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For all that his brother looked –and acted- like a pimp, Rosinante has never seen him with prostitutes. Or anyone for that matter. Either he was really private about it, or his brother was as celibate as a monk. Which would be rather odd considering how much he indulged in the other pleasures and vices life had to offer.
Rosinante also doesn’t ponder much about it, because well, that’s his brother. Not to mention that he fears whatever truths he might uncover if he looks too much into it. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. So he leaves the subject alone and out of the report, as he highly doubts it’s relevant for his brother’s file anyway.
The thing doesn’t cross his mind again until he wakes up one day to find Spider Miles buzzing with excitement. Everyone is hurrying around, the children are putting away their weapons and talking loudly about getting a glimpse of some guy who’ll be arriving later. Giolla is busy bossing everyone, but for once there are no complaints meeting her orders.
Even weirder, his brother is up and looking fresh as a lettuce, wearing his best suit, with polished sunglasses and a coat that seemed suspiciously fluffed up. In Rosinante’s experience, Doflamingo looks like shit in the early mornings, because of the few hours of restless sleep he usually got and because of his nasty habit of drinking as soon as he woke up.
He writes a quick note to Baby 5, inquiring on the state of the Family. The girl almost passes out with excitement when she tells him that the young master will be receiving a very special visitor later and they all have orders to leave the place spotless clean before making themselves scarce for the rest of the day, because this visitor apparently isn’t a people’s person.
Rosinante frowned in confusion and gestured at her to elaborate, but her attention is back with her chores and baby Dellinger, who’s happily chewing down some raw fish on his high chair.
He turns to look at Doflamingo. The smile in his face is an easy one, without any of its usual sharp edges and dangerous glint. For a lack of a better word, Rosinante would dare to say that his brother looks happy. Which can’t possibly mean anything good.
He’s almost ready to hear about the town he has burnt to ashes, the special visitor delegated to the back of his mind, when Doflamingo throws an arm around his shoulders and tells him they’ll be going to the port together.
“There’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.” The smile widens impossibly and Rosinante’s wariness grows. Who could this be? ‘
He ignored the jealous looks he received as they left the inside of Spider Miles. He quickly moved his fingers, making two signs he knew Doflamingo would understand. New executive?
“No, though not for a lack of trying.” He sniggered. Rosinante’s eyebrows raised behind his fringe. Someone had rejected an offer from his brother and lived to tell the tale? Special visitor indeed. “The reptile wouldn’t be anyone’s underling to save his own life.” He laughed, this time something like fondness tinted his voice. “But that might be what I like so much about him.”
People gave them a wide berth as they made their way through the shanty town to the port. Rosinante once looked over his shoulder and spotted Baby 5 and Buffalo trying to be inconspicuous about following them, but they had the subtlety of a storm in the Grand Line.
“He’s been awfully busy these days, running a casino .” Doflamingo snorted. “It took forever to convince him to leave that sandball of his. Wonder what he’s actually doing, something way more fun likely.”
Rosinante silently checked a list of people that his brother might be referring to. There were plenty of pirates with gambling as a side business. One in particular came to mind, one whose name was in everyone’s mouth lately because of his recent feats as savior of-
Rosinante tripped, landing on his face and almost dragging his brother with him. Doflamingo sighed. Rosinante couldn’t tell if it was in annoyance or disappointment. He didn’t care either.
Suddenly, Doflamingo turned sharply and the smile returned to his lips. Rosinante followed his gaze and he was met with one of the Warlords of the Sea.
He had seen the man before, once or twice from afar, when Sir Crocodile was summoned to the Headquarters. Sengoku had often complained about the chaos he used to cause as a rookie, only having cooled down after a fight with Whitebeard that had ended quite brutally. However, Rosinante notices, this man looks anything but subdued, even if the men at the Headquarters claim otherwise.
“Long time no see, Croco-man.” Doflamingo purred, in a tone that made Rosinante uncomfortable.
“Not long enough I fear,” the man replied dryly and Rosinante was surprised to hear Doflamingo laughing. He couldn’t care less about the fate of the pirate, but a part of him wanted to warn him. Didn’t he know who he was dealing with?
Doflamingo was unfazed by the answer. “I thought the desert had finally swallowed you whole.”
