Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Spider Miles was hardly what they aspired for. It was better than they had in the past, but it was nothing close to what they would have in the future. A sea of waste– their home stood like a vulture in the barren tree of some hideous battle field. 

Vergo could see it in Doflamingo's expression, in the way he held his head high despite the frown on his face. “Fucking wasteland.” He muttered. Vergo stood beside him and nodded. “Raw minerals look dingy before they’re polished–” He said and the way Doflamingo glanced at him had his mouth pushing the words “or something like that anyway.” before Doflamingo could scoff at him. 

He still scoffed, but it was amused instead of frustrated. “Stuff it in a crucible and beat the shit out of it until it's useful– a fine plan, Vergo.” 

Vergo laughed too because if Doflamingo was set on despising something, it wasn't likely he'd let it go no matter what angle he looked at it. “Just a pit stop, Dof.” Vergo watched Doflamingo's back, the cold wind whipping the pink feathers, taking some with the breeze to add to their sea of junk.

Doflamingo tilted his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Don't talk to me as if I'm losing my ambition.” He said, though he kept his gaze on the mounds of scrap around them. “A pit stop? It's a fucking empire I've built. Yes, it's a step on the way to the top, but don't undermine my work. The house may be shit but the foundation is set deep in the underground.” He squared his shoulders and Vergo watched as he turned around, a smile broad across his face. “It would really piss me off if you thought I needed consolation over some fucking scrap metal.” 

Vergo looked away because that smile was dangerous. Doflamingo was furious and there wasn't much he could do about it besides try to not step on the trip wires set for him. 

“Well– step on the ladder, a pristine castle, a mile of scrap metal, I don't give a shit what it is. You just tell me where we go from here.” 

Doflamingo's smile fell, and then he laughed. 

“Vergo– don't read me so well.” His hand reached out and grabbed Vergo's chin gently. “Drama suits me, hm?”

Vergo laughed, pulling his chin from Doflamingo's hand because he began to squeeze too tightly. “Guess I've known you too long.” 

Doflamingo stared at him and his face was flat as he thought the words over. “It has been some time.” 

The words twisted something aching and full of hope in his chest, though he knew it would only lead to frustration later. 

Yes they had known each other for some time

“You kissed anyone?”

Doflamingo stared at Vergo. He burst out laughing. “Who would I've kissed? Humans are repulsive.” 

They were young. Perhaps in the middle of their teenage years. Vergo had grown up beside Doflamingo and for as long as they had known eachother, he was well acquainted with the unrequited nature of his feelings. 

Be it friendship, brotherhood, or now something more– more twisted, more driven by his hormones– Doflamingo never quite returned his interest. He would play with the concept. He would laugh and go along with Vergo’s needs. He joined in for the mess of it and he loved when Vergo would finally crack, when Vergo would extend his emotions just too far beyond the confines of the box he left his heart locked in. 

“Why'd you ask?” Doflamingo said, but his tone was clear, no confusion in it. His eyes were clear too as he pulled his goggles to the top of his head. 

Vergo stared at him. 

“It's a normal question.” He said, turning his eyes away from the smile creeping across Doflamingo's face. 

“Sure, sure.” He said, stretching out on the cargo crates they had decided to escape the sun behind. It was surprisingly warm. A heat wave had hit the North and it left the cities roasting with their dark pavement. Vergo stood, still wearing his button up with his tie tight around his neck. Doflamingo groaned, dipping his face into the cooler shade pressed tight along the side of the building that boxed them in. “I'm sweating.”

 Vergo stared at his jacket on the pavement, the neckline of his tank top hung open and, his ribs visible through the stressed armholes. He lifted the hem of it too, to wipe at the sweat beading on his forehead. 

Vergo didn't say anything, instead moving to sit on the crate beside Doflamingo and tip his head back to rest in the cooler shade and stare at the clouds. 

“I could probably swing from them.” Doflamingo said, disinterestedly, matter of factly, not once doubting whether water vapor could hold his body weight. 

“Do it then.” Vergo said and Doflamingo laughed. He melted further, slumping until his neck was crooked, staring down his chest and his legs jut beyond the crate loosely. He crossed his arms to his stomach, found it too warm and then tossed them atop his head. 

Vergo watched him and he couldn't take his eyes off the slight smirk that stayed on Doflamingo's lips. 

Doflamingo opened his mouth to speak and Vergo took the chance to end the mockery before it began. “Lets try it.” He said. 

Doflamingo's mouth shut and he slumped to the side, covering his face as he laughed. “You're predictable.” He said, but when he looked back to Vergo his face was rosy and Vergo told himself it wasn't the sun. He told himself that Doflamingo's skin hasn't always been that flushed. He told himself that Doflamingo was embarrassed too, but he knew he wasn't. He knew Doflamingo's smile wasn't shy, it was mockery.

“Come here then.”

Doflamingo stayed where he was, slouched and gangly. His thin fingers waved Vergo in and he didn't move an inch to meet him halfway. So Vergo stood, he climbed off his crate and walked over, crouching beside the crate Doflamingo laid on. He leaned in at the worst angle, with the most awkward timing, and he had his first kiss. His sweaty hair clung to Doflamingo's forehead and he leaned back, almost falling over his own heel when he tried to put distance between them again. 

Doflamingo watched him as he pulled away. He stared at Vergo's warm face, the way he turned his head immediately. 

Vergo pressed the back of his hands to his lips and Doflamingo watched as he moved to sit back on the crate. “Was that all?” Doflamingo prodded, tilting his head. 

“What more d’you want from a first kiss?” Vergo asked because he was young and dumb and it would have been nice to hear that Doflamingo's heart was racing as fast as his. The thought that he could have taken more, that Doflamingo was willing to do more than that– whatever more meant– made Vergo very angry with himself.

But Doflamingo didn't answer his stupid question. They stayed in the warm shade and Vergo sat with the frustration. Should he have asked for a do over? Would Doflamingo entertain such a thing?

The towns people shuffled by and the dock dang with its buoys. They sat in silence for so long that Vergo wondered if he had done something wrong.

 “Ah, I just remembered–” Doflamingo broke the silence and Vergo's ears rang. “I kissed that lady who let us stay in her mansion.” Doflamingo laughed. 

“Looks like you're the only one who had his first kiss today.” 

Vergo stared at Doflamingo for a moment and he felt like a fool. Nothing was his. Doflamingo, owned every part of him, now even this. He scowled, his back thumping loudly against the wall as he finally pulled his tie loose, unable to keep up with his warm skin and the sweat drenching him. 

“You thought she was hot, didn't you?” Doflamingo asked with a sigh. 

Vergo hated that woman. Vergo tried to tell them she was after something and Trebol waved it off. As long as they were put up for a while as they looked for their next move, Trebol said. She had put good money into their services after all, she was trustworthy, Doflamingo said. 

Trustworthy his ass. What old hag goes after a teen? He grit his teeth, hating the thought. When he looked back at Doflamingo, he wasn't smiling, instead staring at Vergo with a contemplation that was unsettling. 

“What.” Vergo said and his tone was tight. 

Doflamingo smirked, shaking his head.

“Nothing at all, Vergo.”

The silence wore on for a long while.

“Thanks for trusting me.” 

Vergo stared at his sweaty palms, the dirt under his nails. He shifted in his position, uncomfortable because Doflamingo talking usually made him feel strange but this was something else. 

“Course I trust you” He said quietly. 

“He's staying?” 

Doflamingo nodded his head. “Should I leave my brother on the street?” He asked, when he turned to look at Vergo his face was twisted in anger. “What is that question suggesting I do?” When Vergo stayed quiet, finding his words, Doflamingo's anger only grew. “Speak clearly! What is your real question hidden under asking that?”

Vergo stared at him, his heart thudding in his chest. 

“I'm not suggesting anything, I'm just asking because you don't know him.”

