With her sweetened breath [ONE PIECE]

24 - SHAME

Shanks, contrary to popular belief, is not good with women. Its one thing he cannot do, except math, and science and spellings - maybe. Well okay, he's not that good at many things but he is specially bad at women.

He knows what they like, what they dont, what they secretly wanted him to do and what they wanted him to say but Shanks just cannot seems to move forward in any step. He is good at flirting, Rayleigh taught him very well of course - its practically the only interesting the old man had taught him back then.

Rayleigh said to look closely on what they react the most, what kind of things that make them shiver and swoon. Do they like praises? A pat in a head and a whisper of compliment? Or do they like a bit of rough play? A little degradation and a cruel smirk on a lips?

Shanks is very good at observing such things, he is a Yonko after all but no matter how good he was, no matter how many imaginary notes he writes or no matter how many details he remembers and memorize he just cannot seems to act on it to the point he'll have then on the palm of his hand.

Shanks is a boy raised on the ocean, free as its waves and as light as its air. He grew up with pirates and loud bandits,running on the mud, on the stones, on the sand and on to the floor board of his late captain.
He had been everywhere, to the land and to the sea, to the sky and to the country through fogs and mountains and waterfalls.

Roger raised him as a pirate, not a man, not a boy, he had never been a boy, not once, not even when he was young. He was put on this world to carry a sword, not a toy, not the hand of his mother or a ball that his father had gave. He didnt run around to play, he didnt jump so he could smile, he run to steal, to get away and to hide, he jump to fly, to fly so hard he'll capture the sun on his palm and be one with the gods.

Shank was never a boy, he is a pirate. One that steals and kill, one that wasnt held by laws or the rage of the sea, not shackles by his past and his woes. His hands were tainted with red and sins, bruised with all the life he had taken and destroy, of all the dreams he had crushed and erased, of all the women he had widow, of all the children he had orphaned, of all the men he had deprived of happiness and hope.

Shank is a pirate, never a man, never a boy, never a lover.

So how could he be with her? A woman walking on the very deck of the ship he had put his sweat and blood on, a woman no better than a stranger, who looks at him with such fire that it made his skin boil and shivered? Who held his jaw between her fingers, that made his head dizzy and ache, that made his cheeks red with flush and his stomach to coil on it's own?

She was made to make him cower, to make him submit, to make a notorious pirate like him kneel and weep. To lick the dirt on her feet and to wipe the filth on her skin.

Shanks would be willing to be chained, to be collared and to be reduce into nothing so long as he could have her, so long as she was the one who would hold the leash, who would yank him with pain and yet kiss his wounds with a gentleness that only angel could produce. To slip her fingers between the strand of his hair carefully only to yank it back and mark his neck.

Shank is a pirate, a filthy one and he is willing to be treated like one. To attend to his sin with the use of her hand, to correct his mistake with her nails on his skin, with pleasure blinding his eyes only for her to yank it all back when he was finally at its peak. He will sob for her, cry for her, whispers of beg and plead, arch his back in a way that would want to make her ravished him, he will use her like the altar of god, meant to erased his sins and make him complete.

But Shanks has to know her first, had to, need to, yearns to. He wanted to know what she likes, what she dont, what makes her smile and makes her frown, what makes her blush and what makes her lust. He wants to know her favorite color, her favorite food, does she enjoy the sea or prepares the land more? Does she likes oranges? Apples? Shanks needs to know what she looks like on the morning, when half of her eyes were still held back by the sleepiness of her lids, does her lips pout when she's upset? Is it as soft as he thinks it is? As sweet as the candy? As addicting as a beer? Shanks needs to know what she looks like at night, lazy with tiredness holding her back, will she embrace him under the moonlight? Tangled her legs with his own and mumble things and promises and adoration as the stars witness them all? Will she kiss his neck softly? Suck a mark his skin? Make him hers? Will she whimpered or moan when she kissed him? Will she hold his neck as she sink on him? Will she squeezed it hard? Make him dizzy and crossed eye with the lack of air as she stole it all, will she slap him as she says how beautiful he is? Will she spit on him? Make him swear to swallow it like it was her soul? Make him beg and plead for an ounce of mercy? Make him cry and sob while she laughed and rode? Or will she be gentle? Hold his hand through it all? Smile at him at every thrust and every drip of their slick? Will she kiss him like a princess would do in an old novel? One that would stole everything he has on him and more? Will she says how good he is? How he was doing so well? How beautiful and how pretty? That he was clean? That he looks good even with the blood of his victims stain his skin? That she loved him no matter how many he had killed? That she would be with him through it all?