Work Text:
Brain shaking against his skull from being nailed to the wall.
Doflamingo’s huge hand is wraping more than Crocodile’s neck and guiding the rest of his body to bend to his will.
No words and no gaze exchanged.
Crocodile’s cracking. The bricks do not lie. It’s as cold as he needs to remember.
The hands do not lie down. It feels as good as he needs it to be.
That motherfucker knows exactly what to give him.
Doflamingo understands that he doesn’t need honey with his tongue deep in his mouth or with his fingers in his hole.
It’s the only space and time where Crocodile willingly allows him to serve himself.
He can be toyed and ruined, and would be pleased. But, please, no pretending.
A simple fuck without games. Minimal gestures. A raw exchange of body fluids for selfish and unapological pleasures.
So simple it lasts 10 minutes tops. They just look angry and like they’re fighting. The clothes are pulled and torn apart. The grips are harsh. The marks are of many colors. Blue from some push. Red from scratches. Others from the rush of getting to the insides of the other.
Even though they try to avoid stumbling on furnitures, there’s no mercy left in the room where they run into each other.
Even themselves they don’t know if they enjoy each other because they fight hard or because they cum hard.
They sometimes feel disapointed when they’re done too fast, when the thrill leave immediately after the orgasm.
So they started to deny it to the other. Always keep the other on the edge so they come back with an aggresive hard on.
They bite, they grunt and seem no better than animals in a cage competing for a release.
Would they find themselves during the day or during the night, they don’t bother using light nor looking at each other.
They penetrate the room with no care. And leave it fully hooked on dopamine.