“He is my brother!” Doflamingo shouted. He hurled the bottle in his hand, and threads tore the bookcases from the wall, filling the room with debris. The ceiling shook too and Vergo wondered if he'd take the building down around them. 

“How could I not know him? He has my blood. my blood, Vergo.” 

Vergo stood, rubble tumbling off his shoulders in the wake of the book cases crashing atop him. His body didn't ache, but his chest did. 

A Celestial. 

The one thing Doflamingo swore he hated more than humans. Humans were disgusting, low, vermin. But Celestials– they were the enemy, They were the reason he was locked outside of his home. They were the reason he walked amongst the vermin. He hated them more than the things that beat him with their fists and their weapons. 

“Humans act like animals because they are animals. I would have killed them all back then if I knew what I did now.” 

Doflamingo was a boy when he said that and it stuck with Vergo because he was human and it was the only thing he knew how to be. 

But the Celestials were different. They weren't animals acting as animals in Doflamingo's eyes. Their betrayal wasn't on par with a dog biting while its paw was latched in a trap. To Doflamingo, Celestials were people. People who chose to betray him. Their actions were far more personal to Doflamingo. Vergo knew this. 

Letting Rosinante into their home– his brother or not– seemed disasterous. If Rosinante were to betray Doflamingo, it might be their downfall. 

Vergo was certain that nothing could harm Doflamingo until he let it into his heart. Seeing the way Doflamingo's face dropped when Rosinante walked into a room, Vergo feared Rosinante already had his heart. With his masking smile melted into something soft, something startled, Vergo knew that Doflamingo left his true feelings in Rosinante’s hands. 

“Your brother you haven't seen in over a decade. He's a man now. Men can’t be known by blood alone.” 

Vergo said that and Doflamingo smiled. 

“You are right. Men can't be known. Even after all this time, Vergo– perhaps a man still wouldn't have learned when to keep his fucking mouth shut.”

Vergo tilted his head with a sigh. 

“I get it.” 

“Do you?” Doflamingo laughed and the sound of it was awful. If only he'd stop smiling. “To me it sounds like you're trying to tell me that my own blood could be anything but perfect.” 

Vergo sneered. His stoic face twisted and he smirked too, disgusted, disbelieving. 

Perfect. 

When had Doflamingo ever been satisfied enough with anything to consider it perfect?

Doflamingo's body was how he could be known. Where his smile masked his thoughts, his emotions, his glasses hid his contemplation, his jacket hid his stature, his nude body gave him away. 

Vergo stood in his doorway, Doflamingo was on a call, gathering his things for the morning. His bed was crumpled, and bottles were scattered across the room. Vergo's eyes took in Doflamingo's state. 

“You’re returning today?” The snail clicked and Vergo set his jaw. Doflamingo's smile was bright as he pulled the towel from his hips. “Good, I was worried you'd run off.” Doflamingo caught Vergo’s eye as he turned, he paused, the snail still held to his mouth. He made an obscene gesture towards his cock and then he turned again listening to the snail click in denial. “Alright so you’re not running off. Then run home. And make it fast, we're moving on from that region. You need to make the meeting.” 

Vergo stared at Doflamingo's back as he hunched to pull his pants on, his spine tucked gently under his skin, well muscled shoulders hiding the notches of it. He hung up the snail and he turned to walk to his bed, fishing for the glasses he misplaced. “Enjoying the show?” 

“Not particularly.” Vergo hummed. 

Doflamingo laughed. “I don't like liars.” he said as he threw the bedding back into the crumpled heap. Virgo caught amusement in hearing it. He was lying, to the degree that seeing Doflamingo in any state was a good show, but it was the truth that he didn't enjoy seeing Doflamingo quite like this. Call it guilty, but he found himself resentful of Doflamingo's ribs being hidden from him, his hip bones settled alongside the tight V of his abdominals. He looked stronger like this, but Vergo knew what weakness looked like on Doflamingo now. 

Doflamingo paused, staring at him. He opened his mouth and Vergo spoke first to save himself the mockery. “It's only that I'd rather see you take off your clothes than put them on.” 

Doflamingo sneered, a curl of his lip that tugged his head to the side with it, dismissing Vergo's advance. “I've wasted enough time.” 

Vergo waited. He had shown up only to make sure Doflamingo was awake. He did his job, he could have left. When Vergo stayed silent Doflamingo approached him. “Do you miss me?” He asked, tilting his head to look down at Vergo. “Of course I do. You're the type to miss even when I'm inside you.” It shouldn't have been flattering but the way Doflamingo's eyes traced his face, his lips ticking just enough to be a smirk. Vergo felt himself be hopeful. 

“That must be hard to endure.” Doflamingo laughed, brushing past him and into the hall.

“You fucked up. Again.” 

Vergo's hand extended and his fist collided with Rosinante’s ribs. The boy stayed quiet. No matter how many times he hit him, the guy wouldn't say a damn word. Wouldn't beg for it to end, wouldn't run away and hide the next time Vergo sought him out. 

“How many times does that make this?” 

Rosinante’s eyes were dull as he laid slumped against the floor. His breath racked out of him wetly and that was the only sound that filled the room beyond Vergo's huff. “Answer me.” 

Rosinante held up four long fingers. 

Vergo stared at him. 

From where he was laid, his legs sprawled out, his hand gripping his ribs, his head lulled against the wall as he stared at Vergo– for the first time, Vergo saw the resemblance. 

“It was my job to train you.” Vergo said, walking to stand before Rosinante. “You're trying to make me look bad.” 

The first noise that Vergo heard leave Rosinante’s throat was a laugh. 

It was hardly that, a broken three syllable noise that littered with his cough, but the smirk on his lips was something that Vergo hated more than anything. 

How dare he own Doflamingo's smile. 

How dare he have any part of Doflamingo at all. 

Vergo bent down, his hand grabbed the front of Rosinante’s shirt, he tore it from him and Rosinante stared at the wall as Vergo crouched to pull his pants off too. 

Rosinante sat nude, nothing in his empty mind telling him to be ashamed enough to hide himself. Vergo stared down at his shamelessness and he hated Rosinante even more. 

Vergo's face twisted. Staring at this body, littered in bruises he caused, he couldn't convince himself to keep touching it. 

It wasn't his. 

Vergo stood, and he stared down at the man who stole Doflamingo's blood. He snorted loudly And he spit a nasty wad to Rosinante’s lower region. 

“Get your shit together. And hide those.” He pointed at the bruising. The bruising which he made sure could be hidden. Rosinante leaned back against the wall as he left. 

“Go easy on him” 

Vergo stared at Doflamingo's shoulders, he stood in front of the window and he watched Rosinante smoke far off on the boardwalk. 

“He won't learn.” 

“He will.” Doflamingo said. “But maybe you don’t.”

Vergo exhaled slowly. 

“Dof– we've been together a long time. You know me. You know everything I do is for you.” 

“If what you did was for me, then you would have cut your own hands off for touching him.” 

Doflamingo turned, looking Vergo in the eyes. 

Eyes Vergo hadn't seen in too long. In that moment, he wanted to cry, to fall to his knees, to beg for forgiveness. 

“Doffy.” Vergo said. He walked to stand before Doflamingo and he did fall to his knees. He grabbed Doflamingo's hand and he pressed his knuckles to his forehead. 

“I'm sorry.” 

Doflamingo stared down at him and for the first time, he didn't smile at Vergo's longing. The game was no longer fun. He had run it dry and he had pushed his luck. “I'm sorry, Dof, please.” He pressed Doflamingo's knuckles to his lips and he wished that if he were to be rid of, it'd be by death because living away from Doflamingo would feel much worse than that. 

“What did he feel like?” Doflamingo pulled his hand from Vergo's to press it to the back of his hair. “Tell me– how did my brother feel when you fucked him?” 

Vergo shut his eyes, his breath evened out. Not for calmness taking him, but the opposite. He was so run through with fear that his body had gone into shock. 

