Archive of Our Own

1. A Deal

Few things made Crocodile's life in Alabasta enjoyable. The casino, the music, and the sound of money. A familiar and deafening kind of pleasure.

Being interrupted was one way to ruin it all.

The guards found him three halls away. Sir, you have to come quickly, we have an 'uncooperative guest.' He's threatened to kill us all. Yes, it's the warlord, Donquixote Doflamingo. He says he'll only see you.

He let out an exhausted groan. Nothing ever changed, especially not Doflamingo. Constantly lurking and circling him, reeking of rabid hunger to seize power, spill blood, or fuck him. He’d never pinned down his intentions and didn’t want to. He’d tried to avoid him for years and intended to keep it that way.

Besides, he's nobody's meat.

When Crocodile entered the poker room, he found Doflamingo sitting alone at a table, tokens scattered before him. His pink feathered coat consumed half the room and invited an eyesore.

Doflamingo swiveled his head around, all teeth and smile. "Croco! I've been looking for you." His gaze slid down Crocodile’s body. "Quite the lavish place you have.”

"What are you doing here?"

"I was near and couldn't resist passing by. Thought we could talk some important matters."

Bullshit. "I don't have time to entertain you."

Doflamingo tilted his head, chin resting on his palm. "I'm actually doing you a favor. Aren't you at least curious?"

He wasn't, but people around watched them. Whispered behind hands, eyes wide with a misplaced awe and fear. Two warlords meeting was enough to cause suspicion, which he didn’t need now. His reputation in Alabasta had to remain pristine, and this kind of company wouldn’t do him any favors.

Doflamingo leaned back on the chair, drumming his fingers on the table's edge, catching the flicker of hesitation. "Listen, let me make it easy and quick for you." He gestured toward the card deck spread out on the velvet felt. "Highest card wins? If you win, I'm gone. I'll leave you to your solitude."

"And if you win?"

Doflamingo shrugged, rolling a chip between his fingers. "Then you listen. Really listen to what I'm offering."

The conniving deceiver he was. This wouldn’t be good, but Crocodile sat across from him, intent on ending this quickly.

"I knew you were a fine businessman," Doflamingo teased.

"Shut it."

The dealer slid two cards face down. Crocodile lifted his card slowly, just enough to see the edge. Jack of spades. Doflamingo, naturally, turned his over with a flourish. Queen of hearts. The red mocking him. Crocodile didn't blink or move, only exhaled smoke through his nose.

"Looks like I win." Doflamingo laughed and slid the queen across the table toward him, letting it stop at his hand. His fingers hovered over his wrist, then withdrew slowly.

"Another one?"

“Whatever.”

The dealer swept the cards back and shuffled, two cards down again. Crocodile flipped his over: king of clubs. Good enough. "Better," he said.

Doflamingo's hand hovered over his card, long fingers brushing against the felt. His gaze fixed on Crocodile instead of the card. With a flick, he turned his card: ace of diamonds.

He leaned back in his chair and chuckled, keeping his voice low just for him to hear. "What a shame. Almost had me."

Crocodile clicked his tongue. "You cheating bastard."

"You wound me, Croco. It's pure luck." He leaned forward, dropping the ace flat between them. "Wanna play again?"

"No."

"So…?"

"So what?"

"Don't be a sore loser."

"You're insufferable."

Crocodile stood, and Doflamingo trailed closely behind him, humming and still grinning. What a bastard.

They entered a secluded office, away from the prying eyes of guests. But that didn't ease his discomfort. Any room felt small with Doflamingo in it.

"Can't say a desert is my preferred destination," he drawled. "But I see why you like it."

"Will you tell me your business here now?"

"So impatient." He stepped closer, his towering figure pressing into Crocodile's space. "And after I came all this way. You're lucky I like seeing you."

Doflamingo waited for a reaction, maybe a retreat. Nothing came.

"Well?" Crocodile pressed back.

"Well, I've been hearing things. I know your game here. You could have any decent kingdom in the new world, no need to stay in this sandbox."

Crocodile scoffed. "Because you know better? Don't tell me this is why you came."

"Just think about it," he continued. "If you want an empire, I can give it to you. I can give you soldiers, weapons, supply lines, you name it. It’s a deal, no need to do it alone."

What a waste. This was just about power. To persuade, to find cracks, to destroy. Self-centered to the core, there was nothing worth saving in him.

He would never trust him.

"You're so small-minded."

A small muscle jumped near Doflamingo's temple, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward. It wasn’t often that Crocodile saw him irritated, and satisfaction rose in him, almost intoxicating.

"Not interested in doing business with you." Crocodile stepped back, waving him off.

"Just letting you know the word is getting around. I don't mind looking out for you."

"I don't need your advice."

Crocodile turned around. But as he reached the door, Doflamingo rushed and grabbed his coat sleeve to stop him.

"Not even a thank you?" Doflamingo pouted in fake innocence. "At least let me stay with you for the evening."

Anger flared in him, but he refused to give Doflamingo the satisfaction of seeing it. "I heard what you had to say." Crocodile yanked his coat free and kept walking. "Now leave, I'm busy."

"Let's get together another time then?"

His hand hovered over the handle before he turned to look at Doflamingo again, who stood awkwardly stiff in the middle of the room. Nothing good would come from this.

"I hope not."

When he left the room, Doflamingo didn't follow. But laughter echoed after him. Low, throaty, and bored before the casino noise swallowed it.

2. A drink

The air here was thick with salt, nothing like the clean burn of Alabasta’s sand. Crocodile came to the island for business, a neutral ground where warlords spending money drew no questions. He’d been meeting merchants all day, scouting for gunrunners or chemists to develop a superior dance powder.

The meetings were over though, and now he was walking the winding street toward the port. He was halfway back to the ship when he dropped the cigar and ground it under his heel, watching ash hiss against the stone.

Then he looked up—and froze.

Someone stood at the end of the street, haloed in the dim glow of a streetlight.

For a second, disbelief held him silent. He wasn’t expecting to see Doflamingo’s colors across the street, with that filthy smile that didn’t belong anywhere decent. Crocodile’s jaw tightened. Of course. At least the other hadn’t noticed him yet. Surrounded by a few of his men, Doflamingo was busy giving quiet orders, and for once his usual grin wasn’t manic. Almost normal.

Crocodile arched an eyebrow, weighing whether to turn back or watch longer. Should he care? Should he get involved with him? But never mind. The moment Doflamingo looked his way, the choice disappeared. They locked eyes. Doflamingo went still, just for a heartbeat and Crocodile could hear his breath catch from there. Then that grin stretched so wide it was obscene. Absurd. He raised a lazy wave, as if they’d planned this meeting, like he hadn’t just appeared out of nowhere.

For a second, Crocodile believed it to be a coincidence.

