I uhhhhhhhhh hope you don't mind I wrote a little thing about this when you first posted it bc it Inspired Me and tumblr is a better platform for fic than twitter so uh. Please enjoy my humble offering!
The thing is: it's not like Law needs a bruiser hanging over his shoulder looking intimidating when he negotiates with another crew. He looks plenty like a bruiser himself, but really he relies on how his reputation precedes him; the psychological horror of the Surgeon of Death overtakes any physical intimidation. Having said that, it's not like he's a fool that walks into a negotiation without backup. That backup happens to have shaggy hair and shy eyes and a general air of a puppy tagging at Law's heels, in contrast to his glowering stare and tough-guy tats shown off today by the framing of a white muscle shirt.
Still, any pirate crew unlucky enough to find themselves across the table from the Heart Pirates can't take their eyes off the nine and a half foot tall, sweet-faced, and mute companion of their captain. Despite his demeanor, there's something about him that's indefinably incorrect in a way that makes any onlooker's skin attempt to crawl to the opposite side of their body from that aura. He never looks up, always gazing adoringly at the captain as the negotiations proceed, and yet the air around him smells almost like an oncoming storm. Threatening.
There's a point where a captain might say the wrong thing in the proceedings. Perhaps he attempts to bluff with no cards, or make a sly threat against the Heart crewmates not present. That's the moment that Law's demeanor shifts. He leans back further on the red velvet couch, chin tipping down as his face starts to go red. That's when his companion finally moves: not to acknowledge the negotiation table or the person who's pissed his captain off. No, he merely bends down to bring his lips level with the brim of Law's cap, hands still demurely tucked behind his back, and presses a sweet kiss there, with his eyelids lowered enough that the lashes brush against his cheeks. Law's hand reaches up to grip at the man's boilersuit until it pulls open and reveals a trim chest.
An especially foolish captain might try to add this particular member of the Hearts onto the table as a chip to be traded between crews; that kind of captain dies before he passes the threshold of this room again, though that shouldn't be mistaken for a quick death. It is not. One that is smart enough to keep his pert comments to himself and merely admire the captain's pet gets to see the next step, in which Law tilts his head back to lock eyes with this favored member of his crew and exchange a few murmuring words. ("Are you done yet?" He whispers, teasing. "Why, you have plans?" Law snarks back. "Yes. I do. And they involve you.")
The negotiation ends quickly after that. It becomes clear that Law was only there to toy with his prey and walk away victorious; he reveals a trump card, maybe a heart held in his fist, and he gets all his terms while his opponent gets none of theirs. But his grip on the boilersuit hasn't loosened, and his strange crew member stays obediently bent with his hands locked behind his back until the door shuts behind a crew lucky to be alive after an encounter with the Surgeon of Death.
(What no other crew will ever see is how, once the door closes, Law hisses and yanks at the fabric in his hand until Cora's forced to bend down enough that he can receive a sharp, biting kiss. Another tug sends Cora tumbling over the back of the couch to land on Law, and Law doesn't waste a second in continuing to pull apart the sides of Cora's boilersuit and putting his hands greedily all over the skin that's revealed. Cora's hand is big enough to wrap around both of their cocks, hastily removed from clothes, and he jacks them off together onto Law's tank. Nobody wearing a Heart jolly roger asks him why he's shirtless when he leaves the room and why Cora looks rumpled and has a dopy grin on his face. They know.)
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