“You ruined something perfect.” 

Vergo's stomach ached. He loved hearing that he had ruined Rosinante in Doflamingo's eyes. He didn't touch Rosinante– but if Doflamingo could believe he had, if it would make Rosinante seem tarnished– He would do it for real if that could wedge something between the two– it didn't matter why Doflamingo felt that would somehow ruin Rosinante– no, Vergo wouldn't address that the same way he turned his eyes everytime Doflamingo smiled after his brother. He wouldn't question Doflamingo at all. 

“We had something perfect, Vergo. And you went and ruined it.” 

Vergo opened his eyes, staring up at Doflamingo. 

Doflamingo Smiled, loving the realization in Vergo's expression. 

“I didn't–” Vergo shook his head. “Ask him yourself I would never!” 

There was no coming back from it. If he hadn't raped Rosinante, then he had lied in hopes that the result would be the same and to Doflamingo– that was the same exact thing.

The walls rattled as the door slammed behind them, Vergo's hands worked pushing Doflamingo's clothes off. If he didn’t get him now, he would slip away the moment his mind wandered, so Vergo held on. He got him bare before shrugging his own coat off. Doflamingo moved easily with the pushing. He always did. Rough until the bait was set and then he laid back and watched– proud of his taunting. 

It was infuriating. It was captivating. It was something that made Vergo want to hold onto him tightly. 

They made it out of the cold, though the empty building was only warmer than the wind chill, unheated and inhospitable– the floorboards creaked under them and when Doflamingo's shirt left his shoulders, and their breath fogged between them, Vergo couldn't help but look him over. 

“This should be the meeting room.” Doflamingo said, glancing over his shoulder. Vergo berated himself because he had stared too long and Doflamingo's mind was wandering, so his hand that stood on Doflamingo's hip slid to his throat, dragging him back in. Doflamingo laughed against his teeth, realizing he was wandering too. “Don't lose me, Vergo.” 

He placed the obligation on Vergo's shoulders. Vergo, as Corazon, was to keep his goals in sight. Where things get side tracked, spun around, muddied, bloodied and covered in filth, it was Vergo's job to keep Doflamingo above it all. 

His sight revolved around Doflamingo. Everything he saw, everything he felt, it was all to raise their King. The boy he grew up, while only falling, with.

Vergo's hand pushed Doflamingo's pants down, squeezing him roughly, hard enough to keep his attention. Doflamingo laughed again, his hands falling to Vergo's shoulders to smooth over the purple feathers than hung off his frame. 

His jaw tightened when Vergo's hand worked him over, getting them both to the same page. 

“This is a royal color–I chose well.” He said, his fingers twisting the feathers between them as Vergo pushed him until they were slumped against the wall. 

Vergo grit his teeth, pulling the jacket from his shoulders, tearing it from Doflamingo's hands. He dropped it to the ground and when his hands pushed, Doflamingo followed him, clawing at each other until he laid sprawled out in the purple feathers. 

Vergo pulled his pants from his ankles and only once Doflamingo laid bare in front of him did he feel as if they had gotten to the beginning. “You chose well, Dof.” He said, his hands spreading Doflamingo's knees. “So keep choosing me and focus.” 

Doflamingo laughed, his hand reaching out easily to catch Vergo's cheek as he leaned in again. Their tongues met and Vergo groaned because it had been far too long. Too long since he had Doflamingo like this. Too long since he had been allowed the moment to feel him. What used to be their youth chasing their overactive ambitions, turned into Doflamingo being stolen from him by the very same thing– always out of reach. 

Vergo pulled away once Doflamingo was firm in his hand. He looked down and his breath fogged around him as he panted into the quiet room. 

He was beautiful. 

Something otherworldly in the way he seemed to stretch on for miles. His golden skin seemed pale in the bright overcast pouring through the windows. His nipples peaked in the cold, goosebumps littered his skin and even where his fine hair raised seemed too pretty. He exhaled a ragged breath, his hands sliding down Doflamingo's thighs, pushing his legs aside to stare at him. 

“A grand table stretching this room, what do you think?” 

Vergo grit his teeth, his hands tearing his belt open as Doflamingo's fingers smoothed up his shoulders, his eyes lingering across the room. Vergo spit into his hand, rubbing himself before leaning forward. 

He pressed himself to Doflamingo dry and when his face twisted, his chin tipped back in his direction, Vergo felt like he caught something precious. 

Doflamingo's attention. 

He pushed himself in until Doflamingo let out a grunt and he finally let himself exhale, enveloped in the heat of his king. He pulled his glasses from his face and Doflamingo smiled at him. “You seem serious.” He said, Vergo nodded, leaning forward to catch his mouth because with his tongue occupied he might not wander as far. 

His hips stirred and his hands gripped Doflamingo's waist. It seemed narrow, thin from not eating well, living in a daze of substance, overworked and under rested. His mind shook, his palms were damp, and his skin burned from his sweat in the cold. He thrust forward and he rocked a noise out of Doflamingo that felt nostalgic. 

Vergo Sighed, his hips pushing roughly and every noise that left Doflamingo felt like something from his past. It felt too new in that way. It felt like something he never expected to hear again. 

“Vergo–” Doflamingo said, he tipped his head back and the purple feathers of Vergo's jacket stood starkly against his skin. 

Purple was a royal color and Doflamingo wore it better than he ever would. 

Doflamingo's legs remained loose, lanky and easily adjusted. His ankles were thin too, Vergo's hands pushed at them, dragging them until his fingers strangled the back of Doflamingo's thighs, folding him in half. It wasn't that Doflamingo was weak in this state– this stretch of time where his ribs could be seen sliding under his skin and the sharpness of his chin mellowed the masculine set of his jaw– no, Doflamingo never seemed weak but in this time he might have seemed more delicate. A bird of prey that still had hollow bones to make it light enough to fly. Something encumbered by its physical form. 

Doflamingo laughed, he moaned too when Vergo's hand wrapped his cock. If he could have Doflamingo like this always, he would. Even if Doflamingo were weak to anything but his own ambition, Vergo would take him. And he would take him again and again until Doflamingo was satisfied with his efforts. “I want your room next to mine– there are two that are joined in the back of the building.” Vergo's throat felt tight– even while with him, Doflamingo dreamed of the future. “Dof” Vergo sighed, his forehead falling to Doflamingo's chest. Doflamingo's voice hummed, his hand sliding across Vergo's shoulders, his legs wrapping Vergo's hips. Vergo grit his teeth, knowing Doflamingo understood what he was doing by pulling him in as his mind was pulling away. 

Vergo pushed away from him. He untangled Doflamingo's long legs and he dragged him in by his hair. Doflamingo's eyes followed his, glaring up at Vergo even as his mouth was forced full. He laughed and he gasped around Vergo's thrusts. The heat of him, the way his skin seemed thin where his eyes finally slid shut, his cheeks hollowing as Vergo pulled his hips back. He was all there, not running away. Vergo's hand drifted through Doflamingo's hair, fisting itself at the back of his skull, holding him in place as he shoved his cock into Doflamingo's throat. His voice grunted quietly, trying to not be louder than the gurgling noises leaving Doflamingo. He felt light headed and too warm, he felt weighed down by his responsibility to abuse Doflamingo's trust in him to keep his king's feet on the ground. 

He pulled out and he came across Doflamingo's face, his eyelashes tacking together as he struggled to open them. Doflamingo's hand reached for him again and Vergo grabbed it, pulling it behind his back, pressing his chest to the ground. He took his king again, that time he could hear every attentive moan. He could focus on the way Doflamingo's body stayed open for him, the way Doflamingo's hand reached back to bruise his thigh. He leaned down and he pressed his chest to Doflamingo's spine, his skin was like ice, his shoulders red, his nose running in the cold, everywhere his hand pressed, Doflamingo's light skin left red marks in the contours of his fingers. 