He didn’t move, didn’t answer. Just sighed through his nose and rubbed his face, muttering to himself. “Of course.”

Doflamingo finally strode over, with his fingers twitching at his sides. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging nonstop. How a man with so much power could be reduced to this sort of jittery enthusiasm was beyond him.

“Croco! Fancy seeing you here.” His grin was sharp. Those hidden eyes glinted with amusement.

“Should I be concerned about the fuss you’re making?”

“It’s nothing, just work. Boring.”

"I take it that you're not following me then?"

“Of course not.” The corner of his mouth twitched upward.

Crocodile hummed, waiting for him to continue.

“But,” Doflamingo went on, leaning forward, “I knew you’d be here.”

“Isn’t that the same?”

“Obviously not. I had business to tend here. I just rearranged my schedule for you.”

Crocodile rolled his eyes. “Naturally.”

A young woman dressed in black and white rushed up to them, bowing her head and addressing Doflamingo. “Young master, Vergo says we’ll be ready to sail in a couple of hours.”

“Baby 5! meet Crocodile.” He draped an arm over the girl’s shoulders, who remained stiff. “He’s a fellow warlord, you know. Real handsome. A big shot.”

She flushed and bowed lower. “Y-Yes, Sir Crocodile. It’s a pleasure.”

“Likewise.” Crocodile replied, eyeing the dress she wore. A maid outfit? Really?

Doflamingo loosened his embrace, and the girl quickly retreated. He waved her goodbye, but she didn’t turn back. Crocodile had never seen him show affection to anyone.

“She’s like my little sister, you know,” he said quietly.

“Hard to picture you as an older brother.”

Doflamingo stilled weirdly fast. His smile faltered, the corner of his mouth twitched with unease cracking through. “Is it?” he asked in a strained voice, a deranged uneasiness pulling at his features.

Crocodile caught the shift instantly, unsure of what caused it. But the animal part of him, the one that knew danger by scent, urged him to pull back.

So he did.

“Say, what kind of business are you carrying here?”

"Oh, just collecting some taxes.” He waved dismissively, relaxing his tight posture. Returning to his unbothered self. “If you are looking for weaponry here, you’re wasting your time. But I know just the right person who—”

“I’m not buying shit from you.”

“Fufufu, I’m joking.” He chuckled softly. “Anyways… wanna have a drink? I know I do.”

“I don’t.”

“Come on,” he insisted, stepping closer, the faint brush of his coat against Crocodile’s arm. “Let’s kill time. Besides, this bar looks empty.” He gestured to the building across the street, windows aglow under the lampposts. “Must be pricey. My treat.”

Crocodile hesitated. He had to, didn’t he?

If anything, he could learn about Doflamingo’s movements here, maybe something to use to his advantage later on. So he let himself be led, a silent acknowledgment of the man’s insistent energy. Not that he was giving in. This wasn’t personal, just strategic.  

Inside, the place smelled faintly of dust and aged liquor. The place was almost empty, except for two lonely tables with cornered couples. A chandelier dangled from the ceiling, casting shadows across the walls. They sat at the bar and Doflamingo ordered the most expensive bottle of wine, of course. A Burgundy Pinot Noir. It wasn’t lost to Crocodile that he didn’t ask for his preference. Blinded by his neurotic need to impress or his lack of awareness, he was all show.

He poured the wine then. “One drink,” he said with a lazy grin. “Even you can manage that.”

Crocodile stared at the glass, watching the dark red glowing like hot blood in the light. He didn’t touch it. But the sweet and sharp scent of the liquid reached him; berries mixed with something distinctively earthy, like damp wood streaked with jam. The dark syrupy trail enticed him, but Crocodile wouldn’t drink it. This, at least, he wouldn't concede.

“I told you I’m not drinking.”

Doflamingo chuckled, bringing his own glass to his lips. “You’re missing out.”

But Crocodile noted it all: the way he tilted the glass just slightly, the slow, deliberate swallow, the faint scent of alcohol that trailed after him. It was impossible to ignore, despite his obvious and ridiculous intent to persuade him.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Doflamingo’s exclamation made Crocodile glance up. “I have something for you.”

He put the glass down on the counter with a sharp clink. Rummaging through his coat, he pulled out a box and dropped it between them with a soft thud. Crocodile narrowed his eyes, studying the mahogany box with gold trim. After a second of scrutiny and intrusive curiosity, he picked it up, rolling it lightly in his hands.

“What is this?” he asked, turning it and inspecting every corner.

“A present.”

“And what’s this supposed to buy you?”

Doflamingo tilted his head as he spoke. His voice low and dripping a sickly-sweet sense of cunning and feigned innocence. “Why do you assume I always want something?”

“Because you do.”                   

He cracked the lid of the box, the glint of lacquer and the scent of cigars spilled out. Rich and dark tobacco like a somber veil. The smell alone was expensive, obscenely so. The type of splurge only nobility would allow themselves to do.

Crocodile hadn’t received many gifts in his life. True gifts. Not since… well, it didn’t matter. This one meant nothing though, he knew better than to mistake generosity for goodwill. What was this supposed to be? Debt? Flattery? Seduction? That’s how the bird played. Always three layers deep.

“Don’t say I never think of you,” Doflamingo said, noticing the silent recognition on his eyes.

“Generous.”

He pulled one cigar out and rolled it between his fingers, making the paper crinkle faintly as he put it in his mouth.

“Wait, let me–” Doflamingo leaned closer and cut off the cigar’s cap with a string. Crocodile threw a glance at him and lit the cigar with calm precision. Smoke drifted up, softening the sharp lines of his face.

But Doflamingo drew even closer, the drunken heat of his breath spilled through him. Crocodile’s pulse stuttered sharp and traitorous, but it wasn’t quite anger. There was something else beneath the irritation that scraped against the ribs, the kind of tension that was half violence, half something else. 

"You'll accept my gift, but won't join me for a drink?" Doflamingo lowered his voice brushing the edge of intimate and harassing. The heat of his breath, the proximity, the way it made his skin—

Crocodile exhaled roughly. Leaning back to reclaim space. “I take what’s worth my time.”

“Then let me make it worth your while.”

He took another drag, then blew the smoke toward Doflamingo’s face, letting the haze wrap around him. Instead of coughing, he tilted his head back and inhaled deeply, savoring the smoke until his lungs were full.

“Not my idea of enjoyment,” Crocodile muttered.

Doflamingo swirled what was left of his drink. Wine streaked his mouth. It dripped lazily along his throat, staining his skin a deep, wet maroon.

“You’ve got no imagination, Croco.” He smiled then, lazily but knowing.

Crocodile averted his gaze and flicked the ash into a crystal tray. All theatrics. Nothing worth paying attention to.