The corner of the man’s mouth pulled up slightly. “If that were the case I wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t I?”
For reasons that he couldn’t explain, Rosinante felt like he was standing in the middle of something private.
After being ignored for the span of their greeting, Doflamingo finally seemed to remember his existence. He was still on the floor, in the process of lighting a cigarette.
“This is my little brother, the one I told you about.” It’s a wonder why he’d come up during a conversation with someone like Crocodile. “Donquixote Corazon.” A string pulls him up to his feet before he can complain.
Despite being a good foot and a half taller than him, Rosinante feels awfully small under the weight of his gaze. The man’s clothes were finely made and a fur coat hung from his shoulders. There are golden bands around the fingers of his only hand and a few in his right ear. There’s something annoyingly fancy and expensive to the look of him and Rosinante can’t help but feel a bit ridiculous next to him in his make-up, heart-print shirt and black-feathered coat.
The man shook his hand, cold and firm. “Charmed.” Rosinante stares a bit too long before looking away, still silent. The warlord doesn’t comment on his muteness. “ Sir Crocodile.”
I know , he would’ve said if he were a more reckless man, I’ve seen you a bunch of times at the Navy Headquarters.
But he’s not stupid so he just plays dumb.
Satisfied with the introduction, Doflamingo pretty much steps between them and their hands are separated. He wrapped an arm around Crocodile’s waist, pulling him closer to himself. Crocodile seemed mildly annoyed by it, but he made no attempt to free himself, as if used to the other’s antics.
Oh . Oh .
In hindsight, it shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise that his brother liked men. The pink feather coat should have been a clue, he realizes too late. He had attributed it to his brother’s more eccentric tastes and questionable fashion choices, rather to an unspoken declaration of his preferences.
Maybe it’s both. Or just the first.
“Wine and cigars?” Doflamingo asks and Rosinante is again forgotten. Which is fine by him.
“Naturally.”
He walks away without destination and resolved to stay the hell away from Spider Miles until the visit is over, unwilling to take the risk of walking into something disturbing.
As he leaves, he could swear he feels Crocodile's eyes following him.
Crocodile has a type.
He'd deny it to death with tooth and nail, but in his head there's no point in hiding that he has certain proclivities when it comes to his partners; the most glaring ones being blonde hair and blue eyes. It's a weakness of his, probably related to his fondness of gold and the ocean, call him a romantic if you must.
When he takes one look at Doflamingo’s little brother, the thought crosses his mind like a bullet in a shooting: nice. If clumsy, clownish men were your thing. He looks both everything and nothing like Doflamingo. The lack of a perpetual smile is the most glaring difference between them. Their fashion sense is unfortunately similar though.
He had heard about him before, as the bird got awfully chatty after they were done fucking and once he started rambling there was no stopping him.
There’s something oddly nervous about him too, and he can’t quite place him, but Crocodile is almost certain that he has seen him before.
He thinks to much about it while he has lunch with Doflamingo; considering his own preferences, the fact that this little brother had been wandering around the North Blue on his own for years and that he looked to be as straight as Doflamingo, plus the way his eyes had lingered on him with that anxious glint, the conclusion is simple: they’ve hooked up.
He had a bit of a promiscuous phase during his rookie years, one he’s not exactly proud of. He had done all sorts of things with all sorts of people and while he doesn’t regret it, he’d take it back in a second. In his late teens and early twenties he had slept his way through all the Blues and about half of the Grand Line before picking up less messy vices. It wasn’t unthinkable that he might have found his way to Doflamingo’s brother at some point.
He has a pleasant , mutually-beneficial, stringless relationship with the bird. Actually, it’s hardly a relationship at all. The sex is good, the underworld connections are nice and the brat isn’t all bad. Putting up with him isn’t half as dreadful as he makes it seem -he just doesn’t want him getting too comfortable.
Informal as they are, Crocodile just knows the kind of hissy fit he’d throw if he found out that he had screwed his brother. He was awfully possessive, for all that they weren’t actually together.
That, or he’d find it hot and suggest a bloody threeway. And Crocodile might just have an aneurism and finally get around killing him. He isn’t sure of which is the preferable option, so he needs to contain the situation before it gets out of hand.