He must be freezing. Vergo pressed to him tighter, feeling as the heat between them grew sticky with sweat. Doflamingo's hole too, gasping and squeezing him until everything was slick and frothing. The room smelt like them. The cold air in his lungs tasted like Doflamingo too. He pressed his lips to the back of Doflamingo's neck, he dragged his tongue across him and he felt as the skin heated beneath it. His hand was drenched where it groped Doflamingo's cock, a constant flex between being half awake and hard and drooling. 

He couldn't tell if Doflamingo had come or not because he was focused on keeping Doflamingo with him– not allowing a moment to let his mind run. He kept at it until Doflamingo's breath was short and his jacket was drenched as he placed his hand to it when he changed his angle. When he readjusted them, Doflamingo's leg hung limply as he dragged it over his shoulder. Not because Doflamingo was allowing himself to melt into it, but because he had no choice but to give with the exhaustion. Vergo stared down at where Doflamingo's waist twisted. Propped up on his elbow as his leg hung over Vergo's shoulder, his soft cock laid across his thigh as he hung his head. 

It was beautiful the ways he could crease Doflamingo's skin with a heavy push, his hands pressed into the meat of Doflamingo's thighs and his stomach creased too, curling in on himself slightly. 

His smile was there, mocking, reminding Vergo who was getting off on this the most. Allowing Vergo to remember that whatever they did it was only because Doflamingo allowed it. When Doflamingo fell back, to lay with his legs spread and loose, Vergo dragged him in by his hips, hauled him onto his thighs and he kept moving as Doflamingo's smile grew broader. 

It wasn't until he was soft and still plugging Doflamingo's hole, unable to move because once he left he wouldn't be allowed back in, that he finally stopped, his skin drenched, his heart racing, and Doflamingo's lips taunting him. Doflamingo's hand too taunted him as he coaxed Vergo to him, his teeth were the forefront of his kiss as he couldn't stop himself from smiling. His tongue was cold and dry as Vergo's overheating body gave into him again.

“A throne room–” Doflamingo said, the sound of his shoes hitting the marble floor echoed through the transponder. “Should I have such a thing.” 

Vergo exhaled, “Suits a King.” Doflamingo hummed, pleased with the response. “You're right, Vergo.” he said and his voice dipped low. “Can you imagine it? What I would look like sitting on a throne.” 

“Of course I can.” Vergo adjusted himself in his bedroom. Punk Hazard was frigid, he was tired of the cold. “Dof–” 

“The people here are easy. They took to me quickly.” 

Vergo nodded, of course they did, that was what Doflamingo was– desire, confidence. “I had something I wanted to ask.” 

“Kaido is the next target. Once Caesar is established, the factory is almost ready, it's all falling together now.” 

“It's been a year.” Vergo finally said, his voice just firm enough to halt the sound of Doflamingo's walk. “Has it?” He asked. Vergo almost admitted it felt much longer, but Doflamingo beat him to it. 

“They say time flies when you're having fun.” 

Vergo shut his mouth. “I'll get on Caesar. You'll be at the top of the world before you know it.” 

Doflamingo's hum sounded sweeter, tickled. 

“Yes, Vergo. With you by my side, how could it end any other way?”

Chapter Text

“Do you like me, Vergo?”

Vergo almost laughed because it was a bit late to be asking that. But he looked at Doflamingo, where he sat perched on the railing of the ship. They were docked, and would be for a few days given some negotiations. “You worried about what I like? Since when?” 

Doflamingo tilted his head. “So you won’t tell me.” 

Vergo stared at him for a long moment. “What do you want to hear?” 

Doflamingo's smile didn't falter, soft on his lips. 

“It was just a question, but I'll take that as your answer.” 

Vergo spun quickly upon hearing that, dropping the rope he had just tied off. 

“Dof!” He watched as Doflamingo dropped towards the ocean and then took to the air. 

“Hey!” he shouted into the sky, watching as Doflamingo never turned back to look at him. What was he supposed to say? He grit his teeth– The way Doflamingo jerks him around. He doesn't do this with the others. He listens to them. He bosses them around too but in arbitrary ways to remind himself that he could rebel if he wanted to. It just so happened that Trebol and Giolla were really good at kissing his ass first and Diamante was just in the middle of being older but still young that Doflamingo had no interest in bullying him. 

He reaches up, flattening his hair. What's it matter anyways? Doflamingo didn't like him, just wanted to be liked. Just like he always fed on being the center of attention. 

Vergo turned, looking into the distance Doflamingo just disappeared into. 

He rushed, jumping from the ship. He ran to town and his breath beat out of him when he grabbed a stallkeep. “The nearest bar.” he gasped. The man yanked his arm away. “center of town but aren't you a bit youn–”

And Vergo was off again, sprinting as his slow heavy body couldn't convince the clouds to hold his weight. 

Doflamingo's eyelashes hung low, staring at the hand in his lap, wrapping his thigh, sliding up– he smiled, turning his head to feel the mouth on his neck, the teeth that barely pressed to his skin. His chest was warm where a hand slid over him, rough and demanding. The man with the rough hand, he was the one Doflamingo leaned into, opening his mouth, their tongues barely touching by just the heat between them before he pulled away, moaning easily, loudly, his hand pressing against the head in his lap, the mouth that traced him through his pants. And that rough hand caught his throat, pulling his face quickly, their eyes meeting for a moment, his smile lazy and broad, and he moaned again, right into the man's mouth, once more pulling his face away, letting the man's teeth press to his cheek. 

“Fucking tease.”

And he groaned when the teeth on his ear became the warm wet press of a tongue. He never had to say a word, all he did was walk into a room, drag his hand across a table or two, mark his targets. And they flocked to him. In droves and dazes, hypnotized as they got closer, starving once they were close. 

“Too damn pretty for a place like this. Thing like you could get hurt, you know.” Doflamingo laughed at the warning whispered in his ear. He gripped the hair under his palm and he came with a laugh on his lips. 

His eyes landed on Vergo, covered in sweat, out of breath as if he had run the circumference of the entire island, maybe he had. 

“Your concern isn't needed” Doflamingo said, tipping his chin to look up at the man now standing with his hips level to his face. “Danger isn't something that can reach me.” 

Vergo was running beside Doflamingo then, until his collar was fisted in Doflamingo's hand and his feet left the ground. Weightless yet still burdened by gravity, he clung to Doflamingo's arm. They soared and Vergo didn't hold the same grace Doflamingo did. His feet couldn't find the threads, his body was cumbersome and Doflamingo only laughed as he fumbled and held on for his life. They crashed somewhere in a back alley, far on the other side of the island. Far from their ship. Doflamingo's breath shook his chest, his cheeks bright and his laugh huffing uncontrollably. Vergo sat on the cobblestone and he watched Doflamingo double over with his laughter and then he was laughing too. 

These moods Doflamingo got into, when the desire struck to be unobtainable. When he wanted nothing more than to be wanted and to destroy everything for handing it over– handing himself over. He craved it and then he hated craving it. Other times it was only funny to him, something light and entertaining, something that gave him a high he could forget about when he woke up somewhere strange the next morning. 

“Should you have done that?” Vergo asked only once Doflamingo's smile had cooled off his laughter. “I can do anything.” Doflamingo said, the smile still high on his cheeks, he never did doubt himself. 

“Should you though?” Vergo pressed. Yes they made it out, they always would, but “a marine?” 

Doflamingo hummed, dipping his head and with his shoulders following it, his hips, and his toes padded along the cobblestone in a smooth arc. Something so surefooted and graceful that it seemed drunken.

“It's fun. That's all that matters.” 

Vergo held his tongue. Trebol would say as long as the young master is happy. Giolla would encourage him to scorn tasteless men. Diamante would have enjoyed the show– but– why was he the only one with an ache in his chest? Why was he the only one who worried for Doflamingo's place in the world? 