3. A Kiss

Warlord gatherings were always the same: A waste of time. Only four of them had shown up this time, an impressive 57% attendance rate, accompanied by a few grim-faced marine officials. The silence of the room was dreadful, broken only by Sengoku, who droned on about territories and 'maintaining balance'; his words bounced off Crocodile’s ears.

He sat with arms crossed, hook tapping out impatience, he was merely here to show face. Kuma listened attentively, while Mihawk seemed miles away. Then his gaze drifted over to Doflamingo, who was already staring back at him, locking eyes for a menacing minute. Crocodile was analyzing his intentions while Doflamingo was waiting for something. Mockery. The irritation of being seen crawled over him, so he forced his attention back to Sengoku.

Doflamingo leaned back in his chair, one leg over the other, sunglasses reflecting the light. Crocodile realized too late that ignoring him only fed the man’s amusement.

“Croco…” he drawled, a low chuckle slipping out. “Tell me, do you practice that stare in the mirror, or does it come naturally? Not that I dislike it, though.”

There it was.

Crocodile didn’t look up. A hush swept the room, he could feel the sharp turn of heads. How embarrassing.

“Some of us value professionalism.”

“Professionalism. No wonder you look bored.” He smirked, measuring Crocodile's reaction. The arrogant smirk faltered into disappointment at his indifference. Crocodile’s lips a thin line of nothing. Unreadable, unimpressed.

“Donquixote,” Sengoku interrupted him. “We are discussing important matters. If you can’t keep yourself in line—”

Doflamingo raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just tryin’ to make this lively.”

Crocodile rolled his eyes, barely. He knew him enough. The man was testing, playing with him like a cat toying with its prey. He made a mental note to ignore him for the rest of the meeting.

As the reunion ended, people dispersed, and the heavy shuffle of chairs and boots filled the room. When the last voices faded, Crocodile slipped into one of the hallways. With no one around, he set his back against a column and drew out a cigar. Smoke flared fast, filling the hollow space of his chest.

The sound of footsteps echoed from down the hall.

“Figures you’d sneak off to brood.” A voice called, strolling closer.

Crocodile exhaled through his teeth. "When will you stop pestering me?”

Doflamingo’s coat brushed his arm as he came to lean against the same column. “I wanted to see how you were doing.” Fake concern dripped from his low voice.

“Don’t you have better things to do?”

“You’re so tense, Croco. You’d crack if anyone touched you.”

“Watch your mouth.” Crocodile snapped. Anger scraped at his chest, getting tired of how easily Doflamingo got under his skin.

“Why?” Doflamingo smirked, stepping just a fraction closer. “You know what I mean.”

Crocodile flicked the ash off his cigar and turned around.

“I’m leaving.”

“So soon?” Doflamingo’s voice called after him, but he didn’t wait for an answer, stepping into Crocodile’s path and forcing him to halt. Brushing past him, close enough to ignite the air.

“Move.”

The command came out rough. He didn’t move, just smiled, eyes flicking to the ember of Crocodile’s cigar.

But Doflamingo shoved him hard, forcing his back into the column’s shadow. Hands braced on either side, caging him in. Crocodile’s hand came up, flat against his chest, pushing and pushing, but he didn’t budge. His pulse jumped sharp in his throat. The air between smelled of sweat and the sea, warming up with body heat. It made his blood boil, having a body pressing this close. A visceral fury began to burn at him. How easy it was for the man’s shadow to swallow his.

You see, he’s—he’s not offering himself to be eaten.

A sneer formed on his lips, flashing teeth. “Move, or I swear—”

“You’ll make it worse?” Doflamingo’s voice scraped low, close to his ear. “Not afraid of that.” He brushed a hand along Crocodile’s arm in the smallest contact.

He thought Doflamingo wanted violence at first. To threaten, to demand, to kill the prey he had made of him. That would’ve been easier, but it’s none of that. His jaw locked tightly, holding back the kind of agony you only feel in your teeth. A constrained dread of what’s to come. The smell of musk hit first, then the sour-sweet smell of his breath. He felt like a deer caught in headlights, waiting for the crash.

Doflamingo leaned in, and Crocodile could feel the intention long before the touch. Then it landed.

Rough, graceless. Mouth crashed into mouth. Teeth clashing before his brain could catch up. Making his blood vibrate hot against his nerves, the dry lips were desperate for a way in. 

For one damned second, Crocodile didn’t move. Didn’t push back. He was kissing him or was being kissed. Paralyzed, every muscle drawn tight. His gut twisted with a deep-seated fear of being exposed, stripped bare, like a wicked sense of confession that would pour out if allowed. A buzzing guilt choked down into anger, something clawing.

He tore himself back and drove the hook into Doflamingo’s ribs. Knocking him off balance, he staggered back against the wall.

“Don’t ever try that again.” Crocodile wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, scrubbing away any proof of him.

He looked both ways down the hall. No witnesses. Good. He didn’t need anyone seeing him like this. His eyes returned to Doflamingo, who was leaning against the wall, one hand pressing lightly where the hook had landed. His grin was wide, letting his glistening fangs show. Like he’d won something.

“Can’t make promises.”

“Go fuck yourself.” His breathing was still ragged, tearing at his chest.

Crocodile clicked his tongue, straightened his coat, and turned on his heel. Each step echoed sharply through the marble walls. Fuck him, fuck this, fuck everything. He didn’t stop walking until the outside cold hit his face.

By the time he was back on his ship, the sun was already bleeding into the horizon. He leaned against the railing, watching the sea burn orange. Hours had passed. The scene kept looping long after he’d left the building, long after the anger should’ve burned itself out. But it didn’t, not completely. It lingered like a bitter admonition.

His lips were cracked and aching. There was the tingling feeling of Doflamingo still holding onto his mouth. Needles stinging, white noise. He couldn’t even remember a taste. Saliva. Just warmth. The entirety of his body trapped in it too. His hand shook just slightly on the railing, the betrayal of something gnawing at him. It was frustration, rage, he told himself. Because getting worked up for the whims of a brat was an absurd idea. Crocodile wouldn’t allow it.

But truly, that's all he could think of.

This pathetic rot that was expanding throughout his body. First the lips, then his organs. Soon he’ll become completely tainted by Doflamingo.

Disgust. That's what this was.

Arrogant brat.

4. A night

Moonlight spilled through the half-drawn curtains, painting silver lines between drifts of cigar smoke. Alabasta’s kind of night, all shadows and silence. Crocodile sat at his desk, skimming through Miss All Sunday’s reports. The efficient, mechanical work eased his mind. This was everything he needed. Predictability.

But the balcony’s curtains shifted with the faintest breeze. A small thing, but it made him go still. Suspicion prickled under his skin insistently. A flicker of motion caught his eye, so he rose, moving toward the window. A shadow loomed inside the room. Crocodile was prepared to kill someone. But then a flash of pink appeared, and that did it for him.

He stopped. Half relief, half indignation.