At the same time, he didn’t come all the way from Alabasta to deal with this, so he spends his five days with Doflamingo the way he intended to in the first place; in a haze of smoke, sex, booze and food. And an annoying amount of pink feathers that cling to his clothes.
The brat is in a terribly good mood, for whatever reason. His generosity is thoroughly felt and by the second day, he has plenty of faint bruises in his thighs and neck. He whacks him in the back of the head when he sees them and wears a high collared shirt that day. The bird laughs his ass off and Crocodile tolerates it.
Doflamingo’s people have made themselves scarce, as they usually do when he comes to visit. He’s a private man and he has indulged Doflamingo by introducing himself to them a few times before, but the crew seems to have grown in size and eccentricity every time he comes, so he avoids them if possible. He gets brief glimpses of them, the top executives already know him and greet him effusively, while some of the small children stare at him in silent awe.
Crocodile doesn’t know how Doflamingo puts up with it.
The brother isn’t seen again until his last day of stay, when he can’t possibly take another day of leisure. The need to get back to Alabasta is overwhelming and he has his men packing to leave at dawn. The brat whines about it, naturally and he makes subtle threats about showing up to his casino without warning if he doesn’t call more often.
They have an intense farewell that's meant to satiate them until their next meeting. The bird is mercifully knocked out by five, though draped all over him like a stifling comforter. There's no chance he's getting any sleep like that, so he turns into sand and goes outside for a smoke.
Much to his luck, Doflamingo's brother is there.
He doesn't know much about their relationship. While the brat had talked about him, he had conveniently left out what had separated them to begin with. Crocodile didn't pry, one of the unspoken rules of their not-relationship was that they wouldn't try to dig dirt on each other.
The mute doesn't seem like the kind that would casually mention his past hook-ups, but Crocodile would rather not leave it to luck. A direct approach seems like the wisest course of action.
He makes a point of announcing his presence by walking soundly towards the man, who ignored his presence.
He lit a cigar and took a drag before speaking.
"We have met before, haven't we?" Crocodile inquired. "You look awfully familiar."
Rosinante sucked in his cigarette and promptly choked on it. He welcomed it, seeing that it gave him a good excuse not to answer.
This was it. His cover is blown and he's going to die. Though he can't be sure if it'll be at Doflamingo's hand or this man's.
How? Just how did he know? Rosinante was absolutely certain that they hadn't interacted even once. Did Sengoku keep a picture of him in his desk that Crocodile might have seen? The make-up, sunglasses and cap should have been enough to make him unrecognizable!
Meanwhile, Crocodile watched him choke. Disdain was oozing off of him and he made no move either to help or attack while he was vulnerable. When he finally managed to spit out the cigarette, his throat was on fire and the warlord's eyes were narrowed.
"Are you done with that?" Rosinante glared. "Well, I didn't come here to threaten you. I'm sure you're well aware of the type of man your brother is and how he'll react if he finds out."
Could it be– Could it be that Crocodile was trying to help him? Impossible, he was just like his brother. Rosinante braced himself for whatever kind of shady demands the man was about to make.
"...I'm a very private man. Silence would benefit us both." Rosinante's eyes widened.
He hadn't counted on Crocodile's desire to keep his relationship with Doflamingo off the records. Of course, the warlord was busy playing reformed criminal, the last thing anyone needed to know was that he was sleeping with the Scourge of the North Blue.
He almost smiled. Good . He had something over the other man. But was it enough to keep him silent about his allegiances? Him and Doflamingo seemed rather close.
He scribbled a quick note and passed it to Crocodile. You'll be able to keep it from him?
Crocodile frowned. "It’s none of his business. And what he doesn't know can't hurt him. It's better this way."
Rosinante was actually impressed. It almost seemed like Crocodile was shielding his brother from a truth that would certainly hurt him. But at the same time, letting him remain a mole in the crew put Doflamingo and the others in danger. It was safe to assume the man was just looking for his own back.
Rosinante felt a pang of pity for his brother. A tiny itch.
He nodded at Crocodile and the man gifted him a smile that was all sharp edges.
“Good. I’d hate for your brother to learn something that might upset him.” Rosinante didn’t bother to hide a snort. Crocodile raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. He was almost done with his cigar. He pulled out a small box from his coat. “Would you like one?”
For reasons that went beyond him, Rosinante said yes.