“They're gonna come for us. We should tell Trebol to leave.” 

“If they come we kill them.” Doflamingo's dancer's turn ended with his feet pointing towards Vergo again. “If he thinks he stands a chance against me, that he ever stood a chance with me, then he should die. Should he not?” 

Vergo only briefly wondered if that applied to all men, or if because he were somehow grandfathered in by being family– somehow that would make him allowed to think he stood a chance with Doflamingo. “He won't come back. You know why?” Vergo stared at Doflamingo's posture, hunching in as he walked closer to look down at where Vergo still sat on the stone. He only grew taller. Tall and lithe, interested never in food but drink and flesh and need. “Because they love it.” His eyes set Vergo's hair on edge. “They love being put in their place– they love that someone like me ever looked in their direction– because they love to hate me, Vergo.” His smile broke again and Vergo watched the way his breath caught in his throat. 

“They hate to love me– and they love to fuck me,” and he laughed, his head tipping back his hand pressing to his chest “and it's so much fun to watch everything they wanted crumble.” 

Vergo's eyes dropped to the ground. The marines took demasculinization personally. Something about the disrespect being tied to it. “Your names out there now.” What's more distressing than the marines was how Doflamingo was crumbling. Since he grew into his voice, he found himself falling apart. He needed so much and he starved so often– and he was robbed, time and time again. 

Doflamingo would swear it was all his choice. He would swear that the world worked the way it did because he willed it to do so, but as Trebol whispered in his ear, coaxed him into doing things that made his fingers flex at their knuckles, as he was unsettled by the scale of the goal offered to him– Vergo watched Doflamingo be robbed of his childhood. Clenched fists, clenched teeth, mangled skin and his lips split all too easily. 

He was too sharp, smart yes, but sharp otherwise. At his hips, his knees, his cheeks and his brow, he split open easily, he would say it was willingly. He always healed beautifully, his ribs, if you ran your hands along them, if you tried to dig your fingers between their slats, you'd find the sharp edges. The gnarls of bone that healed out of place and on their own. You'd never find a scar, nothing more than a faint strike, pale white embroidery on his sun touched skin. 

Doflamingo was a weapon. He was terrifying, he was compelling, he was a promise of a new beginning, he was the doomsday that everyone wanted to have the command of. 

His potential for mass destruction was only matched by the beauty of his never detonating. The beauty of safety in the way  that only he could be the one to unleash it. Beautiful in the way that in holding that power, he somehow created a place of peace. 

Doflamingo's smile twitched. 

“They know you, Doffy–” 

“The more the merrier” he said and Vergo knew he was watching him carefully, waiting for what reaction he would give. 

“So at least make a better show of it. Cook with fire.” Vergo said with his chest burning.

“What else do you cook with? Course you need fire to cook.” Doflamingo's laugh was charmed, warm and light and he tipped his head to the side, as he exhaled. “You like me a lot, Vergo.” Vergo accepted his new assignment. It wasn't a question. It was permission to keep liking Doflamingo. It was the demand that he should keep accepting the tides Doflamingo's whims churned him through. 

And he sighed, his excitement giving way to his exhaustion as he crouched quickly, dropping himself to Vergo's level, his chin resting on his knees. “You're not like them, Vergo.” And Vergo couldn't agree more. What they had was special. He was closer to Doffy. He knew him. He knew why he did the things he did. “You love to love me.” Doflamingo's smirk coated his throat, a honeysick drone from a dying hive. Vergo exhaled, slumping back to the brick behind him. “Shut up.” Doflamingo laughed and when his shoulder pressed to his, Doflamingo clambering to sit closer, to be close after his rush, Vergo chewed it over. Doflamingo's goggles knocked to his chin and he took a deep breath in. 

He would be different. 

Doflamingo laid in a bed that wasn't his own. He knew it wasn't because it was softer than the spring mattress he had on the ship. It didn't creak as additional weight met it. 

His skin felt smooth, silken And slick as he ran his fingers up his stomach, tracing himself. 

He felt as if he couldn't breathe, the way his inhale hitched every time he laughed, his gasps something overwhelmed with joy. The concave of his stomach, where it sloped from his ribcage, seemed to only grow steeper as each breath tightened in his lungs, until he couldn't inhale at all, and his fingers slid down his abdomen like riding a great wave. It all crashed when his fingers hit the bed again, warm, seeking, he was grasping onto what met his palm. He tried to bury his fingers into it, to pull it apart. Whatever it was that put him there, floating in the clouds where his threads hummed under his every touch.  

His breath collapsed again, a laugh spilling out of him, but his eyes wouldn't focus. He couldn't see where he was he just existed in the midst of it all. It was a place he must have created, and only once he reminded himself that, did his vision darken.

Vergo held Doflamingo's hand because he wasn't sure what else to do. The smile on his lips, lost in a dream. Vergo's eyes took in his body, as much as he could appreciate it as Doflamingo writhed. His fingers traced his chest and the veins of his hand writhed under his skin too. The tendons of his neck tensed, his smile was mangled by the pull of his jaw, his neck curling towards Vergo's knee. His shoulder lifted and he rolled, his body curling in on itself too. His laugh stopped, seized up and then a tight groan, something of a dying man and Vergo watched. His hand pulled Vergo's to his chest. Vergo watched him reach out, the raw skin between the webbing of his fingers, needle pricks that made Vergo’s eyes sting. 

Vergo waited. Time wore on and Doflamingo's body only became more foreign. When he stopped moving, when his face pressed to the mattress heavily, his cheek pushed softly under his eye, his mouth agape and his breath slow, Vergo finally felt himself breathe. 

Where Doflamingo's chest pressed to his knee, a thin plate that seemed to do nothing beyond keep his organs from spilling to the ground, Vergo felt his heartbeat.

It beat and there was too long of a pause before it beat three times and then another torturous breath between it's next thump. 

Vergo's eyes felt heavy. He watched Doflamingo toy with himself– with the ability to die, with the ability to choose to try to kill himself just to choose to keep living. It was a game in the end. For all the crumbling Doflamingo did, for every ugly side of himself, was a beautiful promise that he was unkillable. It was the echo of his choosing to crumble. Every disgusting piece of it, the smell of the room, the state of the bed he laid in, the blood clinging to the walls, he sat pristine, smooth gold glinting in filth. 

Vergo waited for hours. He waited until he was sure that Doflamingo was only asleep. He closed his eyes and when he woke, he was hunched over, his face pressed to Doflamingo's shoulder, their hands still clasped together. 

“Doffy” he said, turning to press the other cheek to Doflamingo's warm skin. “Doffy we leave today” his hand tugged gently, dragging Doflamingo's arm from where it was trapped under himself. Doflamingo groaned. His arm dragged Vergo back in and Vergo closed his eyes, he appreciated the heat of Doflamingo while he could. “Doffy?” He whispered. The only response he got was a crumpled laugh. 

“And where were you two?” Trebol asked, staring at Doflamingo. Vergo's hands opened easily as Doflamingo's legs slipped from his hips, his hand trailing across Vergo's back as he hid how he steadied himself. “Don't be so nosy.” he said, and Vergo let him do the talking. He always did.

“Well you made it back!” Trebol laughed, turning towards the ship. Doflamingo smiled, his arm wrapping Vergo's shoulder as they climbed aboard. “Ooo you like meeee–” Doflamingo laughed when Vergo's hand caught his hip. He didn't say anything in response, he thought it was evident by that point in their life that no matter what he said, Doflamingo would take it how he wanted to. 

Doflamingo laughed again, crushing his nose to Vergo's cheek as he smiled. “C'mon Vergo I'm waiting for you to say it.” He pressed a kiss to Vergo's cheek that was more teeth than it was a kiss, and his hand let Vergo go, proving that he never needed the support, he was choosing to be in command of his body. 