Surely it was him. Was it ever someone else? It was unnerving how recognizable Doflamingo had become. Three months of not seeing him, and Crocodile's body still registered the threat instantly.

What a waste of a perfectly good evening. 

“Show your face,” Crocodile spoke into the room. He heard shuffling and a distant chuckle. A dry huff broke through his teeth. “You’ve got some nerve.”

Doflamingo stepped inside into the lamplight, brushing the sand from his feather coat. “Had to see you again. Missed the desert.”

“You hate the desert. And you are trespassing.”

“I prefer visiting.” He took a few steps forward, and Crocodile’s eyes tracked every movement. It would be suicidal to drop his defenses now around him. Doflamingo was an animal, capable of biting off his fingers out of whim. He did remember that.

“Quit it, bird. I’m not in the mood for your pestering.”

“Don’t tell me you’re still mad about last time,” Doflamingo purred.

Crocodile's gaze flickered to his lips for half a second. It wouldn’t happen again. But Doflamingo caught it and wouldn’t hide it. The shared secret. And the mocking corner of his mouth twitched, sending heat across Crocodile’s neck. His eyes narrowed to slits, giving him a warning glance. Nothing. He wouldn't give Doflamingo a damn thing. Any given satisfaction, any crack in his armor, would mean shame.

“Just say it,” Crocodile stated.

Doflamingo slumped into one of the seats, barely fitting his legs under the table.  “Say what?”

“What you came for.” Crocodile remained standing, looming over him. The overly large limbs spilling from the seat were almost comical.

“Won’t you offer me a drink first?”

“You are not a guest.”

“Whatever. I think you know why I’m here.” Doflamingo said, letting the provocation drip out of his grin.

Crocodile could only imagine. Unfinished business? It was always about possession with him, about taking what he wanted and calling it victory. Doflamingo never let anything go.

“If you’re looking for entertainment, try a brothel.”

He chuckled. “So bitter.”

The pink feathered coat hung over the chair, and the opened shirt revealed his bare torso. A prideful show-off. His chest was broad and tanned with the kind of gold from endless days under the sun, every inch of his exposed skin was smooth, without scars to be seen. How? The question surfaced unbidden. Scars were inevitable with lives like theirs. Crocodile had plenty, hidden beneath fabric or displayed openly, but Doflamingo's skin was pristine, as if violence had never reached him. That was almost enviable.

He had never truly noticed Doflamingo until now. Was he doing this on purpose?

“Like what you see so far?” His gaze snapped up at Doflamingo’s teasing words, jolting him out of his thoughts.

“No.”

“All I’m asking for is some conversation. Everybody bores me to death but you. I’ll leave if you say so.”

Crocodile took a deliberate drag from the cigar, letting the smoke fill his lungs. The flattery did nothing for him. He should kick him out, yes. But there was something else beneath the wariness that gnawed at Crocodile’s guts, like a morbid pull. He wanted to know what Doflamingo would do. What excuse he'd give or what twisted logic would come out of that mouth. He had come to his island, his room, in the middle of the night after all.

He was not dumb; he knew that Doflamingo would keep pushing, keep coming back.  He got off on chaos. But there would be no more frozen seconds between them, no more recklessness. He'd see it and end it before it began.

So he sat, letting Doflamingo make his move. To observe.

“Make it worthwhile,” he said, his voice flat and uncompromising.

“I always do. You’ve got a long night ahead. I could make it easier.”

Crocodile’s eyes flicked to him. “Easier how?”

“Don’t pretend.” His voice dropped, weight settling under each word. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Then Doflamingo's knee pressed against his under the table. Not a brush, not an accident.  Deliberate pressure spreading up Crocodile's thigh. For one second, his mind went blank. Then annoyance snapped his focus back. He drove his heel into Doflamingo's shin with enough force to feel bone.

“Aw, fuck!” Doflamingo jerked back, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. He clutched his leg amongst groans, but his quivering smile covered any sign of pain. “What the hell was that for?”

“You are crowding me.”

Doflamingo let out a brittle and breathless laugh. Thrilled, like pain was a convulsing flavor to him. There were no traces of anger on his face as he rubbed his shin, eyes never leaving Crocodile's.

"Fine. I'll behave."  But even as he said it, he leaned forward across the table, closing the distance Crocodile had just violently reclaimed.  "Now, like I was saying... to make this interesting."

His fingers began to tap on the table, thuds like a silent countdown.

“Annoying.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Croco.”

Doflamingo's hand moved before Crocodile could stop it. Confident fingers brushed along his forearm, almost testing how much he could take. The touch burned through fabric, raising every nerve in alarm. He tensed, hand twitching toward his hook, but didn't pull away. Not yet. Refused to let him know how this disturbed him.

Then a thumb traced the back of his hand, following the ridge of bone and tendon.  The touch was light but inescapable, mapping him like territory to be claimed.  Unpleasant and undeniable, heat crawled up Crocodile's arm, hairs standing on end. His body screamed visceral warnings of threat.

Crocodile yanked his arm away, breaking contact so fast he nearly knocked over the ashtray. “I’m not playing your games.”

“Not games.” Doflamingo's voice dropped. “I want you.”

Crocodile went still. He knew Doflamingo would pull shit like this. A soaring nausea assaulted him. His mind scrambled for a response, but everything felt too exposed, so he forced himself to exhale slow and controlled, like it meant nothing. Like those three words hadn't just rearranged every illogical piece inside his brain.

“Have you lost your mind?” 

He stood up.  The chair shrieked against the floor in a vicious drag enough to make him wince.  His coat settled heavy on his shoulders, and he gripped the cigar tighter to hide the twitch of his fingers. There was a quickness under his flesh that he couldn’t still, his pulse throbbing high in his throat.

“Why? Because I want you?” Doflamingo rose slowly, unfolding to his full height. “Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it.” A laugh reverberated through the space, low and rich.

“I have not.”

"Liar," he murmured, and his grin sharpened into something voracious. "You're thinking about it right now."

He definitely wasn’t.

There was nothing in his head. Not even the image of weight pinning him down, not the image of Doflamingo’s mouth anywhere near his skin. Nothing.

Doflamingo closed the distance with predatory patience. Not rushing but taking long and slow strides toward him. His hands lifted, hovering near Crocodile's sides without touching, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from them. Just inches separated their faces now. Doflamingo's breath ghosted across his mouth, brushing hot enough to make the air thrum.

He leaned closer, his voice hovering near Crocodile’s ear. “You want me to stop?”

He should move but he couldn’t. Locked in place by something between fury and enthrallment. And at the same time, a realization dropped into place with sickening clarity.

This wasn't just a power move. The careful proximity, the way he looked at Crocodile, dripping lust like he was something to be devoured. He might as well be salivating. This was beyond humiliation, Doflamingo really wanted him. This was naked, unapologetic lust. He wanted him falling apart, he wanted him ruined, he wanted him he wanted him he wanted him.

