Chapter Text
Oh, yeah. He’d definitely drank way too much last night.
Buggy’s eyes pried open to the unwelcome sight of a familiar cabin on a familiar ship. The bed he was in was no stranger to him, and the sickening comfort of the smell of Shank’s hair on the pillows was his least favorite friend.
The man himself stepped from the connected bathroom, all smiles compared to Buggy’s stormy mood.
“Mornin’, Bugs.” The captain smiled, grabbing his discarded coat off the floor and swinging it around his shoulders. Buggy grunted in response, sitting up and cringing internally at the feeling of his hair, still stuck and starting to ache in the high ponytail he’d put it in the night previous.
Shanks frowned softly, not missed by the clown, but as he exited with no other words, Buggy tried to remember that he didn’t care.
…he did care. He cared too much. That was the problem.
The first thing Buggy noticed when he stepped into Shanks’ bathroom was the jug of water sitting on the small table next to a basin. He gave it a cautious sniff, shocked to find it wasn’t sea water. Surely Shanks wasn’t wasting good drinking water on Buggy’s crusty overnight makeup, right?
Probably some kind of apology, or if Buggy knew Shanks like he knew he did, a bribe. A bargaining chip for one more night of passion Buggy was not mentally prepared for.
Shanks and Buggy had this kind of routine. As close as they could get to one, anyway.
They’d meet at some unlikely port, or pass by in the seas, and Buggy would willingly follow Shanks onto his ship for the same night they always had. Drinks, way too many, and then drunk stumbling into Shanks cabin, the red haired man all hands.
Well, all hand , Buggy snickered to himself as he washed the makeup off his face, leaving his nose painted red. All his makeup supplies were on his own ship, anyway. Buggy caught a look at himself in the mirror hanging on the door out of the corner of his eye.
He looked like shit.
Flash fucking hell, Buggy looked awful. There were dark circles under his eyes, the remaining stains of lipstick on his cheeks, and there was some crusty substance along the side of his mouth that could’ve been drool or cum, it was a mixed bag.
Besides that, his chest and torso were covered in bruises, in bitemarks. Sure Shanks hadn’t done that, right? He hadn’t left marks like that in.. a long time. When things were far more strenuous for the both of them, not just Buggy.
Shanks, though, seemed happy as a clam whenever they met, smiles like the rays of sunshine that shone as background lighting every time Buggy pictured the man in his head on lonely nights.
Buggy felt sick. He shook his head like it might erase the awful, comforting image of Shanks illuminated in the hot sea sun.
Pulling his clothes back on was easy, considering he had no idea how they got taken off in the first place. Different articles were scattered everywhere. A sock here, his shirt across the room, his pants crumpled at the bottom of the bed. Using context clues, Buggy concluded that he didn’t want to think about it until he was drunk enough to enjoy himself.
Sneaking off the boat without being seen was no easy task, nor a successful one. He made it to the plank connecting the ship to the dock, his own ship a blissful sight to his tired eyes.
“Buggy? Where ya headed?” Shanks’ voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard to him, a normally enjoyable sound for Buggy turning crass.
“You’re done with me, aren’t you?” The clown fired the first shot, not bothering to turn and look at the other captain. He couldn’t see the way Shanks’ shoulders fell, nor the pained look that crossed his face.
“No, Bugs, listen-”
“There’s nothing to listen to.” Buggy said, letting his head hang down. Locks of blue hair fell in his face, sticking to his slightly damp skin. “We’re done. I saw what you did to me. Bite marks , really?” He cast a murderous glance over his shoulder to see Shanks approaching quickly, arm outstretched. Buggy let his hand detach as Shank’s tried to grab it, floating it into the air to flip off the red haired man. Buggy knew himself, he knew Shanks. Whatever happened the night before, Buggy would’ve been ecstatic to have Shanks on him like that, allowing him to take and take until they both passed out. He always got stupid when he was drunk.
“My crew will be worried.” Not a lie, technically. They would be worried, more about the clown’s continuous insistence that it wasn’t a bad idea to board Shanks’ ship, that the next morning he’d be fine. He was never fine.
“I wanted to talk about-”
“Well I don’t. Goodbye.” Buggy walked off the ship and down the plank, missing the way Shanks watched him every step of the way.