Vergo's eyes trailed behind him, long struts accentuated by his ever growing height and his hand skirted the rail of the ship teasingly, as if he were leaving a trail to follow, as if he were reminding the ship itself that it belonged to him. His fingers caught the lip of his captain's quarters, and they clung more tightly as the ship swayed at dock. As if he were reminding it to keep its balance, reminding himself that he could choose to move gracefully. 

They sat on a wall that stretched the overhang of a factory where it loomed over the island. Up on some high hill, the abandoned building stood like a phantom hovering in a different plane, still too adjacent to the physical world. 

Their legs hung over the wall's ledge, toes dancing in the air a hundred feet from the ground. Vergo watched the city, as the shattered windows of the old factory did, he watched it move and he felt like it was all beyond him. 

Doflamingo's eyes watched his own hands, threads shimmering occasionally as his fingers plucked odd strands and tucked them into a different position. Vergo felt as if it was all right in front of him when his eyes moved to watch Doflamingo's fingers. He felt stuck, held in place as he watched Doflamingo's concentration. He felt too far away when Doflamingo's lips quirked, a hidden pride in what he managed to accomplish with the near invisible string. Vergo leaned, his chin meeting Doflamingo's shoulder. Doflamingo dipped for him, slouching back slightly to let his chin rest despite the changing difference in their height. 

Vergo's eyes watched him quietly. Doflamingo had been doing this very thing for days. Any moment of rest, his hands would be occupied, his mind trapped only where his threads moved. Vergo asked once. 

“I have a feeling.” Doflamingo muttered, though he didn't sound any type of way about the feeling he mentioned. 

Vergo's eyes traced Doflamingo's profile. He looked excited. “Your feeling was right?” He asked and Doflamingo's smile grew wider. “You're patient.” Vergo huffed at that. He always would be. He'd be patient, he'd be overwhelmed, he'd be whatever pace Doflamingo was moving at. Doflamingo's hands pulled apart quickly, the threads cinched together, woven into a single thick cord between his still splayed fingers. 

“Looks like a finger trap.” Vergo muttered, pushing closer until his chest pressed to Doflamingo's back as he peered down at it. 

“I know the pattern now” Doflamingo said, his voice a near whisper as he turned his head to look at Vergo. “I could do it a million times–” Vergo watched his eyes move behind his glasses. He was proud.  “–in an instant.” Vergo smirked. Doflamingo was determined. He worked on things until they were finished. Everything he could do with his threads– he knew how to do in any condition, in any number of ways because he had tried them all. 

The thread melted, disappeared completely when Doflamingo's palms clapped together. He knew he could repeat it. Doflamingo's breath left him in a weightless sigh. He leaned back until Vergo's weight supported him. He tilted his head, his ear pressing to the top of Vergo’s hair as he shut his eyes. 

Vergo wondered what Doflamingo felt as he pressed closer.

They stayed on that wall until sunset. Doflamingo's head rested in Vergo’s lap, his hand occasionally proving his point as he synthesized a thick cord every so many hours just for it to dissolve. What was once two hands became one, became something so effortless Vergo could have almost forgotten how many days he sat with his hands plucking away. Doflamingo rolled, tucking his nose to Vergo’s shirt. His hands finally rested when they wrapped Vergo’s waist instead. 

“I like being with you, Vergo.” 

Vergo's hand pressed to Doflamingo's shoulder blade. He wondered why he was the only one who ever saw Doflamingo's effort. The others were allowed the result. They saw the flashy display of strength, but he saw the process. He was the one who watched Doflamingo study. 

Because Doflamingo liked being with him. 

His hand felt warm pressed to the cool fabric of Doflamingo's jacket. His hand slid to smooth the hair on the back of Doflamingo's head down, his fingers tempted by how soft it was, like the mink coats they pawned. 

“I'll always be with you, Doffy.” 

It wasn't a promise. He didn't need to promise, it was just the way things were. He spoke only his intentions. 

Doflamingo's arm tightened around him. 

“Good.” And he laughed, His breath warm against Vergo's stomach. “I'd get lonely.” 

Vergo wondered if that was true. With the way Doflamingo gathered people around him, it didn't seem possible. “Well if I'm not around it's because I'm dead. I'm not going anywhere.” 

“Then don't die.” Doflamingo scoffed. “Not unless I say it's okay to.” 

“Harsh.” Vergo snorted. Doflamingo pushed from his lap, he stared at Vergo from where he held himself on his palms. “I wouldn't ever say it, that's why it's a good deal.” 

Vergo's smile felt goofy and he couldn't hide it as Doflamingo leaned closer, laughing in his face. “Want me to say it again?” Vergo turned his face away when Doflamingo’s smile pressed to his cheek, his nose flattened in his hair. “Vergooo” he sang “admit it.” 

“Stop already,” Vergo laughed, tipping sideways as Doflamingo pressed closer. They fell backwards, toppled from the wall and to the grass in front of the old factory. Vergo's hands grasped at Doflamingo's wrists as he moved to pin him down. “It's fun being with me.” Doflamingo laughed. “Tell me how much fun it is.” Vergo shook his head laughing, shoving Doflamingo's hands away. 

When Doflamingo's fingers dug into his side, Vergo laughed harder, haki cloaking his skin until the ticklish feeling was gone and Doflamingo’s lips frowned in a pout. “You're no fun!” He said loudly, and Vergo’s haki melted, it pooled inward as his heart pooled in his chest.

He felt light with Doflamingo. He felt like he was grounded. He felt like he was hovering above the rest of the world. Vergo’s hand gripped Doflamingo's ankle and his strength was greater as he dug his fingers into the arch of Doflamingo's foot. It caught Doflamingo off guard. His laugh was bright as he fell to his side, hissing curses only a pirate would know as he kicked towards Vergo again. 

They spent the night in the factory. The fire burned in a metal trash can between them, Doflamingo’s threads cutting through the smoke as he laid on his back and played with the air itself. Vergo watched his face from where he laid on his respective bench covered in a dusty tarp. 

Doflamingo wasn't working on something new. He was just admiring how the threads shimmered golden in the firelight. Vergo's eyes were heavy, lulled by the agile shifting of Doflamingo's fingers, the heaviness in Doflamingo’s eyelids as his eyelashes sunk before opening wide again. 

Doflamingo didn't sleep well, ever really, but he smiled when he glanced over to see Vergo fighting his own sleep. 

The threads fell apart, drifting up in particles that were carried by the smoke to the rafters. 

“Good night, Vergo.” He said quietly, dropping his hands to his stomach as his eyelashes pointed towards the ceiling. 

“Night Doffy.”

“I've been thinking about something.” He muttered, pressed close to Vergo in the galley. 

“What's that?” Vergo asked, his eyes stuck on where Doflamingo's legs hung across his lap. 

“I think I hate them.” 

Vergo swallowed the lump in his throat. Doflamingo's drunken breath invaded his space, his eyes deadweight where his smile reached them. Doflamingo swallowed something back, his eyes searching Vergo's. “Who's them?” Vergo asked, the sight of Doflamingo's lips pulling to the side, as sneer as he expected to be understood without question. 

“Everyone.” 

Vergo took it for what it was, nothing new. Doflamingo had a love for a lot of things but people weren't really part of it. “I was actually thinking about something else but the look on your face reminded me.” Vergo sighed, his hand gripped Doflamingo's shin, if only to see if he'd pull away. “I'll keep the other thing a secret. You'll know it when you see it.” He laughed, pressing the bottle to his lips, missing the mark and clattering against his teeth as he smiled. “It's only fair I treat you the same way you treat me.”

Vergo's face twisted. “What are you talking about?” Doflamingo shook his head, dismissing Vergo as his answer. Silence wore on and Vergo struggled to understand Doflamingo when he drank. He was smart, quick and he was aware. Even inebriated, he seemed to see the world in ways that others couldn't. His mind turned things over near constantly. Slight him cleverly and if he didn't catch it the moment you said it, he would be back. He would figure it out on his own time and it would be your time that is spent worrying he might piece it together. When he did, he would come back, and he would only be more cruel for feeling slighted by the time he had to waste thinking it over. It was best not to try. It was better to not attempt to use words against Doflamingo. It was better to say nothing at all, lest you get caught in the ever churning sea of his mind. 