The thought made his skin crawl and his pulse spike in equal measure.

“Fuck you,” he snapped, voice raw. His hand shot up and shoved Doflamingo back violently, reclaiming space.

Doflamingo stumbled back a step, then steadied himself. “Touchy,” he murmured, straightening his shirt. The grin never faltering. “But not a no.”

“It’s a no. In case you didn’t hear me the first time.”

Doflamingo's laugh cut through the air. Sharp, sliding under his skin like a blade. “I didn’t.”

Crocodile's chest heaved, adrenaline still flooding his system with trembling warnings of danger. “You think that’s funny?”

“Very,” he purred, dragging the letters on his tongue, savoring it.

This was about possession, just another conquest to him. Something to collect, to own. He wants the idea of having Crocodile. To strip away every defense until there's nothing left. He'd keep coming back, keep pushing, keep circling until he got what he wanted or destroyed them both trying.

"I'm not sleeping with you." His voice was a snarl. "Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Do you fucking understand me? Never.”

“But you feel this too, don’t you?”

This—There was no ‘this.’ But he knew exactly what Doflamingo meant. The air charged between them, the electric hum like a live wire, leaving every nerve on edge. The slight hitch in his breath, the tightening of his fists. The tension radiating off him in waves.

He was feeling it. And Doflamingo knew.

“Just leave.”

“Ah, you’re impossible,” Doflamingo said, brushing his sleeve where Crocodile's shove had touched him. His smile was still there: knowing, patient, inevitable. Butcher, blood-eater.

His footsteps echoed as he walked away, disappearing behind the curtains of the balcony.

The room fell silent. Crocodile could finally breathe again. He stood still for a long moment, his pulse still hammering. There’s nothing about tonight worth remembering.

He crossed to the windows and locked them. Then checked the locks twice. 

He was tired, but not in the body. Worse than exhaustion. He was tired of this push and pull, the constant vigilance, and the way his body reacted before his mind could catch up. Tired of feeling like prey with him.

He pressed a palm to his lips, as if he could smother the heat still trapped there. It was absurd, and yet somewhere in that heat, a quiet allure simmered. Wrong but somehow unkillable.

Tomorrow. He'd deal with this tomorrow.

(Tomorrow would be no different)

5. A favor

Crocodile found himself in the belly of the New World, visiting Dressrosa of all places. He'd known what the invitation meant from the moment he'd picked up the transmitter. All business on the surface but all ulterior motive underneath. Another proposal, another gimmick. Another excuse to get him alone.

And he'd come anyway. That was a problem he couldn’t quite explain.

The business proposal had dissolved within an hour. This was far from wise, now standing in Doflamingo's chambers with a glass of whiskey catching the lamplight. He avoided the empty bottles of alcohol lying around, evidence of too many concessions.

They traded barbs, drank, and discussed territories. But Crocodile kept waiting for the inevitable shift from professional to personal. For Doflamingo to lean too close, for fingers to brush his arm.

Why had he come here? Business, yes.

Because he'd known (of course he'd known) what Doflamingo would do. What he always did. The touch, the proposition, the inevitable push toward something Crocodile would have to refuse. It was a worn pattern. How long would he tolerate this? No, wrong question. What was he willing to allow? He didn’t have an answer and that was dangerous. Maybe he did have one but couldn't afford to examine it too closely now. When it came to Doflamingo, every limit blurred itself.

But despite everything, Crocodile wanted to come.

He stood by the window, already missing the desert and the deep cold of nights. Here, the summer humidity persisted even after midnight, heavy and suffocating. The room reeked of smoke and cheap floral air freshener trying to mask a lived-in, dirty place. Outside, Dressrosa's chaos thrummed: music, distant shouting, and the hum of a city on the verge of a psychotic break. Inside this room, the world felt cut away, isolated. Just the two of them enclosed here.

Then Doflamingo stood beside him, drinking and staring. As if burning into memory the image of Crocodile against the dark scenery.  He stood too close—

No, actually, he didn't.

It was a normal distance. Professional, even. His hands stayed visible, relaxed at his sides instead of reaching. When he laughed, he didn't lean into Crocodile's space. He found himself unconsciously cataloging these absences like missing pieces. The hand that didn't touch his shoulder. The breath that didn't ghost across his neck. The pattern was broken. He decided to ignore it.

He returned Doflamingo’s stare with a deep glare. “Are you done staring?”

“Not really, but can you blame me?” Doflamingo murmured. The sharp burn of alcohol flooded his breath when he exhaled. Woodsmoke and spices, burnt cinnamon, charred sweetness.

Crocodile rolled his eyes. The cigar burned low between his fingers, uninterested. “You said your ancestors once ruled this place?”

“Yeah, about 800 years ago or something like that.” Doflamingo swirled his drink, ice clinking against glass. “You could call it a homecoming.”

“Were you a noble then?”

A crooked smile tugged at Doflamingo's mouth.  "Not exactly. Higher than that."  An intentional, weighted pause.  "A Celestial."

He expected a joke. A laugh. Something that showed this was another of Doflamingo's theatrical performances. But there was nothing. Just that smile, brittle and humorless.

“You’re serious.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Dead serious. Don’t I look the part?”

Doflamingo had the pride of someone who was promised everything. The way he moved, like the world owed him something. Vanity. He carried himself with a regality that’s not earned but rather born with.

"I guess you do," Crocodile said quietly, averting his gaze. That didn’t explain anything.

“Maybe not anymore.” Doflamingo’s voice dropped, the arrogance shading into something harsher. “They expelled us for my father's mistakes. Cast us out like garbage." He drained his drink in one sharp motion. "But it's whatever. Everyone's dead now."

He wondered about who ‘everyone’ was. Doflamingo must’ve had a family at one point that was dead now. All that remained were the broken toys he'd collected and the group of weirdos he called family here in Dressrosa. He didn’t press further, letting the smoke fill the quiet between them. A pervading type of quiet. Doflamingo’s posture had gone rigid, shoulders squared like he was bracing for judgment. The space between them was compressed, like choking out the oxygen.

Crocodile’s gaze drifted back to Doflamingo’s expression despite himself. Even when hiding behind glasses, he knew his eyes were riveted on him. The man hadn’t retreated despite the carnage of secrets. If anything, he was waiting for Crocodile’s response to resume his breathing.

Doflamingo leaned against the window, and a confident grin lit up his face again. But it was wrong, too brittle, too quick. His shoulders were still rigid; the tension hadn't left his frame, it had just shifted. Like a wounded animal trying to bare its teeth, Crocodile noticed.

"Tell me something." 

The words left Doflamingo fast, almost urgent. He was escaping, retreating from his own vulnerability into Crocodile's.

“About what?”

