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Shanks elevated his spyglass with his right hand, attempting to maneuver it to get the best angle to glance at the deck of the Victoria Punk from his position on the Red-Force. He elevates his right knee, balancing his elbow atop it to anchor his elbow against it.
“What did you say they were doing, again?” The redhead called to his first-mate over his shoulder, “Where were they going?”
Beckman, who remained stoic in silence as he stamped out his twelfth cigarette in the span of twenty minutes with his boot heel, huffed and exasperated breath as he sauntered over beside Shanks.
“Go on, big guy,” Shanks encouraged him with a small nudge, “What did they say, hm?”
“They said-...” Beckman bit back a snarl through his grimace, “...-that Captain Eustass Kid is a baby, and needs to be coddled and treated as such after I shot him.”
“They said, what?” Shanks' shock had him drop his spyglass, lunging forward to hastily catch the item in his hand, “Don't they know how dangerous he is? How violent and unpredictable he is? How he nearly took apart our crew with his bare hands before you blew the damn thing off-.”
“-I let 'em know,” he growled in fury, “And they simply would not listen to reason.”
A booming voice erupted from the Victoria Punk, prompting Shanks to elevate his spyglass to his face further and seek out its source. There was nothing on the seas that could have prepared him for the sight he was met with.
Dropping his hand from his face, he wordlessly handed over the metal eye-piece to his first mate with a shake of his head. Beckman snatched the object and raised it to his eye, his own shock evident on his face.
There you were, Benn Beckman's spouse and long-time lover, sitting on Eustass Kid’s topdeck throne atop his knee: cradling the large Captain’s head against your chest, with your lips curved upwards in a pout. Beckman was not an avid lip-reader, but he could just imagine the praises and soothing words you were cooing down at the violent captain.
“You've gotta be shittin’ me, Darlin’.” Beckman whispered to himself, noticing the way you were stroking Kid’s right cheek with the back of your hand, pressing your lips in gentle kisses against the sensitive, scarred flesh of his left cheek.
As if sensing a presence, you turned your head to glance down the barrel-end of the augmentative glass within the metal cylinder, promptly extending a crude gesture with your middle finger at your long-time partner.
Beckman rumbled a growl within his chest, handing back the spyglass to his captain before digging in his pocket for another cigarette.
“Still not a baby-,” he grunted, igniting the tip of his cigarettes.
-
“-Such a big, brave boy,” you cooed at the enemy captain, stroking his hair and pressing another chaste kiss against his scarred temple, “Taking on a legendary captain of incredible caliber, only to have such violence be your welcome.”
Eustass Kid was eating up every ounce of affection you were presenting to him, nuzzling into your chest and embracing you with his right arm hooked firmly around your waist.
“So, so strong. Such a beautiful, brave baby boy,” you continued to affirm into him, a small hiccup fleeing from the red-head tinkerer’s lips.
When you showed up on a dinky row boat and bound it to the hull of the Victoria Punk, he had half a mind to order Massacre Soldier Killer to cleave your left arm off. He knew you were the spouse of Shanks' first mate. ‘An eye for an eye, an arm for an arm,’ he rationalized.
What he didn't expect was for you to immediately begin treating him with the worshipful doting praises a parent would give to an injured child.
And he didn't expect to like it.
“What the fuck?” was the first thing uttered from his lips as you began cradling him against yourself with praises of his bravery and skillful hands. As he felt each small touch granted against his skin, his secondary reaction was, “Oh, what the fuck…?”
He was reveling in the warmth presented to him by your hands, the love and soothing motions you were treating him with. He had no idea how to behave himself beneath such a beautiful expression of sympathetic empathy - especially at the hands of someone he assumed was his enemy.
“He will never come near you again, sweet boy,” you whispered to him, soothing circles from the pads of your thumbs drew patterns against his shoulders, “Not mean, old, naughty, violent Benn Beckman. Not any of the Red-Hair Pirates-.”
“-Aren’t you a Red-Hair Pirate?” Killer spoke over your shoulder, prompting Kid to shoot him a look.
“Shut up, Kil. Let me have this,” he growled at his First-Mate, leaning into your arms with a broad grin, “T-Tell me again? Tell me what I am, again?”
“Oh, you poor, sweet baby boy,” you cooed down at him, witnessing as his eyes softened as he looked up at you from his position cradled into your chest, “So brave, so strong.”
“And my arm? What about my arm?” Kid prompted you, basking under the radiance of your unbridled compliments.
“Such a clever boy, too. Using your abilities to create a masterpiece of violent art, which doubles as an artificial limb,” your pouted lips depicted a soft and melodic tone while uttering your praise.
Eustass Kid hummed in thought, squeezing your hip within his right hand that was woven around your waist. He bounced you a little atop his knee, noticing the way you smiled down at him with a small shake of your head.
“You sure you want to go back to your Captain?” he arched his brow up at you, “I'm a red-head with a missing left arm. Wouldn't be that much of a stretch if I were to captain you.”
“Unfortunately, no, sweet baby boy,” you smiled, giving his cheek a gentle tap, “As much as I want to keep giving you praises and sweet gentle kisses-.” You attempted to stand from the young captain's lap, laughing as his hand grasped at your hip to hold you close.
“-I really should be getting back to my wonderful, very angry-.” you began, Eustass Kid's voice covering your own with his gruff tone.
“-Very violent, masochistic, sadistic, terrible spouse who hurt me by ripping my fuckin’ arm off,” he growled, turning his lips to mirror your prior pouted expression, “Me. Your poor, defenseless, sweet-,” he kisses your cheek in an uncharacteristic peck, “-innocent, baby boy.”
He relinquished his hold on your waist, rising with you to your feet and taking your left hand within his right. He ushered you to the small dingy, aiding you as you placed your feet into the boat. Before he allowed you the luxury of leaving the Victoria Punk, he drew you in one final time and whispered in your ear.
“Now, out of respect to you and your doting and worshipful words you offered me,” he raised his right hand, hooking your hair over your ear, “I'm going to allow you the luxury of a twenty minute head start.”
Your eyes widened, glancing at his whisky-tanned gaze which held such playful amusement. Lips opening and closing and flustered, he chuckled at your flabbergasted expression.
“Get paddling, Sunshine.”