Two men sat on the cliffside of the small island, side by side, watching the moon rise over the ocean. The first sat straight, stiff-backed, his gaze trained on the black expanse of the sea, contemplating the way the silver light broke over the water. The second was slumped against the side of the first, and occasionally his gaze wandered to the heavy gold chain around the man's neck. Presently, his gaze was beginning to wander again, the light of the moon too sharp for his dry eyes. The lazy smile on his lips crept a little wider and he reached over his companion's lap to paw at the big, shiny cross hanging over the man's chest.

"You've drunken far too much, Shanks. Let me get you some water," Hawk-Eyes Mihawk said, finally, as the red haired pirate began lifting the cross and letting it fall from some distance above his chest.

"Never too much! No such thiii~ng!" Shanks giggled, beaming a smile even wider yet as he let the cross fall for a third time.

"What if the marines came?" Mihawk asked patiently, catching Shanks' hand as it fumbled to lift the cross again. The captain seemed more enthused for the attention, lifting his alcohol-glazed eyes to Mihawk's sharp gold.

"I'd tell them… we all just swore loyalty to you!" Shanks declared, visibly delighted by his own genius, his eyes wide with revelation.

"After all the years you've held out against them, I doubt they'll believe you," the swordsman pointed out realistically.

"Then I'd just… show them something.... Like this!!" Shanks declared, grabbing a hold of the fabric covering Mihawk's opposite shoulder, breaking the surprised and intoxicated man's restraint as he threw his leg over to straddle him and ended up toppling him over backwards as he planted a messy kiss against his sideburn.

Mihawk lay on his back on the ground, his brow furrowed, and a hand clutching Shank's shoulder to steady him, while his other hand still gripped to his arm.

"You missed…." he observed.

"…So I did!" Shanks exclaimed.

"This is hardly comfortable," the swordsman continued, feeling rocks digging into his back through his jacket.

"You're not a romantic," Shanks lamented sufferingly, and pushed himself up to peer accusatively at Mihawk through liquor hazed eyes.

"Shanks, it has been a very long time since we—" Mihawk began.

"Time we made up for it!" Shanks cut in.

"I wasn't suggesting—" the swordsman attempted once more.

"You didn't come all this way just to tell me about Luffy," Shanks pointed out swiftly, his cheer rising again.

"…but, I did."

"You did?"

"I thought you should know," Mihawk replied honestly.

"Thanks! I really appreciate it! Can you get your arm out of this sleeve?" Shanks asked, his hand busy as they conversed.

"Yes. Stop that. You'll rip it. Here…"

"Good man."

"I didn't mean—" Mihawk began, his confusion growing behind his expression of slight concentration..

"You did! Stop protesting. You don't want to protest," Shanks informed him.

"Don't I?"

"You don't. Other arm. There we are!"

Mihawk found himself without a jacket, the gold cross hanging off under his armpit.

"There isn't a bed?" he asked, finally, admitting to the inevitability.

"In the middle of the campground, sure," Shanks replied roguishly, sliding down the swordsman's body.

"…it won't do."

"No, of course it won't, stop trying to ruin a totally great mood!"

And so, Mihawk stopped trying to ruin a totally great mood, and Shanks got shitfacedly and merrily laid.

The End.