He would remember you only long enough to figure you out, and once he had you pinned, everything he knew was used to erase you. He would take the sensitivities, the desires, the aspirations, fears, he'd take it all and mangled you in his mind until he had the singular strand of the fewest words that would break you apart. And once you were broken, once he had what he wanted, he would forget you. Wipe you clean, banish you from the honor of being something that preoccupied him.

Vergo watched his lips as he pulled the bottle away, spit clinging between the two. His heart raced, he feared being forgotten, he feared being something Doflamingo tore apart. He feared lying, he feared betraying Doflamingo in any way that could be seen as something worth removing. 

“I'm in love with you.” 

Doflamingo stared across the room and Vergo watched his profile, the way his ear tinged pink from the liquor, How his smile twisted beyond amusement, how it creased his eye. He tilted his head until his shoulders slumped with it, he pressed himself to the wall, his hand raising to cover his face. He laughed, and it sounded unfamiliar. 

When he had his fun he pulled his hand away, reaching out to grab Vergo's shoulder. “My heart is racing.” 

Vergo felt an ugly need in him. The need to keep Doflamingo like that, to keep him surprised, to keep him thinking about him. He needed to be something that was so reliable it couldn't be taken away. “You said you already knew.” Doflamingo's hand brushed the back of his neck as he nodded. 

“I thought about how you might admit it–” he seemed excited as his leg hooked between Vergo's knees, dragging himself closer. “I wondered how you'd phrase it, what you'd look like when you said it.” His breath caught in his throat, as if admitting it allowed the confession to replay in his mind. “But you did it. I don't need to wonder anymore.” 

Vergo's heart sank. He felt himself fall. He fell from the honor of preoccupying Doflamingo's thoughts. He had proved Doflamingo right, he was just another man madly in love with a god, somewhere low and out of reach. If he wasn't part of the “they” that Doflamingo hated before, than he was now. He was just a man who fell into the same pit as everyone else, churned over and spit out by Doflamingo's sharp mind. 

“You're supposed to be nervous before you say it, not after.” Doflamingo whispered, his eyes tracing Vergo's melting expression. 

“You didn't say it back.” Vergo pushed, now clawing as all men did, he kept falling, tripping over every rut the rest of the world ran into moats around Doflamingo. Ditch after ditch spread between where he sat and where Doflamingo stood at the center of it all. 

Doflamingo's lips ticked, a gentle expression, as if being let down easy made any of it any easier. “I don't hate you.” he said. He said it as If it were a reward. “Congratulations! You are one of the few!” It didn't make Vergo feel any better. He wanted more than that. He dreamed too, he wondered what Doflamingo would look like once he said it, how he might respond, and in all of his dreams, this look of grief wasn't it. 

Vergo smiled, he forced it to his face, his hand pulled away from Doflamingo's leg to grab the bottle from his hand. He drank and Doflamingo didn't seem drunk as he watched him from the sidelines. 

They kissed that night, with Vergo's tongue heavy with drunkenness and Doflamingo's hands easy and open with the same. Doflamingo whispered things he gambled with Vergo forgetting. He told him how Vergo was different. It was okay that Vergo loved him, he wasn't like the others. Vergo was allowed to be in love with him. He wanted him to be, he needed him to be. Vergo couldn't remember why Doflamingo began saying those things, though he had a haunting memory that sat in him like a forgotten nightmare— something that terrorized you in the moment but once awakened, your system erased it to deal with reality. In that ghost of a nightmare he thought he might have asked for permission– he might have been the one to beg Doflamingo to allow him. His slurred request might have been a strand of the most words he could find to make Doflamingo understand. He wasn't quick, he didn't know how to speak with a silver tongue. His tongue was iron, heavy and corroded, tasting of blood and a shackle that would sink himself to the bottom of the sea, the weight of silver in his mouth didn't do him any better, he wasn't meant for it, it would weigh his skull down, he'd drown all the same. He wasn't Doflamingo. 

He didn't have a beautiful slender neck to hold his head high, he didn't have a smile that complimented something as fine as silver, so he would drown. He would drown with his rust filled mouth and he would rely on Doflamingo to keep him for reasons only a sharp mind could understand. 

The fight was a nasty one– more bloodshed than Vergo had ever seen. Doflamingo stood in the middle of it all, a halo of red around him, a valley of clean cobblestone that stood like the embrace of divine protection. Nothing could touch him, and everything he touched turned ruddy. He was smiling, tall and standing above the mess even with their feet on even ground. In his sacred bubble, his body moved gracefully, his toes dragging across the stone, his back arching as a matador with his flag, calling for the attention of the fight. His fingers caressed the air, pulling from it something no one could see, and the grace of his arm as it swung towards the fight, as he stood in place with the herd running at him head on, the sound of a crack split the air, before the world ran quiet. His dance ended with the street Before him splitting down the middle. The city leveled, the sound of nothing but silence beyond the earth groaning. 

And like the cheer from a crowd, the voices in the street rose with panic. The city flooded with pain, and Doflamingo stood in the middle of his arena, with an elegance that only proved he had caused it all. 

Vergo knew it when he saw it. 

The thing Doflamingo had been thinking about. This dance he created in the gaps of his time spent thinking about everything else all at once. This was what he was speaking of. That was only confirmed when he turned to look at Vergo, a smile across his face full of pride. 

Look at what I've become.

Look at what the world has done.

Look at the thing they created through prayer.

He held his hands out to his sides, he accepted the panic in the streets as his ovation. He stood in the center of the mess unscathed, and with his palms facing the world he destroyed, he stood as a messiah in the face of war. 

Vergo’s breath shook. The panic rose in him too, he thought it innate. He thought it something visceral. He thought it was terror. 

To be in the presence of a god– to have a god's permission to love him. To know that God was just a boy. To know that God was robbed of the very things that would have otherwise allowed him to be human. 

Was humanity, Vergo wondered, as simple as the presence of experiencing humanness? 

Would that make a god something crafted from having those experiences stolen? Could any man be a god if you robbed him of his humanity early enough?

The summer was warm, made warmer by where their skin pressed together. Truthfully, they hardly touched. Doflamingo's bent elbow, where his hand rested on his stomach, grazed Vergo's thigh. he was beautiful, stretched out in the sun, his chest was red, too exposed where the light beat it raw. 

Vergo's hand reached out, his finger hooked into the waistband of Doflamingo's shorts and he tugged it only enough to expose the pale skin under it. He huffed a laugh because it should be funny. It should be embarrassing, having such an obvious line, the stark difference. It wasn't funny though. It lingered in his mind, the thought of pulling the fabric lower. 

Doflamingo's hand didn't move where his fingers drifted across the flat of his stomach. His fingertips circled his navel before they stopped. Vergo glanced at him and his head was still lulled to the side, roasting one cheek to give the other a rest from the heat. His smile was light, comfortable in their quiet. 

Vergo glanced at his waist again, just below his hip bones. Doflamingo's hand slid, tracing down his stomach and Vergo watched as long fingers tucked under his waistband. His wrist rose and with it the elastic was pushed away until an ashy blonde was visible. His hand squeezed, kneaded only a few times before  Vergo felt too warm. 

He glanced at Doflamingo's face and his eyes were open. Mostly lidded and his eyelashes failing at keeping the sun from them even as they brushed his skin with a heavy blink. His smirk spread as he pulled his hand from his pants, the shape of him tucked against the fabric. Vergo's stare met him again when that hand gripped his chin. 