Doflamingo tilted his head, gesticulating grandly with his hands as if it were obvious.  "Something real. About you, about anything. You don't even have to mean it."

“So what, you show me yours and I show you mine?” Crocodile's lip curled in distaste. Some kind of emotional transaction? A confessional exchange? 

Doflamingo shrugged, too loose. “Call it what you might.”

“And why would I do that?”

"Consider it a favor." Doflamingo's grin faltered. Just for a second. His voice was quieter now. "I mean, it's fair. I told you my stuff."

This was the kind of vulnerability that felt like the edge of a knife at your throat. the kind that created leverage, and Crocodile had spent his life ensuring no one had leverage on him. Opening his mouth meant being known by Doflamingo, and there would be no stopping him then. Because saying yes would be admitting they were more than animals circling each other. There was no relief in giving in. Being shot in the face would be more bearable.

The smoke dragged for a heartbeat, buying time, until Crocodile spoke again.

“Don’t count on it.”

Something in Doflamingo's expression crumbled, the grin disappeared entirely. His hand tightened around his glass.

“How cold, Croco,” he said softly, barely above a whisper. The words landed like a plea, raw and disappointed, like he’d hoped for more. But he received exactly what he should’ve expected from him. This was not a sadistic punishment or pleasure, but simply the violence of his own being. That’s who Crocodile was, after all.

“You’ll live.”

Doflamingo let out a hollow laugh, lifeless with disappointment. He moved away, prowling the room without destination. His back was turned to him, shoulders loose, and the reflection flickered faintly in the window. Still close but farther than he’d seen him in hours. The distance stretched wider with every step. There was only stillness, except for the pulse of music bleeding in from the streets below.

“I hate weakness, you know,” Doflamingo muttered after a minute, not bothering to face Crocodile. His voice was stripped bare of its usual color, falling flat and monotone.

If Crocodile didn’t know better, he’d say Doflamingo was chastising himself. Being vulnerable, begging for clemency. But he did know better. This was a liar’s depraved theater in a drunk confessional talk. Or maybe he was wrong, and this is a sufferer peeling himself open. A masochist’s wet dream. Maybe it’s both; maybe neither mattered.

“So do I,” Crocodile said, taking a sip from his drink.

Doflamingo mumbled something under his breath. Garbled, incoherent words meant for no one. When he finally turned back to face him, the shift was sharp. His whole focus landed on him, but his mouth stayed shut. He let out a deep sigh before his lips pressed into a thin line.

Crocodile raised an eyebrow, waiting. He could never understand this man.

Then, without ceremony or explanation, Doflamingo slipped off his glasses in one smooth motion.

Crocodile’s breath hitched imperceptibly.

Where an eye was supposed to be, there was irregular puckered flesh. Damaged pink tissue cutting diagonally across it. The other eye was intact, and for the first time, Crocodile saw it clearly. Pale blue-gray iris, the color of cold morning fog. Startling, almost striking.

“Pretty ugly, right?” Doflamingo asked, forcing a faint smile. His voice betrayed a timid shame hiding behind the mockery.

“I’ve seen worse.”

He couldn’t deny, though, that Doflamingo looked uncannily human without his glasses. Stripped bare. A sort of nakedness despite his immensity, his bizarreness, and his blood. The unquestionable proof of his humanity was hidden between those long lashes.

He’d been wrong about him back then. Violence had touched him, leaving that gnarly scar in plain sight.

But Crocodile’s gaze delved into the gesture, searching for the meaning behind it. An offering disguised as nothing for someone like Doflamingo. It had to mean something. He wouldn’t ask how it happened. Neither ‘where’ nor ‘why.’ Not now anyway. He could only imagine the slaughter that made him the way he is.

Then he took cautionary steps towards the other. To watch, to speak, to betray, he couldn’t tell the reason. It was just a visceral need to get closer. He noticed the way Doflamingo’s fingers were fidgeting with the glasses. Uneasy. Move too fast and he’ll run away. He drew in a breath and dragged slow on the cigar when standing before him.

Doflamingo stared back, almost defiantly, and pointed at his own face. “This is a reminder.”

“For?”

“That the world hates weakness.” He averted his gaze and chuckled dryly. The sound echoed like glass shards. “Or I don’t know. Come up with a meaning yourself, Croco.” 

“Why are you telling me all this?” Crocodile inquired, genuinely intrigued. It had to be for something. Perhaps it was the copious amount of alcohol they had been drinking. Or the rawness of 3 am weighing heavily on them, or manipulation tactics, or haunting memories dragging him.

But the answer is simpler.

“Because I want you to see me.” He blinked slowly, letting his lashes cover his eyes with a dramatic restraint.

For Doflamingo, it was the most obvious thing in the world. To be watched, desired, and preferred was probably his life’s pursuit. He was being shamefully, disgustingly honest and choked on his longing. And for whatever reason, Crocodile understood.

But he didn’t give him any sympathy, not even a gentle glance. He could survive lust, yet not closeness. He wasn't built for such infatuation and neither did he want it. Why did Doflamingo feel safe making himself this small? Would he never understand that no other person would put up with him?

Loneliness was also a beast that bared teeth. So was intimacy.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“I know it does.” Doflamingo answered faintly. “You don’t have to say it.”

Incredulity. Nothing had changed between them, even if now Crocodile knew something as private as a prayer.

Doflamingo slid the glasses back on with the same ease he’d taken them off. And his mouth curled into the usual deceitful, muscle-pulling grin. He even straightened himself, dripping confidence from his shoulders as if nothing had happened. Crocodile felt a sudden sense of relief. The air around them remained heavy, proximity hanging like a thread. It was binding. He would rather die or just leave this place at once.

“So…” Doflamingo began, biting his lips. “You despise me for being a celestial?”

The question irritated him as much as it unsettled him. It provoked a sensation Crocodile hadn’t felt before and couldn’t name. It made his gut tighten. Not disgust, not pity. As if the weight of Doflamingo’s revelations had just dawned on him. He tried to choke down the feeling, but it was barbed wire.

He despised him and this pathetic display of things that shouldn’t be said out loud. If he just fucking stopped talking, Crocodile might return to his unperturbed self. Because what was he even doing? He hated him for his ridiculous antics, his narcissism, and his impertinence. The lack of respect for boundaries that had gotten him here.

But there’s a sense of consolation, though, amongst his opportunistic insistence. Awful dog-like nature.

He just couldn’t despise him for the accident of his birth.

Worse. Crocodile didn’t even hate him. He wondered why.

“I’m not concerned with your past. Or your life in general, for that matter.”

Doflamingo huffed something that might’ve been a laugh. Or maybe just a breath. “How nice, Croco.”

Crocodile reached the bar and poured two more glasses of whiskey. Set one glass aside for Doflamingo, then drank from his own. The whiskey bottle was nearly empty now.

“I don't despise you," Crocodile said after a moment. "For what it's worth."

"Then what do you—"

"Don't."

Doflamingo's mouth closed. Waiting. Wanting. The question remained there even unspoken. Something would have to break eventually. But not tonight.

They'd never speak of this again. That was understood.

+1

The air within the hotel room felt stifling; the smell of sweat, sex, and smoke clung to everything.

Doflamingo lay stretched face-down across the mattress, completely boneless beside Crocodile. His panting slowed down between groans and sighs. One leg dangled lazily off the side, and his fingers traced Crocodile’s stomach. The touch sent involuntary shivers through him, idly moving lower and lower.

He yanked the hand away. “Quit it.”

Crocodile should have left by now, but his body felt heavy and reluctant.  He'd been here longer than usual, waiting for his mind to get rid of that dense, post-orgasmic fog.

“Afraid of a little touch? You should’ve seen yourself ten minutes ago.”

“Can you not?” Crocodile scowled. 

They'd done this before. Not often, but enough that the routine had become familiar.  Doflamingo would push, and Crocodile would resist. But they would end up here eventually. They didn't talk much about it. No promises, no expectations; just oblivion with a pulse. It was what they could handle. This was the ninth time. Or tenth? Crocodile had stopped counting after the first few months. But here he was. Again. Too tired to fight it anymore, too tired to feel remorse.

He understood this: Bodies, sweat, the mechanics of desire. Anything more than that didn’t exist. Couldn’t. But at least Doflamingo was good at what they could do. Awfully good at sex with his predatory attention and endless stamina. Disciplined when it came to Crocodile’s pleasure.

He crushed his cigar on the ashtray beside the bed, crystal glinting in the window light. Dawn had fully broken by now, not letting them hide in darkness as the morning breeze crept through the window, carrying the salt smell of the harbor. Then he slid from the bed, gathering his clothes with stiff muscles and unhurried, methodical movements. Doflamingo followed his motions with a burning gaze. He sprawled over the empty side of the bed, patting the sheets like he could preserve their warmth through sheer will. He pressed his face into the pillow Crocodile had used, breathing deeply, pathetic in his need.

“Come ooon, Croco,” he let out a muffled groan into the pillow.

There was no acknowledging him as Crocodile made his way to the bathroom. He turned on the shower, the hiss of the water filled the pause. It was scalding hot, enough to redden skin. Penance or punishment, it didn’t matter. He washed his hand first, Doflamingo's saliva between his fingers, like a tacky residue of intimacy. Then his neck, where teeth had pressed without breaking skin. And his jaw where trembling fingers had touched his face.

It was repulsive.

It should have been, at least. But some traitorous part of him itched to remember.

Crocodile scrubbed harder. His nails raked red lines down his ribs. But he couldn't scrub away the sound of his own name moaned in Doflamingo's mouth. Nothing was coming off. It hadn't been on the surface for a while now. It was too late.

He stood under the spray until the water ran cold, until his fingers pruned and his skin felt scraped raw.

After a while, he emerged from the bathroom in a haze of steam, wearing his trousers and the unbuttoned shirt hanging loose. Doflamingo hadn’t moved from his spot on the bed, the sheets clinging to his naked hipbones. He might have been there for years, the awaiting lover.

Crocodile’s eyes raked over him. Tanned skin stretched over defined muscle, blond hair falling messily across his face. Boylike. He could be posing for a picture. Even disheveled and vulnerable, the bastard was unfairly handsome. Not only that, but smoke trailed languidly from Doflamingo's lips now. A cigar, his cigar, burning down between long fingers. He scowled at the audacity.

“I stole one while you were gone.” Doflamingo grinned at the silent accusation.

“Get your own.”

Walking over to him, Crocodile snatched the smoke from his hand and put it in his own mouth, where it belonged.

He turned around and finished with his clothes, buttoning his shirt. Doflamingo watched from the bed, making no noise whatsoever, afraid that any disturbance might ruin the fragile charm they were confined in. The small space he’d been allowed.

Crocodile continued buttoning his vest with ease, he could hear the steady breathing and even envision the luscious thoughts running through the other’s mind. Now they were in the liminal space between the unsaid and the unbearable, which was the perfect place for people like them. Crocodile pushed the thought aside as he buckled his belt.

Left shoe on, then right shoe. He straightened, adjusting his sleeve. This was over, he was ready to leave. But behind him, the bed creaked. A sudden movement. Doflamingo sat up fast enough that the sheets fell away, pooling at his thighs. His hand shot out, not touching but reaching. The gesture froze halfway between them.

“Leaving so soon? I thought we were having fun.” His voice came out rougher than the usual drawl with a shaky grin that hinted at fear.

“I have places I need to be.”

“Wait, order something before you go. You’ll like the omelet… or whatever they call it.”

Crocodile glanced over his shoulder. “Not hungry.”

“I didn’t say for you. I said for me. You can sit there and glower while I eat.”

It wasn’t a whine or a plea. He was hiding behind tinted glasses, smiling with that casual ease, but his voice betrayed a soft panic. If Crocodile left, he'd cease to exist in Doflamingo's world. He just didn’t want to be alone.

“What are you even talking about?”

Doflamingo shrugged and let the corner of his mouth twitch. “Look out the window, the harbor looks decent from here. Or just watch me drink. Take your pick.”

Crocodile exhaled smoke, unimpressed. “Not going to do that.”

“I’m asking very nicely. Promise I’ll make it worth it.” 

Crocodile rolled his eyes. He walked over to the window, leaning against the glass to watch the world outside. The view was a vast, breathtaking sweep of the entire harbor. The edge was a thin line separating the urban landscape from the sun-illuminated sea. It did look decent.

Every instinct screamed at him to walk out that door. He should’ve left, but his legs wouldn’t move toward the exit. Only away from it.

He felt Doflamingo's eyes on his back. Heavy, waiting. It made his shoulders tense and made him hyper-aware of every breath and every small movement he made. The silence wasn't comfortable; it was expectant. Doflamingo was eager for a concession. For an answer, a weakness, a yes.

The silence was answer enough, apparently, because it did nothing but rile Doflamingo up. He jumped out of bed and messily put on his trousers, unconcerned about the dignity of his clothes.

“You won’t shower?” Crocodile asked.

“No, I like your smell on me.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Doflamingo chuckled, running a hand through his hair to fix it. He approached Crocodile and stood beside him at the window. Close enough that he could feel his body heat and see his reflection in the glass. Still shirtless and barefoot, both pretending to look at the harbor.

He wasn't watching the ships. He was tracking Doflamingo's breathing in his peripheral vision, watching his reflection. The careful way he kept his hands to himself, like he'd learned from all the times Crocodile had pushed him away.

Even when he couldn’t see his eyes, Crocodile knew he was watching him too.

“I can see my ship from here,” Doflamingo said eventually, quietly.  “Not sure about yours.”

