest and curled into him. "Wait for me. I will continue to aim for you...and without hesitation, I will defeat you."
Mihawk chuckled proudly, and with a smile he stroked down Zoro's wet green hair. "Splendid!"
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Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash