Work Text:
What Crocodile truly missed after he'd eaten his devil fruit was the triumphal feeling of being covered in an enemy's blood.
Crushing someone with brutal and punishing sand; drying out their very essence– those were effective, even elegant ways to kill someone. But they were, quite literally, bloodless.
At least he could still look at Mihawk— eyes ablaze mid-battle sword whirling with grace— and appreciate the swordsman's handsome countenance stained with crimson.
And when they kissed when the fight was done, maybe he'd taste a little of the blood still on Mihawk's lips– even if it meant a momentary vulnerability.