“It’s there.” He shrugged off, as if they weren’t enveloped in buzzing static. "This is ridiculous," he muttered, mostly to himself.

Doflamingo laughed, as if understanding. Then he turned, facing Crocodile. His full, reverent attention was on him, like he might disappear if he looked away. He couldn't understand why Doflamingo just wouldn't leave him alone.

Trembling hands cupped Crocodile’s face. He already knew he was going to kiss him when Doflamingo leaned in.

Lips pressed with a calculated weight. Painstaking, agonizingly tame. Crocodile parted his lips, and Doflamingo took the invitation carefully. No crash of teeth, no bite, no demand. Doflamingo restrained himself with measured want when truly, he craved to eat him alive.

His unsteady breath shook against his mouth, leaving a sweet, sharp taste from the liquor they had drunk hours earlier. Then he pressed his body closer, chest to chest, the heat of bare skin passing through Crocodile's shirt. He gripped his bare arm to hold onto something, steadying them both.

The softness of it all sickened him.

The desperation beneath the gentleness was unbearable; it felt like a fist around his lungs. It was nothing but a bare request. A plea. Asking for something Crocodile was certain he’d deny.

He broke the kiss. But even after pulling away, Doflamingo held on to him. Lips glistening with saliva and his cheeks flushed with a boyish pink that begged for reciprocation. Hope and fear looked the same on him.

“That’s enough.” Crocodile pressed his palm flat across his chest to nudge him away. Feeling his heart thumping through the layers of flesh while his own pulse was echoing in his ears.

Doflamingo stepped back. Not far, but enough. The hands holding his face fell away. “Why?”

“Because I want to breathe, you idiot.”

He had the cigar in his lips again. The smoke curled against Doflamingo’s cheek before Crocodile took a step backward. Then another. His hand moved to straighten his collar. Something to do with his fingers.

“I should go.”

Crocodile grabbed his coat and pulled it on. Mechanical movements. Doflamingo whined and went still. Didn't follow, didn't stop him as he crossed the room.

He reached out for the door handle and—

“Crocodile,” Doflamingo spoke then.

The name rolled out of his tongue slowly, as if tasting the length of the word. It was unusual, almost unsettling, hearing him use his entire name.

Crocodile turned. Doflamingo's expression stopped him cold. Nothing else came from his mouth, there wasn’t even a smile coloring him. It was a sudden seriousness that that felt too raw to witness. The unpredictability of something about to happen again. There was something unknown lurking, and they were both waiting for it. Say it, just say it.

“Crocodile,” he called again.

“What?”

Doflamingo opened his mouth. Closed it. For once, he seemed uncertain about what to say.

“Stay with me.”

The words slid under Crocodile’s skin like ice, like steel, like adrenaline. That old iron instinct to bolt collided with a heavier pull that settled, aching on his chest. Panic and tenderness felt identical and shared the same harmful root. For him, those were both violent, which is to say that vulnerability was a blade twisting deep inside him.

“And do what?”

“Nothing. I don’t know,” Doflamingo muttered with a shaky grin.

It was tragically genuine, his request. Maybe lying would’ve been more dignified. To think that he once believed Doflamingo was a calculating mastermind. How laughable. His nature was as clear as a glass shard, and the size of his want was as enormous as he was.

Beneath Crocodile’s ribs a strange, quiet looseness unfurled. This was how people got owned, how they admitted things they weren't supposed to.

Say no. Mean it this time. Leave.

But. But. But.

Who else would do this? Who else would strip themselves bare of decency and ask for scraps? No one else was this stupid or desperate enough to come crawling like Doflamingo did. He was offering him something he didn't know how to name. Which shouldn’t matter, but it did. Loneliness recognized loneliness. Because some starved, pathetic part of Crocodile wanted to know what it felt like to be wanted like this. 

Doflamingo, of course, was never to know this.

Like he would never know how the exhausting, terrifying, unbearable intimacy of just being here weighed on Crocodile. There was only one truth: there was nowhere left to go.

His hand dropped from the door handle.

Crocodile turned back slowly. The blank expression became a scowl. "I presume you're buying breakfast."

The relief that flooded Doflamingo's face was almost painful to witness. Then he laughed, delighted. Close to genuine. "Whatever you want."

Crocodile stalked back to the chair by the window and dropped into it. He should’ve left the moment this was over. What was the point of leaving anyway? He'll be back eventually. But he wasn’t staying because the bird begged him to, he didn’t mean anything to him after all. Call it choice, not surrender. Doflamingo could have it, in the end it didn’t matter.

“Don’t make a habit out of this.”

“Too late,” Doflamingo murmured before flopping down on the chair in front of Crocodile. He sprawled deep into the seat, like a predator settling after a chase. But Doflamingo was no predator after all, he realized. He was just teeth with a ravenous need to hold onto something or someone as corrupted as he was. If anything, that seemed like a punishment he needed to share with him.

Then, as if Doflamingo had read his mind, he slid his foot inside the cuff of Crocodile’s trousers. With his long legs stretched out, he rubbed his bare foot up and down his shin with clumsy slowness. Teasing, as if offering, as if begging. How foolish.

Yet Crocodile’s lower abdomen stirred with the touch, desire surging through his body with that familiar ache. This damned body of his. Doflamingo lazily stared at him, smirking and wickedly aware of the heat gushing at him.

Crocodile rolled his eyes and exhaled smoke. Childish. But he didn’t move away. They both knew how it went: Doflamingo touched him and hoped Crocodile would reach back.

"Stop looking at me like that," Crocodile said.

"Can't help it." Doflamingo was still grinning ridiculously. Tirelessly.

“You’re insufferable.”

Insufferable, intolerable, unhinged, pathetic. There were no good thoughts of Doflamingo, but he kept thinking about him anyway. He lurked at the beginning of every thought. Depraved thing with corroded insides that held on to him, ruining everything he touched. And he had touched every inch of Crocodile’s body.

He would never trust Doflamingo.

Then the fleeting touches became lingering gropes. The confined minutes in the room stretched into tangled limbs and wet groans and hollow curses. A feast. Fucking. Hours bled together until Crocodile couldn't tell want from surrender. The world could end outside, and it would still taste of sweat and disappointment.

They knew how this went.

‘This’ neither improved nor collapsed under scrutiny; it merely persisted. He could live with that, which is not the same thing as wanting it and not different enough to matter. Call it habit if fate is too generous. Crocodile had learned not to confuse interruption with ending. What existed yesterday exists today under a harsher light. So let it. Crocodile was no Orpheus to be looking back. The next approach was already scheduled inside him.

This will not improve, and it will not end cleanly. It will simply continue in the shape it has chosen. He knows the route back blind. He’ll travel it snarling, he’ll travel it again. That’s the shape. He recognized it. He allowed it anyway.