He inhaled quickly, turning his head to follow its drag. He breathed deep as Doflamingo pulled him to lean over, to look down at where he lay. When Vergo's shadow cast itself over Doflamingo's face, the hand released him, the sun roasting the back of his head. 

Vergo's eyebrows furrowed and Doflamingo smiled. Doflamingo's hand wrapped the back of his neck and he leaned willingly, waiting for the permission to keep wanting this. For wanting to live the rest of his life like this, the rest of the world damned and forgotten. Doflamingo's eyes were empty, still sharp, but nothing behind them. Nothing for Vergo to pull meaning from, nothing to tell him that Doflamingo's heart was racing too. 

Vergo watched his lips move. He could hear his breath. 

“You can touch me, Vergo”

Vergo nodded, his head light and empty as his hand slid. what was once one cautious finger became five as he tucked his hand into Doflamingo's pants. 

Doflamingo dropped his face to the side, a laugh pushing through his smile. Vergo stared down at him, his hand frozen where it pressed to Doflamingo's thigh, his index finger dipped into coarse Hair. 

“What're you laughing for?” 

Doflamingo's hand moved to cover his face but he gripped Vergo's forearm instead. “I thought you'd kiss me” 

“We've already done that.” Vergo clenched his jaw, his hand unmoving.

Doflamingo's laugh bubbled, soft and amused. He knew that. And Vergo knew then that he'd surprised Doflamingo. He enjoyed it when he could do that. He liked that his bravery could keep Doflamingo on his toes. 

“That what you wanted?” He asked and Doflamingo's hand fell to slide across his own chest as he laughed again. 

“Do what you want” he said, his voice easy and lazy and so disarmed that Vergo's hand flinched at the placid nature of it all. The fabric rose with Doflamingo's cock pushing at it. 

It felt like anger. In some roundabout way, Vergo wanted to punish Doflamingo for being as easy and tempting as he was. He knew he was no different. All the men before him that put their hands on Doflamingo's body, who loved to hate him, who hated to love him. 

He leaned down and Doflamingo's tongue swiped at his lip, his eyes heavy, still cracked open when Vergo's mouth finally met his. His hand cupped Doflamingo's cock, sticky skin and his fingers pressed blindly to squeeze his balls with it. He was angry. In a way that reminded himself that he was no different, that he was only different enough for Doflamingo to hold onto him, he was furious. 

Doflamingo's mouth opened, warm and tasting like the herb he had smoked, the thing that kept his eyes glassy and his body loose. Vergo pushed from where he sat. His knees hit the ground beside Doflamingo and his hand groped along the length of him.

His skin burned. The sun on his back, the heat of his face as he remembered over and over again who it was he was touching. Every time he leaned back enough to catch a glimpse of Doflamingo's face between breaths. It was all too warm. The fabric of Doflamingo's shorts clung to the back of his hand. Doflamingo's skin was tacky and the friction forced him to squeeze and knead more than stroke. 

The quiet of Doflamingo's breath, the gentle brush of his tongue never fully committing– it made Vergo angrier. The lust he felt went beyond lust. It sat in his chest, it ate him alive, it starved him and he knew there was nowhere else to put it. If he poured it into Doflamingo it would drip from his skin like the beads of sweat rolling from his hairline.

“Vergo-” he sighed and Vergo's anger was lost. It was drowning and confused. He pulled his hand from Doflamingo's shorts, turning the garment half inside out as he moved to push the waistband down his thighs instead. His hips raised to let the fabric fall slung around one ankle. 

He was easy. Easy and open with his cock laying and pointed towards his hip bone. Vergo's hand skipped across him, following it's way up his leg. Doflamingo was thin and Vergo's hands felt big when he squeezed Doflamingo's waist. 

Doflamingo laid there, with his body on display, no shame, no bashfulness. His eyes followed Vergo as he hunched over, his hand tipping Doflamingo's cock towards his lips. His chest rose, his breath exhaling when Vergo's lips wrapped him. He shut his eyes to the sun that now soaked his face again. His hand wrapped the back of Vergo's neck, he dragged him down, filled his throat in a single press. 

Vergo gagged, he pushed back on Doflamingo's hand and its released him as he slid to the tip. He choked on his breath, his hand resting his weight where he loosely gripped Doflamingo's base. He stared at it, wet and pink, hair sticking to his sweaty hand. 

He swallowed once and he bent down again. Doflamingo's hand didn't push him. It followed his every move, heating the back of his neck further every time he gagged and pulled away. He didn't speak, he didn't tell Vergo what to do, what he expected.

Vergo's hand moved, spit slicked and his throat raw he stared at it as it glided across Doflamingo's cock. He watched the color of Doflamingo's skin flush and shift when he squeezed the tip in the crease of his thumb. 

Vergo's voice leaked from him. He groaned as he shifted to pull his pants open, as he dragged Doflamingo's leg open with his hand gripping his calf. His hands wrapped Doflamingo's waist and his cock jumped as his fingers dug into nothing but sharp bone. He felt like he couldn't breathe. His throat was tight, his eyes stung from the sweat dripping from his brow. His hand wrapped them both and Doflamingo's eyes followed him as he stroked them together, as his cock drooled across Doflamingo's tip with each thrust. 

Vergo watched as Doflamingo's eyes traced him. As he saw that Vergo was no different. As he laid and took it. As he decided to give Vergo nothing. 

His body was enough in that moment. 

Vergo's hand gripped Doflamingo's bicep, crushing it under his weight as he leaned forward, As his hips moved for them both. 

Doflamingo's face was enough. 

His lips red, smooth and swollen. 

His eyes were enough. 

The feeling of his skin. 

The weightlessness of his leg laying across Vergo's thigh. 

The friction that grew painful as spit tacked and sweat slowed them down. 

Vergo came across his stomach and that was enough. The sight of it sticking to his skin, watery and loose because he had gotten off twice that morning with the imagination of this exact moment.

His breath shook. His thumb released himself and his hand stroked Doflamingo quickly. He kept him pinned, his weight holding Doflamingo's arm down, his eyes locked on Doflamingo's face. 

He watched as Doflamingo's breath hitched, his mouth opened, his chin tipped towards the sun, his chest rose to follow it. He came cupped in Vergo's hand, painting his palm until it leaked between his fingers. Vergo squeezed his head, massaging the mess across it until Doflamingo's knee bent, knocking into his ribs. 

Vergo stared at Doflamingo's face. 

His eyes never glanced down, he only watched Vergo's expression. His lips curled slightly and Vergo released his arm. He was smiling, though quiet. 

Vergo sat back on his heels, his hand tacky in a way that felt shameful. He smeared it in the grass between Doflamingo's legs and he clambered over them instead of deciding to feel how easily he could manipulate Doflamingo's position again. When he was sat on his ass, his thigh pressed to Doflamingo's shoulder, he stared at the sun until it burned. 

He should sear it from his memory. 

He watched as Doflamingo pulled his shorts into place again. As the quiet smile didn't leave him when he looked over his shoulder. His spine as the notches of it rose tight under his skin. As his shoulder blades carved out wings when he reached backwards to lay in the grass again. Vergo felt guilty. 

Doflamingo's arm wrapped his hip. He rolled and his ribs twisted with the motion. He dug into Vergo at every place they pressed together. All sharp except his smooth skin and feathery hair. 

There were other days to laugh. Different days where the sun wasn't so abusive. Where the delirium of heat wouldn't burden them. There would be days where they could lay again with their arms interlocked, Doflamingo's chin digging into his chest as he laughed. Days where the grass was cool and damp instead of dry and itching. 

They were getting older. 

The way Doflamingo chose to bare himself was changing. The memory of it ate away at him. Doflamingo asked for a kiss. He thought Doflamingo made him like this– skeptical, bold, rough. He had to be to survive the teasing. 

He remembered that they were young when Doflamingo's forehead pressed to his stomach.  When the touch felt familiar in a way that was different from the rest of the world. The touch he could have.